❁Rush Hour❁

Weeks pass and, little by little, campus life regains a strange kind of normalcy.

Hyunjin and you keep seeing each other almost every day: shared classes, morning coffees, study sessions at your place that sometimes end in series marathons or arguments over which pizza to order. Officially, you are still "boyfriend and girlfriend." No one questions it anymore. People greet you as a couple, they see you together in the hallways, in the cafeteria, on the field bleachers.

But between the two of you… something has changed.

It’s no longer just a role to play.

There are touches that last longer than necessary. Glances that hold for a few seconds too long. Silences that carry weight, but aren't awkward. He holds your hand even when no one is watching. You curl up against him on the couch without thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, neither of you says anything.

Because saying it out loud would mean taking a risk. It would mean putting into words something that, if not reciprocated, could break what you've built. So, you both stay silent. You both pretend you're just "friends who kiss to keep up the charade."

Even though the kisses don't feel so fake anymore.

One afternoon, after class, Hyunjin walks you to your car. Before you get in, he stops you gently, catching you by the wrist.

"Hey" he says, looking a bit uneasy. "There's another party this weekend. At a teammate's house. You know, the typical pre-game celebration for the next big match."

You nod.

"Do you want me to go?" you ask.

"Yeah" he answers quickly. "But… I also want you to know you can say no. You don't have to come every time if you don't feel like it. I don't want you to feel forced just because..."

"I'll go" you cut him off with a small smile. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't get drunk again and end up sleeping on my couch."

He laughs, relieved.

"Deal."

The night of the party arrives faster than you expected.

This time, you go with more confidence. You put on something comfortable but that you like: tight jeans, a basic t-shirt, and a jacket Hyunjin lent you weeks ago that you never gave back. It smells like him. And, although you wouldn't admit it out loud, you love wearing it.

Hyunjin picks you up right on time. When you walk down and he sees you in his jacket, a huge smile spreads across his face.

"That's mine" he points out.

"I know" you reply, getting into the car. "It's mine now."

"Thief" he teases, starting the engine.

The house is packed when you arrive. Loud music, colored lights, people everywhere. Hyunjin immediately takes your hand, guiding you through the crowd. You greet a few familiar faces. Chan waves at you from the kitchen, raising his glass. Changbin is trying to convince someone that he can do more push-ups than anyone else.

Everything seems… normal.

Until someone approaches with a tray of shots.

"Do you guys want one?" they offer with a friendly smile.

Hyunjin shakes his head.

"She doesn't drink" he says, brushing it off. "It just doesn't agree with her."

He says it naturally, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Without overexplaining, without making a scene. Just politely cutting the matter short.

The guy nods and walks away with the tray.

You look at him, surprised by how well he handled it. Hyunjin shrugs.

"What?" he asks. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

You nod slowly, with a small smile.

"Thank you."

He squeezes your hand.

"Always."

What neither of you notices is that a few feet away, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed, the cheerleader has been watching you. Her eyes narrow when she hears Hyunjin's words.

"She doesn't drink. It doesn't agree with her."

A crooked smile forms on her lips.

The night goes on without any trouble. You dance for a bit, laugh with the group, and Hyunjin introduces you to more people from the team. At one point, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You stay behind, leaning against a nearby wall with your water bottle in hand, distractedly checking your phone.

A girl approaches you. You don't know her, but she has a friendly smile.

"Hey" she greets you. "Do you want something to drink? I'm serving some cocktails in the kitchen. There's a non-alcoholic one, really tasty, with fruit and juice. Perfect if you don't like alcohol."

You hesitate for a second.

"Are you sure there's nothing in it?" you ask.

"Nothing" she reassures you. "I promise. It's just pineapple juice, strawberry, a bit of lime… it's delicious. Come on, I'll pour you one."

You follow her into the kitchen. There are several pitchers on the counter. She picks up a clear glass one, filled with a pink liquid and pieces of fruit floating inside. She pours you a glass.

"Try it" she insists.

You take a sip. It's sweet, refreshing. You don't notice anything strange.

"It's good" you admit.

"Right?" she smiles. "Take the glass, enjoy it."

You walk away with the glass in your hand, heading back to your spot. You take another sip. And another. The flavor is so pleasant that you don't realize how fast you're drinking it.

What you don't know is that the girl wasn't just a friendly stranger.

She was one of the cheerleader's friends.

And that "non-alcoholic" cocktail was laced with vodka. A lot of vodka. Mixed so well with the sweetness of the fruit that it's impossible to notice at first.

About twenty minutes pass, during which you've already had another glass of that delicious cocktail.

You start to feel… strange.

Your head is spinning. The lights seem brighter, the sounds further away. You lean against the wall, trying to catch your balance.

"Are you okay?" someone asks as they pass by.

You nod, but your body isn't responding the way it should. Your legs feel weak. The glass slips from your hand and crashes to the floor, spilling everywhere.

You try to walk toward the bathroom, looking for a place to sit down, somewhere to breathe. But every step is harder than the last. The room is spinning.

Suddenly, you feel a hand gripping your arm.

"Hey, easy there, I've got you" a guy's voice says—one you don't recognize.

He guides you toward the stairs. You try to protest, but the words won't come out right. Everything is a blur.

You make it up a couple of steps when, suddenly, that hand vanishes.

You hear a sharp thud. Raised voices.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Hyunjin's voice rings out, furious and sharp as a knife.

You blink, trying to focus. You see Hyunjin's silhouette shoving the guy against the wall, gripping him by the collar of his shirt.

"I was just… she was messed up, I was going to—"

"Going where?" Hyunjin spits. "To a bedroom? Seriously?"

The guy raises his hands, terrified.

"No, man, seriously, I just wanted to help her—"

"Get lost" Hyunjin orders, letting go of him with a jolt. "Before I do something I'll regret."

The guy doesn't think twice. He rushes down the stairs and disappears into the crowd.

Hyunjin turns to you. His expression changes completely: from pure fury to deep worry in a split second.

"Hey, hey, look at me" he says, stepping closer slowly, hands out as if he's afraid of scaring you. "What happened? What did you drink?"

You try to answer, but only an incoherent murmur comes out. Your legs give out entirely.

Hyunjin catches you before you hit the ground. He holds you against his chest, one arm under your knees, the other wrapping around your back. He lifts you into his arms effortlessly.

"Easy" he whispers, though his voice is trembling. "I've got you. Nothing's going to happen to you."

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling how everything keeps spinning. His scent, his warmth, are the only things anchoring you to reality.

He walks down the stairs with you in his arms. People part as they see him pass. Some murmur. Others pull out their phones. He ignores them all.

He takes you to his car, gently sits you in the passenger seat, and buckles your seatbelt. Then he rushes around the car, gets behind the wheel, and starts the engine.

During the entire drive, he keeps glancing over at you.

"What did you drink?" he asks again, softer this time. "Tell me what you drank, please."

"A… cocktail" you manage to say, slurring your words. "They told me… it didn't have alcohol…"

You see him grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"Shit" he mutters. "Shit, shit, shit."

He parks in front of your building. He unbuckles your seatbelt, picks you up in his arms again, and makes his way up the stairs as best as he can. You cling to his neck, half-asleep, half-conscious.

He opens your apartment door with your keys, steps inside, and kicks it shut behind him. He carries you straight to your bedroom and gently lays you down on the bed.

He takes off your sneakers, places a pillow under your head, and covers you with the blanket.

"I'm going to get some water" he says, more to himself than to you.

He returns a minute later with a full glass and a trash can, which he places by the side of the bed just in case. He sits on the edge of the mattress, carefully propping you up a bit.

"Drink a little" he coos, bringing the glass to your lips.

You take a couple of sips. The cold water helps a bit, though your head is still spinning.

"More" he insists, his voice firm yet gentle. "You need to hydrate."

You drink a little more. Then you sink back down onto the pillow, completely exhausted.

Hyunjin sets the glass on the nightstand. He stares at you for a few seconds, his brow furrowed, his jaw tight. Then he runs his hands over his face in frustration.

"I'm going to find out who did this" he mutters, mostly to himself. "I swear I'm going to find out."

You reach a hand out toward him, clumsy, searching for him.

"Don't… leave" you whisper, your voice thick and slurred.

He looks at you. His eyes soften.

"I'm not going anywhere" he replies, taking your hand. "Don't worry. I'm staying right here."

He kicks off his shoes and sits on the floor, right next to your bed. He leans his back against the mattress, tilting his head back near where your hand rests.

He doesn't let go.

You fall asleep just like that: with your fingers intertwined with his, feeling his presence close by, his calm breathing, and his silent promise that he won't leave you alone.

You wake up with the worst hangover of your life.

Sunlight streams through the window, hitting you right in the eyes. You groan, burying your face in your hands. Everything hurts: your head, your stomach, even your bones.

It takes you a few seconds to remember where you are. Your room. Your bed. And then…

You feel a weight on the mattress, right near your hand.

You slowly turn your head and see him.

Hyunjin.

He’s sitting on the floor, his back resting against your bed, his head tilted to one side, resting right on the edge of the mattress. One of his hands is still gripping yours, even in his sleep. His hair is messy, his t-shirt is wrinkled, and there’s a red mark on his cheek from the awkward sleeping position.

He stayed there. All night. Taking care of you.

Your chest tightens.

You try to move a little, and the slight shifting wakes him instantly. He snaps his head up, blinking, disoriented. As soon as he sees you awake, his eyes widen completely.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice raspy with sleep, jumping to his feet and kneeling by the bed to be at your eye level.

You nod slowly, even though nodding hurts.

"Yeah… I think so."

He lets out a long sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours.

"Thank God" he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "You had me so worried."

You prop yourself up a bit, leaning on your elbows. Hyunjin helps you immediately, adjusting the pillows behind you.

"What happened?" you ask, your voice still thick. "I… I barely remember anything."

His expression darkens.

"Someone spiked your drink" he explains, his jaw tightening. "With a lot of alcohol. Mixed so well you wouldn't notice."

The images start flashing back piece by piece: the friendly girl, the sweet cocktail, the pink glass, the dizziness, the stairs…

"There was a guy trying to take you upstairs" he continues, his voice hardening even more. "I don't know what his intentions were, but I didn't give him a chance to explain himself."

You stay silent, processing it all. Your stomach churns, but not just from the hangover.

"I'm sorry" he says suddenly, looking down. "I'm so sorry."

You blink, confused.

"Why are you apologizing? You didn't do anything."

"I promised to protect you" he replies, his voice cracking. "And I didn't. I left you alone. Someone took advantage of the fact that I wasn't there, and… shit, something worse could have happened to you. Much worse."

He buries his face in his hands, pressing his fingers against his eyes, as if he could erase himself from the memory.

"Hyunjin" you call out, reaching a hand toward him. "Look at me."

It takes him a few seconds, but he finally drops his hands and looks at you. His eyes are bloodshot, tired, and heavy with guilt.

"It’s not your fault" you say firmly. "You couldn't have known this would happen. No one could. And I'm okay. Thanks to you, I'm okay."

"But—"

"No" you cut him off. "You got there in time. You got me out of there. You brought me home. You stayed up all night taking care of me." Your voice breaks a little. "You did everything you were supposed to do. And more."

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opens them again, there's something different in his gaze. Something more vulnerable.

"I was so scared" he confesses in a low voice. "When I saw the state you were in, when that guy was leading you away… I've never felt that kind of fear in my life."

He leans in a bit closer, resting his arms on the edge of the bed, his face very near yours.

"I don't want anything to happen to you" he whispers. "Ever. Do you hear me?"

You nod slowly, feeling your heart beat faster.

"I hear you."

You stare at each other for a few seconds. So close you could count his eyelashes. So close you can feel his breath mingling with yours.

But then he pulls back, clears his throat, breaking the moment.

"I'm going to make you some tea" he says, standing up. "And something to eat. You need to recover."

You get out of bed slowly, still a bit dizzy. You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror: dark circles under your eyes, messy hair, wrinkled clothes. But you're whole. You're okay.

Thanks to him.

You spend the rest of the day at your place.

Hyunjin doesn't leave. He doesn't even suggest it. He just stays, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He makes you breakfast—toast, tea, some fruit—forces you to drink water every half hour, puts on a show you both like on the laptop, and sits next to you on the couch.

At some point, you fall asleep again, leaning against his shoulder. When you wake up, he's still there, his arm wrapped around you, quietly watching the screen.

"How long have I been asleep?" you ask, sitting up a bit.

"About an hour" he replies, glancing at you. "You needed the rest."

You rub your eyes, still a little groggy.

"What about you? Did you get any sleep?"

He shrugs.

"A bit. On the floor earlier. Good enough."

"Hyunjin, you must be exhausted" you protest. "You should go home, sleep in a real bed..."

"No" he cuts you off firmly. "I'm not leaving until I'm absolutely sure you're fully recovered."

You don't argue anymore. Deep down, you don't want him to leave either.

In the afternoon, while eating a light meal he prepared—because he insists you have to eat even if you're not hungry—you bring up the topic you've been mulling over since you woke up.

"Do you think it was her?" you ask, absentmindedly stirring the rice on your plate. "The cheerleader."

Hyunjin presses his lips together.

"I'm sure of it" he answers. "I don't have proof, but… I know it was her. Or someone close to her."

You set your fork down.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet" he admits, running a hand through his hair. "But it's not staying like this. I promise you that."

There is something in his tone that tells you he means it. Very seriously.

That night, when he finally agrees to go home—after you swear a thousand times that you'll be fine—you're left alone in your apartment.

You sit on the couch, pulling your legs to your chest, staring at your phone screen.

You have several messages from your friends asking what happened, if you're okay. You reply evasively: "I'm fine, just felt sick, nothing serious."

But there is one message that catches your eye.

From an unknown number.

I hope you've learned your lesson. Stay away from Hyunjin. Or next time will be worse.

Your blood runs cold.

You stare at the screen, rereading the words over and over again.

Your first instinct is to reply, to scream at her, to tell her to go to hell.

But then you think of Hyunjin. How he stayed by your side all night. How he blames himself for something that wasn't his fault.

You don't want to worry him anymore.

You block the number. You delete the message. You take a deep breath.

And you decide you're not going to let her win.

The following days are strange.

Hyunjin sticks to you closer than ever. He walks you everywhere: classes, the library, the dining hall, your car. He doesn't leave you alone for a single second. At first you protest, telling him it's not necessary, that you're fine.

But he insists.

"I'd rather be annoying than have something happen to you" he says, leaving no room for argument.

And deep down, you're grateful for his presence. Because, even if you won't admit it to him, you're still a little scared. Vulnerable.

The cheerleader doesn't come near. In fact, you barely see her. But you know she's out there, somewhere in the background, watching.

The day of the next big game arrives.

It's one of the biggest of the semester. The bleachers are packed. The atmosphere is electric. Hyunjin is more focused than ever; he has barely spoken all day, wearing that serious, locked-in expression he only gets when something truly matters to him.

You arrive early at the stands to find a good spot. This time you aren't alone: your friends are with you, along with a few classmates who came to cheer.

But you only have eyes for the field.

You see him walk out with the team, helmet under his arm, his fitted uniform highlighting every muscle. He pauses for a moment, searching through the crowd.

He finds you.

And he smiles.

You raise your hand, waving at him. He winks at you before putting on his helmet and heading to the center of the field.

The game starts with intense energy. From the very first minute, the rivals don't make it easy. They are fast, aggressive, well-coordinated. But Hyunjin is everywhere: dodging, sprinting, catching impossible passes, leading the team with that energy only he possesses.

You shout his name several times, cheering him on from the stands. Every time he scores or makes a great play, you feel your chest swell with pride.

Halftime approaches, and during a brief timeout, Hyunjin comes running toward the stands. Straight toward where you are sitting.

The crowd starts to murmur, pointing. You lean over the railing a bit, confused.

"What are you doing?" you ask, laughing. "You have to get back on the field."

He takes off his helmet, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his breathing heavy. He looks up at you with that half-smile that makes your stomach flip.

"I need my lucky charm" he says, loud enough for those around you to hear.

Before you can process what he just said, he pushes himself up, resting a hand on the railing to get closer.

And he kisses you.

A quick, firm kiss, right there in the middle of the stands, in front of everyone.

When he pulls away, he winks.

"That's going to bring me luck" he says with that overwhelming confidence.

And he runs back to the field, leaving you there with your heart racing, your cheeks burning, and the roar of the stadium exploding around you.

Your friends look at you, eyes wide as saucers.

"Did you just...?"

"Yeah" you reply, still dazed, bringing a hand to your lips.

The game resumes. And, as if it truly had brought him luck, Hyunjin plays better than ever. Every move is precise, every decision spot on. The team feeds off his energy, and little by little, they make a comeback.

When the final whistle blows, they've won.

The stadium erupts. People are jumping, screaming, chanting. You scream too, laughing, with your hands in the air.

Hyunjin looks for you in the crowd. When he finds you, he raises his fist in the air, pointing right at you.

And you know, without him having to say a word, that the gesture is meant only for you.

After the game, you wait outside the locker room, just like other times. There are more people than usual: families, friends, partners of the other players.

When he finally comes out, his hair still damp from the shower, he spots you and walks straight to you.

"My lucky charm" he says with that tired but satisfied smile.

You cross your arms, trying to look serious.

"So I'm a charm now?"

"The best one" he answers without hesitation. "You should come to every game. It's scientifically proven that I play better when you're here."

"That's not science" you counter, laughing.

"It is to me" he says, shrugging.

You walk together toward the parking lot. He carries your backpack over his shoulder, as always, and his hand automatically finds yours.

"Hey" he starts, a bit more serious. "About the kiss in the stands... did it bother you?"

You look at him, surprised.

"Why would it bother me?"

"I don't know" he says, scratching the back of his neck. "It was very public. And I didn't warn you. It just... happened."

You stop for a moment, forcing him to stop too. You look him in the eyes.

"It didn't bother me" you answer truthfully. "I liked it."

You see him swallow hard, his eyes lighting up just a fraction.

"Good" he murmurs. "Because I did too."

You stand there staring at each other for a few seconds, the air between you thick with something neither of you dares to name just yet.

But then someone yells his name from afar. One of his teammates, calling him over to celebrate.

Hyunjin sighs, breaking the moment.

"I have to go hang out with them for a bit" he says, looking slightly awkward. "But later... can I swing by your place? Even if it's late."

You nod.

"Sure."

He smiles, gives you a quick kiss on the forehead, and runs off toward his friends.

You are left standing there, your heart beating entirely too fast, wondering how much longer the two of you can keep pretending this is all just a charade.

That night, past eleven, your doorbell rings.

You open the door and there he is: grey hoodie, his hair even messier than usual, hands in his pockets, wearing that timid smile he only shows to you.

"Hey" he greets you.

"Hey" you reply, stepping aside to let him in.

He walks in, kicking off his shoes as if it were his own place, and sinks onto the couch with a long sigh.

"I am wiped out" he confesses.

"Well, go sleep at your house then" you tease, sitting down next to him.

"I'd rather be here" he answers without a second thought.

You fall silent, not quite knowing what to say to that.

Hyunjin turns his head toward you a bit, resting it against the back of the couch.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks, his voice dropping lower.

"Sure."

"Do you… feel anything?" he asks directly. "For me, I mean. Something… real."

Your breath catches in your throat.

You have hoped for and dreaded this question in equal measure. Because answering it means risking everything.

But when you look at him, when you see the vulnerability in his eyes, when you remember every shared moment—the coffees, the laughs, the nights in the car, the kisses that no longer feel fake—you know you can't keep lying to him.

Or lying to yourself.

"Yes" you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I feel something. I have for a while now."

You see him let out the breath he’d been holding. His shoulders relax. A slow, genuine smile begins to form on his lips.

"Thank God" he murmurs. "Because I do too. And I was going crazy trying to figure out if I was the only idiot falling in love in the middle of a fake relationship."

Your heart skips a beat hearing that word: falling in love.

"Falling in love?" you repeat, almost breathless.

He nods, never breaking eye contact.

"Yeah" he says, more confident now. "I'm falling in love with you. I think… I think I've been this way for weeks. Maybe longer. I don't know. I just know that every time I'm with you, everything else disappears. And when you're not around, I miss you. All the time."

He moves a bit closer, until your knees are brushing.

"At first I thought it was just because you were helping me, because you were the only one who truly listened to me" he continues. "But then… then I realized it wasn't that. I realized I loved how you crinkled your nose when you concentrated. That I loved your laugh when I caught you off guard. That I hated seeing you sad or scared. That I wanted to be by your side always, not just when people were watching."

He runs a hand through his hair, nervous.

"And the other day, when I saw the state you were in at the party…" his voice cracks a little. "It felt like something was being ripped out of my chest. I couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you. Of losing you."

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. But this time, they aren't from sadness.

"Me too" you confess. "I've been feeling it for a long time too. But I was afraid to say it. Because I thought for you, it was just part of the plan. That when it was all over, you'd go on with your life and I… I'd go back to being invisible."

Hyunjin shakes his head firmly.

"You have never been invisible to me" he says, catching your hands in his. "From the very first day you told me no in the cafeteria, you caught my eye. The way you refused to be impressed. The way you looked at me like I was just a normal person, not the 'popular guy.' And since then… I haven't stopped seeing you."

He leans into you, resting his forehead against yours.

"I don't want this to be fake anymore" he whispers. "I want it to be real. I want to be your actual boyfriend. If you'll have me."

You close your eyes, letting his words settle deep into your chest.

"I want that too" you answer, your voice trembling. "I want it to be real."

Hyunjin smiles against your skin. Then he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

"So…?" he asks with that smirk you love so much. "Officially? No more 'fake' anything?"

You nod, laughing through your tears.

"Officially."

And he kisses you.

But this kiss is different from all the ones before. There is no rush, no outside glances, no excuses. It is slow, deep, and filled with everything you hadn't told each other until now.

His hands frame your face, holding you as if you were the most precious thing he’s ever had. You cling to his hoodie, pulling him closer, terrified that this might be a dream you're going to wake up from at any moment.

When you finally pull apart, both breathing heavily, Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours. His thumbs stroke your cheeks with a tenderness that completely disarms you.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that" he whispers, his eyes closed. "No excuses. No audience. Just you and me."

"Me too" you confess, your voice raspy.

You stay like that for a few more seconds, breathing the same air, letting the reality of what just happened sink in between you.

Hyunjin leans back a bit, not entirely letting go of you, and looks at you with that smile of his that makes the whole world vanish.

"So…" he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Tomorrow, do I pick you up as your real boyfriend?"

You nod, laughing.

"As my real boyfriend."

The next morning, when you walk out of your building, Hyunjin is already waiting for you, leaning against his car with two coffees in hand and that smile you now know is meant only for you.

As soon as you climb into the passenger seat, before you can even buckle your seatbelt, he reaches over, gently takes you by the chin, and plants a quick kiss on your lips.

"Hey" he says, smiling against your mouth.

You feel the warmth rush to your cheeks all at once.

Hyunjin bursts out laughing, delighted by your reaction.

"Hey, hey" he says, pointing a finger at you. "We are officially a real couple now. You have to stop blushing every time I kiss you."

"Shut up" you murmur, turning your face toward the window to hide your smile.

But you can't help it. The smile stays plastered on your face for the entire drive.

The following days fly by.

Exams begin.

Hyunjin is more nervous than he’d care to admit. He needs to bring his GPA up. He needs a good grade in Statistics so he can keep playing without his dad pressuring him, so that the scholarship is within reach, so that everything he’s fought for doesn't come crashing down.

You spend hours in the library, reviewing formulas, solving problems, doing practice exams. He complains, gets desperate, gets frustrated. But he doesn't give up.

And you are there, every step of the way, reminding him that he can do it.

On the day of the exam, Hyunjin arrives early, his hair messy and dark circles under his eyes. He searches for you with his gaze the moment he walks into the classroom. When he sees you, he takes a deep breath, as if your presence gives him that final push he needs.

"You've got this" you tell him, squeezing his hand before you both take your seats.

He nods, squeezing your hand back.

"I know. Because you taught me."

A few days later, you are both in the library, each with your laptop open, refreshing the grades page every two minutes.

"Is it up yet?" Hyunjin asks for the fifth time.

"No" you reply, refreshing again. "Still nothing."

Hyunjin buries his face in his hands, nervous. His leg is bouncing non-stop, his fingers drumming against the table.

"Easy" you murmur, placing your hand over his to stop the drumming. "They'll upload them any minute now."

"It's just that I can't..." he starts, but cuts himself off when he sees your eyes widen suddenly.

"What?" he asks, sitting up straight. "What is it?"

You turn the screen toward him.

"They're up."

Hyunjin freezes for a second. Then he looks at the screen. He searches for his name on the list. And when he sees the grade next to it, his mind goes blank.

An 8.5.

"No way," he mutters.

"Way" you reply, beaming from ear to ear. "You did it."

He blinks, as if he can't quite believe it. He reads the grade again. And again.

And then he explodes.

"YES! FUCK, YES!" he yells, jumping to his feet.

Several heads turn toward you. The librarian darts a murderous glare from the front desk.

"SILENCE!" she hisses, pointing a finger at you both. "Or you step outside right now."

But Hyunjin isn't listening to her. He lunges toward you, scoops you up from your chair in one swift motion, and spins you around in the air, laughing like crazy.

"I did it! I did it!"

"Hyunjin, put me down!" you whisper, dying of embarrassment, red as a tomato. "They're gonna kick us out!"

He sets you down, but he doesn't let go. He plants a huge, loud, exaggerated kiss on your cheek.

"This is thanks to you" he says, his eyes shining. "All of this is thanks to you."

You shake your head, still blushing.

"No" you reply firmly. "It’s thanks to your hard work. I knew you’d do it."

Hyunjin looks at you, and for a moment, all the euphoria softens. His hands hold you by the shoulders with that seriousness that only appears when something truly matters to him.

"Thank you for believing in me so much" he says in a low voice. "You're my biggest support. You know that, right?"

You nod slowly, feeling your chest tighten with emotion.

"I know."

He smiles.

"Then tonight we’re going out to celebrate" he announces. "Just you and me. No groups, no parties. Just us."

"Sounds perfect to me."

That night, when Hyunjin picks you up, he looks radiant.

He gets into the car with a smile so big it barely fits on his face.

"My dad saw the grades" he says, starting the engine.

You turn toward him, expectant.

"And?"

"Well..." he shrugs. "He didn't say anything."

You furrow your brow.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing" he repeats. "Neither good nor bad. Just... nothing. But for a change, he didn't argue with me either. And that..." he lets out a short laugh, "that already feels like another victory."

You squeeze his hand on the gear shift.

"It is a victory" you say. "A big one."

You go to dinner at your usual diner.

It’s nothing glamorous: formica tables, fluorescent lights, the menu of the day written in chalk on a blackboard. But it’s your place. The spot where you've spent so many nights studying, laughing, sharing comfortable silences.

You sit at your usual table by the window. Hyunjin orders his usual giant burger. You order something lighter, knowing you’ll end up stealing his fries anyway.

"So, what now?" you ask, taking a sip of your soda. "What are your plans?"

He leans over the table, elbows on the surface, looking at you with that intensity that sometimes leaves you defenseless.

"Focus on the last few games" he answers. "That’s where everything is on the line. The scouts are coming back. And this time I have to prove to them that I'm not just good on the field, but that I can keep my grades up too. That I'm a safe bet."

You nod.

"You're going to make it" you say without a doubt. "I know it."

He smiles, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes.

"And after that..." he continues, "all that's left is to wait. Wait for a university to notice me. Wait for a scholarship offer to come in. Wait for my dad to run out of excuses to mess with my life."

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing.

"Sometimes it feels like everything depends on just a few games" he confesses. "And that terrifies me."

You stretch your hand across the table, reaching for his. He takes it immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"You're not alone" you remind him. "No matter what happens, you are not alone."

Hyunjin squeezes your hand, his eyes glistening a bit.

"I know" he murmurs. "And that's the only thing keeping me sane."

The following weeks are a blur of classes, practices, and stolen moments.

You start going to Hyunjin’s practices. Not always, but regularly. You knew he liked having you there, especially if you could walk home together afterward.

You sit in the bleachers with your notebook or your phone, pretending to do other things, but really you spend most of your time watching him run, jump, and dodge. Seeing him in his element.

Every time he scores or makes a good play, he looks for your gaze. And when he finds you, he smiles.

But one day, everything changes.

Hyunjin is in the middle of practice, sweating, locked in. During a brief break, he looks toward the stands, expecting to see you.

But you're not there.

He furrows his brow. He could have sworn you told him you’d come today. He pulls his phone out of his backpack pocket and checks his messages. Nothing. No heads-up from you.

He thinks maybe he got confused. That perhaps you had something more important to do. He doesn't think much of it and focuses back on practice.

What he doesn't know is what actually happened.

Half an hour earlier:

You are walking toward your car in the parking lot, backpack over your shoulder, keys in hand. You plan to drop off your things and then head straight to the field to see Hyunjin.

But when you reach your car, you aren't alone.

The cheerleader is there. Leaning against your door.

And she didn't come alone. Her two friends flank her, arms crossed, blocking your way.

Your stomach drops.

"Well, well" she says, with that fake smile you hate so much. "Look who's here."

You try to bypass her, walking around the other side of the car. But one of her friends moves quickly, cutting you off.

"Not so fast" the cheerleader says, stepping closer. "You and I need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you" you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

She laughs.

"I told you to stay away from Hyunjin" she spits, taking another step closer. "I warned you. But you didn't listen, did you?"

She corners you against the car. You feel the cold metal against your back.

"Hyunjin has told you a thousand times he wants nothing to do with you" you counter, raising your chin. "And we are a couple now. So you'll just have to get over it."

The reaction is immediate.

Her expression twists into pure fury. She takes a step forward and, before you can react, grabs you tightly by the throat.

"I always get what I want" she hisses, squeezing.

You try to pry her hand off, but her friends lunges at you, each pinning one of your arms, immobilizing you.

And then it begins.

The cheerleader hits you. A blow to the cheek. Another to the stomach. She yanks your hair hard, ripping out strands. She scratches your face, leaving red marks that burn.

You try to defend yourself, to scream, but one of them covers your mouth.

She grabs your t-shirt and pulls so hard that the fabric tears.

When she finally lets go, you can barely stand. You hold onto the car, breathing heavily, tears stinging your eyes.

She pulls a coffee thermos out of her backpack. A large one, still hot.

And she pours it all over you.

The hot liquid drenches your clothes, your hair, your skin. You scream from the pain, from the shock.

The cheerleader leans in close, wearing that cruel smile.

"This is just the beginning" she whispers. "Next time will be worse."

And they leave. All three of them. Laughing.

You are left there trembling, soaked, aching, broken.

You manage to get into the car as best as you can. You start the engine with shaking hands and drive home almost on autopilot.

Meanwhile, at the rugby field:

One of Hyunjin's teammates comes running up, panting.

"Man" he says, grabbing his arm. "Some people saw a fight break out in the parking lot. And they'd swear your girlfriend was right in the middle of it."

Hyunjin freezes.

"What?" he asks, his heart skyrocketing.

He doesn't wait for any more explanations. He rips off his helmet, throws it to the ground, and sprints toward the parking lot.

When he gets there, your car is already gone.

He looks around, searching for you, but there’s no sign.

He pulls out his phone and calls you. Once. Twice. Three times.

You don't answer.

He gets into his car and drives to your place like a madman, blowing past a couple of red lights, his heart in his throat.

When he arrives and sees your car parked, he lets out a sigh of relief. But only for a second.

Because as he gets closer, he catches your silhouette through the windshield.

You are hunched over the steering wheel, completely still.

Hyunjin feels his entire world shrink. He runs to your door and yanks the handle.

Locked.

He raps his knuckles against the window.

"Hey" he calls out, his voice cracking. "Open up, please. It's me."

You don't move.

Hyunjin looks closer through the driver’s side window. He sees your profile: your messy hair, your torn t-shirt, your flushed skin. There are marks on your neck. On your cheek. On your arms.

His breath catches.

"Fuck..." he whispers, his eyes widening.

He hits the window again, harder this time.

"Look at me. Look at me, please."

Your fingers tighten around the wheel. Barely.

You gather the strength to turn your head a fraction. Your eyes meet his. In yours, there is nothing but a mixture of fear, shame, and something broken that you had never shown him before.

Hyunjin swallows hard.

"Unlock it" he says, softer now, pressing his forehead against the glass. "I'm not going anywhere. Just... let me be with you, okay?"

You hesitate for a few eternal seconds. Finally, your trembling hand reaches for the central locking button.

The click of the doors unlocking sounds louder than any shout.

Hyunjin opens the door immediately and crouches down to your level. The smell of coffee and sweat hits him. He sees the marks on your skin up close, and something inside him breaks completely.

"Hey..." he whispers, trying to smile, though his voice trembles. "I'm here."

He extends his hand toward you carefully, as if your skin were made of glass.

"Don't touch me" you murmur at first, flinching back a little.

Hyunjin freezes his hand in mid-air. He nods, even though it hurts.

"Okay. I won't touch you." He slowly pulls his hand back, letting it rest on his own knee. "But I'm not leaving."

You hold your breath. Your eyes fill with tears again, but they are no longer just from physical pain.

"I don't want you to see me like this" you whisper, your voice completely shattered.

Hyunjin shakes his head in silence.

"I'm going to see you however you are. Happy, angry, with dark circles under your eyes, with your hair a total mess, or like this..." he gestures gently toward you. "Because you're my girlfriend. Not just when everything is going great."

Your chin trembles. You press your lips together, trying to hold it in, but a tear slips down your flushed cheek.

Hyunjin clenches his fists, holding himself back. Every mark he sees feels like a stab wound.

"Was it them?" he asks finally, his voice low, though he doesn't need an answer. "Was it... her?"

You close your eyes for a second. You nod, very slowly.

Hyunjin drops his gaze to the ground. His jaw works with suppressed rage. He takes a sharp breath through his nose, several times, as if he is on the verge of exploding.

When he looks back at you, there is fire in his eyes, but that fire isn't directed at you.

"Okay" he says, with a dangerous calm. "You first. Then them."

He straightens up a bit.

"Let's go inside, okay? You need to shower, check those burns, your face..." He swallows, as if even saying it hurts him. "You don't have to tell me about it right now. Just... let me help you."

You look toward your apartment door. It seems so far away, even though it’s only a few yards.

"I can't" you murmur. "Everything hurts."

Hyunjin nods.

"Then I'll carry you." He takes a step back. "Can I touch you a little bit? I promise I'll be careful. If it hurts, just tell me and I'll stop."

You hesitate, but finally, you nod, taking a deep breath.

Hyunjin moves with a gentleness you've never seen from him on the field. He slides one arm behind your back and the other under your legs, lifting you slowly from the seat. You stifle a groan as the movement stretches the skin burned by the coffee.

He hears it anyway.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he mutters, gritting his teeth. "We're almost there, okay?"

He carries you in his arms all the way to your door. You can feel his heart beating fast against your side. With one hand, he fumbles in your pocket, pulls out your keys, and manages to open the door.

Inside, the silence is overwhelming.

He sets you down with extreme care on the couch, kneeling in front of you.

"I'm going to get some cold water and a first-aid kit" he says. "Don't move."

As if you could.

Hyunjin disappears into the bathroom. You hear him opening and closing drawers hurriedly, cursing under his breath because he can't find anything, and then coming back with a bowl of water, a small towel, and the first-aid kit in his other hand.

He sits next to you, close enough to protect you, but far enough not to crowd you.

"I'm going to pat this down very slowly, okay?" He dips the towel into the cold water, wrings it out, and moves close to one of the coffee stains on your neck. "If it hurts too much, I'll stop."

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

When the cold cloth touches your skin, it burns in a different way, but after a few seconds, it brings relief.

You watch him look down, focused, with an almost tender care. He dabs the coffee away from your neck, your collarbone, and the neckline of your torn t-shirt. Every now and then, his fingers accidentally brush your skin, and he flinches back as if he were the one who got burned.

"Whoever did this to you..." he murmurs, almost imperceptibly, "has no idea who they just messed with."

You look up at him.

"I don't want... you getting into trouble because of me" you whisper hoarsely.

He lets out a laugh, but it’s a humorless one.

"I'm already all the way in this with you. That part is non-negotiable."

He pauses for a second, looking straight at you.

"I'm not going to sit idly by while they do this to you. Not again. Never."

The words "not again" echo in your head. And suddenly, the dam breaks.

"She grabbed me by the throat" you start, as if the floodgates have suddenly opened. "The other two held me down. I couldn't... I couldn't even breathe. She pulled my hair, she scratched me, she..." Your voice cracks. "She poured coffee all over me like... like I was trash."

Hyunjin squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them, they are glistening, wet with tears.

"You are not trash" he says firmly. "Don't ever say that again." He swallows hard. "And I swear to you, no one is ever going to treat you like that again."

He leans in a little closer to you.

"Do you know why I'm so pissed off?" he whispers. "Because you trusted me enough to be my girlfriend. And part of that means I look out for you. And today... today they hurt you while I was just a few yards away, practicing."

You shake your head.

"It’s not your fault."

He takes a deep breath.

"I know it's not. But I'm going to take responsibility anyway."

He sets the cloth on the table and takes a moment to breathe.

"Tomorrow, you aren't going to class" he says decisively. "We are going to the hospital to get those burns and bruises checked out. Then, you are going to talk to the school principal. And if they don't do anything... to the police." He looks at you, giving you space to say no. "I won't force you, but I am not letting this slide."

Your first instinct is to say no, no way. That you don't want more trouble, more stares, more rumors.

But then you remember her hands around your neck. Her laughter. The burning coffee on your skin.

And for the first time since you got into the car, you feel something that isn't just fear: rage.

"I'm scared" you admit in a low voice.

Hyunjin nods.

"Me too." He offers a tiny, sad smile. "But we'll be scared together, okay?"

His words hang in the air between you.

After a moment of silence, you nod, tears slipping down your face uncontrollably.

"Okay..." you murmur. "Let's go to the hospital."

Hyunjin lets out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He gently takes your hand, waiting to see if you'll pull it away.

You don't.

His fingers intertwine with yours, warm and steady.

"Thank you for letting me be here with you" he whispers.

And for the first time since everything started, in the midst of the pain and the fear, you feel something resembling safety. A small beacon of light in all this chaos.

And you have no idea that, the next day, that decision to go to the hospital and speak up… is going to change everything.

The following days pass by faster than you imagined.

You go to the hospital, file the report, and speak with the university. You have to repeat what happened in the parking lot over and over again. Each time, you feel something tighten inside you, but Hyunjin never lets go of your hand for a single moment.

At first, you are afraid to go back to campus. You feel like everyone knows what happened to you, even if no one has said it out loud. But the first day you both return, something has changed.

Messages start flooding the class group chat.

"Have you seen the university email?" "Someone got into massive trouble…" "They say a cheerleader was expelled."

Hyunjin and you look at each other in silence. With your heart racing, you open the institutional email. A message from the Academic Registrar: "Notice of Disciplinary Expulsion." No names are mentioned, but there are enough details to know exactly who it is.

The expulsion is immediate. Banned from campus. Banned from participating in any university activities. The friends who helped her receive a severe penalty: a one-semester suspension and a tarnished academic record.

When you finish reading, you realize you haven't breathed in a good while. Only then do you slowly let out your breath.

"It’s over" you whisper, barely believing it.

Hyunjin looks at you from the side.

"Full justice hasn't been served" he answers honestly. "But at least she can't touch you anymore. Or come near you."

You notice how, for the first time in days, your shoulders drop a little. As if a massive backpack had been lifted off you.

From that moment on, your routine changes, without anyone explicitly asking for it.

Hyunjin still picks you up every morning in his car. He always arrives ten minutes early. If you ask him why he's so early, he shrugs and blames it on the traffic, but you both know he simply can't stand the thought of you spending a single minute alone in the parking lot.

He walks you to every class. He sits with you if your schedules match; if they don't, he drops you off at the door and waits outside, leaning against the hallway wall with his notes in hand or checking his phone. When you walk out, he’s there. Always.

"I look like your bodyguard" he jokes one day, walking beside you.

"You are" you reply, half-seriously.

In the afternoons, he takes you back home. Sometimes you stay in your living room, studying. Or at his place, half-watching series because he falls asleep twenty minutes in, his head resting on your shoulder. Little by little, the marks on your skin begin to fade. The bruises change color, from purple to a yellowish green, until they disappear completely. The coffee burns stop stinging; only a faint pink mark remains.

You look in the mirror one morning and it almost surprises you to see no trace of it left. The real scars are somewhere else, but even those are starting to hurt a little less.

And, without you even noticing, the sun streams through the windows just like before. You go back to laughing over silly things. Arguing over who picks the movie. Complaining about exams and assignments. Life, little by little, stops being just about survival.

Months pass. And the day arrives: the last game of the season. The decisive one.

The university stadium is overflowing. Packed bleachers, banners sporting your faculty's colors, students with paint on their cheeks. It smells like damp grass, liniment, and nerves.

You sit in your usual spot, a bit above the center of the field, where you know Hyunjin can see you if he looks up.

The game is everything: if they win, your university qualifies for the national championship and, above all, Hyunjin is playing for his full scholarship and the chance to move up to a higher league. If they lose… everything gets complicated.

You see the players come running onto the field, bumping shoulders, shouting. Hyunjin, with his helmet in one hand and his mouthguard dangling, slaps backs, shouts instructions, looks at the referee, and takes his place at the front of the line. You can tell he’s the captain; everyone looks to him before the whistle blows.

You don't understand all the technicalities, but you've learned enough during this time to follow the game:

The first few minutes are a fierce exchange of blows. Rucks, mauls, hard tackles that make you hold your breath. You watch the forwards clash as if they were brick walls, fighting for every ball in the set pieces. Hyunjin, playing as fly-half, positions himself behind the scrum, hands ready to receive the ball from the scrum-half.

The first major scrum of the match is near your 22-meter line. The referee calls out: "Crouch! Bind! Set!" and the two front rows of players clash, digging their studs into the turf, pushing as if their lives depend on it.

Your scrum-half hooks the ball in, and the scrum shifts a few inches. From your seat, you can only see a tangle of bodies, but you know there is a silent war going on in there: who gets lower, who drives better, who keeps their back straight. The ball comes out on your team's side and, within a second, it appears in Hyunjin's hands.

He takes a step back, reads the defense, fakes a long pass, but at the last second, he breaks the line inside, slipping through a tiny gap between two opposing centers. The stands rise to their feet. He sprints, changes his footing, breaks free from a tackle with a perfect hand-off, and is finally brought down just a few yards from the try line.

The next few minutes are a relentless siege. Pick and go, short phases, the forwards crashing time and again against the rival defense, looking for a gap. Until, finally, on the fourth phase, Hyunjin receives the ball wide, pairs up with the winger, and the try is scored right on the flank.

Shouts. The stands explode. You find yourself standing up without even realizing it, hands over your mouth. Try. The conversion goes right between the posts. Seven points.

The match goes on. You start biting your nails.

The rivals answer with a try of their own. A mistake in receiving a kick, a lost lineout, a well-orchestrated hand play by their backline. The scoreboard stays tight, almost tied, throughout the entire encounter.

Every scrum is a test of strength. Every lineout, a lottery: the jumpers are hoisted up, held by the hips, hands reaching for the ball thrown straight in from the touchline. Some you win clean, others you have to fight for down on the ground. The referee blows for penalties—coming in from the side, not releasing the ball. Hyunjin calls for a shot at goal when they are in the opponent's half; the kicker converts a couple of penalties. Three points here, three points there. Every single one counts.

And that’s how you reach the end of the second half: final minutes, a tied scoreboard. Literally all or nothing.

A penalty is awarded to your university, almost at the halfway line. The crowd starts chanting: "Points! Points!" Hyunjin looks at the posts, calculating the distance, the wind. They could play for touch and look for a try, or attempt an incredibly risky penalty kick.

He talks quickly with the kicker, with the forwards. In the end, as captain, he makes the call.

"Points" you see him say, making the gesture with his hands.

The stadium falls almost dead silent. The kicker places the ball on the tee, takes a few steps back, looks at the posts, and breathes. You can feel your heart pounding against your chest as if it were about to burst out.

The referee blows the whistle. The kicker runs toward the ball, striking it with his instep. The ball flies, spinning, climbing higher.

For a second, time stands still.

It passes right over the crossbar, between the two uprights.

It's good.

The stands erupt. A roar. You find yourself screaming without even hearing your own voice. Hyunjin's teammates jump, hug each other, slap his helmet. There are still a few seconds left, but the rivals can't make a comeback. One last failed attack, a perfect tackle, the ball kicked into touch, out of bounds.

The final whistle blows.

Victory.

The victory is yours. Your university's. Theirs. His.

You watch the teammates surround Hyunjin, lifting him up on their shoulders, carrying him high. He raises his arms, helmet held high, shouting something you can't quite make out over the noise.

"Captain, we did it!" echoes from the field.

"Hyunjin, you're a beast!" another laughs, slapping him on the back.

The scouts, who had been taking notes in the lower stands throughout the entire match, approach the bench as soon as his teammates finally set him down. They shake his hand, whisper something in his ear, and show him some folders. He listens, serious at first… and then suddenly smiles. A real smile, the big kind that makes his eyes crinkle and his dimples show.

People start crowding around. Classmates, fans, people from campus. They congratulate him, ask for photos, pat him on the back, and shout his name. Hyunjin nods and thanks them, but his eyes are searching for something else.

Searching for you.

From your seat, you watch him turn his head, scanning the bleachers. Until his eyes lock onto yours.

He doesn't hesitate for a second.

He cuts through the crowd, pulling away from a couple of hands trying to hold him back, and runs toward the fence separating the field from the stands. He vaults over it in one fluid motion, without even thinking, and takes the stairs two at a time until he reaches where you are standing.

Your heart beats wildly.

When he gets to you, without saying a word, he catches you by the waist and pulls you flush against him. He’s sweaty, smelling of grass, hard work, and adrenaline. He kisses you, straightforward and without asking for permission, pouring in everything he had been holding back on the field.

For a moment, the entire stadium shrinks down to just that.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy. His eyes are shining.

"I did it" he whispers, almost breathless, but with a happiness that strikes you completely. "They gave me the scholarship." He lets out an incredulous laugh. "I’m going to play in a higher league. We… we did it."

The word "we" sends a warm flutter through your chest.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight, not caring about the sweat, the stares, or the phones recording you. You know everyone is watching. There are cheers, whistles, some people chanting your names, and the typical background teasing for another kiss. But right now, nothing exists except his arms holding you and his racing heartbeat against your chest.

"I'm so proud of you," you murmur against his neck. "Of everything you've done. Of everything you've put up with."

He squeezes you a little tighter, as if afraid you might vanish.

"I wouldn't have made it here without you, he replies in a low voice, meant only for your ears. "I swear. Thank you for not letting go… even when everything got ugly."

You close your eyes for a second, letting this moment imprint on your memory like a perfect photograph: the bleachers, the open sky, the team colors, his smile against your hair.

The world, which just a few months ago seemed like a hostile and dark place, now feels a little kinder. Not perfect. Not easy. But brighter.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you.

"From here on out…" he says with a half-smile, "we’ll see what comes next, right?"

You nod.

"Whatever comes, we face it together."

He laughs—that laugh you can now recognize among thousands.

"Together" he repeats.

Down on the field, his teammates keep celebrating. Up around you, the roar of the stadium goes on. But for you, the game that truly mattered has already been won.

For now, that is more than enough.

And as the sun begins to set over the grass and the crowd slowly starts to leave the stands, you and Hyunjin linger up there just a little bit longer, taking your time. Because after everything you’ve been through, learning to breathe easy together… is also a form of victory.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme @hiraelis @0felixsfreckles0

Your stomach drops when you see who it is.

The cheerleader. With two of her friends glued to her like shadows.

"Hyunjin isn't here today for you to run away" she says, with a half-smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

You try to dodge her.

"I'm in a hurry" you murmur.

She grabs your arm tightly.

"Come on" she orders.

Before you can react, she drags you back inside the building. Her friends block your other exit. They practically shove you into the girls' bathroom and slam the door shut. One of them stands right in front of it, as if guarding the exit.

You feel cornered. Your chest tightens.

"Do you think you're clever?" the cheerleader crosses her arms, slowly stepping closer. "Do you think you can just take the campus star away from me?"

Her voice drips with venom.

"Everyone knows Hyunjin is mine" she continues. "We've already hooked up multiple times."

She says it with a repulsive kind of pride.

"And you?" she looks you up and down. "Has Hyunjin even touched you? Because as far as I know, people have only seen you holding hands. I don't buy that you two are together."

Your throat goes dry. You don't really know what to say.

"What are you up to?" she insists. "Are you blackmailing him? Did you ask him to be your boyfriend in exchange for tutoring him? What did you do to him?"

Her friends laugh in the background, a short, cruel laugh.

"No..." you start, your voice failing you. "It's not like that."

"Sure, sure" she cuts you off. "A nerd like you suddenly gets the most popular guy on campus. Obviously, there's a trick to it."

She takes another step toward you. You feel even smaller. She is a couple of centimeters taller, wearing heels, and she seems to enjoy looking down on you.

Suddenly, she grabs your hair tightly and pulls it down.

"I loathe you" she spits, so close that you can feel her breath. "Stay away from Hyunjin. For your own good."

You grit your teeth, your eyes filling with tears, but you refuse to cry in front of her.

They yank your backpack off your shoulder. The cheerleader opens it and dumps all the contents onto the floor: pens, your pencil case, wallet, keys, and, worst of all, your notes.

Your hours of class, your summaries, your outlines.

Her friends laugh as she takes a stack of papers and rips it in half. Then another. And another. She lets the pages fall to the floor, torn to shreds, and steps on them. All three of them step on them. They stain the paper with the dirty water from the floor.

"This is a warning" she says, with a frozen smile. "If you don't stay away from Hyunjin, everything will get worse."

They throw the empty backpack at your chest and walk out laughing, leaving you alone.

The bathroom door slams shut. The echo resounds for a few seconds.

You let yourself drop to the floor.

Tears fall without you being able to hold them back. You try to take a deep breath, but everything is shaking: your hands, your legs, your voice which won't even come out.

You start gathering your things as best as you can. Your notes are ruined, wet, full of footprints. Some can't even be read.

You get up as best as you can, still shaking, and look up at the mirror.

You see how they left your hair messy, strands out of place, your expression distraught.

At that moment, your phone vibrates.

Hyunjin is calling you.

You look at the screen. His name. His picture. Your reflection in the mirror, with red eyes.

You let the call go to voicemail. You can't talk. Not like this.

A message comes in almost instantly.

Did you make it home? I think I'll have time tonight. Do you feel like ordering pizza and having me stop by your place to study?

You feel even smaller.

It hurts to lie to him. But you don't want him to know anything about this. You don't want to drag him into the mud with this kind of stuff. Nor do you want him to think that you can't stand up for yourself.

I can't. A coworker called in sick today and I have to cover her shift. I'm sorry.

It's a lie. But it sounds believable.

That sucks. Hope work isn't too brutal. I'll text you tomorrow, okay?

You wipe away your tears with the back of your hand, sling your nearly empty backpack over your shoulder, and walk out of the bathroom.

The next day, early in the morning, another message arrives.

I'll pick you up in 20 minutes ;)

You look at the screen for a few seconds before replying.

No need today. I have a couple of things to do before going to class. Go ahead on your own.

There is a brief silence in the chat.

…okay. See you there, then.

For the first time since you two started all of this, you are late to class.

The rain continues. You drove slower than usual. And, in truth, you also dragged everything out on purpose: the shower, breakfast, fighting with your own reflection.

You enter the classroom just as the professor is starting. You avoid looking toward your usual spot. Toward him.

You see an empty seat in the front row and sit there. You put down your backpack, taking out only the absolute essentials. You can feel Hyunjin's gaze drilling into the back of your neck from his usual spot.

You don't turn around.

As soon as the bell rings, you pack up your things at lightning speed, practically running out of the classroom before he can catch up to you.

You don't show up at the cafeteria at your usual time. You don't sit at your shared table. You take refuge anywhere else. A small dining area in the humanities building. A bench in an empty hallway. Anywhere he doesn't usually go.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, starts looking for you.

First, he asks your friends in the cafeteria.

"Where is she?" he says, his tray still in hand.

They look at each other, confused.

"We don't know" one replies. "She barely spoke in class today. She left quickly as soon as the bell rang."

A pang of worry stabs him in the stomach.

In your last class of the day, you repeat the same strategy. You sit far from where you usually do. As soon as the bell rings, you pack up your things and leave in a hurry.

What you didn't count on was that Hyunjin was waiting for you in the hallway, leaning against the wall near the door, just like other times. But this time, when you walk out and see him, you cast your eyes down and keep walking straight ahead, as if he weren't even there.

He pulls away from the wall and follows you.

"Hey" he calls out. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

You tighten your grip on your backpack strap, quickening your pace.

"Nothing" you reply, without looking at him. "I just have things to take care of. Don't worry."

"Did I do something?" he insists. "Tell me if I did something, please."

"You didn't do anything" you cut him off, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Seriously. I'm just... busy."

You keep walking. You don't give him any room to block your path. You don't want to look at his face. Because if you do, you feel like everything you've been holding back will come pouring out of your eyes.

The days go by.

And you stay the same.

Always busy. Always with something to do. A thousand excuses.

"I can't study today, I have a shift."

"I can't talk, I'm working on a project."

"Don't pick me up, I'm already here."

You give him the bare minimum in your replies. An occasional "ok," a "talk to you later." Nothing more.

You avoid his eyes in class. You switch desks whenever you can. If you know he is going to be in the cafeteria at a certain time, you go at a different one. If you see him at the end of a hallway, you take another path.

People start to whisper.

"They say they had a fight."

"He probably got tired of her."

"Or he dumped her and now she's avoiding him."

Hyunjin hears them. He doesn't respond. But every whisper makes him clench his fists a little tighter.

He watches you from afar, without understanding what happened. He mentally replays every conversation, every gesture. He can't find the mistake. And that overwhelms him even more.

At night, he writes long messages that he ends up deleting before sending. He calls your phone and hangs up on the second ring. He checks your social media, sees that you are active, that you post some silly thing with your friends, but you don't say anything to him.

He feels, for the first time in a long time, that the noise of the campus cannot drown out what truly matters to him: your silence.

And you, meanwhile, walk with your body curled inward a bit more, your hair tied up tighter than usual so no one can grab it, your stomach in a constant knot.

You try to convince yourself that you are protecting him.

That if you stay away, the cheerleader will get tired and everything will go back to normal.

But every time you see him sitting in your empty spot, turning toward the door out of habit, a part of you breaks a little more.

Hyunjin shows up at your door on a random Tuesday.

To you, it's just Tuesday. To him, it's the end of a sleepless night.

He has been there since four in the morning, sitting in his car, watching the sunrise outside your building. He doesn't plan on telling you. He just knows that if he wants to talk to you without you running away, he has to catch you before you leave for the university.

When you finally walk out, backpack on your shoulder, adjusting your jacket, you almost crash into his chest.

You jump back.

"Damn it!" you exclaim, putting your hand over your heart. "What are you doing here?"

He looks at you, bags under his eyes, but firm.

"What do you think?" he replies. "You don't take my calls, you don't answer my messages, and you ignore me on campus. I didn't know what else to do."

You cast your eyes down to the ground, to the step between you.

"I already told you" you murmur. "I'm busy with work and..."

"Look at me" he cuts you off.

You don't. You tighten your grip on your backpack strap even more. Your body tenses.

Hyunjin sighs, taking a step toward you. Gently, he reaches out his hand and places a finger under your chin. He lifts it slowly, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes are tired, but very alert.

"What happened?" he asks in a low voice. "And don't tell me nothing, because I don't believe it. You're not like this. You're hiding something from me."

Doubt reflects in your eyes. He sees it. He knows there's something. He knows it's not just "being busy."

He lowers his finger, but he doesn't take his eyes off you.

"Look" he sighs. "I don't want to pressure you if you don't want to tell me. But I'm worried. Seriously. I hate seeing you like this and..." he swallows hard, "I think I miss you."

The words hit you hard.

You think he doesn't deserve this. That he already carries too many things to have to worry about you and your problems now too.

You look him straight in the eyes. And, in the end, you choose the option you think will cause him the least harm.

"Look, Hyunjin..." you start, your voice somewhat husky. "I think... I think it's best if we stop seeing each other."

He blinks.

"You don't need me to tutor you anymore" you continue, leaving no room for silence. "You're getting better every day. You can keep going on your own. And... I think our fake relationship should end too. It seems like she hasn't approached you again, so... we don't have to keep doing this."

You see his jaw and neck tense. How something changes in his eyes, as if a door were closing.

Hyunjin says nothing for a few seconds that feel like an eternity to you. He looks to the side, then at you again. He takes a deep breath.

Inside, his mind repeats the same sentence: "You got tired. You got sick of everything that comes with being with me."

He nods just once.

"Okay" he says, with a calmness that isn't real. "If that's what you want... it's over."

He just turns around.

You watch him cross the street, getting into his car without looking back a second time. He starts the engine with a sharp turn, hits the gas, and drives away from your street, the roar of the motor sounding louder than usual.

You stand at the door, key still in hand, feeling something break inside.

You want to scream the truth at him. Run after him and tell him everything. But the only thing you do is get into your car, driving to class with a heavy heart and a burning throat.

The days turn long.

It's only now that you realize how much you enjoyed the parts of the day that revolved around him: the morning coffees, the shared notes, the walks to the car, the jokes, even the silences.

Now, he no longer sits next to you.

He goes back to his desk in the back. He talks to the people he always talked to. He laughs. He doodles in the margins of his notes. From the outside, he looks exactly like he did before.

But he doesn't look at you anymore when you walk into the classroom.

Or, if he does, he quickly looks away.

The rumors don't take long.

"They say they broke up."

"You could see it coming."

"She's not from his world."

Your friends corner you in the cafeteria.

"Is it true?" one asks, almost whispering. "Did you break up?"

You fix your gaze on your plate.

"Yes..I guess" you reply. "But I don't really feel like talking about it yet."

And that is how you avoid going into details. You avoid having to lie more than necessary.

At work, between tables, you often catch yourself looking at your phone, waiting for a message that never comes. No "how are you?", no "I almost died at practice today," no absurd photos.

It hurts to realize that everything is over. That it was brief. Intense. And that you enjoyed it more than you want to admit.

Now you are just two strangers who know too much about each other.

Hyunjin seems... fine.

Always smiling, always laughing with his friends, always letting others joke around with him. But you no longer know if it's just his usual facade or if, truly, he is fine with all of this. You start to think that, after all, for him it was just a role to play.

A favor you did for him.

And one that he passed with flying colors.

But when you remember nights in the car, laughs on your couch, his hand holding yours in the sea of lights, it's hard to believe it was all a lie. Even so, the doubt settles inside you like a thorn.

One night, you agree to go to a party.

You didn't feel like it, but your friends insist. You know Hyunjin will be there. And a part of you tells yourself that if he is going to move on with his life as usual, you have the right to do the same.

You let yourself be dragged along. You put on something comfortable, and they plant you in a house full of music, people, and laughter.

When you see him across the living room, laughing with his group, you instantly look away. You don't want him to think you are looking for him. You don't want anyone to see anything in your eyes.

You focus on your friends, on half-hearted conversations, on anything else.

Until, like a bad omen, she appears again.

The cheerleader.

"I see you listened to me" she smiles, standing right in front of you, blocking your view. "You're a smart girl. You know it's what's best for you. You're not on his level."

You tightly squeeze the water bottle in your hand. The plastic crunches. Your body tenses. You avoid looking at her directly. Your hands shake, even though you try to control it.

What you don't know is that Hyunjin has seen you two from afar.

He doesn't hear the words, but he sees how your posture changes, how you slouch your shoulders, how you avoid her gaze, how your fingers tighten around the bottle until it looks like it's going to burst.

His steps stop when a teammate says something in his ear. He pretends to listen, but his eyes keep shifting between his friend and the two of you.

Minutes later, when the cheerleader walks away from you and heads toward him with a satisfied smile, Hyunjin steps forward.

"What did you say to her?" he asks bluntly, stepping right in front of her.

She makes an exaggerated gesture of innocence.

"To whom? The loser?" she laughs. "Nothing you'd care about."

"Don't call her that" he replies, his voice more serious than usual. "She has a name."

She takes a step closer, trying to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him.

"Come on, Hyunjin" she whispers. "Nothing is standing between us now. I know you like me. Don't be an idiot."

He brushes her hands off him with a sharp gesture.

"I've told you a thousand times that I'm not interested" he stresses. "I don't want anything to do with you."

His tone leaves no room for doubt.

She takes offense.

"Are you kidding me?" she spits. "What does she have that I don't? Come on, look at her and look at yourself. You two don't match at all. That relationship was going nowhere. She was smart to listen to me."

Hyunjin catches onto that last part.

"Listen to you?" he repeats, furrowing his brow. "What are you talking about?"

The cheerleader laughs, crossing her arms.

"You seriously don't know anything?" she says, raising her eyebrows. "Wow, she's more of a coward than she seemed."

Fury begins to boil inside him.

"What did you do to her?" he insists, his voice dropping an octave.

"Me?" she feigns surprise. "Nothing. I just gave her a little advice..." she gives a crooked smile. "For her own good."

Hyunjin’s mind starts racing a mile a minute. He begins to connect the dots: your sudden distance on the exact day he wasn't there, your red eyes that day you avoided looking at him, the endless chain of excuses.

"If I find out you did something to her..." he starts.

"What? What are you going to do?" she cuts him off, provoking him.

He doesn't waste any more time.

He brushes past her without another word and throws himself into the crowd to look for you.

He finds you near the stairs, in a dimly lit corner, with your half-empty water bottle in hand, trying to go unnoticed.

"Come with me" he says, grabbing your arm gently but firmly. "We need to talk."

"Hyunjin, I..."

He doesn't give you time to finish. He is already dragging you upstairs. You go up to the second floor, where there are several closed doors. He opens one at random, checks that it's empty, and pulls both of you inside.

He shuts the door behind him.

Only then does he let you go.

"When were you going to tell me that you had trouble with her?" he asks directly, his jaw tight.

You feel your stomach drop.

"Nothing happened" you lie, almost out of reflex. "She just came to talk and..."

He laughs. A dry, incredulous laugh.

"Don't lie to me" he pleads. "She told me everything."

It's not true. But he says it to see if you give in. To see if, at last, you trust him.

You hesitate. Your eyes dart toward the door, as if there were some possible way out. There isn't. He is right there, blocking it with his body.

In the end, the air escapes your chest.

"I didn't want to tell you anything so you wouldn't worry" you start, your voice low, shaking. "You already have enough going on in your life. If I told you, you were going to lose your mind. Besides, I'm fine. In the end, she didn't do anything to me. She just... tore up my notes and pulled my hair."

Hyunjin's eyes widen.

"She did WHAT?" his voice is no longer calm.

You stare at him, confused.

"I thought..." you murmur. "You just said you knew."

"I don't know anything" he spits out, genuinely angry now. "That's why I'm here, trying to get you to tell me."

You take a step toward the doorknob, trying to dodge him.

"Just drop it, okay? It already happened."

You lean against the doorknob, but he steps forward and blocks the door with his hand.

"I'm sick of you trying to run away from me" he says, his voice tense. "And of you lying to me. I thought I could trust you, but I see you don't trust me."

"It's not that" you protest, feeling the knot in your throat grow.

"Then what the hell is it?" he raises his voice, his exhaustion and frustration finally pouring out. "I'm going crazy trying to figure out what I did wrong for us to not even say hello now."

You bite the inside of your cheek. Tears threaten to spill over.

You don't want to lie to him anymore.

You take a deep breath. And you tell him everything.

The words come tumbling out: the rainy day, the clash in the hallway, being trapped in the bathroom, the insults, the hair-pulling, the torn notes, the clear threat.

"If you stay with him, something worse is going to happen to you."

You finish with your voice breaking.

He stands in silence for a few seconds, processing it. His hands shake with rage, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turn white.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks, hurt more than angry.

"Because of that" you reply, swallowing hard. "Because I knew you'd get angry, that you'd worry. I didn't want to be another burden. I didn't want to give you another problem."

Hyunjin looks at you as if he doesn't understand how you could possibly think that.

"That wasn't yours to decide" he says, more slowly. "I'm the one who decides what I want to worry about. And you..." his eyes soften for a second, "you're my friend. Obviously, I'm going to worry about you. Always."

He runs his hands through his hair, desperate.

"You had no right to hide something like that from me" he adds, but it no longer sounds so much like a reproach as it does pain.

"She is nobody to tell you what to do" he continues. "Nor to threaten you. Nor to touch a single hair on your head."

He steps a little closer, without invading your space, but making it clear that he is there.

"If they do something to you, you tell me. If they threaten you, you tell me. Don't go keeping it to yourself ever again, okay? You're not alone. Not while I'm here."

You cast your eyes down, wiping away a stray tear with the back of your hand.

"And now what?" you ask in a low voice. "What do we do now? We haven't spoken for days. Everyone has found out. They think we broke up. We can't just pretend nothing happened."

Hyunjin lets out his breath, half-laughing without humor.

"All couples fight" he says. "It's not weird. It doesn't necessarily mean we broke up."

You look at him, skeptical.

"I don't think it's that simple this time" you murmur.

He holds your gaze for a second. Then, a smile very typical of him begins to form on his lips.

"Well" he says. "Then we'll just have to raise the stakes."

You furrow your brow.

"What do you mean?"

He takes a step toward you. Then another. The room, suddenly, feels smaller.

He slowly brings his hands to your face, as if giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. You don't. His fingers brush against your jaw, the edge of your ear. He cradles your face with care.

He leans in.

His voice brushes against your lips.

"The kissing part" he whispers. "Do you remember?"

Your heart races.

"No one is watching us right now" you manage to say. "We don't have to do it now."

Hyunjin barely smiles.

"It's fine" he replies, very close. "We're just... going to practice. So you don't get nervous when we do it in public."

And he kisses you.

At first, it's a soft touch. His lips rest against yours carefully, taking his time. There is no urgency. Just a silent question. Your body tenses for a second, out of instinct.

Then everything softens.

You cling to the fabric of his t-shirt, right at chest level, as if you needed something to hold onto. He moves closer, erasing the distance between you, his hands moving down to your neck, the back of your head, the curve of your back.

The kiss grows a bit deeper. Not aggressive. Just... more.

It's slow. Warm. As if it had been waiting to happen for a long time.

Your back gently hits the wall. He presses closer, his chest against yours, without being rough. The world outside that room turns off for a few seconds.

Until, suddenly, the door flies open.

A drunk guy stumbles in, bottle in hand.

"Sorry, I thought..." he stammers, taking in the scene.

He freezes. Then he gives a nervous laugh.

"I-I didn't see anything, I swear" he says, and practically trips over himself walking out, shutting the door again.

The moment breaks. You pull back a little, your breathing shallow and fast. Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours for a second, his hands still on your waist.

He laughs softly.

"Come on, girlfriend" he murmurs, that knowing glint back in his eyes. "We have to put on a show for that girl."

He holds out his hand to you, just like always.

You walk back down the stairs to the party, fingers intertwined. Your hair is still a little messy, your lips sensitive, his smile wider than you remember it being in days.

When you appear in the living room holding hands, his arm instinctively searching for your waist, more than a few heads turn. The voices grow louder. The rumors rewrite themselves.

And amid all that noise, there is a new certainty inside you:

It might have all started as a farce, but what you just felt in that room has nothing fake about it.

Hyunjin doesn't let go of you for a single second. The music pounds louder and louder as you approach the main room. The air is heavy with alcohol, perfume, and human warmth.

When you reach the center of the room, where everyone is dancing and drinking, he stops.

Without letting you go, he gives a gentle, soft tug to pull you closer. His free hand rests on your waist, firm, pressing you against him until there is barely any space left between your bodies. The other moves slowly up, brushing against your arm, your shoulder, until it reaches your face.

He cradles your cheek with his fingers, his thumb caressing your cheekbone.

He leans in toward you, close enough so that only you can hear him.

"Are you ready?" he whispers, a lopsided smile on his lips.

You feel the stares. You know people are watching. You know that, in some corner, more than one person is pulling out their phone.

And yet, you nod.

You close your eyes for a second and decide to just let everything happen.

Hyunjin kisses you again, just like before in the room. It isn’t a quick kiss "just for show." It is the exact same kiss: slow, careful at first, testing the waters, and then a little deeper.

Your arms move up almost on their own, wrapping around his neck, pulling him even closer. You feel him smile just a bit against your mouth before losing himself completely in the kiss.

He takes the opportunity to slide both hands down to your waist, pulling you tight against him. He sways you slightly to the rhythm of the music, as if the entire world had shrunk down to that space of two bodies fitting together perfectly.

For a moment, the eyes, the phones, and the party disappear.

There is only you, with your heart racing, and Hyunjin kissing you as if none of this were a plan, but rather something inevitable.

When you finally pull apart, your lips still close, you share the same breath for a second.

"Do you think it worked?" you ask, your voice a little huskier than usual.

He doesn't answer right away. He looks over your shoulder, in the direction where the cheerleader had been earlier.

He doesn't see her.

In fact, the spot where she used to stand, surrounded by her little entourage, is now occupied by other people. She has completely vanished from the scene.

He looks back at you, a satisfied spark in his eyes.

"I think it did" he replies.

The rest of the night feels... different.

Not so much because people are looking at you—they were already doing that before—but because you, for the first time, aren't just thinking about them.

You dance for a while longer. Sometimes close, sometimes laughing when Hyunjin exaggerates his dance moves, imitating some clumsy teammate from the squad. Someone comes over to crack a joke:

"Okay, okay, we get it, you guys are real" Jisung says, drink in hand. "You can stop rubbing your love in our faces."

"Don't be annoying" Changbin adds. "You're making me jealous and I'm getting emotional."

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side.

"Hang out with her for a bit and you'll get over it" he jokes, giving you a gentle nudge toward Changbin.

"No way" he replies, laughing. "She'll drop one line and leave me looking ridiculous again."

That draws laughs from the group. You just shake your head, but a smile stays glued to your face.

At some point, you go out onto the porch for a moment to catch some air. The music keeps playing, muffled from inside. The sky is dark, the cool air brushing against your warm skin.

Hyunjin leans against the railing, you beside him, with your eternal water bottle in hand.

"I'm sorry about earlier" he says, after a short silence. "Screaming at you. Overwhelming you."

You look at him out of the corner of your eye.

"I guess I deserved it" you reply. "I lied to you. Many times."

"That wasn't what hurt me the most" he confesses. "It was that you thought you were going to be a burden to me."

You turn fully toward him.

"You have too much on your plate" you counter. "Your dad, the scouts, practices, the scholarship... And then me, with my petty high school dramas."

"Your 'dramas'" he says, making air quotes, "consisted of someone assaulting you and threatening you. That's not drama. That's serious. And if something serious happens to you, I want to know about it. Whether I like it or not. I don't care how much I have on my plate."

A brief silence follows, softer this time.

"Besides" he adds, looking into your eyes, "you're one of the few things in my life that doesn't feel like an obligation. But rather like something... I want."

Your chest takes a gentle leap.

"Don't ever decide for me again what I can or cannot handle" he concludes, but his tone is no longer harsh, just firm. "Let me be there. Or at least choose for me not to be. But don't push me aside 'for my own good'."

You nod slowly.

"I'll try not to" you murmur.

He gives a lopsided smile.

"I'll take that as a half-yes" he jokes.

You walk back inside holding hands. You don't talk about it, you don't force it. It just... happens that way. Whenever someone looks at you too much, Hyunjin takes the opportunity to do something silly: he spins you around in the middle of the room, gives you a mini bow before offering his hand, or high-fives you when a song you both like starts playing.

The cheerleader doesn't come near you again for the rest of the night.

You see her once, in the back, talking to two girls, arms crossed, expression like stone. Her eyes meet yours for a second. This time, you are the one who doesn't look away first.

Hyunjin stays by your side. And that, for the first time, carries more weight than her disdain.

As the party goes on, the crowds begin to thin out. Some leave, others throw themselves half-asleep onto couches that aren't theirs. You end up sitting in a corner of the large sofa, barefoot with your feet tucked under you—your sandals abandoned to the side—and your head resting on Hyunjin's shoulder.

You see people pass in front of you, some already so drunk they don't even notice the scene. Others look at you with a mix of familiarity and resignation. The "campus couple," now without so much commotion.

Hyunjin idly plays with a strand of your hair, more out of habit than conscious flirting.

"Do you still think it was a mistake?" he asks suddenly, without looking at you.

"What?" you blink.

"All of this" he makes a vague gesture with his free hand, encompassing the party, the campus, your history. "The 'fake boyfriend and girlfriend' thing."

You look down at your hands, at the empty bottle.

You think about the fear, the pain, the bathroom, the torn notes. But you also think about the nights in the car by the sea, the laughter in your living room, the messages at three in the morning, the kiss in that room a little while ago.

"I don't know yet" you reply, honest. "But... I know there are things about all of this that I wouldn't change."

He nods slowly.

"Me neither" he murmurs.

When you finally decide to leave, the house is half-empty. Hyunjin automatically wraps an arm around your shoulders as you walk through the door. This time, rather than a gesture for "the gallery," it feels like a habit you have created without even realizing it.

In the car, the silence is comfortable.

"By the way, he says, starting the engine with a small smile. "You were incredible earlier."

"When?" you ask, bewildered.

"On the dance floor" he replies. "Shouting my name like you were my number one fan."

"Someone had to do it" you counter, feigning indifference.

"Right" he nods. "But I like it better when it's you."

You turn toward the window to hide the smile that slips out.

As the streetlights pass by quickly, you realize something: you haven't decided what you are now. Whether you're still "fake boyfriend and girlfriend" or something a bit more complicated. You don't know how it's going to look on campus, what new kinds of rumors will spark, or what trouble it might bring.

But for the first time in weeks, something inside you has shifted back into place.

You are no longer running away.

And, in a way you still don't quite dare to put into words, you are now walking in the same direction. Together. Even if you still don't really know where you're headed.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme @hiraelis @0felixsfreckles0

The days pass and, little by little, the campus seems to get used to the idea of the two of you being a couple. There aren't as many whispers anymore when people see you get out of Hyunjin’s car or when you sit together in the cafeteria. The stares are still there, but they just become part of the background.

The routine settles in.

He picks you up in the mornings, you help him with Statistics, you eat lunch together every now and then, you go to class, and you talk on the phone some nights. Every day you feel more comfortable with each other. So much so, that sometimes you forget everything started as a "plan."

Hyunjin starts missing a couple of classes with you due to extra practices. The next game is important and the coach has doubled the sessions. You know it, he knows it, but you still agree to keep meeting at the library three afternoons a week.

One of those afternoons, you are sitting at your usual table. The clock reads 5:00 PM, the time you had agreed on. You start reviewing your own notes while you wait. At 5:15 PM, you check your phone. Nothing. At 5:30 PM, you look back at the door every time it opens. Hyunjin doesn't show up.

At 6:00 PM, you close your notebook with a soft snap. You start packing your things into your backpack. You’re tired. And angry.

Just as you swing your backpack over your shoulder, the library door bursts open. Hyunjin walks in almost running, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, wearing the team jersey.

"No, no, no" he says, as soon as he sees you. "Don't leave. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for being late."

He stands right in front of you, breathing heavily.

"You could have sent me a text, at least" you reply, your voice cold. "I've been here for an hour. I have to go to work."

You see his expression fall a bit.

"I know" he says quickly. "I'm really sorry. The coach kept us in there longer, the game is coming up, it's really important… we have to practice a lot."

"I get it" you cut him off. "But that's no excuse either. I have dreams to chase too, Hyunjin. I spend my free hours tutoring you, and it feels like you're not taking it seriously."

He opens his mouth, clenching his fists inside his pockets.

"I am taking it seriously," he insists. "It's just… sometimes I can't handle everything. I'm trying to,,"

"Then just let me know" you snap. "That's all."

You walk past him without brushing against him. You feel his eyes locked on your back as you leave the library.

Later, while you're at work, wearing your apron and clearing tables, your phone vibrates in your pocket.

I'm so sorry about today. Really. I'll try to always let you know whenever I can't make it.

You stare at it for a few seconds. You don't reply. Not yet.

The next day, you arrive at the Statistics classroom as usual, about ten minutes early. And there he is.

Asleep.

He is leaning over the desk, his head resting on his arms, his mouth slightly open. His hair falls over his forehead, and his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. He breathes deeply and slowly.

You approach quietly. You put down your backpack in silence. You remember that he works too. That his practices have doubled. That some nights he sends you messages with doubts about the exercises almost at three in the morning.

You place your notebook in front of you and take out your pens. You look at him for a moment.

You decide not to wake him up.

The professor walks in, looks at Hyunjin with a raised eyebrow, but says nothing. The class begins. You take notes. A lot of them. More than you actually need, thinking that you will have to explain them to him later.

Hyunjin doesn't move for the entire hour.

Only when the bell rings to end the class does he jump, as if a gun had gone off right next to him.

"What time is it?" he murmurs, disoriented, running a hand through his hair.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, looks at the screen, and blinks.

"I swear the last time I checked it was five-thirty" he stammers. "What do you mean it's ten...?"

He looks at you. He sits up abruptly.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asks, incredulous.

You close your notebook calmly.

"Because you looked tired" you reply. "I took notes. I'll explain them to you later."

He presses his lips together, as if he doesn't know whether to feel grateful or guilty.

"I have practice again today" he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll only have time tonight. Is that okay with you...?"

You think about your work shift, about your own things. And you think about him collapsing from sleep on a desk.

"It's fine" you nod. "After practice."

That afternoon, as the sun is already setting, you sit in the stadium bleachers with your notes on your lap. The air is cold, but bearable. From up there, you can see everything.

Hyunjin runs, ducks, catches, dodges. He is focused, serious. Nothing like the guy who falls asleep over books. Here, he is something else: fast, precise, intense. Jumps, tackles, shouts from the coach, instructions. You can tell it's his passion. This is where he truly breathes.

You can't help but look at him more than at your notes.

Around nine o'clock, practice ends. The rest of the team starts dispersing toward the locker rooms. You stay in your spot, waiting for him.

Hyunjin comes running up the stairs of the bleachers, his hair still damp from a quick shower, sweatshirt in hand, his t-shirt clinging to his chest from his body heat.

As soon as he reaches your side, without a second thought, he pulls the sweatshirt over your head.

"You're crazy for waiting for me out here" he says, still breathing a bit heavily. "You could have waited for me in the car. You're going to freeze."

You adjust the sweatshirt, which is still warm from his body.

"I'm not that weak" you reply. "And I have light here. We wouldn't be able to see anything in the car."

You pause.

"We could go to a 24hour diner" you suggest. "Study for a bit, get something to eat. You must be starving."

His eyes light up.

"Yes, please" he answers almost instantly. "I'm starving."

He drives to one of those diners that never close, with slightly dreary white lights but hot coffee and empty tables.

The two of you sit by the window. He orders a huge sandwich and some pasta. You opt for something lighter, knowing you’ll end up giving him half of yours anyway.

You spread the notes across the table, turning them so he can see.

"Today we covered this" you start explaining to him. "Regressions, correlations, blah, blah." You mark the examples for him. "Look at these two, they're the most important ones."

He seems to understand it better than other times. He asks more specific questions, jotting things down in his own notebook. He tells you that he’s been studying more during whatever gaps he can find: between practices, during slow moments at work, at home before going to sleep.

And honestly, it shows.

When you finish the study session, he drops his pen onto the table.

"My brain is fried" he complains, putting his hands over his face.

You find it funny, but at the same time, you notice he's restless, acting a bit strange, as if there's something else weighing on his mind.

"What's wrong?" you ask. "You're... nervous today."

He stares at his glass of water for a few seconds.

"The next game" he admits. "Scouts are coming."

He looks up at you, as if that said it all.

"Scouts?" you repeat.

He nods.

"People from big programs" he explains. "Coaches and recruiters from universities with strong teams, the people who decide which players get to move up, enter more professional programs, qualify for more serious sports scholarships." He runs a hand through his hair, an automatic gesture when he’s overwhelmed. "I have to play better than ever. I’ll have a thousand eyes on me. If I do well, I could be closer to getting a really good scholarship. The kind that gives me enough breathing room to keep doing this without depending so much on my father."

You understand. Even more pressure on his shoulders.

Without thinking too much about it, you reach your hand across the table until you catch his.

"You're going to do great" you say, looking him in the eye. "You're one of the best players I've ever seen."

He arches an eyebrow. And for the first time tonight, you see the usual Hyunjin peek through.

"So you've been watching me, Miss Nerd" he teases.

You pull your hand back, laughing and giving him a light swat.

"You are impossible."

But you say it affectionately.

The following days pass by in a whirlwind.

The two of you decide to skip the tutoring sessions that week. You want him to focus entirely on practice, on sleeping whenever he can, and on making it to the game alive.

You see him running from one place to another: gym in the mornings, class, more gym, and practice on the field until late. The messages are reduced to "I made it back alive" and some silly sticker whenever he has a spare minute.

The day of the game arrives.

The entire campus seems to have poured its energy into the stadium. Flags, t-shirts, face paint on people's cheeks. You go along with the others to support the team too.

You are wearing the team jersey. His jersey. On the back, his last name and his number: 04. You put it on in front of the mirror with a bit of self-consciousness, but now, among so many people, you feel like part of something.

The game is intense from the very first minute. The rivals aren't making it easy. You see Hyunjin run, catch, and dodge impossible tackles. The scouts are high up in the bleachers with their notebooks, caps, and watchful eyes.

During an especially rough play, an opponent tackles him badly. He is brought down hard and hits the ground.

The entire stadium falls dead silent.

Hyunjin doesn't get up.

You bolt to your feet, your hand gripping the railing in front of you. You hold your breath. You see his teammates approach, then the referee, then the physio. Finally, with some help, they manage to get him up.

When he stands at last, the entire stadium erupts into cheers, applause, and shouts. Relief washes over the bleachers like a wave.

You can't help yourself.

"LET'S GO, HYUNJIN! YOU'VE GOT THIS!" you scream as loud as you can.

He turns his head, as if your voice stood out among all the others. For a second, through his helmet, you'd swear you see him smile. He pulls down his visor and steps back into position.

In the end, after one final, agonizing effort, they win.

The final whistle blows. The stadium explodes. People are jumping, hugging, chanting the team's name—and his name.

Many head down to the field to congratulate the players. You do too.

You push your way through the crowd, dodging sweaty bodies and flags. You search for him with your eyes.

The moment he spots you, he heads straight toward you, ignoring the people who had approached to congratulate him. There is mud on his legs, sweat on his forehead, and his breathing is heavy.

He lifts you into his arms with ease, wrapping his hands around your waist. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You were incredible!" you shout at him, laughing, the adrenaline still rushing through your body.

"Because you cheered for me" he replies, with that smile that completely disarms you.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. The noise of the stadium fades into a distant murmur. You could swear he leans in just a fraction toward you when…

Flash.

"This is going to look great as the front page of the newspaper!" the voice of the guy from the uni paper says, camera in hand. "The captain celebrating the victory with his girlfriend!"

You blink. Hyunjin bursts out laughing.

"Great" you murmur, turning your head toward him. "I think you should put me down before they take any more pictures."

He shrugs.

"And why does it matter?" he says, still laughing. "We're dating, aren't we?"

Even so, he carefully lowers you back down. Your feet touch the grass, which is a bit slippery. You give him a gentle push on the chest.

"Go" you tell him. "They're waiting to interview you, congratulate you, and all that."

Hyunjin looks at you, as if he doesn't really want to leave your side.

"Promise me you'll wait for me outside" he asks.

You nod.

"I'll wait for you by the car."

He smiles from ear to ear.

"Deal" he says, and runs off toward where they are calling him, still looking back before disappearing among cameras and makeshift microphones.

Almost an hour passes.

You are leaning against Hyunjin’s car, the jersey with his name on it a bit damp from the night chill, an open book in your hands. People are slowly leaving the stadium. Laughter, songs, the occasional car starting up.

"I can't believe you're reading" you suddenly hear, right in front of you, "when your boyfriend, the campus star, is right here."

You look up. He's there, his hair still damp from the shower, clean clothes, a tired but brilliant smile.

You close the book and roll your eyes, laughing.

"It's so it doesn't get to your head too much" you reply.

He laughs, pulling the keys out of his pocket.

"Too late for that" he teases.

The two of you get into the car. Him at the wheel, you in the passenger seat. The engine purrs as soon as he turns it on.

"Everyone is heading to a bar to celebrate" he mentions, looking at the road. "Are you up for it?"

You hesitate.

"I'd have to change..." you murmur, looking down at your oversized jersey with his name and number.

Hyunjin turns slightly toward you, resting his arm on the back of your seat, leaning in closer than usual.

"I think you look great in that jersey" he says, with a sincerity that makes your heart skip a beat.

You blush a little.

"Alright," you agree. "Let's go."

The moment you walk into the bar, the noise swallows you whole. Loud music, glasses clinking, people singing. Hyunjin barely takes two steps with you before he's pulled away.

"Captain!" someone shouts, throwing an arm around him.

Another hangs off his neck. Another pats him on the back. Within seconds, he is surrounded. They press a drink into his hand, and someone yells, "Speech!"

You step back a bit, giving him his space. You watch him from a slight distance, a smile on your lips.

Hyunjin raises his glass.

"Thanks for coming" he says, his voice a bit raspy from all the shouting on the field. "Thanks for putting up with practices, lectures, hours and hours of work." He looks at his teammates, then scans the room with his eyes. "Tonight, we all won. But this..." he raises his glass a little higher, "is just the beginning."

Everyone toasts, cheers, and drinks.

That night, for the first time in a while, Hyunjin lets himself drink a bit more. There are no major games right around the corner. He can finally let loose. You watch him with a mix of tenderness and worry.

"Enjoy your night, don't worry" you tell him, touching his arm. "I'll drive."

He looks at you, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"You're the best" he replies.

And he heads right back into the chaos of jokes, drinks flying back and forth, and victory songs. He looks happy. Truly. Among his friends, laughing so hard he's bending over, just letting loose.

Until, as expected, he ends up drunk.

Between Chan, Changbin, and you, you manage to drag him—literally—to the car. He laughs at absolutely everything, sings snippets of half-learned songs, and babbles something about how "you're his lucky charm."

"Do you know where he lives?" Chan asks, once you're out in the parking lot.

Your mind goes blank.

"No" you admit. "I've never been to his house."

They look at each other. Neither of them seems sober enough to drive all the way to the outskirts of the city, where his family lives.

You look at Hyunjin, his head resting against the seatback, his eyes half-closed.

You make a decision.

"I'll take him" you say. "To my place."

For the first time, you are grateful to live alone. Even if your apartment is tiny.

The ride is short. Hyunjin is half-asleep, mumbling incoherent things. You park in front of your building. You give his shoulder a few light taps.

"Come on, star" you tell him. "Up you get."

Between gentle shoves, drunken giggles, and a lot of effort, you manage to get him up the stairs and into your apartment. You open the door and guide him to your bedroom.

The moment he sees the bed, he collapses flat on his back, not caring about anything else. Your sheets suddenly look far too small with him taking up all the space.

You find it funny. A part of you even softens at the sight.

You leave a bottle of water on the nightstand next to the lamp.

You grab a pillow and a blanket from the closet and head down to the living room. The couch is narrow, but it's enough for you. You curl up and wrap yourself in the blanket.

Before closing your eyes, you think about how surreal everything is: the captain of the rugby team, the campus star, sleeping in your bed; and you, on the couch in your own living room.

And yet, you fall asleep quickly.

The next morning, he is the first person to wake up.

Hyunjin opens his eyes slowly. The first thing he notices is that he doesn't recognize the ceiling. It's not his room. It's not his house. He sits up a little. He looks around.

Light-colored walls, a couple of bookshelves, a poster or two. It smells like cheap soap and distant coffee, not like the expensive cologne at his house. The bed is smaller than what he's used to. And the decor... definitely feminine.

He curses silently to himself.

"Great. Again," he thinks. "You slept with someone again and you don't even remember how you got here."

He rubs his hand over his face, frustrated. He gets out of bed and looks for his sneakers. He leaves the bedroom silently, trying not to make a sound.

He walks down the stairs.

And then he sees you.

You are curled up on the couch, tucked into a ball under a blanket, breathing peacefully. Your hair is messy against the pillow, with a stray lock crossing your face. The morning light streams through the window, falling right on you.

Hyunjin stands completely still for a moment, frozen in his tracks.

A smile forms on his lips all on its own.

He approaches quietly. He kneels down in front of you. Carefully, he reaches out his hand and brushes away the lock of hair covering half your face, tucking it behind your ear.

He takes a closer look at you.

Your long eyelashes resting on your cheeks, your small nose, your full lips relaxed. The oversized t-shirt you're wearing, the peaceful expression you almost never have when you're awake.

He hears you shift slightly. He pulls back quickly, as if he’d been caught stealing something. He straightens up and clears his throat.

He decides to take a quick look around your place. He finds the bathroom, washes his face with cold water, and looks at himself in the mirror, taking in his dark circles and his messy hair. He looks like a pretty human mess.

When he steps out of the bathroom, he heads to the small kitchen. He opens a couple of cabinets until he finds mugs, instant coffee, some bread, and eggs. He starts preparing breakfast with movements that are still slow, but determined.

The smell of hot coffee wakes you up.

You blink, disoriented at first. You sit up on the couch, taking in the blanket and the living room. You remember last night. Drunk Hyunjin. Guiding him up to your room.

And then you hear him bustling around in the kitchen.

You get up just in time to see his broad back facing the stove. He’s wearing your sweatshirt—the one you gave back to him that night at the field—his hair is a mess, and he’s moving with a familiarity that surprises you in your own home.

"Good morning" he says, without turning around just yet. "I hope you like semi-drinkable coffee. It's the best I could do with what I found."

The scene hits you with a mix of tenderness and vertigo.

You had never, ever imagined the most popular guy on campus, the team captain, right there in your tiny kitchen, making breakfast as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And yet… there he was.

Returning to the university after the game is like walking with someone who has a spotlight shining on them; people keep congratulating Hyunjin everywhere you go.

"Captain, incredible game the other day!"

"Hyunjin, the scouts couldn't take their eyes off you, man."

"You're a beast, bro."

He smiles, says thank you, and hands out hugs and pats on the back, but he always ends up returning to your side, brushing against your hand, and picking up your backpack without even asking.

Amidst all the congratulations, the two of you agree on one thing: it’s time to focus on exams.

Your apartment becomes, almost without planning it, your base.

The library and the diners are fine, but your living room, as small as it is, is the quietest place. You start spending more hours there: the low table piled with notes, pens, the laptop open, and half-empty coffee mugs.

Many times, Hyunjin shows up with bags of food.

"I brought dinner" he announces, walking in with boxes of Chinese takeout. "The brain doesn't work without carbs, teach."

Or he orders something through apps, looking guilty but happy.

It doesn’t all turn into studying. Between blocks of problems and summaries, you take little breaks. You use the time to watch an episode of a series, debate whether a character is an idiot or a genius, and laugh at absurd commercials.

Halfway through an improvised marathon, you realize how natural it feels to be with him on your couch, sharing a blanket, debating crazy theories… as if you had been doing it your entire life.

One day, Hyunjin doesn't go to class.

He tells you the day before:

"Tomorrow I have my medical and physical tests," he explains. "You know, a general check-up to see what kind of shape we're in. If they find any weird injury or anything that violates health regulations, they can disqualify me. Me, or anyone else on the team."

So, that day you drive to the university by yourself. The weather isn’t helping. It's cold, the sky is gray, and it's raining on and off. You haven't even reached the campus yet, and you're already wishing the day was over.

Classes drag on with that damp heaviness typical of rainy days.

During a break, a photo arrives.

It's Hyunjin, lying on a stretcher with electrodes stuck to his chest and arms, making a dramatic face.

Look at me. I'm a robot. How's your day going, teach? And be careful driving in this rain, seriously.

You can't help but smile looking at your phone.

You reply with a comment about how ridiculous he looks and head back to class.

You finally leave the university late in the afternoon, phone in hand, still smiling at the last text he sent you: a photo of his heart rate on a screen with the text "my heart beats for statistics (just kidding, for you)."

You are so distracted that you bump right into someone in the exit hallway.

Your stomach drops when you see who it is.

The days following the party, before heading back to the routine of classes, Hyunjin and you talk on the phone almost every night.

The moment you pick up, there isn't even a normal hello.

"Hey, fake girlfriend" he greets, laughing.

You roll your eyes even though he can't see it.

"Don't ever call me that again" you murmur, "or we're calling off the plan before it even starts."

"Ooh, what an attitude..." he teases. "Well, with that tone, it's actually going to look way more real, you know?"

Even so, a tiny laugh slips out of your nose.

You talk about the plan. About how you're supposed to make everyone believe you're a couple.

"We have to go all out pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend" he says, as if he were designing a game strategy. "Cute nicknames, holding hands, sitting together, walking each other everywhere..."

"I am not calling you 'honey'" you cut him off. "Let's start there."

"We'll see" he replies, amused. "And at some point, we're going to have to kiss."

You stay silent for a second.

"One step at a time" you end up saying, your voice a bit flatter than you intended. "First things first. When that moment comes... we'll see."

He makes a thoughtful sound on the other end of the line.

"Whatever you say, tutor." A pause. "I'll pick you up for class tomorrow."

"No need, I have a car" you answer right away.

"No" he counters quickly. "We can't go in separate cars. We have to arrive and leave together. We're going to be the campus's new couple now, and people need to believe it."

You sigh, staring at the ceiling of your room.

"Fine" you concede. "But if you're late, I'll kill you."

"Just admit it" he says, smiling even if you can't see him. "You're dying to have your gorgeous boyfriend waiting for you at the door."

"Hang up already, Hyunjin."

He says goodbye, still laughing.

The next day, your phone vibrates.

I'm outside ;)

You check the time.

And curse.

You grab your backpack and practically bolt out of the house. The moment you see his car parked there, a mix of fury and nerves rushes straight to your face. You walk quickly around the car before throwing the passenger door open.

Hyunjin watches you from the driver's seat, completely calm, a playful smirk on his face.

"Good morning to you too, demanding girlfriend" he greets you. "Look at that: your wonderful boyfriend went out to get your coffee before picking you up."

His body is turned toward you, one arm resting on your seat's headrest, the other holding your usual cup.

You ignore the coffee for a second.

"Hyunjin, do you even know what time it is?" You glare at him.

He smiles, completely unfazed.

"Relax. It's all part of the plan. We can't just show up at six in the morning when nobody's around. The campus needs to be packed with people so that when we arrive, everyone can see us."

It pisses you off. But he's right. You clench your jaw, take a deep breath, grab the coffee cup, and buckle your seatbelt.

"If I fail because of your nonsense..." you murmur, taking a sip.

He starts the car, still smiling.

During the drive to the university, you notice your hands are sweating. You wipe them on your jeans, stare out the window, and bite a fingernail.

Hyunjin notices immediately.

"Hey" he says, without taking his eyes off the road. "Relax. Just be natural. They're going to buy it."

You turn slightly to look at him.

"I'm not nervous."

"Sure you aren't" he replies softly. "You're biting your nails. And you never bite your nails."

You fall silent.

"If this makes you that nervous, we can just forget about it" he adds, his tone turning more serious. "It's fine. I'll figure something else out."

You shake your head, almost automatically.

"I promised I'd help you" you say. "I'm not backing out."

A smirk plays on his lips as he looks back at the road ahead.

"Okay, fake girlfriend" he murmurs. "Then let's do this right."

By the time Hyunjin’s car pulls into the campus parking lot, it’s already packed with people. Groups are leaning against cars, others are walking toward the buildings—backpacks, laughter, noise everywhere.

You can feel the stares even before you step out.

He parks in his usual spot. He kills the engine and turns toward you, studying your face for a second.

"Ready?" he asks.

You don't trust your own voice, so you just nod.

You get out of the car. You notice a nearby group immediately turn to look. The whispers start floating through the air like mosquitoes.

Hyunjin walks around the car and waits for you to catch up to him.

When you are close enough, he slides your backpack off your shoulder with a swift movement.

"Hey" you protest, but he has already swung it over his own shoulder next to his.

With his free arm, he pulls you by the shoulders, drawing you close to his side.

Your body goes stiff as a board.

He notices instantly. He lowers his head slightly, bringing his lips close to your ear.

"Relax, or nobody's going to buy it" he whispers in a low voice. "Trust me."

You take a deep breath. You try to drop your shoulders, to loosen up. He feels the shift. A tiny smile plays on his lips.

He runs his other hand through your hair, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. He does it calmly, with a familiarity that makes your stomach flip.

"Let's go, girlfriend" he says, loud enough for those nearby to hear.

And you set off.

You walk through the parking lot together. Hyunjin keeps his arm draped over your shoulder, his other hand in his pocket, casually greeting everyone you cross paths with.

"Hey, man" he says, high-fiving someone.

"Morning, professor" he greets another, giving a quick wink.

You, on the other hand, keep your eyes glued to the ground almost the entire time. You feel the eyes of half the university locked onto you. They whisper. They point. You catch your name mixed with his coming from other people's mouths.

It’s overwhelming. But you keep walking.

Inside the main building, Hyunjin doesn't let go. He walks by your side all the way to your locker as if he’d been doing it forever.

"Remind me of my schedule" he says, leaning next to you while you pull out a folder. "We have different classes now, right?"

"You have..." you run through it mentally, "Training Theory. I have Sociology. Then we share Statistics."

"Perfect" he nods. "I'll see you in class later, then."

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if remembering something, and takes a step back to leave.

But before he does, he leans in toward you.

His lips brush your cheek in a soft kiss. It’s neither long nor loud. Just... firm and natural. As if he had done it a thousand times before.

The world freezes around you for a second.

When he pulls away, he winks at you.

"I'll find you later" he says, turning around.

You stand frozen on the spot, the folder pressed tight against your chest, your cheek burning right where his lips touched you.

A locker door slams shut next to you and you jump. Your friend appears, her eyes completely wide.

"You" she points toward the door Hyunjin just walked through, then at you, "owe me an explanation. Now."

You swallow hard.

"What explanation?" you try to buy some time.

"What were you doing getting out of the car with Hwang Hyunjin's arm around you, and now getting a kiss on the cheek right in the middle of the hallway?" She crosses her arms. "Don't you dare give me the 'it's a group project' excuse."

You close your locker slowly.

"It's a long story" you say, avoiding her eyes. "I'll tell you later, okay? I don't want to be late for class."

It’s not entirely a lie. But more than anything, you need time.

Time to come up with a semi-coherent story about how you two "started dating"—something you can both back up. Something you completely forgot to discuss.

The hours pass in a blur of notes and curious glances. You feel like everyone else knows something you are still desperately trying to process.

Finally, the class you share with Hyunjin arrives.

You sit in your usual spot, pull out your notebook and your pencil case. The classroom starts filling up. Hyunjin is nowhere to be seen. You check the clock. The professor walks in and gets ready to start.

Just as he's about to begin, the door flies open.

Hyunjin walks in, a bit out of breath, his hair a little messy. He looks at the professor.

"Sorry" he says, with a quick nod. "Traffic."

A few people chuckle. He crosses the room without asking for permission, heading straight for you. He drops into the seat right next to yours, just like always.

"Hey, babe" he greets you, without lowering his voice. "How were your classes?"

You feel a sudden urge to crawl under the desk.

You notice a couple of heads turn. Three. Four.

"Good" you reply seriously, a bit flustered, staring intently at your notebook.

Hyunjin bursts out laughing. His laughter echoes through the entire classroom. More people turn around. You feel the heat rushing up your neck and straight to your face.

"Seriously..." he whispers, still chuckling, leaning in toward you. "You are terrible at pretending nothing's going on."

"Shut up" you mutter through clenched teeth.

The class goes on amid exercises and the occasional note he passes you under the desk—this time with hearts drawn on them just to mess with you.

When the bell rings, you start packing your things quickly, anxious to get out of that constant spotlight.

Hyunjin stands up and, before you can take a step, offers you his hand, open and waiting for you.

"Let's go" he says.

You look at him, confused.

"Where?"

"To the cafeteria. Together."

"No" you answer, almost automatically. "I always sit with my friends."

He tilts his head slightly, as if reminding you of something obvious.

"You're my girlfriend now" he says, lowering his voice but keeping his smile. "You have to show up with me and sit with my friends. Otherwise, they won't buy it."

The mere idea terrifies you. Being in the middle of their table, surrounded by his friends, their curious glances, their inside jokes. Feeling even more eyes on you.

You open your mouth to refuse again. But then you remember the rugby field at midnight, his father, his scholarship, the promise you made him.

You sigh.

You slide your hand into his.

"Just for today" you murmur.

Hyunjin gives your fingers a gentle squeeze, as if to say thank you.

"We'll see about that" he says, winking at you.

And you walk out of the classroom together, your hand intertwined with his, heading straight into the eye of the storm.

The moment you step into the cafeteria, you feel as if someone has hit the "mute" button on the world.

Voices drop. The usual hum of plates, chairs, and laughter goes quiet for a few seconds. People stop whatever they are doing just to stare toward the door.

Wow.

So this is the effect of "dating" Hwang Hyunjin.

He keeps walking as if it’s nothing, your hand held firmly in his, like he has everything under complete control. You, on the other hand, can feel your heart in your throat. Without realizing it, you squeeze his hand tighter.

So tight, in fact, that he leans down toward you, bringing his lips close to your ear.

"If you keep squeezing my hand like that, I'm going to lose it" he whispers, amused. "And trust me, I need it."

You let go instantly, practically jumping away.

"I'm sorry, my bad, I didn't realize, it's just that I..."

Hyunjin bursts out laughing. His laughter echoes across the cafeteria. Several tables look in your direction. Suddenly, it clicks—you realize exactly why he laughs so much whenever you're about to die of embarrassment:

To make all the attention look like an inside joke, rather than a sign of your nervousness.

He confirms it with what he does next.

He catches you by the waist, drawing you a little closer to him.

"Babe, you're so funny" he says out loud, his tone warm and affectionate.

A couple of people nearby let out a small chuckle. Someone whispers something along the lines of, "Are they actually together?"

You swallow hard and let him guide you over to his table.

His group takes up almost an entire row of chairs. Half-eaten food, messy trays, loud laughter. You recognize a few of them by sight: Chan, Changbin, Jisung... the core of the team.

"Hey" Hyunjin greets them, letting go of your waist just so he can sit down. "Everyone, officially meet my girlfriend."

The word drops onto the table like a stone into a lake. Everyone stares at you. Some with interest, some with disbelief, others with pure curiosity.

Changbin is the first to speak. Direct, with no filter.

"Seriously?" He blinks. "You haven't had a girlfriend since we were in middle school." He looks you up and down. "Besides, no offense, nerd, but you're not exactly his type."

A few people let out an awkward chuckle.

You lift your head, locking your eyes onto his.

"I have a name" you say coldly. "Don't call me nerd. Otherwise, I'll just start calling you 'muscle-head'."

There’s a second of silence.

And then, the table explodes with laughter.

Changbin raises his hands in surrender, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Okay, okay" he concedes. "I like her. She's got attitude."

Hyunjin leans over the table, looking incredibly proud.

"See? That's why I like her" he announces, giving your knee a affectionate little tap under the table.

You look down at your plate to hide a half-smile.

To your surprise, lunch goes by... pretty normally.

The guys spend most of the time talking about rugby, the next big game, upcoming parties, gym schedules, and who broke their deadlift record. You feel a bit out of place, but not uncomfortable.

Through it all, Hyunjin keeps his attention on you.

"Here" he opens your water bottle before you can even reach for it.

Later, seeing that you’ve barely touched your food, he gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

"Eat" he murmurs, his tone serious for a split second. "Or you're going to pass out in the middle of class, and I'll end up getting blamed for it."

You listen to him. A little bit.

The day feels long, packed with noise, comments, and lingering stares. But all things considered, it goes by without any real drama. Just that constant buzz of being "noticed" that you are still trying to process.

When you walk out of your last class, packing away your notes, you see him.

Hyunjin is leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed, looking as if he just happened to be there by chance. But his eyes light up the moment he catches sight of you.

"Right on time" he says, straightening up. "I'm here to take my girlfriend home. I'm a gentleman, you know?"

You only offer a faint smile in response. You let him take your backpack once again. He swings it over his shoulder next to his own, as if that image—him carrying everything—had already become second nature.

You walk together to the parking lot. The afternoon air already smells like the end of the day.

He tosses both backpacks into the back seat and gets behind the wheel. You settle into the passenger seat. Once inside, before starting the engine, he turns toward you.

"It wasn't that horrible, was it?" he asks.

You think about it for a second.

"No" you admit. "It’s just... I feel like people actually know I exist now. And I don't know how you can constantly handle everyone watching every single thing you do."

He rests his arm on the steering wheel, looking at you with a sad smile.

"Now you get me, don't you?" he says. "Constantly living behind a facade, just so they don't talk too much... just so they don't make up even worse things."

You nod slowly.

You feel sorry for him.

And angry.

Because behind it all, you see the guy who blows off steam on an empty field at midnight, not the campus-celebrity cliché. And you feel like he doesn't deserve to carry the weight of that image all the time.

Hyunjin starts the car, and you take the road back to your house.

"We're missing one thing" you say, looking out the window.

"What's that?" he asks.

"We don't have a coherent story about how we started dating" you explain. "Everyone is asking me. They're going to ask you, too. If we tell different versions, they won't buy it."

He falls silent, thinking it over for a few seconds.

"We could just tell the truth: that you couldn't resist me" he suggests, completely deadpan.

You give him a playful swat on the arm.

"Shut up, idiot."

He groans, rubbing the spot where you hit him, completely exaggerating.

"Hey, I'm driving" he protests. "Do you want us to die now that we finally have an official relationship?"

You both end up laughing.

In the end, amid all the joking around, you come to the most logical conclusion.

"Because we spend so much time together, we started liking each other" you summarize. "You asked me out and... that's how all this started."

"Sounds reasonably cheesy" he admits. "Perfect."

There’s a short silence. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

"There's a huge party on Friday" he adds after a moment. "You have to go. Ideally, we should show up together as a couple." He glances at you for a split second. "You're the rugby captain's girlfriend. You need to be there with me."

You aren't exactly thrilled. Just thinking about it wears you out. But you know it's part of the deal. The plan. What you agreed to.

You sigh.

"Fine" you reply. "I'll go."

The next few days follow an almost mechanical pattern.

Hyunjin picks you up in the morning and drops you off in the afternoon. The rumors spread even further. The cheerleader glares at you every single time you walk past. You can practically feel her hatred burning the back of your neck.

Your friends, on the other hand, are giving you absolutely no peace.

They corner you at a library table, in the restroom, in class.

"We want every single detail" one of them says, leaning her elbows on the table. "Since when? How? Who made the first move?"

You tell them the agreed-upon story. You talk about the tutoring sessions, the quiet mornings, how you "realized" you liked him, and how he asked you out for coffee.

They narrow their eyes.

"That doesn't sound like Hyunjin" one murmurs.

"That's exactly why it's believable" you reply, trying to sound convincing.

They still look doubtful, but you push through. They can't know the truth. You can't risk the whole thing falling apart over a crack in the story.

Friday arrives.

Hyunjin drops you off at your house just like always. He parks, and you grab your backpack from the back seat.

"I'll pick you up around nine, okay?" he says, rolling down the passenger window and leaning across the seat to get a better look at you.

"Okay" you nod.

You go up to your apartment.

And the war begins.

You spend almost the entire afternoon opening your closet, shutting it, trying things on, and tossing them onto the bed. You know you can't just wear "whatever" to show up next to Hyunjin at a party where everyone is going to be staring.

In the end, you do the only thing that makes sense: you call your best friend.

"I need help" you say the second she picks up.

It doesn't even take her twenty minutes to show up at your place with a backpack that looks like she's fleeing the country.

She dumps it out on your bed. Out come tight pants, micro-skirts, and dresses that reveal way more than they cover.

"No way in hell am I wearing any of that" you protest, pinching a skirt made of about two inches of fabric between your fingers.

"You are going to a party with Hyunjin" she reminds you, completely ruthless. "You have to be on his level. Everyone is going to be watching you two. You can't just go in jeans and a hoodie."

"What's wrong with my jeans?" you mutter.

She ignores you.

In the end, she manages to get you to compromise on a black dress. It’s simple, with no glitter or extra details, but it hugs your body and features a neckline you usually make an effort to hide under baggy clothes.

You look at yourself in the mirror and feel way too... exposed.

"I look weird" you confess.

"You look incredible" she corrects you. "And it's just for one night, it's fine."

You slide into a pair of heeled sandals. The moment you take two steps, you're convinced you're going to twist an ankle before you even reach the front door of the party. Even so, you force yourself to practice walking up and down the hallway a bit.

You pick out a leather jacket "just in case it gets chilly," but deep down, you know it's really just another layer of armor. Something to cover yourself up a little.

Your friend styles your hair: down, with some soft waves. Then, a bit of makeup: a clear gloss that makes your lips pop, some blush to bring life to your cheeks, and an eyeliner that defines your eyes without making you feel like you're wearing a costume.

When you're all done and you look at yourself in the mirror... you hardly recognize yourself.

But, for the first time, instead of pure discomfort, you feel something else.

You look good.

Different.

But good.

At 9:00 p.m. sharp, your phone vibrates.

I'm outside.

You take one last deep breath in front of the mirror. You grab your jacket, your small purse, and your keys.

You walk down the stairs carefully, silently cursing the heels.

Hyunjin is leaning against his car, distractedly checking his phone. He's wearing a dark t-shirt, a denim jacket, and his hair is pulled back in a messy yet perfect way. The moment he looks up and sees you, his phone ceases to exist.

His eyes travel up and down your body, making no effort to hide it.

His eyes widen just a fraction.

"Wow..." he murmurs. "You look... you look spectacular."

You feel the heat rushing to your face.

"Thanks" you say, a bit flustered. "I had to live up to the great Hwang Hyunjin's level, right?"

He takes two steps closer. Instead of making some random joke, he gently takes you by the wrist, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes are serious, gleaming under the streetlight.

"You don't have to live up to anyone's level" he says slowly. "You're already incredible."

Those words catch you off guard way more than any cheap, flirty comment he could have thrown your way.

You swallow hard, not quite knowing how to respond. In the end, you just blurt out:

"Let's go, we're late."

Hyunjin smirks, opening the passenger door for you with an over-the-top, gentlemanly gesture.

"As my girlfriend commands" he jokes, cutting the tension.

You get in carefully. He walks around the car, slides into the driver's seat, and starts the engine.

The drive to the party is short, but the silence between you feels heavy, different.

Hyunjin puts on some music—one of the playlists you shared days ago. Soft rock plays in the background. The reflection of the city lights slips through the window, painting his profile in warm, orange hues.

"You won't stop staring at your feet" he comments, keeping his eyes on the road. "Are those heels killing you?"

You look down. Sure enough, you’ve been clenching and unclenching your toes inside the sandals the whole time.

"A little" you admit. "I feel like I'm going to die before we even get there."

"If you drop dead, they'll criticize me for being a bad boyfriend" he replies. "And I already have enough to deal with regarding my reputation."

That coaxes a small laugh out of you.

"If I twist an ankle, it's your fault," you remind him. "Nobody forced me to wear things like this until you showed up in my life."

"Hey, I didn't tell you to show up looking like you're trying to give the rest of the campus a heart attack" he counters, throwing you a quick look up and down. "That was your choice."

You blush all over again. You look out the window, watching the residential area where the parties are usually held draw closer.

"Hyunjin" you say, your tone turning more serious.

"Yeah?"

"What if today... doesn't go well?" you ask bluntly. "What if it's too obvious that it's a lie?"

He takes a deep breath, turning down the volume of the music a bit.

"Remember what we said" he answers. "You don't have to act. Just... be yourself. We've been spending weeks together. It's not like we're two strangers making things up."

"But they don't know that" you murmur.

"Well, they're about to find out" he says with that confidence that sometimes throws you off. "And if you get too overwhelmed at any point, just tell me. We'll leave. I have no problem walking out of the party."

You glance at him sideways.

"It's the rugby captain's party" you point out. "You can't just walk out whenever you want."

"I am the rugby captain" he corrects with a smile. "I can do whatever I want."

It amuses you. It calms you down way more than you'd ever admit out loud.

The car turns onto the street where a brightly lit house is already visible—loud music filtering outside, cars double-parked all along the curb.

Hyunjin slows down a bit.

"Last chance to back out, teach" he says, with no hint of mockery this time. "If you tell me you don't want to go in, I'll turn the car around right now."

You squeeze your fingers around your purse. You can feel your pulse hammering in your temples.

You think about his father, his scholarship, and that single word that stuck with you that night on the field: "friend." You take a deep breath.

"Let's go" you reply. "We've already made it this far."

Hyunjin nods, a faint half-smile playing on his lips.

"That's what I like about you" he murmurs. "When you say you're going to do something... you do it."

He parks. He kills the engine and gets out. He walks around the car and opens the door for you.

You reach out a hand to lean on him as you step down in your heels. His hand holds yours firmly, warm against your skin.

The music thumps from the house, lights flickering across the front facade. Voices, laughter, shouting.

Hyunjin leans in slightly toward you.

"Ready?" he whispers.

And for the first time, as you loop your arm through his to walk toward the door, you aren't that nervous.

You walk into the house hand in hand. The music hits you from inside like a massive heartbeat—colored lights, the smell of alcohol, perfume, and food all mixed together.

Hyunjin leads the way, as always. He walks with total confidence, his hand steady in yours. Every few steps, someone stops him.

"Hyunjin, bro, what's up!" A high-five.

"Great game the other day, captain."

"Hey, come say hi to the juniors later."

He smiles, handing out greetings, pats on the back, quick jokes. He doesn't let go of your hand for a single second. You keep close to his side, trying not to trip over your heels, your heart racing just a little every time a cluster of stares lands on you.

Finally, you reach his usual crowd, hanging out near the main living room.

"Look at them, they even came matching and everything" Jisung teases the moment he sees you two arrive.

Chan lets out a low, amused whistle.

"Now I get why you didn't want to tell us anything" he says. "You kept her well hidden."

"You look gorgeous" Changbin adds bluntly. "Seriously. Now I definitely get why this idiot finally decided to get a girlfriend."

You feel your cheeks flush, but you maintain your composure.

"Thanks" you reply, trying to sound natural.

Hyunjin places you by his side, his hand resting on the small of your back. The night kicks off with laughter, music, and conversations. Neither of you drinks. Him, because he can't always afford to—he has to stay in top shape for practices, games, and all that stuff. You, for your own reasons.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, leaning in toward you.

"Water is fine" you reply.

"One water coming right up for the lady" he says, giving a mini bow. "Don't move from here."

You watch him disappear into the crowd, heading toward the drinks table.

You lean against the sofa, taking a deep breath and observing your surroundings. Not even a minute passes before a shadow falls right in front of you.

Her.

The cheerleader.

A tight, short dress that looks practically painted onto her body, red lips, and eyes narrowed in utter contempt.

"So you are the famous girlfriend" she says, looking you up and down. "I thought it was a joke."

You don't answer. You simply hold her gaze.

"Hyunjin would never date a loser like you" she continues with a crooked smile. "Though you do have a nice pair of tits—I guess that helps."

Around you, a couple of nearby people pretend not to listen, but their ears are clearly wide open.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You could keep quiet. You could walk away. You could just let it slide.

But you are tired.

Tired of her. Tired of the way she chases Hyunjin. Tired of her thinking she has the right to decide who is "worthy" and who isn't.

You straighten up a bit.

"Hadn't you noticed that Hyunjin actually likes girls with a brain?" you reply, your voice calm. "There's more to life than shaking pom-poms."

A collective "Oooooh" erupts from the crowd around you, no longer even bothering to pretend they aren't listening.

The cheerleader juts out her jaw. She takes another step toward you. She’s a couple of inches taller than you, and it’s obvious she loves using that to intimidate people.

"Excuse me?" she spits out.

Before she can say another word, a warm hand wraps around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against a very familiar body.

"Babe, everything good here?" Hyunjin's voice is right in your ear, perfectly calm. He completely ignores her presence.

You turn toward him, looking up.

"Now that you're here, better than good" you reply, making it clear that, as far as you're concerned, the conversation is over.

You take one of the water bottles he’s holding in his hand.

"Thanks" you murmur.

And, without thinking about it too much, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. Slow, firm. Right in front of the cheerleader.

You can feel the tension in the air skyrocket. She looks like she's about to explode.

"Let's dance" you tell Hyunjin, looking only at him.

You practically drag him toward the center of the living room. You leave the bottles on a nearby table and blend into the crowd of people dancing. The music is loud, a track with a heavy beat. You step close to each other. Hyunjin's hands settle on your waist without a second thought. You loop your arms around his neck.

He laughs, amused, moving to the rhythm with you.

"Wow..." he says, close to your ear. "I think you're the first person to ever stand up to her like that."

You smile, knowing this time that he’s looking right at you.

"Well, you're my boyfriend now" you respond playfully, a little proud. "And nobody messes with what's mine."

Hyunjin lets out a softer, genuine laugh. He pulls you a little closer, moving with you.

"You're incredible" he whispers.

The night goes by much better than you'd care to admit.

You dance to slow songs, fast songs, ridiculous songs. You play some silly game with his friends where they end up drinking way too much while you stick to your water bottle. Jisung's antics, Changbin's exaggerations, the faces Chan makes trying to maintain some sort of order in the middle of the chaos.

You laugh. A lot. More than you could remember being capable of.

Hyunjin doesn't leave your side for a single second. He introduces you to people, translates the team's inside jokes for you, and asks you every now and then if you're doing okay, if you want to go step outside for some fresh air, or if you feel like sitting down.

Until he notices something.

You are leaning against a wall for a moment, taking a breather between songs, when he catches you shifting your weight from one foot to the other, more and more frequently.

"The heels are killing you, aren't they?" he asks with a smirk.

You try to maintain your dignity.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Right now, you look a bit like a penguin" he teases.

You throw him a playful death stare.

"Shut up."

He checks his watch, then looks around the room.

"It's late. We can head out" he suggests. "This is getting boring anyway."

"I can hold out a little longer" you reply out of habit.

"Well, I can't" he counters calmly. "I'd rather leave with you right now than stay here watching them play the exact same games for the fifth time."

In the end, he insists. He says goodbye to his group with high-fives, jokes about "taking the girlfriend home," and promises to meet up on Sunday for practice.

He takes your hand again, and you both head toward the exit. Every single step in those heels is a tiny form of torture. Hyunjin notices, and it only seems to amuse him more.

"I can't watch this anymore" he says suddenly, the moment you cross the threshold and the fresh night air hits you.

He kneels down in front of you without warning. He gently takes one of your legs, rests your heel against his thigh, and begins unbuckling the strap of your sandal.

"What are you doing?" you ask, horrified, looking around.

"Saving your feet" he answers, completely unfazed.

He slips one sandal off and sets it aside, then repeats the process with the other.

And before you can protest any further, he lifts you up. Literally.

He hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his strong arms holding you up with ease.

"Are you insane?!" you practically yell. "Everyone is looking! I am going to kill you!"

He just laughs, taking firm strides toward the car.

"Stop complaining" he says. "The car is close."

You keep throwing threats his way while the laughter of a few bystanders echoes behind you.

The moment he reaches the car, he sets you down carefully, placing your bare feet onto the cool asphalt—now shoeless, but incredibly grateful to be out of those infernal heels. He opens the passenger door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

"Thank you" you murmur, more honest than you expected to be.

You get in, finally feeling your feet recover. He walks around, slides into the driver's seat, and checks the time on the dashboard: around two in the morning.

He stays quiet for a second, thinking, his hands resting on the steering wheel.

"I'm not really in the mood to go home yet" he confesses. "Are you?"

You feel the exact same way. You don't want the night to end just yet. You don't want to go back to the reality of your life—to the assignments, the silence, and the memories that are always waiting for you once the noise fades away.

"Me neither" you reply.

Hyunjin smiles.

"Perfect. I'm starving. Want to stop and grab a bite?"

"Sure" you agree.

You pull into a 24-hour fast-food joint. The neon sign glows over the empty parking lot.

Hyunjin orders a massive burger with fries. You get an ice cream. You head back out to the car with the bag in hand.

He drives a little further, moving away from the residential area until you reach a quiet spot overlooking the sea. The horizon is dark, broken only by a few distant lights from boats or buildings. He parks. He kills the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and reclines his seat back, letting out a sigh as he sinks into it.

You do the same, turning your body toward him.

You both begin to eat in silence.

You offer him the ice cream without thinking.

"Want a taste?"

Something you've noticed over time is just how much Hyunjin eats. During your study afternoons, he’d always end up complaining about being hungry, demanding a break "or he’d die." In the cafeteria, he has finished your food more than once when you couldn't eat any more.

He takes a spoonful of the ice cream, closing his eyes for a second.

"This is amazing" he says. "Want some of mine?"

He points to his burger.

You laugh.

"No, thanks."

You finish eating in a few minutes. All that's left are the crumpled wrappers and the half-melted ice cream.

Hyunjin turns on the car radio, playing some low music. Something soft, almost imperceptible. He reclines all the way back in his seat, his hands resting on his stomach.

"Now this feels good" he murmurs.

He looks different. Relaxed. Without that constant tension in his shoulders, without his eyes scanning to see who is watching him.

You do the same. You settle in, looking through the windshield at the dark sea in front of you.

A few seconds of comfortable silence pass before he speaks again.

"Hey" he says suddenly. "I've seen you at a lot of parties now. You're always holding a bottle of water. Do you not drink for a specific reason, or do you just not like it?"

Your body tenses up a little. It’s not a complicated question. But the answer is.

"Neither" you reply at last. "It’s because of something that happened a long time ago."

You notice him turning toward you, propping an elbow on his seat, giving you his undivided attention.

Your fingers nervously begin to toy with the hem of your dress, wrinkling the fabric a bit. Nobody knows this story. Nobody. You’ve hidden it for so long that speaking it aloud feels almost like betraying yourself.

You think back to that night on the rugby field—how he told you things that nobody else knows either. How much he was calling out for help without fully asking for it.

You take a deep breath.

And, without giving yourself time to back out, you speak.

"My father was an alcoholic" you begin, feeling the heavy weight of the word. "And whenever he drank... he would beat my mother and me. He also tried to abuse me."

You feel Hyunjin go completely still. But he doesn't interrupt you.

"He wasn't my biological father" you continue. "I never knew him. This guy... came later. I was small when he showed up in our lives. At first, he seemed... normal. Then he started drinking." You swallow hard. "The day he actually tried to abuse me, when I was younger, my mother caught him."

The image flashes back like a memory: the hallway, the smell of alcohol, the sheer terror.

"To protect me, he beat her so badly that my mother ended up in the hospital" you go on, your voice trembling a little. "I will never forget that day. He finally left that night, and I ran to my mother. She was on the floor, her face unrecognizable, blood everywhere... He had kicked her, too. She had broken ribs."

You close your eyes for a second, your chest tightening.

"I ran outside to get help from the neighbors. Then... the ambulance, the hospital. They asked her questions there. They told her to file a report, that it was domestic violence. My mother did. And the next day, before he could come back, we left the house. We stayed at her sister's place for a while, until my mother could scrape together some money and we could move into a small apartment on our own."

You find yourself staring at your hands, resting on your lap.

"That's why I don't like to drink" you explain, your voice dropping lower. "When I smell alcohol... something inside me twists. It takes me right back to those memories. I just can't. I've never had a drink. It's not that I'm scared... it's just... it brings all of that back."

The silence that follows isn't comfortable, but it isn't hostile either. It’s full. Heavy.

Hyunjin doesn't say anything at first. Then, slowly, he reaches his hand out toward you. He finds yours on your lap and takes it, holding it firmly yet gently.

His fingers are warm.

"I'm sorry" he murmurs, his voice thick with sincerity. "I'm so sorry you had to go through something like that."

There is no pity in his tone. Only reflected anger, pain, and helplessness.

"I'm sorry that's the only memory you have of a father" he adds, dropping his voice lower. "Nobody deserves that. You least of all."

You feel a tight knot catching in your throat.

You lean in slightly, your expression turning serious.

"Hyunjin, nobody knows this. Nobody." You squeeze his hand. "You're the only person. So, please..."

You don't finish the sentence. You don't need to.

He squeezes your hand right back.

"Don't worry" he says, looking you dead in the eye. "I'm not telling anyone. Ever. I promise you."

He falls silent for a second, his eyes softening.

"Thank you for telling me" he adds. "For trusting me."

You aren't used to anyone saying it like that. "Thank you." As if you had given him something incredibly valuable.

You look straight ahead at the sea, without letting go of his hand.

He entwines his fingers with yours, as if that physical connection could somehow cancel out a little bit of everything you just said.

You both stay just like that, in silence, with the music playing very softly in the background and the distant lights of the harbor flickering out in the dark.

For the first time in a very long time—sitting in an old car next to a guy who is pretending to be your boyfriend but who listens to you like nobody else ever has—you feel something inside you loosen just a fraction.

It’s not that the past disappears.

But for a few hours, it carries less weight.

Hyunjin yawns, but he doesn't let go of your hand.

"We should probably head back soon" he says after a while. "I've got practice tomorrow, and you... have your responsible-adult life."

You nod. Yet neither of you makes a single move to leave.

"Or" he adds with a gentle smile, "we stay for five more minutes and pretend nothing exists outside of this car."

You look at him sideways.

"Five minutes" you concede.

"Five minutes" he repeats.

And that’s how you stay: two people who met as the popular guy and the invisible nerd, sharing the night, the sea, the low music, and two stories that almost nobody else knows.

When you finally start the engine and drive back home, the silence in the car is no longer awkward.

It’s the silence of someone with whom, all of a sudden, you can truly be yourself.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme @hiraelis

Hyunjin keeps his word.

The next morning, he shows up early—so early that for a moment you wonder if you’re dreaming. You’re sitting in your usual spot, the classroom almost empty, with barely anything but the hum of the lights and the sound of your notebook pages turning.

The door opens, and his figure fills the frame. Gray hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder, messy hair, and half-shut eyes.

"No way..." you murmur to yourself, checking the clock.

He sees you and smiles, though it looks like it takes effort just to move his lips.

"I don't understand how you're able to get up this early" he says as he lets himself sink into the chair next to you. "You're always one of the first to get to class... this isn't human."

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, yawning without shame.

It amuses you. With his hair a bit messy and that half-asleep expression, he looks like a kid who was forced to go to school.

"You get used to it" you reply, resting your elbow on the desk. "Besides, I also need to disconnect."

He turns his head toward you, curious.

"Disconnect from what?" he asks, tilting his face against the back of the chair.

"From everything" you answer, shrugging. "Sometimes I have work early, or after classes. And when I don't, I prefer these little moments of silence to study or review before this place fills up with people." You look around. "An empty classroom is... peaceful. I don't have to listen to half the campus."

Hyunjin lets out a low laugh.

"I swear I've never seen this place so empty at this hour" he admits. "I feel like I've walked into a parallel universe."

"Welcome to the reality of people who actually study" you retort, opening your notebook.

He puts on an offended face.

"Hey, I'm trying to change that, remember?" He straightens up a bit. "Alright, tutor, where do we start?"

You start with the basics. Mean, median, variance. He looks at you, dead serious, pen in hand, as if he were listening to a complicated game tactic.

"So, if I have these data points" you say, jotting down a series of numbers in his notebook, "what would the mean be?"

Hyunjin stares at them as if they were arcane symbols.

"The... middle one?" he hazards a guess.

You just look at him.

"That's the median."

"Ah." He blinks. "Then the mean is... the one that appears the most?"

"That's the mode."

"Why are there three different things for the same concept?" he protests, slumping back against his chair. "This is a joke."

You can't help but let your lips curve up a little.

"They aren't the same, that's why they have different names" you explain, pointing back to the numbers. "Look, think about your team. The mean would be the average age of everyone. The median would be the age of the guy right in the middle if you line them up from youngest to oldest. And the mode would be the age that shows up the most."

He stays quiet for a few seconds, processing it.

"Okay..." he nods slowly. "That actually makes a bit more sense. A little."

You give him the exercise again, using different data. This time it takes him a moment, but he gets it right.

It's not that he's bad at it because he's stupid. He's bad at it because he's never actually needed to pay attention before. And that, at least, is something you can work with.

The days go by, and the routine settles in almost without you realizing it.

Hyunjin arrives early. Sometimes he even gets there before you do and sits in your spot, waiting for you with his chin resting on his arms on the desk.

"I thought you'd overslept" he jokes one morning.

"Being five minutes late doesn't mean I vanished" you reply, putting down your backpack. "And you better have opened the book."

He has. His notes are starting to fill up with formulas, diagrams, and doodles he uses to remember concepts. You give him extra exercises. He complains, but he does them.

And, between one problem and the next, you start to truly get to know him.

One day, while you're underlining a question, a song plays very softly from his phone. A guitar riff you recognize instantly.

You lift your head.

"Is that... Day6?" you ask, surprised.

He looks at you, just as surprised.

"You know them?"

"Of course I know them" you reply. "'Shoot Me' was my favorite song for a whole year."

His eyes light up.

"That's my go-to song when I need to scream at the world but I can't actually scream at the world" he admits. "I thought you only listened to classical music to study or something."

"Do I look like the type to listen to classical music to study?" you retort, raising an eyebrow.

"You look like the type to get straight A's even if a death metal band were playing right next to you" he laughs.

"I like rock" you confess, turning back to your exercises. "Actual bands, not just the trendy hits."

"Like who?" he presses.

You start trading names: The Rose, One OK Rock, a couple of Korean indie-rock bands, Metallica, Guns N' Roses... even some old bands you thought nobody your age knew about.

"I can't believe you like this song" he says one morning, catching you humming under your breath to a track he has on a playlist.

"I can't believe you have good taste in something other than clothes" you reply without looking up.

"Ouch" he puts a hand over his heart. "That one hurt."

One morning, he arrives with two cups of coffee in his hands, dark circles under his eyes but smiling.

"Here" he says, leaving one next to your notebook. "Lactose-free, I promise."

You look at it, not touching it just yet.

"How...?"

"The other day I tried to share some pancakes with you and you practically murdered me with your eyes" he recalls, laughing. "'I can't, I'm intolerant.'" He mimics your serious tone. "It's been burned into my brain ever since. I'm not carrying your conscience on my shoulders if something happens to you in the middle of class."

You don't say anything for a second. The gesture catches you off guard more than you thought it would. You pick up the cup, bring it to your nose, and catch the scent of the coffee.

"Thank you" you murmur.

"You're welcome, tutor" he replies, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you. "By the way, you don't look too bad today. It's obvious you didn't stay up late studying last night."

You look up.

"And how do you know what time I go to bed?"

"Because sometimes you reply to my messages about the exercises at one in the morning" he says, as if it were obvious. "And other times, you don't. I'm starting to calculate patterns."

"You should invest that effort into learning how to calculate confidence intervals instead" you retort.

He laughs, but turns his attention back to the notebook.

Between coffees, shared music, and formulas, his presence is starting to feel… natural. Less invasive. Closer. And, without fully wanting to admit it to yourself, you’re starting to see him in a different light.

You realize that, no matter how popular he is, he is always respectful to everyone. He greets the janitor, holds the door open for anyone, and apologizes whenever he bumps into someone in the hallway. That carefree-guy facade blends with little details that almost no one else seems to notice.

Inevitably, people keep talking.

Since you two have been spending more time together, the rumors have only multiplied.

"I saw them walking into the science building together." "They say he walks her to the library now." "I swear he waved at her from his car yesterday. At her. The nerd."

You run into those comments in the cafeteria, in the hallways, even in the restroom. Hyunjin doesn't seem to care much, but you can't help but tense up a little every time you feel eyes burning into you.

Even so, he doesn't change.

If he runs into you in a hallway, he greets you.

"Hey, tutor" he raises his hand from the other end.

If he sees you in the cafeteria, he walks over for a second.

"How did yesterday's exam go?" he asks, completely ignoring the stares.

If he gets stuck on an exercise, he looks for you.

"Do you have five minutes? I promise it's only five."

Everyone sees it. Everyone has an opinion. But between him and you, a space has slowly been forming where those voices, for a little while, can't reach.

One night, while you're reviewing some notes in your bed, your phone vibrates.

Are you awake?

You check the time. 12:07 AM.

You sigh. You have an early shift tomorrow. You have a mental checklist of things to do. The sensible thing would be to ignore the text or tell him you'll talk tomorrow.

Yeah. Is something wrong?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Had another fight with my dad. I don't need the tutor right now. I need my new friend.

You freeze on top of the sheets, your heart beating a little faster than normal. You could tell him you're sorry but you can't make it, you could just send him a paragraph of encouragement and leave it at that.

Instead, you type:

Where are you?

Rugby field.

You bite your lip. You check the clock again. You look at your backpack leaning against the chair. You look at the darkness outside the window.

Five minutes later, you're grabbing your keys.

The campus at night feels like a different place. The buildings are almost completely dark, lit only by lampposts and emergency lights. The air is colder, cleaner. Your footsteps echo against the ground as you approach the field.

You see him from a distance. A silhouette sitting on the grass, wearing a sleeveless team jersey, the rugby ball by his side. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat. He is breathing heavily, as if he had been running until just a moment ago.

You adjust the hoodie draped over your shoulders. His hoodie. He left it behind one day after studying, and you had tucked it into your backpack. Now, at this hour, you're glad you brought it along.

You walk up to him slowly. He lifts his head when he hears your footsteps.

"I thought you were just going to reply to the text" he confesses with a tired half-smile. "Not that you'd actually come."

"You owe me a lot of coffees" you reply, sitting down next to him. "And at this hour, it's already freezing."

You take off the hoodie and drape it over his shoulders. He looks down at it, surprised, then looks up at you.

"This is mine" he says.

"And I'm a good citizen who returns stolen property" you retort. "What happened?"

His smile slowly fades. He stares straight ahead at the empty field, as if his entire argument with his father were projected out there.

"The usual" he replies with a long sigh. "That rugby won't put food on the table. That I'm wasting my time. That I should be doing an internship for something 'serious.' That as long as I live under his roof, I have to follow his rules..."

He clenches his jaw.

"I came here to blow off steam" he adds. "I’d been running and practicing for a good while before I texted you. But… I guess I got tired of talking to myself."

He runs a hand over his face, then glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Sorry for bothering you at this hour."

He shakes his head before you can even open your mouth.

"Seriously. I know you work tomorrow. You told me. I had no right to ask you to come."

"I wasn't sleeping" you reply honestly. "I was just staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything I have to do tomorrow. So… you didn't really interrupt much."

You try to shift the mood a bit, to distract him.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, find a playlist, and press play. A soft guitar intro starts playing from the speaker.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow.

"Do you know this song?" you ask, turning the volume down a bit.

He listens for a few seconds, tilting his head.

"No" he admits. "But I like it."

You nod, hugging your knees. The two of you sit in silence, looking out at the half-lit field, listening to the entire song. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s a silence that brings rest.

When the song ends, he takes a deep breath.

"Are you going to the party next week?" he asks out of nowhere.

"I don't know" you answer honestly. "My friends want to go. I guess I'll end up tagging along with them."

"Then I'll see you there" he says, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "And I'll owe you a dance for all this tutoring."

You glance at him sideways.

"I don't dance."

"We'll see about that" he retorts, smiling.

After a while, you stand up. The cold is starting to seep into your legs.

"I'm heading out, I have an early morning tomorrow" you say, brushing off your pants a bit.

Hyunjin gets to his feet too.

"Thanks for coming" he murmurs. "Seriously."

"Drive safely" he adds, gesturing toward the parking lot. "Text me when you get home."

"Since when do you care about that?" you ask, narrowing your eyes slightly.

"Since you became my tutor and my new friend" he replies, shrugging.

It amuses you how easily he throws that word around—"friend"—all while sounding so completely sincere.

"I'll text you" you promise.

And you do.

The days keep passing. Your dynamic stays the same, settles in, and becomes... yours.

Early mornings, lactose-free coffee, statistics, shared playlists. He starts showing up to class with jokes ready; you show up with new exercises. Sometimes you stay behind talking after you're done, about things that have absolutely nothing to do with formulas: shows, horror stories from terrible jobs, insufferable professors.

One afternoon, as you're leaving the library, you see Hyunjin in the parking lot talking to her again.

The cheerleader.

The popular girl he was arguing with in the hallway that first day. She’s wearing her cheerleading uniform, her hair looks perfect, and her lips are pressed into a thin line. His shoulders are tense, hands buried in his pockets. He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated.

Your first instinct is to turn your head and keep walking. So that’s what you do. You don’t want to get caught in the middle. It’s none of your business. You repeat that to yourself mentally as you cross the campus.

But the image of his face—that mix of exhaustion and resignation—lingers in your head for days.

The day of the party arrives.

It’s not that you actually want to go, but your friends make sure to drag you along.

The house is already packed when you arrive: loud music, colored lights, people dancing, red cups in everyone's hands. You know there's alcohol everywhere, but you go straight for a bottle of water from the kitchen counter.

"Seriously?" one of your friends protests. "You could let loose a little."

"I let loose by working and studying" you reply, taking a sip of the water. "I have enough on my plate with all that. I don't feel like waking up tomorrow with a hangover on top of it."

The truth is different—deeper and less shareable: you don't drink because you can't afford to lose control. Because your life is already complicated enough without adding blurry memories and decisions you'll regret. No one here knows that. No one even suspects it. To them, you're just the girl who lives to study.

You let yourself be dragged into the main room. Your friends are dancing; you move just enough so it doesn't look like you're glued to the floor. The volume is so loud that the lyrics get lost in the noise.

Through the crowd, you spot Hyunjin.

He’s leaning against a wall, laughing with some teammates, wearing a black T-shirt with his hair pulled back into a half-ponytail. His eyes sweep across the room for a moment and stop right on you. You raise your hand in a brief wave. He returns the gesture, a smirk playing on his lips. Nothing more. You both go back to what you were doing.

Hours pass.

The house gets more packed, hotter, and louder. At one point, when you step out into the hallway to catch your breath, you see them.

The cheerleader and Hyunjin. Again.

She is standing right in front of him, gesturing wildly with her hands. He has that expression you already recognize: a tight jaw, a patient gaze, and his hand running through his hair—a gesture that has become familiar whenever something exhausts him.

You don't know the exact moment your feet decide to move. But before you even realize it, you're walking toward them.

You stop right in front of both of them, your water bottle still in hand.

"Hey" you greet Hyunjin, acting completely casual. "I was looking for you. I need to talk to you for a second."

The girl shoots you a look from head to toe, pure poison in her eyes.

"Can't you see he's busy with me?" she snaps, crossing her arms.

You look at both of them. First at her, then at him. You search his face for any sign, some sort of "don't get involved." There isn't one. You only see exhaustion and a hint of poorly hidden relief.

You turn toward her.

"I think you two are already done" you say calmly. "Right, Hyunjin?"

He doesn't hesitate.

"Yeah" he answers, looking at her. "We're done."

She opens her mouth, completely offended, but you don't give her the time.

You smile, grab Hyunjin’s hand with your free hand, and pull him away, getting him out of there before either of them can look back.

You walk down the hallway through dancing bodies, laughter, and vapor clouds from someone's vape. Your hand stays wrapped around his by pure inertia—warm and firm. You don't even realize it until you push through the front door and the music fades into a distant hum.

Out on the porch, with the cool night air hitting your face, you look down.

You are holding hands with Hyunjin.

You let go instantly, as if his skin burned yours.

"I'm sorry" you blurt out, barely taking a breath. "It's just that I saw you and you didn't look comfortable and I..."

You don't finish the sentence. He chuckles softly, still a little surprised.

"Thank you" he says. "Seriously."

You walk down the porch steps together. The noise fades behind you. There are people smoking in the yard, a couple of groups chatting, but the air out here feels a bit lighter.

"That girl is insufferable" Hyunjin murmurs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hooking up with her was my biggest mistake. I didn't know this was going to happen. If I'd known, I never would have done it. Now I can't get her off my back."

"Just tell her the truth" you reply simply. "That you're not interested. And that's it."

He laughs, without any humor.

"I've already tried that" he says, shaking his head. "But it's impossible. She hears it, but she doesn't listen. And the more I avoid her, the harder she chases after me."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You look down at the ground for a few seconds, then look back up at him.

"Then tell her you have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin stops dead in his tracks.

You take two more steps before turning around, confused. He is staring at you as if he’s just heard the joke of the century.

"Seriously?" he laughs louder. "No one has ever seen me with a girlfriend. They wouldn't buy it. I've hooked up with several girls on this campus, and they're all..." He waves his hand vaguely. "...kind of like her. I don't really trust any of them. Out of all the people I know, I don't trust anyone."

And, without thinking, the words slip out.

"Me."

Silence.

The two of you freeze at the same time, as if someone had hit pause on the world.

Hyunjin turns his head toward you, slowly.

"What?" he asks, as if he needs confirmation that he heard right.

You feel the heat creeping up from your neck to your cheeks.

"Nothing" you say quickly. "I said it without thinking. Forget it."

He doesn't move. He doesn't look away.

"No" he shakes his head, taking a step toward you. "Seriously. Would you really pretend to be my girlfriend to help me out?"

You swallow hard. You cross your arms, more out of nervousness than from the cold.

"If it gets her to leave you alone..." you reply, "it can't be that horrible being your girlfriend."

A tiny smile slips out at the end of your sentence, trying to lighten the weight of those words.

Hyunjin places a hand over his chest, pretending to be hurt.

"Don't be so cruel" he laughs. "I'd make a great boyfriend. Probably."

"Probably" you repeat, rolling your eyes.

He keeps laughing, but there’s something different in his eyes once he calms down. As if the idea doesn't seem quite as absurd to him as it should.

He stays quiet for a few seconds, looking toward the house, then back at you.

"Okay" he says at last, with that dangerous mix of determination and playfulness you're starting to recognize. "Then, tutor..." His lips curve into a slow smile. "...we have a new kind of problem to solve."

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme @hiraelis

The university cafeteria was always the same at this hour: too much noise, too many people, and too many curious eyes looking for something to gossip about later. You hated that. That was why you always sat at the exact same table, pressed against the wall, where you could see everyone but hardly anyone noticed you for more than a few seconds.

Hardly anyone.

"I swear, look at him" one of your friends whispers, nudging you with her elbow. "It’s like they put a spotlight just on him."

You know exactly who she’s talking about. You don’t even need to look up, but you do anyway. Hwang Hyunjin, the most popular guy on campus and captain of the rugby team, is on the other side of the cafeteria, laughing with his friends. His black hair is messy on purpose, he's wearing the rugby team hoodie with the number 04 on the back, and he has that easy smile—that vibe of "I don't care about anything, because everything goes my way."

And, of course, he's surrounded by people. Always.

"I don't get what you see in him" you murmur, dropping your eyes back to your tray and moving your food around with your fork.

"Oh, I get it perfectly" your other friend replies, laughing. "He’s hot, he’s popular, he plays rugby… what more do you want?"

"A brain" you answer without thinking.

They laugh, but you're not joking. You’ve never been interested in those guys with easy smiles and disastrous grades. And definitely not someone like Hyunjin, who seems to live just so people will talk about him. You prefer to fly under the radar, get good grades, and that's it. You don't care if people in class know you as "the nerd," as long as they leave you alone. And if they don't, you don't really care either. At least you know exactly who you are.

While you keep talking to your friends, you hear, from across the room, a laugh even louder than the rest. Instinctively, you look up. You see one of Hyunjin’s friends turn slightly toward your table. He’s talking to him and, suddenly, points right at you.

You frown.

No. No. No.

Around you, the murmur in the room begins to shift. That slight shift in the air that tells you something is about to happen. You watch as Hyunjin turns his head toward you, his eyes searching... and he finds you.

And he smiles.

Your stomach drops.

"Why is he looking at me?" you ask in a low voice.

"Because you're irresistible," your friend jokes.

You don't even have time to snap back with something sarcastic. Before you can react, Hyunjin has already stood up from his table, tray in one hand, the other tucked into his hoodie pocket. He walks with that absolute confidence only someone who is used to the world making space for them possesses.

And the world, indeed, parts for him. People move aside, some stare, others whisper. You freeze, fork suspended in mid-air, as if that could somehow protect you from whatever is coming next.

Hyunjin reaches your table and doesn't even bother asking if the seat is taken. He grabs a chair, turns it around in one fluid motion, and sits backward, resting his arms on the backrest, very close to you.

Invasively close.

You feel countless eyes locking onto the two of you. Seriously, you can almost feel them pressing against the back of your neck.

"Hey there... cutie" he says, tilting his head slightly, trying to catch your eye.

You don't look up. You refuse to. You keep staring at your plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"My name isn't 'cutie'" you snap, without looking at him.

You feel, more than see, his smile. As if your response amuses him.

And suddenly, something brushes against the ends of your hair. His fingers. He is playing with a strand, twirling it between them with a boldness so shameless it makes you want to slap his hand away. But you don't. Not yet.

"I know that" he replies. "But I don't remember your name."

Of course you don't, you think. Because he has never asked. Because to him, you're just "the class nerd," exactly what you just heard his friend call you a moment ago when he pointed from across the room.

You take a deep breath. You don't want to make a scene in the middle of the cafeteria. Your plan has always been to fly under the radar, not to become the gossip of the day.

"Well, your name doesn't matter for now anyway" he continues, completely unfazed by your silence. "I've been told you get really good grades. And that you're..." —a dramatic pause— "...the best in the class in Intro to Statistics."

Now, you finally look up. You look him in the eye for the first time. And you would hate him a lot less if his eyes weren't so beautiful.

"And?" you ask calmly.

He blinks, caught off guard by your coldness.

"And..." he smiles, that practiced smile that must work on absolutely everyone. "I thought you could help me out. Tutor me. You know, so I don't fail. I need to keep my grades up to stay on the team. It's important."

"No."

You say it so firmly, so abruptly, that even you are surprised. You look back down at your tray. Around you, the silence isn't total, but a strange tension fills the air, as if the entire cafeteria is holding its breath waiting for your next word.

It takes Hyunjin a second to react.

"Excuse me?" he asks, as if he hadn't heard you correctly.

"I said no" you repeat, setting your fork down on the plate.

You notice how he freezes. His fingers finally stop messing with your hair. His posture straightens a bit—offended, incredulous. You're not entirely sure, and you don't really care to find out.

"Come on, don't be like that" he says, trying to keep his tone light. "I could pay you. Seriously. Name your price. Or we could make a deal, I..."

"No" you interrupt, this time standing up.

You grab your tray with one hand and your backpack with the other. You turn to your friends.

"See you in the next class."

They stare at you, their eyes wide as saucers. One of them tries to call your name, but you’re already turning away. You don’t really know what kind of face Hyunjin is making right now, but you can clearly hear his friends' laughter echoing from across the room. Amused, mocking laughter. The kind that means: "I can't believe she just told you no."

You walk toward the cafeteria exit without looking back. You hear his chair scrape back a few seconds later, but you don't speed up. You’re not going to run away from him. You’re just… not going to give him the satisfaction of acting like he matters as much as everyone else thinks he does.

His footsteps draw closer.

"Hey, wait up" his voice follows you into the main building's hallway.

You don't answer. You keep walking, gripping the strap of your backpack tightly, your eyes fixed straight ahead.

He cuts ahead of you and, suddenly, he’s right there, walking backward in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, acting as if he isn't begging for anything, as if this were just another game to him.

"Seriously" he says, tilting his head to try and catch your eye again. "I can pay you. I'll buy you whatever you want. Or I can do your assignments for another class, I don't know. I can—"

"I already said no" you repeat.

You keep moving forward, but his presence right in front of you forces you to slow down. He keeps walking backward, never tripping, never stepping aside, as if he’s been practicing this for years.

"Why not?" he insists. "I just need a couple more points. I have to maintain my GPA to stay on the rugby team. If it drops, the coach benches me. And I already have enough on my plate with..."

He cuts himself off, letting out a sharp sigh.

"Look, seriously. I'll do whatever it takes."

Finally, you stop dead in your tracks. He almost bumps into you, halting less than a step away.

You look up and hold his gaze. Up close, his looks are even more striking, but you force yourself not to dwell on that. Not on his face, not on his lips, not on the way his jaw tenses when he grinds his teeth.

"Why me?" you ask, your voice low but firm.

Hyunjin frowns.

"What?"

"Why me" you repeat. "There are other people in class who get good grades. Guys. Girls. The university is full of tutors. Why come to me specifically… when you don’t even know my name?"

He opens his mouth. He goes blank for a second, searching for a quick comeback he doesn't have.

"Of course I know your name" he lies.

You cross your arms.

"Go ahead, then."

Hyunjin swallows hard, looking you up and down as if he might find your name written on your clothes or your skin.

"Your name is..." He clicks his tongue. "You're... Soojin?"

Your expression doesn't change.

He blinks.

"No? Then... Minji? Jisoo? Hyejin? No, wait, you’re definitely..."

Every name he drops hits you like another confirmation of what you already knew: you're just "the nerd," a concept, not a person.

"Forget it" you murmur, shifting your eyes toward the hallway clock. "I'm late."

Right then, the bell rings. The hallway immediately begins to flood with people pouring out of and heading into the classrooms. The chatter grows louder. A group of students cuts between the two of you, forcing you to take a step back.

Hyunjin looks down slightly, appearing as though he's about to insist again, but you're already spinning on your heel.

"Excuse me. I have class" you say, resuming your walk without waiting for his response.

You leave him standing there, right in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by people but looking completely isolated. You don’t look back. You don’t see him run a hand through his hair, thoroughly confused. You don’t see a couple of guys bump his shoulder as they walk past, laughing under their breath.

You just return to your safe space: the classroom, the silence, and your notes.

Days pass. You do everything you can to forget about the cafeteria scene, but the campus doesn't make it easy.

The whispers follow you everywhere.

"They say Hyunjin asked her for tutoring and she told him no." "Seriously? To his face? How rude." "I wish he’d beg me like that..."

You pretend you don't hear. You hear your name mixed with his in conversations that don't interest you. You see curious glances in the hallways. But you just keep to yourself: class, library, home, work. Repeat.

Until one day, in one of the subjects you share with Hyunjin, something you didn't expect happens to you.

You arrive as always, a little before class starts, and choose your usual spot: third row, near the window. You take out your notebook, pens, and notes. The classroom starts filling up. You hear laughter in the back, the familiar sound of Hyunjin's voice among them.

You don't turn around.

Until you feel a shadow beside you.

A chair drags. Someone drops a backpack onto the floor. You smell his cologne before you fully see him.

Hyunjin sits next to you. On purpose. In a spot he has never occupied before.

You don't say anything. Neither does he, at first.

The professor walks in and starts explaining the topic of the day. You take notes, focused, determined to ignore the presence just inches away from you—his leg brushing against yours every now and then as he moves, the sound of his pen spinning between his fingers.

A few minutes pass. A piece of paper enters your field of vision, sliding across your desk.

You take a deep breath. You try to ignore it. You take another note. But the paper is still there, white, insistent.

Finally, you give in. You unfold it.

In the center, written in surprisingly neat handwriting, it says:

“Please be my tutor :(

– The desperate guy”

All around it, there are a bunch of silly little doodles: a mini Hyunjin with a tearful face, a rugby ball looking sad, an open notebook with numbers flying out of it, and a skull with a 2.3 written over it, as if it were his GPA.

You can’t help but let out a tiny breath. It’s not a laugh, but almost.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, waiting for your reaction.

You crumple the paper between your fingers, turn it into a ball, and leave it on a corner of the desk. You go back to your notebook as if nothing happened.

You can feel him watching you for a few more seconds. Then, you let out a soft sigh and hear him try another tactic: he leans in a little toward you.

"Did you get those notes from the textbook or the lecture?" he whispers.

You don't answer.

"Glasses look good on you when you study" he says another day, sitting next to you again.

Silence.

"You know ignoring me doesn't make me disappear, right?" he murmurs another morning.

You keep writing. As if he were nothing but background noise.

Still, he keeps going. Day after day. He sits next to you, makes up any excuse to talk to you, passes you more notes with ridiculous doodles: a mini version of you carrying giant books while dragging a whimpering mini-him by the hand, speech bubbles like “Please, tutor” and “No.” They all end up crumpled on your desk, but you never throw them away in front of him. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

One afternoon, leaving class, everything changes a bit.

You are calmly packing up your things when you hear voices from across the hallway. An argument. You recognize his tone instantly.

"Hyunjin, I'm being serious" a girl's voice says, angry and loud.

You discreetly peek into the hallway. He is there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. In front of him is a popular girl you know by sight: pretty, always perfect, always the center of attention—the most popular cheerleader. You’ve been seeing them together for months at parties, in the hallways, getting out of the same car.

"People are talking" she says, poking her finger into his chest. "They're saying that lately, you're only flirting with that girl. That you sit next to her in class. That you don't even stay with me after practice anymore."

Your stomach does a little flip as you realize, a second too late, that "that girl" is you.

Hyunjin runs a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable.

"Relax, will you?" he replies, with a short, tired laugh. "You're imagining things."

"Imagining things?" she raises her voice. "Hyunjin, people think you're not with me anymore."

He looks at her, arching an eyebrow.

"That I'm not with you? Since when am I with you?"

She freezes for a second, as if the words had stabbed her.

"Are you kidding me? We’ve been hooking up for months. It’s obvious we have something."

Hyunjin lets out an incredulous, almost bitter laugh.

"No. It’s not obvious. I told you from the very beginning: I don’t want anything serious. I can’t. I need to focus on the games, on college. I don’t have time for relationships."

"You are such an asshole" spits from her lips.

She confronts him, hurt, and then storms off, her heels clicking angrily down the hallway in the opposite direction from you. You step aside to avoid her gaze. Still, her shoulder brushes against yours as she passes.

You stand frozen for a few seconds. Hyunjin rubs the back of his neck and sighs. At that exact moment, his eyes lock onto yours. You don't know if he saw you from the start or if he just discovered you were there. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't smile. He just looks at you.

For the first time, he doesn't follow you.

You tighten your grip on your backpack strap and keep walking without turning around. But his expression stays stuck in your head longer than you’d care to admit.

The days go on, grayer and heavier. The rumor about him and that girl blends with the rumor about you and him. Some say you "stole" Hyunjin from her, others say he's just using you, and others say you’re his new entertainment. To you, it all sounds the same by now: just noise.

Despite everything, he keeps sitting next to you in class. Sometimes he talks, sometimes he stays quiet, distracted, doodling in the margins of his notebook. He looks more tired than usual, as if, all of a sudden, carrying the weight of his own life was starting to take a toll on him.

One Saturday, there is a big rugby game. The most anticipated one of the semester. Your friends have been talking about it for weeks, trying to convince you to go.

"Come on, please" a friend insists. "Life isn't just about study notes. You could socialize a little."

"Watching a bunch of guys hit each other isn't my concept of socializing" you reply.

"Not mine either" she says. "My concept is watching Hyunjin run around in that uniform."

In the end, you give in. More out of exhaustion than actual interest. The university field is packed, the bleachers are vibrating. The atmosphere is intense. You see him down there, in the middle of the grass, focused, helmet in hand, laughing with his teammates before the game starts.

During the game, you can't deny it: he is impressive. He moves with a speed and strength that you didn't associate with the guy who spends classes drawing silly things on pieces of paper. Every time he catches the ball, the stands erupt. Your friends scream his name. You, without really knowing why, follow him with your eyes.

The team wins, but just barely. The game was rough, tense. Hyunjin walks off with his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his breathing heavy, his uniform stained with dirt. When the final whistle blows, everyone stands up, cheers, and shouts. You stay seated for a moment, processing it all.

Your friends decide to go celebrate at a nearby bar. You suddenly remember something: your notes. You left a folder in the upstairs classroom after your last meeting with the professor. You don’t want it to disappear, so you say goodbye and head to the main building.

You go up, find the classroom open, and retrieve your notes. When you walk back down the hallway, the campus is much emptier. The noise from the game feels far away. The sunset stains the windows.

You step outside, heading toward the back exit that leads to the parking lot. That’s when you see him.

A guy, sitting alone on a bench, still wearing his rugby uniform. His helmet is beside him, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging low.

You walk a bit closer, and your stomach knots.

Hyunjin.

But it’s not the Hyunjin everyone knows. Not the one with the easy smiles, the flirtatious comments, the one who always walks around as if the whole world revolves around him. He looks serious. Tired. His eyes are fixed on the ground, as if all the noise of the university had suddenly been turned off.

You could walk right past him. It’s the logical thing to do. It’s what you’ve been doing for days: ignoring him. Keeping your distance. Protecting your space.

You take two more steps. He doesn't even lift his head when he hears your footsteps.

You stop in front of the bench. You look at him for a few seconds. Something about his posture, his slumped shoulders, the way he clenches his jaw, hits you deep inside.

You sigh. And you sit down next to him.

He starts a little, lifting his head. When he sees you, a crooked smile appears on his lips—weak, but recognizable.

"Well" he says, his voice raspy. "You're not going to ignore me today too?"

He says it as a joke, but behind the words there's something more: a mix of surprise and… relief.

You fix your eyes on him.

"I can't ignore someone who is obviously not okay."

He just stares at you, in silence. As if he doesn't know what to do with that. As if no one had told him that in a very long time.

A few seconds pass without a word. Only the wind rustles through the trees, moving the leaves, dragging some leftover paper from the game.

Hyunjin lowers his gaze again, rubs his hands together, and takes a deep breath.

And, without really understanding why, he starts to talk.

"Rugby…" he murmurs, "is my life."

He says it without exaggeration, without drama. Just as a fact.

"Since I was a kid" he adds. "I joined the high school team because it was the only way to avoid being home all the time. I loved it. I felt… free. As if, even if it was just for a little while, I didn't have to think about anything else."

He stops for a second. You don't say anything. You don't interrupt him. That seems to give him permission to keep going.

"But lately…" he laughs, humorless, "I can't focus. I make stupid mistakes on the field, in class. I mess up the schedules, the deadlines, everything. And… my dad…"

His voice cuts off there. He clenches his fists.

"My dad is completely opposed to what I want to do" he continues, finally. "He says rugby isn't a career. That he wants me to be 'someone important,' you know? A doctor. A lawyer. Something he can brag about to his friends at the golf club."

The bitterness in his voice is palpable.

"He reminds me every chance he gets. And if I don't listen to him..." he shrugs, "well, he just stops supporting me. Financially, I mean. He thinks that's how he'll force me to change my mind."

You look at him out of the corner of your eye. You had absolutely no idea about any of this. You had always assumed the same thing as everyone else: that he was rich, spoiled, and that everything was handed to him.

He lets out a hollow laugh.

"Everyone thinks I'm swimming in money" he says. "Because of the car, the clothes, the... I don't know. Because I come from a wealthy family, I guess. No one stops to think that maybe I hate accepting my dad's money. That the last thing I want is to depend on him."

He looks up at the sky, as if embarrassed by his own confession.

"I have a part-time job" he admits in a low voice. "Outside the city. No one on campus knows. None of my... 'friends'"—he makes air quotes with his fingers. "I take the car and leave right after practice. Sometimes I get home completely exhausted. Sometimes I don't even sleep well. But I prefer that over keeping asking my dad for favors."

You listen to him in silence. You had never seen him look so... human.

"And now" he continues, looking at the ground again, "my scholarship depends on my grades. If I don't bring my GPA up this semester, it's over. No more financial aid. No more team. No more rugby. My dad told me that if I didn't focus on getting good grades, I could just forget about it. That without that, he wasn't going to pay a single, miserable cent for anything related to sports."

He laughs, but you can hear the tremor in his voice.

"I'm tired" he says at last, with brutal honesty. "Tired of arguing with him. Tired of going home and feeling like I'm walking into a cold war. Tired of coming here and having to pretend that nothing is wrong. Smiling at everyone as if they were my friends, when I know perfectly well that half of them only come near me because of my 'popularity,' because of the roar of the stadium, because of the parties. Because I'm 'Hwang Hyunjin, the star captain of the team.'" He looks at you, his eyes shining a bit. "And honestly... sometimes I feel like I have no one to truly open up to."

Silence.

Your hands have clenched around your study notes without you even realizing it. His words hang heavy in the air between the two of you.

You look at him. Without filters. Stripped of the image you had of him. Not the popular guy, not the arrogant athlete. Just Hyunjin. Only Hyunjin. A guy your age, tired, scared, trying to hold all the pieces of his life together with trembling hands.

You take a deep breath.

"You know..." you begin, your voice soft, "everyone is carrying something around. It's just that some people are better at hiding it than others."

He watches you, attentive.

"You've gotten so used to wearing the 'perfect guy' mask that you think you have to do everything on your own" you continue. "But nobody can. Nobody should."

You wet your lips, searching for the right words.

"You aren't any less strong for asking for help, Hyunjin." You think of the hallways, the cafeteria, his notes with the silly doodles. "Sometimes, that's exactly what you have to do if you want to keep moving forward without breaking."

He lowers his gaze slightly. His shoulders lose some of their stiffness.

"I'm not telling you this out of pity" you add, anticipating the objection you see forming in his expression. "Pity is looking down on someone and feeling better than them. I don't feel better than you. I just… understand you more than I thought I ever could."

You fiddle with the edge of your notes for a second, taking a deep breath.

"I'm going to help you."

Hyunjin blinks. He turns his head toward you so fast it almost makes you laugh.

"What?" he asks, unsure if he heard correctly.

"I'm going to tutor you" you repeat. "But it's not for your sake."

A tired half-smile appears on his lips.

"Right, you're doing it out of pity" he jokes, trying to claw back a bit of that facade.

You look at him, dead serious.

"No" you shake your head. "I'm not doing it out of pity. I'm doing it because… if you are actually going to take these tutoring sessions seriously—without missing a single day, truly studying, and getting good grades…" You lock your eyes onto his. "Then I can help you make sure your dad no longer has an excuse to mess with what you want."

He looks at you as if he can't quite tell if you're being serious. "Are you seriously telling me that…?"

"There will be conditions" you cut him off, raising a finger. "You will be on time. You will bring your materials. You will not show up half-asleep from some party. And if you miss even one session without a good reason, it's over. I am not going to waste my time."

Hyunjin watches you, and for the first time since you met him, you see something on his face that you hadn't seen before: gratitude.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, letting out a short laugh. "You really are something else…" He shakes his head, unable to find the right word. "Okay. I'll do it. I promise. I'll do whatever it takes."

You look at him intently. "Don't give me your promise as if it's just another line you say to everyone," you counter. "This isn't a game. If you do this half-heartedly, I can't help you."

Hyunjin straightens up, serious. His gaze hardens, but not the way it does when he's angry—it's the way it looks when he has made up his mind.

"It's not a game" he says slowly. "Not with you."

His words hit you harder than you expected. You look away for a second, gather your notes, and stand up from the bench.

"I'll text you so we can figure out the schedule" you say, slipping back into the practical tone that makes you feel more comfortable. "You already know where to sit in class if you want me to find you."

You start walking. You take a couple of steps when you hear his voice behind you.

"Hey" he calls out.

You turn around slightly, looking at him over your shoulder.

He holds your gaze.

"At least now…" his lips curve into a small, sincere smile, "you could tell me what your name is, right?"

You stay quiet for a second. You think about it. And for the first time, even if just for a fleeting moment, you let yourself smile back at him.

You tell him your name.

Hyunjin repeats it in a low voice, as if he were testing it out, savoring it, memorizing it.

"Okay" he says at last. "I promise not to call you 'cutie' in public anymore."

"Good" you reply, turning back around. "Because if you're going to fail, at least don't do it in front of me."

You hear him laugh behind your back. A different kind of laugh. Less loud. More real.

As you walk away, you realize that something has changed. You don't really know what, or how, or how it's all going to end. You just know that, from now on, your quiet days as an invisible nerd are numbered.

Because you just agreed to tutor the most popular guy on campus.

And, in a way, you also just opened the door to your own life.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme @hiraelis

The beeping of the monitor, the murmur from the hallways, and the smell of disinfectant have almost become a part of you by now. It’s 9:30 PM and you still have half an hour left of your shift. You’re just finishing up a medical chart review when your phone vibrates in your lab coat pocket.

You glance at it: “Jinnie”.

You open the messages.

Are you still alive or have they officially declared you a hospital resident? You’re off at 10 PM tonight, right? Serious question: are you going to have the energy to deal with me, or are you too tired for me?

A smile escapes your lips, the kind that only appears for him. You lean your back against the hallway wall and type a quick reply with your thumb.

I'm off at 10, yeah. And I have tomorrow off, so I can deal with you for a bit. If you want, come over to my apartment.

It doesn't even take ten seconds for you to see the three dots appear.

Is that an official invitation, or just pity? I'll head over right now as soon as I leave. If I get there before you, do I still go in? You know, VIP code, special treatment, and all that.

You roll your eyes, even though you’re smiling.

Yes, dramatic. If you leave earlier, go to my apartment. You can pick up some dinner and drinks on your way, I really need to forget the hospital exists today.

Perfect. I’m cooking tonight. Well, "cooking" is a strong word, let's just say I'm heating things up tonight. See you later, little nurse.

You slip your phone back into your pocket, still smiling, and return to your tasks. The last half hour feels like an eternity, but knowing that Hyunjin is waiting for you at home makes everything feel a little lighter.

When your shift finally ends, you say goodbye to your coworkers, head straight to the staff showers, and step under the hot water. You let the water wash away the exhaustion, the sweat, and the hospital smell. You change into your clothes, grab your things, and head out to the parking lot. The sky is already dark, and the warm night air feels sticky yet strangely pleasant after so many hours inside.

The drive to your apartment goes by quickly. As soon as you step into the building and ride the elevator up, you can already picture the scene waiting for you inside: Hyunjin sprawled out on your couch, eating something he probably didn't even bother to put on plates, with the music turned up, probably dancing as if he were on stage.

You reach your door, stopping right in front of the keypad, and before you can even punch in the numbers, you hear it: music playing at a pretty high volume from inside. You can't help but let out a laugh.

You type the code in slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. The beeping sounds muffled by the music. You open the door carefully, peaking inside just a little bit at first.

And there he is.

Just like you had imagined.

Hyunjin is in the middle of the living room, his back to you, phone in hand and the speaker blasted to full volume. One of his own songs is playing, and he’s dancing and singing along as if he were right in the middle of a concert. He’s executing the choreography with way more exaggeration than necessary, dramatizing every single gesture, every shoulder roll, every step.

He hasn't heard you. He hasn't seen you either.

You bite your lower lip to hold back your laughter and silently set your bag down in the entryway. You slip your sneakers off carefully, ninja-style, and advance toward him, dodging the coffee table and a couple of takeout bags he left lying around.

You’re right behind him.

Barely a second of hesitation.

You jump onto his back.

"WHAT THE F—?!" Hyunjin lets out a screech so high-pitched it could practically shatter glass as he loses his balance.

The two of you crash to the floor in a fit of laughter, an absolute disaster of chaotically tangled arms and legs. He ends up face down, you half on top of him, both of you laughing so hard your stomachs hurt.

"Are you crazy or what?!" he complains, unable to hide his laughter. "At this rate, I’m going to end up going home in an ambulance. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Oh, stop being so dramatic" you reply, giving his shoulder a playful swat as you sit up. "It's not like you're that delicate."

Hyunjin rolls onto his back, still laughing, his hair a bit messy and his cheeks flushed from the jump scare and the dancing.

"You are not normal..." He shakes his head, but the way he looks at you is pure warmth. "As a nurse, you’re terrible. You almost killed your patient before you could even take care of him."

"Patient?" You raise an eyebrow. "You didn't even bring dessert. You're lucky I'm not kicking you out of my apartment."

"What do you mean I didn't?" He gestures to the takeout bags scattered across the table. "I brought you dinner, drinks, and my presence. The complete package. I don't know what else you want."

"A refund" you shoot back quickly.

He feigns a mortal wound to his pride, clutching his chest with one hand.

"That hurt. Seriously, that one actually hurt my heart."

You stick your tongue out at him, push yourself up from the floor, and grab your bag from the entryway.

"I’m going to change."

"Go ahead, scram" he says, still sprawled out on the floor. "Maybe I'll clean up a bit... or maybe not."

"Better not touch anything" you retort on your way to your bedroom. "I know how you are."

You close the door behind you and let out a sigh. Stripping off your street clothes, you feel the immediate relief of ridding yourself of your jeans and bra. It’s warm inside, and your skin still feels cozy from the hospital shower. You open your closet without thinking much about it, and your eyes dart straight to a very specific piece of clothing: an oversized black t-shirt belonging to Hyunjin, one he left at your place months ago.

You love it. It falls to your mid-thigh, smelling like your fabric softener mixed with a scent you recognize as distinctly his, and it has since become your unofficial "uniform" for getting comfortable.

You pull it on without hesitation, along with a pair of breezy shorts. You look at yourself in the mirror for a second: the contrast between his oversized t-shirt and your relaxed body, your hair still a bit damp... It has an intimate feel to it, almost too intimate. You shake your head, brushing the feeling away.

"It's Hyunjin" you remind yourself. "He's been your friend for years. He's seen worse."

You step out into the hallway and head back to the living room. The moment you walk in, Hyunjin turns his head toward you... and lets out a theatrical huff.

"That t-shirt is mine" he says, pointing a finger at you as if he'd just caught you robbing a bank.

You look him up and down with all the calm in the world, not denying it for a single second.

"Yes. And now it’s mine" you reply, completely unbothered.

Hyunjin sits up from the floor, leaning against the couch.

"You can't keep stealing my clothes" he protests, though his smile betrays him. "Every time I come over, you’ve kidnapped something new. Pretty soon, I’m going to have to bring an extra suitcase just to compensate."

"Go ahead and bring it, that way I’ll have more to steal" you shoot back, sitting down in front of the coffee table. "You don't miss it and I enjoy it. Win-win."

"Of course I miss it" he grumbles. "I miss not seeing you in MY t-shirts and MY hoodies. It’s a constant reminder of my loss."

"Oh, please" you laugh. "You know you love how they look on me."

He stares at you for a second, that mischievous smile curving his lips.

"I'm not going to deny it" he admits. "They look way too good on you. That’s the problem."

You decide to ignore the slight flutter in your stomach at his comment and focus on the table: he ordered takeout, there are a couple of open containers, chopsticks, and several bottles of soju and soda.

"Well, at least you survived without setting my kitchen on fire" you say, pouring yourself a glass.

"I considered touching something in the kitchen, but then I thought about the look on your face if I blew it up, and I decided it wasn't worth it" he replies. "I love my life. And I love having eyebrows."

You laugh. You turn the music down a bit from Hyunjin's phone, just enough so it still sets the mood without you having to shout at each other.

The two of you settle onto the floor, leaning against the couch in front of the coffee table. You start eating, and that first sip of soju goes down like heaven itself. You can feel the tension built up in your shoulders finally melting away.

"So, how was your day?" Hyunjin asks, turning his body toward you. "A lot of hospital drama?"

"The usual" you reply, shrugging your shoulders. "People who think that just because you're on shift you're their personal slave, people who get anxious over everything... and the occasional sweet patient who reminds you why you keep putting up with this."

"Sounds intense" he nods, taking a sip as well. "At least someone in this house has a real job."

"You do too" you retort. "What you do is work, too. Even if you have to spend half the day in makeup and the other half fooling around."

He laughs.

"You're not that far off" he admits. "But hey, right now we’re practicing almost every day, preparing new things... and a thousand meetings. You know, the glamor of the idol life."

"What are you guys up to now?" you ask, intrigued. "New comeback? Collaboration? Or is it a state secret?"

Hyunjin lights up as he speaks. He tells you anecdotes from rehearsals—how Chan gets obsessed with the details, how Changbin cracks terrible jokes when they’re all dead tired, how Felix worries about making sure everyone eats well, and how Jisung is late for everything but still manages to be one of the most productive.

You share your own stories: the patient who asked for your number right in front of his wife, the new coworker who almost fainted while drawing blood, the old lady who took a liking to you and always brings you candy. The laughter flows easily. Each sip of soju warms your body a little more and loosens your tongue.

You realize how much you missed this. Just being like this with him, with no rush, no obligation to go anywhere, talking about silly things and important things all at once.

Hyunjin seems looser than usual, too. He laughs louder, acts goofier, does impressions, and shows you silly videos he has saved of the guys. Every time he laughs for real, with his head thrown back and his hand on his stomach, you feel the stress of the day dissolve just a little bit more.

At one point, after another round of soju, Hyunjin sets his glass down on the table and looks at you with an amused expression.

"Oh, by the way" he says, like someone casually bringing up the weather. "Did I tell you about Jisung?"

"What did he do now?" you ask, curious.

"He got himself a… friend" he says, drawing out the word. "With benefits."

You blink.

"So, basically, he’s hooking up with his friend" you summarize with total nonchalance.

Hyunjin lets out a loud laugh.

"Yeah, pretty much" he admits. "He says he doesn't want anything serious, but at least this way he has someone he trusts when… you know."

You raise an eyebrow, taking another sip.

"Well, look at Jisung living the good life" you murmur. "Even he has a friends-with-benefits situation."

You let out a sigh, the alcohol unleashing what you usually keep to yourself.

"I’m jealous" you confess, point-blank. "I can't even remember the last time I had sex... and I’m so sick of meeting idiotic, creepy guys. It’s like they're the only species around lately."

Hyunjin stares at you, at first with a half-teasing smile, but his eyes are sharp and attentive.

"Well..." he says, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand, pretending to think. "You could always take advantage of me. I wouldn't mind."

The words are a joke, the tone is too. You both laugh. But there’s something in his gaze—a different kind of spark—that strikes a chord in your chest. You give him a gentle kick on the knee.

"You’re an idiot" you murmur, still laughing.

He feigns exaggerated hurt, but he doesn't take his eyes off you.

"Do you really think it’s that bad of an idea?" he asks suddenly, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Or is it just that you think I'm ugly?"

"Don't talk nonsense" you reply right away. "You know perfectly well you're one of the best-looking guys I've ever met. But don't let it go to your head."

His lips curve a little wider.

"So?" he insists, enjoying pushing you to the limit. "Are you going to get shy with me now?"

You look away, playing with the glass between your fingers.

"It's not that" you say. "It's just that we’ve been friends for years, Hyunjin. It never even crossed my mind."

And you know that’s not entirely true. You’ve always seen him as your best friend... but it would also be a lie to say you aren't aware of how attractive he is. You’d have to be blind not to notice his flawless face, the way he moves, how the veins stand out on his arms when he dances, the way his features soften when he laughs.

You clumsily change the subject.

"Besides, aren't you the needy one here?" you throw at him, trying to shift the spotlight. "With everything you always tell me about work, it can't be easy for you either."

He shrugs his shoulders, completely unbothered.

"Yeah, honestly" he admits. "You know how our world is. If I sleep with someone, there are always risks. People talking, people leaking things, people making up stories… It’s complicated. Even if they see me on the street with you, even if you’re just my friend, there would be rumors everywhere. I bet it would be all over the internet that I’m seeing a 'mysterious woman.'"

You know he’s right. You think about it for a moment, biting your lip. His world is different. Everything that would be low-key for you could turn into a scandal for him.

While he tells you this, he pulls away from the couch a bit and takes off the hoodie he was wearing. It’s warm, and underneath he’s only wearing a black tank top. It hits you all at once that, as the hours passed, you’d forgotten just how much body there is under those baggy clothes.

His arms look defined, his muscles toned but not overly bulked. The fabric stretches slightly over his chest and shoulders. You swallow hard, almost involuntarily.

You don't know if it’s the soju, the conversation, or both, but suddenly it feels strangely difficult to look away. Your eyes follow him as he leans forward to grab the bottle, as he runs a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

"He’s your best friend" you remind yourself mentally. "Your best friend."

Hyunjin seems to notice where your eyes are lingering. A slow, amused smile spreads across his face.

"Like what you see?" he asks, laughing softly.

"I’ve already seen way too much of you" you retort, trying to sound indifferent as you bring the glass to your lips.

He doesn't buy it. You can tell by the look in his eyes.

He leans a little closer to you, shortening the distance between the two of you. It’s nothing dramatic, but it's enough for the air between you to shift.

"Oh, yeah?" he murmurs. "Then it wouldn't matter if I took my shirt off, right?"

You feel a spark of nerves shoot down your spine. You try to adopt your most casual tone, but your voice betrays you, sounding a bit tighter than you’d like.

"You're free to do whatever you want" you reply. "It's your shirt, not mine."

What you didn't expect was for him to actually go through with it. Without taking his eyes off you, he grabs the hem of his tank top and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. He tosses it onto the couch without looking, as if it were nothing.

Your brain takes half a second to process that Hyunjin is currently sitting right in front of you, shirtless, his abs defined, his collarbone sharp, his arms resting casually on his knees.

You focus desperately on your glass. You grab it and take a larger gulp than you should, just to have something to do with your hands.

Suddenly, you hear his voice, lower, closer.

"Now it's your turn."

You almost choke on your drink.

"What?" you ask, your voice a bit louder than usual, your eyes wide.

Hyunjin smiles, tilting his head, watching your every reaction with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I said, now it's your turn."

You blink a couple of times, as if your brain needed a hard reboot.

"No way in hell, right?" he finally says, with a small smile that tries to regain its teasing tone, though his voice sounds a bit huskier now. "I didn't remember you being such a coward."

You raise an eyebrow.

"A coward?" you repeat, offended.

"Yeah" he nods, leaning back more comfortably against the couch. "I've seen you in a bikini a thousand times. Pools, beaches, trips... I’m not going to see anything I haven’t already seen. It's not that dramatic."

You bite the inside of your cheek. Of course he's right about that. You've been with him at the beach, in hotels, in a thousand situations where your body was much more exposed than it is now. And yet, this feels different. More intimate. More… charged.

You look down at your own lap, playing with the hem of the t-shirt, turning over what you should do in your mind. You can feel the atmosphere growing thick, almost tangible.

Hyunjin watches you for a few seconds, and his expression changes. The teasing softens from his features. He reaches out a hand and rests it gently on your knee—the contact warm, firm, reassuring.

"Hey" he says in a more serious tone. "I'm sorry. Don't do anything you don't want to do, okay? I was just playing around. You know I would never force you to..."

"I’m not wearing a bra" you blurt out, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could somehow swallow your words back down.

The silence that follows is so abrupt it makes you want to disappear. You feel the heat rushing up your neck all the way to your ears. You let out a breath and, very slowly, open your eyes.

Hyunjin is in front of you, completely still.

And, against all odds, completely quiet.

His gaze has drifted down to your chest, where the thin fabric of his t-shirt isn't exactly doing a great job of hiding anything. To make matters worse, the cool air in the living room and the built-up tension have done their part: your nipples are betrayal-sharp against the fabric.

You cover yourself almost instinctively with your forearms, hunching your shoulders a bit.

"You know I never wear a bra when I'm just hanging around the apartment" you murmur, unable to look him in the eye. "They always bother me. And you know that… it’s just… I don't know."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him swallow hard. His Adam's apple moves up and down visibly. For the first time in a long while, you're the one who has him completely thrown off. There’s something strangely amusing about seeing him like this, not knowing what to do with his face or his hands.

You tilt your chin up a bit, regaining a sliver of control.

"Come on, they're just boobs, Hyunjin" you toss out, trying to sound calmer than you actually are. "It's nothing to get worked up over."

He lets out a small laugh, his gaze still drifting a bit between your face and your chest.

"I… I know" he admits. "It's just, I've never actually looked at your boobs before, to be honest. And I wasn't expecting your nipples to greet me so directly."

He finishes the sentence with a burst of laughter, and the spell breaks just enough for you to breathe. You grab a couch cushion without thinking and hurl it right at his face.

"You’re an idiot" you protest, half dying of embarrassment, half dying of laughter.

Hyunjin catches the cushion halfway, tosses it aside, and clears his view. When he looks back at you, the teasing is still there... but there’s something else, a spark you’ve never seen look this intense.

"Take your shorts off then" he says, suddenly serious, though the corner of his mouth twitches. "After all, my t-shirt fits you like a dress anyway."

You freeze for a second.

"Excuse me?" you ask, not quite sure if you heard him right.

"Take them off" he repeats calmly, resting his arms on his knees and leaning forward a bit. "I mean, we’re just friends, right? And it’s basically like you’re wearing a dress. Nothing I haven’t seen before... your words, not mine."

You look at him, trying to gauge whether he’s still joking or not. His gaze doesn’t wander; it doesn’t hide. It’s fixed on you, challenging, a bit dark from the soju and something else entirely.

You take a deep breath, feeling the soju burning in your stomach. You think about the years of trust, about all the times he’s seen you a complete mess, crying, laughing, half asleep. There is no one you trust more than him.

"What the hell" you tell yourself. "If he wants to play, let's play."

You grab your glass and take another gulp, this time without making a face at how strong it burns going down. Then you set it on the table, lean back a bit, and lift your hips just enough to hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts.

Hyunjin follows your every move with his eyes, in complete silence.

You slowly slide the shorts down your thighs, feeling the friction of the fabric against your skin, until they reach your knees. Then you slip them down to your ankles and kick them off your feet. You bunch them up with one hand, sit back up, and toss them at him without ceremony.

"Happy?" you ask, crossing your legs as you sit down again, the t-shirt falling to your mid-thigh.

Hyunjin catches the shorts out of the air. Instead of setting them aside, he holds onto them, playing with the fabric, his eyes boldly raking over you from head to toe.

"Very" he finally replies with a slow, half-smile. "More than I should be."

You feel the flutter in your stomach intensify. The atmosphere has definitely shifted. It’s no longer just a joke: there’s a steady current running between the two of you, washing away the invisible lines you used to take for granted.

"Don't flatter yourself" you try to joke. "It’s literally your t-shirt. You’ve seen me looking worse."

"Not like this" he replies, not taking his eyes off your legs. "Not when I know you have nothing on underneath. Neither top nor bottom."

The words strike a chord in your chest like a soft blow. You swallow hard. He notices and smiles, satisfied to have caught you off guard.

"You started it" you accuse him, trying to regain some ground. "First by taking your shirt off, then by testing me..."

Hyunjin leans in a little closer to you, propping an elbow on the table to bring his face near yours—close enough for you to catch the faint scent of cologne mixed with soju and warm skin.

"And you played along way better than I expected" he murmurs. "You have no idea."

You feel your pulse quicken. The living room, the background music, the bottles... everything seems to fade away a bit, as if only this tiny space between the two of you were left.

You try to downplay it.

"Well, I had to do something to get you to shut up" you reply, though your voice comes out a bit softer.

He chuckles, the laugh resonating between you.

"You say that as if you don't actually like me looking at you" he says then, dropping his voice another octave. "But you haven't tried to cover your legs."

Only your chest, you think. Only the part that gives you away the most.

You uncross and recross your legs the other way, as if that would help you regain some control, but you know you’re not fooling anyone. Hyunjin follows your movement, attentive to every gesture.

"And what about you?" you question, counterattacking. "Why are you still shirtless? You’re going to catch a cold."

He laughs.

"Oh, right, now you're worried about my health" he replies. "Ten minutes ago you almost scared me to death, and now you're fearing for my cold."

"I'm a nurse, it's my duty" you say, shrugging your shoulders.

Hyunjin leans his back against the couch, letting himself sink a little further down. His abs define themselves as he stretches, his skin tightening. You know he’s doing it on purpose when you catch his half-smile out of the corner of your eye.

"Then fulfill your duty" he says. "If anything happens to me, you're the only one who could do CPR."

You stare at him.

"Stop saying things that sound weird when you’re half-naked" you murmur.

He tilts his head.

"Weird how?" he asks, innocent in appearance only.

You feel the heat rushing up to your face again. You let out a huff, looking away for a second, only to feel him drawing your gaze back like a magnet. Your eyes drift down his neck, his collarbones, his chest… until you catch yourself and snap them back up to his face, only to find that he was already watching you.

"Like that" you reply, simple as that.

There is a second of silent realization. The two of you know perfectly well what "like that" means. How your words, your glances, your gestures have slowly become tangled up together.

Hyunjin finally sets your shorts down on the couch and reaches his hand toward the table, grabbing the bottle to refill your glass and his. When he hands it to you, his fingers brush against yours. It’s a minimal contact, but an unexpected shiver runs through you.

"We can stop whenever you want" he says then, looking you straight in the eyes, without a smile this time. "You just have to say the word. And we go right back to how we’ve always been. Okay?"

His words leave another truth hanging in the air: if you don’t stop, neither of you intends to hold back.

You tighten your fingers around the glass, feeling its weight, the scent of the alcohol drifting up. You inhale slowly.

"I know" you reply, honest.

You drink a little, and so does he, without breaking eye contact for too long. The silence is no longer awkward; it’s dense. In that silence fits everything you haven't said over the years.

To ease the tension, you swirl the glass between your hands and comment, half-joking:

"Turns out Jisung might have had the right idea with the whole friends-with-benefits thing after all."

Hyunjin arches an eyebrow.

"You think so?" he asks.

"I mean..." you reply. "If even he found something that works for him... I don't know, it sounds convenient. No weird dates, no creepy strangers, no risks... I guess."

"With someone you trust" he adds, emphasizing the words. "Someone you already know. Someone who already knows you."

His eyes don't leave yours for a single second. Ironically, your throat goes dry despite the soju.

"Exactly" you manage to say.

He leans forward again, elbows on his knees, bringing himself incredibly close to you. You feel his warmth, his breath—a proximity the two of you had never measured with such precision before.

"Then maybe it's not such a bad idea after all," he murmurs.

Your heart is pounding so hard it almost rings in your ears. You set your glass down on the table very slowly, terrified your hands might shake.

"It depends" you reply, barely above a whisper. "On who."

Hyunjin flashes a lopsided smile, as if that sentence was exactly what he’d been waiting to hear for a while now.

"I think we both know who we're talking about" he says.

As he speaks, he leans closer to you. His hand finds your bare leg again, right where the t-shirt barely covers anything. This time, it doesn't stay still: his fingers rest first on your knee and, very slowly, begin to slide up your thigh, dragging the fabric along with them.

The caress is gentle, almost innocent, but the path it takes is anything but. You notice the contrast between the warmth of his hand and your own skin, cooler from the nerves. The t-shirt rides up a little higher, exposing more and more skin.

You swallow hard, your body freezing completely even though everything inside you is in turmoil.

"What… what do you mean?" you ask, your voice dropping lower than you intended.

Hyunjin lets out a soft chuckle through his nose—the kind that always shows he’s caught you trying to play it cool.

"Come on" he murmurs. "You already get it."

His fingers continue their slow journey upward, tracing almost distracted circles on your thigh.

"We can be friends with benefits, if you want" he goes on, with a calmness that clashes with what he’s making you feel. "We know each other perfectly. And we can have fun without ruining our relationship."

The phrase hits you straight on. "Friends with benefits." Hearing it like that, in his voice, makes it sound all too real.

You realize that all of this is turning you on more than you’d ever dare admit out of the loud. Your body and your mind seem to have agreed to betray you: the heat between your legs, the prickle beneath your skin, your chest rising and falling faster. You think about Hyunjin, about how he’s right there in front of you, shirtless, with that body you always knew he had but had never looked at with such close attention.

You can’t take your eyes off his arm—the one touching you right now. You see how the veins stand out beneath his skin, tensing every time his fingers grip your thigh a little firmer, how the muscle defines itself as he moves. Suddenly, that image strikes you as the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

You also notice how much closer his face is to yours. Your breath and his clash in the tiny space left between the two of you. When you finally lift your gaze from where he’s touching you up to his eyes, something inside you clicks.

Your body reacts on its own.

You reach out your arm, wrap it around the back of his neck, and pull him toward you all at once. Your lips find his in a kiss that is anything but shy—it’s urgent, hungry, full of all the desire you’d spent the last hour trying to ignore.

Hyunjin takes less than a second to return it with the exact same intensity. He kisses you as if he’d been waiting for an excuse to do so for a long time, and the two of you devour each other without restraint, without thinking.

His hand leaves your thigh and moves to your waist, pulling you into him. The movement makes you lose your balance a bit and ends with you shifting, ending up on your knees in front of him, right at eye level. The kiss doesn’t break; it only changes angles.

Now his hands travel down your back, your waist, gripping your curves tightly as if he needed to make sure you were actually there. Your bodies are pressed together, chest against chest, stomach against stomach. You’re certain Hyunjin can perfectly feel your nipples pressing against his bare skin through the fabric of the t-shirt.

You can’t help the muffled moan that escapes into the kiss when his hands slide down to your ass and squeeze it boldly. The gesture rips a jolt of pleasure out of you that goes straight to the core of your body.

You begin to clearly feel his hardness pressing against your stomach—firm, unmistakable, growing with every passing second he’s pinned to you. That sharp awareness of just how turned on he is shakes you enough that you find yourself needing air.

You pull away from him suddenly, breaking the kiss. Both of you just stay there, face to face, breathing as if you’d been holding your breath this whole time. His lips are swollen and red; you’re almost certain yours must look exactly the same. The silence that follows is thick, charged, but not awkward.

Hyunjin doesn't take his eyes off you for a single second. There is something wild and, at the same time, careful in his gaze.

He is the one to break the silence.

"Do you want to stop… or keep going?" he asks, his voice low, raspy from the kisses.

You lick your lips, still trying to gather your thoughts.

"I don't want to stop" you admit, honest. "But…"—you look down slightly, then look back up—"Honestly, I'm nervous about having sex with you. Just like that, out of nowhere. After so many years together as friends."

His hand remains firm on your waist, like an anchor. He gently pulls you back toward him, narrowing the distance, and lowers his head a bit to let his lips brush against your neck.

He begins to press small kisses there—slow, warm. Between kisses, he speaks, his voice even deeper now, vibrating against your skin.

"We don't have to go all the way today" he whispers. "We can just… test things out. See how it feels. Touch each other. See how far we want to go."

His breath tickles the skin of your neck and shoulder; his hands hold you firmly yet gently all at once.

His lips continue to trace your neck, moving slowly down toward your collarbone. You feel his hand—large and warm—glide along your waist until it rests on your lower back, drawing you closer against him. His erection is still there, pressing firmly against your stomach, reminding you just how real all of this is.

Your breathing quickens. Hyunjin notices your tension and pulls back just a few centimeters to look you in the eyes. His pupils are dilated, his hair falling messily over his forehead.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks softly.

"No…" you reply, barely a whisper. "I'm just… nervous."

He smiles with tenderness, but also with something darker and hungrier.

"Then let me take care of you for a bit" he murmurs against your skin.

One of his hands travels slowly up your side, underneath the baggy t-shirt you’re still wearing. His fingers brush the underside of your breasts, and you feel your skin break out in goosebumps. You let out a quiet moan as his thumb passes right beneath your nipple.

"Take it off" he begs in a husky, almost pleading voice. "I want to feel you."

You hesitate for only a second before grabbing the hem of the t-shirt and pulling it over your head. The moment your breasts are exposed, Hyunjin lets out a shaky breath.

"Fuck…" he murmurs, looking at you as if he were holding himself back.

He dives in to kiss you again, deeper this time, while one hand cups one of your breasts and gently massages it. His thumb plays with your nipple, hardening it under his touch. His other hand travels down your stomach until it reaches the waistband of your panties.

You can feel his erection pulsing against you. Without overthinking it, you slide a hand between the two of you and rest it on his pants, caressing his length over the fabric.

Hyunjin groans against your mouth.

"Do you want to touch me?" he asks, his voice cracking.

You nod, biting your lip. He pulls away just enough to slide his pants and underwear down a bit, freeing his member. It’s larger than you’d imagined. Thick, heavy, with the tip already glistening with precum.

Your hand wraps around it, shy at first. It’s hot, the skin smooth and tight. Hyunjin lets out a low groan when you begin to move it slowly up and down.

"Like that…" he whispers against your neck. "Fuck, your hand feels way too good."

While you stroke him, his hand slips inside your panties. His long fingers find your slickness, and he growls with satisfaction, confirming just how wet you are.

"Look at you…" he says, his voice dark, sliding two fingers between your folds. "So wet for me."

He begins to caress you with slow, precise movements, circling your clitoris before sliding down to press gently against your entrance without fully penetrating you. You arch against him, moaning his name.

The two of you are on your knees, face to face, pleasuring each other. His kisses grow more desperate, his hips moving slightly, seeking more friction against your hand. Your movements quicken too, gripping him a bit firmer.

"Hyunjin…" you moan as he slowly inserts a finger inside you.

"Shh… just feel it" he whispers, gently biting your bottom lip. "We’re going to make you come like this first… and then you make me come. Sound good?"

Hyunjin inserts a second finger inside you, curling them with precision while his thumb continues to rub your clitoris in perfect circles. Your hips move on their own against his hand, chasing more. The wet sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you fills the room along with your ragged breathing.

"God… you’re so tight" he growls against your ear, gently biting your earlobe. "You’re driving me crazy."

Your hand tightens a bit more around his cock, moving faster. You can feel it pulsing, swelling even more between your fingers. The tip is slick, and every time you run your thumb over it, Hyunjin lets out a husky groan that vibrates against your chest.

The two of you are touching each other with more urgency now. There’s no shyness left. Just years of built-up desire, spilling out all at once.

"Hyunjin…" you moan, resting your forehead against his shoulder. Your legs are starting to shake.

"I know" he whispers, quickening the movement of his fingers. "I want to feel you come in my hand. Let yourself go."

His words, spoken in that deep, heavy voice, push you right over the edge. The pleasure builds fast—hot, almost unbearable. Your walls contract around his fingers, and with a long, shaky moan, you come hard.

Your entire body tenses up. Waves of pleasure ripple through you while you keep moving your hand over him, though more uncoordinated now. Hyunjin doesn't stop; he keeps slowly fucking you with his fingers, stretching out your orgasm until you’re left shaking and breathless.

When you open your eyes, he’s staring intently at you, his lips parted and his gaze completely dark.

"Now you" you whisper, still panting.

You pick up the pace with your hand, gripping him firmer, twisting slightly at the tip just the way you can tell he likes. Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. His hips begin to move, fucking your fist.

"Fuck… just like that… don't stop" he growls.

His breathing grows more irregular. You can feel him getting even harder, trembling in your hand. His fingers are still inside you, moving lazily, but his entire focus is on what you're doing to him.

"I’m gonna come…" he warns, his voice breaking.

"Do it" you whisper against his lips. "Come for me."

With a deep, long groan, Hyunjin lets himself go. His hot semen spills out in several thick spurts, pooling over your stomach and your hand. His entire body tenses against yours as he keeps coming, shuddering slightly. You keep moving your hand, slower now, milking him until there’s nothing left.

The two of you stay wrapped in each other's arms, on your knees, breathing raggedly against each other's necks. His semen is still warm between your bodies. Hyunjin kisses your temple, your cheek, and finally your lips with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with what you two just did.

"Fuck…" he murmurs against your mouth, his voice still thick. "I had no idea it would be like this with you."

He caresses your back gently, as if he needed to make sure you're okay.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, looking into your eyes.

You nod, still a bit dazed, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing.

"Yes…" you reply, letting your breath out bit by bit. "I'm good. Really good, actually."

He flashes a weary, almost incredulous half-smile. You stay like that for a few more seconds, pressed together, breathing against each other, until Hyunjin looks down and realizes the state of things between your bodies.

"Okay… this is a bit of a mess" he murmurs with a soft chuckle.

He pulls away from you slowly, gives you one last short kiss on the lips, and leans back to pull up his pants. He adjusts them, buttons them up again, and runs a hand through his hair, his breathing still a bit ragged.

"Wait here a second" he says then, standing up.

You watch him walk toward the bathroom and disappear inside. You hear the faucet, and then a small thud against the sink—he probably bumped into it, classic Hyunjin. When he comes back, he’s holding a folded, damp towel in his hand.

He offers you his free hand to help you up.

"Up you go" he murmurs.

You stand up with his help; you notice your legs are a bit shaky, though you don’t know if it’s from being on your knees for so long, from the nerves, or from everything else. Hyunjin gently positions you right in front of him and, without a word, begins to carefully run the towel over your stomach, wiping away the sticky remnants of your "masterpiece."

The gesture is so intimate and yet so casual that it throws you off. Afterward, he takes one of your hands and cleans your fingers with the same care. He is so focused on what he's doing that you find yourself just staring at him… until he suddenly starts laughing.

First it’s a suppressed laugh, an exhale through his nose. Then a clearer chuckle escapes him.

It catches on with you instantly.

"What are you laughing at?" you ask, still flushed but smiling.

He shakes his head, as if he can’t even believe what he’s about to say himself.

"It’s just…" he raises the towel slightly, as if it were exhibit A. "I didn't expect to finish the night wiping my own semen off my best friend."

You cover your face with your hands for a second, feeling the laughter shake your chest.

"You are disgusting" you complain through your giggles.

"You started it" he replies, amused. "Well, more or less."

The two of you sit there laughing, that weak, giggly laughter that comes after a very long and very heavy tension, until he finally finishes cleaning your hands and your stomach. He sets the towel aside and, with a natural gesture, grabs his t-shirt and slips it back over you, dressing you.

"There you go" he murmurs, giving the hem of the shirt a little tug. "Presentable again."

"Thank you, Mr. Decency" you reply, rolling your eyes, but there’s a new warmth in your voice.

The two of you head back to the living room and sit down on the floor again, leaning against the couch, facing the half-cluttered table. This time, the silence isn't weird: it’s filled with what just happened, but without any of the awkwardness you had feared.

Hyunjin runs a hand over the back of his neck, playing with his hair, and looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"That actually happened, right?" he says at last, with an almost timid smile. "It’s not just the soju playing tricks on us."

You chuckle softly.

"I don't think so" you reply. "Though if you tell me tomorrow that it was just some weird dream, I'm going to be pissed."

He shakes his head.

"There's no way I'm forgetting this" he admits, looking at you now without holding back. "I never thought that..."—he makes a vague gesture with his hand—"...that you and I would end up... like this."

"Me neither" you confess, playing with the hem of the t-shirt. "But I don't regret it."

Hyunjin's expression softens. He leans in a little closer to you.

"Me neither" he replies, serious this time.

For a moment, you just look at each other, as if gauging whether you need to say something deeper, but the habit of years of friendship ultimately wins out.

"Well" you joke. "At least now we can say the whole 'friends with benefits' thing started off with a bang."

Hyunjin laughs, tilting his head.

"You really don't do anything halfway, do you?" he says. "Not working, not taking care of people, not..."

"Not coming with me in the living room?" you interrupt him with a smirk.

"That" he nods, letting out another laugh. "That too."

You lean back a bit against the couch, letting your head drop back. You feel the exhaustion from the day, from your shift, from the alcohol, and now from everything your bodies just went through. The atmosphere has dropped in intensity, but it’s still comfortable. Familiar.

At some point, you grab your phone from the table to check the time. The screen blinds you for a second.

"Holy shit..." you murmur. "It’s three in the morning."

Hyunjin opens his eyes a bit wider, surprised.

"Really?" he asks.

You show him the screen.

"Really." You look at him. "Are you staying over?"

He looks at you as if you’d just asked him if he plans to keep breathing.

"Did you doubt it?" he replies. "I brought my backpack with all my stuff."

He nods with his chin toward the entryway where you hadn't noticed before, but sure enough, his backpack is there, leaning against the wall.

You roll your eyes.

"Of course you did" you murmur. "Always so forward-thinking."

"I mean, I knew you were going to beg me to stay" he says, acting smug. "I had to be prepared."

"Right, right" you reply, standing up slowly. "Come on. Let's clean up a bit before heading to bed."

Between the two of you, you clean up just the essentials: you throw away trash, put away the leftover food, and turn off the music. The living room is left in silence, with only the warm light of the small lamp left on.

Hyunjin stretches, letting out a bostezo.

"Okay, now the sleepiness is definitely hitting me" he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

You turn off the living room light and walk together toward your bedroom. It’s not the first time you've done this; you’ve shared a bed with him other nights, after movies, after drinking nights, after long days. Your bed already knows his weight.

You crawl under the covers almost in sync: you on your side, him on his. The sheets are cool, the fan moving the warm air of the room.

You turn toward him in the dark, barely making out his silhouette.

"Tonight try not to throw yourself all over me, okay?" you murmur. "It’s way too hot. I'm warning you, if you smother me, I’ll push you and kick you out of bed."

You hear his laugh, low, weak with exhaustion.

"And now you tell me?" he replies. "Right on the day I finally have an excuse to throw myself all over you."

You give him a gentle nudge with your foot beneath the sheets.

"Go to sleep, clown."

"Goodnight, little nurse" he whispers.

You feel him settle in, how his side of the mattress sinks a little. Despite what you said, the simple fact of knowing he’s there, so close, is strangely comforting. Almost without thinking, your hand searches for his under the sheet and gives it a quick squeeze.

Hyunjin returns the squeeze, gently.

Neither of you says anything else. Exhaustion finally wins out, and little by little, between the warmth, the echo of what you’ve just done, and the familiarity of having him beside you, you drift off to sleep.

The following days pass almost as if nothing had changed… at least on the surface.

You go back to your impossible shifts, your schedule changes, and unexpected emergencies. Hyunjin, for his part, dives straight into rehearsals, recording sessions, and short trips. Your schedules clash more than they meet.

You don't have another sexual encounter.

But it’s not because either of you wants to stop; you simply haven't had the time to see each other. Even so, the texts never stop.

Silly photos of his food, five-second videos from the studio, voice notes of you complaining about a difficult patient, memes, stickers, comments about shows you’re watching separately. And every now and then, a light reference to "last time," hidden between jokes.

I walked past your street today and almost went up just to ruin your rest.

If you don't bring food, you're not getting in. House rules.

I was thinking of bringing other things 👀

Shut up and rehearse, superstar.

The tone remains the same as always, but there’s a new, underlying thread that you both recognize, even if no one says it out loud.

On a Tuesday afternoon, while you’re on your break, your phone vibrates.

Hey, important little nurse schedule: What days are you free to hang out this week or next week? I have off: Wednesday night, Saturday night, and all day Sunday. The guys say they haven't seen you in forever, asking if I'm kidnapping you. How does everyone getting together one night sound?

You bite the tip of your pen, thinking. You mentally check your shifts.

Impossible this week, they’ve saddled me with three evenings in a row and a night shift. Next Sunday I’m free all day. What’s the plan?

He doesn't take long to reply.

Perfect. Sunday, 8:00 PM, Chan & Innie's place. We’re having dinner there and fooling around for a bit. Everyone misses you, myself included, but I'm not gonna say it too out loud.

Too late, you already said it. I'll bring dessert. And my charming presence.

Just by showing up, you're already dessert 😏 Okay, I'll stop. Sunday, 8:00 PM. Don't be late or I'm sending Changbin to get you.

Sunday feels strange to you. You aren’t working. You wake up later than usual, catch up on some chores around the house, and as the afternoon approaches, you notice that mix of excitement and nerves settling in your stomach.

Around six-something, you decide to start getting ready. It’s nothing formal, just a night at the guys' place... but, without meaning to, you put a bit more effort into it than usual.

You take a long, relaxing shower, wash your hair, and choose a lotion with a subtle scent. When you open the closet, you stand there for a moment, just staring at your clothes.

You could just throw on any old pair of jeans and a random t-shirt. You’ve hung out with them a thousand times looking like that. But today, without fully wanting to admit it to yourself, you think about "the other night." You think about Hyunjin, his hands, his body pressed against yours in your living room. And your hand moves, almost on its own, toward a lingerie set you normally save for special occasions.

A nice bra, one that lifts and fits you well; a matching thong, something more delicate, sexier than anyone would have any reason to see... unless.

You look at yourself in the mirror and huff.

"It’s just a dinner with friends" you remind yourself in a low voice. "You’re ridiculous."

Even so, you put them on.

Over that, you choose a pair of jeans you know make your ass look good, and a blouse that flatters your figure without being too obvious. You do light but careful makeup, a bit more than usual: your skin looks a bit more polished, mascara, a touch of color on your lips. You let your hair down so it looks effortless... even though you spent longer than usual in front of the mirror.

When you’re finally ready, you grab what you've prepared to bring and head out toward Chan and Jeongin’s apartment.

You arrive at their building ten minutes before eight. You ride up in the elevator, your heart beating a little bit faster than it should for a simple visit.

The moment you ring the doorbell, the door opens almost instantly.

Hyunjin.

He’s wearing comfortable clothes, his hair down, and by the way his face lights up when he sees you, you’d say he’s truly happy to have you there.

"About time!" he says, but before you can even reply, he grabs you by the arm and pulls you inside, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Suddenly, you find yourself trapped in one of his tight hugs—the kind that lifts you off the ground without warning.

"Hyunjin!" you protest, laughing as your feet leave the floor. "One of these days you’re gonna squeeze the life out of me, I swear."

"That’s the plan" he replies, laughing too, giving you one last squeeze before letting you down.

When he lets go, his hands linger for a moment on your waist. His eyes sweep over you from head to toe, quick but not innocent at all.

"You got dressed up" he comments, as if you couldn't catch him staring. "You look really pretty."

"Well, I'm here to see important people" you reply, faking seriousness. "I couldn't just show up looking like a mess."

"Well, you nailed it" he says, with that crooked smile. "Go on in. The others are in the living room."

You walk further into the apartment and immediately hear the voices.

"About time!" Changbin yells from the couch the second he sees you appear.

"Look who it is" Chan adds, standing up to welcome you.

You spend a good while giving out hugs: to Chan, who squeezes you affectionately and asks how you're doing; to Changbin, who pretends to be offended because you took too long to greet him; to Han, who hugs you with a loose laugh; to Felix, who welcomes you with a huge smile and a sincere "I missed you"; to Seungmin, who greets you with a calmer but warm hug; and to Jeongin, who holds onto you almost like a koala for a second, laughing.

The atmosphere is the same as always: comfortable, loud, full of overlapping voices.

You all have dinner—something they prepared together (or so they claim; you suspect Chan did most of the work). There’s food everywhere, cans and bottles on the table, shared plates, hands moving back and forth.

They fill you in on everything: rehearsal anecdotes, inside jokes, bad puns. Felix laughs with that contagious laugh of his, Jeongin makes comments that have everyone jokingly ganging up on him, and Jisung dramatizes every story as if it were a stand-up monologue. You also share stories from the hospital, exaggerating some situations and making them laugh.

Little by little, the bottles empty out.

Someone suggests drinking games, and nobody objects.

You start with silly card games, absurd rules, "loser drinks." It doesn't take long for it to become obvious that Jisung and Felix are losing the most, or rather, the ones who are worst at calculating their moves.

Felix is getting happier and happier, his cheeks flushed red, laughing at absolutely everything. Jisung gets tangled up in the rules, protests when he has to drink, and then drinks anyway.

The living room is a pleasant chaos of voices, laughter, low background music, and clinking glasses.

At one point, you feel like you need a breather. The noise, the alcohol—it’s all starting to be a bit much.

"I’m going to the bathroom for a second" you announce, standing up.

Nobody pays much attention; they’re too busy arguing over whether the last card counted or not. You take advantage of the chaos to leave the living room and head down the hallway toward the bathroom.

What you don't know is that Hyunjin, from the other side of the table, watched you get up. And he followed you with his eyes from the very first step you took.

A few seconds after you close the living room door behind you, you hear soft footsteps in the hallway.

You don't know it’s him.

Yet.

As you close the bathroom door, you suddenly feel resistance. A hand catches it just before the frame completely clicks into place. The door opens back up a bit, and through the crack, Hyunjin’s face appears.

He slips inside with you and closes it behind him, this time locking the latch.

You aren't as surprised as you should be. Or at least, not deep down.

"Do you just really want to watch me pee, or what?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Please" he replies. "I’ve played your bodyguard a thousand times while you peed in the middle of nowhere. Highways, rest stops, long walks... Do you remember when those cyclists almost caught you?"

You burst out laughing just remembering it.

"It wasn’t 'almost'" you protest. "They caught me red-handed. You were just laughing instead of warning me, you traitor."

"I was in shock" he says, putting a hand to his chest in a theatrical gesture. "Besides, I was watching out for cars. Cyclists weren’t in the contract."

The two of you laugh for a couple of seconds, that loose laugh of complicity, while the distant murmur from the living room comes through muffled by the closed door.

Then, Hyunjin takes another step toward you.

Another.

Until your back softly bumps against the edge of the sink. He places his hands on either side, resting them on the porcelain, coming closer without pushing you, but making it crystal clear that you are trapped between his body and the counter.

"What are you doing?" you ask, a nervous smile showing on your lips.

He tilts his head a bit, his eyes dropping for a split second to your mouth before returning to yours.

"What does it look like?" he whispers.

You don’t have time to answer.

He leans in and kisses you.

It’s a hungry kiss, without any preamble, charged with all the nights you couldn't see each other, with all the messages that didn't explicitly say what you wanted. You respond instantly, as if your body had been waiting for exactly this gesture: you return the kiss with the same urgency, tangling your arms behind his neck and pulling him even closer to you.

Hyunjin grabs you by the waist, tight, almost desperate, pressing you completely against the sink and against himself. You feel how he fits you against him, how the world outside the bathroom fades away a bit.

He pulls away just a few centimeters, just enough to breathe and speak. His lips brush against yours with every word.

"You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this since last time" he confesses, his voice husky. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what happened that night."

He looks into your eyes, so close, his own darkened.

"Every time I remember it..." he swallows hard. "It turns me on."

His hands immediately move up to your breasts, squeezing firmly, as if he already knows exactly how to touch you to steal your breath away.

You gasp against his mouth, your body igniting with an ease that scares you and thrills you at the same time. Still, a part of you tries to stay sane.

"Hyunjin..." you manage to say between short breaths. "We need to stop."

He slowly shakes his head, without backing away even a centimeter.

"The guys are drunk and way too entertained" he replies in a whisper, his fingers playing with the buttons of your blouse. "They have no idea what’s going on in here."

His fingers remain on your blouse, undoing them in a rush. As soon as the blouse opens, his fingers move up and lift your bra in a single motion, leaving your breasts completely exposed. He doesn’t waste a single second: he ducks his head and catches one of your nipples with his mouth, sucking hungrily while his hand squeezes your other breast.

You groan, arching your back. One of your hands tangles in his dark hair, pulling at it so he doesn't pull away. Hyunjin grunts against your skin, licking and biting softly, alternating between one breast and the other as if he can't decide which one he wants more.

"Hyunjin... fuck..." you whisper, biting your lip.

He looks up for a second, his lips wet, and kisses you hard while his hands move down to your jeans. He undoes the button and skillfully slides the zipper down. His hand slips directly inside your panties, and when he feels how soaking wet you are, he lets out a throaty groan against your mouth.

"Fuck..." he murmurs, sliding two fingers between your folds. "You're dripping. Did you want this as badly as I did?"

You nod, breathless, and reach down to stroke him over his jeans. You feel his cock hard, pressing against the fabric, throbbing beneath your palm.

Hyunjin thrusts two fingers inside you all at once and starts moving them with a rhythm, curling them right where he knows it drives you crazy.

"I want to fuck you" he whispers against your ear, his voice dark and heavy. "I want to slide my cock inside you and feel how you squeeze me... how this hot wetness wraps around me."

His words make you groan louder. Your walls contract around his fingers, and he notices it perfectly.

"Look how you're squeezing me... Your body doesn't lie. You want me to fuck you as badly as I do" he continues, sliding in a third finger. "Tell me... do you want me to fuck you right here?"

You're so turned on you can barely speak. Hyunjin keeps fucking you with his fingers, faster and faster, while his other hand tightly squeezes one of your breasts and pinches the nipple.

"Ask for it" he taunts, biting your neck. "If you want me to fuck you, tell me."

You're right on the edge, trembling, when suddenly he pulls his fingers out. You're about to protest, but Hyunjin quickly turns you around, pressing your stomach against the sink. He yanks your jeans down to your mid-thighs and freezes for a second when he sees the black thong you're wearing: thin, sexy, leaving your ass almost completely bare.

"Fuck..." he growls, running his hand over your butt cheek. "Did you put this on for me?"

You hear him unbuckle his belt and slide his pants down. He presses against your back, his hot chest flat against you, and pulls your thong to the side. You feel the thick head of his cock brushing against your entrance, sliding between your soaking wet lips.

"Tell me I can fuck you" he whispers against your ear, holding himself back.

"Hyunjin... please" you groan. "Fuck me."

He doesn't think twice. He thrusts in all at once, burying it inside you all the way to the hilt. You both groan at the same time. He starts to fuck you hard, fast, almost wild. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass fills the bathroom.

Hyunjin grabs you by the hair, pulling your head back so you look into the mirror. The image you see turns you on even more: blouse open, bra pushed up, breasts bouncing with every thrust, face flushed, and your makeup slightly smudged. Hyunjin is right behind you, watching you with dark eyes as he fucks you.

"Do you like how your friend fucks you?" he growls, pulling harder on your hair. "Do you like that I'm fucking you in the bathroom while the others are outside?"

You groan louder, squeezing him inside you.

"I’m gonna cum..." he warns, breathing heavily. "Are you gonna cum on my cock?"

You nod desperately. Hyunjin lets go of your hair, grabs your hips tightly, and starts fucking you like an animal, deep and fast. The orgasm hits you hard: you cum violently around his cock, moaning his name as your entire body trembles.

The sensation of your walls contracting pushes him over the edge. Hyunjin pulls his cock out quickly and, with a long, throaty groan, cums over your ass and lower back. Hot spurts spill onto your skin as he keeps pumping his hand over himself, emptying completely.

The two of you are left gasping for air, looking at each other through the mirror. Hyunjin leans in, kisses your shoulder, and whispers against your skin:

"This wasn't enough... Not even close."

Hyunjin holds your gaze in the mirror for a second longer, his breathing still ragged, until he reaches toward the sink and grabs some paper towels.

"Come here" he murmurs, his voice still husky.

He helps you straighten up a bit, helping you close your legs once you finally can, and holds you gently by the hip while his other hand carefully cleans your lower back and your ass, where he finished this time.

The contact is delicate, almost tender, very different from a few minutes ago. You rest your hands on the edge of the sink, still trying to catch your breath, your pulse slowing down bit by bit.

"I swear..." he huffs, half-laughing. "I don't plan on starting the night cleaning your things and ending it cleaning mine."

His comment lets out a loose, tired laugh from you.

"Seems like it’s becoming a habit" you say, still with your back to him, looking at your blurry reflection in the mirror.

"There could be worse habits" he retorts, tossing the paper into the trash can and handing you some water so you can finish fixing yourself up. "At least I like this one."

He helps you adjust your clothes, pull up your jeans, and fix your blouse again. When you finally turn around to look at him face-to-face, you feel your face burning. Between the effort, the alcohol, and what you two just did, your cheeks are as red as can be.

"And how are we supposed to walk out like this now?" you murmur. "It’s written all over my face."

Hyunjin watches you for a second, his lips curving into a satisfied smile.

"Don't worry" he says. "I already have it figured out."

"Oh, really?" you raise an eyebrow. "And what genius plan did you come up with?"

He steps a little closer, lowering his voice, but his eyes light up with that trademark mischievous glint of his.

"With a face like that, it's easy" he explains. "I'll go out first and tell them you were a little drunk and weren't feeling well. They'll look at you, see how flushed you are, and they'll buy it instantly. You just have to play along."

"A criminal genius" you say ironically, though deep down you know he's right.

"And if that doesn't work, I can always say you were taking a massive shit" he adds, holding back his laughter.

"You're not helping" you complain, shoving his shoulder with your hand, but you end up laughing too.

He looks at you one last time, makes sure your clothes are in place, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and, unable to help himself, gives you a short, quick kiss on the lips.

"Wait thirty seconds and then come out" he whispers. "And glare at me, just in case."

He unlocks the latch and steps out of the bathroom like it's nothing. You hear him close the door behind him and his footsteps fade down the hallway.

You take a deep breath, looking in the mirror for a few seconds to make sure that, at the very least, you don't look freshly... done. You wet your hands a little, run your fingers over your neck and cheeks to cool the heat down, and mentally count to thirty before heading out.

When you return to the living room, everyone is still at the table, surrounded by cards, laughter, and empty cans. Hyunjin is already sitting in his spot, a bottle in his hand.

Chan looks up first.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

Hyunjin speaks up first, not leaving any time.

"She got a little dizzy" he says, with a "told-you-so" gesture. "She's half-drunk; she literally leaned on me in the hallway. I told her to wash her face."

All eyes turn toward you. Conscious of your still-flushed face, you try to put on a "phew, it's hot in here" expression.

"I'm fine" you say, putting a hand to your forehead. "I just needed a breather. It’s way too hot in here."

Felix looks at you, sees your flushed cheeks, and immediately nods.

"It's all hitting me too" he says, showing his half-empty bottle. "You're not the only one."

Jisung laughs at whatever, and Changbin raises his glass and shouts something about a toast to alcohol tolerance. Nobody seems to suspect a thing. Hyunjin's alibi works perfectly.

You sit back down, more carefully this time, and drink water instead of anything else. The night goes on for a bit longer: you keep listening to their anecdotes and laughing with them, though a part of your mind can't stop replaying what happened in the bathroom just minutes ago, like a movie on a loop.

After a while, you check the time on your phone. It’s later than you thought, and tomorrow you have an early shift at the hospital.

"Guys, I'm heading out now" you announce. "Otherwise, there's no way I'm getting up tomorrow."

The typical protests begin, though everyone is tired and happy enough not to really press the issue.

"We'll call you a cab" Chan says.

"No, I'm taking the subway" you reply. "It's close, and I need to clear my head a bit."

Hyunjin stands up almost at the exact same time as you.

"I'll walk you out" he says without thinking about it much.

You look at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You really don't need to" you reply. "I have an early shift tomorrow, and if you come, I'm sure I'll get caught up talking to you and won't sleep at all. Stay, enjoy the rest of the night. I'm fine."

He looks like he wants to say something else, but he bites his tongue. There's a second of silent understanding between the two of you. He nods slowly.

"Text me when you get back" he requests at last.

"I will" you confirm.

You say goodbye to everyone with hugs that are a bit gentler than when you arrived, promising to see each other again soon. Hyunjin follows you to the door, lingering with you for one more second on the threshold, as if searching for something to say that wouldn't give away everything he's thinking.

In the end, he just leans in a little and whispers to you:

"Talk to you later."

You nod, give him a small smile, and walk down the hallway toward the elevator.

As you ride down, with the echo of his hands still branded on your skin and your body still remembering what happened in that bathroom, you wonder how much longer you'll be able to keep pretending that you're "just" friends with benefits.

Since that night in the bathroom, the line you had crossed stopped being an isolated accident.

Without really talking about it seriously, you two started taking advantage of that "friends with benefits" setup a bit too much.

At first, it was just random messages—half-joking, half-serious.

I almost yelled at a cameraman today. I need to destress, like, right now.

Should I bring you some chamomile tea, or do you prefer a different kind of therapy?

The private nurse one worked pretty well for me last time 😌

I’m free this afternoon.

Noted.

Other times, you were the one opening the door:

Shitty day. Two difficult patients, an unbearable family member, and a doctor who seems straight out of hell.

Tell me what time, and I'll bring food and something to drink.

I don't know if I want to eat or just have you kill me.

I can do both. In that order.

I'll be home at 10:30 PM.

And just like that, without any grand speeches, the encounters became more frequent.

Sometimes it was at your apartment: he’d arrive first, order food, put on some music, and you’d catch up... and sooner or later, a lingering look, a knee brushing against yours, or a hand staying just a little too long on your waist would end up pushing you both to the couch, to your bed, or onto the kitchen counter.

Other times it was in his studio, when it just so happened that you were near the building and he could slip away for a couple of hours. Chan would act like he didn't see a thing if you crossed paths in the hallway, and you’d walk straight into the studio, closing the door behind you.

The pattern repeated itself: first small talk, laughter, a comment here and there about work... and then the deliberate slide. His hands on your thigh. Your fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt. An excuse as simple as:

"Feel like keeping up with 'the habit'?"

And there you went again.

The messages changed their tone too. Without becoming explicitly dirty all the time, there was definitely more confidence, more innuendos.

I heard a song today and I could only think about you in the bathroom.

You know it's kinda scary how much you think about that bathroom?

It's scary how much I think about you in general, but let's pretend I didn't say that.

I can't feel my legs after this shift..

I can help you not feel them for a different reason.

You're dynamic.

And you keep replying, you know you love it.

Between one encounter and the next, everything remained "normal": you were still friends, you still told each other everything, sent absurd photos, and complained about work. But now there was a new, physical layer that neither of you made a real effort to stop.

There were nights when you only saw each other to have dinner and talk, and others that started the exact same way but ended with his t-shirt on your hallway floor and your hands gripping his hair.

Every now and then, one of you would set a boundary, half-joking:

"No falling asleep together, or I'll get attached" you'd say.

"No kissing 'like a couple' outside the house" he'd say.

And yet, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore that when he texted you "I need to see you," he wasn't just talking about sex anymore. Nor when you, in the middle of your break, opened your chat and his name was the first thing that popped up.

That dynamic, so comfortable and so dangerous at the same time, settled in. Every week, if schedules allowed, there was at least one night "to destress." Sometimes two.

Until, almost without you realizing it, you started to notice that what you did together no longer felt like just a practical arrangement between friends.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme @hiraelis

The bass still thumps in your chest as you step out of the venue, as if the concert were still alive inside you. Your throat is a bit raw from all the screaming, your feet burn in your high boots, but you don't care. Every single second of that show was worth it, because you spent every single second just watching him.

Hyunjin.

You make your way through the crowd spilling out onto the street, excited voices talking about his dancing, his rapping, how he looked on stage, and you smile to yourself, knowing that no one suspects a thing. To them, you're just another fan with her lightstick, her tour wristband, her voice hoarse from singing. To yourself, you're still the girlfriend who had to hold back the urge to scream out something more than just fanchants every time he looked over at your section.

Because he did. You know it.

You felt his gaze more than once, locked onto you, sliding down your body, always returning to meet your eyes whenever you managed to catch his. The outfit you chose was no accident: the leather miniskirt, the fishnets, the tight top that hugged your figure and played into the aesthetic of that night's wardrobe. Matching him, like a shared secret in the middle of thousands of people.

No one knows. No one must know.

As you walk toward the taxi stand, you tightly grip the small SKZOO character plush hanging from your bag. You stroke it with your thumb, a mechanical gesture that soothes you. The night chill contrasts with the warmth you still feel on your skin. Every memory of the concert is a jolt: his hair damp with sweat, the way he bit his lip between songs, the half-smile when the crowd chanted his name.

You hail a taxi and give the hotel address. The driver turns on the radio, some random station, but you only hear the ad-libs in your head, the screams, the echo of his voice through the massive speakers. You look out the window, the city lights flashing past, and your mind leaps ahead a few hours: the hotel room door closing, just you and him, no cameras, no fans, no staff members.

Without having to pretend there is nothing between you.

When you arrive at the hotel, the lobby is half-empty. The front desk staff already recognizes all of you, but as always, you keep your distance, acting as if you're simply someone staying there by chance, nothing special. You take the elevator up to the floor where your room is—the one you requested to be put under your name and not his. Precautions, always precautions.

As you close the door behind you, the silence of the room feels strange after the thunder of the concert. You lean against the wood for a second, taking a deep breath, letting reality hit you all at once. You drop your bag onto the chair, the lightstick on the table, and take off the oversized jacket with the group's logo that you wore to disguise the outfit a bit.

The full-length mirror throws back your reflection: your makeup slightly smudged at the corners of your eyes, the spark in your gaze, the top clinging to your skin, the miniskirt still perfectly in place. You turn a bit to one side, then the other. You think about how he will see you when he opens that door.

You take off the tour wristband, the necklaces, the SKZOO keychains hanging from your skirt's belt loop. Piece by piece, you strip away everything that marks you as a fan, until you are left only with what marks you as his.

You sit on the bed for a moment, just to check your phone. The chat with him is the very first pinned conversation at the top. The last time you text each other was before the concert, when he asked you what section you’d be in, and you sent him a picture of your view from the front row. He only replied with a “👀” and a “I’m going to look for you in the crowd.”

As if you hadn't felt it.

The phone screen suddenly lights up with a new notification.

We’re heading to the hotel now.

Your heart does a little flip. You sit up straighter in bed, crossing one leg over the other. You hold back the urge to type out a whole paragraph and opt for something simple instead.

Tired?

The reply doesn't take long.

Not tired. My adrenaline is still through the roof. All I can think about is getting there. All I can think about is you

You feel your lips curve into a smile all on their own. You bite the tip of your finger to smother the grin.

I was watching you the whole time. There were thousands of people, and I only saw you. That outfit… are you trying to kill me or what?

You laugh quietly to yourself, imagining him typing quickly from the car seat, surrounded by the guys, trying to stop anyone from peeking over his shoulder.

Maybe I am. I'm waiting for you in the room.

You have no idea what things are crossing my mind right now. Stay up for me.

You close the chat, though you linger on his profile picture for a second. You think about the duality: the perfect idol in front of the world, and the boy who falls apart with you, who texts you impulsively, who lets himself go.

You get up and head to the bathroom. You touch up your lipstick a bit, fix a stray lock of hair, and get rid of any leftover merch still hanging from your clothes. When you step out, the room is dimly lit, with only a lamp turned on by the bed. You sit on the edge, cross your legs again, smooth your skirt a little over your thighs, and take a deep breath.

Time stretches: you don't know if ten minutes pass or thirty. You check your phone again. Nothing new. You get up, pace around the room a bit, walk to the window, and pull back the curtain, looking at the city lights in the distance. Imagining him drawing closer in a black van, hidden behind tinted windows, makes you nervous in an almost teenage way.

And then, the phone vibrates.

We just arrived. Coming up now.

Your pulse races. You turn off the hallway lamp, leaving only the one on the nightstand, creating a soft, almost intimate atmosphere. You stand in front of the bed, as if you were waiting on a small, makeshift stage.

You hear the keycard swipe through the lock.

The door opens and shuts with a soft thud. Hyunjin appears in the entryway hallway, still wearing part of his concert clothes: dark pants, a sleeveless shirt, a jacket dangling from one of his shoulders. His hair is damp, clinging to his forehead and neck, his skin still slightly flushed from the exertion, his chest rising and falling at a rhythm that doesn't seem to have calmed down at all. His eyes lock with yours for a second, and then, they drop.

You feel his gaze trace your body, slowly but with an almost ravenous intensity. The top hugging your chest, the curve of your waist, the leather skirt barely covering the upper part of your thighs, the fishnets, the high boots. His eyes move back up, lingering on your lips, and something in his expression changes.

He doesn't say "hello." He doesn't say your name. He doesn't say anything. He just lets his jacket drop to the floor and heads toward you with determined steps.

He crosses the threshold and, in a single movement, closes the door behind him with his free hand while the other is already settling firmly on your waist. The dull thud of the door shutting blends with the small gasp that escapes your mouth as he pulls you in, erasing what little space was left between your bodies.

"Fuck..." was the only thing he let out before slamming his mouth against yours.

His lips fall upon yours with urgency, as if he had been holding back through the entire concert. There is no initial testing of the waters, no hesitation. He kisses you like someone arriving at the place they’ve been desperate to return to for hours. You taste the sweat mixed with his cologne—slightly sweet, familiar.

His hand on your waist presses you against his chest; the other, almost immediately, slides downward, slipping along the side of your skirt and settling decisively on your backside. His fingers slip under the edge of the leather, touching the bare skin above your fishnets, squeezing tightly.

"The whole fucking concert..." he murmured against your lips, biting them. "Watching you down there, in that fucking outfit... I knew no one else would notice, but I did. I knew you did it for me. You have no idea what you’ve done to me tonight..."

You try to say something, maybe a witty comeback, but you lose your train of thought the moment you feel his fingers press into you, leaving the imprint of his hand. He pulls away for just an instant, just enough to look you in the eyes, his breath crashing against your lips.

His fingers dug into the skin of your hips right above the fishnet stockings as he shoved you backward until your spine hit the wall. There was no sweetness in that first kiss. It was hunger. It was the high of three hours on stage and having you right there, in secret, just for him.

"Dancing like that... right in front of me... knowing I was watching you" his eyes darken a bit. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to stay focused?"

His words pierce right through you, waking up every single jolt of adrenaline built up during the concert. His dilated pupils, his clenched jaw, the way he looks at you makes you feel like the entire stadium stage has shrunk down into this single room.

"Just for you, hm?" you answer, though your voice comes out quieter than expected.

A lopsided smile appears on his lips.

"You're always just for me" he answers without hesitation. "But tonight... tonight you were my downfall."

He kisses you again, slower this time, but without losing any of the intensity. His lips move over yours as if he wants to memorize every curve, every reaction. His fingers on your backside ease up on the pressure for a moment, only to squeeze again, setting a rhythm of their own, as if he still had the music echoing in his blood.

He turns you around with ease, pinning you against the wall. You feel him press against your back, already hard against your backside. His hands travel up your thighs, tracing the fishnets until they reach your skirt. He lifts it without ceremony and groans when he sees what you had chosen to wear underneath: nothing.

"Seriously?" he laughs against your neck, biting your skin. "You went to the concert like this? With nothing underneath?"

You nod, unable to speak as his fingers move down and touch you directly. He was trembling a little, still wired with energy. He touched you with two fingers, opening you up, checking how wet you already were.

"So ready for me..." he whispered, kissing your shoulder as his fingers entered you with deliberate slowness. "My girl, so good... so bad."

He turned you around again to look you in the eyes. His gaze was glassy, the exact same look he had when he was completely lost on stage. But right now, that intensity was directed only at you.

"I want to fuck you with your boots on" he said bluntly, biting your lower lip. "And the fishnets. Don't take them off."

Aquí tienes la traducción de este fragmento tan explícito y pasional, manteniendo la separación exacta de tus párrafos:

He didn't wait for an answer. He lifted you with ease and carried you over to the bed.

He dropped you onto the mattress and positioned himself between your legs. He ripped his shirt off in one motion, exposing his skin glistening with sweat and his muscles still tense from the exertion of the concert.

He didn't take off your boots or your fishnets. Just like he said.

He leaned over you, kissing you hard while one hand slid down between your bodies. He touched you right through the fishnet fabric, feeling how soaked you already were. Then, using both his index and middle fingers, he tugged hard to the sides. The sound of the fabric ripping was obscene, sharp. The stockings tore right down the center, leaving your pussy completely exposed.

"Fuck..." he groaned, staring at the opening he had just made. "Look at what you're doing to me. Completely exposed for me."

He ran two fingers along your slit, gathering your wetness and spreading it all over your entrance. He stretched you open with them without any rush, rubbing your clit with his thumb while he watched you.

"So wet... Does it turn you on that much that I was watching you the whole concert?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He pulled his pants down just enough to free his cock, hard and heavy. He rubbed the tip against your exposed pussy through the tear in the fishnets, coating it in your juices, teasing you. Then he pushed inside in a single, deep motion, tearing a choked moan from you. The ripped stockings rubbed against his hips with every thrust.

He stayed still for a second, his forehead pressed against your neck, breathing heavily.

"So tight... always so good for me."

He began to fuck you with long, hard strokes, the leather of your skirt pushed up to your waist, the ripped fishnets clinging to your skin. Every thrust shoved you against the mattress. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand while the other squeezed your throat with just the right amount of pressure.

"The whole concert, thinking about this" he groaned. "About fucking you in this fucking outfit..."

"Hyunjin..." you pleaded, arching your back.

He smiled that dark smile he only showed to you.

"Say it again."

"Hyunjin, please..."

He changed the angle and hit you right where you liked it most. Your nails dug into his back. He let out a husky groan and kissed you with tongue, almost violently.

"Harder" you begged.

And he obeyed.

He flipped you over, putting you on your knees, and fucked you from behind, holding you tightly by the hips. One hand reached down to rub your clit through the ripped hole in the stockings while he drove inside you without mercy. You could hear the wet sound of every thrust, his groans, your own ragged breath.

"I'm going to come inside," he warned, his voice cracking. "Is that what you want? Want me to fill you up while you still have your fishnets and boots on?"

"Y-yes... please..."

He came with a long, guttural groan, pushing as deep as possible. He held you there for a few seconds, trembling, before removing the fingers that were still holding you and stroking your back with a contradictory softness.

He turned you over again, kissing you more slowly this time, and moved down to your sex. He spread the torn opening of the stockings even wider and licked you calmly, cleaning up what he had spilled, sucking your clit until you came in his mouth, your legs shaking around his head.

When he finally pulled away, he looked up at you from below with glistening lips and a satisfied smile.

You look at him as he hovers slightly over you, his hair falling into his eyes, his chest still heaving, his expression somewhere between exhausted and fired up. Without thinking, you bring your hands to his face, framing his cheeks, your thumbs tracing the barely visible marks of his already smudged makeup.

He closes his eyes for a second at your touch.

You lean in to kiss the tip of his nose—a soft, intimate gesture that momentarily breaks the tension. He smiles, that genuine smile he almost never shows on stage, reserved for moments like this, when there are no cameras or lights to change him.

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing at your exact same pace.

"Up there..." he begins, his voice calmer now, "when I look out at the crowd and see you, I feel like I can handle anything. But at the same time..." he clicks his tongue, laughing a little against your lips, "at the same time, I just want it to be over so I can come running back here."

His fingers intertwine with yours over your thigh. He squeezes your hand, as if he wants to anchor you to him.

"Do you know what I was thinking about while I was dancing?" he asks, playing with your hand, bringing it to his chest, right over his racing heartbeat.

He shakes his head slowly, teasingly, his lips barely brushing yours.

"I was thinking that nobody had a single clue that the most beautiful girl in the whole room... is mine."

The word "mine" echoes in your ribs. You squeeze his hand back, feeling the strong pulse beneath your palm.

"And I was thinking" you reply, looking directly at him, "that if anyone knew how jealous you get when I say you're not my bias, the stadium would collapse."

His laugh, genuine, fills the room for a moment. That laugh you know so well, the one that shatters the image of the perfect idol and reveals the boy who laughs with his head thrown back, his eyes turning into tiny crescent moons.

His hand returns to your waist, his fingers tracing the line where the skirt meets your skin.

"That's not jealousy" he says, dropping his voice again, bringing his mouth close to your ear. "It's the absolute truth. I'm your bias and your boyfriend. I hold a double title. I've earned it."

You can't help but shiver at his tone, at the way his words feel like both a promise and a declaration at the same time.

You pull him toward you, closing the remaining space. Your lips seek his again, this time at a pace that becomes entirely your own: less desperate, but just as intense, each kiss deeper than the last. His hands glide, memorizing your body over the skirt and the top as if it were the first time, even though you already know the map of his caresses by heart.

A while later, wrapped in his arms, he rests his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

"Are you going to look this gorgeous at the next concert too?" he asks in a whisper, his voice sleepy yet playful.

You laugh softly against his chest.

"It depends" you reply. "Are you going to keep looking at me like you want to jump off the stage?"

You feel his smile against your hair.

"I’m always going to look at you that way" he says, without hesitating. "Only nobody else needs to know why."

You lift your head to look at him. His eyes are hard to read under the dim light, but you recognize the glow of happy exhaustion, of satisfaction and peace.

You move a bit closer, nesting your body against his.

"It's a deal" you whisper. "I’ll keep being just another fan in the front row. And you’ll keep being the boy who only sees me."

He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter.

"My favorite fan" he adds, with a small smile.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme @hiraelis

You got home later than usual. Chan was already there, wearing his hoodie, his hair still a bit damp from the shower, with his laptop on his lap, headphones on, and that focused expression he always got when he was reviewing work. He welcomed you with that 'my girlfriend is home' smile that usually melts you, but tonight, he only gave you a quick kiss on the cheek.

'You were very busy today, weren't you?' you said, dropping your bag on the couch.

He blinked, a little confused.

'I'm always busy, baby. Why?'

You calmly took off your jacket.

You walked into the kitchen, poured yourself a glass of water, and came back. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

'I saw several clips from your fancalls today. Again.'

Chan went quiet for a second. He already knew where this was going.

'Ah… yeah?'

'Mmm.' You took a slow sip. 'You were very… attentive. Again. You told the one with the braids, "if you keep looking at me like that, I'm gonna have to sing something just for you," right? And to the other one, the one wearing your merch hoodie, you dropped that "you look too pretty for this to be just a phone call." The whole fandom has already saved it.'

Chan rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous laugh.

'It was just fanservice, honey. Nothing serious. Just to make them feel good.'

"Sure." You put down the glass and walked over until you were standing right in front of him. "Very well-practiced fanservice. Because you know exactly what to say to make them lose their minds. And you say it in that low voice, with that smirk… the same one you use with me when you want something."

He shifted on the couch. The laptop was forgotten.

"It's not the same."

"No?" You leaned in a little, resting your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head, looking down at him even though the height difference was minimal. "Because you say it to me too. But when you say it to me, I actually follow through. On the other hand, with them… you just leave them wanting more and move on with your life."

Chan swallowed hard. He was already starting to get tense, and not just from nerves.

You smiled, lowering your voice.

"Take off the hoodie."

He obeyed without arguing. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Underneath, he was only wearing a tight black t-shirt. You ran a finger along the collar of his t-shirt, slowly pulling it down until you touched his skin.

"Tonight, you're not going to touch me. Not even once. If you do, we stop and you go to sleep this turned on. Understood?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice already sounding raspier.

"Say it completely."

"Yes, I understand."

"Good."

You sat astride his lap without taking off your clothes just yet. You calmly unbuttoned his sweatpants and pulled them down along with his boxers. He was already half-hard. You, on the other hand, lifted yourself up just enough to slide off your panties, but kept your blouse and skirt on. You sat back down on top of him, this time letting his hardness get caught between your lips, hot and firm.

You started to move slowly, rubbing yourself against his entire length. You could feel the head brushing against your clitoris with every glide. It was slick, effortless. Chan let out a low groan, and his hands instinctively came up toward your hips.

"Hands down" you ordered. "On the couch. Don't move them."

Chan obeyed, digging his fingers into the cushion. You kept kissing him, biting his lower lip, then licking the bite. You could feel him getting harder against your thigh, but you weren't giving him enough friction.

"I thought of something while watching those videos" you whispered against his mouth. "That maybe you should learn not to flirt so much with people who can't do anything with you. Or maybe… I should remind you who actually can."

You kept moving slowly, sliding back and forth, using his length as if it were a toy just for you. Every time the head brushed against your entrance, he caught his breath, waiting for you to finally let him inside. But you never did. You only used him for your pleasure, rubbing against him with precision, moaning softly every time you found the perfect angle.

"Fuck, you're so hard…" you murmured against his ear. "And all of this for flirting with fans who can't even touch you. Do you like being used like this? Being left wanting while I come all over you?"

"Yes…" he confessed, his voice breaking. "I like it."

"Mmm, so obedient." You bit his earlobe. "Let's see if you stay that way."

You slipped a hand down between the two of you and brushed against his erection, barely a touch. Chan let out a choked sound and lifted his hips, seeking more contact. You immediately pulled away.

"Still."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, lowering his hips again.

You smiled, pleased.

"You're going to stay very still. I'm going to use you for a while… and you're not going to come until I decide you can," you finished the sentence in a low, calm, almost sweet voice. "Understood?"

Chan nodded, his breathing already more ragged. His hands were dug into the couch cushion as if he were fighting against his own instinct.

"Yes… I understand."

"Good" you smiled, satisfied.

You kept rubbing against him, slower, more deliberate. Every time the head of his length brushed against your entrance, he caught his breath. You didn't let him inside. You only used him.

"Fuck…" he whispered, watching how the buttons of your blouse opened with the movement, revealing the curve of your breasts.

He kept looking at you. You smiled and unbuttoned one more button, just enough for him to see how your nipples were hardening against your bra. You kept rubbing against him until the pleasure really started to build. You speeded up the movement a little, frictioning your clitoris against him over and over, until you came with a muffled groan, squeezing your thighs around his hardness. You felt your legs shaking as you came all over him, soaking him.

Chan was trembling. His breath was short, and his gaze was locked onto your face.

"Don't come" you warned him, still recovering from the orgasm. "Not yet."

You slid down to the floor, knelt between his legs, and began the long blowjob you had promised. First, you just licked from the base to the tip, slowly, with a flat tongue. Then you wrapped your lips around the head, but didn't go down more than a few centimeters. You sucked hard for a couple of seconds and pulled your tongue out again, coating him completely in spit. Every time you noticed he was close—from the way his thighs trembled or how he caught his breath—you stopped completely. You kissed the inside of his thighs, his balls, but never enough for him to come.

Chan had his head thrown back, groaning through his teeth.

"Please… please, I need more…"

"Shhh." You looked up at him from below, his length resting against your cheek. "Today you don't ask. Today you endure."

You sucked him again, this time going deeper, but always stopping before he reached the edge. You had him glistening with spit, rock-hard, pulsing against your tongue. Every time you let go, he let out a frustrated groan.

After several minutes of this game, you stood up and sat back down on top of him. This time you actually lined him up and lowered yourself slowly, just the head, letting him inside barely a couple of centimeters. Chan let out a long, almost desperate groan. You stayed still, not going down any further.

"Look at me" you ordered.

When his eyes met yours, you lowered yourself just a tiny bit more… and pulled back up. You repeated it several times: just the tip, going in and out slowly, controlling every single movement. His hands were still on the couch, knuckles white from squeezing so hard.

"You're shaking" you teased softly. "Does it affect you that much to be denied what you want? Imagine how they feel when you drop all those pretty lines and then close the call."

"It's not the same…" he gasped. "With you, it's real."

"Exactly." You slammed down halfway all at once and stayed there, squeezing him with your inner walls. "And that's why tonight you decide how you flirt… but I decide when and how you come."

You started riding him with a slow but deep rhythm. Every time he tried to thrust upward, you stopped and pinched his nipple through his t-shirt as a warning.

"Still. Only I move."

You felt him so swollen inside you. You kept fucking slowly until you felt your second orgasm approaching. You came with his length completely inside, squeezing him tight, contracting around him. Chan let out a choked groan and threw his head back against the couch cushions; his eyes rolled back for a second before closing tightly. He was right on the edge, shaking, but he hadn't come. You felt him trying to control himself, how his length throbbed desperately inside you.

When you got off him completely, he groaned in frustration.

"Baby… please, I can't take it anymore…"

You stood up, fixed your skirt, and headed to the bathroom as if it were nothing.

"I'm going to take a shower. If you're able to not touch yourself while I'm inside, I'll make it up to you when I come out. If you touch yourself… you go to sleep this turned on."

"Fuck…" he groaned, his voice breaking. "I'm gonna explode."

"Then endure it" you answered from the doorway, smiling.

You showered calmly. You took your time soaping up, washing your hair, letting the hot water relax you. You knew he was on the couch, hard, denied, waiting. When you finally came out, wrapped only in a towel, you found him exactly where you had left him. His hands were still dug into the cushion, his length red, swollen, dripping precum. He hadn't touched himself.

You smiled, satisfied.

"Good boy."

You let the towel drop to the floor. With a tilt of your head, you motioned for him to follow you. You walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, completely naked. Chan stood in front of you.

"Take off all your clothes."

He obeyed in silence. When he was completely naked in front of you, you looked him up and down calmly.

"You've been a good boy after all… so I'm going to give you what you deserve."

You knelt on the floor. This time, the blowjob was more intense. His length was extremely hard, almost painfully swollen. You took him all the way to the back of your throat several times, coating him in spit, sucking hard. Chan couldn't hold back his groans; they came out raspy, desperate. You knew he was right on the edge after holding out for so long, but you also knew how much he loved this game. When you noticed he was about to lose control completely, you stood up.

You got onto the bed on all fours, looking back.

"You have permission to do whatever you want now."

Chan didn't need to be told twice. He positioned himself behind you and thrust his length inside you in one single, hard push. The groan he let out was almost animalistic. He started fucking you hard, deep, gripping your hips as if he were terrified you'd deny him again. Every thrust was hard, precise.

"Fuck… you're so tight…" he gasped.

You started to taunt him, your voice breathy:

"Are you going to fill me up, Channie?" you asked between moans, looking at him over your shoulder. "Are you going to come inside me after being such a good boy all night?"

Chan let out a raspy growl and dug his fingers tighter into your hips. The simple fact of hearing you talk like that was driving him crazy. He started to thrust faster, deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars. Every time he went all the way in, the wet sound of skin against skin filled the room.

"Fuck… yes" he gasped, his voice breathy. "I want to fill you up so much… so much that it spills out."

"Then do it" you taunted him, purposely squeezing your inner walls around his length. "Fill me completely, Channie. I want to feel you come inside."

That was what broke him.

Chan started to fuck you with an almost desperate intensity. His thrusts were hard, fast, the sound of his hips clapping against your ass obscene. Every time he entered completely, he let out a deep groan that sent shivers down your spine. You could tell how his legs were shaking, how he was trying to hold out a little longer, but he was already too far over the edge.

"I'm… fuck, I'm so close" he warned, his voice breaking.

"Then come," you allowed him, pushing back to take him deeper. "Come inside me."

Chan let out a long, raspy groan when he finally let himself go. You felt him pulsing inside you, hot, filling you up exactly like you had asked. He kept thrusting a couple more times, emptying himself completely, until his movements turned erratic and he finally went still, trembling, with his forehead resting against your back.

He was breathing heavily, as if he had just run a marathon.

After a few seconds, he pulled out of you carefully and helped you lie down on your side. He dropped down right next to you, still shaking a little. He wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your shoulder, the back of your neck, your throat, soft and grateful.

"Fuck…" he whispered against your skin. "You drove me crazy tonight."

You smiled, turning around a bit to look at him. You ran a hand through his sweaty hair and gave him a slow kiss on the lips.

"That's the point" you answered in a low voice. "The next time you're on a fancall and you feel like dropping one of your pickup lines… I want you to remember this."

Chan let out a tired laugh and pulled you tighter against him.

"I think I'm going to remember this for weeks."

You stayed like that for a few minutes, in silence, catching your breath. He kept leaving lazy kisses on your shoulder, the back of your neck, your cheek. When he finally calmed down a bit, he looked at you with that tired but satisfied smile that always melted you.

"Do you forgive me for the fancalls?" he asked softly, almost shyly.

You arched an eyebrow and pinched his nipple as a warning.

"I'm not sure yet. I might have to punish you again next week."

Chan laughed softly and kissed your neck.

"...Yes, ma'am."

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme

BANGCHAN

Chan was already head over heels for you long before he saw a single drop of ink. He loved the way you laughed, how you practically lived in your oversized hoodies, and how comfortable you seemed just being yourself. What he didn't know was what you were hiding underneath.

That day, you were both in the studio. He was in his swivel chair, tweaking a mix, while you were sprawled out on the sofa scrolling through your phone. You were wearing your usual baggy pants, fuzzy socks, and a hoodie—the version of you he knew and, honestly, already thought was perfect.

"Do you want to order some food?" he asked, spinning his chair slightly to look at you.

"Yeah, but I'm roasting. Let me just..." you muttered, pulling your pant leg up to your thigh to cool down.

Chan glanced over for just a second and suddenly froze.

There, on your leg, peeking out from under the fabric, he saw the lines of a tattoo that was neither small nor subtle. It was clear the piece continued further up, disappearing under your clothes.

His heart gave a little thud in his chest. Since when...?

"Hey..." he said, his voice dropping an octave without meaning to. "That's new to me."

He looked down at your leg, then back up to your face, as if he needed to confirm you were still the same person.

"What is?" you asked, playing coy even though you knew exactly what he was looking at.

"Your tattoo." He cleared his throat. "I didn't know you had one there."

You gave him a half-shy smile.

"It’s not just one" you confessed. "I have more. A lot more."

He blinked, genuinely surprised. "Really?"

"A full sleeve, my whole back, the back of my neck, part of my leg..." you listed, giving a small shrug. "I'm always in a hoodie, so nobody ever notices."

Chan looked at you in a completely different light. It wasn't judgment; it was that spark you get when you discover a whole new side to someone you already like.

"That explains it" he whispered.

"Explains what?" you asked, curious.

He let out a soft, slightly nervous laugh.

"I always felt like there was something about you I wasn't seeing fully. It intrigued me." He looked back at your leg, trying not to be too obvious. "Now I want to see the whole album, not just the teaser."

He ventured to ask, carefully: "Can I see it a bit more? I promise not to be weird about it."

You pulled your pant leg up a bit further. As the design revealed itself, Chan swallowed hard. He was trying his best to focus on the art, but he also found it incredibly sexy how the ink accentuated your skin.

"Wow..." he said under his breath. "This is... intense."

He looked up at you.

"I already liked you way too much with all those layers of clothes on" he admitted, half-joking, half-serious. "This isn't helping at all."

"Is that a bad thing?" you teased.

Chan shook his head.

"For me, yeah. Because now it’s going to be ten times harder to act like I don't have a crush on you when you're just lounging on my sofa with an incredible tattoo on your leg" he replied, smiling, but with total honesty in his eyes.

As he turned back to his chair, he found himself thinking that what attracted him most wasn't just the ink—it was the contrast. The girl in the hoodie who seemed so sweet... and the silent fire you’d been carrying hidden all this time.

LEE KNOW

To Minho, you had always seemed… dangerous in a very quiet way. Nothing in your clothes gave it away: hoodies, beanies, oversized cozy things. But he loved the way you spoke, your dry humor, and the way you’d look him dead in the eye without ever looking away. Small things that, unintentionally, made his heart beat just a little bit faster.

That day, you met up at your usual café. He arrived early, as always, and by the time you walked in, he’d been watching the door for a while without ever admitting it.

You sat down, dropped your backpack, and sighed.

"It’s way too hot in here."

"Told you" he replied, sounding indifferent—or at least, that’s what he wanted you to think. "You always come in too many layers."

You looked down at your hoodie.

"Yeah, I definitely overdid it today."

With a quick motion, you pulled it off, leaving you in a dark tank top. Minho glanced over... and right then, his mask of neutrality slipped.

Your arm, a huge part of it, was covered in ink. It wasn't just a tiny doodle. Intricate lines formed part of a full sleeve. It was a very distinct aesthetic, very you.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing it.

"…Wow," he finally said, completely unfiltered.

You looked down at your arm.

"Too much?" you asked, already used to that reaction.

Minho shook his head slowly.

"No. Just… unexpected" he admitted. "You, with your massive hoodies… I figured you were the type to get scared just looking at a needle."

You laughed.

"Well, looks like I'm not."

He tilted his head slightly, observing you differently now. He had always liked you, but this added a layer he didn't even know he needed.

"Can I say something without it sounding weird?" he asked.

"Depends" you teased.

"I saw you as 'innocent'" he confessed. "Maybe too much. And I thought that if I got to know you better, I’d find something that broke that image. I think I just found it."

He leaned in a bit closer to you, his eyes fixed on your arm.

"Can I get a better look?" he asked, his voice dropping into that low, silky tone of his.

You moved your arm closer. He scanned the ink with a perfectionist’s eye, as if he were analyzing a choreography. He didn't touch you, but he was close enough for you to feel his presence.

"It’s powerful" he said. "I don't know… it makes you look more… dangerous. In a good way."

"Do you like that?" you provoked him.

He gave a small, almost conspiratorial smile.

"I’ve always loved contrasts" he replied. "And you are the definition of contrast right now."

He lifted his gaze back to your eyes, holding the look a second longer than usual.

"I think I like you even more like this" he admitted, acting nonchalant, and quickly turned back to his coffee before you could notice how much his pulse had quickened.

CHANGBIN

Changbin already adored you exactly as you were: the girl who laughs at his bad jokes, who sends him encouraging texts when he has late-night practice, and who always shows up in her favorite hoodie with an “I just woke up, but I’m here” face.

That’s why, when he invited you to the gym, he did it more because he wanted to spend time with you than for the workout itself.

"I’ll show you some basics, it’ll be fun" he said.

What he didn’t expect was what came along with "comfortable clothes."

You were warming up. He was in a sleeveless shirt; you, at first, still in your hoodie. After a few sets, you started to feel the heat sticking to your skin.

"Binnie… I’m melting" you complained.

"Take off the hoodie, then" he replied, laughing. "You’re not in an igloo."

You rolled your eyes but agreed. You pulled it over your head… and were left in a sports top that left your entire arm visible: a large part of your sleeve.

He looked at you for a second and a muffled "What!?" literally escaped him.

"Since when do you have… that?" he asked, pointing at your arm without any shame.

You felt a little self-conscious.

"For a while now…" you said. "Nobody sees it because I’m always covered up."

He stared at you intently, as if his brain were readjusting every file he had on you.

“My crush… tattooed. A lot. Very tattooed.”

He stepped closer, not too much, but enough to appreciate the design.

"I always thought you were so cute" he suddenly confessed. "With your hoodies, your baby face…"

"Hey" you complained, laughing.

"And now, suddenly, you’re cute and… intense" he said, searching for the word. "It’s a dangerous combination."

He looked you in the eyes, and this time he didn't dodge it.

"Can I get a good look?" he asked.

You showed him your entire arm. He followed the ink with his gaze, serious for once.

"It’s incredible" he whispered. "You look… strong. Like you’re wearing your story on your skin."

Then he added, almost without a filter:

"And, yeah, also very sexy. But I already suspected that before."

"Oh, really?" you arched an eyebrow.

He laughed, a bit flushed.

"Did you think I was inviting you to the gym just for the sport?" he joked. "Now I have double the motivation to keep you coming back."

And for the rest of the workout, every time you passed by him with your tattooed arm exposed, he noticed his concentration slipping toward you rather than the weights.

HYUNJIN

Hyunjin was already a goner for you long before he knew you had tattoos. He loved the way you listened, how you took care of others, and how you always had your hoodie on—as if the world were too cold and you knew how to protect yourself.

The event he invited you to was just an excuse: he wanted to see you dressed up, he wanted to see another side of you.

"I bought you something" he said, shyly, when you arrived at a quiet room before the event. "For you to wear today."

He showed you a delicate necklace. His hand trembled slightly as he handed it to you.

"Put it on me" you said, smiling.

He swallowed hard.

"Me? Okay…"

You stood in front of the mirror, gathering your hair up to give him access to your neck… and then it happened: the back of your neck was exposed, and he saw the tattoo in that area for the very first time.

He went absolutely still.

The line of ink, the design framed right where your hair ended… something in his art-loving brain clicked immediately.

"…I didn't know you had this" he whispered.

You felt a sudden wave of vulnerability.

"I don't usually show it much" you replied. "I have quite a few, actually."

He didn't respond right away. He stepped a little closer, almost with reverence, looping the necklace around your neck, but his gaze remained fixed on the tattoo.

He moved his fingers to close the clasp; they brushed your skin and, very closely, the ink.

"It’s beautiful" he murmured, his voice soft. "Very you."

"Does it bother you?" you asked, looking at him through the mirror.

Hyunjin frowned, almost offended.

"Why would something that makes you even more you bother me?" he replied. "I spend the whole day observing details about you, and now I find out that on top of everything, you had hidden art. It’s like… an extra gift."

He dared to bring his face a bit closer. His eyes went from the tattoo to your eyes in the reflection.

"I like that it’s here" he said, with total sincerity. "It’s a spot that not everyone sees. Only someone who gets close enough."

In a small, controlled impulse, he leaned in and gave a barely-there, very soft kiss on the skin near the tattoo, without touching it directly.

"I swear, I’m not trying to be dramatic…" he said with a nervous little laugh. "But this just made me have an even bigger crush on you."

HAN

Jisung had been hung up on you for a long time. He loved talking to you online, he loved it when you showed up in person in your giant hoodie—you seemed so comfortable, so natural, that sometimes he thought, “There's no way she’s real.”

When he invited you to that more formal dinner, he spent the entire afternoon imagining what you’d look like. But nothing prepared him for when you actually arrived.

From the front, the dress was beautiful, simple, elegant. He was already halfway knocked out just by that. But when you turned around to greet someone behind you, his breath hitched.

Your back was exposed. And not just your back: your tattoo, occupying almost the entire surface, unfolded like a living illustration.

Jisung just stood there looking at you with a mix of shock, fascination, and a little bit of “I’ve been in love with the demo version of you.”

When you turned back to face him, you noticed his expression.

"Does it look that weird?" you asked, feeling insecure.

He shook his head quickly.

"No, no, no. It’s just…" he laughed nervously. "I’m processing some very intense new information."

He lowered his voice and leaned in a little, as if sharing a secret.

"I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, okay?" he confessed all at once—because that’s how it is with Jisung, things just slip out. "And now I find out that, on top of everything, you have all of this on your back… it’s a lot for my heart to take."

You blushed, but you smiled.

"Do you like it… or does it scare you?" you asked.

He stared at you for a few seconds. There was no doubt in his eyes.

"I love it" he replied. "It fascinates me. It’s like… having read you in black and white for months and suddenly discovering that you were always in full color."

He asked, almost whispering:

"Can I get a good look? Just for a second."

You turned slightly to the side. He scanned the ink with his eyes; he was completely captivated.

"You’re… incredible" he said, not realizing he had spoken out loud. "In a hoodie, in a dress, with or without tattoos… but this… this adds a whole new layer to my crush. Leveling up."

When you faced him again, he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

"If I thought you were gorgeous before, now I don't even know what word to use" he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Just a warning, I’m going to be looking at you a lot today. I can't help it."

FELIX

Felix always felt especially comfortable with you. He loved going to your apartment because everything there was peaceful: blankets on the sofa, soft lighting, the smell of something delicious in the kitchen… and you, almost always, in your favorite hoodie.

That afternoon, you were going to play video games and order some food. When he rang the doorbell, he was already smiling, thinking only about spending time with you.

You opened the door in your usual oversized hoodie… but this time, you were wearing shorts.

Felix smiled automatically to greet you, but his eyes drifted down for a split second—and they got caught.

Your thigh. The ink climbing from the lower part upwards, part of your tattoo clearly peeking out. It wasn’t a small drawing; it was part of your leg sleeve, visible and very distinct.

For a second, he stood still on the threshold, processing.

"Hi…" you said, with a smile.

"H-hi" he replied, and his deep voice came out a bit softer than usual.

He came in, took off his shoes, and tried to act natural… but as he walked behind you toward the living room, his eyes drifted back to your leg. Between the long hoodie and the shorts, the tattoo looked like a half-kept secret.

You settled on the sofa, controllers in hand. You sat with one leg tucked up on the cushion, leaving the thigh tattoo even more exposed. Felix sat beside you and, although he pretended to be very focused on the screen, he noticed his gaze slipping toward your skin again and again.

He lost lives he normally wouldn't. He pressed the wrong buttons. You laughed.

"You’re really distracted today, Lix" you commented, not fully suspecting why.

"N-no, I’m just having an off day" he lied terribly.

During a pause, while waiting for the next game to load, he made his move.

"Can I ask you something…?" he said, fidgeting with the controller.

"Sure."

"Your… tattoo." He gave a little nod toward your leg, feeling a bit shy. "Since when have you had it?"

You looked at your thigh and smiled.

"For quite a while. I have several, actually" you confessed. "People don’t see them because I’m always in a hoodie and long pants."

He nodded, still with that soft, fascinated expression.

"You always seemed so…" he smiled tenderly. "So small and someone to be protected. And now I find out that underneath the hoodie there was all of this…"

He lowered his voice, sounding a bit timid:

"Do you mind if I take a good look? Just… from up close, without touching."

You adjusted yourself a bit, putting your leg in a more visible position. Felix leaned in slightly, careful not to invade your space too much, and scanned the design with his eyes, calm and composed. The atmosphere remained warm and cozy, but his heart was beating a bit faster.

"It’s very beautiful…" he said eventually. "It looks incredible on you. I don't know, it makes me see you as… stronger. More you."

He looked into your eyes and smiled with that characteristic sweetness of his.

"I already had a huge crush on you…" he admitted, laughing softly. "And now, seeing tattoos on your leg… it’s too much for me."

You laughed, your cheeks feeling warm.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Felix leaned back a little closer to you on the sofa, the controller resting in his lap.

"A very good thing" he replied. "I like seeing parts of you that not everyone gets to see. It feels… special."

And as you both returned to the game, he kept playing, but now with a warm sensation in his chest every time he caught a glimpse of the ink on your skin, remembering that this was his crush, on his sofa, in comfortable clothes, letting him see a part of you that almost no one else knows.

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin loved talking to you about baseball. Every time he mentioned a game, you truly listened, even if you didn’t quite grasp all the rules. That genuine interest, combined with your endless hoodies and calm vibe, slowly caused a silent crush to bloom within him.

One day, he decided to invite you to the field.

“I’ll teach you how to bat a bit” he suggested, trying to sound casual. “That way, you’ll better understand what I’m always rambling about.”

You arrived at the field in comfortable clothes: sneakers, joggers, and a short-sleeved t-shirt. That day, you had left your hoodie at home. Your tattooed arm was on full display.

As Seungmin saw you approaching, the sentence he had prepared completely vanished from his mind. His eyes went straight to your arm—the sharp lines, the bold design peeking out from your sleeve.

“Hi” you said with a smile.

“Hey…” he replied, smiling back, though a look of sincere surprise lingered in his eyes. “You came prepared.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, nodding toward your arm.

“I definitely wasn’t expecting that” he admitted, straightforward as ever.

You looked down at your tattoo and then back at him.

“This?” you asked. “Yeah… I’ve had it for a while. Hardly anyone sees it because I’m always covered up.”

Seungmin nodded slowly, processing it. He didn’t look at you with judgment, but rather like someone who had just discovered a new chapter in their favorite book.

“May I?” he asked, pointing to your arm, seeking permission to get a better look.

You moved closer. He spent a few seconds contemplating the design, serious and focused.

“It looks really good on you” he finally said. “It’s strong, but it doesn’t take away from who I already knew you to be. It just… adds to it.”

You let out a soft laugh.

“I thought it might break the image you had of me” you confessed.

He shrugged slightly.

“I liked you just the same in your giant hoodie” he admitted without thinking much about it. “But I also like that you’re different from what people assume when they see you.”

The word “liked” slipped out, and he cleared his throat, but he didn’t take it back.

He handed you the bat.

“Come on, let me show you” he said, shifting back to baseball.

You stepped in front of him. Seungmin stood behind you to help with your stance, his hands guiding yours on the bat. As he did, his skin brushed against your tattooed arm. He felt the contact—the contrast between the ink and your skin—and his heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t pull away.

“Relax your shoulders” he whispered close to your ear. “Like that.”

He lingered a second too long, catching the scent of your perfume, feeling the warmth of your body and the presence of the ink right under his fingers. He smiled to himself.

“And don't look at me like that... you’re making me lose my focus.”

I.N

There was always a special energy with Jeongin. He treated you with such affection, laughed constantly with you, and even though you seemed young and "soft" in your oversized hoodies, he sensed there was something more beneath the surface. That intuition turned into curiosity… and then into a quiet crush.

When he decided to teach you the choreography for his solo, he did it because he trusted you, but also because he wanted to share something deeply personal with you.

You were in a practice room, just the two of the two of you. He was in his sweats; you were in leggings, sneakers, and, as always, your hoodie.

You’d been practicing for quite a while. Between the laughter, the corrections, and the repetitions, you both started to break a sweat.

“It’s getting hot in here, isn't it?” he asked, his breathing a bit heavy.

“Starving” you replied.

You pulled off your hoodie, leaving you in a simple white t-shirt. You didn’t think twice about it; you were focused on nailing the steps. But as you sweated, the fabric began to cling softly to your skin, tracing the silhouette of your back. When you turned away from him to repeat a move in front of the mirror, Jeongin saw something through the slightly damp shirt—dark shapes that shouldn't have been there: lines, shadows… something that looked like ink.

He blinked, leaning in slightly to get a better look.

“Wait…” he said, stopping mid-motion. “What is that?”

“What is what?” you asked, confused.

“On your back…” he pointed, his eyes wide. “Is that… a tattoo?”

You caught your reflection in the mirror, saw the faint silhouette under the fabric, and smiled.

“Yeah” you answered casually. “My back is tattooed. And some other places, too.”

He stood there in shock for a few seconds, his mouth slightly agape.

“You?” He let out an incredulous laugh. “For real?”

“Yeah” you laughed along with him. “What’s so weird about it?”

He ran a hand through his hair, still processing.

“It’s just…” he said honestly. “I always thought you were so… soft. Like, the 'person-in-a-hoodie who needs protecting' type. And now I find out you have a full back tattoo. My brain is recalibrating.”

You lifted the back of your shirt just a tiny bit—just enough for him to see part of the design clearly without showing the whole thing. You turned slightly to the side so it wouldn’t feel too invasive.

Jeongin’s eyes grew even wider as he saw the detail.

“Wow…” he whispered, genuinely impressed. He wasn't sure where to look—at your back or at the mirror—trying not to be disrespectful, so he kept alternating between the two.

“It looks… incredible on you” he said. “You look so much more… mature. Like, ‘I know what I’m doing with my life and my skin’ type of mature.”

You pulled your shirt back down, amused.

“Is that a good thing?” you asked. He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s a very good thing. I already had a crush on ‘adorable hoodie’ you…” he confessed quickly, before he could overthink it. “And now I have a crush on ‘adorable hoodie + back tattoo’ you. So… yeah, I think the crush just got bigger.”

He said it half-jokingly, but his bright red cheeks gave him away.

“Come on, one more time from the top” he added, quickly changing the subject.

He took his position in front of you, but this time, every time you turned and your shirt clung to your back, he noticed. His eyes tried to stay on the choreography, but a single phrase kept looping in his head:

“My crush has a back tattoo. My crush has a back tattoo. My crush has a back tattoo…”

And curiously enough, it made him dance with even more energy.

The concert backstage was a familiar whirlwind: flickering lights, the echo of screaming fans in the distance, and that scent of sweat and adrenaline that clung to your skin. You had been working as part of ATEEZ's staff for months, and in that time, your life had taken an unexpected turn. Choi San wasn't just the charismatic idol you saw on stage; he was your boyfriend, the man who had claimed you in secret, far from the prying eyes of managers and fans. His duality drove you crazy: the sweet, playful San in public, and the relentless, dominant one when you were alone.

Tonight, after the encore, you saw him walk off stage with that post-show energy that made him glow. Sweaty, with messy hair and that tight black shirt that highlighted every line of his toned torso. Your eyes met, and a wolfish grin crossed his face. You knew what that look meant: he was in predator mode, and you were his favorite prey.

"Everything ready for the afterparty?" you asked, stepping closer while adjusting some cables in the hallway. You tried to sound casual, but your voice betrayed your racing pulse. It had been a few days without any alone time due to the tour, and the built-up sexual tension was palpable.

San stopped beside you, his hand discreetly brushing your waist while he pretended to check his phone.

"Yes, but first, come here" he murmured, his voice low and authoritative, for your ears only. He subtly led you toward a dimly lit corner of the backstage area, where the bustle was muffled. "You've been a good girl today, working hard. But I saw you watching me during the performance. Thinking about something inappropriate?"

Heat rushed to your cheeks. He always did that: reading your thoughts, exposing them with that mix of teasing and control.

"Maybe" you admitted, lowering your voice. "It's hard not to when you dance like that."

He laughed softly, but his eyes darkened with that intensity that made you tremble. He leaned in, his warm breath against your ear.

"Rule number one: you don't provoke me in public unless you want a punishment later. Do you understand, princess?"

You nodded, feeling a shiver of anticipation. You had established those "rules" at the beginning of your relationship, after that first wild night in a similar hotel. San was a natural-born hard dom: possessive, demanding, but always attentive to your limits. And you loved surrendering to him.

"Good" he said, his hand moving up your back in a possessive touch. "Finish up here and meet me in the hotel lobby in half an hour. We’re going to my suite. I have plans for you tonight."

The rest of the staff was busy, so no one noticed as you slipped away. Half an hour later, you were in the lobby, your heart pounding. San was already there, chatting with some of the group members, but as soon as he saw you, he excused himself and walked over. He took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours casually, but his grip was firm—a subtle reminder of who was in control.

In the elevator, alone at last, he pressed you against the wall with his body.

"I’ve been thinking about you all day" he confessed, his voice husky as his lips brushed your neck. "Thinking about how you’re going to beg me tonight." His hands moved down to your hips, squeezing just enough to leave a mark, but not enough to hurt... yet.

"San..." you murmured, but he interrupted you with a finger to your lips.

"Sir" he corrected, his tone firm. "Remember the rules, or I’ll have to remind you the hard way."

The elevator stopped on his floor, and he led you down the hallway to his suite. The door closed behind you with a definitive click. The room was luxurious: a king-size bed, dim lighting, and a view of the city at night. San turned toward you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Strip. Slowly. I want to watch you."

Your pulse skyrocketed. This was what you loved about him: the way he took charge, turning every moment into a power play that left you breathless. You began to take off your clothes, piece by piece, under his hungry gaze. He didn’t move; he just watched, his expression a mix of approval and raw desire.

"Good girl" he said when you were finished, his voice deep. "Now, kneel and wait for my instructions."

You were on the threshold of what promised to be an intense night, your body already responding to his dominance. You knew what would come next: the playful punishments. But for now, it was all about surrendering to him completely.

Kneeling on the floor of the suite, with the soft carpet beneath your knees and the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on your naked skin, every second of anticipation felt like an eternity. San watched you from above, his imposing silhouette framed against the dim light of the lamp. He was still wearing his post-concert clothes: the black shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal the sheen of sweat on his chest, and those pants that hugged his muscular thighs. His eyes, dark and possessive, roamed over you as if you were a piece of art he had created himself.

"You've been patient" he finally said, his voice deep and controlled, breaking the silence. He took a step closer, crouching down so his face was level with yours. His fingers brushed your chin, tilting it up so you would look him directly in the eye. "But I remember you breaking a rule today. I saw you watching me on stage, touching your neck like that... provoking me. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

You swallowed hard, heat rising through your body. It was true: during his dance solo, you had let your hand wander to your neck, imagining it was his fingers. You knew he would see it; it was part of the game.

"I'm sorry, Sir" you murmured, your voice trembling but excited. "I couldn't help myself."

San clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips.

"You couldn't help yourself, huh? That means you need a reminder of who's in charge." He straightened up and walked around you, like a wolf circling its prey. His hands reached for your hair, entangling gently at first, then pulling firmly to tilt your head back. "Stand up. We’re going to play a bit before your punishment."

He helped you to your feet, his touch firm but not painful, guiding you toward the bed. He sat you on the edge, and before you could react, he pulled a pair of soft velvet handcuffs from his suitcase—one of his favorite "toys" he always brought on tour.

"Hands behind your back" he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed, feeling the soft click of the cuffs closing around your wrists. You were bound, exposed, and the simple act made you gasp. San stood in front of you, his body blocking the light, and slowly removed his shirt, revealing his sculpted torso, marked by the stage lights and dried sweat.

"Rule of the game: you cannot touch me unless I say so. You can watch, you can beg, but if you try to break free, the punishment will be worse. Do you understand, princess?"

"Yes, Sir,ç" you replied, your voice shaky. That nickname made you melt; it was his way of mixing tenderness with dominance, reminding you that you were his.

He knelt between your legs, spreading them with his strong hands. His palms moved up your thighs, stopping just before reaching where you needed him most.

"Look at how wet you are already" he murmured, his warm breath against your inner skin. "All for provoking me. You're a naughty girl, aren't you? Say it."

"I'm... I'm a naughty girl, Sir" you repeated, the words coming out in an embarrassed whisper but heavy with desire.

"Good" he purred, rewarding you with a light kiss on your inner thigh. His lips were soft, but his playful bite left a pink mark. "Now, let’s play a bit. I want to hear you beg." His fingers traced slow patterns around your center, brushing but never touching directly. Every touch was a delicious torture, making your hips arch involuntarily.

"Please, Sir... touch me" you pleaded, tugging at the handcuffs. The restraint only heightened the excitement, your body trembling under his control.

San laughed, a low, guttural sound.

"Not so fast. First, a little punishment for your provocation." He turned you over with ease, positioning you across his lap, stomach-down against his thighs. His hands massaged your behind before delivering the first strike—not hard, but enough to sting and send waves of pleasure-pain through your body. "Count," he ordered.

"One" you gasped, the heat spreading. Another strike, firmer this time. "Two." He continued until five, alternating with soft caresses to soothe the reddened skin. Every strike was precise, calculated to arouse you more than to hurt, and between them, he whispered degrading yet affectionate words.

"Look at you, so desperate for me. You are mine to punish and to please."

When he finished, he turned you over again, kissing away the tears of pleasure that had formed in your eyes.

"Good girl, you took that so well." Now, his mouth descended, kissing your neck, moving down your chest. His lips captured a nipple, sucking hard while his hand finally—finally—slid between your legs, fingers exploring with expert precision. He penetrated you with one, then two, curving them to hit that spot that made you see stars.

"Oh, God, San—Sir" you moaned, your hips bucking against his hand. The foreplay had made it unbearable; you were on the edge, but he knew it and stopped just before.

"Not yet" he said, withdrawing his fingers and licking them in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours. "This is only the beginning. We're going to roleplay now: you are my obedient submissive, and I am your owner. Tell me what you want me to do to you, and maybe I’ll give it to you."

"I want... I want you to kiss me, to touch me more, Sir. Please, use me however you want" you begged, the words coming out in a torrent, your mind clouded with desire.

He smiled, satisfied, and finally kissed you—a deep, dominant kiss, his tongue invading your mouth while his body pressed you against the bed. His hands explored, the restraint forgotten for a moment in the heat of the kiss, but you knew the real game was just beginning. Tonight, he had absolute control, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

San’s kiss was devouring, his mouth claiming yours with an urgency that left you breathless. He had you pinned against the bed, your hands still cuffed behind your back, preventing you from touching him—a deliberate torture that only heightened your desperation. He pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes pitch-black with desire, and smirked with that possessive arrogance that drove you crazy.

"Look at you, all wet and begging for me. You’re just a desperate little slut, aren’t you? Say it."

The words hit you like a wave of heat, degrading yet laced with affection in his tone.

"Yes, Sir... I’m your desperate little slut" you repeated, your voice hitching, the flush spreading across your chest.

"Good girl" he growled, rewarding you with another fierce kiss as his hands roamed down your body. He turned you over again, positioning you on your knees on the bed, hips raised high. "But you haven't fully paid for provoking me today." His palm landed on your rear with a firm strike, the sound echoing in the room. The sting turned into pleasure, and you moaned, arching your back. He delivered three more, alternating sides, each more intense than the last, but always followed by a soothing caress.

"Count, princess. And don’t stop until I say so."

"One... two... three" you gasped, your skin reddened and sensitive. The pain blended with pleasure, sending pulses straight to your core. San knew exactly how much to give; he was always watching your reactions, his hand pausing if he noticed anything off.

Satisfied, he leaned over you, his chest against your back, and whispered in your ear: "Color?" It was his subtle way of checking in—green to continue, yellow to slow down, red to stop.

"Green, Sir" you answered without hesitation, aroused beyond words.

"Good." He pulled a small vibrator from the nightstand—one of his favorite toys, with a remote control—and pressed it against your entrance, turning it on low. The vibration made you moan, your body trembling as he slowly slid it inside.

"Don't come until I say so. I’m going to take you to the edge over and over again."

The vibrator hummed against your walls, and San manipulated it with mastery, increasing the intensity only to lower it just as you were getting close. His fingers joined in, rubbing your clitoris in slow circles, pushing you to the limit.

"Please, Sir... I can't hold it" you pleaded, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Yes, you can" he said, his voice husky with arousal. He turned you over again, temporarily removing the vibrator to position you on your knees in front of him. He unzipped his pants, releasing his hard, throbbing erection.

"Now, show me how sorry you are. Open your mouth."

You obeyed, and he guided your head, pushing inside your mouth with a guttural moan. He was rough: his hips moved in controlled thrusts, one hand in your hair to guide you.

"Just like that, good girl... take it all." His words were degrading yet complimentary. "Look at you, sucking me like it’s the only thing you want. You’re perfect for me." He gave you space to breathe, always attentive, but the rhythm was intense, saliva dripping down your chin as you pleased him.

After a few minutes, he pulled out, panting.

"Enough. Now, my turn."

He pinned you to the bed, removing the handcuffs only to reposition your hands above your head, pinning them down with one of his own. He brought his mouth to your center, his tongue licking greedily. He was an expert: sucking your clitoris, penetrating you with his tongue, and then with his fingers, curving them to hit that sweet spot. The overstimulation from the previous game had you on the edge in seconds, but he would stop, kissing your inner thighs.

"Not yet. I want you to beg."

"Please, Sir... fuck me. I need you inside me" you pleaded, tears of frustration and pleasure in your eyes.

San positioned himself over you, his body covering yours completely.

"You are mine" he growled, possessive, as he sank into you in one deep thrust. His hips crashed against yours in a fast, hard rhythm, each thrust hitting deep. One hand wrapped lightly around your neck—soft, just enough pressure to intensify the sensation, never cutting off your breath.

"Tell me who you belong to."

"To you, Sir... only to you" you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders now that your hands were free. The pleasure was overwhelming: the friction of his body, the mingled sweat, his low moans. He picked up the pace, one hand reaching down to rub your clitoris, driving you to the brink.

"Come for me now" he finally ordered.

The orgasm hit you like a wave, your body convulsing around him as you screamed his name. San followed moments later, his climax intense as he spilled inside you, his possessive grip on your hips leaving marks behind.

"Mine... all mine" he murmured, collapsing onto you with heavy breaths.

They stayed like that for a moment. But San wasn't done there.

The echo of your moans still resonated in the room, but the world had calmed down. San slid out of you carefully, his warm, sweaty body pressed against yours as he caught his breath. He didn't pull away immediately; instead, he held you, his arm wrapping around you possessively but with a gentleness that contrasted with the roughness of moments before. His chest rose and fell against your back, and you felt his lips plant a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Shh, princess... you did so well" he murmured, his voice now soft, with no trace of his dominant authority. It was as if a switch had been flipped.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just breathing together, letting the adrenaline rush dissipate. San always insisted on this; the aftercare wasn't optional—it was part of the game, a way to reconnect and make sure you were okay. Finally, he sat up slightly, kissing your forehead.

"Are you okay? Does anything hurt?" he asked, his eyes scanning your body with genuine concern. His fingers gently traced the pink marks on your rear and then the light ones on your hips from his grip.

"I’m okay... more than okay" you replied, your voice raspy but content. You felt like you were floating—that post-scene subspace where everything felt warm and secure. "Just a little sensitive, but in a good way."

He smiled—that sweet, genuine smile he reserved only for you.

"Good. Let’s get you cleaned up." He rose from the bed with feline grace, disappearing into the suite’s bathroom for a moment. He returned with a warm, damp towel, a bottle of water, and a soothing lotion he always kept in his suitcase—small details that showed just how much he cared for you. He helped you sit up, his movements slow and attentive, as if you were something precious.

First, he cleaned between your legs with the towel, gentle and unhurried, wiping away the evidence of your union with touches that were almost reverent.

"Relax, let me take care of you" he whispered, kissing your knee as he worked. Then, he applied the lotion to the reddened areas: his hands massaged your skin in gentle circles, soothing any residual sting from the strikes or the restraints. Every caress was a reminder of his tenderness, a perfect contrast to his earlier dominance.

"You’re incredible, you know? So strong, so beautiful when you surrender to me."

The flush returned to your cheeks, but this time it was from emotional warmth. You snuggled against him when he finished, and San wrapped you in a soft blanket from the bed, pulling you to his chest. He offered you the water bottle, making sure you took a few sips.

"Hydrate, princess. I don't want you feeling unwell tomorrow." His fingers combed through your messy hair, undoing knots with infinite patience.

As you lay there, wrapped in his arms, the conversation flowed naturally, as it always did after an intense scene.

"Talk to me" he said softly, his chin resting on the top of your head. "What did you like most tonight? Was there anything you want to change for next time?"

You thought for a moment, feeling safe enough to be completely honest.

"I loved the way you played with me... it drove me crazy, but in the best way possible. And maybe, more kisses." You smiled, looking up at him.

San laughed softly, a warm sound that vibrated in his chest.

"Noted. More kisses, and more play if you ask for it. You are my priority. I never want you to feel anything but pleasure and safety with me." His words were sincere, and he kissed your temple, lingering there for a moment. "You know you can use the safety code at any time, right? Red, and we stop everything."

"I know" you replied, snuggling closer. "That’s why I trust you. You make me feel loved, even when you're being... you know, the bossy Sir." You teased, and he joined in your laughter, but his eyes softened with vulnerability.

"That’s what matters most to me" he confessed, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "On stage, I'm San the dancer, the idol. But with you... I'm just me. You see all parts of me: the dominant one, the tender one, the insecure one at times." He squeezed you tighter, as if afraid to let go. "This tour has been tough, with the schedules and keeping us a secret. But nights like this remind me why it's all worth it. I love you."

The words melted you.

"I love you too, San." You kissed him softly—a slow kiss full of emotion, without the urgency of desire, just pure affection. You stayed like that, chatting about nonsense—the tour, funny stories about the staff, plans for when you’d finally have a day off—until sleep began to claim you both.

San turned off the light, pulling you close to his side like a big spoon, his arm draped around your waist.

"Sleep well. Tomorrow, I'll wake you up with breakfast in bed" he murmured, his warm breath against your neck.