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He loved seeing you turn into a flustered mess around his best friend. So he took every opportunity he could to put you two in the same room, watching from the side as you tried and failed to appear cool and relaxed. 

Jay was a good sport about it, smiling when he was supposed to, keeping his flirting just subtle enough to drive you insane without crossing a line. 

Jungwon watched it all, pulling you into his chest after getting home, as you babbled about how hot Jay was. You let him run his hands down your arms and bury his face in your neck, too distracted by thoughts of Jay to realize just how much your roommate loved to touch you.

Another message popped up on Jungwon’s phone. 

Jay was ten minutes away.

He looked at you again, your face relaxed as you stared at your phone, your mouth curling slightly at the corners at something on the screen. 

It was going to be a fun night. 

You looked at Jungwon as the doorbell rang. “Are you expecting someone?”

He shrugged, gently removing your feet from his lap as he stood up. “Nope, I’ll check.” He got up and walked to the door, his figure disappearing down the hall. 

You heard the door open, and a familiar voice trailed into the room.

You froze.

No, it couldn’t be.

You bolted upright, looking down in horror as you realized that you were in pajamas: an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that rode up your thighs. There was no time to change, no time to hide in your room. You ran your fingers through your hair, adjusting the shorts on your hips as you assumed a normal sitting position on the couch.

Jay walked into the room, and you glanced over your shoulder as casually as you could manage. “Oh, hey, Jay.”

His characteristic side-smile appeared on his face: “Hey, y/n, how are you?”

You smiled, “I’m good, just…relaxing.” You tried not to let your eyes wander. He was wearing a loose button-up shirt and baggy jeans. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to his elbows, with two buttons undone at the top, so his collarbone was on full display. 

But the worst (best) part? A thin pair of black glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, perched lazily as if he threw them on in a rush.

Was he trying to kill you?

You turned away as you felt heat creeping up your neck, scrolling absently on your phone. 

Jungwon’s voice wafted through the space: “Can I get you something to drink, Jay?”

“Water’s fine.”

Your eyes were on your phone, but your attention was solely focused on Jay’s every movement. You heard him shift on his feet before he walked over and took a seat on the couch next to you, only a cushion between you.

“You look comfy.” He said.

You sucked in your bottom lip, pulling your bare legs under you as you shot him a half-smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming over.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound triggering a warm ache between your legs. “It’s ok, I don’t mind.” He paused before adding, “It’s cute.”

A smile worked its way to your mouth as you fiddled with the bottom of your shirt. This kind of comment was normal for Jay, subtle but said at just the right moment to make you squirm. No matter how many times he did it, you never got used to it.

Jungwon came over with a glass of water for Jay, setting it on the table in front of him before sitting on the other side of you. He put his arm over your shoulder and practically pulled you on top of him, drawing a surprised yelp from your lips.

You gave him a sharp look, feeling a blush settle on your cheeks. He was never this touchy when Jay was around, always opting to hover on the sidelines and hold you later after you were done being a flustered mess. 

But now his arm casually rested over your waist, your back against his chest as he traced your stomach through your shirt. 

Jay’s eyes flicked to Jungwon’s arm over you, but he said nothing, his face unreadable. He leaned over and brought the water glass to his lips, his throat bobbing as he drank.

You couldn’t help but stare.

“Should we watch something?” 

Jungwon’s voice interrupted your thoughts, and you tore your gaze away from Jay and to the TV, where Jungwon was already scrolling through movies.

Ten minutes later, you all settled on some rom-com you’d never seen, the studio fanfare echoing through the room.

Jungwon rested his chin on your head, his arm tightening around your waist as he shifted to pull you closer.

You didn’t move; you couldn’t move, because pulling away from him would mean moving closer to Jay, which was not an option. So you leaned back, letting yourself relax against Jungwon. You felt him smile behind you.

Throughout the movie, Jungwon’s hands got bolder. He traced circles on your thigh, brushed his knuckles against your arm, and played with the edge of your shirt so his fingers were just centimeters from the bare skin of your stomach.

You tried to ignore it, but with Jay on the other side of you, every touch felt different—charged. You knew that Jungwon was enjoying this, a hum vibrating from his chest every time you shifted under him. 

At one point, he put his lips next to your ear, hot breath fanning over your neck as he whispered, “Comfortable?”

Your skin shivered, and you let out a breath, “Yeah.”

“Really? Because you’re moving a lot.”

You glanced at Jay to see if he was listening, but his face was turned towards the TV, seemingly totally unaware of your conversation.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hissed.

Jungwon let his hand rest at the top of your thigh. “What am I doing?”

“Being annoying.”

He laughed softly against your hair, which drew Jay’s attention. His dark eyes flicked to his friend's hand on your thigh, and this time—just barely—his eyes narrowed.

Jay stood up. “I’m going to grab a beer; anyone want one?”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Jungwon said

Jay looked at you, “y/n?”

You nodded, “Sure.”

The second he left the room, you wiggled out of Jungwon’s arms, climbing out of his lap.

“Hey,” he whined, reaching for you.

You ignored him. “What’s gotten into you? You’re so…clingy.”

“Can a guy not cuddle with his roommate?”

“Uh, not in front of the guy you know I like,” You said.

“I’m helping you; this will make him jealous.”

“Or it will scare him off, because Jay’s a good guy who wouldn’t steal the girl his best friend is fondling.”

Jungwon shrugged, “Fine, if you don’t like me touching you, I won’t.” He crossed his arms.

“I-,” you stopped. Of course, you liked it—being held by him. After a long day, Jungwon was always the person who could help you relax. Always the person who made you feel safe.

But this was different, at least—that’s what you told yourself.

You were still staring at Jungwon’s pouty expression when Jay walked back in. 

He handed you both a beer and took his old seat, eyes darting between you and Jungwon. 

You sighed and sat between them, your knee now barely brushing against Jungwon’s. He didn’t look at you.

The TV droned on, and you kept telling yourself that this was what you wanted. To be around Jay and embarrassingly flirt with him until (you hoped) he would finally make a move. But he was quietly watching the movie, and Jungwon was looking ahead with an expression like a stone, ignoring you regardless of how many apologetic glances you sent him. 

You sank into the couch cushions and chalked the night up to a failure. 

When the movie ended, you immediately got to your feet, planning to hide in your room for the rest of the evening.

“Tired already?” Jay said.

You laughed nervously, “Yeah, well I have a lot of studying to do tomorrow.”

“You didn’t even finish your drink.”

You looked down at the coffee table where your barely touched beer sat, the one you’d abandoned after Jungwon had given you the cold shoulder.

“You can finish it.” You said.

“y/n.”

You stopped, because no matter how hard you tried, Jungwon was your weakness. You turned, and almost smiled in relief when you saw that his cold expression had been replaced with a teasing smirk.

“How about we play a game?”

Your eyes narrowed. “What game?”

“Hmm,” he put a finger on his lip, “Would You Rather? Never Have I Ever? Truth or Dare?”

“What are we, thirteen?” Jay snorted.

“Come on, Jay Hyung, it’ll be fun. Have you ever even played them?”

Jay tapped his foot. “I guess not.”

Jungwon grinned at you. “y/n? Don’t make me force you.”

You tried to resist. Tried to make the words “no” come out of your mouth because the idea of playing any of those games with Jay in the mix made your heart race. But you still felt bad for shutting down Jungwon earlier, and he looked so cute right now with his hair flopping over his forehead…

“Fine.” You plopped back onto the couch. “Would You Rather sounds the least painful.”

“What do you say we introduce some shots into the mix, Jay?” Jungwon said.

Jay smiled, “In that case, Truth or Dare is best.” He looked at you, “That way you have an out.”

You groaned, “Why ask me if you’re not gonna listen?”

Jungwon laughed and ruffled your hair before heading to the kitchen. “You were outvoted y/n; it’s totally fair.”

“Whatever.”

Ten minutes later, the three of you sat on the ground around the coffee table, a shot glass in front of each of you with a bottle of vodka in the center.

“You'd better actually play the game, Wonie. I’m not in the mood to deal with you being drunk right now.” You grumbled.

He waved his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll play, I promise.”

Jay just chuckled and poured each of you a shot. “One to start?”

You didn’t even wait for them. Just grabbed your glass and downed it, wincing as the bitter liquid hit the back of your throat.

Both of them stared at you with surprise etched on their faces.

“What?”

“Someone wasn’t lying about the long day,” Jay said, downing his too.

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just start.”

After taking his shot, Jungwon turned to you. “Ok, y/n, truth or dare?”

You hesitated. This game was new for Jungwon, a step beyond the teasing comments and subtle hints. To make things worse, you could tell from the way he looked at you that he was feeling risky. Neither option was safe.

“Truth.”

He smiled sweetly. “What do you think about Jay Hyung?"

You froze. The question was simple enough, and Jungwon asked it with a casual lightness to his voice that could fool everyone. Everyone except you. You glanced at Jay, who seemed to be trying to hold back a smirk.

“Jay is…nice. He’s respectful and caring and…plays the guitar really well.”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

You nodded quickly, avoiding Jay’s eyes that you felt burning into the side of your face. “Yup.”

He shrugged. “Ok, your turn then.”

“Truth or dare, Jungwon?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

You bit your lip, flying through a list of potential dares. They all felt so boring, and you were starting to feel a bit vengeful. He loved making you squirm; maybe it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine.

“I dare you to let me text your ex.” You smirked; it was perfect. He hated talking about her. You’d met her once, and she was that annoying type who was painfully clingy and controlling. If she wasn’t with him, she was texting him—often about her complete disapproval of you—saying how “improper” it was for a guy to have a female roommate. He had to block her for his own sanity. He would definitely take the shot; no way would he open up that can of worms.

Jungwon pulled out his phone and held it out to you with zero hesitation. “Go ahead.”

You stared at him, pushing down your shock as you slowly took it out of his hands. “Really?”

He shrugged.

You pursed your lips and decided to take a different route. You stood up and walked over to Jungwon, lowering yourself into his lap. You felt him exhale sharply, and Jay chuckled from the other side of the table. You took Jungwon’s arm and wrapped it around you, then pulled up his phone camera. You shifted until the picture looked as couply as possible, then took it, the frame showing nothing but his large hand palming your stomach. 

You stood up and sent it before looking back at Jungwon.

He looked genuinely flustered, the most you’d ever seen him. His face was bright red, his pupils wide, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. 

You cocked your head. He touched you like that all the time and never looked more than vaguely amused. But the second you initiated, he looked just like you after a few hours of talking to Jay…

Wait.

No.

Jungwon’s phone buzzed in your hand, ripping you out of your thoughts. You opened it to the message you’d sent, eyes widening at the texts that flooded the screen.

I fucking knew you liked her. You asshole, how long were you cheating on me?? That bitch can’t give you HALF of what I could!!

They went on and on and on… and you half-threw Jungwon’s phone back at him before sitting back down, feeling slightly dizzy. Were you really that oblivious?

Jungwon looked between you and the messages lighting up his phone, his eyes a storm of concern and satisfaction.

Jay wasted no time. “Jungwon, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said, trying to catch your eye.

“Did you really choose to room with y/n over me because you thought ‘space would be good for our friendship’?”

Your head snapped up, looking between the two boys before settling on Jungwon, who was shooting Jay a death glare. 

“You told me Jay had already found a roommate.” 

He laughed nervously, “Well, Heeseung was looking for a place.”

“But I asked him first,” Jay said. “He turned me down almost immediately.”

“Listen…” Jungwon tried.

“Answer the question or drink,” Jay said.

You were staring at Jungwon like he was a different person, and you assumed he noticed, because one look at you and he was reaching for his shot glass. After he drank, he leveled an annoyed expression at Jay.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Jay said.

Jungwon worked his jaw, studying Jay carefully. “I dare you to take your shirt off.”

Jay snorted, his eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Do it or drink, Jay Hyung.”

You stared at your lap, wanting nothing more than to hide in your room. You knew if Jay did that, you’d be a blushing mess, and Jungwon knew it too. 

But if he liked you, why did he keep pushing you towards Jay? Shouldn’t he be possessive or something? Although now that you thought about it, he was possessive—at least around everyone who wasn’t Jay. He never let you out of his sight at parties, and within minutes of a guy approaching you, he was always by your side, a light hand at your back as he subtly told the guy to fuck off.

You thought he was looking out for you, making sure you were safe. But now, you saw it for what it really was: a claim.

And for some reason, Jay was the only exception.

Jay glanced at you, his eyes dropping down to the way you were wringing your hands. He nodded slightly, and slowly—torturously—unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He let it slip off his shoulders and tossed it behind him, leaving his chest completely bare.

It should be illegal how good he looked. Messy black hair, tan skin, black glasses sitting crooked on the edge of his nose. You tried not to stare. You really did. But you’d been imagining this exact image for months, and now that it was in front of you, you couldn’t look away.

Jay caught your eye and smirked, leaning back onto his hands behind his back and looking smugly at Jungwon.

But your roommate’s eyes were locked on you. He studied you with a hunger you’d never seen in him, watching the way your eyes were pulled to Jay like a magnet, and the way you crossed your legs, trying to calm the hot pressure building in your core.

“It’s your turn, y/n,” Jay said.

You stared at the bottle of vodka on the table, not wanting to look at either of them. The tension in the room was palpable, hovering around you like a raincloud ready to burst. 

You forced yourself to look at Jay, trying with your entire being to keep your eyes on his face. “Truth or dare?”

He tilted his head, a slight smile on his face as he took in the blush on your neck. “Truth.”

“Um.” You looked between him and the vodka. “Do you…really think I’m cute?”

You watched as Jay’s eyes darkened, his gaze briefly dropping to your lips. He leaned forward, his muscles flexing as he rested his forearm on the table. “I mean what I say, y/n.”

The way he was looking at you was doing unholy things to your brain. You felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, his stare lingering on every shift of your hips as you squirmed under his attention. 

You wanted him to touch you so bad it hurt.

Jungwon cleared his throat, snapping you both out of your trance. A muscle in his jaw was clenched as he looked between the two of you, his fingers tapping against his knee in a steady rhythm. 

You bit your lip, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Go ahead, Jay.”

“Truth or dare y/n?”

You were quickly losing your ability to look Jay in the eye without every thought in your head immediately dissolving into warm emptiness. Your thighs clenched involuntarily every time his low voice slipped from between his lips, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it together. 

“Dare.”

Jay exhaled softly, and you saw his hand clench. He looked at Jungwon, whose cheeks were already flushed, and pupils wide as he looked at you, a half-contained neediness in his eyes.

“I dare you to sit in my lap.”

You felt your mouth fall open as the words left his mouth, a rush of blood going straight between your legs. His eyes traced the parting of your lips the same way a cat looked at a toy, drinking in your shock like it was fuel. He shot you the crooked half-smile he knew drove you crazy. “You can drink, you know.”

You knew you should. It was one of those dares that was supposed to make you drink, but the thought of your back pressed against Jay’s bare chest…it was everything you’d been dreaming about.

Jungwon’s gaze bore into you like a physical pressure, and as you turned your head, you prepared yourself for jealousy, even anger. But instead, when your eyes met his, you found only anticipation. 

You stared at your shot glass, every thought in your brain screaming at you to fill it, but your desire was winning, and your body was being pulled towards Jay as if he was your center of gravity.

Slowly, you got to your feet and moved towards Jay. His eyes were almost completely black as he watched you, and when you lowered your butt to sit squarely in his crossed legs, his hands found your hips, holding you firmly against him. 

He took off his glasses and placed them on the table, then shifted so his chin rested on your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Good choice.”

You had to hold your breath to stop from whimpering. His skin felt electric whenever it touched you, and his hands weren’t helping. His fingers traced gentle strokes in the bend between your hips and thighs, one of them occasionally brushing up your bare leg. 

You cursed yourself for wearing shorts; the skin-to-skin contact was going to be the end of you.

“Jungwon, go.” Jay’s low voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from exhaling softly.

You felt him smile against your ear.

Jungwon licked his lips, gaze locked on the way you chewed on your lip to keep from making a sound you knew you’d regret. 

“y/n, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said quickly.

His question was instant and slightly breathless. “Are you turned on right now?”

You tensed, and at that moment, Jay’s hand drifted towards your inner thigh. 

You gasped, pressing your back against his chest as the pressure in your core tightened.

Jungwon smirked, his expression almost predatory.

Jay chuckled. “I feel like that answers it.”

“I want to hear her say it,” Jungwon said.

You knew there was no getting out of this one, but you tried to sound at least a little put-together as you said it. “Yes…”

“Yes what?” Jungwon asked.

You clicked your tongue. “Yes, I’m turned on.”

Jay nuzzled his nose behind your ear, his lips brushing over your hot skin, sending a shivering jolt down your back.

“Jay…” you sighed.

He made a sound similar to a purr. “Oh, I like it when you say my name like that.”

The ache between your legs was so intense it hurt, and you were about five seconds away from grinding on Jay’s lap. You couldn’t take it anymore; you needed to be touched.

Then you realized you had the power, because it was your turn.

Jungwon had moved closer, taking your old spot as he watched the way Jay traced your neck with his lips, his fingers playing with the necklace around his neck.

“Jungwon, truth or dare?”

His eyes darted up to yours. “Truth.”

You sighed because it was not the one you wanted him to pick. Luckily, you still had plenty of questions. “Why do you like watching Jay flirt with me?”

You saw them exchange glances.

Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. “I liked…that he distracted you. I could see you get flustered and nervous around me since it wasn’t about me. You’d let me hold you and comfort you, something that would never happen if I-”

He stopped, and you noticed the growing tint of red on his cheeks. 

“If you what?”

He leaned back on his hands, a teasing smile on his face. “You’ll have to wait for your next turn.”

You rolled your eyes, momentarily forgetting where you were sitting until Jay’s hand slipped under your shirt. 

You inhaled sharply as his hand palmed your stomach, the contact making your hunger flourish with a new intensity. 

Jay’s voice sounded close to your ear. “I guess it’s my turn now. Are you ready?”

You nodded, your head feeling heavy.

His breath made your skin tingle as he spoke. “Truth or dare y/n?”

Frankly, you were done playing games. 

“Dare.”

He smiled against your neck, and a few seconds passed before he declared your fate. 

“I dare you to kiss Jungwon.”

The room went silent.

You looked at Jungwon.

He was staring at Jay with wide eyes, all of his playful confidence gone as his carefully guarded desires were revealed to the world.

“You can still drink y/n,” Jay said, his voice smug.

You realized you didn’t want to, and even though Jay was the one who made your knees weak, you were so horny you didn’t particularly care who was doing the touching.

Your eyes flicked down to Jungwon’s lips, and you felt a spark of pleasure in your brain when you saw his eyes visibly darken with need. Plus, it was about time that Jungwon took his turn being the flustered one. 

You moved to climb out of Jay’s lap, but his hands gripped your hips, holding you down. “Nope, he has to come to you.”

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He moved until he was directly across from Jay’s legs, looking up at you with nervous anticipation. 

Slowly, you hooked your hand behind his neck, playing with the ends of his hair as your eyes scanned his face. 

You’d barely touched him, and he looked wrecked. His pupils were blown completely wide, his skin was hot, and his breathing came out in quick, shallow gasps. He kept looking between your eyes and your lips, like he was scared they’d disappear if he looked away for too long. 

You smiled because you were starting to understand why Jungwon enjoyed seeing you like this. The way he was looking at you made your core ache just as much as Jay’s rogue fingers, and you wondered how many of the nights that he held you after watching you lose your mind over Jay ended with him stroking himself in his room.

Now, you could help each other.

You leaned in, and you felt him tentatively brush his nose against yours, his hot breath ghosting over your mouth before your lips finally touched.

His lips were soft, familiar like you’d kissed them thousands of times. You felt a warmth bloom in your chest like a campfire—intense but safe. Jungwon made a sound, and you felt his hand instinctively rise to brush your waist, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t want to overstep.

You grabbed his wrist and moved his hand the rest of the way, smiling against his lips as his fingers dug gratefully into your side. 

That’s when you felt a finger press on your clit.

You gasped into Jungwon’s mouth as a surge of pleasure swept through your body, your grip on his hair tightening, causing a groan to slip from his lips. 

“Don’t mind me,” Jay said, pulling your hair back from your neck and leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin, his finger still pressed firmly on your clit through your shorts.

Your focus was narrowed until all you could feel was the painful pressure between your legs and the warmth of Jungwon’s lips. But in that moment, it didn’t matter whose lips were whose, or whose hands; all that mattered was that you wanted them on you.

So you kissed Jungwon as if your life depended on it, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him as close as physics allowed, because on that floor—sandwiched between two boys that’d been devouring you with their eyes for hours—it felt like it did.

Jungwon responded to your sudden eagerness like he’d been waiting for it all his life, opening his mouth and letting your tongues dance like fated lovers, his hands gripping your waist with a claiming force.

Jay hadn’t stopped kissing your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin like he wanted to spell his own name in bruises. His fingers had started making light circles over your clothed core, the slight pressure driving you even crazier than direct contact. You shifted on his lap, trying to grind against his finger and increase the pressure. Every time, his other hand would pinch the skin on your inner thigh, making you arch and tremble against his back.

You desperately wanted to feel your skin pressed against his bare chest, so you moved one arm from around Jungwon’s neck and gripped the bottom of your sleep shirt, tugging it up against Jungwon’s hands. He got the message and detached from your lips with a wet pop, ripping your shirt off your body and tossing it to the side. 

A broken groan escaped his lips as he took you in bare before him. “You’re more than I ever imagined.” He reached out and rolled one of your hard nipples between his thumb and index finger, smiling as you moaned at the contact.

“Do you like it when I touch you y/n?”

“Yes!” You gasped. “I love it when you touch me, Wonie.”

“God, you sound so pretty,” Jay said, teeth grazing over your ear.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing as your skin met his.

“Fuck Jungwon,” Jay said, his hand on your hip moving up to cup your other breast. “How did you hold back for so long?”

Jungwon took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud. “I wanted her to beg for it.”

Jay smiled and forced your chin towards him, drinking in your wrecked expression with hungry eyes. “I don’t hear much begging.”

“Jay,” you breathed, “I want you so bad.”

“How bad?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He sighed, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

You continued, the pressure in your core so intense it was making you delirious, Jungwon’s persistent mouth on your chest not helping. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I dreamed of you inside me, please.”

The sentence had barely left your mouth when he kissed you. 

His lips were hungry, firm, devouring your mouth like a wild animal. One of your hands found his hair, and he growled, holding your chin towards him with an almost painful grip.

The room was filled with the sound of clashing tongues and wet licks, your strained moan occasionally cutting through the filth.

Jay’s hand had migrated under your sleep shorts, running up your folds through your soaked panties.

Your hips jerked against him with every stroke, begging for more.

He just smiled against your lips, never giving you the pressure you craved.

He was just as bad as Jungwon, preferring to watch you slowly come apart, much more than the end goal. You wondered if your roommate had learned it from him.

You were vaguely aware of Jungwon removing his hoodie and t-shirt, moving forward until you were basically straddled between them. His hands found your waistband, pulling your shorts down completely until you were naked besides your panties. He watched Jay’s hand run over your core with glazed eyes, his erection growing painfully in his pants.

When you felt Jungwon’s hand on your wrist, pulling it towards him, you broke the kiss with Jay to look, breathing heavily. 

Jungwon placed your palm over his bulge, groaning as you squeezed softly.

You leaned forward, watching every twitch of pleasure on Jungwon’s face as you rubbed him. “How long have you been hiding this from me, Jungwon?”

He tilted his head back, moaning softly. “So long, baby.”

The pet name made you smile. “You should have just asked; you know how much I like to make you happy. My sweet Wonie, my perfect roommate. I could have helped you.”

His face was strained as he looked at you. “Really? You would have…?”

You lowered your voice, keeping your eyes locked. “Anything for you, Jungwon.”

That was enough to make him buck against your hand, and he pulled away from your touch, gasping as his legs trembled. “I almost came right there, and you barely touched me.”

“Take it off, Jungwon.”

He nodded, pulling at the waistband of his sweats, stripping down his pants, and his boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free, already dripping and angry with arousal.

You licked your lips and reached for him.

Jungwon sat back down, and when your fingers made contact, he groaned.

You slowly stroked his shaft, watching his face contort in pleasure at your touch. 

You heard Jay sigh behind you, the sound sending a vibration through your back. “Need to see your face look like that,” he whispered.

Then his fingers slipped under your panties.

“Jay!” You moaned, pressing your back harder against his chest.

His finger swiped through your wet folds, the sound so filthy it made you arch against him. 

You continued your strokes along Jungwon’s shaft, speeding up slightly when Jay’s fingers made your control slip. 

Jungwon was a moaning mess under you, keeping himself propped up on his elbows as he watched you touch him while Jay made you squirm.

Jay put his other hand back on your breast, pinching your hard nipple as he continued to tease your entrance.

You brushed your finger over the slit on Jungwon’s tip; his sounds were the only thing keeping you grounded as Jay edged you.

“Fuck!” Jungwon groaned. “Talk to me, y/n; I want to hear your voice.”

“Wonie,” you gasped, trying to grind against Jay’s fingers. “I’ve always loved it when you touched me; you always made me feel good even when I was miserable.”

Jay’s thumb pressed against your clit, drawing a high-pitched moan from your throat. You pumped Jungwon’s dick with desperate speed, feeling the pressure in your core building.

Jungwon’s breathing was ragged. “y/n, I’m close!”

“Jay!” You sobbed, turning your head to bury your face in his neck.

Jay chuckled lowly and finally slipped two fingers past your entrance, a scream streaming from your lips as he curled up to hit your G-spot.

Your orgasm hit you like a truck, exploding through you like a parade of fireworks. You let go of Jungwon and gripped Jay’s knees with an iron grip as pleasure wracked your body.

Jungwon came right after, gasping as hot ropes of his cum shot out over your stomach and even Jay’s hand, which was still moving inside you as he helped you through your orgasm. 

You ground on Jay’s hand as you rode out the aftershocks, your chest heaving as the hours of buildup were finally released.

When you were slumped against him, Jay removed his hand, eyes going to Jungwon as he studied the remnants of cum on his arm. 

Jungwon lay on the ground with a lazy smile on his face. “Sorry, Jay Hyung.”

Jay just smirked and put his arm in front of your mouth. “Open up.”

Your mouth dropped open, too spent to be anything but obedient.

Jay put his hand on the back of your head and pushed you towards his arm, sighing as he watched you lick up the white substance. “Good girl.”

When you were done, you fell back onto Jay’s chest, finding solace in his warmth.

He chuckled. “You ok?”

You nodded, your eyes closed as you nuzzled your cheek into his neck. “I’m perfect.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jungwon said, watching you curl into Jay with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“But I feel bad that you didn’t get to feel good, Jay.”

Jay stroked your hair. “Don’t feel bad; watching you was reward enough.”

You traced his collarbone with your finger, his skin so warm and smooth it was intoxicating. You remembered what you’d said to him earlier when he’d asked you to beg. You hadn’t lied; they weren’t just words spoken in desperation. You wanted Jay fully, and the fresh ache in your core told you that you weren’t ready for the night to end. 

You put your lips next to his ear and lowered your voice into a whisper. “Jay, I still need you.”

He tensed under you, his hands that had been wandering over your waist stilling. 

“y/n…” he said, his voice strained.

“What?” You pouted. “Do you not want me?”

He stared at your plump lips, and you could see the battle of restraint in his eyes. His expression alone answered your question, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“It’s not that, I just…” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he looked at Jungwon, who was watching the two of you closely. “Jungwon has liked you for so long and I can’t-”

Jungwon cut him off. “It’s ok, Jay, do what she asks.”

“What?” Jay said.

You looked at your roommate, whose back was already propped against the table, his hand drifting to his hardening cock. “Fuck her, Jay Hyung.”

Jay searched your face for confirmation, his hand drifting down to your ass. 

So you kissed him.

Jay groaned into your mouth, his lips moving with a new intensity now that the unspoken boundaries had been stripped away. One of his hands tangled in your hair while the other hooked under your thigh, holding you flush against him. He gently lowered you off his lap, pushing you onto your back on the carpet. He stood up and grabbed at the zipper on his jeans, sighing as his hard length finally sprang free.

“Jay,” you moaned. Your walls clenched at the sight of him, and you watched with bated breath as he slowly sank to his knees before you.

Beside you, Jungwon had started to stroke himself. His eyes were glassy as they flicked between Jay’s dick and your face, pupils widening as he watched your lips part in a needy whine. The effect your sounds had on him was almost concerning. He thought that he could spend the rest of his life hearing them and never get tired of it. He reminded himself to ask if he could record you next time.

Jay grabbed your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, smirking when you gasped at the sudden change in position. He hissed as he let his tip run through your folds, your wetness coating his length.

You clawed at the floor, fingers curling in the carpet as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you in intense bursts. Your vagina clenched around nothing, wanting so desperately to be filled. 

“You feel so fucking good.” Jay groaned. He teased your entrance, hovering at the rim of your hole, moving in small circles.

You tried to push yourself onto him, but he pulled back every time, watching with brutal satisfaction as a few tears spilled down your face.

“Jay!” You sobbed, so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t think you’d wanted anything more in your life.

“Shh, it’s ok, baby.” Jungwon appeared by your head. He stroked your hair and peppered kisses down your face. “Just a little longer, ok?”

You reached for him; his voice a beacon in the dark, more comforting than you could put into words.

Jungwon interlaced your fingers and leaned down to kiss your lips.

You gripped his hair, holding onto him like a lifeline.

His kiss was deep and claiming, full of unspoken confessions and pent-up desires. With every move of his lips, you remembered the way he held you to his chest after a long day, or the way he hovered near you at a party, only a step away whenever you needed him.

You were lost in it, lost in him, and then you felt a pressure between your legs, and with a strangled groan, Jay pushed inside of you.

You cried out, ripping your mouth away from Jungwon as you threw your head back, the stretch so good you were seeing white. 

Since you were still wet from earlier, Jay wasted no time. He moved inside of you in eager thrusts, his rhythm hard and devastating. 

“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so fucking perfect for me.”

Jungwon kept stroking your hair, his other hand on his cock as he pumped himself in time with Jay’s thrusts. “Keep going, Jay Hyung, she’s so pretty right now.”

Jay’s grip tightened on your hips as he deepened his thrusts, studying the pleasure on your face with the same care and intensity he studied his F1 races.

You were a moaning wreck, your sounds getting higher and more frequent as you felt your orgasm building.

Jungwon removed his hand from your hair and shifted towards where Jay was slipping inside of you. With one hand never leaving his dick, his gaze turned towards you; he reached down and pressed two fingers on your clit.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as he started making firm, consistent circles over the sensitive bud. 

He pumped himself harder, his breaths turning ragged as he approached his climax. 

Jay had started slamming into you with frantic snaps against your pelvis, his eyes wide as short gasps stumbled from his lips.

You were all close, all chasing a release you’d been thinking of the second Jungwon turned down Jay’s roommate offer. Beginning the slow-burn cycle of stolen glances and loaded words that left you all aching by the end of the day.

You came first.

A broken cry ripped from your throat as you felt your walls clamp down around Jay, spasms of pleasure flowing through your body in waves.

Jay followed you, gasping as his hot seed filled you to the brim, your pussy milking him dry. He slowed his thrusts as he helped you through it, the two of you moaning in harmony.

Jungwon was last. He jerked himself off with quick strokes of his hand, wrecked whines slipping from between his lips as he came for the second time that night. He aligned himself so most of it landed around your mouth, and you licked up as much as you could, finding the way he followed the flicks of your tongue addicting.

The smell of sex lingered over the room like a cloud, the only sound the heaving of your mingled breaths. 

Jay pulled out of you, groaning as your bodies came apart with a wet squelch. He collapsed next to you, eyes closed as he caught his breath.

Jungwon crawled to the vacant space between your legs, licking his lips before leaning down to clean up Jay’s cum leaking down your thighs. 

You whimpered, oversensitive and spent, too weak to shove him away.

“Jay, would you get her face?” Jungwon said, voice muffled between your legs.

Jay sighed, opening his eyes and leaning over you. He kissed away the remains of Jungwon’s mess, tongue flicking over your skin as he licked up every drop. When he was done, he kissed you softly, and you moaned when you tasted Jungwon’s cum on his lips.

He smirked, “You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You kissed him again, a smile on your lips. “Only for you.”

When Jungwon was finished, he lay down on your other side, his hand moving to your waist as he pulled your back against his chest. He kissed your shoulder. “How do you feel?”

You placed your hand over his on your waist, brushing his fingers. “Tired.”

“But a good tired?” Jay asked.

You laughed. “Yeah, pretty good.”

“So I didn’t ruin our friendship?” Jungwon asked, face buried in your hair.

You smiled. “No, Wonie, I think you made it better.”

“So…we can do this again?” 

You giggled at the hope in his voice. “All three of us?”

Jay pushed a strand of hair out of your face. “If you want.”

You ran your hand down Jay’s chest, smiling when his muscles flexed under your touch. You could get used to this. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Jungwon made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, peppering kisses down your neck, his lips curved into a smile against your skin. “Now I can stop pretending everything you do doesn’t drive me insane.”

Jay leaned in and kissed you softly. “You know, at first, I only flirted because Jungwon asked me to, but somewhere along the way, I started believing what I was saying.”

You grinned, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “So you’re in?”

He smiled. “All the way.”

Taglist: @kristynaaah @heeddungi @every-w @iouven @enhniki1009 @cherryluvssss @abby1009poosay

During recess, she notices how Sunghoon remains by himself, playing on the swings alone. She always invites him to play tag with the rest of the kids, but he shakes his head.

One day, instead of playing tag with everyone else, Y/N sits on the swing next to Sunghoon. They swing in silence for a few minutes until she turns to him.

“Do you want to see something cool?” She asks him.

He looks over at her skeptically, but once he sees her big smile, he reluctantly nods. She cheers before getting up from her swing and grabbing his hand, pulling him to a rocky patch at the edge of the park. Sunghoon watches curiously as she starts flipping over the rocks and moving rotting leaves with a stick.

“Aha!” she exclaims, moving the leaves with her hands. “Look!”

He peeks over her shoulder to see a metallic green beetle scuttling along the dirt. He cringes away immediately with a small shriek. She looks up at him and giggles.

“Isn’t it cute?” she asks, picking up the beetle with her fingers.

“D-don’t touch it,” he stammers.

“Why not? My dad said they’re harmless,” she says, holding out the beetle towards him.

Sunghoon takes multiple steps back. He’s scared of the bug, but he’s also wondering if she’s doing all of this as a way to make fun of him. He’s “Bug Eyes” after all. She notices his discomfort and puts the beetle back underneath the leaves.

“You don’t like bugs?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, walking over to him. “I love bugs.”

He stares at her as if she’s lost her mind.

“I think they’re cute,” she says, “You don’t like any bugs?”

He shakes his head.

“Not even butterflies?”

He shakes his head again.

“What do you like then?”

“I like fish…” he says softly.

“Fish are cool. Do you have a favorite?” she asks.

Sunghoon nods and starts to quietly tell her about his favorite fish. It’s the first time Y/N has ever gotten him to talk to her for more than three sentences, and she’s excited. She keeps asking him about different fish, if he likes fishing, if he has any pet fish, and so on. Sunghoon slowly opens up and happily answers her questions.

“What’s your favorite bug?” he asks shyly.

This triggers a long spiel from Y/N about different types of bugs she likes. By this point, they’re back on the swings, and Sunghoon is gently swinging his feet and listening to her quietly with a bashful smile on his lips.

One day during P.E., when they’re both age 7, groups needed to be formed to play a game of dodgeball. As students were being picked one by one, Sunghoon stood there awkwardly knowing the teams would fight to NOT get him on their team.

“Bug Eyes is so uncoordinated.”

“Yeah, he’ll make us lose.”

“Hey, stop that!” Y/N storms over to the two boys that were making fun of Sunghoon.

Sunghoon stands quietly with his head slightly downcast. She has her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

“What? It’s true,” one of the boys says.

“Say you’re sorry,” she huffs.

“Or what?” the other boy challenges.

Sunghoon watches with horror as she picks up a dodgeball and hurls it at the boy’s face. The sound the ball makes as it slaps the boy’s cheek echoes through the gymnasium, making everyone fall silent and look over in their direction. The boy that got hit starts crying while his friend looks back at Y/N with fire in his eyes.

“Bug Girl is defending Bug Eyes. How fitting,” he snarls.

He picks up a dodgeball, rolling it in his hand.

“It’s a perfect match,” he says just before he hurls the ball at her.

She tenses and closes her eyes, waiting for the ball to hit her. She hears another slap of the ball against skin, but she doesn’t feel anything hit her. When she opens her eyes, she finds Sunghoon on the floor in front of her with his glasses broken and scattered on the ground.

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” she crouches down to look at Sunghoon. His face is red from where the ball hit him. He nods ever so slightly, his hand trembling as he cradles his face.

Y/N’s head snaps up to glare at the other boy. Before anyone could stop her, she hurls herself at him, knocking him down to the floor with a thud. She starts yanking at his hair as he begins to scream.

The fight is over quickly, the teacher pulling Y/N off the boy and sending them all to the principal’s office. She gets suspended from school for a week, and when she comes back she’s shunned by most of the kids in her class.

She’s swinging alone during recess when a timid Sunghoon comes up to her. His glasses are taped back together and his hands are clasped together in front of him.

“Do you want to see something cool?” he asks softly.

She nods, her eyes flickering down to his hands. He unclasps them to reveal a spotted black and white beetle. Her eyes sparkle with excitement.

“Oh my god. An ironclad beetle!” she exclaims.

As she gets closer, she notices his hands slightly shaking. She immediately takes the beetle from his hands and watches as he brings his arms back to his sides and wipes his hands on his pants.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” She asks as she watches the beetle crawl between her fingers.

“For making everyone hate you.”

“It’s okay. You’re cooler than all of them combined,” she smiles.

Sunghoon looks down at his shoes, a pink blush painting his cheeks.

From then on, they are practically inseparable.

His favorite thing to do with her is explore the pocket of woods behind his house. It’s the perfect place to play pretend. Some days they’re wizards making potions with dirt and leaves, other days they’re pirates looking for treasure. Sunghoon particularly likes digging in the creek to see what he can find. Y/N likes pretty rocks which leads to him compiling different rocks and bringing them to her to inspect.

One day, when they’re both age 8, he’s ankles deep in the creek while Y/N is climbing a nearby tree. He’s using a net to sift through the debris in the water when he finds a rock with many tiny ridges. When he looks closely at it, it looks like some sort of bug. His face immediately lights up.

“Y/N!” he exclaims, stumbling through the muddy creek bed to get ashore.

She’s halfway up the tree when she stops and looks down at him. He excitedly waits at the base of the tree trunk and holds up the rock for her to see.

“I think I found a fossil,” he says.

“No way!” She beams and climbs down as quickly as she can.

Sunghoon watches with a smile on his face as her eyes light up at the small fossil. Her finger traces over the ridges.

“It looks like a trilobite,” she says.

Sunghoon stares at her.

“Ancient pill bug,” she clarifies.

“Ohhh,” he nods. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she smiles. “You’re always finding all the cool stuff.”

“I can show you where I found it. Maybe we can find some more,” he says, grabbing her arm gently and pulling her towards the water.

They search for another hour, but they don’t find any more fossils. When Sunghoon is crouched down sifting through the rocks, Y/N comes up behind him and pushes him forward. Since the water isn’t too deep, only half of his body gets wet. He looks up at her in disbelief, and she’s laughing.

“Maybe if I bury you, you’ll turn into a fossil,” she says, grabbing a handful of mud and throwing it at his chest.

“Hey—” he’s cut off by another handful of mud hitting his shoulder. He stops talking and starts grabbing handfuls of mud and throwing them back at her, making her squeal and run away. They chase each other until they’re both covered in mud from head to toe, leaves and twigs stuck to their bodies from rolling around on the ground. They’re giggling messes.

There’s something about the way the leaves cling to her hair that make him stop in his tracks. The way her smile shines brighter with mud all over her face, and her little giggles as she bends down to grab more mud. Something stirs within him, but he doesn’t know what that feeling is exactly. He just can’t stop staring.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Y/N asks teasingly.

“Um…mud.”

“Yes, I know, stupid,” she laughs.

He’s glad that the mud on his face covers his blushing cheeks.

Y/N doesn’t realize she has feelings for Sunghoon until she’s 11 and he starts wearing contact lenses. Suddenly girls are talking about how cute he is and that they didn’t know he was so good looking without his glasses on. It starts to irritate Y/N overhearing the girls in her classes whisper and talk about him.

“Why’d you stop wearing your glasses?” She asks him. “You look better with glasses.”

Sunghoon frowns. “Are you saying I’m ugly?”

“No!” She immediately interjects. “I just think you should go back to wearing your glasses.”

“Why?”

She groans and paces around for a moment. She’s frustrated she can’t put her thoughts into words. She can’t put her thoughts in order at all. Sunghoon watches her grow even more restless.

“If it bothers you that much, I’ll start wearing my glasses again,” he says quietly.

“No. It’s okay,” she sighs, defeated. “It’s not the glasses that’s bothering me.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What’s bothering you then?”

Suddenly, Y/N gets shy, which hardly ever happens. Sunghoon’s eyes widen as he catches the tips of her ears turning pink along with the apples of her cheeks. His heart flutters at the sight.

“It’s just,” she pauses, collecting her thoughts. “It’s making me mad how people are suddenly interested in you just because you got rid of your glasses.”

He stares at her with a stunned expression on his face, which makes her keep going.

“You’ve always been an amazing person, and I’ve been with you since the beginning. All these other people don’t deserve you,” she grumbles.

Sunghoon’s heart is about to leap out of his chest at her words. He looks away bashfully, trying to hide the small smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly, “you’re the only person I want to be close with.”

Their eyes meet momentarily, both of their faces red with blush. She looks away, not being able to maintain eye contact with him. He smiles and looks down at his hands.

The next day he wears his glasses again.

One day, when they’re 13, Sunghoon’s family goes on their yearly weekend trip to a cabin, and he begs his parents to let Y/N come this time. During the trip, Sunghoon teaches Y/N how to fish.

“Ugh, I’m boredddd,” she groans.

They’re standing at the edge of the pier with their fishing lines cast out into the lake. They’ve been waiting for a total of 30 minutes so far.

“Fishing is all about patience,” he tells her.

“What if I went into the water and tried catching one with my hands?” She asks.

“You’ll scare the fish away,” Sunghoon clicks his tongue.

“But what if I stayed still and waited for the fish to jump and come to me. Like how the grizzlies do it.”

“They can only do that because the fish are swimming upstream. We’re at a lake,” Sunghoon points out.

She groans again. Her next complaint is cut short when something starts pulling at her fishing line. She practically screams.

“Sunghoon, what do I do?” She frantically grabs the fishing pole.

He chuckles and grabs her hand, placing it on the reel handle. He moves her hand clockwise, causing the fishing line to pull towards them.

A fish about the size of Y/N’s foot splashes up out of the water, dangling from the end of the hook. Sunghoon grabs the fish and holds it out for her to see. It wiggles in his grasp.

“Oh my god. It’s kind of cute,” she says. “Can I hold it?”

He places the fish in her hands, showing her how to hold it without dropping it. He grabs a bucket and fills it with some of the lake water.

“You can put it in there. We can eat it for dinner,” he says.

Y/N freezes. “Eat?”

Sunghoon looks up at her, slightly confused. What else were you supposed to do with a fish you just caught? He sees the tears welling up in her eyes and he immediately starts backtracking.

“Or you can release it back into the water,” he says.

She sniffles and nods. He watches as she bends down at the edge of the pier and lets the fish wiggle out of her grasp and slide back into the water.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay. We can eat something else,” he reassures her.

“I was talking to the fish,” she says.

Sunghoon chuckles softly and walks up to her crouched figure.

“Maybe fishing isn’t for you,” he starts, “did you want to go look for some cool bugs in the woods?”

She shakes her head. “You don’t like bugs.”

“That doesn’t mean I won't help you.”

“But I want to do something we both enjoy,” she murmurs.

He smiles and squats down next to her. She glances over at him with tearful eyes.

“There’s a waterfall not too far down the trail into the woods. Do you want to go see it together?” He asks softly.

She sniffles and nods again. “That sounds fun.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” he says, standing up straight and holding out his hand for her to take.

They often have sleepovers at each other’s houses on the weekends, but this particular sleepover when they’re 14 is different. They’re watching a movie in Sunghoon’s room like normal until Y/N turns to look at him. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Sunghoon?” she asks abruptly after seeing the two main characters in the movie share a kiss. 

Sunghoon practically chokes on the popcorn he’s eating. 

“W-why are you asking?” he coughs, trying to avoid eye contact.

Y/N sighs and leans back on the headboard of his bed.

“I keep hearing every girl in class talking about the boys they’ve been kissing. I’m just curious.”

He remains quiet for a second, not knowing where this is going.

“No. I haven’t,” he finally says.

“Thank god,” she sighs in relief. 

Sunghoon’s heart leaps in his chest, and suddenly all he’s thinking about is what it would be like to kiss her. His eyes flicker to her face for a brief moment, his face turning red. He quickly looks away. 

“W-what?” he stammers. 

She turns to look at him. She immediately notices how shy he’s gotten.

“I’m not the only loser that hasn’t kissed anyone yet,” she says. 

Sunghoon’s mouth falls open, and his head snaps over to look at her in disbelief. She smiles at him, making his face turn even redder. He frowns slightly, but his eyes flicker down to her curved lips. 

“Why does that make us losers?” he mumbles. 

“It doesn’t,” she says, “I just feel like I’m missing out.” 

Sunghoon furrows his eyebrows together. He didn’t understand the need to fit in with what most of the other kids at school were doing. He thought their idea of fun was boring. 

“So you want to kiss whoever just to say you’ve kissed someone?” he asks, his tone of voice growing slightly irritated. 

She shakes her head.

“No, I want to kiss someone I’m comfortable with.” 

Their eyes meet for a second, and Sunghoon’s throat dries up. He looks away again. 

“You’re the only person I’m comfortable enough with,” she starts, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can always wait for someone else to—“

“NO!” he practically screams. His cheeks turn pink when he startles her with his objection. “I-I mean…I can help you…i-if you want.” 

“Really?” She smiles. 

His eyes flicker to her mouth again, and he nods. 

“Are you sure?” She asks again. She scoots closer to him, making his heart race. 

He nods again. 

She leans forward slightly, her eyes glancing down at his lips. They’re slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. He stays completely still, letting her get closer and closer until there's no space between them anymore. He freezes when he feels her lips press against his. He closes his eyes and stops breathing for a second. The kiss is over before he can fully register what happened. 

He blinks at her, his emotions tangling in knots inside him. He’s absolutely terrified. How does this change their relationship? Does she like him too?

“Um…” he starts.

She’s watching the TV again, rewinding the movie to the part where the main leads are kissing again. 

“Do you want to try that?” She asks. 

Sunghoon glances over at the screen, watching as the characters move their lips against each other’s. He swears he saw a tongue peek through. 

His face is flushed when she turns to look at him. She watches him, waiting for his reply. 

“I’m sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable,” she says after he’s taking a little too long to give her an answer. “That stuff should be reserved for someone you like.” 

Sunghoon’s heart sinks to his stomach. She’s getting the wrong idea from his stunned silence, but it’s already too late. She turns back to watch the movie, skipping the makeout scene. 

For the next few weeks, Sunghoon tries multiple times to bring up the topic of kissing again, but he gets too flustered. He’s losing sleep because of it. He keeps replaying what happened in his head and groans at how he handled it. 

Things between them hadn’t necessarily changed since they kissed or at least it didn’t seem like it from the outside. On the inside, both of them were dealing with some very conflicting and heavy emotions. 

Sunghoon was under the impression that Y/N didn’t like him in a romantic way because she mentioned kissing as something to mark off a bucket list, not something she wanted to do with him because she had feelings for him. Y/N, on the other hand, was under the impression that Sunghoon didn’t like her in a romantic way because he refused to keep kissing, and that he only agreed to kiss her in the first place to help her as his friend. 

So what do they do? They act like it never happened, but it doesn’t stop their feelings for each other from consuming every fiber of their being. 

Then they hit puberty. Their physical and emotional changes alter their dynamic significantly. 

Sunghoon grows taller and his voice grows deeper. He stops wearing his glasses again, causing girls at school to chase after him. Y/N also grows taller, but not by much. Her body is changing and Sunghoon is definitely noticing, especially after one summer at the pool where he almost drowned after seeing her wear a bikini for the first time. 

Sunghoon is very attractive…just extremely beautiful. It has Y/N fighting for her life. She has to endure all these girls at school confessing to him and fawning over him. When a particularly pretty and popular girl shows interest in Sunghoon, it has Y/N losing her mind. She’s scared that eventually Sunghoon will date and forget about their friendship. She’s jealous. She wants him all to herself. 

She’s jealous for no reason, though, because Sunghoon does not give any girl the time of day. He’s polite, but he always declines their confessions or attempts to ask him out. Most of the time, he sees right through these girls’ intentions. They find him attractive, but they don’t like him for who he is. They compliment his looks and make assumptions about what he’s like, and when they ask him about himself and they find out he likes fishing and playing chess, they look at him with a blank stare. 

Meanwhile, Y/N gets no play. It’s not because she isn’t pretty. She just gives no attention to any guys. She has a habit of scowling at any man that looks her way. They just don’t compare to Sunghoon. He’s all she ever needs in a man, even if it’s just as friends.

Sunghoon grows a little too comfortable in the fact that Y/N doesn’t have any secret admirers, so when she starts ranting to him about a supposed stalker in her economics class, he has to remain calm. She describes how this guy is always staring at her, smiling at her, trying to talk to her. He comes up to her desk and asks why she’s always so quiet and what her hobbies are. Somehow this guy finds out that she likes bugs and tries to start a conversation with her about it.

“He’s just so creepy, Sunghoon,” she groans. “Whenever I walk into class, he’s already staring at me.” 

Sunghoon is clenching his fists at the mere thought of this random guy clearly having a crush on her. He wishes he had the class with her so he could glare at him, but all he can say is, “Yeah, he seems weird. You should ignore him.”

He teases her a lot more too. Maybe it’s puberty or maybe his feelings are just harder to contain, but looking at her pretty face makes him get cuteness aggression. He loves getting a reaction out of her. 

He loves to randomly come up to her and play fight with her. He throws playful punches at her arms and dodges her failed attempts to hit him back. He sometimes lets her hit him, but it just ends up with him tackling her playfully onto the couch or bed. 

“What happened to my sweet Sunghoon?” Y/N whines. “Now I just have a bully.” 

He smiles at her fondly, “You’re just fun to mess with.” 

“It’s only fun for you. I’m out here getting assaulted,” she continues pouting. 

His smile grows wider, and he extends his arms out in playful surrender. “Okay. Hit me then.”

She glances over at him quizzically. When she sees he’s being serious, her expression changes into something mischievous. Before Sunghoon could backtrack, she pulls his sweatpants down leaving him in his boxers.  

“What the—“ 

As he’s bending down and picking up his pants, she jumps on his back and puts him in a chokehold. 

“Y/N—“

“This is what you get,” she says playfully. 

He starts laughing and takes a few steps back until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed. He purposefully falls backwards, landing on top of her. Her arms slacken around his neck, allowing him to pull free and spin around to face her. He pins her arms down and smiles triumphantly. When he looks down at her, her cheeks are painted pink and her eyes are fixed somewhere to the side. That’s when he realizes the position they’re in and blushes. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, getting off of her and sitting down on the bed. 

“It’s okay,” she says, sitting up. “Sorry for pulling your pants down.”

“It’s okay. It was funny,” he replies. 

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asks, getting up to turn on the TV.

Girls eventually leave Sunghoon alone when it’s clear he only ever has eyes for Y/N. No one knows how they are able to stay just friends with the amount of tension between them. All of their classmates can see it except for Sunghoon and Y/N. God forbid they ever have a class together because they will be giggling and whispering in the back of the room the whole time. They always disappear during lunch hour to sneak onto the track field and lay in the grass. They walk home together after school every day, always going to each other’s places to hang out. 

You would think they’d get bored of each other eventually, but they’re always finding things to do together. They also love to do their own separate things in the same vicinity. Y/N would be working on her latest crafting project on her desk while Sunghoon is on her bed playing with a deck of cards trying to learn magic tricks. When Sunghoon wants to go fishing, Y/N will sit on a floaty and read. They’re comfortable with silence as long as they’re together. 

“Would you rather fight ten, kid sized Y/Ns at the same time or one, 10 foot tall, buff, Y/N?” Y/N asks Sunghoon as they’re sitting in her bed with face masks on during a sleepover.

“Oh god. They both sound terrifying,” he says with horror.

She hits his shoulder playfully, making him giggle. 

“Mm…” he thinks about it a little too seriously. “You were very feisty as a kid, so having to fight ten of you at the same time…I think I’ll take my chances with the buff Y/N. I feel if someone is that tall and buff, they will be slow. I just have to dodge.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.” 

“You got suspended for fighting that kid remember? You definitely gave off ankle biter—OW!” 

Y/N starts to yank at his hair, stopping him mid-insult. He grabs onto her wrist to try and get her fingers out of his hair. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry.”

She releases his hair, and he glares at her. 

“Now I’m questioning my decision. I’m scared what a buff Y/N would do in comparison to that,” he says, rubbing his scalp. 

She grins at him. He stares at her for a second, a smile growing on his lips too. 

Sunghoon and Y/N make the decision to attend the same university because they can’t bear the thought of being apart for 4 years. They decide to move in together, so they don’t have to deal with the school’s prison-like dorms. Off-campus student housing isn’t the best, but they make it work. 

Sunghoon is still scared of bugs, so Y/N always has to catch all the spiders and moths that make their way into their apartment and release them outside or else he will be yelling and throwing things. 

One time, as Sunghoon is about to go to sleep, he sees a cricket crawling on his pillow and he absolutely freaks out. He has to wake Y/N up to come catch and release it. 

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” he asks her.

“It was a cricket, not a cockroach, Sunghoon,” she groans, half asleep.

“But it touched my sheets, and I don’t want to stay awake for two more hours to wash them,” he whines slightly.

She keeps mumbling in her sleepy state and doesn’t protest any further as he follows her into her room and climbs into bed with her.

Sunghoon gets strangely more clingy once they start living together. He’s always tagging along when she goes to run errands. She needs to return a library book? He’s trailing behind her with his backpack saying he’s going to the library to study anyway. She’s going out to get a sweet drink? He’s tagging along claiming he’s never been to that coffee shop before and that he’s been wanting to try it out. Y/N doesn’t mind, though. His presence always makes things more comforting. 

They’re busier due to the amount of workload some of their classes have, so he’s constantly wanting her attention. Sometimes a simple, “do you want to go eat?”  will do the trick, but sometimes he has to resort to more drastic measures for her attention. 

He starts off by sighing loudly. If that doesn’t work, he starts poking her repeatedly on the shoulder or sides. If all else fails, he will hug her waist and push her onto the couch. 

“Why do you hate me?” He grumbles. 

“Who said I hate you?” She laughs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“You don’t want to go out to eat and you’re ignoring me. Just say you hate me,” he says. 

She playfully pulls at his ear. “Ok, babygirl, sorry for not giving you my undivided attention.” 

The tips of his ears turn red and he buries his face in her shoulder. She pats the back of his head. 

“Let’s go eat,” she says. 

“No. I don’t wanna eat anymore,” he mumbles. “I’m comfortable here.”

He definitely lets her get away with more things now too. She just has to bat her eyelashes and he will willingly be dragged around to do absolutely anything. He hates how she’s able to figure it out too. It’s like she knows the effect she has on him. 

“Sunghoonnnn,” she calls sweetly. 

Oh no. 

“Can you do my laundry? Pleaseeee,” she clings to his arm. 

“I don’t want to do your stinky laundry,” he groans, trying to pull away and not look at her face before he folds. 

“C’monnnn, don’t you love me? I wash your dishes when you leave them in the sink because I love you,” she says, placing her cheek against his arm. 

Oh, he’s a goner. His cheeks are bright red.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. 

One night, Sunghoon gets a call from Y/N at around one in the morning. 

“Sunghoon…” he hears her slurred mumbling from the other side of the phone, and he instantly knows she’s drunk. He can hear the loud music in the background.

“I thought you said you were going to a friendly get together?” he sighs into the phone. 

“I know…I lied,” she mumbles, “I’m sorryyyy. I didn’t want you to get worried.” 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Mhm,” she hums, “Can you pick me up?” 

“I’ll be there in a bit,” he tells her after getting her location. 

He finds her immediately. She’s outside the club, digging through the bushes. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Sunghoon asks, the worriedness he had dissipating at the sight of her. He chuckles slightly when her head pops up from the bushes, leaves stuck to her hair. 

“Sunghoonnn,” she whines, stumbling out of the bush towards him. 

He grabs her by the arms, making sure she doesn’t topple over. 

“I thought I heard a katydid. I can’t find it,” she frowns.

“You probably scared it away,” he says, picking the leaves from her hair. 

She pouts, ducking her head to let him run his fingers through her hair to flatten out the knots caused by the bush’s branches. “But I tried to be super stealthy.” 

“I know, Y/N. I know,” he says softly. 

He wraps his arm around her shoulder for stability as he starts to walk her back home. She leans her whole bodyweight against his side. She’s mumbling incoherently and dragging her feet sluggishly. By the time they make it through their front door, he’s practically carrying her inside. She clings to him like her life depends on it. 

“Sunghoonnn, you smell so nice,” she mumbles. Her eyes are closed as he drags her to her room and makes her sit down on the bed. 

“It’s the cologne you got me for my birthday last year,” he says as he bends down to take her shoes off. 

“Mmm,” she hums, “I have great taste.” 

She sways slightly even though her eyes are closed. Sunghoon goes into their shared bathroom and grabs her makeup removing wipes. She tries moving her head away from his touch as he begins to wipe her face with the towelette. 

“Nooo,” she whines, “I worked so hard on this makeup look.”

“I know, Y/N. It’s very pretty, but you can’t go to sleep with it on,” he says, gently grabbing her chin to hold her still as he continues to wipe it off. 

“Why not?”

“You’ll get your pillow dirty.” 

She groans but complies. She stops resisting and lets him finish. When he tries to get her to stand up and go wash her face in the bathroom, she whines again and flops backwards into her bed. Sunghoon sighs and gives up. He walks over to her dresser and pulls out a pair of pajamas, throwing them at her. 

“Change at least,” he says. 

Instead, she pulls up her covers and hides under them. 

“Y/N, stop being difficult,” he sighs, ripping the covers off her completely. 

“Why can’t you change me?” she whines.

“You know I can’t do that,” he says.

“Why not?”

“You need to change yourself.” 

“But what if I want you to change me?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Then I’m sleeping in this,” she gestures to her dress, her eyes still closed.

“Y/N…”

“Sunghoon…”

He sighs, “How about this? I can unzip your dress and you do the rest yourself.”

She thinks about it for a second before nodding. She sits back up, opening her eyes slightly. He helps her back to her feet, and she turns around, holding her hair out of the way as he unzips the back of her dress. He turns around and gives her some privacy as she changes into the pajamas. 

“Sunghoon, you’re so nice to me,” she starts sniffling. 

He turns around to find her sitting back down on her bed with tears in her eyes. He sighs and sits next to her. She immediately leans her head on his shoulder. 

“I hope you never get a girlfriend,” she mumbles. 

He pats her head gently, letting her talk herself out until she falls asleep. 

“I think I’ll die if you get a girlfriend. Promise me you won’t get one?” 

She lifts her head up from his shoulder to look at him with tear stained cheeks. His eyes soften at the sight of her. 

“Y/N, you should get some rest,” he says, gently trying to lay her down. 

She starts sobbing at how he evades the question. 

“You probably already have a secret girlfriend. That’s why you didn’t promise me, right?” She cries. 

Sunghoon sighs and grabs some tissues from the nightstand. He gently wipes the tears from her face. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Y/N,” he says. 

“Then why won’t you promise me?” She looks up at him with the most adorable pout, making his eyes flicker down to her lips. 

“Because I want a girlfriend eventually,” he says softly. 

She starts crying again, pulling the covers over her head so he can’t keep wiping her face clean. 

“Y/N…” he sighs. 

He tries to pull the covers off, but her grip is strong. 

“Go away, you traitor,” she hiccups. 

“Y/N, you’re drunk. You should get some sleep.” 

But she continues rambling. 

“I thought we were going to stay together forever,” she cries, “You’re the only man that exists to me. Every other man is boring and ugly compared to you. Do other girls exist to you? Do you find them pretty? Is that why you want to get a girlfriend?” 

Sunghoon’s heart races, but he tries to stay calm. He crouches down so he’s eye level to her on the bed. 

“No, other girls don’t exist to me either,” he says gently. 

She sniffles and peeks her head out from under the covers to look at him. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” she says. 

“Yes, it does,” he says, pulling the blanket lower so he can see her face fully. 

“If other girls don’t exist to you, who will be your girlfriend?” She asks. 

“Think about it.” 

She remains quiet for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. 

“I don’t know…” she mumbles eventually, making him sigh. 

He notices the way her eyelids droop, fighting to stay awake. He pats her head gently. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. You should sleep.”

She protests weakly, but he brings the covers up to her chin and tucks her in. Her eyes are closed again and her breathing even. He stares at her sleeping form for a moment before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Think about it,” he whispers before leaving her room. 

Sunghoon, in fact, does not tell her tomorrow. She completely forgets the conversation, and he gets cold feet. They fall back into their routine, but Sunghoon can’t stop thinking about what she told him. She wants to stay with him forever…

“Why are you blushing?” Y/N asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Oh…nothing,” he mumbles.

They’re at the library trying to study for midterms. It’s been three hours already, and it’s getting harder to focus. Sunghoon’s mind keeps drifting off. 

“So,” he starts, catching her attention. “After you graduate, what are you going to do?”

“Pick a city we want to live in, find jobs and move there. Preferably somewhere that has a lot of parks or outdoor recreation,” she says. It seems like she has it all planned out. 

“As in us together?” He asks. 

“Yeah. Obviously,” She looks at him, immediately noticing how flustered he’s getting. “Why? Do you not want to be together?” 

The wording she uses makes his heart want to leap out of his chest. 

“It’s not that. It’s just…” he pauses for a moment, debating whether or not he wants to ask this. “You don’t want to branch out on your own or anything? Live alone, be independent…get a boyfriend?” 

She makes a face. “Living alone as a girl is scary, I’m already independent, and I hate men. Except you of course.” 

Sunghoon remains silent. She makes him feel like he’s the center of her universe and it only makes him fall for her even more. 

“So we will be old and still living together?” He asks. 

She shrugs. “Why not? I can see us sitting on our porch, yelling at random kids to get off our lawn that we perfectly crafted to have a fish pond and flowers for pollinators.” 

She watches him as his face turns even redder. 

“You’d want to spend the rest of our lives together?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah. I mean I can’t see it without you.”

They stare at each other in silence. His eyes flicker down to her lips before looking away sheepishly. 

“As friends?” He asks.

It’s Y/N’s turn to blush, realizing how what she said may have come off. 

“If that’s what you want,” she says. “I’m okay with being just friends.”

His heart pounds in his chest, and he looks up at her. “Just?” 

She quickly realizes her slip up and hides her face behind her hands. 

“I meant…” her voice trembles slightly. 

“Y/N…” he smiles and gently pulls her arms to the side so he can see her clearly. “Quite frankly, if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, I don’t want to be just friends.” 

Her eyes flicker between his, her heart racing in a panic in her chest. 

“Y/N…” he says softly after seeing the panic in her eyes. “I’ve loved you for almost as long as I’ve been alive.” 

He gently cups her face with his hands. 

“And I will love you for the rest of it.”

Her breath comes out shaky as she continues to look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them. 

“I don’t want to be just friends,” she whispers finally. 

She watches as his eyes glance down at her lips then back up to her eyes. His thumbs trace her cheeks. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. 

She nods ever so slightly. His smile as he leans in makes her heart flutter. His lips are as soft and gentle as she remembers, and it makes her head spin. The kiss is short and sweet, and when he pulls away, he’s still running his thumbs across her cheeks. She blushes and tries to pull away from his touch. The smile on his lips only grows, and he leans in for another peck to her lips. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m just very happy right now.”

His hand runs through her hair and rests at the back of her neck. The cuteness of her flushed face makes him gently squeeze her cheeks with his other hand, swaying her head side to side every so slightly. 

“Is this what I’m gonna have to deal with for the rest of my life?” She chuckles.

“Unfortunately, yes. No take backs now,” he smiles, squeezing her cheeks again before placing another kiss on her pouty lips. 

The transition between friends to lovers is surprisingly difficult for Sunghoon and Y/N despite the years of tension. They fall into their routines and end up forgetting that they’re actually a couple now. 

They get shy when it comes to any form of intentional physical affection. They have always been somewhat affectionate towards each other but now there’s romantic intention behind it, and it makes them shy, especially Sunghoon.

Sunghoon has been dreaming about the day of them becoming a couple, but he’s scared of moving too fast and scaring her. This results in shy touches or Y/N having to initiate things. She teases him a lot about it.

They’re cuddling in bed, facing each other. His arm is loosely draped over her waist, and his eyes are closed as she traces his face with her fingers. There’s a small smile on his lips and a pink tint to his cheeks.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you this up close,” Y/N whispers. “You have a small mole under your eye.” 

He hums, and his eyelids flutter open to look at her. He remains silent as he watches her admire him, a warmth spreading through his chest. Her eyes lock with his for a brief moment. The look of pure adoration in his eyes makes her melt.

“It’s kind of surreal,” he whispers. “I’ve thought about this for years.” 

Y/N chuckles softly and brings her hand to cup the side of his head. Her thumb gently traces over his ear. 

“Oh, you want me bad,” she teases. 

Sunghoon bites his lip out of embarrassment and tries to look away. 

“I mean, yeah…” 

Y/N’s heart races in her chest, and a blush spreads to her cheeks and ears. 

Sunghoon loves to be babied, but in private or else it hurts his pride. 

After a long few days of final exams, he walks into their shared apartment. He drops his backpack on the floor by the door and shuffles to the couch where Y/N is sitting. He whines softly and lays on top of her. 

“Hold me,” he says. “Comfort me.”

She laughs as he wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her neck. She rubs his back comfortingly, and he instantly melts into her. She plays and runs her fingers through his hair. He hums happily. 

“Finals were that bad?” she asks after a while of silence.

“Mhm,” he hums against her neck. “It didn’t help that I was sitting next to this guy who does not know what deodorant is.” 

He buries his face deeper into her neck, inhaling deeply. 

“You smell so nice,” he mumbles. 

The feeling of her hands running up and down his back is so comforting to Sunghoon. He wants to be even closer, wants to fuse with her if ever possible. He’s already face deep in her neck, getting lost in the smell of her body wash. His hands start roaming her sides, and he starts planting kisses to her neck.

Once she realizes what he’s doing, she clicks her tongue and gently tugs at his ear, pulling him out of her neck. He looks at her with the saddest eyes.   

“Can I please just kiss my girlfriend?” he asks.

“Last time I let you do that you left my neck purple,” she glares at him.

He looks up at her with the smuggest grin on his face.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” He tries to act innocent, but the smug expression is still there.

She yanks at his ear again, and his grin turns into a pout. He buries his face back in her neck.

“Fine,” he grumbles and calms down. 

Y/N has a habit of teasing Sunghoon into getting boners, especially when he’s still hesitant about initiating anything with her out of fear of making her uncomfortable. Poor Sunghoon would be fighting for his life.  

A hand up his shirt and gently rubbing his belly? Hard. A playful bite on his bicep? Hard. A little tug on his hair as he lays his head in her lap? Hard. 

At first he’s so embarrassed about it and apologizes, but once he finds out she’s doing it on purpose, he starts to get a little more comfortable. 

He’s cooking one evening, and she comes up behind him in the kitchen and gives him a back hug. She presses her body against his back and purposely wraps her arms a little too low on his waist than normal. It really doesn’t take too long before his sweatpants tent up. 

“Whatcha making?” She asks innocently, but he knows what game she’s playing now.

“Just ramen.”

“Mm.”

He plays along with it for a bit, grabbing her hands and pulling them up higher around his torso, but they always find their way back down around his hips. He turns around which makes her stop hugging him, and she looks at him as if she’s doing nothing wrong. He shakes his head and grabs her by the waist and sits her on the counter.

“Stay,” he points at her, and a smile breaks out on her lips.

He knows damn well she isn’t gonna stay.

“I’m not a dog,” she grunts playfully, swinging her leg out to poke the side of his thigh with her foot.

“I’m cooking,” he says, swatting her leg away.

She scoots closer to him, still sitting on the counter. He gives her a side eye which only makes her scoot even closer. He stirs around the ramen then turns off the stove top. He grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her back to the place on the counter she was supposed to stay at. She groans and swings her legs slightly in protest. 

He cups both of his hands on her cheeks, making her go still. He looks at her briefly before pulling her face toward him and kissing her. It turns into a makeout session real quick, and she tries to wrap her legs around his waist. His hands grab her by the thighs and push them, holding them back.

“I said stay,” he whispers against the kiss, making her go crazy.

Even then he's too scared to take things too far. He presses his body a little closer to her, but other than that, he keeps things PG-13. 

She gets super frustrated. She tries to give him hints by running her hands all over his body. His breathing becomes shakier, but they have never actually gone all the way before, and he’s kind of scared.

His hands are still gripping her thighs away from him, and she’s getting more desperate. She can tell he’s clearly hard and enjoying this. She grabs his waist and pulls him flush against her so he’s nuzzled between her legs, and he short circuits. 

He stops kissing her and buries his face in her neck, his breath shaking and his hands on her thighs trembling slightly.

“Why are you hesitating?” She whispers softly. She runs her fingers through his hair soothingly. 

He stays silent for a while, his face still in her neck as he tries to calm down. 

“I’m nervous,” he whispers back.

“About what?” 

“I don’t want to mess things up.” 

She pulls back slightly, making him stop hiding and look at her. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes scan across her face. She smiles, trying to ease him a little. 

“How would you mess things up?” 

He shrugs. “A lot of ways. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He looks away shyly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and ruin everything.” 

He was clearly talking about more than just what was unfolding at the moment. She brings him into a comforting hug, resting her chin on his shoulder. 

“I’m scared you’ll think this was a mistake. I’ve loved you for so long…” he trails off.

“Do you not think I feel the same way?” She asks softly, her nose burying into his neck. “Every time you hesitate it makes me think you’re regretting this.” 

His breath hitches, and he pulls back slightly from the hug to look at her. 

“I love you, Sunghoon,” she says. “And I want you. All of you.” 

His heart practically beats out his chest, his cheeks turning a bright red. He swallows nervously. 

“I love you too…” he whispers, his eyes trained onto her face. 

“So…” she says, running her hand down his chest

His eyes follow her hand as it stops at his stomach. They’re both blushing messes at this point, ramen long forgotten as he grabs her hand and helps her off the kitchen counter. 

Their first time is definitely clumsy but cute. They’re both shy about taking their clothes off for the first time. It really solidifies their relationship switch from being friends for so long to actually being in a romantic relationship, which is both scary and exhilarating at the same time. 

They start slow, just making out and their hands roaming and exploring over their clothes. When her hands make their way up underneath his shirt he practically buckles. His breath hitches, and she can feel his stomach tighten under her fingers. 

She smiles against his lips before trying to pull his shirt up and off. This part was easy enough. She’s seen him without a shirt plenty of times, so he isn’t too flustered. As they continue kissing, she can feel his finger tips hesitantly slipping under her shirt and resting at her hips. He clearly wants to take her shirt off too and her cheeks turn red. 

Her heart pounds in her chest as she pulls back from the kiss and looks at him. He’s like a deer in headlights, frozen, thinking he did something wrong to make her stop and pull away. He notes how flustered she looks, and it brings him a little more confidence. 

He pulls her shirt up slightly then stops to look at her to see if she’s having second thoughts, but she raises her arms over her head and lets him take it off. His hands caress her bare sides, feeling the warmth of her skin. He shakily fumbles with the clasp of her bra. It takes him a bit until he’s able to get it off, but once he does, he can’t stop staring. He blushes and looks away when he catches himself staring. There’s so many thoughts going through his head. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

She sees the slight panic in his eyes and pulls him into another kiss. His thoughts are temporarily silenced. She presses her body against his, and the feeling of her bare chest against his makes him groan. His arms snake around her and his hands splay across her back, pulling her even closer. 

He’s lost in the moment, his hands roaming across her bare back and feeling her soft skin under his fingertips. He trails kisses down her jaw and neck, feeling her pulse quicken under his lips. Her hands tug at his hair, eliciting soft grunts out of him as he trails his lips down her shoulder. He presses closer, gently laying her backwards onto the bed. His hands trace up her sides and stomach, still somehow hesitating despite being face deep into her neck. 

She lets out an exasperated noise and grabs one of his wrists, leading his hand to her chest. He makes a choking sound against her neck and stops kissing for a second, his heavy breathing making the hairs on her skin stand up. 

“It’s okay. Touch me,” she whispers, a slight shakiness to her voice. 

She can’t suppress the soft moans that leave her lips as he begins to slowly knead her chest. His nose trails across her shoulder as he places kisses along her collarbone, her sweetly fresh scent filling his nose. His thumb circles around her nipple, playing and slightly pulling on it.   

Her breathy moans make him groan with pleasure, his hips involuntarily bucking against hers. His sweatpants are practically strained around him. 

“S-sorry,” he mutters, pulling his hips back slightly. 

Her hands are already at his waistband. His arms brace on the bed at either side of her head, his breath shaky as he looks down at her fumbling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. She pushes his sweatpants down his thighs, leaving him in his boxers where his arousal was even more apparent. She looks up to meet his eyes and he immediately looks away, red in the face. 

She reaches up and traces his ear, the tip bright red to match his face. Her touch lingers on his earlobe before tracing down the side of his neck. She can see his adam's apple bob as he swallows nervously. 

“Take mine off,” she whispers, trying to distract him from the embarrassment.

“Okay,” he whispers back. 

His eyes flicker down to her bottoms which are just some pajama shorts. His fingers trace the waistband.

“Both? Or…” 

It was her turn to turn beet red. He looks up at her and blushes seeing her blush. 

“Unless you don’t want to—“ he immediately backtracks. 

“All of it,” she cuts him off and looks away shyly, not wanting to see his face as he takes everything off and looks at her fully. 

His hands are shaking as he pulls her shorts and underwear off, but once she’s lying there fully bare in front of him his breath is taken away. His hands trail up her legs, gently caressing her skin. Once they reach her thighs, he slowly kneads them and pushes them apart to look at her. She closes her eyes as if trying to hide. He notices immediately and his hands come up to grab her waist as he leans forward and places soft kisses to her face. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

She shakes her head slightly, her eyes are open now but still not looking at him. 

“I’m a little embarrassed…” she mumbles.

He looks at her, his gaze softening as he cups her cheek in his hand and makes her face him. He brushes strands of hair out of her face. His fingertips trace her features, running across her eyebrow bone and down her nose bridge, across her cheekbones and down her jaw until they land on her bottom lip. 

“You’re so beautiful. You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he says softly. “But we can stop if you’re not comfortable.”

She looks at him as he traces her face, his eyes soft and so full of affection she wants to cry. Her bottom lip trembles slightly and he leans forward to place a tender kiss on them. 

“You’re so precious to me,” he whispers against her lips. 

Her arms wrap around him and into a hug, overwhelmed with emotion as he buries his face in her neck. 

“I love you,” she says. Her hands run down his back, making him shiver. “I trust you.” 

He hums contently into her neck but doesn’t make any moves to continue where he’d left off earlier. Instead, his hands roam her sides, caressing her curves as he gently sucks on her neck. Her grip tightens on his back, and she moves her head aside to expose more of her neck, soft whimpers leaving her lips. 

The sounds she makes are making him slightly lose control. His hips press against hers, and he groans into her neck at the slight friction. He hears her breath hitch too, her hands on his back trailing down to his waist to pull at his boxers. 

He pulls back from her neck to let her take them off. His eyes are fixed on her face, his cheeks flushed as he watches her gaze run down his body completely. He swallows nervously as her hands trail down his sides, stopping at his hips. His length immediately twitches at her simple touch. 

“Let’s…” he swallows again. “Let’s focus on you.” He mutters.

Her eyebrows furrow as she looks up at him. Her mouth opens to say something but he quickly leans forward and kisses her. Her hands stay at his hips, slightly gripping his thighs. He feels her hands inching downward, making his head spin. He pulls back to look at her, his face flushed. His hands gently pull hers off of him, and she’s about to protest again, but he brings them up to his lips and kisses them gently. 

“Let me focus on you, please,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I…if you touch me, I will probably…finish,” he looks away shyly. 

This gives Y/N such a rush. Any insecurity she has about her body is completely gone seeing how worked up he is. Her hand trails down his arm and grabs his wrist. She gently guides his hand between her legs. 

He says he doesn’t know what he’s doing. She guides him at first, showing him where to touch her. He’s a quick learner, though. He’s an observer. He knows he’s doing a good job by the sounds she makes and how her body responds to his touch, getting closer and wanting more. If he’s unsure, he just keeps his hand still, and her hips will move against it how she needs to. 

The palm of his hand grinds on her clit as he pumps his fingers into her, making her see stars. His face is back in the crook of her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin. He can feel her tightening around his fingers, and he groans in her neck as if it’s his dick and not his fingers. 

She tugs the hair on the back of his head, pulling him out from her neck to have him look at her. His eyes are glazed over. He is absolutely gone. She has to kiss him to snap him out of it, but it only works for a little while until he’s groaning and devouring her mouth. 

“Sunghoon,” she pants against his lips when he even gives her time to breathe.

He responds with a sound between a hum and a grunt, but he doesn’t stop. She grabs his wrist that’s still lazily fingering her, and he immediately freezes. He pulls back and looks at her with a guilty expression. He's about to apologize, but she releases his wrist and instead wraps her hand around his length. 

The facial expression he makes is so perfect, she almost thinks he finishes. She rubs the length of him along herself, coating it. He almost collapses on top of her, his breathing shaky and a raspy moan leaving his lips. She guides his tip to her entrance and his head falls forward, his hair covering his face.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Are you sure?” He’s breathing heavily now, his eyes trained on her face. 

She bites her lip and nods. His eyes flicker down to her lips as she bites them. He leans forward to kiss her again, but gently this time. 

He pushes himself deeper little by little, stopping for a bit whenever he sees her face scrunch up with discomfort. He continues to kiss her until he finally bottoms out. He stays still, letting her adjust as he buries his face in her neck again. His breathing is raggedy as he tries not to cum right then and there. She runs her hands down his back soothingly as if reassuring him it’s okay. He slowly rolls his hips, thrusting shallowly, not fully trusting himself to last long.

“God, you're beautiful,” he mumbles against her jaw. 

His hands are roaming up and down her body and kissing her lips. His thrusts slowly become deeper yet still gentle. Her warmth is driving him crazy. His arms wrap around her in a hug as he tries to control himself. He can feel her tighten around him, making him groan against her neck. Her fingers yank at his hair as her strangled moans brush against his ear. 

“I love you. Fuck…” he pants, “you feel so good.” 

He's mumbling praises into her neck as his thrusts become lazy and his hips are shuddering. That’s her undoing. He’s just so hot as he gets desperate and out of control. Her walls grip around him as she feels her orgasm, making him choke and bury himself fully into her. He groans and slightly collapses on top of her as her grip makes him finish. 

He stays still for a second but then starts to thrust again. Very slowly and gently, prolonging both of their orgasms. 

They’re both shaking by the end of it, bodies sweaty and heaving. She pulls him down on top of her, knowing he’s tired. He obliges, letting her wrap her arms around him. She likes the feeling of his body weight on top of her. She runs her hands down his back soothingly as both of their breathing slowly goes back to normal. 

“I love you,” he whispers into her neck.

“I love you too,” she says, patting his head. “You did so good.” 

He hums, his cheeks flushed. He wraps his arms around her and rolls onto his back, pulling her along with him. He smiles up at her, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. They stay in each other’s embrace for a long while. Her cheek is pressed against his chest, and he’s tracing lines onto her shoulder when her stomach growls.

“Do you think the ramen is still good?” she asks softly.

“Probably not,” he laughs. “I can make you another one, though.”  

RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP┆𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 ─ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧

FROM YAN 🐰 ➤ jwon arms and jwon hands would get me folding too idc idc idc

PERMANENT TAGLIST  ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine @jakeycakeys @neozon3nha @jakeycakeys @vmpiricou @ja4hyvn @luv4dani @nightcat101 @wonkiipiilled @boundlesselixirflux @cokewithcameron @taesungx @aerrdeicall @meikstv @justpassingdontworry @firstclassjaylee

“HE GAVE IN TO TEMPTATION. Men are weak, you shouldn’t let one moment define the rest of his life.”

The priest’s voice drifted through the dim confessional like dust motes in a shaft of stained-glass light— heavy with the scent of old incense and mildew. Father Elias sat on the other side of the latticed screen, his silhouette hunched like a weathered gravestone in the small-town church.

The building itself was a relic— cracked plaster saints with peeling paint, wooden pews worn smooth by generations of sinners, a rusty crucifix hanging crooked above the altar as if even God had grown tired of holding it straight. Outside, the wind moaned across the empty plains, carrying the faint howl of coyotes circling the bones of dead cattle.

You knelt on the hard wooden step, knees aching, fingers twisting the hem of your thin cotton dress; the fabric clung to your sweat-damp skin, faded like everything else in this godforsaken stretch of America.

Your body felt foreign, animal.

The violence had stripped the softness from you and left something feral in its place: a wild thing with bared teeth and trembling flanks, hiding in tall grass, ready to bolt or bite at the slightest shadow.

Sleep came in fitful snatches, curled tight like a wounded deer, muscles locked against phantom hands. Hunger gnawed but food tasted of ash. Touch— any touch—sent you spiraling into that dark place where flesh became meat- where your own body betrayed you with memories of tearing and bruising.

You had come to the church seeking absolution for your anger— but Father Elias offered counsel for the sinner instead.

“You have to remember that forgiveness is for everyone, even the man who hurt you,” he continued, voice soft as grave dirt. The words landed like stones in still water, rippling through your chest.

You swallowed hard, throat raw— the confessional smelled of candle wax and old sins and through the screen, you could see the outline of his clasped hands, knuckles white. Everything was so detailed yet so distant.

“Father… he didn’t just hurt me. He took. I said no. I begged. And he laughed.”

The memory surged, brutal: gravel digging into your back like the teeth of the earth itself, his breath hot and sour like cheap whiskey and damnation, hands pinning your wrists as if nailing you to some profane cross. Your dress torn like fucking temple veil.

Afterward, you crawled into the ditch like an animal fleeing the slaughterhouse— limbs shaking, throbbing with violation, soul leaking out onto the dirt.

Days blurred into weeks of hiding in motel rooms, washing blood from your undergarments in sink basins, staring at your reflection until the girl looking back became something hunted and hollow-eyed.

The pain had animalized you: instincts sharpened to survival, trust evaporated like morning dew on the sagebrush. You flinched at footsteps, bared metaphorical teeth at kindness, fucked up your own attempts at connection because intimacy now smelled like violence.

A prey animal wearing human skin, yearning for a shepherd who wouldn’t lead you to slaughter.

Father Elias sighed, the sound heavy with centuries of doctrine. “Holding on to anger only gives the devil another victory, my child. Let it go before it festers into something that damns you both.”

You pressed your forehead against the cool wood, tears slipping silent down your cheeks. The church creaked around you, wind rattling the loose panes like bones in a shallow grave.

Outside, the vast western sky stretched merciless, highways cutting through it like veins opened for bloodletting. You thought of the man—your executioner —sitting somewhere in this same county, perhaps lighting candles in this very church, confessing to the same priest.

Forgiven by God while you carried the carcass of what he left behind.

“He has confessed his sins before God,” the priest said gently, almost pleading. “Perhaps it’s time for you to let this go.”

The words carved into you. Let it go.

As if pain were a coat you could shrug off on the porch step.

As if your body could forget the way it was split open under moonlight, turned from temple to battlefield.

You had become the wounded lamb limping through the valley of shadow, but no rod or staff comforted you. Instead, rage simmered beneath the fear—a wild, gnashing thing that made you want to burn the fields, to scream at the indifferent heavens until they cracked.

“We all fall into sin,” Father Elias murmured, finality in his tone. “His happened to hurt you. But grace is for the fallen. Pray on it, daughter. Seek the light.”

You left the confessional on unsteady legs, the animal inside you snarling low. The church nave stretched long and empty, dust dancing in beams of colored light from windows depicting martyred saints pierced and bleeding. You genuflected out of habit, the motion mechanical, then slipped out into the blazing afternoon sun.

The dirt parking lot was empty save for your old pickup, paint sun-bleached and rust-eaten. You drove the back roads with windows down, wind whipping your hair like a scourge. Fields of dying wheat rolled by, golden and rotten at the roots, scarecrows standing sentinel like crucified sinners.

Home was the crumbling farmhouse on the outskirts— the same one that would later shelter you and James. For now, it stood lonely, porch sagging under the weight of unspoken prayers.

You stripped in the dim bedroom, standing naked before the cracked mirror.

Your reflection showed the thing you had become: ribs faintly visible from weeks of barely eating, bruises long faded to yellow ghosts on your hips and thighs, eyes too wide and haunted. Scratches from your own nails where you had clawed at your skin in nightmares, trying to scrub him out. Breasts that once felt soft and inviting now seemed like burdens, cunt a site of trauma rather than pleasure.

You touched yourself experimentally, fingers tracing the folds that had been forced open, and flinched at the echo of pain.

No wetness, only dryness and dread.

The yearning was there, buried deep— a desperate hunger for tenderness that felt like blasphemy in this landscape of judgment.

Nights were the worst. You lay on the iron bed, sheets tangled like restraints, listening to the coyotes sing their hymns. Dreams came feral: running endless highways, hooves instead of feet, the executioner’s truck always gaining, his hands turning into claws. You woke gasping, body slick with sweat that smelled of fear.

Masturbation brought no relief— only fragmented attempts that ended in tears, fingers too rough in mimicry of violence, leaving you emptier.

The animal in you paced, wounded and wanting, craving a touch that healed rather than hunted.

Days passed in ritual. You worked odd jobs at the roadside diner, pouring coffee for truckers whose eyes lingered too long, making your skin crawl with animal wariness.

You avoided the church after that confession, but the priest’s words haunted the empty rooms like ghosts.

Forgiveness. Grace. Letting go.

They clashed with the truth etched in your flesh: some sins left teeth marks that no prayer could erase.

You read old Bibles by lamplight, tracing passages about redemption, but they felt hollow.

The God of this land seemed distant, more interested in forgiving the wolf than binding the lamb’s wounds.

One evening, storm clouds gathered low on the horizon, turning the sky the color of bruised flesh. You sat on the porch with a bottle of cheap wine, the animal inside restless. Thunder rumbled like distant judgment.

You thought of the man who hurt you— perhaps he slept easy now, absolved, while you carried the weight of his temptation.

Anger rose, hot and righteous, but so did the exhaustion of holding it.

The priest was right about one thing: it was poisoning you, turning you more feral, more isolated. But forgiveness felt like dying all over again.

So you drove to the edge of town as lightning split the sky, pulling over at an old crossroads where faded signs pointed toward forgotten places. The rain came sudden and violent, washing the dust from your windshield as tears from a penitent’s face.

You stepped out into it, dress clinging transparent, arms spread as if inviting the heavens to strike. Water mixed with salt on your cheeks.

“Why?” you screamed into the gale- to no one in particular. “Why why why why.”

That night, back at the farmhouse, you lit candles around the bedroom, mimicking some half-remembered ritual. Naked again before the mirror, you traced the lines of your body with trembling fingers, trying to reclaim it.

“This is mine,” you whispered to the reflection. But the touch stirred only echoes.

The yearning deepened into ache: for hands that asked, for a body that sheltered rather than invaded, for intimacy slow as desert twilight and tender as a mother’s lullaby.

Longing twisted with carnal hunger. You wanted to be laid on an altar of flesh and worshipped, not sacrificed.

Sleep claimed you eventually, curled fetal like a creature in its den. Dreams shifted slightly— a figure on the horizon, boots kicking up dust, eyes like moss after rain.

A lover, perhaps.

A man who understood the animal and gentled it without breaking.

Morning brought pale light filtering through threadbare curtains. You rose, body stiff but the feral edge slightly dulled by the storm’s catharsis.

The priest’s words lingered, but so did your truth.

Forgiveness might come later, or never. For now, survival meant seeking the light he spoke of, even if it led down uncertain roads.

You packed a small bag— few belongings, a worn Bible, a change of clothes—and climbed into the truck. The engine coughed to life and highways stretched before you, endless blacktop cutting through golden decay, telephone poles like crucifixes.

You didn’t know where you were going, only that staying meant becoming more of a beast.

The priest’s counsel echoed: forgiveness for all. But your body remembered the violence, and it demanded proof of another way. Proof that flesh could sing hallelujah instead of screaming damnation.

Proof that a man’s weakness didn’t have to mean your destruction.

The desert swallowed your taillights, stars wheeling overhead like indifferent witnesses.

You passed abandoned farms and rusted water towers, relics of dreams long dead. Each mile peeled back another layer of th armor— fear giving way, inch by painful inch, to the fragile wish for connection.

By the time the sun bled orange across the plains, exhaustion and something like grace settled over you. The farmhouse waited somewhere ahead, empty and beckoning, its porch light a distant votive in your mind’s eye.

You pulled over once more, killing the engine under a sky turning violet. Sitting on the hood, legs dangling, you let the cooling metal warm your thighs. Hands pressed to your stomach, you breathed deep the scent of creosote and possibility.

The rape had made you feral, yes— quick to run, slow to trust, body a battlefield of phantom pains and instinctive snarls. But beneath it, the girl who once believed in tenderness still flickered, a candle in the ruins of faith.

“Forgiveness,” you whispered to the wind, tasting the word like bitter sacrament.

Not for him.

Not yet.

But perhaps space for something new.

For hands that built instead of broke.

For a lover who would kneel in the dirt and kiss the wounds without demanding you forget they existed.

Night fell fully as you resumed driving. The radio crackled with a faint Jeff Buckley melody— your heart beat in time, animal and human entwined, carrying you toward the farmhouse where dust settled on empty rooms, waiting for the man who would finally answer the prayer.

In the days that followed, solitude wrapped you like a shroud. You cleaned the old place with ritualistic care: sweeping floors that groaned like penitent knees, hanging faded curtains, placing wildflowers in cracked jars on the windowsill.

Each task was an act of reclamation, pushing back against the wildness. Yet at night the memories returned— visceral torrents.

The weight pinning you.

The grunt of conquest.

The way your voice had cracked on “please” until it became whimper.

You woke clawing at sheets, nails leaving red crescents on your arms, body slick with the sweat of prey.

One afternoon, you found an old rosary in a drawer, beads worn smooth. You held it, running fingers over the cross, and whispered fragmented prayers.

Not for the executioner’s soul, but for your own. For the feral thing inside to find rest.

The priest’s words returned unbidden: “We all fall into sin. His happened to hurt you.” They stung less sharply now, tempered by distance, but still you rejected the easy absolution.

Your hurt was not collateral. It was a ravine carved through your life, deep enough to echo.

You began walking the back fields at dusk, boots kicking up red dust, dress trailing like a robe. Coyotes watched from the treeline, recognizing kin in your wary stride.

One evening, a storm threatened again. You stood in the open, arms raised, letting the first fat drops hit your upturned face. Rain soaked through fabric, outlining the curves the executioner had claimed, but this time you did not flinch.

Instead, you imagined different hands— gentle ones tracing the same paths with reverence. The yearning intensified, a deep ache between your legs that was desire and fear braided together.

You slipped fingers under the wet hem right there in the field, touching tentatively. Slow circles on your core, breath hitching not with trauma but with tentative want.

The animal watched, curious rather than terrified.

You did not come, but the act felt like small sacrament— reclaiming the altar of your body one raindrop at a time.

Returning to the house drenched, you stripped and stood before the mirror once more. Water beaded on skin marked by faded lines.

You spoke aloud to the reflection: “You are more than what he made you.”

The animal inside softened its hackles, curling tighter but no longer snapping.

Letters arrived sporadically— distant family, concerned friends— but you answered little. Isolation was both cage and sanctuary.

In the quiet, you read from the worn Bible and secular books scavenged from thrift stores: stories of fallen women finding grace on the road, of bodies remade through love.

The longing evolved from vague hunger to specific prayer.

You wanted eyes that saw the scars and kissed them anyway. A voice that praised instead of degraded. A sex that filled with consent and care, slow as the turning of seasons.

The priest’s final counsel lingered during a return visit to the church weeks later. You did not enter the confessional this time but sat in a back pew as Father Elias prepared for evening mass. He noticed you, offered a nod heavy with unspoken words.

After the sparse service— a handful of elderly parishioners murmuring responses—you approached him in the vestibule.

“Father,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I heard your words. About forgiveness. About sin.”

He clasped your shoulder lightly, a fatherly touch that did not trigger flight. “The Lord’s mercy is infinite, child. Even for the weakest among us.”

You met his gaze. “I’m trying. But the animal he left in me… it doesn’t forget easily. I’m learning to walk again. To want again.”

He smiled sadly, the lines on his face deep as arroyos. “That is the beginning of grace. Go in peace.”

You left lighter, though not healed. The drive back felt like pilgrimage. The farmhouse appeared on the horizon, its lights (you had left one burning) like a beacon.

Inside, you prepared simple food, ate at the wooden table, then bathed by lamplight. The water caressed your skin, warm and forgiving.

Fingers explored again, slower, imagining a future lover’s mouth replacing them. Soft moans escaped, echoing off tiled walls— sounds of tentative healing.

That night, sleep came deeper. Dreams featured open roads and a man walking toward you, hands open, voice like gravel and honey. James, though you did not yet know his name.

The animal in you perked its ears, in recognition.

The road finally delivered you to him on a night when the sky hung low and bruised, thunderheads rolling across the plains like the wrath of an old testament God.

You had pulled into the gravel lot of a half-forgotten roadside bar on the outskirts of another nowhere town. The air smelled of spilled beer, cigarette ash, and the metallic promise of rain.

Inside, the jukebox wept low country songs, and he was leaning against the scarred wooden bar when you entered, a silhouette carved from the very dust and decay of this land.

James.

Tall and lean as a fence post left too long in the sun, shoulders broad from years of hauling lumber and laying rebar on half-built churches that never quite got finished.

His dark hair fell across his forehead in careless waves, streaked with blond like moonlight on barbed wire.

A faded tattoo of a thorn-crowned cross peeked from the open collar of his shirt, ink blurred by time and penance. Scars traced his knuckles and the line of his jaw— road stories, bar fights, nights spent wrestling with angels and losing.

He was no savior in white robes.

James was a sinner with callused hands and a quiet faith.

A drifter architect of sorts, he built things that stood against the wind: barns for widows, shelters for runaways, sometimes just temporary altars out of scrap wood.

Men whispered he had blood on his ledger from a youth spent running moonshine and worse, but the women who knew him spoke of gentle strength— the way he held doors and held silences, never rushing, never taking.

A man who had buried his own ghosts under desert highways and risen with dirt still under his nails.

Your eyes met across the hazy room.

Something ancient stirred in your chest— the feral animal inside you paused its pacing, ears pricking not in flight but in wary recognition.

He didn’t approach like the others, with hungry grins and grasping hands.

James simply nodded once, a slow tip of his chin, and slid a glass of whiskey down the bar toward you when the bartender asked your order.

“Looks like you’ve been driving through hell’s back forty,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough, laced with that slow southern drawl that wrapped around broken things and tried to mend them. “the name’s James.”

You talked that night in careful fragments, perched on stools while lightning flashed outside. He listened like a confessor who had never betrayed a secret, black eyes steady as you skirted the edges of your story without spilling the blood yet.

He spoke of his own wanderings: building in dying towns, laying hands on structures and souls alike, searching for something real amid the rot.

“I don’t pretend to fix what’s broken,” he murmured. “But I know how to hold it gentle. The world’s got enough violence already.”

He didnt come inside the farmhouse that first night. Instead, he walked you to the door, hat in hand, rain dripping from the brim.

“If you ever want company that don’t demand nothing, I’m staying at the old Miller place down the road. No pressure, pretty.”

Days turned to weeks.

James became a presence rather than a conquest. He appeared with fresh-cut wildflowers for the sagging porch, helped patch the leaking roof without being asked, his hammer strikes rhythmic as prayer.

Evenings found you on the porch swing, sharing silence and then stories. He told you of the churches he restored, of laying bricks like laying down sins, of praying over foundations that might outlast him.

You spoke haltingly of the animal the rape had left behind— the flinch at sudden movement, the nights curled like a wounded coyote, the way your body had become a locked tabernacle no one was allowed to enter.

James never pushed.

Touches came slow: a hand steadying your elbow on uneven steps, fingers brushing yours when passing a mug of coffee. Each one asked permission with its gentleness.

“You set the pace,” he would say quietly, eyes on the horizon. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

Over months, he became your lover in the truest sense— not through claiming, but through presence. Shared meals at the scarred kitchen table. Walks along the dust roads where he matched your stride, never leading. Nights sitting close on the couch, his arm around you only when you leaned in first, thumb tracing soothing circles on your shoulder.

The animal in you learned his scent— sandalwood, sweat, and honest earth —and stopped baring teeth. Trust bloomed tentative.

One evening, as summer faded into golden, you sat together on the porch steps. James turned to you, voice soft as grave dirt.

“I see everything you carry, darlin’. The way that bastard tried to make you into something broken. I hate it down to my bones. But I see you too— my girl, still reaching for light. When you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, I want to show you that touch can be different. Yours to command.”

Your heart ached with the weight of it.

Here was the man who had become your lover through patience and quiet devotion, not force. The wanderer with boba eyes and callused redeemer’s hands, ready to kneel at whatever altar you offered.

The farmhouse waited behind you, oil lamps glowing soft, the longing had grown into something ready. James waited too— steady, reverent—until you took his hand and led him inside, the threshold crossing like the first true breath after long suffocation.

Pleasure wasn’t punishment.

Pleasure. isn’t. punishment.

James’ fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, gentle as evening vespers. “You look like you’re carrying the whole damn county on your shoulders tonight, pretty.” he murmured. “Let me take that weight off you.”

His breath hitched, thhose dark eyes, shadowed by the brim of his worn hat, filled with a sorrow so deep it mirrored the dry riverbeds outside.

He pulled you against his chest, heart thudding steady beneath faded cotton. “Christ, baby. It tears me up inside knowing someone laid violent hands on you. Made you think love had to hurt. I’d burn the whole fucking town down if it’d erase that night for you.” He kissed your temple, slow and lingering. “But I can’t undo it. All I can do is prove different. Every damn time you let me.”

The wrought-iron bed dominated your room, sheets worn soft from years of strangers’ dreams. You sat on the edge of the bed, knees together, vulnerable as a sinner at the altar.

James knelt before you, large hands resting on your thighs but not gripping. Never gripping unless you asked.

“Tell me what you need tonight,” he said, thumbs stroking circles that sent warmth pooling low in your belly. “We go as slow as you need. You say stop, I stop. You say more, I give you everything.”

“I need you close,” you whispered, voice cracking like parched earth.

All of you. Skin and soul. Show me tenderness, Make love to me like I’m something sacred.

James rose and undressed first, shedding flannel and jeans with unhurried grace. His body was lean muscle and scars— road life etched into him: a knife fight in El Paso, a crash outside Tulsa.

You reached out, tracing the tattoo over his heart— he shivered under your fingers but stayed still, letting you map him.

“Your turn, if you want,” he said softly.

You nodded.

He helped peel the flannelj from your shoulders, reverent as disrobing a saint. Cool air kissed your bare skin, nipples pebbling. His gaze drank you in—hungry but holy.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed. “Beautiful. So beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

Tears stung your eyes and he cupped your face, thumbs wiping them away.

“None of that shame, darlin’. Not with me. You’re allowed to want this— to need it slow and deep and loving.”

James laid you back against the pillows, the mattress dipping under his weight as he stretched beside you.

Skin met skin— warmth against warmth. His hand traced your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, over the soft plane of your stomach. Every touch asked permission.

“Here?” he’d murmur.

You’d nod or whisper yes, and he’d continue.

You kissed him first, desperate for connection. His mouth tasted of smoke and salt, slow and devouring in the gentlest way, tongues slid together.

He groaned into you, a low rumble that vibrated through your chest. “So sweet,” he praised against your lips. “So pretty.”

Your hands roamed his back, feeling the flex of muscle, the raised lines of old scars. He rolled partially over you, careful to keep weight distributed, one thigh pressing gently between yours.

The pressure against your core made you gasp— slick heat building already, arousal a slow, sacred burn rather than frantic fear.

“Feel that?” he whispered, grinding softly, deliberately. “Your body’s getting ready for me, baby. So wet already. Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” you moaned, hips tilting up to meet him. “Don’t stop touching me.”

James worshipped downward— mouth latching onto a nipple, tongue circling with wet heat while his hand kneaded the other breast. Sensation bloomed: sparks shooting to your cunt, thighs parting wider of their own accord.

The old fear flickered— rough hands, forced entry—but James’s voice anchored you.

“You’re okay. It’s me, you’re okay, you’re safe pretty girl.”

He moved lower, kissing the dip of your navel, the crease of your hip. Pausing at the apex of your thighs, breath ghosting over glistening folds. “Can I taste you?”

You threaded fingers through his dark hair, tugging lightly. “Please, James.”

His tongue was heaven and hell— broad, flat strokes from entrance to clit, then tight circles that had you keening. He hummed in pleasure, the vibration pulling a curse from your lips, “Fuck—yes, right there.”

James drank from you like communion wine.

Two fingers pressed at your entrance, circling, waiting. “Inside?” he asked, voice muffled against your flesh.

“God, yes. Slow.”

He slid them in, curling against that spongy spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. The stretch was perfect, full without pain.

Pleasure wasn’t punishment.

He worked you open with patient devotion, mouth never leaving your clit. Pleasure coiled tight, intensse —body as altar, his tongue as prayer.

You came with a broken sob, thighs trembling around his head, walls fluttering around his fingers.

He licked you through it, murmuring, “That’s my girl. So good, coming so pretty for me. Let it all out.”

Aftershocks rippled as he crawled back up, kissing the tears from your cheeks. His cock rested heavy and hot against your thigh, leaking. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking the length.

“I want you inside,” you said, vulnerable and raw.

All the way. Skin to skin. Fill the places that hurt.

James’s eyes darkened with emotion. “You sure? We can wait. I’d wait forever for you.”

“I’m sure.“

James positioned himself between your spread thighs, rubbing the thick head through your slickness. Teasing your clit until you whimpered. “Eyes on me,” he commanded gently. “Breathe with me. If it’s too much, we stop.”

The first push was exquisite pressure. Inch by inch, he sank into you, groaning deep in his chest.

“Holy fuck— you’re tight. So perfect, swallowing me like you were made for me.” Fully seated, he stilled, forehead pressed to yours. Sweat beaded on his skin. The fullness was overwhelming—stretching, claiming, but chosen. “Talk to me, baby. How does it feel?”

“Full— fuck… safe.” Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. “Move. Please”

He did. Long, rolling thrusts, each withdrawal dragging against every nerve, each return grounding deep. The wet sounds of your joining filled the room— obscene. His hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in lazy spirals.

“Look how well you take me. So fucking strong. Brave girl, letting me in like this. I love you.”

Emotions crashed through the pleasure. You clung to him, nails scoring his shoulders lightly.

James adjusted, hips undulating in deep, grinding circles rather than pounding. The head of his cock kissed that spot inside with every motion, sweat slickin your bodies, sliding skin on skin.

The scent was heady— sex and sage and his musk. You tasted salt on his neck when you licked him.

He whispered praises like scripture: “Am so lucky, so fucking lucky….”

Tears slipped from both of you now, mingling-/ his pace never rushed, even as your second orgasm built.

“Come for me again,” he urged, voice cracking. “Let me feel that pretty pussy squeeze me. I’m yours. All yours.”

It hit you like revelation— waves of ecstasy rolling from core outward, cunt pulsing around his thick cock. You cried out, and James followed soon after, burying deep with a guttural moan, spilling hot and thick inside you. Pulse after pulse, marking you with love instead of violence.

He stayed buried, collapsing carefully to the side and pulling you atop him so you rested on his chest.

For long minutes, only breathing and the creak of the old house. His hand stroked your back in long sweeps. “You okay? Any pain?”

“None,” you whispered, tracing the tattoo on his chest. “Just full.”

He kissed your hair. “Good girl. You were so good. So beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

The night stretched on. You talked in the afterglow, voices soft as he told you stories of the road— lost highways where he’d prayed for something real.

You shared fragments of the trauma, how it felt like God had turned his face away. James held you tighter.

“Maybe he sent me instead. A sinner to love a saint.”

Later, desire stirred again. You rode him this time, slow and deliberate, hands braced on his chest, he looked up at you like you hung the stars outside.

“Ride me however feels good, pretty’. Use me”

His hands rested on your hips, guiding but never forcing; you ground down, taking him deep, clit rubbing against his pelvis.

Curses fell from your lips —“Fuck, James, you’re so deep”— mixed with his praises: “Beautiful. Take what you need.”

Orgasm claimed you both again, slower, sweeter.

Afterward, he drew a bath in the clawfoot tub down the hall, lukewarm water from th pipes. He washed you with careful hands, soaping every inch, rinsing with cupped palms.

Then you did the same for him, kneeling between his legs, mouth eventually finding his spent cock to coax it back to life with tender sucks and licks. He came down your throat with gentle hands in your hair, whispering, “I love you.”

Days blurred into this rhythm in the farmhouse. Mornings where he woke you with his mouth between your legs, tongue tracing on your clit until you shattered.

Afternoons on the porch swing, his fingers inside you under a thin blanket while cicadas sang.

Nights of full union— missionary with eyes locked, spooning with his hand cupping your breast, against the wall with one leg wrapped around him, always slow, always checking.

One stormy evening, lightning illuminating the rusted cross outside, vulnerability peaked.

You broke down mid-act, old memories surfacing as he moved inside you. James stopped instantly, slipping free, pulling you into his lap.

“Hey, hey. I got you. We don’t have to.” He rocked you through sobs, kissing tears, murmuring, “That bastard doesn’t get this part of you. Only I do, and only when it’s love.”

You eventually asked him back in, needing the reclamation. He entered you again like returning to prayer, movements even slower, foreheads pressed. “You’re safe, you hear me?”

James proved it time and again— intimacy wasn’t the violence of the past. It was slow unraveling, ecstasy in the flesh. You found peace in the decay —in the creaking bed, the flickering lamp, the man who loved you like the last honest prayer in a godless land.

And in his arms, the truth finally settled over your bones like warm rain on parched earth: you were never guilty.

Not for a single second.

The violence done to you was not divine punishment, not the wages of some imagined sin, not a lesson carved into your flesh by a cruel God. It was cruelty, plain and merciless, enacted by a weak man who chose evil.

You carried no stain. You owed no penance. The blood and the breaking had never been yours to atone for.

And in that, you bloomed.

—🏷️ taglist

Your lovely boyfriend quickly messaged you to say he was coming over to your apartment tonight. The text made you happy, knowing you would get to spend some quality time with him before he left for a whole month. You were already going to miss him so much.

After reading his message, you went to the bathroom to freshen up and put on his favorite white hoodie—which happened to be one of the missing pieces he was looking for. You had borrowed it right after he finished his Weverse Live that day. He had looked so hot with that matching green cap and those sexy specs resting on his big, pointy nose. Ahem. As a sweet and generous boyfriend, he had willingly let you borrow it.

Hearing a soft knock, you immediately ran to the doorway. You opened it to find your boyfriend smiling warmly, holding a box of pepperoni pizza and buffalo wings—your absolute favorite couple food. You didn't even have to tell him what you wanted. Jake always brought your favorites without being asked. You loved him so much.

“Hello, babe! I brought some snacks for tonight, our favorite,” he said, pouting cutely.

You desperately wanted to kiss those pouty lips of his. He was just so kissable.

“Thank you for this, babe! I miss you so much already, and I’m going to miss you even more,” you said as you took the food from his hands, inviting him inside.

Jake immediately handed the food over and pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, making your heart flutter. He followed you into the apartment, but his eyes instantly wandered to you wearing the white hoodie he had been searching for. Thinking about the dozen other hoodies you had borrowed, he began to re-think his life decisions, wondering how he could ask for them back for his tour without offending you.

Poor Jakey.

Soon, the two of you were eating in the living room while watching their Sleep En Dive in Melbourne episode. Both of you were laughing so hard your stomachs hurt because of the members' humor. Your boyfriend was particularly mischievous in this episode. He looked adorable with his bare face, fluffy hair, and dazed eyes.

While you were laughing, Jake gently tapped your shoulder, causing you to turn to him with a confused expression.

“What is it?” you asked.

“U-uh, about my hoodies?” Jake asked nervously.

“What about your hoodies, babe?” you questioned, more curious this time.

“I'm packing my clothes for next week, and I just wanted to ask nicely if I could get a few of my hoodies back?” Jake asked, flashing his best puppy eyes and pouting at the very end of his sentence.

“Of course! You can have them back, babe. Besides, they're your hoodies anyway, not mine,” you assured him with a warm smile.

“Aren't you mad?” Jake asked, blinking.

“No? Why would I be mad? It's your clothing,” you answered softly.

“I love you, babe!” he said, leaning in for a quick, sudden kiss that took you completely by surprise.

“Come on! Let's go to my room and get them for you.” you said.

The two of you cleaned up the food boxes and turned off the television before heading to your bedroom. As you entered, Jake sat down on your bed, patiently waiting as you opened your closet to retrieve his clothes.

Jake couldn't help but admire you quietly. He watched how his favorite hoodie rode up your torso whenever you reached for the upper shelves where the rest of his clothes were stored. His eyes trailed down to your tiny lace shorts every time you bent over to check the lower shelves.

Jake bit his lower lip, shamelessly checking you out. His mind was no longer on his missing hoodies.

He just wanted you right now.

Standing up, he walked over and stepped up right behind you. He gently wrapped his arms around your waist, startling you slightly. He began caressing your hips, slowly moving his hands up and down your sides.

“Hi, babe,” he murmured. His voice was low, deep, and completely intoxicating.

“Hello to you, too. What do you need?” you asked flirtatiously, leaning back against him.

“You, right now.” He gently kissed the nape of your neck, slowly pressing wet, warm kisses along the left side of your throat, making you giggle from the tingling sensation.

“Jake ahh–… I want you, too,” you whispered, closing your eyes to focus entirely on his touch.

“As you wish, babe.” Jake smiled against your skin, feeling like he had just won the lottery.

He stopped kissing your neck and slowly spun you around to face him. He gripped the hem of the hoodie and gently began pulling it upward.

“Hands up for me,” Jake ordered softly, and you quickly raised your arms.

“What a beautiful sight. Is this all for me?” he breathed out, his eyes darkening with hunger. 

He couldn't take his gaze off your figure. No bra, your boobs were flushed and bounced sexily after he removed his hoodie off from you and just those tiny, black lace shorts. Jake hates to admit that he was painfully hard right now. It was as if some ancient Greek artist had crafted and sculpted every single inch of your curves. He loved every part of your body, from head to toe.

“This is all for you, Jake. Only for you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a bold kiss.

Jake returned the kiss with the exact same hunger. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting you deeply as the lewd, breathless sounds of your make-out session echoed in the quiet bedroom. He cupped your right breast and gently caressed it as if it was some stress ball.

After a few intense moments, Jake finally pulled back just a fraction, resting his forehead against yours.

“You know, babe, you don't even need my hoodies anymore,” Jake whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. “Because I can warm you up much better than any fabric can.”

Damn, he was right. Jake definitely warms you up better than any hoodie ever could. You feel yourself growing wetter at the thought of it.

Before you could even formulate a spoken reply, Jake’s smirk widened. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your tiny lace shorts, slowly guiding them down your thighs. You stepped out of them effortlessly, leaving nothing between the two of you but the electric heat radiating from his body.

He didn’t waste another second, pulling you into a warm, tight embrace that made your heart race. Jake held you close, his chin resting on the top of your head as you stood together in the quiet room.

"Jake,” you whispered, resting your hands against his chest.

"I'm going to miss this so much while I'm away," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes tracing every detail of your face, memorizing the moment for the long month ahead.  "I'm going to miss being right here with you." He added.

"Then let's make the most of the time we have left," you replied softly, as you gently pushed him to tugged his hoodie off too. Showing his toned chiseled abs that he always shows off to Engene’s in their concerts.

You were drooling. Also down there.

He crashed his lips against yours, exploring each other's mouth once again. As the night deepened, the missing hoodies scattered across the room were forgotten. The both of you tangled nakedly on your bed after the intense sex you had. Jake kept his promise to make the goodbye special, leaving you with happy memories to last until he finally returned home.

And let’s face it, heesung who had originally settled for a polite and respectful smile, couldn’t help the chuckles that left his mouth.

Oh he was mocking you, not in an endearing ‘oh she’s so silly’ heart face emoji way, but more like ‘what’s wrong with this girl”.

Which was fine by you, as long as it didn’t impact the project.

Everyone who said artists didn’t choose the songs they sung was right.

Cause honestly, if you’d had a choice, you would be singing about burgers and tomodachi life, not about something you knew entirely nothing about. here being : kissing and tension.

It was safe to say you knew fuck all about that. Your manager had reassured you you’d be great at pretending, like you’d done so many times -master of illusions- singing songs about being in love and late night dates, as if that was your routine.

So instead of sulking, you sat at the studio, recording the back vocals with a very quiet Lee Heeseung, stuffing your face with green grapes like you were physically restraining yourself from speaking.

The talk about chemistry had been essential throughout this whole project, Heeseung recently having debuted as a solo artist, his company was under a lot of backlash for separating him from enhypen -his original group- and he was on steep ground, venturing in a more mature form of expression. It differed a lot from his previous works, certainly, but in all of this, the song in itself wasn’t the big risk. The song -albeit pretty explicit- was reasonably catchy, your voices harmonizing perfectly, yours raspy and his clear and powerful; demanded a music video worthy of the performance.

From a meeting with creative directors and visual directors, was born the risky idea. For weeks, they’d talked about moodboards, concept ideas, and most importantly, the stakes.

Which were honestly -on a scale of 1 to 10- at a high 30.

As idols, you both knew it, and the team knew too, Heeseung was highly sought out let’s say, he had a whole fandom of deranged fans and an extensive collection of saesangs ready to physically fight if there was an ounce of doubt about his relationships.

You, not so much, your fans were mostly girls, supportive, never intrusive, you were already pretty liberated as an artist, escaping korea’s norms, but, who could guarantee this wouldn’t cause your downfall.

You’d seen before what raging fans could do to other idols, and you werent sure if you’re ready to ever experience that first hand. You’d already went through storyboards, having to give your written agreement on paper, it wasn’t a crazy music video per-say, from your ‘western music’ point of view, but you couldn’t deny that having Lee Heeseung -who wasn’t allowed so much as talking about women- to lipsync the whole song face to face with 2 inches separating your lips, was going to be tricky.

“Are you gonna record or should i just do your part?”

That was enough to cut your train of thoughts. Looking up, your eyes met a serious Heeseung. one of his eyebrows was raised, chair turned towards you as he tapped that stupid pen on the portable fan set on the table. You gave him a fake smile, a little annoyed on the edges.

It’s not that he was mean, he wasn’t, but he was impatient and way too serious for his own good.

“My bad my bad” you quickly stood up, waking towards the recording booth -obviously- not forgetting to make something fall from the table on your way.

Heeseung watched from the control room as the trinket fell on the floor, focused on setting the expensive headphones on his ears without tousling his perfect hair.

You picked it up, mumbling a quick apology, adjusted yours, long hair tangling with it, and you waited for your cue.

“alright lets punch in from the pre-chorus. relax your jaw” the engineer said.

You leaned into the mic, fingers mindlessly tapping against your sides, and with breathy vocals, you starting recording back vocals, the track resonating in your ears.

‘something about the way that it tastes, you’re running your mouth in dangerous way’

Okay maybe the lyrics sounded less sensual on paper.

You harmonized with your own voice, eyes closed, entirely focused now. “give it more attitude, i wanna hear more rasp and more desire.” the producer’s voice crackled through the talkback.

‘what the fuck is he even talking about’ you asked yourself.

But fortunately you were good at pretending, pretending like you knew what desire felt like. So you gave it your all, eyes shut like you were picture a tasty burger in front of you, teasing you, dripping with ranch sauce. and the engineer seemed satisfied.

Your eyes crossed with Heeseung’s through the glass panel, he looked lost in thought, always professionally oriented, like he genuinely didn’t think about anything else other than work and work and… work. His hair fell over his forehead, long sleeves bunched at the elbows like it wasn’t already excessively cold with the fans.

“Can we comp the first and third takes together?” you heard the engineers talk between them when the metronome stopped.

“That was good y/n, another one and we should be good for today.”

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

The second you were out of the studio, your earphones were in your ears, drowning out the sounds of seoul behind the buildings while you waited for your taxi in the underground parking.

The air smelled smoke-laced and damp, everything muffled behind the sad emo music you were playing. You tapped your shoe on the ground right above the parking lines as you dug into your purse for your phone.

Of course, you didn’t hear someone creep up behind you, and when a hand tapped your shoulder, you jumped, letting your phone drop like you had no spatial awareness whatsoever.

And to makes matters worse, it fell right in a puddle of dirty water. what a fucking good evening.

You spun around, falling face to face with a torso, a male torso. That wasn’t a common sight to you, not to digress, but you didn’t see a lot of that, like ever.

You tilted your head, and your vision became all Lee Heeseung. in the sense that he took all the space, shoulders broad, towering over you like he was trying to swallow you. You took a step back, slightly tripping on your own foot, and glanced down awkardly at your phone.

But before you could bend down to pick it up, Heesung crouched. You could see the top of his head now, he had pretty thick hair, a good implantation, he probably used expensive hair care and supplements, you thought before he went back up, your phone in hand.

He said something, you watched his mouth move but there was no sound. You suddenly seemed to remember the music in your ears and unplugged your earphones, proceeding to -gloriously- blast music in the parking lot. You muttered a quick sorry before grabbing the phone from his open hand and turning down the volume.

“What’d you say?” you asked.

“You’re clumsy.” he repeated, matter-of-factly.

you couldn’t remember one time when heesung had had another expression than neutral, or mocking. you memorized everything and his facial expression book was the shortest ever. other than the occasional chuckle, he didn’t do much. he was like a plant now that you thought about it, a tall and judgy plant.

“you scared me.” you retorted, raising an eyebrow.

heeseung inspected your face, and after a beat he said, “the vending machine gave me two bottles of water.”

you stared at him, frowning, “congratulations?”

he rolled his eyes, “i was coming to ask if you wanted the other one.” he pulled a water bottle out of his bag.

“why not, thanks.” you took of from his hands, nodding curtly before putting it in your own purse.

you turned back around, plugging your earphones again, checking the driver’s itinerary on your app. you could feel his presence behind you, but you remained unbothered, or at least you tried to.

lee heeseung was weird to work with, slightly conceited, annoyingly good at what he did, creative but a moron. conclusion? you couldn’t make up your mind about him because he was confusing beyond words. he was reserved about what he thought about others, never expressed clear opinions and acted so goddamn unbothered. it made you mad really, cause just when you found him the most exasperating, he had the strange habit to say one good thing that completely altered the way you saw him. like he subconsciously knew your patience gauge was emptying and needed to maintain reputation.

during the few months of recording, writing, arranging, he had been pretty cold, straight to the point, you’d never gotten much out of him, never once had you had a remotely interesting conversation with him. and just when you were beginning to think he was a shallow uninteresting person, he slipped a casual, “i like that song.” while hunched over your phone. like it wasn’t the most devastating song you had in your playlist.

you felt him shift behind you the moment a taxi pulled over in the dark parking lot. in a hurry to go home and run a bath, you stepped forward, making sure he knew you claimed it first.

Heeseung scoffed behind you, adjusting his hood over his hair, having no intentions of stealing your ride, he pretended to dig in his bag for a face mask, but kept stealing glances your direction.

he couldn’t quite figure you out, you seemed so different on television, but once again, the media had its way of shaping idols into molds, assuring they were neatly dressed, soft spoken and never -god forbid- never too loud. you weren’t weird per say, but you had a form of speech that made it seem like you hadn’t seen a social interaction in years, you were unbelievably clumsy, always dropping things and tripping. You had the presence and the pitch of a renowned artist, your voice was the kind that made him feel things when he listened, you had an almost erotic diction without trying, your rasp making each song properly yours. but god- you were so akward in the booth, eyebrows furrowed, like you didn’t know what you were doing there, you looked around like a lost toddler, so fucking clueless.

maybe what intrigued him is that you didn’t even try. you knew how to pretend you were anything other than a strange girl, but you never did. everytime he’d talk to you, it was like you genuinely didn’t give a shit about what he said, you were only there to sing, create, in and out. it was nice in a way, no useless pleasantries, just professionalism that ended up in -let’s admit it- beautiful music.

the prospect of the music video was where it became tricky for him. he wasn’t big on physical touch, became stiff when too close to someone, couldn’t even think straight when someone kept eye contact for too long, whether it was his doctor or a staff member.

sure, you were undeniably beautiful, in your own akward way, chewing on strands of your hair when you were concentrated, the many ways your eyes moved made him curious, he could always tell what you were thinking in the ways your eyebrows would curve, like a very telling painting.

where he had a very brief book of facial expression, you had at least 4 volumes.

when you got inside your car, your shoulder peeking out of your zip up hoodie, he averted his gaze, pretending to type a quick message to god knows who. once you were gone, he let out a breath he’d been -for some reason- holding.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

the next weeks were a blur, your days were spent rehearsing for personal projects, nights attending upscale events that were so unnecessarily posh, you didn’t see much of lee heesung.

apart from the two times you’d bumped into him in the company building hallways, you hadn’t paid him any mind.

showing up for creative meetings, reviewing story boards and concept moodboards while your manager oversaw the schedule, you weren’t even surprised anymore when heesung didn’t show up, busy with other solo debut stuff.

one day, he finally showed up, heavy eye bags framing his big eyes. clearly overworked, he grabbed a sheet, carefully reading over the different description of shots.

you watched from the corner of your eyes as his nostrils flared at the strong coffee smell, sleeves brushing against story boards and snippets scattered on the conference table. a giant screen reflected still references on his face, blurred silhouettes, mouths inches apart.

the creative director cleared his throat, chair creaking under his weight, meaty fingers steepled.

“okay, so what i was saying is, the song already sounds very intimate. so we didn’t want to add a choreography, the tension has to come from restraint.”

you looked at the ceiling, getting distracted by the lighting before the sound of heesung’s pen clacking on the table regained your attention. when you looked down, his eyes were directly on yours, emotionless.

one of the visual directors nodded immediately.

“exactly. if they touch too much too early, it loses impact.”

across the table, the cinematographer flipped through printed frames. “i keep thinking about proximity. faces close enough that the audience feels uncomfortable in the best way.”

“like they’re interrupting something private,” another staff member added.

you hummed for the sake of being involved, and someone clicked to the next slide: a close-up mockup of two profiles nearly meeting.

the producer looked towards you, “how comfortable are you both with physical proximity?”

hah. very good question. that you had no clue how to respond to. surprisingly apart from the occasional proximity with MCs at award shows and your girl friends, you were pretty in the dark about that topic. for a girl who based her concepts on rnb beats and sexy choreographies, you were a whole ass virgin in that category.

so you shrugged, acting unbothered, like being physically close to… people, was a routine thing. honestly, the only thing you were close to was a burnout.

“depends how it’s filmed.”

heesung nodded from the opposite side of the table, “if it’s intentional i’m fine with it.”

“yes, intentional is the keyword.” the creative director repeated. “nothing should feel cheap.” he stood and walked closer to the screen.

“the entire concept is temptation without payoff. we’re selling the almost.”

a stylist hummed thoughtfully, “so not actual touching?”

the room went quiet for a second, and then the director smiled; “not necessarily.”

several people immediately started talking over, you could see heesung wiping his glasses, expression undetectable.

the man raised a hand. “listen, the moment only works if it feels accidental. not scripted. we need viewers questioning wether they were actually going to touch or not. we have to play a bit into the whole fan speculation without crossing a line.” the cinematographer pointed at one of the references, “i want handheld close ups” he mimicked brackets with his fingers, “lip syncing directly toward each other, almost breathing in each others mouths instead of toward the camera.”

you let out a discreet shaky breath, folding your hands on your lap, cause why did that sound like something that could either ruin both your careers for company profit?

“there’s one thing we need to avoid,” the director tapped the table lightly, “it cannot look male gaze-y. the sensuality has to feel mutual.” everyone nodded.

“no chasing dynamic.” a staff member added, “no grabbing, etc. that’s overdone.”

“agreed”

“so how do we build tension naturally?” someone asked.

the room quieted again and then the director spoke carefully, “eye contact.” people looked towards him and he continued, thoughtful, “real eye contact is harder to watch than touching. if we hold it too long on camera…” he gestured vaguely, “… people start projecting onto it.”

the meeting ended after discussing beauty shots, and you instantly grabbed your purse, a small bow directed to no one in particular as you left the room with a polite smile. the hallway was empty except for a small group of 2 trainees whose heads lifted immediately as they saw you. they bowed, looking nervously at each other, and you greeted them back with a soft smile.

reaching the elevator, you almost tripped trying to hold the closing doors. you cursed under your breath, you were never gonna beat the weirdo allegations.

but when you looked up, a hand was prying it open for you, and someone’s chest was entirely too close to your back.

“that happens too much. you need to do spatial awareness training.”

you turned around, and the voice that seemed lightly inconvenienced, was none other than heesung’s.

“i think ill be fine, thanks for the concern.” you muttered, walking inside the elevator.

you felt him walk right behind you, his overwhelming presence filling the tight space. when you looked at him, the crown of his head was brushing against the elevator ceiling, so much that he had to bend down a little, eyes fixed on the wall ahead.

“you should really take coordination classes. before you break a bone.”

you rolled your eyes, watching the floor counter impatiently. “why don’t you- erm… worry about your own… bones.” you muttered under your breath.

turns out you also struggled with good comebacks. on top of everything else.

“what was that?” you could hear the smile in his voice, which immediately triggered one of yours to bloom.

heesung looked at you as the elevator reached the ground floor, and when he saw your small smile and concealed laughter, he thought you were the weirdest person he’d ever talked to.

and this time it was in an endearing way. at last.

truthfully you didn’t even know why you were laughing, probably self deprecation, or maybe cause his smile was so annoyingly contagious.

it dawned to you just then how rare the sight of lee heesung smiling was. you had to be the biggest clown in the whole wide world for him to crack one.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

“i’m sure he gives good head.”

eunchae refilled her wine glass, heels digging into the fabric of her expensive sofa.

you sat straighter, raising an eyebrow, “huh?”

“heesung, i’m sure he gives good head. usually guys that work hard are the biggest munchers.”

there was absolutely no scientific backing to this, eunchae was just drunk and rambling.

you snorted, gesturing to her glass, “you should quit that before you decide to test that theory.”

eunchae seemed to consider before lifting up her pointy chin, “how is it anyway, working with him? does he smell good?”

you hadn’t really ever thought about that. what did lee heesung smell like? you knew he pinched the bridge of his nose when he was tired, always wrote on printer paper and refused lines on his sheets, had a pokémon sticker inside his phone case, but you didn’t know what he smelled like.

“um, yeah i guess, he smells okay…” you concocted an answer, reaching for some food to stuff your mouth with.

“ugh. you’re so lucky. you’re gonna be all close to him and stuff…” eunchae threw her head back against the wall.

“it’s just acting. i’m sure it’s gonna be akward as shit anyway.” you muttered, chewing on a particularly bad piece of hard bread.

eunchae cracked one eye open, looking at you like you’d personally offended her.

“awkward?” she repeated. “you’re doing a music video with lee heesung. a sensual one too. do you know how many people would kill for that?”

you rolled your eyes automatically, though the mention of the concept made heat creep unpleasantly up your neck. “it’s just close ups and lip syncing. it’s not like we’re gonna making out or something.”

“close up shots,” eunchae echoed dramatically, pointing at you with her wine glass. “exactly. intense eye contact, heavy breathing. probably one of those scenes where the director goes ‘closer… closer… perfect.”

said like that… she wasn’t wrong. would heesung’s breath on your mouth bother you? certainly not, you’d dealt with drooling dogs many times, hot breath on your legs and all, surely this would be manageable.

“no because think about it.” your friend sat forward suddenly, now far too invested. “what if he smells insanely good and you accidentally fall in love on set?”

“that doesn’t happen.”

“it absolutely does. that’s like ninety percent of celebrity dating scandals.”

you laughed despite yourself, “you need to get off social media.”

eunchae almost spilled wine on her brand new sofa while pointing the glass at you, “well, don’t say i didn’t warn you, i’ll give it a few months.”

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

the more you thought about it, the more you could see why everyone you knew was drawn to heesung. he had good bone structure. that must’ve been the answer. or maybe his nose, he did have a great nose. a good nose.

or as eunchae said, ‘he has a rideable nose’.

and now that he sat right in front of you, you could kinda get the point, not that you knew anything about riding noses.

“okay, heesung lean it a bit more, remember, you two need to look like you’re about to kiss.”

the set was beige, monochromatic, just a light background drop two stools in the middle, where you both sat face to face. the mua had spent hours on your look, because you would be filming close ups, she had to make sure all your pores were -somehow- invisible, she’d put blush under your eyes, maintaining that glowy dewy effect on your skin. your hair was down, she’d added extensions that framed your face perfectly and glitter in the inner corner of your eyes. as for the stylist? it was quick, a beige cotton top and a skirt, and you had been out.

heesung was dressed in the same color palette, his hair slightly tousled for effect, you’d seen him for the first time when he walked on the set, a coffee in his hand, confidence and professionalism emanating from his stance. he acted so indifferent, so natural, like he’d done this millions of times, and when he’d sat down in front of you, listening to the choreographer’s instructions, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

and still now, he was deep in character, staring at you, relaxing his tensed jawline, while you both repeated a breathing excercise. his gaze turned physical, like he had little needles instead of eyes, poking into you every chance he got.

“good, are you guys ready?”

you nodded mindlessly, repeating every micro actions you had to perform, in your head. heesung seemed to notice your fingers fiddling with your cotton skirt, just like he noticed everything, the human instinct of trying to understand everything you did and putting a name on it overtaking him.

he probably thought you were nervous just then, and that didn’t sit right with you. so, following the given instructions, you leaned closer, the lights starting to blink around you creating a sinfully sensual atmosphere.

you skillfully pretended, -that- you knew how to do.

and when the music started playing in the room, when the whole crew got quiet and when the lights dimmed, when the director said ‘action!’, you slipped into the shoes of someone in love.

‘somethin' about the way you kiss it, don’t ever stop, you know you started some.”

you leaned closer to his cheek, whispering the lyrics directed to his ear, you distracted yourself from their meaning, pretending like you were talking about unicorns and french fries, and the choreographer’s advices resonated in your mind. how she’d taught you how to act out desire, want, need, how to drag the words, where to breathe and how to look.

“you’re on the spot, i’m feeling lucky. go ahead and touch it, if you want it baby, keep me comin’.”

heesung lowered his head, until your noses were just shy of brushing, and everything was perfectly okay until you had to open your eyes. you could feel his hair brushing against your forehead, overwhelmingly close.

so you did as told, opening your eyes, you naturally met his, wide and glassy, it’d never hit you how full of life his irises were. contrary to his whole face, his eyes told stories of their own and there resided the key to figure out what lee heesung was feeling.

you mouthed the lyrics, lips inches away from touching, and despite the already insane proximity, you heard the director say, “closer.” over the music.

you’d seen enough romance movies to know how characters looked like when they wanted to be kissed, that’s exactly the face you made, it was easier than expected, the unfathomable thought that maybe heesung was a comfortable person to work with dawned onto you as you moved your mouth slowly.

“cut! you’re doing really great, just keep in mind it keeps escalating, i want more passion heesung, look at her like she’s the answer to everything.”

the answer to everything. that would be a loaded weapon.

the director clapped once, “again from the second verse.”

you inhaled slowly as the music restarted, your traitorous breath acting like this was the best moment to act out. you remembered, this was a choreography, manufactured tension, a carefully rehearsed illusion. there was no wrong way to act this out, right?

“somethin’ about the way that it taste, you’re running your mouth at a dangerous pace”

you leaned in again, fingers grazing lightly against his neck as instructed. your lips hovered near his mouth while the lyrics slipped out softer this time, breathier, practiced temptation coating every word. you could feel his breathing now, steady against hot skin, the way he looked down to your mouth in false desire, like he truly wanted to eat you.

and where there had been restraint before, was a fully immersed heesung, mouthing his next line, eyes fixated on your plump lips. and he was so talented, such a master at persuasion, that something hot curled low in your stomach.

you told yourself this was some sort of method acting, like you were fully in character now, like this would all end once the cameras were off. you didn’t know much about desire, but you knew it this definitely wasn’t it.

“you know what to do, and you know what to say. even when you’re away, i’m always thinkin’ bout you.”

“good,” the director encouraged somewhere behind the monitors. “stay there.”

heesung’s hand shifted beside you on the stool. then stopped. it was barely a movement, but enough that you noticed the restrain in it immediately, like he’d almost touched your waist without thinking.

he must do that a lot, you thought to yourself, his acting was spot on, so much that you almost thought he meant it. that was how good he was. your pulse stumbled as the music pulsed around the room, low bass vibrating faintly beneath your feet.

you leaned closer again, because the scene demanded it, because the camera loved proximity, because your jobs quite literally depended on selling the illusion.

but the closer you got, the weirder it all felt. because how could you explain to your brain -who demanded an logical answer to every single event- that you didn’t know heesung’s favorite dish, or even his second name, but somehow, you knew the rythm of his pulse under your fingertips, the way his breath felt blossoming on your lips, and you knew how it felt to be wanted so intensely by him.

“the way you think about me, i think about you, i do, it’s true ( i think about you)”

your noses brushed this time, a tiny accidental contact that wouldn’t be cut out post-production. the entire crew collectively went silent in the way people do when they do they just captured something good.

heesung exhaled softly through his nose, eyes flickering shut for half a second, and that tiny reaction -that microscopic human reaction- completely destroyed your concentration.

your forgot the next lyric for a terrifying second. and his hand finally landed lightly against your side to steady the movement for the shot, warm even through the fabric of your clothes. it was nothing really, but it had you in a chokehold of confusion. cause why was your heart suddenly mimicking a horse galloping, and why were your palms sweaty like you were passing an important test. heesung -him- was way too natural, too comfortable, like this was a thing he did every other day. your brain short circuited for a second.

because suddenly euchae’s stupid drunk questions came flooding back.

“does he smell good?”

and unfortunately he fucking did.

“you’re gonna be all close to him and stuff…”

yes indeed.

and now here you were practically breathing the same air while one of the biggest idols in the industry looked at you like he genuinely wanted to kiss you.

which he obviously didn’t.

“beautiful,” the director murmured reverently. “that’s exactly it.”

heesung tilted his head slightly, maintaining eye contact even as the lyrics ended. and one for one horrifying moment, you genuinely thought he might close the distance.

you gagged in your mouth at the thought. “cut!” the room erupted back into noise and staff members started talking, immediately, someone adjusted a reflector, music cutting off mid-beat.

but heesung still hadn’t moved his hand one bit. you looked down at it automatically and so did he.

“you can move your hand now.” you said, as the realization hit him. his fingers flexed once before he pulled away almost too quickly.

“yeah.” he said quietly.

when you finally looked away, across the set, the director was practically glowing with satisfaction.

“oh this chemistry is disgusting.” he announced happily, like a very jolly ball of meat and fur. “exactly what i wanted.”

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

the next setup was somehow worse. or better.

you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore. the cameras had been changed for tighter lenses, meaning every shot would be another level of intimate, almost to an invasive degree. lips, breathing and eye movement. the tiny unconscious things people usually never noticed.

the stylist, her apron half hanging over her waist, dabbed lipgloss lightly on your mouth with a professional brush, before stepping away. “don’t wipe it off.” she warned, observing the way it caught the light.

easy for her to say when you wanted to drive your head into the nearest wall.

You sat back down on the set stool while the cinematographer adjusted framing on the monitor. “okay” he called, “this sequence is almost entirely mouth shots and eye contact. we want heavy tension, give us the same energy as earlier.”

you looked over at heesung, only to find his eyes already on you, like he’d forgotten there were forty people and a contract surrounding the both of you.

you would’ve rolled your eyes, slapped him maybe, and told him he could stop acting in between takes, except you were known in the industry for your professionalism. when the music started again and you heard the cue, you moved first, slowly leaning forward until the space between you and him was reduced to a mere idea.

the camera operator circled carefully around the stools, capturing every angle of your mouths so close.

it should’ve been embarrassing and overwhelming, but it left you with a burning ache in the pit of your stomach instead. your lips parted slightly with the lyrics and so did his, you thought about how they would fit perfectly, snug like pieces of a schmidt puzzle, in a world where you’d be tempted to kiss him.

in this world though, you weren’t. and when heesung tilted his head to the side just enough, following the script, the key word here being ‘script’; it felt so silly to you how aware your body became of microscopic things at this distance, like the brush of air, the sound of shaky breathing.

“hold there.” the director instructed softly, like if he spoke louder you’d break apart and ruin the moment.

was this all it took? filming an mv? to suddenly start feeling attraction towards a non essential variable in your life.

how weak were you? you stayed suspended in that impossible space, mouths barely apart, finding yourself in an intimate moment with someone you absolutely didn’t want to be vulnerable with.

in his eyes, you were prettiest when you pretended to want him.

because this was what it was at the end of the day, two people pretending.

but the body is stupid sometimes. and the body doesn’t know how to differentiate what’s an illusion from what is real.

because acting like he wanted you, meant studying you closely enough to imitate intimacy. he memorized the shape of your smile, the sound you made when you laughed quietly, the exact distance where your breath started warming your skin. and eventually, his body forgot it was fake.

he had spent all this time learning you to perfect his performance, but a weird chemical imbalance in his brain had tricked him into thinking there was something more.

and if someone cupped his face for a bit too long, whispered lyrics against his mouth, looked at him like he was wanted, some parts of him were bound to start responding as if it was true. even if the mind insisted it lived in a choreography.

he hadn’t realized how touch deprived and exhausted he was until your soft hands touched him and suddenly all he could imagine were the sounds you made when being kissed.

heesung shifted closer by instinct during the next lyric, and your lower lip barely grazed his for less than a second. it was accidental, but the contact sent a sharp wave of heat straight to you anyway. his eyes imperceptibly widened and yours probably did too, neither of you pulling away fast enough.

“jesus christ.” someone whispered near the monitors.

“don’t cut.” the director immediately hissed back. so the cameras kept rolling.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

Inevitably, a few weeks after that, what was bound to happen, happened.

It’s not like none of you had predicted it, anticipated it, it was just history repeating itself over and over in the kpop industry. But once again, this proved that the companies would stop at nothing to make bank. Putting even their idols’ mental healths on the line.

You’d already felt it at the mv screening, after it had been edited, recolored, post production essentially, you’d seen the looks of the staff when they talked to you, like they knew this was prone to become an issue sooner or later. And they weren’t wrong. You’d seen Heesung’s ears twitch nervously when both your faces appeared on the screen, so close that not even air could pass properly. You’d seen how inevitably good you were at that, and you’d thought about the public’s perception, about how they’d react, how they’d speculate. Because in the middle of this; even you had managed to persuade yourself that you wanted Lee Heesung.

That was how good your performance was.

Heesung had shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the whole production team happy, while what remained between the both of you, was doubt.

Justified doubt, because a few days -screw that- hours after the release of the music video on all platforms, it felt like all hell had broken loose.

Suddenly, thousands of people hated your guts, like you’d honestly done something bad to their families. You were receiving hundreds of messages a day, people whom you’d never heard of, sending you threats, hateful comments about your appearance, menacing you with -quote- ‘if you date heesung we will end you. engenes are united and we won’t let this slide.’

At the end of the day, you’d knew what was going to happen, it wasn’t that big of a surprise when people sent trucks in front of belift, protested for the collaboration to be taken down.

But somehow, even under tremendous pressure, the company had never questioned it even once, nobody had talked about taking it down, or making a statement. They were truly shamelessly riding the hate wave, because this would make profit.

You didn’t go out for days, staying inside except for the times you had to go to practice. It had been advised you didn’t interact with Heesung for the time being -not that you were planning to in the first place- you couldn’t be in buildings at the same times, couldn’t even look at each others direction; which was a relief cause you didn’t know if you could ever look at him without hearing the comments of his fans, territorial and completely parasocial.

People you’d never seen, telling you to kill yourself, for simply doing your job. Girls ( who were supposed to be supporting other women ) hating you because you’d been in the same room as their idol.

You couldn’t fathom how the human mind allowed that, how people convinced themselves that this was okay, and the right thing to do. But once again, the very same label you worked under, played right into these mental illnesses.

So the only thing you could do was shutup and let the storm pass.

You didn’t see Heesung for weeks, not even your friends, you followed a strict routine, eat, sleep, wake up, practice, meeting, eat, repeat. This was comfortable, easier than falling asleep at 4 am, looking at twitter comments tearing you apart, overthinking and blaming yourself for ever accepting this collaboration.

In all of this, not once did Heesung get any hate, the comments were directed towards his company, but never him, -oh god forbid-. People had the nerve to say he’d been forced into doing this, that he looked pressured and that he’d been coerced.

And somehow, even if it shouldn’t have, even if deep down you know this had nothing to do with him, all of this made you dislike him even more than you already did.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

It was with an empty but heavy stomach, that you walked in the practice room that evening.

You dropped your purse on the floor, gathering your stuff, and you felt someone crouch behind you.

“y/n… we’ve been worried, you look pale.”

It was your choreographer, she’d been there in the roughest patches, embracing a role of confident that wasn’t hers in the first place. She’d honestly done more than anyone in the whole team combined, she worried more than the people who were supposed to -or paid to- worry.

Kim Se-na was the only bit of help you had when at work.

“i’m okay, don’t worry. Just allergies.” you lied shamelessly.

When you saw the look on her face, you knew she wasn’t gonna get fooled.

“Er… maybe it’s Heesung’s little fan bitches. Too much hassle.” you rectified, with a humorless smile. “They honestly won’t stop sending shit to my house. It’s getting old.”

Se-na raised her eyebrows, mouth hanging open. “They’re really gonna have to do something about it y/n. This is getting crazier by the minute.”

You shrugged it off, because there was nothing you could really do, and she knew it. “They won’t do anything about it. Let’s just get to work. It’ll pass with time.”

Rehearsal went by slowly. Time dragged in the worst possible way, each second stretching thin and trembling until it barely felt real anymore. The clock above the studio door looked frozen, its hands stuck between minutes as if even time itself had grown tired of moving forward. Every glance at it felt cruel; surely more than thirty seconds had passed, surely the universe wasn’t cruel enough to leave you stranded in this unbearable in-between for this long.

You wanted to go home, dig a hole in your bed and never come out again. But the goddamn clock was driving you mad.

And when its cruel joke finally resolved to a halt, you grabbed your bag like the room was on fire, and you waved good bye, your feet carrying you down the steps hurriedly. You walked quickly, hoodie sleeves swallowing your shape while you checked your phone.

11:47 pm

Your driver was still 8 minutes away. Amazing.

The underground parking lot greeted you with cold air and the distant hum of engines. Your footsteps echoed embarrassingly loud against the concrete as you descended the last stair. You hated parking lots at night. They always felt strangely infinite, all shadows and pillars and fluorescent lights flickering like dying stars. You adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder and started toward the pickup area.

Conveniently, your earphones didn’t have battery, you who’d wanted to drown out all the thoughts and doubts with loud music, you were in for a very long ride.

And at first you didn’t notice anything strange, just another black van parked near the exit, its windows tinted, and voices, staff maybe?

But they were high pitched, excited even, not the type of voices that belonged in a professional and uptight world, where staff walked hallways silently like they were scared to be noticed.

When a camera flash went off somewhere to your left, you understood.

You frowned instinctively, slowing your pace before being interrupted by another insistant flash. The parking lot was supposed to be safe, the company always said so.

Your stomach dropped the moment you recognized silhouettes gathering around one of the vehicles, people holding phones and designer masks with baseball caps obstructing their faces. The type of people who lingered too long outside company buildings pretending not to wait for someone. Except now they had made it to the safe-zone.

You immediately looked down, pulling your hood higher. Maybe they hadn’t noticed you. Maybe if you just got out quickly…

“Y/N!” your blood went cold.

One of the girls pointed directly at you, holding what looked like a written sign in her hand.

“Oh my god it’s her.”

You swore under your breath and turned sharply, walking faster toward the farther side of the parking lot. At first it still felt manageable, annoying surely; but manageable. That was until you heard footsteps echo behind you. It wasn’t dramatic when you thought you were in danger. Not even when you thought they were there to kill you. Because from what you’d seen in comments, threads, endless threats to your life, you really didn’t know what they were capable of doing. And the place, usually crawling with security, seemed so empty. You heard your name, again and again, from people who thought they knew you, who thought they were given the right to say your name like this while breaching your privacy. Then came the question.

“Are you with Heesung right now?” camera flashes burst violently against the concrete walls and you flinched.

You reached blindly for your phone to all your manager, but another voice rang out-

“HEESUNG!!”

Your head snapped up, a familiar tall figure had just emerged from the elevator entrance on the opposite side of the parking lot, hood pulled low over dark hair, mask hanging under his chin like he’d only put it on halfway.

For a second he looked confused, then his eyes landed on the crowd, an then on you. His expression changed instantly, the one he’d wear when he was trying to figure out whether to repeat a verse or harmonize with it, calculated and focused.

The girls noticed him immediately and surged forward in chaos, like they’d just seen God bearing world peace. Voices exploded everywhere at once. People asking if you’d been together, people asking you to look over, too much information at once.

“OPPA!!”

Someone bumped hard into your shoulder trying to get closer to him, and before you could recover, fingers suddenly hooked around the sleeve of your hoodie. You were an extremely patient woman, but in that moment, your whole body seized, and you wanted to grab that girl by the hair and drag her by it. Anger filled you, not because it hurt, but because strangers touching you always felt violating in a way your brain couldn’t process correctly.

And Heesung noticed, or maybe he just reacted before thinking. He didn’t know you all that much, but he knew you weren’t scared of a scandal, and you’d be ready to throw hands if needed.

So in seconds, he was there, his hand closed tightly on your bag, avoiding contact. “Let’s go.” he said without hesitation or space for discussion.

He pulled you sharply behind him and started walking fast, like he’d done this countless times. Everything after that blurred together into cognitive dissonance, noise , movement and footsteps pounding against concrete, people shouting like they’d were allowed to be here. But you followed, cause there was nothing else you could do, nowhere else you could go.

You cut through a side exit into the freezing Seoul night air, sneakers slamming against the wet pavement as somewhere behind you, voices still echoed faintly. And Heesung kept a hold of your bag the whole entire time, it digging into your shoulder painfully.

You turned sharply around a corner after him, nearly crashing into his back when he abruptly stopped.

A narrow alley stretched between two dark buildings, cluttered with overflowing trash bags, broken crates and rain- damp concrete smell. Without a word, Heesung pulled you into the shadows behind a stack of plastic containers.

You stumbled against him from the momentum and his hand landed instinctively at the back of your head to stop it from hitting the wall.

You clicked your tongue, taking a step back to escape his touch. You could still hear voices and footsteps, and it hit you that maybe if Heesung hadn’t been there, one of them would’ve gone mental and murdered you…

Inside the alley, the world narrowed into something extremely small, contained in the space between your bodies. Or the lack thereof. Heesung had one hand braced against the wall beside your head, chest rising unevenly from the run. His hood had fallen back slightly, dark hair messy across his forehead, eyes sharp and alert as he listened for movement outside.

After a beat, you became horribly aware of the fact that your fingers were gripping the front of his hoodie, and the thought became horribly repulsing. You loosened them immediately and furrowed your brows in concealed disgust. Neither of you spoke.

Which was almost funny considering the last time you’d seen each other, you’d spent three days pretending to want each other on camera. Life had a way of ruining already-terrible days like that.

“I just saved your life, don’t look at me like i smell.” he whispered, expressionless.

“Can i go now?” you ignored him.

“If you wanna die, then, suit yourself.” he scoffed, looking down at you like you were something he truly couldn’t understand, which was fine by you.

“I just need to-“

His gaze lingered for one second too long but before you could continue, voices passed somewhere near the alley entrance, and he instinctively leaned closer again, shielding you further.

The position dragged you chest-to-chest now, his hand still hovering behind your head like he was scared to touch you. And you found yourself thinking about the filming of your music video, how funny this was, really. But the thought died like wax before the flame.

“Can you call your manager?” Heesung whispered, his breath hitting your ear, burning.

You nodded, not before stepping back, visibly annoyed at the situation. You quickly texted your manager, telling him about the current predicament. It didn’t take long for him to reply, telling you he’d be sending security to escort you both to your vans, assuring you the sasaengs would be taken care of.

“There, resolved.” you kept your phone in hand just in case.

When you looked up, your eyes met the shape of his adam’s apple, he had his head thrown back to the skies, like it cost him to be there physically. It bobbed sharply when he swallowed, impossible not to notice at this distance. The movement dragged your attention downward before you could stop it, slow beneath the pale column of his throat, framed by the loose collar of his hoodie. It moved again when he exhaled, subtle but tense somehow, like even his breathing had become too deliberate.

Up close, you realized Heeseung carried tension in his throat the way other people carried it in their shoulders. Every pause caught there first. Every held breath. Every unfinished thought. He looked so unnervingly human at this angle and that pissed you off.

“They’re on their way.” you said before taking a couple steps towards the entry of the alley, like you desperately wanted out.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

The ice in your coffee had melted thirty minutes ago.

“…we’ve already reported several accounts.” one of the staff members was saying carefully, clicking through slides filled with screenshots you wished you’d never seen. “but because most of the comments are indirect threats or anonymous forum posts, there’s only so much legal action we can take.”

You watched another blurred screenshot appear on the projection screen.

Attention whore.

Slut.

She wants him so bad it’s embarrassing.

Kill yourself, #sorrynotsorry.

Your eyes flicked away immediatly as if the screen burned. Funny how people online always spoke like they were discussing fiction characters instead of human beings. Like somewhere between screens, fan edits and the parasocial delusion, you’d stopped being a person entirely.

You weren’t y/n, the talented singer who loved chocolate mint ice cream and bentos, who was viscerally scared of throwing up and hated being the center of attention. Now you were just a woman standing too close to someone.

One of the PR women sighed softly. “The good news is the general public response it overwhelmingly positive.”

You almost laughed, if it wasn’t for the ache in your throat you would’ve been laughing out loud. Good news. Right.

“Streams are stable,” she continued professionally. “International reception is excellent. Most criticism is isolated to fandom spaces.”

Fandom spaces. What a petty little expression for psychological warfare.

Your manager finally looked up from his tablet. He looked exhausted too lately. More irritable. Like every notification on his phone aged him another year. “We need you off social media completely for now.”

“i’m already off social media.” you replied dryly.

“No lurking either.” you stayed quiet, which was answer enough.

He rubbed his temples tiredly. “Y/N.”

“I said okay.” the room fell silent again except for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.

You hated meetings like this. Everyone spoke in polished corporate language to avoid acknowledging what was really happening.

People you’d never met wanted you dead. Not metaphorically or dramatically. And all because you’d done your job correctly.

A younger staff member hesitated before speaking carefully. “A lot of the outrage is projection. Fans are… emotionally attached.”

You looked at her then. ‘emotionally attached’ sounded like a naive and funny way of saying ‘deranged and retarded.’

Another slide appeared with this time it wasn’t comments, but headlines.

“HEESEUNG’S MATURE CONCEPT DIVIDES FANS”

“NETIZENS DEFEND HEESEUNG AGAINST HYBE”

“WAS THE SOLOIST PUSHED TOO FAR?”

You stared at the screen blankly. There it was. The part that made your blood boil. Not once had anyone said anything bad about him, not really. The company? Yes. The concept? Sure. But Heeseung himself remained strangely untouched by it all, preserved carefully beneath layers of concern and protection. Poor Heeseung. He looked uncomfortable. He was pressured into it. He would’ve never chosen this. Meanwhile you apparently were some manipulative succubus who’d orchestrated the downfall of Korean morality through lip syncing too close to a man. Amazing, truly outstanding.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

A couple weeks went by after the alleyway episode and the meeting.

And somehow life continued anyway. Schedules kept piling up. Makeup got reapplied every morning. Microphones got clipped behind your back while stylists discussed fabrics around you like nothing had happened. The world of entertainment had a terrifying ability to keep moving regardless of whether someone was silently unraveling inside it.

You adapted quickly, you always had. It was something that happened whether you wanted it or not, when you’d been conformed to be like that since you were 15.

You stopped checking comments entirely after accidentally reading a thread comparing you to a parasite feeding off Heeseung’s fame. Your manager confiscated your Twitter password for “temporary safety reasons,” which honestly felt less like protection and more like putting down a rabid animal before it bit someone.

You barely saw your friends anymore. Barely saw sunlight either. And you definitely didn’t see Lee Heesung. Not once. No rehearsals together, no interviews, no awkward elevator encounters, nothing. The company had apparently decided distance was the safest strategy, separating you two like divorced parents after a custody battle. Any joint schedules were handled independently now, arriving separately, leaving separately, different waiting rooms, different staff teams.

Professionally, it made sense. Personally? You hated how much you noticed his absence. That was what a few months of working with someone did. It annoyed you in ways you couldn’t properly articulate how you didn’t have anyone to blame for the hate you got now, how you didn’t have an outlet for your anger. Because before all this, he’d just been there. Quiet and annoyingly observant and always carrying that stupid erasable pen around like a government-issued emotional support object. But he’d been there, and you’d felt less alone all the time.

Now there was just silence. Which should’ve been easier.

Instead, your brain had apparently developed a deeply unfortunate tendency to think about him at the worst possible times.

Like now.

It was past two in the morning, Seoul wrapped in deep blue darkness beyond your apartment windows. Your room was lit only by the dim glow of your bedside lamp and the tablet balanced against your knees beneath the blankets.

You should’ve been sleeping but instead, you were watching that stupid music video again.

Which already felt humiliating enough.

You told yourself it was professional curiosity, you wanted to understand why people reacted so strongly. That was strictly all.

The video played softly through your headphones, bass low and intimate against your ears while blurred beige lighting filled the screen. You watched yourself appear first, all glossy lips and heavy eyes, looking like a woman infinitely more experienced than you actually were.

Honestly, she intimidated you.

Then Heesung appeared, and unfortunately that was wehere your problems started. You paused the video abruptly.

Why did he look like that? Your thumb hovered uncertainly over the screen before rewinding ten seconds. Then replaying it., again.

The close-up filled your vision instantly: his face inches from yours, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly parted while the camera captured every microscopic shift in expression.

You swallowed.

God.

No wonder people lost their minds over this. It was utterly disgusting.

You resumed the video carefully this time, trying to observe it clinically like a professional, which became increasingly difficult once the second verse started. You watched your noses brush, watched the subtle shift in his breathing. And suddenly your body betrayed you entirely by remembering exactly how that scene had felt in real life. The warm breaths, the weight of him not even touching you, and your stomach twisted strangely.

You paused the video again, right when you had your hand on his neck.

This was actually ridiculous. You dropped the tablet onto your comforter dramatically and pressed both hands over your face.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Lee Heeseung wasn’t even your type. He was reserved and annoyingly composed and judgmental in that quiet way attractive people often were. He corrected your spatial awareness like an elderly PE teacher and looked permanently one inconvenience away from sighing.

And apparently, you were not only a master of illusion, but a master at lying to yourself.

You couldn’t help the ache that settled on you when you watched his eyes on yours. You couldn’t help the shame that dawned on the back of your neck when you thought of how the performance made you feel. And that annoying voice in your head that begged over and over, to know how he looked when he wasn’t pretending.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

The next day started badly. It had become a routine ingrained in your life now, each day taking its toll on you, draining you of your energy and common sense. It wasn’t catastrophic or life altering, just the quiet kind of bad that slowly rotted your patience for the inside out.

You woke up late after falling asleep around four in the morning again, tangled in blankets with your tablet still playing low music beside you. Your head hurt immediately upon opening your eyes, throat dry, thoughts sluggish and heavy.

Then your manager informed you your schedule had been moved forward by two hours.

Then your coffee spilled inside the van.

Then a stylist burned the side of your neck with a curling iron and apologized seventeen times while you reassured her it was fine even though it definitely wasn’t.

By noon, you already wanted the day to end.

Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed committed to testing exactly how much irritation the human body could contain before exploding.

The company building buzzed with activity around you as you walked through the hallways after rehearsal, staff members rushing in every direction with garment bags and tablets tucked under their arms.

Everyone looked stressed lately, tired and a harp around the edges. Maybe success did that to people. Or maybe public scrutiny slowly sanded down every soft part until all that remained was survival instinct.

You adjusted the hood over your head and kept walking, trying to ignore the pressure building behind your eyes. The rehearsal had gone fine, too fine actually, which typically meant everyone was going to expect more, more schedules, more performances, more interview.

Your social battery had flatlined somewhere around lunch.

By the time someone from marketing stopped you in the hallway asking if you’d be comfortable filming a “cute behind-the-scenes reaction segment” with Heeseung next week, you genuinely considered biting them, fangs and all.

You smiled instead, barely, thinking about how there was absolutely nothing remotely cute about Lee Heesung. Then escaped before another conversation could trap you. You desperately needed silence, just five minutes without cameras or people or questions.

The farther hallway near the storage rooms stayed mostly empty during busy schedules, so your feet carried you there automatically. Your sneakers squeaked softly against the polished floor while distant music thumped faintly through the walls from another practice room.

You spotted one of the storage room doors slightly cracked open. Perfect. Without thinking much about it, you slipped inside quickly and shut the door behind you with a relieved exhale. Darkness swallowed you first, then dim emergency lighting slowly revealed stacked boxes, spare lighting equipment and hanging garment bags crammed into the narrow room.

And apparently also, a detail you’d forgotten to oversee… someone sitting on the floor.

You froze, and for one disorienting second, your brain genuinely failed to process what you were seeing.

Lee Heeseung sat against the wall between two equipment cases, head tilted back against the concrete behind him. One arm rested over his bent knee while the other pressed hard against his sternum like he was physically holding himself together. His breathing sounded wrong, too shallow and uneven.

Your annoyance surfaced immediately as defense. “Jesus fucking Christ…” you muttered under your breath.

Slowly, your eyes adjusted more fully to the dark. His face looked pale. Not idol pale, not like he’d put heavy white foundation or anything, a thin sheen of sweat clung to his forehead despite the cold room, and when his eyes flicked toward you briefly, something sharp twisted uncomfortably in your chest.

Because you recognized that look. You knew it disturbingly well. The too-wide focus and the deliberate breathing, the terrifying effort of trying to appear normal while your nervous system actively betrayed you.

You quietly added it to his book of facial expressions, categorized under ‘panic attack?’.

He looked away quickly, jaw tightening almost immediately like he’d rather die than be witnessed like this.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly. A lie clearly. You were dumb but not that dumb.

You stared at him for a second longer than necessary, part of you wanting to leave. Not out of cruelty just self preservation.

“I didn’t ask if you were okay.” You stated, plainly.

And somehow Heesung liked that better than you trying to awkwardly comfort him.

You barely knew how to manage your own spirals half the time, let alone someone else’s. But another part of you —the deeply unfortunate empathetic part— recognized something painfully familiar in the way his fingers trembled against his hoodie. You’d looked exactly like that in countless bathroom stalls and dark corners and locked bedrooms over the years. It’s a reoccurring problem when you’re thrown into an adult work, into a cruel industry as a child.

Your shoulders slumped slightly, annoyance remaining in your tone anyway, mostly because softness felt too vulnerable right now. But luckily, Heesung liked that, he liked that you didn’t stop being yourself just because you pitied him, he liked that you weren’t trying to desperately say the right thing - at all.

“Breathe through your nose. you’re gonna end up choking.”

His eyes lifted toward you again, faintly incredulous but amused despite everything.

“What a comforting thing to say.”

“you’re welcome.” Silence settled briefly between you.

You stayed near the door at first, arms crossed tightly over your chest while you studied him. Heeseung looked strangely smaller like this, not physically obviously. That would’ve been impossible considering he was built like a fucking wardrobe. But the carefully composed image he always carried had cracked open enough for you to glimpse the exhausted human underneath it. He looked like a child.

And suddenly it became very hard to keep hating him properly, because none of this was entirely his fault either. You recognized you were just angry and trying to blame someone, but this wasn’t the right guy. He was trapped inside the same machine as you were, just packaged differently.

You sighed heavily before sliding down the wall opposite him until you sat on the floor too.

His gaze shifted toward you immediately. “what are you doing?”

You shrugged. “waiting until you stop looking like you’re about to pass away dramatically.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And i said i don’t care.”

There was a silence and after a beat you noticed his breathing still hadn’t evened out completely.

Instinctively, your eyes drifted toward the storage shelves beside you. You searched for something -anything- to ground him with. Your fingers landed on a laminated inventory sheet hanging from a clipboard. Perfect.

You held it up flatly. “okay. name five things you can see.”

He blinked slowly. “huh?”

“you heard me.”

A faint crease appeared between his brows. “Are you seriously trying therapy tricks on me right now?”

“if you wanna die, then, suit yourself.” you said, mocking the sentence he had used the other night when running from the sasaengs.

That almost earned a laugh; his mouth twitched faintly before disappearing again, you watched him hesitate, then finally: “those boxes.”

“great. four more.”

His breathing hitched once before settling slightly deeper this time. “the exit sign.” you nodded “the fan and the… silver tape thing.”

“duct tape.” you rolled your eyes.

“whatever.”

He paused then his eyes landed on you, your stomach flipping stupidly at the directness of it. “…you.”

The room went oddly still for a second before you cleared your throat. “Unfortunately yes, that’s five.”

Something softened very slightly in his expression then, his eyes smoothing over the fabric of your oversized sweatpants like he was trying to distract himself.

You didn’t ask him what was wrong because it wasn’t productive - nor your business, and you stood up, reaching for the door handle.

“Is your breathing better now?”

He looked up, an indecipherable expression painting his face, and he quietly nodded.

“Good.” your mouth went into a straight line. “take care then, i guess.”

And at that, you left.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

Nothing was said about that day.

Which was its own kind of instruction. You followed it and Heesung did too, at least outwardly. When nothing obvious changed, everything did.

While the industry continued its quiet violence of schedules and lights, he started appearing earlier to rooms you entered later. Not in a noticeable way -never enough to be questioned - but enough that you sometimes caught him already there, sitting, reading, waiting, like he had chosen a corner of the world and decided not to move from it until required. It was starting to get on your nerves, that feeling in your lower belly, when you knew he was going to be there but you still waited for the surprise of seeing him.

You noticed when he looked tired. Which you hated. Because you had never agreed to noticing anything about him beyond professional necessity. And yet your eyes kept catching it anyway, the faint heaviness under his eyes, the way he rolled his shoulders once before rehearsals like his body was arriving a few seconds late to itself.

Neither of you acknowledged the storage room.

But his body remembered it.

The call came on a thursday, short notice, no explanation beyond “adjusted schedule.”

You didn’t ask questions anymore. You had learned quickly that questions in this industry rarely came with answers that helped.

The studio was the same one as usual, the same beige set pieces stacked in corners, same reflective floor and same lighting rigs hanging like dormant machinery waiting to be activated.

Same room, different pressure. Turned out the director wanted reshoots, performance versions, or also called ‘dance studio sessions’.

Whatever that meant, you understood it immediately anyway. The Mv was trending again, all thanks to one influencer who had made a tiktok post overseas talking about how ‘hot and cunty’ it was.

Her words, not yours. But anyways, that was all that mattered, engagement had turned into permission and permission into repetition.

You arrived first, or at least thought you did.

Because Heesung was already there, standing near the edge of the set, hands loosely at his sides, looking at nothing in particular, hair slightly damp, like he had just finished adjusting something in silence.

A stylist moved behind him without speaking.

And for you, the absence of acknowledgment had become its own form of coordination as you walked past him toward your mark without slowing down.

“Let’s start with blocking,” someone said.

Rehearsal began like muscle memory, positions marked, movements corrected and angles adjusted.

You followed choreography cleanly, each step measured, each pause calculated while Heeseung mirrored you exactly the same way he always did -precise, controlled, unshowy in a way that made the entire thing feel more engineered than performed. The director watched through the monitor.

“Good,” he said. “Same energy as before. Keep that consistency.”

Consistency.

As if what you had before had been stable enough to repeat. And here you thought one time had been enough.

The whole world sat strangely in your chest but you ignored it.

The music restarted and you moved, desperately trying not to make the same mistakes, you didn’t look at him, kept it strictly cold.

He moved, everything worked the way it was supposed to.

Which somehow made it worse because now there was awareness layered over execution, every distance felt measured, every pause felt chosen, every near-contact no longer had the excuse of accident.

You felt it most when your eyes met his for a fraction of a second during a transition, not long enough to mean anything but too long to ignore.

“Reset,” the director called.

You stepped back into position as markers were adjusted and camera angle shifted.

“Okay,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “this time, I want less distance. more hesitation, sell the interruption of movement. lik something is happening that neither of you fully controls. i want it like the music video, give me more energy. The both of you.”

You didn’t respond and Heeseung didn’t either.

“Ready?” the assistant called.

Music started again as you moved into position.

You were closer this time, just enough to shift the air between you. You could feel it immediately, th way proximity changed pressure, not emotion; the way the space between bodies became something measurable, almost physical in its own right.

Step. Step. Stop.

His presence registered before anything else did.

Heat without touch, awareness without contact. Your breath slowed without permission, the choreography brought you forward again and then you were there : close enough that the rest of the room disappeared into technical noise, camera operators, lighting adjustments, director’s hand raised slightly.

All of it was distant but Heeseung was in front of you. Too close in a way that no longer felt accidental and you hated how your body reacted before your mind could intervene.

It wasn’t attraction, not romance, just recognition of proximity.

His gaze lowered briefly -not to your lips, not to your face in any meaningful way- just a downward flick that lasted less than a second too long before stopping.

Something in him stalled, not visible in movement, but you felt it anyway. like a delay in synchronization.

You were supposed to continue the line but for a fraction of a moment, neither of you moved, not stepping forward, not stepping back. Just held in a space that the choreography didn’t account for.

The director didn’t speak yet, no one cut, and so the moment stretched.

Heeseung’s breathing stayed controlled, you noticed it before you meant to.

A slight tightening at the base of his throat. There it was, the second key to all of his thoughts, a passcode to open his book of expressions. You thought you could figure him out just by looking at his adam’s apple, silly really.

“Cut,” the director said.

Normal again, everything resumed, people adjusted equipment, someone scribbled notes, a stylist stepped forward to fix lighting reflections.

You stepped back first, Heeseung stepped back a fraction of a second after, his scent lingering in the air like a question mark.

And the thought quietly dawned upon you like a little devil, maybe you needed to get laid.

Honestly, that had to be it. Because there was no logical explanation for whatever the hell had been happening to your nervous system lately.

No reasonable adult should react this strongly to proximity alone, to eye contact, to breathing the same air as someone. You refused to believe your brain had genuinely decided to short circuit over a coworker simply because he stood too close and looked at you too intensely.

That would’ve been humiliating, so naturally, your mind searched for a more rational explanation.

Sexual frustration.

There. Simple. Clinical almost.

You latched onto the idea immediately because it made infinitely more sense than whatever alternative your subconscious seemed determined to imply.

It wasn’t Heeseung specifically. It couldn’t be. You barely knew him. Sure, he was attractive, but so were a lot of people. That didn’t mean anything, people had eyes, functional nervous systems, biological responses. You’d spent weeks filming scenes designed specifically to create tension while simultaneously living under enough stress to qualify for a medical study, obviously your brain was confused. Anyone would’ve gotten confused.

The issue wasn’t emotional. The issue was that your body had apparently remembered it existed at the worst possible moment, which was deeply inconvenient considering the object of this unfortunate realization happened to be standing six feet away discussing camera angles with a producer like he hadn’t just destabilized your internal chemistry for the fifth time that week.

You watched him from the corner of your eye before immediately looking away again, irritated.

Ridiculous. Actually ridiculous. And did you mention disgusting ?

He adjusted the sleeves of his black top absentmindedly while listening to the director, head slightly lowered, expression composed back into its usual unreadable state.

If someone looked at him right now, they’d think nothing had happened during rehearsal.

Maybe nothing had happened.

Maybe you were just projecting normal physical attraction onto the nearest available man because your life had recently become work, anxiety and sleeping four hours a night.

That sounded believable, comfortingly believable.

. Bodies were stupid sometimes, hormones were stupid all the time, that didn’t mean anything deeper had to exist underneath it.

You could fix physical, yeah, physical was easy. At least, in theory. Or maybe you needed alcohol, or maybe a new toy. Yeah you’d look into that later.

Maybe what you needed was a good mind-blowing orgasm to reset your failing brain.

The next few days settled into something strange and unspoken.

You noticed it under microscopic ways that would’ve looked meaningless to anyone else.

During long rehearsals, Heeseung would quietly slide a bottle of water toward you whenever you got too focused to remember basic human survival, never looking at you while doing it, like acknowledgment would somehow make the gesture illegal.

In return, you found yourself lowering the brightness of your phone screen around him after crowded schedules because you’d noticed the slight tension that appeared between his brows under harsh lighting, the way overstimulation sat on him physically.

Once, after an especially exhausting session, you caught the faint tremor in his fingers while staff adjusted his mic pack, and without thinking, you stalled a stylist with pointless conversation until he had a second to regain control.

Neither of you mentioned any of it afterward.

You still spoke the same way.

Still kept distance where you could.

Still acted vaguely irritated in each other’s presence.

But your bodies had begun learning each other’s limits quietly, instinctively, in the background of everything else.

Maybe it was the endless repetition of proximity, or maybe the human body simply wasn’t designed to differentiate staged intimacy from real instinct forever.

During rehearsals, physical contact stopped feeling entirely choreographed, and both of you seemed equally annoyed by it, small things slipped through the cracks first.

One afternoon, your mic wire got tangled beneath the fabric of your top right before a take, and before a staff member could step in, Heeseung crouched slightly in front of you with a quiet curse under his breath, fingers brushing the bare skin near your waist as he untangled it with practiced efficiency.

His jaw stayed tight the entire time, expression unreadable in that specifically irritated way he got when something felt too personal.

You stared stubbornly at the wall behind him like refusing to acknowledge the situation would somehow erase the fact his fingertips were warm against your skin.

“Your cords are always a mess,” he muttered afterward, standing up immediately like he regretted touching you for that long.

“Maybe because i have twenty pounds of equipment on me,” you shot back automatically, even though your voice sounded slightly off to your own ears.

Another time, while switching positions between camera setups, his hand landed against your waist automatically to guide himself around a lighting rig too narrow for both of you to pass through comfortably.

The contact lasted barely two seconds before both of you seemed to realize it at the exact same time. You stepped away too quickly. He removed his hand like he’d touched a hot stove.

Neither of you apologized, neither acknowledged it either, as if it was the most disgusting thing to ever happen.

That became the pattern -brief moments of unconscious familiarity immediately followed by visible annoyance, as if your bodies kept making decisions faster than your brains could approve of them. And that was the real problem.

After spending so long filming mouth-to-mouth scenes, breathing against each other’s skin and memorizing each other’s reactions under studio lights, your bodies had stopped treating proximity like an exception.

You knew the weight of his hands before you knew his favorite song and he knew exactly how close he could stand before your breathing changed.

The emotional part lagged horribly behind, still stubbornly insisting none of this meant anything while your nervous systems quietly learned each other anyway, and both of you seemed increasingly irritated by the fact that it came so naturally.

That specific day, the rehearsal had dragged far longer than scheduled, everyone growing quieter and more irritable as the hours passed.

Staff members stopped making small talk around midnight, surviving entirely on caffeine and professional obligation while the same thirty seconds of choreography replayed over and over beneath blinding studio lights.

You were tired in that dangerous way where emotions started feeling detached from logic, where your body moved automatically but your brain lagged several seconds behind reality.

Heeseung looked no better, his hair stuck damply to his forehead, sleeves shoved carelessly past his elbows while frustration sat visibly in the tension of his jaw. And you couldn’t help but wonder if this was how he looked after-

The director kept asking for “more restraint” while simultaneously demanding more chemistry, which at this point felt like psychological warfare specifically designed to destroy both of you slowly.

By the end of the fifth retake, your patience had dissolved entirely.

Every microscopic thing about him irritated you suddenly -the way he exhaled through his nose when concentrating, the way he kept adjusting his in-ears between takes, the way his hand automatically found your waist during positioning now like his body had stopped asking permission first. And somehow the irritation only made you more aware of him.

That was the sick part.

Exhaustion stripped people down to instinct eventually, and instinctively, your body kept tracking his : where he stood, how close he was, the heat radiating off his skin after hours under studio lights. It all felt unbearable by the time the final take ended.

“Five minute break,” someone called, and the room immediately scattered into fragments.

You walked off set without thinking, needing space before your own skin started feeling too tight.

Somewhere behind you, you heard footsteps follow a few seconds later, not rushed but not quite hesitant either.

You turned the corner into one of the empty hallways lined with unused set pieces and equipment cases, rubbing aggressively at your eyes before stopping beside a stack of storage crates.

For a second there was silence.

Then Heeseung appeared beside you, equally exhausted, equally tense, tall and sweaty, and you wanted to slap him.

“You keep stepping too far left during the turn,” he said finally, voice rough from hours of rehearsal.

You stared at him incredulously. “that’s what you followed me here to say?”

“You asked.”

“No i didn’t.”

“you looked annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.”

“Yeah,” he muttered tiredly, leaning back against the wall beside you. “me too.”

Something about the way he said it cracked through the last remaining layer of restraint sitting between you both. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe adrenaline after hours of forced proximity, maybe months of tension finally collapsing under the weight of too little sleep and too much awareness.

Whatever it was, it didn’t feel good. It felt frayed. Human.

You looked at him then properly for the first time all day, and he looked just as wrecked as you felt -eyes tired, breathing slow, irritation and something heavier sitting beneath his skin like a bruise.

Your chest tightened unpleasantly. “you know what your problem is?” you asked quietly.

His eyes shifted toward you immediately. “what could that be, enlighten me.”

“Youre just… always there. I came here cause i’ve been stuck in a room with you for hours. Why’d you have to follow me? I’m already tired…”

And then he reached for your top. And your composure crumbled, as small as it originally was. His hand grabbed at the low collar of it, tugging it upwards, eyes looking away, like he had to physically hold himself back. You looked down, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin, your eyes, always so serious and composed, went wild.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

“I- it was hanging low and i couldn’t focus. I’m just doing you a favor, stop being so bitter.” he sighed, jaw clenching.

The silence afterward felt dense, not soft, tender or anything. Just charged in the way storms felt before breaking apart overhead.

“could’ve just told me.” you muttered under your breath, adjusting your top obsessively.

“just- tie it correctly so it doesn’t fucking fall.” Heesung kept looking away, like if he laid his eyes on you he’d explode or something much worse.

“leave then, if my top’s bothering you that much. oh my fucking god, you’re starting to piss me off.” you turned to leave, clutching like your top like it was this flimsy thing ready to fall.

But before you could go anywhere, he grabbed your wrist, the weight of him so familiar. It’s like you knew his touch now, like you’d felt the almost of it so many times now, that it felt normal. Your stomach still did that same thing though, so did your whole body, erupting in tiny electric charges, no matter how long it had been since he’d first brushed your skin.

But now you could feel each of his fingers, the pointer tighter that the others against your pulse point. “You’re so rude.” he said. “Your mouth’s so dirty.”

He wasn’t angry, he kept the same composure as always, unwavering and cold.

You turned around, trying to pry his hand away. “I don’t care about what you have to say, just go back to rehearsal so we can be done and go home. I’m tired.”

“Is it because of the music video thing?” He made no move to let go of your wrist.

You let out a deep sigh, annoyance gradually rising. “It’s not about- there’s nothing here, i’m just tired and i just wanna go home.”

Heesung pulled you closer, just a little bit. “I begged them to do something. To take the video down, re do it, release a statement, punish these people. Anything. But they-”

You interrupted him, “Oh my god, i don’t care about that. Let’s just go please. I don’t care. We did our job, i got hate, you didn’t- it’s fine.”

“So it’s because of that then… because only you got hate.” he took a second to gather his thoughts before continuing. “I get it. I’d be pissed at me too. But you know… i did wanna make a statement. I really did. But the company didn’t want me too-“

“Shutup.” you interrupted him, wrapping your cold hand around his warm one, the one holding you hostage. “just stop talking i said it was fine. Let’s go now.”

The way he looked at you in that moment, was so similar to the way he did when he was pretending to want you, so similar that it made your head spin.

You looked back, way too long, trying to figure out what exactly he was feeling. You looked at his throat, he swallowed like he did when he was nervous about something -you’d called that the ‘nervy throat bob’ in his book of expression. His eyes were rimmed red with fatigue, pupils heavily dilated, like he hadn’t been sleeping in days. And you didn’t wanna figure him out anymore, you just wanted to slap him or kiss him or fuck him or something.

“They said if i made a statement it looked like we were dating or something. So i asked them to take legal measures, they said it would be better to let it pass, and then i didn’t wanna say anything to you, cause well, we don’t really know each other so it would be weird if i just started-“

This and whatever story he had, died against your lips.

You grabbed his sweaty collar, cursing under your breath, as your mouth met his, frantic and slightly condescending. You didn’t care about the delivery, you just wanted him to shutup so your thoughts could also shutup, even if that cost you your sanity, because obviously, a kiss, isn’t the appropriate way to shut someone up, much less a colleague. You held onto his tee shirt, clinging like you were scared you’d push him if your hands weren’t stuffed with the fabric.

At first, he didn’t reciprocate. Heesung just opened his mouth a tiny bit, like he was letting you inside, but didn’t wish to give anything back, then, gradually, a sound of surprise came out of his parted lips, to which you replied with fervor.

You didn’t care about much in life, didn’t cling onto your dignity, that being said, your hands traveled to his hair just as he started to kiss back, like a duel of mouths, fighting to see which one would kill each other first. The taste of him equaled the idea of him, enthralling, the kind that made you stay awake at night, one hand between your thighs to the point where you hated yourself; you loved kissing him, hated that it was him you were kissing.

It didnt take long for him to back you up against the wall of the hallway, caging you like a prey, both hands in your hair like there was no softer way to do this. It was all skin and teeth and lips, tugging pulling, fighting for no apparent reason, it was messy and sloppy and disgustingly good.

Heesung, in that moment, hated that he was hard, not a little bit, not half-mast, not a satisfying firmness. He was rock hard, throbbing to the point he could feel his pulse in his pants, all of this because of a stupid kiss. He despised the idea that he was so easy for a woman he didn’t even know all that well. But that didn’t make him stop, instead he pressed you against the wall, the weight of him leaving you breathless. It was like a burden had been lifted off of him, like a dam that had been lifted, letting water out. If it wasn’t for the -horrible- circumstances, he would’ve taken you right there against the wall, clothes on. His tongue touched yours, hands pulling at his hair you moaned, needing more and more and more.

But when he gave that first grind of his hips, letting you feel just how bad he needed you, a door somewhere slammed shut, and you were reminded of the context in which this had started.

You broke apart, panting, confused and still. not. satisfied. No satisfaction ensued from that kiss, none whatsoever, just the weight of what could’ve happened.

You smoothed over your top, not bothering with eye contact, and cleared your throat, mumbling something about dust, before leaving the room. Heesung stayed there, speechless and pitching a considerable tent, which would not go down, no matter how hard he tried.

He thought about just about anything disgusting he could think of, but it just wouldn’t erase the feeling of you.

He tried chugging some water, but it wouldn’t erase your taste.

The rest of the session was spent pretending, like you did oh-so well. And the next days too. When you got home, the unresolved feeling between your legs kept you from sleeping, you tried taking a cold shower but the need was too present for you to think of anything else. You ended up under the sheets, fingers pressing right where it hurt, thighs trembling each time he crossed your mind, with that stupid voice of his, and those stupid hands in your hair. When you slipped a finger inside, it was him anchored in your thoughts. And you imagined all the ways this could’ve ended, how you could’ve gotten to know the sounds he made when he was truly himself.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

Well, now that this had been settled, there was no reasonable doubt. You were definitely touch starved, so much so that, thinking about a 1 minute kiss had made you come for the first time in months. Thighs shaking, panting, clutching the sheets and all.

You started feeling pity for yourself throughout the week, observing the damage 3 years without sex did to a woman, and took seconds of your days to slap yourself to consciousness. You didn’t talk about it, it was almost like it had never happened, and you were left thinking you’d imagined it in the depths of your perverse mind.

So honestly, the last thing you needed was for your in-ears to completely cut out in the middle of yet another rehearsal because someone had swapped your customized pack settings without telling you.

At first you thought it was technical failure. Then you heard the playback.

Wrong balance.

Wrong vocal feed.

Delay completely off.

You ripped the in-ear out immediately, wincing. “What the hell is this?”

A couple staff members looked up, thinking you were talking to them.

The sound engineer frowned at the monitor before checking something quickly. “Oh—wait.”

Your irritation sharpened instantly. “What do you mean?”

He clicked around nervously. “The settings got changed earlier.”

“By who?” There was a silence, which was already enough of an answer.

You stared at him flatly. “Seriously?”

The poor man looked seconds away from spontaneous death. “Heeseung asked us to adjust the sync timing because you were coming in slightly early during the second chorus.”

Your expression hardened immediately. Not because the criticism itself offended you.

But because Heeseung hadn’t said a single word to you about it. Instead he’d gone behind your back and changed your settings like you were some rookie incapable of fixing timing manually.

The worst part?

He was probably right.

Your timing had been off lately -blame him-. But still. Something ugly twisted in your chest anyway.

Because after everything lately: the alleyway, the storage room, the kiss in the hallway, you suddenly realized how little you actually understood what existed between you. You hated how much that bothered you.

“Where is he?” you asked flatly.

The engineer hesitated. “Uh… downstairs i think? Enhypen stopped by after their schedule.”

Great. Perfect actually. Exactly what rapidly deteriorating emotional stability needed. You shoved the in-ear pack into the hands of a startled coordinator before turning on your heel and walking out of the rehearsal room without waiting for permission. By the time you reached the lower floor lounge area, irritation had fully replaced common sense.

Voices echoed down the hallway first, male laughter, several conversations overlapping casually. Then you turned the corner. And stopped short immediately.

Enhypen.

All of them. Or most of them at least.

The room itself looked relaxed. hoodies tossed over couches, half-finished drinks scattered across tables, someone sitting cross-legged on the floor scrolling through their phone.

Then every single person looked up at once.

Fantastic.

You recognized them instantly of course. Sunoo looked mid-laugh before freezing completely. Jungwon blinked in visible confusion and Jay’s eyebrows lifted almost immediately like he sensed incoming drama. They all looked like they knew you, like they knew everything you’d done.

And right in the middle of the room sat Lee Heeseung, who looked mildly alarmed the moment he saw your expression.

He stood slowly. “What happened?”

You almost laughed because the audacity. “Can you come outside for a second?”

Heesung draped an arm around Jay’s shoulder, chin up. “Anything you wanna tell me you can say in front of the missus.”

You scoffed “You changed my in-ear settings, you absolute fuck-?”

The room went dead silent, absolutely dead. One member coughed awkwardly into his drink.

Heeseung’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “You were off timing.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You kept missing the cue.”

“And you thought fixing it behind my back was smarter than talking to me first?”

His expression shifted slightly then, not guilt at all, but recognition that this conversation had escalated faster than expected.

“It wasn’t that serious midget.”

Your blood boiled and you looked at the ceiling, you thought it’d be better if you just left instead of committing first degree murder.

“You came downstairs just to yell at me?”

“Yes.” at least you were honest.

Something shifted weirdly in the room after that. Because for a split second, one corner of Heeseung’s mouth almost moved, not a smile exactly, more like disbelief. Like he genuinely couldn’t process that you’d stormed into a room full of his former members over audio settings. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on his facial expression book.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered quietly.

“You’re extremely unprofessional.”

“and you could’ve texted me.”

“You suck at texting.”

“I answer eventually.”

“Three to five business days later.” That one slipped out before you could stop it. “Anyway thanks, no i gotta spend 30 minutes putting it back to normal. Thanks for wasting my time Heesung.”

You gave a thumbs up before walking off.

The minute you left, Sunoo turned to Heesung with a secretive smirk, “Huh, i see how it is, i see…”

His ex member rolled his eyes, throwing his head back on the sofa. “She pisses me off.”

Jay chuckled, fingers tapping on his keyboard, but eyes on him. “I bet yeah. I bet she does…”

Then Sunoo said ,out of the blue while looking at his nails; “I’ve never had angry sex before.”

Heesung sighed deeply, as if exhaling the whole weight of the world out of his body. Maybe he needed to get laid.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

Nothing could’ve have prevented you for the repercution of that talk.

The next day, his eyes kept finding yours in every room, with an expression you’d never once seen before. You couldn’t quite put a name on it, but it looked something like fear and desire entangled. You categorized it fast under ‘possible disgust’ and moved on. But every time you’d look up, sitting on the floor like a weak bird after dancing for hours, he’d be looking at you with eyes so dark you’d think they were black. You couldn’t tell whether he wanted to undress you or ask the company to terminate your contract; but it made your stomach twist in an undeniable way. After rehearsal, he’d throw a bottle of water at you, pretexting the coin machine had given him two, again; he’d sit as far away from you as possible while the staff untangled his mic-pack, but his gaze was on you all the time, assessing, legs spread on the empty couch, elbows resting on his thighs in a manly way that made heat creep up your nape.

And as always, in your confused mind, you didn’t know if you wanted to sit on his lap, ride him until he was gripping your ass painfully, or just throw up.

When the crew decided you were done for the night, you quickly wrapped up the equipment, helping the staff just so you wouldn’t leave at the same time as him. As expected, he waved goodbye, throwing a last glance at you before walking away in the dark hallway.

You finished piling up the mic cases, said your farewells and started for the changing rooms. The hallway was pitch black, your legs sore from dancing you carried yourself to the door, but before you could do anything you felt a hand on your wrist.

You let out a small shriek, deafened by the sudden realization that the weight of that hand was familiar. You turned around, and Heesung’s face was illuminated by your iphone flash lamp.

“what the fuck is your problem now?” you said between gritted teeth, shaking his hand off. “you waited for me to be alone so you could murder me?”

Heesung then smiled, not a full smile, a smile that tugged on the corner of his lips, (new day new facial expression ), like he was amused but not enough for a big one. “so rude. Stop talking like that.”

You lifted your chin, looking up at him with defiance. “how about you leave me alone then? Always in my way for some reason…”

Heesung leaned closer, it painfully reminded you of shooting the music video, he was so close that it hurt. “you were the one in my way just the other day .” he scoffed, breath warm against your cheek, “remember ?”

And how could you not ? When it’s all you’d been able to think about.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, - just saying whatever as usual.” you rolled your eyes, but your breathing betrayed you.

“You don’t remember? You were the one who was all over me though…” he smirked, fighting the urge to put his lips on your neck.

“No i don’t.”

“Liar.” he finally made contact with your pulse point, cornering you like you were a weak prey. “all you do is lie.”

You scoffed, truly annoyed, but for some reason you couldn’t push him away, the feeling of his lips against your neck so grounding. “Don’t you have better things to do ?” it came out softer than intended, like your speech had stopped being so harsh all of a sudden.

“There you go, see? you can be pretty polite when you want to be.”

That made you shift, you grabbed his collar, pushing him a few inches away, “Shutup.” it came out shaky.

“See, i don’t know if you’re hotter when you’re all rude and mean, or when you’re calm. I haven’t seen much of that last one though… but i just can’t choose.” his eyes bored into yours, trapping you there.

“Are you done with the monologue now? I’d like to go home, thank you.” you exhaled shakily, pretending it was annoyance.

Heesung’s breath caught for an infinite second, his composure faltering bit by bit, his eyes trailed the path of your cupid’s bow, until they settled on your plump lips. “I think i made up my mind.”

“Huh?”

He leaned ever so slightly, carefully listening to each of your breaths, trying to figure out if you felt the same way he was feeling right now. “yeah…” his lips brushed your jawline. “you’re so hot when you’re all bratty.”

Heesung dragged his lips over the slope of your neck, slowly, as if purposefully trying to break you, his hand went on your back, where your hair tickled your ribs, tugging just a tiny bit to uncover your neck. “I love it. I love when you try to put me in my place.” he whispered.

You gasped, not controlling anything anymore. He looked exactly like in that music video now, eyes hooded with unconcealed desire and something feverish. But this time around, he wasn’t pretending.

“Heesung… we-“ you started, interrupted by the slight scrape of his teeth on your neck.

Heesung let out a low sound, eyes fluttering shut for a second, like his name on your lips was the most beautiful thing he’d heard. “Fuck… say that again. Say my name again.” he breathed out, pressing his body against yours.

You said his name again, not bothering to fight it anymore, both hands on his chest like you couldn’t decide between pushing him and pulling him in.

“Are you gonna keep denying, or are you gonna be good and do that thing you did the other day?” Heesung rasped, like wanting you was a slow kind of suffering.

“What thing?” you breathed out, eyes threatening to close.

Heesung pressed his hips against yours, one hand wrapping softly against your neck while his mouth found your cheek. “keep pretending. ‘s fine.” his lips teased at the corner of your lip. “i’ll make you remember, okay? You just stay here like the brat you are, lemme show you.”

You gasped as his words carved a burning ache in your stomach, your orbs rolling back under the lids; his expert fingers squeezed just enough at your neck for it to be not overwhelming but delicious. You keened, head throwing back against the wall and the hallway remained silent, like everyone had gone home and left you there.

The second he kissed you, the thread that kept you from tipping over the edge snapped in two. Your hands, which had been the anchor restraining you, went to his hair, like that’s truly where they belonged, and tugged at the ends as a sign of defiance. His tongue slipped in your mouth warm with need and unspoken things, and his hips ground into yours shamelessly. You couldn’t differentiate hatred and desire in this dangerous dance, and at no moment did you want to pull away. It was messy, hungry, needy even, it never crossed the line of softness, making it known this was release and nothing more.

Heesung cupped your face, until there was no space between you and the wall and you and him, his name living at the bottom of your stomach.

“You remember now?” His hands traveled down to your hips, “had my hands on you just like that. was the first time you ever shut your mouth.”

You trembled against him, tugging at his hair as a way of showing you still had the upper hand -which you didn’t quite frankly- and he replied with a low groan against your mouth.

“Careful.”

He took your lower lip in between his teeth, not enough to inflict pain but to leave behind a trail of goosebumps, your hands clutching his t shirt now, prying him closer, like close just wasn’t close enough. You fit right against him like a secret, your bodies like two lost puzzle pieces, one bitter the other tense.

Your hands trailed to his waist band, slipping under his t shirt and onto bare skin, earning a moan, while his followed the same path, cupping your breasts through your top like you both weren’t in the company building in an isolated hallway. When he pinched your clothed nipple, rolling it between his digits, mouth buried in your neck, your hips chased his, needing friction to alleviate the pain between your legs.

“I think i found the way to make you shutup.” he said between sloppy kisses on your jaw. “i’ll just have to do that everytime you piss me off.”

The hard ridge of Heesung’s erection rubbed between your legs, the fabric of his sweatpants making it. impossible to hide the tent forming there.

“you’re - fuck…. way too comfortable.” you tugged at his hair, until his head was thrown back now, turning the tables.

The long column of his throat was stretched, adam’s apple bobbing with rapid breaths, and you wanted to bite him right there, like a vampire. You settled for kisses, one hand tracing a path from the plain of his chest to his waistband. You gave it a teasing tug, his hips jerking for a quick second, and your hand slipped inside, immediately cupping him over his boxers. He was undeniably big, rock hard and did you mention big?

Heesung went back to your mouth like moth to a flame, kissing you until all you could taste was him, your hand slipping behind his underwear and wrapping around his aching cock. He moaned in the kiss, unable to stop his hips from searching your hand.

“See? Now you’re the one who shut up.” you teased, thumb finding his slick tip, spreading the precum.

You gave him a stroke, his hips twitching like you’d set him on fire, and he buried his face in your neck, not out of submissions or shame, but because he needed to feel you since he couldn’t melt into your body.

“I’m just letting you have your fun midget, nothing more nothing less.” he retorted.

You stroked him again, fingers cupping his balls and slightly squeezing. “Aren’t you so kind.”

Heesung ground into your hand, chasing the friction only your fist could provide. He knew he couldn’t fuck you right there, but -god- he wanted to, he wanted to strip you bare, bend you over boxes and have you clench around him. But he couldn’t.

So instead he savored the feeling of your hand one last moment before pulling it out of this pants and lifting you up in his arms, like a potato sack.

“Hey? What the fuck?” you argued.

“We’re going to my place. Shutup.”

It was needless to say, 20 minutes after, you were in his bed, straddling his lap. The ride had been tough, stolen glances, his bag had stayed atop his sweatpants to hide the mess there, and your legs had stayed crossed, trying to fight the ache. The second you’d entered the Enhypen dorms, no one was home, everyone supposedly in another city, Heesung had picked you up, vehemently resuming his kiss, and he had sat down on the king sized bed his room was equipped with.

You didn’t even take the time to analyze the space, too busy taking off your top and bra in one go; and when his hands found your breasts, your gauge of interest for his taste in decoration emptied out. His expert fingers circled your nipples, taking one in his mouth and sucking, leaving you breathless, while the other fondled the right one until it became red.

You didn’t even question or hesitate why you were here, the plan was to take what you so desperately needed, and then go home hopefully relaxed. So you pushed him down on the bed, earning a low chuckle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Heesung grabbed both of your wrists, flipping you. “You think you can just do whatever you wanna do? You think you get to be a brat all the fucking time and then act like this? I thought you’d know better baby…” he said against your flushed skin.

You tried to fight his grip, but eventually you gave up, mostly because part of you knew you didn’t dislike him being like that. That was rhe worst. So you stopped tensing, you threw your head back against the soft pillows, feeling the weight of him between your legs. And when he stood up, looking down at you all spread on his bed, he lost it, taking off his sweatpants and t shirt, boxers remaining, he found the spot between your legs, fingers grazing there.

“Are you gonna be good and let me touch you?”

When you didn’t give an explicit answer, he took your chin in between his fingers, “I asked you something, brat. Go on, answer me.”

You looked at him through your lashes, “Yes. Just do it.”

Heesung clicked his tongue, unsatisfied, but his fingers spread your arousal on your folds, “That’s not a good answer, try again.”

Your hips desperately chased a friction, wanting more and more, “Please, just- i need this.”

“Aw.” he cooed, “do you now? how bad? Tell me how bad baby.”

“So bad Heesung. Please, stop being mean and just-” You were cut off when he indulgently slipped a finger inside of you.

“See?” he dragged his fingers teasingly “it wasn’t that hard.”

Heesung watched your every expression, testing your reaction, associating sounds to his movements and paces, trying to learn you, and learn what made you go crazy. He found very quickly that you loved having your clit played with, fingers dipping into your sopping hole before circling the bundle of nerves, tight circles that’s made your head tip back.

“How does that feel? Is that good?” he asked, to which you replied with a wanton nod.

You moaned, arched, thrashed, it felt so good and yet so foreign, you hadn’t been touched in years, and now you were about to come in 2 minutes, which was already embarrassing as it was, but he quickly added two fingers, your thighs shaking.

“So beautiful, look at you, falling apart on my fingers.” he praised, sucking a dark spot on your collarbone as he drove his fingers faster.

In a couple seconds, you were shaking, moaning and legs closing around his arm, coming so hard your vision turned white. It took you a few seconds to regain consciousness, trembling with aftershocks, you propped yourself on your elbows and looked at him, his fingers covered in your slick going straight into his mouth. He licked them clean, reverently leaning down to lick the remaining wetness on your inner thighs.

“You did so good. Can’t believe that’s all it took for you to be a good girl f’me.”

The next second consisted of you desperately taking off his boxers, like you just couldn’t wait for him any longer. You thanked him with a rewarding stroke, his cock heavy and throbbing from almost an hour of waiting, and his hips followed your hand, head tipping down on your shoulder. “shit- fuck…” he cursed, trying to keep a semblant of control, but the way your hand moved turned him into a puddle of water. You found his balls, heavy and needy, and gave them a squeeze, letting the tip of him drag against your soaked pussy and you cupped his face with the other hand.

“I need you to fuck me now, hard, can you do that please?” you said in his ear, it wasn’t even intended to be seductive or anything, it was just need colliding with newfound energy.

You swore you could’ve seen his eyes roll back, his cock twitched in your hand, like he could cum just by hearing that. “Fuck… you don’t even know-“ he started, breath shaky, “spread your legs.”

You did, instantly, and he let his cock slide between your folds, “good girl. that’s it.”

Heesung wanted to tease you, edge you until you were begging and crying with frustration, that’s what he’d wanted to do from the moment he’d heard you snap at him for the first time, a few months ago. But he also felt he could come with one stroke of your hand, so to maintain his facade, he gripped your thighs, and slid the tip of his cock inside. You moaned, back arching off the bed and hands gripping at his biceps, and he slid in progressively, watching your every reaction.

“I hate that you’re so fucking beautiful.” he grit his teeth, bottoming out with a groan. Heesung thought he knew a lot about sex, thought he had experience, but the feeling of your walls clenching around him, gripping him like a vice, was something he’d never felt before, and he was so gone. It wasn’t long. before his hips were rutting, sharp strokes, the head of him brushing against your deepest point.

“you feel so good, fuck- how can you feel so good.” Heesung slipped his tongue in your mouth.

Your arms wrapped around him, legs also, like you wanted him to be a second skin, “More… harder please. I need it- It feels so good.”

And when he heard you admit that it indeed felt good, he moaned, hips twitching like he was fighting not to come, “I know, i know, you’re being so good.” He rewarded you with sharp thrusts, faster ones, the tip hitting that sweet spot over and over so blissfully.

Heesung went even harder now, complying to your wishes, fucking you like the whole world was about to end, deep k down he knew you needed this as much as he did.

“Mmh, you’re gonna make me come..” you moaned, uncontrollably squeezing him.

“Wait for me… are you gonna be a good girl and wait for me?”

You nodded desperately, fingers threading in his hair. He kissed you passionately, his rough hands planting themselves on your waist, handling you like a rag doll as he pulled your whole body down to meet his hard thrusts, making you cry out loudly every time your bodies met. He trailed a hand down to where your bodies intertwined and began circling your wet clit with his thumb, sending shockwaves down your spine.

"Don't stop… I'm s-so close" you begged loudly, throwing your head back in pleasure. His thrusts stayed the same -rough and deep- his thumb applying slight pressure onto your sensitive bud, rubbing fast.

You felt your high approaching, your thighs began to shake violently, your back arching slightly off the bed, your eyes rolling back from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Let it go, i got you," Heesung whimpered against your ear, and that was enough to send you over the edge, the strong wave of your orgasm crashing over your whole body.

Your orgasm rocked you beyond comprehension, body lapsing into convulsions, your figure slumping into the plush of the mattress. Heesung chased his own, sharp thrusts making you go crazy, he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Shit-fuck… i can’t-“

Heesung spilled inside of you, warm and thick, cursing your name like you’d hexed him. He kept thrusting, pushing it even deeper, hips snapping desperately like he just couldn’t stop. He stayed inside, like this was better than facing you in the aftermath, he stayed buried where you were the softest, where you indulged him.

And what you didn’t know, was that you weren’t relaxed at all, on the contrary : you wanted more, what a greedy little creature you were. Things had been said during sex, things you’d never bother to say if it wasn’t for the circumstance. Exhaustion had peeled both of you open in the ugliest way possible, stripping away the carefully maintained distance until all that remained were impulsive reactions and heat and denial disguised as carelessness.

And maybe the most dangerous part was that you’d begun memorizing new pages of his facial expression book without meaning to.

For months, Lee Heeseung had lived inside your head as a man with three expressions at most : neutral, mildly judgmental, and the occasional microscopic smile reserved for moments where you embarrassed yourself beyond repair.

But now there were others.

Eyes darkened by exhaustion.

The tense flicker in his jaw when he got overwhelmed.

The way his brows pulled together when something unexpectedly affected him.

The expression he wore after kissing you, like he hated the fact he’d enjoyed it as much as he did.

You wished you didn’t know those expressions existed.

Wished your body hadn’t learned them so intimately.

every single night, without fail, after the grueling practice schedules, the long showers, and approximately seventeen near-death experiences caused by seonghyeon and keonho being left unsupervised together, the six of you would inevitably gather in the living room. it had become an actual routine; an unspoken rule you’d followed starting at 11:30 pm every night: ‘girl talk time,’ you’d collectively named it, despite the glaring biological fact that only one girl was present in the group. the first time someone pointed that out, james had simply shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘girl talk is a state of mind.’ nobody had questioned it since.

☆

tonight, the room was a canvas of comfortable chaos, everyone scattered around the floor. martin was making hot chocolate. juhoon was folded inside a blanket burrito. keonho was upside down on the sofa for reasons nobody understood. james was sitting beside you, one arm around your waist. you were painting the nails of his other hand a shade that matched yours. seonghyeon was dramatically sighing, which usually meant he had gossip.

“what happened?” martin made the mistake of asking.

immediately he sat up. “oh my god.”

the room collectively perked up like hungry wolves.

“what?”

“what happened.”

“tell us.”

“i walked into studio 7b today,” he started slowly.

“damn.”

the reactions came immediately.

“no way.”

“again?”

“not 7b, damnnn.”

seonghyeon pointed dramatically into the air. “i saw two of our sunbaes holding hands.”

the room exploded.

“who?”

“who?”

“drop the names.”

“i’m not naming names.”

“booooo.”

“boring.”

“you suck, eom.”

“...fine! one of them was niki hyung.”

“i knew it!”

“let’s get it, hyung!”

james grabbed a cushion to settle in, shifting you so that you were in a more comfortable position against him. “continue.”

the next hour consisted entirely of tea—company tea, friend group tea, just about anything.

“i saw one of the new trainees get rejected and she immediately called and told three different people saying she was ‘too busy to date anyway.’”

the room screamed.

“no!”

“dude, that’s hella embarrassing.”

“that’s insane, damn.”

then martin contributed—”i heard one of the dance instructors accidentally called one of the idols by their ex’s name.”

the room nearly collapsed under the weight of the collective uproar. keonho literally rolled off the sofa onto the hardwood floor. you couldn’t breathe from laughing.

“no.”

“no way!”

“oh my god, actually?!”

meanwhile james was crying, or laughing, or both, into your shoulder, his whole body shaking with amusement.

☆

other days, inevitably, the conversation shifted like it always did. from gossip, to life, to feelings, to whatever happened to be bothering someone. tonight the focus was you, because you were curled up under a blanket looking miserable. james noticed first. his hand immediately found yours under the fabric.

“you okay?”

you groaned. “no.”

“what happened?”

“my period.”

instant sympathy radiated from all five boys around you. every single one of them immediately looked concerned, shifting the collective atmosphere instantly. even after knowing about it for so long, they still reacted like you’d been diagnosed with something terminal.

“bad?” juhoon asked slowly.

“so bad.”

“how bad?” seonghyeon chimed in.

“imagine somebody put barbed wire around your organs.”

the room collectively winced and ‘ooof’d.

“and twisted it constantly. again and again.”

“oh.”

“and then ripped it out all at once.”

“what the fuck.”

“and repeat it for a week.”

“that’s actually horrible, what the fuck?”

“every month.”

james looked genuinely upset, pulling you a little closer. “baby.”

“i’m fine,” you muttered.

“you don’t sound fine.” martin nudged your leg with his.

“okay, whatever. i’m not. this world sucks. cramps suck. schedules suck. everything except you guys just sucks.”

the thing was—the boys had spent years learning. not because they had to. because they wanted to. at first they’d been clueless. absolutely hopeless. 

now? martin already got up to make your favourite tea. juhoon was looking for heating pads. james was trying his best to gently massage your lower back. keonho was googling foods that helped cramps. seonghyeon looked personally offended at your uterus.

“this is ridiculous,” he said suddenly.

you laughed. “what is?”

“the female body. why does everything hurt you guys?”

“that’s your conclusion and question?”

“yes.”

“you train twelve hours a day and this is what you find unfair?” you laughed.

“absolutely!”

twenty minutes later, you were laying across the sofa with your head in james’ lap, and heating pad on your stomach. the boys surrounded you, just listening to you talk.

“wait,” juhoon interrupted slowly. “so it just hurts for no reason?”

“basically.”

“52 weeks every year?”

“yep.”

the room became silent.

“that's awful.”

“thank you.”

“women are stronger than soldiers. i’d pick military service over even a fraction of what you’re going through any day.”

the rest of them nodded seriously.

“you’re all ridiculous,” you burst out laughing.

☆

another night, it would be completely different, because somebody else would need help. like the time keonho developed a crush, and unfortunately made the mistake of admitting it in front of all of you. the room immediately transformed into an interrogation room.

“who is she?”

“what’s her name?”

“when do james and yn meet her parents?”

“when did this happen?”

keonho looked terrified while you looked absolutely delighted.

“oh we’re doing this?” you grinned, cracking your knuckles.

“we’re doing this.” james high-fived you.

three hours later, the boys were still asking questions, treating your answers like divine knowledge—drifting from keonho’s crush to girls, in general.

“what does it mean if she sends heart emojis?”

“it depends.”

“on what?”

“everything.”

“yn.”

“bro, i’m serious.”

“no wonder we’re confused.”

then, keonho asked the question of the century, “what’s the difference between the red heart and any other coloured heart?”

you nearly choked as the room froze.

“why do you all want to know the emoji differences?”

“because we’re trying to survive. the world is cruel to hopeless boys like us.”

“well, the red heart means she doesn’t really care enough to go through the trouble of finding a different coloured heart, or she just likes the original emoji.”

“that doesn’t help in the slightest.”

“ok, so you want me to stop?—”

“no! go on.”

“what’s the black heart for?” seonghyeon asked curiously.

“she probably hates you, dude,” keonho said helpfully.

“or maybe she’s just a little emo?” martin offered.

☆

the best part was that nobody made fun of anyone, not when it mattered, because somehow those late-night conversations had become the safest place in the dorm—where james asked questions he’d never ask anyone else; where juhoon talked about feeling overwhelmed; where martin admitted he worried too much; where seonghyeon confessed he hated disappointing people; where keonho admitted he got insecure sometimes, and where you could complain about cramps, bad days, weird friendships, awkward situations, and literally anything without being judged. the conversations always started with gossip, and ended with something softer… something important.

☆

the first sign that something was wrong on another night was the fact that the dorm was suspiciously quiet for nine pm. you stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at the five boys sitting around the living room—no video games. no screaming. no martin and seonghyeon arguing over absolutely nothing, just five pairs of eyes looking at you.

“…why are you all looking at me like that?”

martin immediately sat up straighter. “yn.”

“no.”

“i haven’t even asked yet.”

“no.”

“please?”

“no.”

keonho gasped dramatically. “she knows.”

“she always knows,” juhoon sighed.

you narrowed your eyes. “what do you guys want?”

the boys exchanged looks. then james finally blurted out, “they need help. more girl talk.”

you blinked twice. “...what?”

“girl talk,” seonghyeon repeated seriously.

“why? it’s still 9 pm. we have two more hours left.”

“well…”

“why are you asking me right now?”

“because you’re a girl.”

you stared. the boys stared back. you stared harder.

“that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard.”

“please,” juhoon said. “we’re struggling.”

“struggling with what?”

“women.”

immediately you turned around. “nope.”

“yn!”

“good luck.”

“yn!”

ten minutes later you were trapped—literally trapped. they’d dragged every cushion and beanbag into the living room and formed what looked like a hostage negotiation circle. you sat in the middle, the boys surrounding you like a group of kindergarten students.

“okay,” you sighed. “what exactly do you need?”

four hands shot up. james sat calmly beside you, his hand gravitating to your waist.

“oh my god.”

“me first,” keonho yelled.

“no.”

“me,” seonghyeon interrupted.

“no.”

“me!” juhoon tried, letting go of his fake nonchalance.

“no.”

martin raised his hand politely. you pointed at him. “yes.”

“sometimes girls say they’re fine.”

“yes.”

“but they’re not fine.”

“yes.”

“how do you know?”

the others immediately nodded, hanging onto your every word. 

“a very important question,” one of them added.

“groundbreaking research,” another said.

you rubbed your temples. “okay. usually you can tell from the tone.”

“so if she says she’s fine?”

“mhm.”

“she isn’t fine?”

“exactly.”

“...but she said she was.”

“yes.”

“so she’s not?”

“correct.”

all four boys looked absolutely horrified. “that makes no sense.”

“it makes perfect sense.”

“it literally doesn’t.”

“martin,” you said, turning to look at him. “imagine james says he’s over losing a game of league.”

james immediately scoffed. “baby, i’m always over it.”

“you cried over mario kart two days ago, by the way,” juhoon pointed out helpfully.

“that was different.”

martin’s eyes widened as the realization hit the room.

“oh.”

“ohh.”

“ohhhhh.”

twenty minutes later, the questions somehow got worse.

“what’s the difference between cute and handsome?”

“depends.”

“on what?”

“everything.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“it is.”

“it absolutely isn’t.”

juhoon leaned forward. “okay, okay. if a girl says your outfit is cute.”

“good. but also, which blind girl called your skinny jeans cute?”

“shut up. what if she says you’re handsome?”

“also good, obviously.”

“if she says you’re funny?”

“good. even better.”

“if she says you’re annoying?” the entire group looked at seonghyeon. 

you immediately burst out laughing. “why are you all looking at him?”

“because it happens a lot,” martin answered.

“very frequently.”

“almost daily.”

seonghyeon looked deeply offended. “i have fans, okay?”

“you annoy them affectionately,” james clarified.

an hour later, the conversation had completely derailed into late-night… somethings.

“would you rather date someone funny or handsome?” one of them asked.

“funny,” you replied without hesitation

the boys froze.

“what?”

“funny.”

“not handsome?”

“i didn’t say not handsome.”

“then why funny?”

“because if someone’s funny, i can look at them forever.”

the room became suspiciously silent. you looked up from your spot. they were all sitting straighter.

“stop.”

“no one said anything.”

“you’re all thinking something.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

james literally pulled out his notes app, his fingers tapping on the screen. “funny.”

“james, oh my god.” you hid your face in your hands.

“ok, but james is unfunny and ugly. what gives, yn?”

“shut up.”

then somehow the conversation shifted to crushes. you made a mistake—a terrible, catastrophic mistake. because the moment you casually mentioned that most girls usually remember tiny details about people they like, they all exploded again.

“what tiny details?”

“everything.”

“be specific.”

“like favourite drinks, favourite colours, things they mention once—”

they all looked terrified, staring at you like you were a different species. “once?”

“yes.”

“one time?”

“yes.”

“yn.”

“hmm?”

“women are scary.”

“thank you.”

by midnight the boys had learned absolutely nothing, or maybe too much. you couldn’t tell. 

they were all sprawled around the living room floor, half asleep. you were resting against the sofa. juhoon was under a blanket. james was lying face-down on the carpet. martin and keonho were arguing quietly in the corner. seonghyeon was sitting beside you. the atmosphere was warm, comfortable, home.

then juhoon suddenly spoke into the quiet room. “can i ask one last question?”

“sure.”

“do girls actually like flowers?”

“of course.”

the boys nodded thoughtfully.

“okay.”

“noted.”

“good information.”

“useful.”

then keonho looked over, his expression serious. “what do girls like most?”

you thought for a second, looking at their tired faces, then smiled. “honestly?”

“yeah.”

“being listened to.”

the room went completely quiet.

“that’s it?”

“pretty much.”

“no secret formula?”

“no.”

“no cheat code?”

“no.”

“no complicated mission?”

“not really, no.”

the boys exchanged looks. then seonghyeon groaned dramatically from his spot. “that’s so much harder.”

you laughed so hard you nearly fell off the sofa, and within seconds the others were laughing too. the sound filled the corners of the messy dorm—loud, chaotic, and comfortable, exactly like every night with your five extremely stupid, extremely lovable boys.

☆

one night, long after everyone should’ve been asleep, you found yourself looking around the room. five sleepy boys. half under blankets, half asleep, still listening to each other, still talking. 

james was tracing circles against your hand absentmindedly, martin was yawning, juhoon was asleep sitting up, and keonho was using seonghyeon as a pillow. nobody wanted to go to bed and break the spell of the evening.

“this is probably my favourite part of being in cortis.” you smiled.

the room grew quiet. james looked down at you.

“the fame?”

“no.”

“the money?”

“no.”

“then what?”

you looked around the living room, at your family, at your idiots, and smiled. “just… you guys.”

james kissed the top of your head while the others grinned half-asleep like they’d just won an award. and honestly? maybe they had. 

because not everyone got five best friends who wanted to understand every little part of your world—even the parts they’d never experience themselves. and somehow, every night, squeezed together in a messy dorm living room, they made sure you never had to carry any of it alone. 

© hyuneskkami ❦