Gwen.

it wasn't graceful. your noses bumped, his grip was too tight, someone in the audience shrieked. but when you made this tiny, surprised noise against his mouth, something primal in his brain short circuited. he forgot they were filming. forgot they had an audience. forgot everything except how right you felt.

afterward, when the PD was yelling and the other hosts were losing their minds, you just wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and muttered, "well that happened," like it was nothing. like you hadn't just cracked him open.

that was when he knew he was screwed.

the sneaking around started naturally—quick kisses in empty hallways, your hand sliding into his back pocket when no one was looking, him pressing you against dressing room doors while you laughed at how frantic he was. "chill," you'd say, but your fingers would tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

one rainy night after filming, he found you alone on the rooftop. you were leaning against the railing, staring at the city lights, and for once you looked tired and vulnerable. it scared him.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked, coming to stand beside you.

you smiled faintly. "how this is all gonna end."

his chest ached suddenly. he wanted to say something cool, something flirty, but all that came out was, "does it have to?"

the way you looked at him then, soft and sad and knowing,made his stomach drop. you reached up to brush a raindrop off his cheek, and he caught your wrist without thinking, pressing your palm against his pounding heart.

"yeonjun," you started, but he kissed you quiet.

he kissed you like it could change anything. like if he held on tight enough, you wouldn't disappear when the cameras stopped rolling. like he wasn't terrified that once this show ended, you'd fly back to your world and forget all about him.

you never looked at him like he was choi yeonjun, superstar. you looked at him like he was just... yeonjun. and he didn't know how to exist without that anymore.

SOOBIN

every look at you, every action of yours, made him forget how to breathe. it was infuriating. the way you tilted your head just slightly when you were listening, the way your laugh cut through a room like sunlight, the way your fingers tapped against the script when you were thinking—he noticed all of it. and he hated that he did.

because soobin had rules. he didn't blur lines, didn't let himself want things he couldn't have. and you? you were a wildfire in a world that demanded control. you were too bright, too much, too everything, and it terrified him. so he kept his distance. answered your questions with monosyllables, looked past you instead of at you, pretended he didn't see the way your smile faltered when he turned away.

but then there was tonight.

the kiss scene.

it was just the two of you in his dressing room, the script long forgotten, the air thick with something he couldn't name. your lips were parted, your breath warm against his skin, and for the first time, he hesitated. his gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered there like a man starving. he should have pulled away. he should have. but then your fingers curled into his shirt, just slightly, and his resolve cracked.

when he kissed you, it was nothing like rehearsals. it was slow, deliberate, like he was memorising the shape of you. and god, it was real. the way you sighed into him, the way your hands slid up to his shoulders, the way his heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to escape—none of this was supposed to happen.

he pulled back first, because of course he did. his breath was ragged, his thoughts a mess. you were staring at him with wide eyes, lips still glistening, and he wanted to kiss you again. he wanted to kiss you until neither of you could think straight. but then reality crashed back in, cold and unrelenting.

"we shouldn't," he murmured, even though every part of him screamed yes, we should.

you swallowed hard, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. "why not?"

because you were you. because he was him. because this—whatever this was, could ruin everything. but the words got stuck in his throat. instead, he let his forehead rest against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.

"tell me to stop," he whispered.

your fingers tightened in his shirt like you were afraid he'd vanish if you let go. he should have stepped back. he should have. but then your thumb brushed the side of his neck, just once, barely there, and his breath caught. it was the smallest touch, but it undid him completely.

"soobin," you whispered, and his name on your lips sounded like a confession.

he wasn't sure who moved first this time. maybe it was him, maybe it was you, maybe it didn't matter because suddenly his hands were framing your face and your mouth was soft against his and god, he was drowning. he kissed you like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it. your fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, and he swore his knees went weak.

he wasn't thinking about the script anymore. he wasn't thinking about the cameras or the press or the way this could ruin everything. all he knew was the way your body fit against his, the way you sighed when he nipped at your bottom lip, the way his pulse roared in his ears like a storm.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. your lips were swollen, your cheeks flushed, and he'd never seen anything more beautiful. he should have said something, anything, but his mind was blank, his usual careful control shattered.

you searched his face, your expression unreadable. "was that still acting?"

his chest ached. because no, it wasn't. it hadn't been for a long time. but admitting that meant stepping into something terrifying and unknown, and soobin had spent his whole life playing it safe.

but then you bit your lip, just a little, and he realised—he didn't want safe. not if it meant letting you go.

"no," he admitted, voice rough. "it wasn't."

you exhaled, slow, like you'd been holding your breath for months. and then you smiled—small, real, just for him, and he thought, this. this was what it was supposed to feel like.

BEOMGYU

beomgyu had chaos written into his bones—he alway laughed too loud during serious takes, showed up late to set with sleep still clinging to his voice, looked at you like he knew exactly how much his smirk affected you. and god, you hated it. hated how his fingers lingered when handing you props, how he whispered incorrect translations just to see you flustered, how he stretched during breaks with his shirt riding up just enough to make your throat go dry.

the second mistake happened in a dimly lit hallway after wrap. you were exhausted, he was buzzing with restless energy, and when he backed you against the wall with that infuriating grin, you should have pushed him away. instead, you let his lips brush yours—once, twice, testing—before biting down hard enough to make him gasp. it was supposed to be a one time thing. a stress relief. but then his hands slid under your shirt, warm and sure, and you realised with dawning horror that beomgyu kissed like he did everything else—all consuming, relentless and impossible to ignore.

after that, you avoided him like the plague. threw yourself into work, perfected every line, pretended your skin didn't prickle when he walked by. but beomgyu being beomgyu, he just smirked wider, teased harder, leaned closer during scenes until your breaths tangled. 

"scared?" he murmured, lips grazing your ear. you elbowed him away, face burning, and he laughed like it was the best game he'd ever played.

then came the breakdown scene.

you'd prepared for weeks method working yourself into that hollow, aching place until the character's pain felt like your own. when the cameras rolled, you shattered perfectly. the director called cut, but the tears kept coming, your chest heaving with sobs you couldn't control. the crew scattered awkwardly, murmuring about giving you space.

but beomgyu stayed.

you felt him before you saw him—that familiar presence hovering at the edge of your vision. when you finally looked up, his usual smirk was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. he knelt beside your chair, close but not touching, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out but didn't dare.

"what did you think about?" he asked softly.

your breath hitched. because the truth was lodged in your throat like a shard of glass—you'd thought about him. about the way he'd looked at you that night in the hallway, equal parts challenge and surrender. about how his laughter sounded when it was real. about how much it would hurt when this film ended and he walked away without looking back.

beomgyu studied your face like he could read every unspoken confession. his jaw tightened, and for the first time since you'd met him, his voice wavered. "don't cry because of me."

it wrecked you. this boy who treated everything like a joke, who flirted like breathing, who pretended nothing mattered—he cared. and that was the most terrifying realisation of all.

when you reached for him, your fingers trembling against his wrist, he flinched like your touch burned. but he didn't pull away. just stared at where your skin met his with something like fear in his eyes.

and maybe that was the third mistake— because then you both knew. then there was no going back.

TAEHYUN

you knew he'd be trouble the first time he corrected your line reading. not in a polite or subtle manner, just that sharp, cutting tone slicing through the set's chatter. 

"that's not how someone who's terrified would say it," he said, eyes dark and unblinking. the crew went quiet. 

you smiled your most practiced red carpet smile and replied, "funny, i don't remember asking for your notes."

that was the beginning of the war.

taehyun was infuriating in ways you couldn't articulate. the way he showed up to set already off book when everyone else was still marking their scripts. how he challenged the director's blocking with quiet, logical arguments that somehow always won. worst of all—the way he looked at you after takes, like he could see every single one of your acting tricks and found them vaguely disappointing.

"you're doing it again," he muttered during one rehearsal, his hand gripping your wrist in a scene meant to portray desperation. "that face you make for sad scenes. it's too pretty."

you wrenched your arm away. "maybe if you gave me something real to react to, i wouldn't have to act."

his jaw tightened. you saw something dangerous flash in his eyes—the first real emotion he'd shown you in weeks.

after a particularly gruelling day, you found yourself seated in a secluded corner of the hotel’s bar. you were three drinks in, going over next week's scenes alone in a corner booth when he appeared like some brooding phantom. "you're wrong about the motivation in scene 42," were his first words.

you slammed your script down. "are you fucking kidding me?"

what followed was the most intense argument of your career. you accused him of being a robot. he accused you of being all technique no heart. the bartender edged away nervously as your voices rose. at some point you stood toe-to-toe, so angry you were shaking, and that's when it happened—

one second you were spitting insults, the next his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding. you bit his lip in retaliation and he groaned, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. it wasn't a kiss, it was a battle, all teeth and fury and months of pent up frustration. when you finally broke apart, his breathing was ragged, his lips swollen. neither of you spoke. he just turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your pulse roaring in your ears.

the next day on set was torture. you avoided eye contact, delivered your lines perfectly, pretended nothing happened. except taehyun— god, taehyun kept staring at you with those unsettlingly perceptive eyes. during your intense scene together, when your character was supposed to break down in his arms, his fingers dug into your skin exactly where he'd held you last night. you gasped for real, and you saw the satisfied flicker in his gaze.

it got worse. better. more impossible. your on screen chemistry became so perfect, that the crew stopped to watch your takes. off screen, you found yourself in elevators together, tension so thick you could choke on it. 

once, during a lighting adjustment, he leaned close like he was checking your mic and whispered, "you still taste like that expensive candy," before walking away like nothing happened.

the final straw came when he cornered you in your trailer after wrap. you were removing your makeup when the door opened and there he was, silhouetted against the fading daylight. you opened your mouth to tell him to leave, but he was already crowding you against the vanity, hands braced on either side of you.

"tell me you don't feel it too," he demanded, voice low.

you wanted to lie. wanted to push him away. but his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them, his breathing uneven, and you realised with terrifying clarity—this man who never showed emotion was unraveling because of you.

"fuck you," you breathed.

he kissed you again, and this time there was no anger in it, just raw, terrifying need. his hands trembled as they cradled your face, his usual control shattered. when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you felt his rapid pulse where his wrist brushed your neck.

"i hate you," you whispered, fingers clutching his shirt.

he kissed the words from your lips. "i know."

HUENINGKAI

you didn't expect to feel so lost on a film set. after years of perfectly timed smiles and scripted answers, the silence of this small, indie movie’s production unnerved you. the crew moved quietly, no assistants fussing over your hair, no publicists whispering in your ear. just the crisp autumn air and the sound of leaves crunching underfoot as you waited for your next scene.

that was when you noticed him watching you again.

hueningkai had been doing that a lot—observing you with those big, earnest eyes like you were something fascinating but fragile. at first it made you nervous, the way he lingered after takes to ask if you were cold or offer you half his snack. no one did that without wanting something, you thought. but weeks passed, and he never asked for a photo, never mentioned your fame, never treated you like anything but human.

"your hands are shaking," he murmured one afternoon, catching your wrist lightly before a take. his fingers were warm against your skin, his thumb brushing over your knuckles before he quickly let go, cheeks pink. "sorry. just—it's chilly today. do you want my sweater?"

you wanted to say no. you'd spent years building walls so high no one could climb them. but his hoodie was soft and smelled like fabric softener, and when you slipped it on, he smiled like you'd given him a gift instead.

slowly, without meaning to, you started looking forward to his quiet presence. the way he always saved you the chair next to his during breaks, how he remembered you liked your coffee (extra sugar, barely any coffee), the little doodles he left on your script margins when he thought you weren't looking. 

one rainy evening, he walked you back to your apartment even though it was completely out of his way, his umbrella tilted carefully toward you the entire time.

"you'll get wet," you protested as water soaked through his left shoulder.

he just shrugged, droplets clinging to his lashes. "i don't mind."

and that was the thing about hueningkai, he said things like that and meant them. no hidden agenda, no calculated charm. just simple, aching sincerity that made your chest feel too tight.

the night everything changed, the set emptied early due to a storm. you were packing up when you heard hesitant footsteps behind you. 

"do you… maybe want to get dinner?" he asked, fingers fidgeting with his sleeve. "there's a place nearby that makes really good kimchi jjigae. if you're not busy, i mean."

you should have said no. you knew you should. but the way he was looking at you—hopeful but ready to retreat, like he was already prepared for you to turn him down, made something in you crumble.

dinner turned into walking through the neon lit streets, shoulders brushing, his laughter warm in the cool air. when a sudden downpour sent everyone scrambling, he pulled you under a store awning, both of you breathless and grinning. his hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt translucent with rain, and you were struck by how beautiful he looked like this—unpolished and real.

"here," he murmured, shrugging off his jacket to drape over your shoulders. his fingers lingered at your collarbone, and when you looked up, his gaze dropped to your mouth for the briefest second before he flushed and stepped back.

you'd been kissed by co stars with perfect technique, by celebrities who knew exactly how to angle their faces for the cameras. but when hueningkai finally gathered the courage to lean in, his hands trembling as they cradled your face, it was the most nervous you'd ever felt. his lips were soft, unsure and when he pulled away too soon, his whisper was barely audible over the rain:

"was that okay?"

your heart cracked open. because no one had ever asked you that before. no one had ever treated touching you like a privilege instead of a given.

"ask me again," you said, and when he did, you kissed him back properly, fingers tangling in his wet hair. he made this quiet, broken sound against your mouth, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

later, when he walked you home, he stopped at your door, shifting awkwardly. "i had a really nice time," he said, so genuine it hurt. 

and that was when you realised that he was the only one who said your name like it mattered. like you mattered, not the version of you everyone else saw. when he was near, the constant performance faded, and for the first time in years, you remembered what it felt like to just be.

you were terrified of how much you wanted to keep that feeling.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

"how’d you even get in here?" you mutter, trying to sound annoyed instead of painfully aware of how close he is.

"your mom let me in, duh," he says, grinning up at you like he’s won something. "she loves me."

"she has terrible taste," you shoot back, but there’s no real bite to it. beomgyu knows it, too, because his grin only widens.

without asking, he snatches your phone right out of your hands, thumb already swiping through your notifications like he has every right to. "who’s texting you?" he asks, squinting at the screen. "is this junho? since when do you talk to junho?"

you lunge for the phone, but he holds it just out of reach, laughing when you half-climb over him in your attempt to grab it. "give it back, you nosy loser—"

"make me," he taunts, wiggling the phone above his head.

you huff, resorting to digging your fingers into his side, right where you know he’s ticklish. beomgyu yelps, jerking away, but in the chaos, your fingers brush against the bare strip of skin where his shirt has ridden up.

the second you make contact, his whole body tenses like he’s been electrocuted. his breath hitches, just barely, and his cheeks go pink. not just a little flushed—full on, unmistakably red.

you freeze.

beomgyu, who’s always the one invading your space, who slings an arm over your shoulders without thinking, who leans into every casual touch like it’s nothing, just short-circuited because you touched him.

and oh.

oh, this is interesting.

a slow, dangerous grin spreads across your face. beomgyu’s eyes widen like he already knows what’s coming. "what?" he asks, voice slightly higher than usual. "why are you looking at me like that?"

"like what?" you ask innocently, letting your fingers trail lightly over his waist again, just to see what happens.

he jolts, nearly falling off the bed. "hey!"

you can’t help it. you laugh, delighted by this newfound power. "what’s wrong, gyu? you’re always all over me. can’t handle it when it’s the other way around?"

"shut up," he mumbles, but he’s not meeting your eyes anymore, his ears still burning.

and just like that, a game is born.

because if there’s one thing you love more than anything, it’s messing with choi beomgyu. and if there’s one thing he apparently can’t handle?

it’s you.

it starts as a game—just harmless teasing, really. you don’t even mean for it to become a thing. but the way beomgyu reacts every single time your fingers accidentally brush his skin, or when you lean just a little too close under the pretence of looking at his phone screen—it’s addictive. like poking a sleeping bear and watching it startle awake, all clumsy limbs and flustered noises.

at first, you tell yourself you’re just doing it to annoy him. payback for all the times he’s invaded your space without permission, flopped onto your bed like he owns it, stolen bites of your food with that infuriating smirk. but then you notice the way his breath hitches when your knee bumps his under the table. the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach back whenever you "fix" his collar, your touch lingering a second too long. the way his voice goes just a little higher when you whisper something close to his ear, like you’re sharing a secret.

it’s fascinating.

beomgyu, who’s always been the clingy one, the one who drapes himself over you without a second thought, suddenly can’t handle it when you initiate contact. and the more you test it, the more obvious it becomes that he’s not just flustered. he’s affected.

so you escalate.

you start "accidentally" letting your hand rest on his thigh when you’re sitting side by side, pretending not to notice the way his entire body goes rigid. you lean against him more than necessary when you’re tired, tucking your face into the crook of his neck just to feel the way his pulse jumps under your lips. you play with his hair while he’s trying to focus on something, twirling the soft strands between your fingers until he groans and swats at your hand, his cheeks pink.

and the best part? he never stops you.

he complains, sure. he whines and calls you annoying and shoves at your shoulders halfheartedly. but he never actually pulls away. if anything he leans into it, like he’s trying to prove he can take it, like he’s determined not to let you win.

which is how you end up here: beomgyu sprawled across your lap like an overgrown cat, his head heavy on your thighs as he scrolls through his phone. you’re both supposed to be studying, but neither of you has opened a textbook in at least an hour. instead, you’re absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know makes him melt.

he’s trying so hard to act unaffected. but you can see the way his fingers have slowed on his screen, the way his breathing has evened out like he’s fighting not to sigh.

"you’re like a dog," you murmur, grinning when he cracks one eye open to glare at you.

"shut up," he mumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it.

you hum, dragging your nails gently down the back of his neck, and there—the full body shiver he tries (and fails) to suppress. you bite your lip to keep from laughing. "you good?"

"you’re the worst," he mutters, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t even try.

you’re about to tease him more, maybe poke his side, just to see him squirm, when suddenly, his hand shoots up and catches your wrust. your breath stutters.

beomgyu’s grip isn’t tight. it’s not rough or demanding. but the way his fingers circle your wrist, warm and firm, sends a jolt down your spine. your pulse jumps under his thumb.

for a second, neither of you moves.

then beomgyu tilts his head back to look at you, and—

oh.

his eyes are dark. not playful, not exasperated. just intense, in a way that makes your stomach flip.

"you’ve been messing with me all week," he says, voice low.

your throat feels dry. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

he raises an eyebrow. "really."

"really," you say, but it comes out breathier than you mean it to.

beomgyu holds your gaze for a long, long second. then, slowly, he tugs your hand down—not away, but closer, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. you can feel his heartbeat, rapid and unsteady, under your fingers.

"then keep going," he challenges, voice barely above a whisper. "since it’s nothing."

your brain short circuits.

because this—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. he’s supposed to blush and sputter and shove you away like always. not dare you. not look at you like that.

your fingers twitch against his shirt.

beomgyu’s lips curl into a smirk. "what’s wrong?" he taunts, echoing your words from earlier. "can’t handle it when i push back?"

oh, it’s on.

you lean down before you can second guess yourself, your nose brushing his as you stop just short of his lips. his breath catches. "who said i was stopping?" you whisper.

beomgyu’s grip on your wrist tightens.

and then—

your mom calls your name from downstairs, and the moment shatters.

beomgyu jerks back like he’s been burned, nearly rolling off the bed in his haste. you yelp, grabbing his arm to steady him, but he’s already scrambling upright, running a hand through his hair like he can’t believe what almost happened.

"i—" he starts, then stops, his ears burning red. "we should—your mom’s calling."

you stare at him. he stares back.

then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

beomgyu groans, covering his eyes with one hand. "don’t."

"don’t what?" you ask, all innocence.

"you’re insufferable," he mutters, but he’s peeking at you through his fingers, and his lips are twitching like he’s fighting a smile.

you kick his shin lightly. "you love it."

he doesn’t deny it.

the thing about beomgyu is that he's always been tactile—always reaching for you, always in your space, always treating your personal boundaries like mild suggestions rather than actual rules. lately it’s gotten worse, with every touch feeling like something more. like there's electricity humming just beneath his skin, sparking where your fingers brush against him. and you can't stop poking at it, can't stop testing the limits of this new, fragile thing between you.

it's been days since the almost-moment on your bed, days of careful avoidance and pointed teasing and lingering touches that neither of you acknowledge. and now here you are, curled up in your room watching some b-list horror movie because beomgyu had whined until you gave in, his eyes doing that stupid, pleading thing you've never been able to say no to.

"this is so dumb," you mutter as the protagonist on screen wanders into yet another obviously haunted room. "why would anyone—"

"shhh," beomgyu interrupts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you're ruining the atmosphere."

"the atmosphere of what? bad cgi and worse acting?"

he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you've wounded him. "you take that back. this is cinematic gold."

you roll your eyes but don't protest further, settling back against your pillows. beomgyu shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours, warm and solid. you try to focus on the movie, you really do, but it's hard when he's right there, smelling like laundry detergent and that stupidly expensive cologne he pretends he doesn't carefully pick out. when he's close enough that you can see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the dim light of your laptop screen.

then—

a sudden, earsplitting shriek comes from the movie, a grotesque face filling the frame, and you're lurching sideways before you can think, fingers digging into beomgyu's arm as you let out a startled yelp.

and beomgyu—

beomgyu squeaks.

it's high pitched and undignified and absolutely ridiculous coming from someone who spends half his time trying to act cool, and for a second, you're too stunned to even process it. then the sound registers, and you're turning to stare at him, mouth already opening to tease—

but the words die in your throat.

because beomgyu is frozen, his breath caught, his eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. your fingers are still wrapped around his arm, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your touch. the air between you is thick, heavy, the silence stretching taut like a wire about to snap.

your own breath stutters.

beomgyu's gaze drops to your mouth, just for a second, so quick you might have imagined it—but you didn't. you know you didn't, because your heart is suddenly pounding loud enough that you're sure he can hear it, your skin buzzing where you're touching him.

then—

the moment shatters.

beomgyu clears his throat, jerking his arm away like he's been burned, his cheeks flushing pink. "you—you scared me," he mutters, avoiding your eyes.

you blink. then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face. "i scared you?" you echo, leaning closer. "beomgyu. you squeaked."

"i did not—"

"you did," you crow, poking his side. "like a—like a mouse or something—"

beomgyu groans, covering his face with his hands. "oh my god, shut up—"

"a tiny, terrified little mouse—"

"i will end you," he threatens, but there's no real heat behind it, not when he's peeking at you through his fingers, his lips twitching like he's fighting a smile.

you laugh, bright and loud, and something in beomgyu's expression softens, his shoulders relaxing as he drops his hands. "you're the worst," he grumbles, but he's leaning into you again, his arm pressing against yours.

"you love me," you sing-song, nudging him with your knee.

beomgyu doesn't answer. just rolls his eyes and turns back to the movie, but you don't miss the way his fingers flex against his thigh, the way his breath hitches when you shift closer.

the movie plays on, the tension between you easing back into something familiar, something comfortable. but beneath it all, beneath the teasing and the bickering and the easy touches, there's something new. something fragile and unspoken and achingly sweet.

and you can't wait to poke at it some more.

the moment your selfie goes up, you know it's trouble. not because there's anything particularly scandalous about it—just you in your favourite going-out top, hair styled a little more carefully than usual, lips shiny with that gloss beomgyu always says smells like candy. but something about the angle, the way the light catches your collarbones, the hint of a smirk playing at your mouth—it feels dangerous. like you're dangling bait in front of a very specific, very excitable predator.

your phone vibrates in your hand before you can even set it down.

beomgyu: ???? beomgyu: where are you going looking like that

the message burns through you like a live wire. you can practically hear his voice—that particular tone he gets when he's trying (and failing) to sound casual, the way his pitch jumps just slightly when he's flustered. your fingers fly across the screen before you can think better of it.

you: why? you wanna come with?

beomgyu: thats not— beomgyu: i was just asking bro

you bite your lip to keep from grinning. the three dots appear and disappear three times before you finally get:

beomgyu: ...are you meeting someone?

there it is. that tiny crack in his usual bravado. you're about to respond with something suitably teasing when your doorbell rings, an insistent, impatient buzz that could only belong to one person.

when you swing the door open, beomgyu is standing there looking unfairly good for someone who supposedly rushed over on a whim. his hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he just showered, and he's wearing that stupid tank top that shows off his arms, the one that makes your mouth go dry. in his outstretched hand dangles your charger—the one you're 90% sure you didn't leave at his place.

"you forgot this," he announces, pushing past you into your apartment and into your bedroom, like he owns it. the scent of his cologne, something warm and expensive that clings to all your hoodies after he wears them, fills the space between you.

you raise an eyebrow as you shut the door. "did i?"

"yes," he says, too quickly, already making himself at home on your bed. "you're so forgetful. it's a miracle you function without me."

you don't call him out on the obvious lie. instead, you lean against the doorframe and watch as he tries (and fails) to look casual, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. the neckline of his tank top slips slightly with every movement, revealing more of his collarbones than strictly necessary.

"so," he says, eyes scanning your outfit with poorly concealed interest, "where are you going?"

"nowhere special," you say, moving to sit beside him. the bed dips under your weight, forcing his knee to bump against yours.

"then why do you look like that?"

"like what?" you lean in closer, watching with satisfaction as his breath hitches.

beomgyu's throat works as he swallows. "like... like you're trying too hard."

you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "rude. maybe i just wanted to look nice."

"for who?"

the question comes out sharper than he intended, his fingers twitching against the pillows scattered on your bed. something warm and pleased curls in your stomach at the possessive edge in his voice.

before you can answer, beomgyu suddenly flexes his arms, his biceps straining against the thin fabric of his sleeves. "you see this?" he says, grinning that stupid, cocky grin that makes you want to kiss it off his face. "this is what peak performance looks like."

you roll your eyes. "please. i could bench press you."

his eyes light up with that competitive gleam you know all too well. "oh, you wish."

"prove it."

the challenge hangs in the air for all of two seconds before beomgyu grabs the nearest pillow and smacks you square in the face with it. you shriek, more out of surprise than actual pain, and immediately retaliate by grabbing another pillow and swinging with all your might.

beomgyu blocks it effortlessly, laughing as you growl in frustration. "weak," he taunts, dodging your next swing. "come on, is that all you've got?"

in a flash of inspiration, you toss the pillow aside and lunge at him instead. beomgyu's eyes widen comically as you collide with him, sending you both tumbling across the mattress in a tangle of limbs. you end up straddling his hips, immediately going for his most vulnerable spots; his sides, just above his hips, where you know he's ticklish.

beomgyu shrieks, actually shrieks, his whole body jerking beneath you as he dissolves into breathless laughter. "s-stop—fuck—" he gasps, trying in vain to squirm away, but you've got him pinned, your fingers dancing mercilessly along his ribs.

"give up," you demand, grinning down at him.

"never," he chokes out between laughs, his face flushed pink, his hair a wild mess against your cushions.

you're both laughing so hard it hurts, the sound filling your apartment, and for a moment everything feels perfect. light. easy. like this is exactly where you're both meant to be.

then you realise.

your hands are splayed across his stomach, his abs flexing beneath your touch with every ragged breath he takes. his own hands have somehow found their way to your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. the warmth of him seeps into you, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, and suddenly you're hyper aware of every point of contact between you.

because—

oh.

oh no.

beomgyu is hot. like, stupidly, unfairly hot. the kind of hot that makes your mouth go dry and your thoughts scatter. his lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes dark and fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. the muscles in his arms are taut where they bracket your thighs, and suddenly all you can think about is how badly you want him to choke you.

before you can finish the thought, beomgyu moves.

in one smooth motion, he flips you over, reversing your positions with embarrassing ease. your back hits the plush mattress of your bed, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your pulse skyrocket. then his arm slides around your neck in a playful, but surprisingly firm chokehold, his biceps flexing against your throat.

your mind whites out.

your mouth, unfortunately, does not.

"god, that feels so good," you moan, the words slipping out unbidden, your voice embarrassingly breathy.

beomgyu freezes.

you freeze.

beomgyu stumbles back like you’ve just set him on fire, his entire face burning so red it’s a miracle he hasn’t spontaneously combusted. his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, his hands flapping uselessly at his sides as he chokes on air. you’ve never seen him like this—beomgyu, who’s always so loud, so obnoxiously confident, reduced to a stammering, malfunctioning mess because of you.

your own heart is hammering so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t burst out of your chest yet, but the longer he stands there looking like his brain has short-circuited, the more the initial panic starts to melt into something dangerously close to amusement. because god, he’s such a loser. your loser. and before you can chicken out, before you can backtrack and play it off like a joke, the words are tumbling out of your mouth—

“i think i like you.”

beomgyu’s jaw drops. like, actually drops. his eyes go comically wide, his entire body freezing like you’ve just hit him with a stun gun. for a second, you’re terrified you’ve broken him completely, that he’s going to turn around and bolt out the door and never speak to you again. but then—

“what?” he chokes out, voice cracking embarrassingly.

you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed. “you heard me.”

“i—no, say it again.”

“no.”

“please.”

“beomgyu—”

he makes a noise that’s half-groan, half-whine, dragging his hands down his face before pacing across your room like a caged animal. his fingers keep tugging at his hair, his breathing uneven as he mutters to himself, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, smoke nearly coming out of his ears from how hard he’s thinking.

you should probably be more nervous, but mostly you’re just endeared. and a little annoyed.

“you’re freaking out,” you point out, trying to sound casual even though your palms are sweating.

“yeah, no shit,” he snaps, spinning to face you with wild eyes. “you can’t just—you can’t just say that and expect me to be normal about it!”

“i didn’t expect anything! i was just—”

“just what? just casually dropping the bomb that you like me after moaning when i choked you—”

“oh my god, shut up—”

“no, because what the fuck—”

you groan, flopping back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. this is a disaster. a nightmare. you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, should’ve played it off like a joke, should’ve—

“i like you too, idiot.”

your hands drop.

beomgyu is standing at the foot of your bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks still flushed but his gaze steady now. your breath catches.

“...what?”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “i like you. like, like like you. have for—fuck, i don’t even know how long.” his voice drops, softer now. “i just didn’t know how to deal with it. thought you didn’t see me that way.”

you sit up slowly, your pulse roaring in your ears. “...are you serious?”

“yes, i’m serious,” he mutters, looking away. “you think i’d be this much of a mess if i wasn’t?”

you stare at him. he stares back. the silence stretches between you, thick and charged, until—

you burst out laughing.

beomgyu’s face does something complicated, caught between offence and confusion. “why are you laughing?”

“because you’re such a disaster,” you wheeze, wiping at your eyes. “all this time, and you were just—god, you’re pathetic.”

“excuse me—”

“you heard me.”

he growls, actually growls, before closing the distance between you in two long strides. his hands cup your face, rough but gentle, and then his lips are on yours—hot, insistent, perfect.

you melt into it immediately, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him back with all the pent up frustration of months of pining. beomgyu makes a noise low in his throat, something between a whimper and a groan, his grip tightening as he nips at your bottom lip. you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your stomach flip.

his hands roam your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the bare skin of your waist. his fingers are warm, calloused from playing guitar, and the way they dig into your hips sends shivers down your spine. you arch into him, pressing closer, and he lets out this noise—this pathetic, whiny little sound that goes straight to your core.

you freeze for half a second. “bro, you good?” you whisper, half teasing, half wrecked yourself.

beomgyu groans, hiding his face in your neck. “do i look good?”

“fuck,” you breathe against his lips.

beomgyu pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and shiny. “you—you’re killing me,” he whines, his voice wrecked already.

you grin, dragging him back down. “good.”

he kisses you again, messier this time, his hands sliding up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. he’s terrible at it, his fingers clumsy, and he groans in frustration when he can’t get it undone.

“help me,” he mumbles against your mouth, his cheeks burning.

you laugh, reaching behind you to undo it for him, and the way his eyes darken when he realises what you’ve done is priceless. his hands slide up your bare back, his touch hesitant at first, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.

“you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice shaky as his fingers trace the curve of your spine. “fuck, you have no idea—”

you cut him off with another kiss, rolling so you’re straddling his hips. his hands immediately fly to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. you grind down experimentally, and the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers dig into your skin—god, you could get addicted to this.

“please,” he whimpers, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “please, i—fuck, i can’t—”

you lean down to nip at his earlobe, grinning when he shudders. “can’t what?” you whisper.

“you know what,” he groans, his hands sliding up your thighs. “you’re evil.”

you laugh, kissing him again, slower this time, savouring the way he melts under you. when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing ragged.

“fuck, fuck—” he’s babbling now, his usual eloquence completely gone as he kisses down your neck, your collarbones, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin. “you’re—shit, you’re so pretty, i can’t—fuck—”

you tug at his hair, pulling him back up to kiss him properly, swallowing his desperate noises. his hands are shaking where they grip your thighs, his breath coming in ragged pants against your lips.

“beomgyu,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “you’re such a mess.”

he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “you did this,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your skin. “you turned me into this.”

you hum, running your fingers through his hair. “and you love it.”

he lifts his head just enough to glare at you, but there’s no heat behind it—just fond exasperation and so much want it makes your chest ache. “yeah,” he admits, his voice rough. “i really fucking do.”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

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KIM HONG JOONG : : hands

He always finds your hands, no matter where you are — walking, talking, even when you're sitting across the table.

Before he kisses them, he looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

He traces the lines of your palm with his thumb, memorizing them like a map.

When you're nervous, he presses a kiss to your knuckles without saying a word. It calms you instantly.

If you're holding something, he’ll gently take it from you just to kiss your hand.

Sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it — it’s second nature, like breathing.

loves holding your hand under the table and randomly pressing it to his lips like no one can see (they definitely can)

always kisses your hand first thing in the morning, bedhead and all, mumbling “good morning, my love”

During long studio nights, he’ll pull your hand to his mouth while still focused on the screen.

On dates, he kisses the back of your hand before you eat, like he’s in an old romantic movie.

PARK SEONG HWA : : forehead

Starts with a hand on the back of your head, thumb brushing your hairline before the kiss lands

His forehead kisses are warm, quiet — like a soft “I’m here” without saying it

Sneaks them in when you're mid-rant, like he’s pressing a calm spell to your thoughts

Sometimes acts like he’s measuring the temperature of your love by how many he gives — “one means I like you, five means I’m obsessed”

Presses his lips to your forehead before he leaves the house, like it’s part of his routine — keys, phone, wallet, you

If you're napping on the couch, expect a forehead kiss and a blanket. The man is efficient

Absolutely uses forehead kisses as an apology shortcut. It’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s that soft about it

During deep hugs, he tilts your head down just enough to reach, like he planned the choreography

Sometimes just rests his forehead against yours first, eyes closed — slow moments, no rush

A soft kiss on the forehead before drifting off to sleep

JEONG YUN HO : : cheeks

His kisses are quick, soft, and come out of nowhere — you laugh, and suddenly he’s kissing your cheek like it’s a reward

Does the “mwah” sound on purpose just to make you roll your eyes (he thinks it’s peak comedy)

Loves catching you off guard with a surprise cheek kiss while you’re focused — reading, cooking, brushing your teeth? target locked

If you’re sad or tired, he’ll hold your face in both hands and gently kiss one cheek, then the other, then the first again — like a mini-reset

Always grins right after the kiss, like your reaction is his favorite part

Sometimes leans in with that fake-serious look like he’s about to tell you a secret… then just kisses your cheek and walks away

Rests his head on your shoulder and gives lazy, barely-there cheek kisses when he’s sleepy

When you’re embarrassed, he’ll whisper “you’re cute” and kiss your cheek just to make it worse (or better?)

Lowkey gets pouty if you don’t return the cheek kiss — turns his face like “I’m waiting.”

On video calls, he’ll kiss the screen where your cheek would be

KANG YEO SANG : : neck

Not big on PDA, but neck kisses? That’s his loophole — quiet, low-key, but very effective

Usually starts with a hug from behind, chin on your shoulder… then boom, there it is — a featherlight kiss just below your ear

Loves kissing the curve where your neck meets your shoulder — his favorite “secret spot”

Acts all calm about it, but smirks every time he gets you flustered

Gives a neck kiss every time you wear something that shows just a little more skin, not even slick about it

If you're wearing something with a collar? He’s moving it gently out of the way

Once kissed your neck during a movie and completely derailed the plot (for both of you)

Mumbles things against your neck sometimes, voice low, like he’s trying to make you melt on purpose

If you tilt your head away to tease him, he’ll follow without missing a beat

Neck kisses are how he says “I missed you” without saying it

CHOI SAN : : corner of the mouth

Always kisses juuuust shy of your lips — the corner of your mouth — and then grins like he won a game you didn’t know you were playing

Never goes straight for your lips — always starts at the corner like he’s building suspense

Leans in slow like he’s about to go for a real kiss, then swerves last second — “what? That’s exactly where I meant to kiss”

Will kiss you there mid-laugh, right when you’re happiest, like he wants to be part of that moment

Turns it into a game: “missed?” he says with a smirk, “guess I’ll have to try again... and again...”

Sometimes rests his forehead against yours after, smiling, like that tiny kiss said everything he was thinking

When you’re annoyed with him, he plants a tiny kiss at the corner of your mouth and waits... smug... for you to cave

Sometimes does it mid-conversation, no warning — leaves you short-circuited while he keeps talking like nothing happened

Casually does it in public when no one’s looking, then walks off like he didn’t just make your heart skip

If you tease him and try to go in for a real kiss, he’ll dodge just to land one at the corner again — “patience, darling”

SONG MIN GI : : temple

Kisses your temple like it’s part of hugging you — an automatic move, like second nature

Always tilts his head a little when he does it, like he’s trying to kiss your thoughts

Always gentle, like he’s worried you might break if he’s too rough (you won’t, but it’s cute he thinks so)

Sometimes mumbles something soft right after, like “you’re doing so good” — low voice, close breath, heart-melting

If you’re cuddled up, he’ll brush your hair aside gently first, then press a slow kiss to your temple like it’s delicate

Sometimes kisses your temple while you’re distracted, like while brushing your teeth or scrolling

Accidentally started doing it during goodbyes — now it’s habit. No leaving without a temple kiss

When you’re talking and he’s listening closely, he’ll lean in and just kiss your temple like he couldn’t hold it in

Tries to act chill about it but absolutely peeks at your reaction every time

On days when you’re anxious, he’ll hold your head close and kiss your temple like it’s magic — like he believes it’ll fix everything

JUNG WOO YOUNG : : nose

Acts like nose kisses are no big deal but only gives them when he’s feeling extra soft

He kisses your nose fast and light, then backs up to see your reaction like he just pulled off a magic trick

Rubs his nose against yours first, then sneaks in the gentlest kiss like a surprise

Kisses the tip of your nose when you’re pouting — “stop being cute, it’s not fair”

Loves doing it when you least expect it — you’ll be mid-rant and suddenly, boop — nose kiss, rant over

Does it while you’re mid-sentence, catching you off guard on purpose — “what were you saying? Oh right, you love me” Smug mf

If you’re lying down together, he’ll roll over, nuzzle your face, and leave a tiny kiss right on your nose like he can’t help it

When you’re dressed up or looking especially good, he’ll lean in like he’s going for a real kiss… then hit you with a nose kiss instead and laugh

When you try to nose kiss him back, he melts and immediately threatens to kiss you everywhere out of revenge

Has a habit of holding your face in both hands when he does it, like it’s the most precious thing in the world

CHOI JUNG HO : : shoulder

Always chooses your shoulder when he’s being affectionate in public — subtle, but deeply personal

Does it most when you're sitting beside him or resting together

If you’re stressed or anxious, he’ll gently lean in and press a kiss to your shoulder like it’ll absorb the weight

When you’re cuddling, he rests his chin there for a while... then kisses you once, calm and slow, like a thank-you

Likes doing it when you’re wearing something off-shoulder

If you're asleep against him, he’ll press the lightest kiss to your shoulder so he doesn’t wake you

Shoulder kisses are his comfort zone — he’s not trying to be flashy, he’s trying to be close

If you’re in a crowd or overwhelmed, he’ll lean in behind you and kiss your shoulder

Sometimes pulls your sleeve down a bit to kiss bare skin, then tucks it back like it’s a quiet secret

During long hugs, he always ends them with a kiss to your shoulder before letting go — every time

S’il y a bien une chose que Soobin a pu constater au fil des années, c’est que Yeonjun adore les chiens. Pas juste un amour passager, pas un simple “ils sont mignons” balancé entre deux cafés. Non, c’est une affection profonde, presque enfantine et dans sa sincérité la plus pure. C’est dans les petits gestes que Soobin l’a remarqué; ce sourire automatique, un peu trop grand, chaque fois qu’un chiot passe près d’eux en promenade, ce réflexe de s’accroupir pour tendre la main, même quand l’animal est déjà loin ou encore ces vidéos de chiens enregistrées dans ses favoris, au milieu de playlists absurdes ou de chorégraphies oubliées. Et puis, il y a les mots. Les “j’aimerais tellement en avoir un” lâchés avec une légèreté apparente, mais toujours suivis d’un petit silence, comme s’il osait à peine y croire. Les “un jour peut-être” soufflés contre l’oreiller, tard dans la nuit, quand leurs jambes sont emmêlées et que le monde est trop calme pour mentir. Soobin les a tous retenus. Il a observé, il a attendu. Pas parce qu’il doutait, juste parce qu’il voulait que ce soit parfait, que ce ne soit pas une idée folle sur un coup de tête, mais une vraie décision. Un vrai cadeau. 

Alors il a regardé les annonces, visité deux refuges, le visage caché sous une casquette et un masque, de peur d’être reconnu. Il a hésité entre un chiot aux oreilles tombantes et une boule de poils plus turbulente, jusqu’à ce qu’il tombe sur elle — une petite chienne crème, minuscule, tremblante dans un coin du box, avec des yeux comme des gouttes de thé noir. Pas la plus vive, pas la plus jolie selon certains critères, mais elle l’a regardé droit dans l’âme. Il a su, à ce moment-là, que c’était elle.

Maintenant, il est là, devant leur porte, le cœur battant à tout rompre, la caisse contre son torse. Dedans, la chienne dort à moitié, roulée sur elle-même, une couverture douce sous ses pattes. Elle a gémi un peu en voiture, puis s’est calmée quand Soobin lui a chantonné quelque chose sans vraiment y faire gaffe. Il n’a pas prévenu Yeonjun. Il voulait que ce soit une vraie surprise, une explosion de joie, peut-être un peu de larmes — il ne serait pas contre, pour être honnête. Mais maintenant que le moment est là, un doute ridicule s’immisce dans son esprit et ses doigts tremblent légèrement quand il attrape la poignée de la porte. Et si Yeonjun ne l’aimait pas ? Et si c’était trop ? Et si c’était lui, Soobin, qui avait mal compris tous ces signaux ?

Il ferme les yeux un instant. Inspire. Expire. Il sait que Yeonjun est dans le salon, il l’a entendu rire tout à l’heure au téléphone. Un de ces rires qui plie un peu l’univers autour de lui, parce qu’il est impossible à ignorer. Soobin l’imagine, jambes croisées sur le canapé, un plaid sur les genoux, la tête penchée, concentré sur un drama ou une vidéo de chiens mignons sur son téléphone. Non, il ne se trompe pas. Il sait que ce qu’il s’apprête à faire va compter. Il n’a pas souvent l’occasion de surprendre Yeonjun — vraiment surprendre. Il est plutôt du genre à lui laisser des petits post-its pour lui déclarer tout son amour, à lui faire le café le matin ou à le masser tendrement après une dure journée d'entraînements. Discret, attentif. Mais là, c’est différent. C’est grand, c’est eux.

Soobin baisse les yeux vers la caisse la petite boule crème s’est redressée. Deux yeux ronds le fixent, comme si elle savait exactement ce qui se jouait. Il lui adresse un sourire rassurant et glisse un doigt entre les barreaux. Elle le lèche une fois, rapide, curieuse et il prend ce geste pour un signal. Il pousse doucement la porte, celle-ci se refermant doucement derrière lui, dans un clac discret. Pas un bruit dans l’entrée, juste l’écho sourd de ses propres pas sur le parquet. La caisse pèse un peu dans ses bras, pas par le poids — elle ne pèse rien, cette petite chose, mais par tout ce qu’elle représente. Il inspire, bloque presque sa respiration. Et avance.

Depuis le salon, la voix de Yeonjun s’élève, claire, un peu chantante. Il parle à quelqu’un — sûrement l’un des membres, en vocal. Soobin n’entend que des murmures incompréhensibles, suivi d’un éclat de rire, puis d’un silence. Il traverse le couloir, ses doigts se refermant un peu plus autour de la caisse, puis arrive dans le salon. Yeonjun est là, exactement comme il l’avait imaginé — jambes repliées sur le canapé, sweat trop large, cheveux un peu en bataille. Il tourne la tête, distrait d’abord, puis ses yeux se figent. Yeonjun se lève lentement, son regard passant de Soobin à la caisse, puis de la caisse à Soobin, sans comprendre tout à fait. Il s’approche finalement, les sourcils froncés, pas certain de saisir ce qui est en train de se jouer dans la pièce.

— Qu’est-ce que…

Soobin s’accroupit doucement, pose la caisse au sol et ouvre le loquet sans prononcer le moindre mot. Quelques secondes s’écoulent avant que la petite chienne ne sorte. D’abord, une truffe hésitante, puis deux pattes, puis son corps tout entier, délicat, un peu maladroit sur le tapis. Elle secoue légèrement la tête, relève les yeux… et fixe Yeonjun.

Le silence qui suit est presque sacré.

Yeonjun reste figé, bouche entrouverte, comme si son cerveau essayait de remettre les pièces ensemble. Puis un bruit s’échappe de sa gorge, un tout petit “oh” et il s’écroule à genoux. La chienne s’avance, hésitante, puis pousse son museau contre sa main. Il ne bouge pas, de peur de l’effrayer, mais elle se frotte déjà doucement contre ses doigts. Il n’en faut pas plus à Yeonjun pour fondre. Pas de larmes bruyantes, pas de cris. Juste ce tremblement léger dans ses épaules, cette respiration coupée, ce regard qu’il lève vers Soobin, les yeux brillants, comme s’il n’arrivait pas à croire que c’est réel.

— ‘Bin… Elle est…

Sa voix est à peine plus audible qu’un souffle.

Soobin sourit, doucement, son cœur tambourinant dans sa poitrine.

— À toi. À nous, si tu veux, mais surtout à toi.

Yeonjun secoue la tête, incrédule. Il regarde le chiot, qui a déjà posé ses pattes sur ses genoux, puis Soobin encore, comme s’il avait besoin d’une confirmation physique. Ce dernier s’approche, s’agenouille à côté de lui et pose une main sur sa cuisse, légère.

— Je me suis dit que… que ça faisait longtemps que tu en rêvais. Et quand je l’ai rencontrée,  elle m’a regardé comme si elle savait déjà que tu l’attendais.

Yeonjun ne dit rien, il renifle un peu, caresse le museau du chiot qui commence déjà à lui lécher les doigts. Son rire est tremblant, presque étranglé.

— Tu vas me faire pleurer, idiot…

Soobin fronce les sourcils, amusé.

— Tu pleures déjà.

Yeonjun rit à travers ses larmes. Il passe alors un bras autour des épaules de Soobin pour l’attirer contre lui. La chienne se glisse entre eux, joyeusement perdue dans cette étreinte désordonnée.

— Je t’aime, souffle Yeonjun, son front contre la tempe de Soobin.

Soobin, quant à lui, ferme les yeux un instant, conscient qu’il n’a pas besoin de plus pour sentir son cœur virevolter de joie. 

Le soleil décline lentement à travers les vitres du salon, dessinant des lueurs dorées sur le sol. Yeonjun est toujours par terre, en tailleur, et le chiot — leur chiot, tourne en rond autour de lui, reniflant tout, chaque recoin, chaque bout de tapis comme si le monde entier venait de naître autour de lui. Soobin est allé chercher une gamelle d’eau, un vieux plaid plié en deux et une peluche qu’il avait prise au hasard en animalerie, en espérant que ça fasse l’affaire. Il revient dans le salon, les bras chargés, et Yeonjun le regarde avec un sourire immense, les joues encore un peu humides.

— Tu avais vraiment tout préparé.

— Tu me connais, répond-t-il, un peu embarrassé. Je voulais que tout soit parfait.

Il pose les affaires au sol, tend la peluche à Yeonjun, qui l’agite doucement sous le nez du chiot. Celui-ci l’attrape aussitôt entre ses dents minuscules et court maladroitement dans un coin du tapis, l’air fière comme un général en conquête. Ils la regardent tous les deux sans rien dire pendant un moment avant que Soobin ne finisse par briser le silence.

— Tu lui as déjà trouvé un nom ?

Yeonjun tourne la tête vers lui, une main sur sa joue, pensif.

— Hm… Pas encore. Elle me fait penser à…

Il s’interrompt, regarde le chiot courir après sa propre queue, avant de tomber maladroitement dessus dans un couinement.

— … à un beignet.

Soobin éclate de rire.

— Un beignet ?

— Elle est toute ronde, toute douce… Regarde-la !

Soobin observe et il doit bien reconnaître que le surnom n’est pas si farfelu que ça.

— Tu veux qu’on l’appelle Donut ?

Yeonjun grimace.

— Trop évident. Je veux quelque chose de plus original…

Il fronce le nez, puis claque des doigts.

— Hoppang !

Soobin arque un sourcil.

Le chiot relève la tête à ce moment précis, la langue pendante et les oreilles toutes droites, comme si elle avait compris. Soobin se fige une seconde, puis éclate à nouveau de rire.

— Je crois qu’elle valide.

Il se penche pour lui gratouiller le ventre.

— T’entends ça ? Tu t’appelles Hoppang, maintenant.

Yeonjun les rejoint, le sourire doux, les yeux brillants.

— Bienvenue à la maison, Hoppang. T’as intérêt à bien t’entendre avec appa Soobin, ok ?

Soobin le regarde, bouche entrouverte.

— Attends… appa Soobin ?

Yeonjun se redresse, les mains sur les hanches.

— On l’élève ensemble, non ?

Il lui lance un clin d’œil taquin avant de poursuivre

— Et tu fais une figure paternelle plutôt crédible.

Soobin secoue la tête, ses joues se teintant de rouge.

Hoppang pousse un petit jappement, puis grimpe maladroitement sur le plaid avant de se rouler en boule et de fermer les yeux. Et d’un coup, tout redevient calme. 

Yeonjun baisse la voix, presque instinctivement.

— Merci.

Soobin le regarde, silencieux. Il pourrait répondre “de rien”, ou plaisanter, mais il voit la sincérité dans les yeux de son compagnon, ce genre de reconnaissance silencieuse qui ne demande pas de retour alors il hoche doucement la tête. Yeonjun passe un bras autour de lui et s’appuie contre son épaule.

— Tu penses qu’elle va dormir avec nous ce soir ?

— Elle ne va pas nous laisser le choix, murmure Soobin, en regardant la petite chose déjà profondément endormie sur leur plaid.

Puis il imagine déjà la suite : les réveils nocturnes, les accidents, les jouets mâchouillés, les promenades à l’aube et tout ce qu’élever cette petite créature allait signifier. Malgré tout, il ne voudrait changer ce futur pour rien au monde.

Yeonjun soupire doucement contre lui, le faisant sortir de ses pensées.

— C’est le plus beau cadeau que j’ai jamais eu.

Soobin sourit. 

— Et te voir aussi heureux est le mien.

Entre eux, il y avait maintenant un petit battement de vie supplémentaire, un souffle de joie qui rendait l’avenir un peu plus doux.

A lightning bolt split the sky just as I turned the page of the thick grimoire resting on my lap, making me jump. My body tensed up in the armchair, my fingers pressing against the ancient paper. Slightly crinkled by the passage of time and the handling of its former owners, it gave off a peculiar scent. A fragrance of apples and ash that tightened my throat for no apparent reason. As if this scent had settled on its surface and seeped in, leaving its mark forever in the fibers. The leather cover looked like it had been through a lot, but the deep violet amethyst set into its center gave me the impression it was glowing in the heart of the shadows. I watched it for a few seconds, captivated by the reflections I saw within, like wisps of smoke frozen forever in the translucent stone. A shiver ran up my spine and I lifted my head, glancing out the window. The sky was pitch black, like a bottomless chasm ready to swallow everything, and the rain was lashing furiously against the glass. Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, traveling hundreds of meters before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, followed a few moments later by a menacing rumble. Squinting, I could make out the trees outside bending under the force of the wind, battered by the fury of the elements. I had always liked storms and they had never particularly frightened me. On the contrary, I even found a certain fascination in them. There was something awe-inspiring in the way nature could turn brutal and dark, reminding us poor mortals that she remained the undisputed mistress. Everything she gave, she could take back in the blink of an eye. But there was something different in the air tonight. Something I couldn’t quite put into words, a sensation lingering at my fingertips, on the tip of my tongue. Still, I returned to my reading, finding the line where I had left off and following the handwritten words, my eyes brushing over the delicately calligraphed curves. The book had caught my attention on a display, and I hadn’t been able to resist the pull I felt toward it, barely noticing that I had stepped closer to examine it more closely. Use with extreme caution.

Those words, spoken by the old man who had sold it to me, still echoed in the back of my mind, and I bit my lower lip. Yet it wasn’t as if I planned to do anything with the texts written inside the grimoire, which mostly consisted of old herbal remedies and rituals meant to cure everyday ailments. However, notes in Latin had begun to appear after a few pages, scattered here and there in the margins of certain chapters, and I’d grown increasingly intrigued by their meaning. The comments seemed to have been written in haste, as if the person hadn’t had much time to jot them down, and the ink had slightly faded over the years, making them difficult to read.

My brows furrowed as I turned the next page, my lips pressing together at its strange appearance. Phrases had been scrawled in tiny, spidery handwriting next to a botanical sketch of a belladonna plant, known for its dark properties. They had been circled multiple times—so roughly that the nib had nearly pierced the page. Dark stains dotted the paper, like random splashes of ink, and I ran my fingers along the back of my neck to chase away the odd sensation that had settled there.

I cleared my throat, casting a glance around the room. The moon was throwing shadows across the living room, playing with the outlines of the furniture, and it was all too easy to let one’s imagination wander in front of such a grim tableau. Still, my only companions were the night and the storm crashing violently outside my house—my cat had retreated beneath my bed upstairs. Then, I began to decipher the handwritten lines aloud, my brow furrowed.

Princeps Nigrum, tibi gratissimum adventum in domum meam exopto. Accipe vocationem meam et veni ad me. Black Prince, I welcome you into my home. Accept my call and come to me.

Everything went dark the moment I finished reading the lines aloud. The lamp on the side table flicked off without warning. At the same instant, the window burst open, slamming violently against the wall and tearing a gasp from my throat. The pouring rain rushed into the living room, driven by the wind, and I snapped the grimoire shut in one sharp motion, clutching it tightly against my chest. Then I stood, cautiously making my way to the window to slide the latch back into place, hoping to prevent it from flying open again with the next gust of wind.

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, and the sound of the storm seemed muffled by the words that kept spinning endlessly in my mind. Black Prince, I welcome you into my home. There was something deeply unsettling about the prayer written inside the grimoire, and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was referring to. There weren’t many entities described that way—but just saying the words aloud made my head spin. I didn’t particularly believe in spirits or magic as a spiritual practice, but my grandmother had always warned me never to underestimate the power of words. And the crawling sensation on my bare arms wasn’t helping me rationalize anything.

I shivered at the feel of water under my bare feet, quickly stepping back toward the wall to switch the light on. I wasn’t superstitious, but it wouldn’t hurt to grab some rosemary to burn in the living room and clear away the memory of the last few minutes. My interest in magic lay in the properties of plants for the body and mind, and in the power of stones—hence my initial curiosity about the manuscript. I hadn’t expected it to contain anything capable of summoning a demon, and I was just being cautious, trying to purify the space.

I turned toward the kitchen—only to let out a sharp, piercing scream.

A figure was sitting in my armchair, one leg casually draped over the armrest.

My body froze, and my fingers clenched around the grimoire’s leather cover, still pressed tightly against my chest. My heart was hammering so violently I felt like it might burst out at any second. And all words died in my throat when the man lifted his head, one icy eye meeting mine through the shifting shadows that surrounded him.

My body was paralyzed, and I felt a wave ripple from the top of my head to my heels, snaking down my spine, brushing over my shoulders, then sliding down the other side. As if cold fingers had wrapped themselves around my ankles, pinning me to the floor. I knew—even before I tried—that I wouldn’t be able to take a single step back. I could feel it. Something was holding me in place, locking me inside my own body. And the panic was growing, faster and faster, sending blood pulsing in my temples like a drumbeat.

I felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to flee, doomed to endure the inevitable impact. Except the crash never came, and the seconds stretched on—endless.

“Come closer,” he breathed, his voice authoritative. Clear, as pure as spring water—yet wrapped in the same darkness that coiled around him like a living thing.

Goosebumps rose on my arms and I fought against the invisible force holding me in place, panic rising at the thought of getting any nearer to him. My gaze hadn’t left his. Those eyes… their dissonance was disturbing. One iris black as the sky above us, the other so pale it was almost indistinguishable from the white of his eye. Both stared at me relentlessly, like twin bottomless wells I could fall into without a sound.

His brow furrowed slightly, then a smirk curled his full lips. “Come. Closer.”

My body moved. As if detached from my mind, I took a step forward. Then another.

His voice had echoed inside my skull like a deep, commanding vibration—one that simply could not be disobeyed. A summons that demanded an answer. And I felt the pull—undeniable—as if a rope had been tied around my waist, leading straight to the hand he’d rested casually on his knee, tapping rhythmically.

No.

My inner scream burst forth, and I struggled within the depths of my own consciousness, desperate to sever the link that bound us, to resist the command etched into my bones. The distance between us was shrinking rapidly, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my heart lodged in my throat.

None of this made any sense.

For a brief, flickering moment, I found myself hoping it was all a dream—that this was nothing more than a vivid projection of my imagination. Because it couldn’t be real. There couldn’t be a demon in my house.

They only existed in folklore, in religious texts—creations of human imagination to give form to our greatest fears. My mind rejected the reality in front of me, and I blinked hard, trying to dispel the illusion.

But he was still there. Majestic, cloaked in shadow.

As I drew closer, I could make out the contours of his face, the dark strands of hair that framed it, falling gracefully across his temples. The way the leather of his black jacket clung to his broad shoulders, in stark contrast to the pearly white of the shirt beneath. The unnerving contrast of his eyes, like two opposing forces coexisting in a single body, locked in eternal conflict. And the curve of his mouth, stretched into an expression of pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

My eyes followed the movement of his tongue as it swept across his lips to moisten them, and I felt my stomach tighten. He was terrifyingly beautiful—the kind of beauty that left a disturbing impression because it inspired both fear and fervent admiration. As if someone had reversed the negative of a photograph and revealed something more captivating than the original image. A chiaroscuro painting, crafted from shadow and touched by flickers of light.

But they often said demons were once angels, and it had never felt more true than in that moment.

His power tugged at me for the final few steps, and I stopped just in front of him, my throat tight, breath shallow. Then I froze, struck by a scent that reached me—surprisingly familiar.

A blend of apple and ash.

I swallowed hard, my legs shaky beneath me. He uncrossed his legs and extended a hand, palm facing up. My arms loosened around the grimoire, which dropped heavily at my feet, and I gasped, air seeming to abandon my lungs. His fingers brushed the delicate skin of my wrist before curling around it, pulling me forward. I toppled onto him with a startled yelp, half-collapsed across his thighs, hands pressed against the cold leather of his jacket to steady myself.

My breath hitched in that instant, and time seemed suspended—crystallized in the confined space of my living room.

“You’ve got a lot of conviction for someone who didn’t even know what she was reciting out loud.”

A warm breath ghosted across my face, and I realized I had closed my eyes. My cheeks were burning, and the knot in my throat swelled with every second, cutting off the flow of air.

I pushed against him with both hands, trying to escape his grip, but his hands slid slyly to my hips, holding me firmly against him—and the depth of my helplessness made my head spin.

I was completely at his mercy.

“Open your eyes, little bird.”

I pressed my lips tightly together, my fingers clenching into the velvety fabric of his jacket, and I felt humiliation blaze across my skin like wildfire.

But I didn’t want to surrender. I wouldn’t let him think he had the upper hand. He was in my house. He was here because I had invited him—even if it hadn’t been intentional. And I refused to be the one to bow to his rules, no matter how disturbingly he awakened something in my senses.

“Who are you?” I whispered as I opened my eyes again.

He leaned in closer, closing the already negligible distance between us. His lips hovered near my cheek, and his fingers felt like they were setting my skin ablaze through the fabric of my sweater.

“You summon me, and yet you don’t even know who I am? How careless.” His voice was measured, smooth as honey—yet fractured beneath the surface. But his nonchalance grated on me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my composure.

“Well, I didn’t need your name to make you show up,” I finally shot back with a scornful look.

He burst out laughing, his chest shaking under my hands before settling again. A smirk curled his lips, and his fingers resumed their slow, steady rhythm—this time against my hip.

“You’re surprising.” “Glad someone here’s having fun,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

One of his hands slipped from my waist and rose to cup my chin between his thumb and index finger, freezing me in place. His grip was firm—I knew he could shatter my jaw in a second if he wanted to. But it remained surprisingly gentle, as if he were holding something precious in the palm of his hand. He tilted my face from side to side, examining it from every angle, his lips pursed in vague appreciation. As if the tension in his touch was just something I’d imagined.

His mismatched eyes bore into me, scanning every corner of my face, and I felt my heart hammering wildly in my chest.

“Are you afraid?” he asked at last, his voice barely more than a breath.

I took a moment to think about my answer—and it surprised even me. “No.”

I couldn’t describe what I felt toward him as fear. Maybe I’d been afraid when I first found him in my living room—when he wasn’t supposed to be there—and felt him take control of my body, pulling me toward him. But now, in this moment, everything was a blur. Every internal alarm screamed at me to run, to put as much distance as possible between us, because he was pure danger—because he could tear me apart with a flick of his fingers.

And yet, he hadn’t.

“You should be.”

My eyes traced the contours of his face—from the dark strands of hair falling across his forehead to the sensual curve of his mouth—and not an ounce of fear stirred in me. Even the way he held me against him was surprisingly courteous, considering the position we were in. If I’d felt uneasy at first, that feeling was long gone. And I couldn’t quite tell if it was because of the way he acted with me—or the warmth spreading across my skin with every brush of his fingers.

“What do you want?” I murmured, smoothing the lapel of his leather jacket nervously, just to keep my hands busy.

He raised a brow, letting go of my face and resting one arm lazily on the armrest of the chair.

“What I want?”

His fingers pressed ever so slightly against my hip. So faintly that, for a second, I thought I imagined it. Yet the gesture sent a shiver crawling up my spine.

“Many things,” he continued, his voice grave, his eyes never leaving mine. “But that’s not what matters. I’m here because you desire.”

His voice echoed through the room—deep, resonant—and I could feel it crawling up my bare arms, trying to slip beneath my skin.

“I don’t know,” I admitted after a pause.

“I don’t believe you,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “You humans—you all have something you ache for in the dark. Something you keep hidden, right here.”

His index finger hovered just over my shirt, right above my heart—and for a second, my breath caught.

“Wealth. Power. Love. Death. Or the absence of it. There’s always a secret slumbering underneath, fed year after year by frustration and longing—whatever form it takes.**”

His lips curled into a mocking smile as he spoke.

“Some don’t even hesitate. It’s funny how quickly the proudest among you fall to their knees to claim it,” he said, tapping his chin absently with a fingertip. “So I’ll ask you again, Stay. What is it you want most in this world?”

My stomach tightened at the sound of my nickname.

“I don’t know.”

“Liar,” he whispered, that maddening smirk still etched on his face.

“I don’t know!” I cried, brows furrowed. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to summon a demon in my living room!”

I pushed him with both hands, and this time, he let me. He simply watched me as I rose shakily to my feet.

“And yet you did. I’m here,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward himself. “And I’m still waiting for an answer.”

I could still feel the ghost of his fingers on my hip, as though they’d left a burning imprint on my skin. But I could breathe more easily now that I had stepped away from him—away from his intoxicating scent. Still, now that I stood before him, I felt cramped inside my own body.

“I don’t have one to give you. How many times do I have to say it? Can’t you go haunt someone else?” I asked, pacing back and forth across the rug.

“Do I look like someone who enjoys wasting his time?”

I stopped abruptly, my head snapping in his direction—and that’s when I understood his persistence.

“You can’t leave.”

“Bingo,” he muttered bitterly, snapping his fingers.

My throat tightened, and I curled my fingers into my palms. He was stuck here. And if I understood correctly, the only way to send him back… was to make a wish.

But none of the things he’d listed earlier interested me. All I wanted was to be free. That was the reason I’d chosen to exile myself to this remote place—somewhere no one could reach me. And making a deal with a demon was signing a contract in blood. Everyone knew they always demanded something in return—and they never forgot to collect.

I was dealing with a being whose power far surpassed mine, and I needed to be cautious.

And yet… temptation hovered in the corner of my mind like a shadow I couldn’t ignore.

I could ask for almost anything. The mere fact that I had that kind of power at my fingertips made my head spin. It was hard to suppress the almost primal greed I felt at the thought of demanding something—anything—and receiving it without lifting a finger.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I knew that. And that knowledge alone kept me from blurting out the first thing that came to mind just to make him disappear.

So I would take the time I needed. Time to find an answer worthy of the “gift” I had been given.

And maybe… just maybe, it would allow me to satisfy the growing curiosity I felt toward him.

I had no experience whatsoever when it came to demons—he was the first I’d ever encountered—but he didn’t match the portrait usually painted of his kind. Or maybe I was just being naïve, and he was manipulating me so subtly that I couldn’t even tell. It was hard to explain, because none of it made sense—he just felt… too human for a demon.

His behavior didn’t align with what I had expected from such a creature—almost as if I were doing him a favor by responding to his request. He had simply spoken to me politely, waited without showing any real impatience, and even though he had used magic to compel me earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to resent him for it.

He was… surprisingly agreeable. If that was even the right word. He remained entirely courteous, and the unease I had felt at the start had dissolved far more quickly than I’d like to admit. And I never thought I’d say something like that about a demon.

But I could feel a kind of weariness radiating from him. As if he’d been doing this for so long, it no longer brought him any satisfaction. As if he had seen the full extent of human desires—and they no longer held any real interest for him.

He hadn’t tried to coax me, not even for a second. He hadn’t promised me riches or miracles to lure me into a choice. He just waited—legs once again crossed, quietly studying me, as he had been doing since the moment he appeared in my living room. And truthfully… I had the feeling I was just as much a subject of curiosity to him as he was to me.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally said, shrugging my shoulders.

He straightened up in the chair, uncrossed his legs, and stood. He wasn’t especially tall, yet the shadows wrapped around him made him seem much more imposing beneath his long leather coat. He towered over me by a good ten centimeters, and I felt my throat tighten without knowing why. Maybe my body could sense the danger, recognize the threat standing only steps away.

He sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair, pushing it back. Then tilted his head to study me again.

“You’ve really decided not to make this easy for me, haven’t you?” he asked, the corner of his lips curled into a resigned smirk.

“I’m just being cautious,” I replied, folding my arms over my chest.

He took a step forward, shrinking the distance between us, and I instinctively backed away. But he kept coming, calm and silent, until I was stopped short by a piece of furniture at my back.

He leaned in, and my breath hitched in my throat as I felt his across my neck.

"Consider yourself lucky, little bird. I’ll give you until the end of the week to make your choice," he whispers against my ear. "However, it’s wise of you to remember who I am and, most importantly, what I am capable of. Because you won’t be able to escape me forever."

I shiver, both from his proximity and the weight of his words. Yet, the smile that curls on his full lips seemed out of place compared to the crushing weight of his words. As if he were offering me a brief respite, but in doing so, he was gaining some advantage as well. Despite everything, he remained a being of darkness, whose moods could shift in an instant. If indeed they still possessed such things.

"You can’t leave until I give my answer anyway," I respond, even though the uncertainty in my voice contrasts with the boldness of my words.

He lets out a low laugh, which undulates across my skin like the caress of a velvet glove. His fingers hover near my face without touching it, tracing the line of my jaw. Yet, I feel their warmth as if they’ve actually made contact.

"There’s one thing you haven’t understood yet, Stay : I’m doing you a favor by letting you decide for yourself. If you haven’t found what you want by the end of these few days, I’ll go find the answer myself."

I freeze, raising my eyes to him.

"What ?"

" Tick tock. Tick tock, little bird. "

He steps back, and it’s my turn to advance, my brows furrowing.

"What does that mean ?" I ask, my throat tightening with sudden concern.

But he’s already starting to disappear, as though swallowed by the shadows surrounding him. The lower part of his body is nothing but darkness, but his eyes glow with a wild gleam, resembling the satisfaction of a predator when he knows he’s caught his prey.

However, where I should have felt fear, there’s only a deep unease that has nothing to do with dread.

"Chan."

His voice resonates with surprising softness, and my lips part in surprise. One blink later, he has vanished from the living room. And I might have thought it was a dream if not for the dark tendrils still creeping across the floor before they dissipate as well.

"Chan ?" I murmur into the emptiness, my fingers clenched around the hem of my sweater.

My heart is still pounding in my chest, and my fingers are trembling slightly, my feet cold, contrasting with the searing heat that still lingers on my cheeks.

"Might as well get to know each other if we’re going to spend some days together, little bird."

His presence suddenly echoes all around me in the room, disembodied, and a shiver runs down my spine at the silky tone.

"Bangchan, at your service."

"you need to rest," he says, and for once, there's no teasing lilt to his voice, no flirtation. just quiet authority.

you want to protest, but the weight pressing on your limbs betrays you. heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s irritated, like he's mad at you for being this fragile. but his actions betray him. his arm hooks around your waist, guiding you toward the couch with a touch gentler than you’ve ever known from him.

"sit," he orders, and you’re too drained to argue.

he watches you for a beat, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes. then, without another word, he steps away, disappearing toward the door.

your stomach knots. "where are you—"

"just sleep," he says, not turning back. "i’ll be back."

and then he's gone.

but the tension he leaves behind lingers, curling in your chest, coiling in your veins. sleep does not come easily. not with the memory of his hands still burning against your skin. not with the echo of his voice, rough and low, still whispering through your mind.

not with the reminder that, for all the danger heeseung poses, you still let him in.

you wake up with a sharp inhale, the kind that feels like resurfacing from deep underwater. for a second, you expect the weight of exhaustion to drag you back down, to feel the lingering ache of what heeseung took from you. but when you push yourself upright, there’s nothing. no dizziness, no weakness, no soreness in your limbs.

physically, you feel fine. too fine.

your fingers ghost over your neck, searching for evidence of his touch—of his bite—but your skin is smooth, unmarked. as if it never happened. but you know it did. you can still feel it, phantom traces of the way his lips had burned against your skin before his fangs had pierced through. the way he had held you afterwards, firm but careful, something unreadable in his darkened gaze.

something had changed. you felt it.

but now, in the cold quiet of morning, it almost seems like a fever dream.

you exhale, slow and controlled, forcing yourself to push past it. you are not going to sit here analysing a moment that clearly meant nothing to him. heeseung had left without a word. again.

if he can move on, so can you.

so you do.

you wake up early, run until your legs ache, drink coffee even though you don’t need it, just for something warm to hold onto. you take extra shifts, bury yourself in work, fill the empty spaces of your day with anything and everything that will keep your mind from circling back to him.

and yet.

no matter what you do, his absence lingers.

not once do you hear his voice in the hallway, teasing or otherwise. not once do you catch his gaze from across the courtyard, that knowing smirk playing at his lips. you don’t see him by the elevators, don’t hear his steps behind you, don’t feel his presence like a shadow at your back.

and it’s wrong.

because for weeks, heeseung was everywhere. inescapable. a constant thorn in your side, always watching, always pushing, always there.

but now?

nothing.

and you hate that it bothers you. hate that a part of you waits for something—anything—to prove that you didn’t imagine it all. that what happened between you mattered.

by the fifth day, you’re frustrated. restless. itching for something, for him, just so you don’t have to sit with this stupid, unbearable silence.

and then, finally, he appears.

not in some dramatic moment, not in some fateful encounter charged with tension, but in the mailroom.

you nearly miss him entirely, too lost in your thoughts to notice at first. but then, there he is. standing in front of the row of metal mailboxes, effortlessly composed, as if nothing has changed.

except it has.

you stop mid-step, heart hammering. heeseung is right there. close enough to touch. close enough that if he just looked up, just met your eyes—

but he doesn’t.

he doesn’t even hesitate. just opens his mailbox, pulls out a single envelope, tucks it into the pocket of his jacket.

no teasing. no smirk. not even a glance in your direction.

heeseung doesn’t acknowledge you at all.

your breath catches, a sharp pang blooming in your chest. you don’t know what you expected—some sign that he’s affected, that he remembers everything as vividly as you do—but the complete indifference?

it stings.

more than you care to admit.

you watch as he turns, his movements smooth, unhurried. his gaze flickers past you, impassive, as if you’re just another person in the building. just another insignificant moment in his day.

then, without a word, he walks away.

just like that.

you stand frozen, heart pounding, anger rising to smother the ache.

days have passed since the encounter in the mailroom, since heeseung brushed past you as if you were nothing. you hate how much it gets to you. how much you miss the push and pull, the way he used to get under your skin like it was his favourite pastime. but if he wants to act like nothing happened, fine. you’ll just have to remind him.

the opportunity comes unexpectedly.

you’re standing in the hallway, ripping open a package with more force than necessary, frustration still simmering beneath your skin. the cardboard is stubborn, sealed too tightly, and in your impatience, the jagged edge of the tape slices cleanly across your fingertip.

"fuck," you hiss, pulling your hand back. a single bead of blood wells up, bright and rich against your skin.

at that exact moment, the elevator dings.

the doors slide open, and heeseung steps out.

your breath catches.

his reaction is immediate, visceral. his entire body goes still, eyes locking onto your hand before you can even think to move. his pupils dilate, dark swallowing lighter brown, his lips parting slightly as if he’s just been hit with a scent too intoxicating to ignore.

for the first time in days, you have him.

it’s reckless and stupid, but you do it anyway.

without breaking eye contact, you bring your hand to your lips, tongue darting out to slowly lick away the blood.

it’s a calculated move, a challenge, a dare. you see it the moment something cracks in him—his jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. the hunger is there, raw and barely restrained, flickering across his face like a fire he’s desperately trying to smother.

you expect him to snap. to say something cutting, to lunge, to do anything.

but instead, his expression hardens.

just like in the mailroom, he schools his features into cold indifference, locks every bit of his hunger behind a wall of steel.

without a word, he walks past you.

you’re left standing there, lips tingling, the taste of your own blood still faint on your tongue.

at first, it feels like victory.

but later, when you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with your body burning too hot beneath the sheets, it doesn’t feel like winning at all.

you shift restlessly, fingers clenching at your comforter, but nothing soothes the restless ache under your skin. the teasing had been for him. a way to make him react. so why does your body feel unsatisfied? why does your breath still hitch at the memory of his eyes, dark and hungry, before he forced himself to walk away?

why does your throat feel dry at the thought of his teeth against your skin again?

he’s a vampire, for fuck’s sake. you shouldn’t be acting like this.

you squeeze your eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, but they remain, curling around you like an addiction you refuse to name.

you tell yourself you’re still in control.

you don’t quite believe it.

you don’t know when it happens—when the frustration festers into something unbearable, when the tension morphs into something that demands to be acknowledged.

all you know is that it’s late, and you’re standing outside heeseung’s door, pulse hammering, knuckles hovering just inches from the dark wood.

your body feels wrong. too warm, too tight, every inch of you coiled with an ache you don’t want to name. sleep has evaded you for nights, ever since that moment in the hallway, ever since you tasted your own blood on your tongue and saw the raw hunger flicker across his face.

he hadn’t touched you. hadn’t spoken. hadn’t given you anything.

and yet, he’s everywhere. in the silence of your apartment, in the ghost of his hands on your body, in the phantom heat of his breath against your skin. he’s burrowed under your skin, insidious and intoxicating, refusing to let go.

your fist connects with the door before you can second-guess yourself. once. twice. sharp, deliberate knocks that feel like surrender.

the sound echoes in the hallway. there’s just the presence of silence thick enough to choke you—then, you hear the faint creak of movement inside.

your breath catches.

seconds later, the door swings open, and he’s there.

heeseung leans against the frame, one hand braced above his head, and every thought in your head blanks at the sight of him.

he’s shirtless.

his skin gleams under the dim hallway lights, the planes of his collarbones sharp and distracting. his hair is tousled and messy—like he’s been running his hands through it, like he’s been restless, pacing, waiting for something he never wanted to name.

but his eyes—his eyes—are the worst part.

they flicker over you, taking in your tense stance, your parted lips, the way you’re still catching your breath like you ran here.

for a moment, just for a brief, flickering second—he looks wrecked.

then he schools his expression, forces something cold into his gaze, and when he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse.

"what are you doing here?"

you swallow hard, fingers curling at your sides. "i think you already know."

heeseung exhales sharply, turning his head away for a second, like he needs to think. like he needs to remind himself why this is a bad idea.

"you shouldn’t be here." his voice is rough, frayed at the edges.

"but i am."

that gets his attention.

his gaze snaps back to yours, and something flickers in the depths of his dark eyes—something dangerous.

"you don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmurs, voice quieter now, like he’s losing the will to fight this.

you take a step closer. "then show me."

his throat bobs, the muscle in his jaw ticking, tension rolling through his frame like he’s seconds away from breaking.

heeseung sways forward.

it’s so subtle you almost miss it, but you don’t.

"say it," he rasps, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you, like he’s still holding himself back.

"say what you want."

you know what he’s doing. he’s giving you one last chance. one final moment to walk away before this turns into something neither of you can take back.

but you don’t move.

"you."

the single word leaves your lips breathlessly quiet, dripping with your true feelings. and then, in the span of a heartbeat, he breaks.

his hands are on you before you can process it, shoving you back against the doorframe, his lips crashing into yours, all heat and hunger and frustration.

his mouth is relentless, desperate, claiming yours with a kind of urgency that makes your knees go weak. heeseung kisses you like he’s trying to devour you, like he’s spent weeks, months, forever waiting for this moment. his lips are soft but unrelenting, molding perfectly against yours, his breath hot and uneven as he drinks you in.

his hands are everywhere—gripping at your waist, your hips, sliding up your spine, pulling you against him like he doesn’t just want you close, he needs you closer. your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging slightly, and the sound that rumbles from his throat is a deep, hungry growl that sends a sharp jolt of heat straight through you.

his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, slow and teasing, before he deepens the kiss. it’s intoxicating, the way he moves, the way he controls the moment without ever taking it away from you. his lips part yours easily, his tongue sliding against yours, coaxing, demanding, taking.

a gasp catches in your throat, and heeseung seizes the moment, swallowing it whole, his fingers pressing deeper into your skin. he tilts his head, angling the kiss even deeper, his body pressing flush against yours, pinning you between him and the door.

"i hate you," he mutters between kisses, teeth catching your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. "do you know how hard i tried to stay away?"

"then why didn’t you?" your voice is a whisper, barely a breath.

his forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark and wild.

"because i fucking can’t."

his mouth is on you again before you can respond. this time, it’s slower—more deliberate. his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, savoring the way you melt beneath him. he deepens the kiss, his hands roaming, sliding beneath your shirt, gripping at your bare skin like he can’t stand the distance.

your teeth graze his bottom lip, and he groans as his grip tightens on you.

"tell me to stop," he breathes against your lips, voice strained, shaking with restraint.

but you don’t.

you tilt your head, exposing the side of your neck, pulse hammering beneath your skin.

and heeseung shatters.

his breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound, before his fangs sink into your skin.

the pain is brief, sharp, before it melts into something else entirely—something warm and dizzying and consuming. a moan slips past your lips, your fingers flying to his shoulders, gripping onto him as a wave of unbearable pleasure crashes through you.

he holds you steady, arms locking around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he drinks deep.

it’s too much. not enough.

your body trembles, caught in the haze of sensation, every nerve alight. the tension that’s been coiling inside you for days—finally breaks.

and relief floods through you.

heeseung pulls back too soon, licking over the fresh wound, soothing the sting. his breath is ragged, his hands still gripping you tightly, his body trembling with the force of his own restraint.

but you don’t let go.

your fingers curl into his skin, your own body still burning, still aching, and it’s only when heeseung lifts his head, his lips brushing over your pulse point, that you realize—

you don’t want this to end.

his eyes meet yours, darker than you’ve ever seen them.

"sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction, with possession that made you shudder.

heeseung smirks, but there’s something softer beneath it now—something dangerously close to fondness.

his hands slide down your back, grounding you, keeping you steady.

"i hope you know," he says, his lips brushing against the fresh mark on your neck, "you’re mine now."

your breath catches.

and god help you, but you want to be.

his lips are still slick with your blood. you can feel it in the way they drag against your skin, slow and deliberate, a silent claim that makes heat coil low in your stomach. his breath is uneven, his grip firm on your waist like he’s holding himself back—or holding himself together.

your head tilts slightly, trying to catch your breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. but you don’t get the chance, because he suddenly picks you up, hands gripping your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. you squeal as he carries you effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, like he’s been waiting to do this.

you barely register the way your back collides with the mattress, how his weight follows, pressing you down, his body caging yours in. his lips don’t leave yours—not for a second. he kisses you softly, like you’re the only thing that can sate the hunger clawing at his insides.

his hand slides beneath your shirt, fingers skimming over your burning skin, and you shudder. your own hands roam desperately—grasping at his bare shoulders, threading through his hair, clinging to him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

everything blurs—a feverish mess of heat, tangled limbs, whispered breaths. every touch stokes the fire burning in your veins, every movement winds the tension between you tighter.

but then, he stops.

his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven.

"not tonight," he murmurs, voice strained, reluctant.

you blink up at him, dazed, lips tingling, body thrumming with electricity. "why not?"

heeseung’s fingers trace absent circles against your skin, his touch soothing. "because if i start, i won’t stop."

he exhales sharply, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "and you deserve better than that."

your chest tightens, but not with disappointment. with something else. something warmer.

"stay," he says softly, his voice quieter now, his hand curling around your wrist. "just for tonight."

and somehow, that’s enough.

he pulls you against him, arms wrapping around you, pressing you into the sheets. he shifts until you’re tucked against his chest, one arm draped over your waist, the other beneath the pillows. the way he holds you is instinctive, like he’s done this a thousand times before—like he’s been waiting to do this.

your breath is uneven as you try to process it all—the way his body fits against yours, the warmth of his skin, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm.

"you okay?" heeseung’s voice is quieter now, rough with exhaustion but laced with something else. something deeper.

you swallow, nodding. "yeah."

he hums softly, his fingers tracing idle circles against your back.

"this is new," you murmur, barely above a whisper.

"what is?"

"you," you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "not pushing me away."

heeseung’s lips twitch, but his smirk doesn’t hold its usual sharpness. instead, he watches you, studying your face like he’s trying to commit every inch of it to memory.

"i think i got tired of running."

your breath catches. you don’t know what to say to that—what to do with that. so you don’t say anything.

instead, you shift closer, letting your fingers trace over the bare skin of his chest, over the sharp planes of his collarbones, the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. heeseung shivers, his breath hitching just slightly.

he shifts, rolling onto his side, bringing you with him so you’re pressed against his chest, so close you can feel his breath against your lips.

his fingers tilt your chin up, and the moment stretches, charged, waiting—until he leans in, pressing the softest kiss against your lips.

it’s nothing like before. nothing like the desperation, the hunger, the madness that had consumed you both just minutes ago.

this one is slow. lingering. almost tender.

his hand settles against your jaw, thumb tracing delicate patterns along your cheekbone.

then after a long silence he hesitantly speaks up, "why were you looking for me?"

your breath stills.

heeseung’s voice is careful, but not indifferent. it’s something softer, something almost uncertain.

"you were avoiding me," you murmur, pressing your palm flat against his chest. "i wanted to know why."

heeseung doesn’t answer right away. his fingers still, hesitating, before he exhales, a slow, heavy sound.

"because i was afraid."

that makes you look up. "afraid?"

his jaw tenses. "afraid that if i let myself have this—have you—i wouldn't be able to stop."

your throat tightens. "and now?"

heeseung’s lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smirk. "i already lost that fight, sweetheart."

your heart clenches, something warm unfurling deep in your chest.

"then stop pretending you don’t want this." your voice is quieter now, steadier.

his eyes flicker over your face, searching, considering.

"and what if i do?" he murmurs. "what if i want all of it?"

you feel your breath hitch, pulse stuttering beneath your skin.

"then we figure it out."

the silence stretches, but this time, it’s not heavy. it’s something else, something warm.

heeseung exhales softly, then leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

"you drive me insane," he mumbles, lips brushing against your skin.

"good," you whisper, smiling against his shoulder.

heeseung shifts slightly, pressing you closer, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, tracing absentminded patterns against your spine.

"so," he says after a beat, voice tinged with amusement, "what do you think people will say when they find out you’re dating a vampire?"

your stomach flips.

"who said anything about dating?" you tease, lifting your head slightly.

heeseung raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "oh? you want me all to yourself, but you don’t want to call it dating?"

you roll your eyes, nudging him playfully. "you’re impossible."

"and you’re stuck with me now."

his voice is light, teasing, but there’s something real underneath it—something steady, something sure.

something that tells you this isn’t just tonight.

it’s more.

you let out a soft laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

"guess i am."

JAY

JAKE

SUNGHOON

SUNOO

JUNGWON

NI-KI

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

"why are you looking at me like that?"

you blink, snapped out of your trance. yeonjun turns to you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"like what?" you ask, tilting your head.

"like you're about to bully me."

you let out a soft hum. "i was just thinking."

he snorts. "that’s never good."

you ignore him. "you’re not a very good kisser.".

his entire body goes stiff, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. his phone slips from his grip, bouncing onto his lap, and he blinks at you in pure devastation.

"huh?" he finally croaks out, voice cracking horribly.

you shrug. "i mean, you're just kinda… meh. nothing special."

yeonjun’s jaw drops. he presses a dramatic hand to his chest like you’ve just stabbed him. "EXCUSE ME?!"

you barely hold in your laugh at his utterly betrayed expression. "i dunno, babe. you just kinda suck."

"I SUCK?! i—when? why didn’t you say anything before" he whines, eyes wide with disbelief.

you hum, inspecting your nails. "I was being nice."

yeonjun gasps, clutching his chest like a 19th-century widow. his ears are red. "YOU WERE BEING NICE?! BABY, MY EGO—HELLO?!"

before he can spiral into a full-blown meltdown, you reach up, gently plucking his glasses off his face.

his words die in his throat.

"which is why you need more practice," you murmur.

his breath hitches.

then, before he can so much as process what’s happening, your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him in as your lips crash against his.

yeonjun whimpers.

he goes boneless instantly, melting into you like putty. his plush lips part against yours, kissing you back so desperately, so messily, it’s obvious he’s completely lost in it. your fingers tangle deeper into his hair, tugging lightly, and the sound he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a whine—sends heat rushing through you.

it’s a mess. his lips move against yours with a feverish hunger, hands gripping your waist as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. he’s so eager, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes you shiver.

when you finally pull away, only because you need air, yeonjun chases your lips with a needy whine, trying to pull you back in.

but then, against your lips, he mumbles in the saddest, most pathetic voice:

"do you really think I’m a bad kisser?"

you lose it.

a laugh bubbles out of you, and you cup his face, pressing a soft peck to his nose. his cheeks are burning, his brows furrowed in genuine distress.

"i was just messing with you, baby," you giggle, pecking his lips again. "i just needed an excuse to kiss you. I literally can’t get enough of you."

yeonjun blinks. once. twice.

then he groans, dramatically collapsing onto your shoulder, wrapping himself around you like a clingy koala. "you’re SO mean."

you laugh, rubbing his back. "you love me."

"unfortunately," he grumbles, muffled against your neck.

you smirk. "and you’re a great kisser, by the way."

he peeks up at you, still red-faced, before stealing another quick kiss—like he needs to make up for lost time. and despite his flustered state, you know he’s already planning ways to get back at you… if he ever stops blushing long enough to think straight.

SOOBIN

for someone so tall and broad, soobin is an absolute baby when it comes to you. the man stutters every time you compliment him, avoids eye contact when you so much as hold his hand, and malfunctions if you get even a little bit flirty. he physically cannot handle any form of teasing—his ears turn red, his hands get clammy, and he lets out those pathetic little whimpers whenever you catch him off guard.

right now, though, soobin is doing so well pretending to be normal.

you two are in his kitchen, baking together, and he’s very focused on whisking the brownie batter. his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted, his strong arms flexing with every precise movement. the sight of his broad shoulders tapering into his slim waist is so unfair. the way his biceps subtly shift under his oversized t-shirt?—it’s all so unfairly attractive. he’s doing absolutely nothing and yet, somehow, he’s driving you insane.

you step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and burying your face into his back. soobin stiffens. like, completely freezes. you swear you can hear his heart pounding from this position.

then—

"b-babe?" he croaks out, voice cracking violently.

you giggle, tightening your hold around him. "mhm?"

"w-what are you—" he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when you press a soft kiss against his nape. his breath shudders. you grin against his skin, pressing another kiss, then another, trailing them slowly up to his jaw. you can feel his entire body trembling beneath your touch, his grip on the whisk turning bone-white.

"b-baby, i—"

you don’t let him finish. instead, you suck gently on the soft skin just beneath his ear.

soobin lets out a broken whimper. his whole body shudders, and you swear he whines when you lick over the spot before sucking again, harder this time. his free hand grips the counter for dear life as if that’ll stop his knees from giving out.

"s-stop," he begs, voice so weak, so pathetic.

you don’t stop. you drag your lips across his skin, finding a new spot to bite down on, leaving another mark, and—

"OH SHIT!"

you pull back, startled, just in time to see soobin staring in absolute horror at the bowl in front of him. he’s gripping a salt container. and he just dumped a quarter of it into the brownie batter.

there’s a moment of dead silence.

then—

"YOU DISTRACTED ME!" soobin wails, turning to face you with the saddest pout you’ve ever seen.

you burst out laughing.

"soobin!" you gasp, holding your stomach. "oh my god, you—oh my god—!"

"this is NOT funny!" he cries, stomping his foot like an actual child. "those were gonna be SO GOOD!"

"they still can be!" you tease, wiping a tear from your eye. "just... y'know, if you wanna die of sodium overdose."

soobin groans, covering his face in shame. "i hate you."

you smirk, stepping closer. "no, you don’t."

"I DO."

"no, you don't."

"i dooooo—"

he cuts himself off mid-whine. because suddenly, he’s hit with an idea.

a horrible idea.

and you see it in his eyes before it even happens.

in the blink of an eye, soobin spins around, trapping you against the counter. his arms cage you in, his broad frame looming over you, and he leans in all slow and deliberate, trying to act like he knows what he’s doing.

"now look what you’ve done, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave.

oh.

oh, he thinks he’s being hot.

the problem is—he looks more adorable than hot, because his ears are bright red, his eyes keep darting to your lips like he doesn’t know where else to look, and the way he’s breathing just the tiniest bit too fast gives away how insanely nervous he is.

then he licks his lips.

(or at least, he tries to.)

because the second his tongue peeks out, he accidentally bites it instead, letting out a pathetic little "ow."

you stare at him.

soobin freezes.

the tension shatters.

then you die laughing, "you—YOU TRIED TO BE SMOOTH AND THEN—!"

"NOOOO, WAIT—!"

but you’re already giggling uncontrollably, fully doubling over against his chest.

soobin groans, hiding his face in his hands. "ugh this is so embarrassing!"

you lift your head, still laughing, pressing a kiss to his flaming cheek. "you’re so cute, baby."

"don’t say that!" he whines, flailing his arms.

but you just smirk. "what? i thought you wanted to be all smooth and confident?"

soobin collapses onto the counter, burying his head in his arms. "i am NEVER doing that again."

you giggle, patting his head. "i dunno, baby. i think it was kinda hot."

soobin lifts his head slightly, peeking at you with hopeful eyes. "really?"

you grin. "no."

he lets out the loudest groan ever.

 BEOMGYU

beomgyu is the absolute worst best friend to have a crush on. he’s loud, annoying, and somehow always finds new ways to make you suffer. he’s clingy in the worst way—stealing your snacks, flopping onto you like a deadweight whenever he’s tired, and absolutely refusing to let you do anything in peace. he always has to be touching you—whether it’s throwing his leg over yours, wrapping his arms around you like a koala, or straight-up lying on top of you like you’re a personal mattress.

but the moment you touch him first? malfunction.

the second you get even a little flirty? shutdown.

and lately, you’ve been having way too much fun testing that theory.

because beomgyu’s been working out.

like, seriously working out.

and god, is it showing.

he’s huge now—his shoulders broader, his arms thicker, his waist still slim but now complemented with solid muscle. you don’t know when exactly he started hitting the gym like his life depended on it, but you do know it’s made play-fighting with him so much harder.

like right now, for example.

you’re on your bed, engaged in an intense pillow fight, but it’s not even fair anymore. beomgyu used to suck at this—he used to wheeze and flail and scream whenever you got the upper hand. but now? now he’s too strong. every time you swing at him, he effortlessly blocks it, laughing at your pathetic attempts to win.

"aw, what’s wrong?" he teases, easily dodging your next swing. "is someone losing?"

you scowl. "shut up."

"no, seriously," he grins, mocking you. "this is sad. like, you’re not even putting up a fight. are you even trying?"

oh, fuck him.

you drop the pillow, launching yourself at him instead.

beomgyu yelps as you tackle him down, using your weight to pin him beneath you. before he can react, you go for the kill—your fingers digging into his sides, tickling him ruthlessly.

"no no WAIT—"

his laughter explodes from his chest, high-pitched and desperate. he squirms, his muscles tensing under you as he tries to fight back, but you’re relentless, giggling as he gasps for air.

 but then, just as your giggles subside, you become painfully aware of two things:

beomgyu looks hot.

you want him to choke you.

the realization hits you like a truck. because holy shit—he’s under you, panting, his face flushed, his arms bulging as they grip your waist, his lips parted just slightly, his brown eyes dark and half-lidded as he catches his breath.

oh.

oh, no.

you freeze, eyes locked on his.

beomgyu, of course, being the oblivious loser he is, just blinks at you, completely unaware of the thoughts flooding your brain.

and then he flips you over.

in one quick motion, Beomgyu has you pinned instead, his thick arm curling around your neck in a chokehold.

your brain short-circuits.

because—

this is exactly what you wanted.

and Beomgyu, still oblivious, leans down, his breath hot against your ear.

"what now, huh?" he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone. "you thought you could win? look at you now."

oh, fuck.

your entire body shudders. this is too much. his scent, his weight, the way his arm presses against your throat just right—

"god, this feels so good."

the words slip out before you can stop them.

beomgyu freezes.

and then—

"…huh?"

his grip loosens instantly, and he stumbles back like he’s been electrocuted. his face is burning red, eyes wide in pure, unfiltered panic.

"w-what do you mean—" he gulps. "w-what do you—w-what—h-huh—?"

you blink up at him, suddenly just as flustered.

"uhm—"

"n-no wait—like—" beomgyu waves his arms, looking so painfully distressed. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT FELT GOOD—?"

you gulp, forcing yourself to meet his panicked gaze.

and then, because you literally have no other choice, you blurt out, "i think i like you."

beomgyu stares.

he stares.

and then he glitches, mouth opening and closing, hands twitching by his sides, brain fully crashing. his eyes dart everywhere except at you, his entire face a shade of red so intense you’re afraid he might actually pass out.

"you-you like me? like—LIKE ME like me?"

you bite your lip, nodding shyly. "yeah."

his breath catches and he immediately looks away, running a shaky hand through his hair, looking like he’s about to combust.

"h-holy shit—" he mutters under his breath. "oh my god oh my god—"

then—

"WAIT—SO YOU—SO YOU LIKED THE CHOKEHOLD?"

you groan, covering your face. "BEOMGYU—"

he wheezes, hands on his knees. "OH MY GOD—"

you swear he giggles. like, actually giggles.

then he stops and his entire body shudders.

and he whispers, "holy shit, that was kinda hot."

you choke.

"BEOMGYU!"

"you’re a freak," he teases, grinning. "wanting me to choke you and shit—"

"OH MY GOD SHUT UP!"

but when he pulls you into a hug, still laughing, still red-faced and awkward and loser-ish in the best way, you can’t help but smile.

TAEHYUN

taehyun is a very serious tutor. he has strict rules—no distractions, no unnecessary conversations, and definitely no messing around. this is a learning environment, not a hangout session.

he prides himself on his focus, his ability to remain calm under any circumstance. he’s the type of guy who color-codes his notes, has a rigid study schedule, and unironically enjoys doing practice questions for fun. he does not—under any circumstances—get flustered over dumb things like romantic tension.

at least, that’s what he used to believe.

then you happened, and suddenly, his ability to not be a complete loser around you has disappeared entirely.

from the moment he agreed to tutor you in math, things have been an absolute disaster. you’re so unfair. you bat your eyelashes, you ask him to repeat things you already understand just to hear his voice, and worst of all, you stare at him. like he’s some kind of fascinating subject to study instead of the guy desperately trying to keep his composure while explaining differential equations. 

he thought it would be fine—after all, he’s taehyun, and taehyun doesn’t get distracted. but within one week, he realized he was in deep, deep trouble.

because you mess with him. constantly.

like today.

you're both seated at a table in the library, supposed to be going over trigonometric identities. taehyun has the patience of a saint (or so he tells himself), but after fifteen minutes of you not even pretending to be paying attention, he's starting to lose it.

because you're staring at him shamelessly, chin propped up on your palm, eyes locked onto him with a lazy smile playing on your lips.

he tries to ignore it. he really does. his eyes flick to the textbook, his pen tapping against the table in a controlled rhythm. but it’s like your gaze is physically burning into him, and the more he tries to focus, the harder it gets.

finally, he snaps.

"what?" he blurts, gripping his pen so tightly it might explode.

you blink, all innocent. "what do you mean?"

"you're staring at me."

"oh." your lips curl into a slow smirk. "i was just thinking."

taehyun immediately doesn’t like the sound of that.

"thinking about what?" he asks, voice strained.

"how pretty you are."

his pen drops to the table with a clatter.

"i—" he chokes on air, already feeling heat crawl up his neck. he forces himself to focus, grabbing his pen with a death grip like it’s some kind of life support. "th-that’s irrelevant. get back to the problem."

but you? oh, you're evil.

you lean in closer, resting your chin on your hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. "i mean it," you hum. "you’re so cute, taehyun. it’s distracting."

distracting?

oh, the irony.

because you’re calling him distracting while he’s actively trying not to combust on the spot.

"s-stop," he stammers, adjusting his glasses even though they don’t need adjusting. "i—i don’t see how this is relevant to trigonometry—"

"it’s not," you shrug. "but I think you should know how much I like looking at you."

his breathing stops.

and then, as if you haven’t already destroyed him enough, you reach forward and fiddle with the hem of his sleeve, fingers brushing against his wrist like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

taehyun physically malfunctions.

tis ears are burning, his pulse is racing, and for the first time in his entire life, he has no idea what to do.

and so? he chooses violence.

without a word, taehyun slams his textbook shut, grabs his bag, and bolts out of the library so fast that he nearly trips over his own feet.

"we’re done!" he yells over his shoulder, voice cracking. "see you next week!"

you lose it, dissolving into laughter as you watch him practically sprint out of the building, ears glowing red.

and somewhere, down the hallway, taehyun is muttering under his breath about how this is why he should’ve never agreed to tutor you.

oh, he is never living this down.

HUENINGKAI 

hueningkai has been a mess around you for as long as you can remember.

it’s kind of ridiculous, really. despite being handsome and built like a human teddy bear, he has zero game. like, none at all. he stutters when talking to pretty people (you), trips over his own feet at least twice a day, and would definitely combust if you so much as complimented him unexpectedly.

and the fact that he’s your best friend bahiyyih’s older brother just makes it all the more entertaining. every time you so much as acknowledge his existence, bahiyyih rolls her eyes like she’s watching a romcom in real-time.

it’s adorable, really.

which is why, when he hesitantly approaches you after lecture one day, eyes darting everywhere but at your face, you already know whatever he’s about to say is going to be good.

"c-can you help me shop for hiyyih’s birthday?" he stammers, gripping the straps of his backpack like his life depends on it. "i—i don’t really know what to get her, and you're, um, good at this stuff…"

you smile, amused. "of course, kai. let’s go."

fast forward an hour later, and you find yourself in a cosmetics store, browsing through endless rows of lip glosses.

you hold up two tubes, lips pursed in thought. "i can't decide between these two," you mumble, glancing at kai, who has been hovering behind you like a nervous puppy the entire time.

his eyes flicker to the glosses, then to you, then away, like he’s afraid of looking at you too long.

"uh, i mean—" he stammers, rubbing his neck. "they both look nice?"

you narrow your eyes. useless.

"i need an actual opinion," you huff before popping the cap off one of them. you apply a coat to your lips, then turn to him with a tilt of your head. "how does this one look?"

hueningkai’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

iI—it’s pretty," he says finally, voice cracking on the last syllable.

you suppress a giggle, then glance at the other gloss. "okay, but I need to compare. I can’t put this one on my lips because I already have the first shade on."

he blinks, confused. "oh. uh, so—"

"so I should put it on yours," you finish simply.

his face goes from pink to red in record time. his eyes are huge, lips parting slightly like he just had a stroke.

"w-wait—on me?!"

you arch a brow, feigning innocence. "yeah? so I can see the difference properly. otherwise, we’ll never know which one’s better."

his throat bobs. his fingers tighten around the straps of his shopping bag. "i—uh—"

he looks like he’s two seconds away from self-destructing, but then he nods—barely and stiffly presses his lips together.

you bite back a grin.

he really is a loser.

gently, you lift the applicator and lean in, holding his chin steady with your free hand. his skin burns under your fingertips, and you swear you can hear his breathing get shakier. his eyes squeeze shut, his shoulders tense, and his entire existence is one giant ball of nerves.

but the second the wand makes contact with his pouty lower lip, he starts fidgeting.

"kai, hold still," you laugh, reaching out to cup his face with one hand. his cheeks are burning, and his lips part in surprise as your fingers graze his skin. his entire body locks up, lips parting slightly as his breath hitches. his big, round eyes are glued to your face now, completely mesmerized as you lean in closer.

his lips are so pouty. plush, glossy, glistening under the store’s lights, and suddenly, it feels like your body is moving on its own. before you can stop yourself, your gaze flickers to his wide, dazed eyes—then down to his parted lips—

and you kiss him.

It’s soft at first—just a press of your lips against his. but the moment you start to pull away, he—to your utter shock—kisses you back.

slow, hesitant, but definitely kissing back.

his lips move against yours in a way that’s both nervous and eager—like he can’t believe this is happening but wants more anyway. his hand hovers near your wrist, as if he wants to hold you closer but is too shy to do it.

and that’s when it hits you.

you just kissed hueningkai. in public.

iou jolt back, eyes wide. "i’m so sorry—i-i didn’t mean—"

but kai? he just stared at you, lips still glossy, blinking like his brain is still catching up to reality. then, slowly—so, so shyly—he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, lips curling into the tiniest smile.

"i... liked that, actually," he mutters, barely above a whisper.

the air turns thick with tension, and you can’t tell who’s more flustered—him, with his red ears and adorably shy expression, or you, with your pulse hammering a mile a minute.

for a long moment, neither of you say anything.

and then, in a quiet, hesitant voice, hueningkai clears his throat and asks, "s-so, um… which gloss do you think looks better?"

you laugh, cheeks still warm. "honestly?" you glance at his lips. "i think i like this one better."

and just like that, his face explodes into color all over again.

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