dee

“Maybe her and her situationship are back together,” Seonghwa offers, in the corner of the sectional, splitting Jongho and Yeosang. His dark brows wiggle, “Maybe he listened to the episode and decided to get his shit together.”

“Do you think he knows who she is?” Yunho wonders, undeniably intrigued. He curses under his breath, he missed a shot in the game. “Do you think we’ll ever find out who she is?”

“No,” Wooyoung and the other six answer as one. Yunho frowns. 

“It’s all so lame,” Wooyoung complains. “You’re all obsessed with her and you don’t even know who she is. Is a woman having sex really that interesting?” 

“Why are you whittling her down to just a woman who has sex?” San argues back, leaning his elbows on his knees now, eyeing Wooyoung from under his brows across the couch. “Women like her are basically nonexistent. Did you listen to the episode on anal?”

Wooyoung cringes, but Hongjoong speaks up, “No one is into anal.” 

“Yeah, not even her, I’d bet,” Wooyoung’s rebuttal is under his breath, he shakes his head as he pulls out his phone. He opens Instagram, scrolling through his feed, liking every bikini picture he sees. It gets boring after about six, so he refreshes his feed, and his eyes catch on the several circles at the top of his screen. Story posts. 

He clicks the first one he sees, Huh Yunjin. He remembers her, he fucked her a few months ago, he thinks. It was another themed party, a wear anything but clothes party, and she wore toilet paper around her boobs and butt. Wooyoung wonders if she still has the sweatpants and shirt he let her wear after he ripped it off of her.

The story post is a cute selfie of her and another girl, it takes Wooyoung four whole seconds of staring at the selfie with his thumb held on the screen to realize the other girl is you. Then he realizes he hasn’t seen you since the day you flipped shit on him at the gym. He screenshots it, opens his camera roll, and zooms in until he can see every pixel.

You look different. You’re smiling, happy about the two drinks in your hands, but there’s something off. Something different. He can’t figure it out. Why the fuck would he be able to figure it out just by a screenshotted picture from Yunjin’s story?

He locks his phone, throwing it on his lap, and brings his attention back to the conversation being held around him, except there is no conversation. Mingi and Yunho are yelling, he has no idea how he blocked that out, and the other five are leaning in closer to the TV, watching their FIFA match as if it was a real soccer game happening in front of their eyes. 

Wooyoung announces, “I’m in the mood to drink.”

Seonghwa doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “It’s a Monday.”

Jongho turns his head, interested and apparently also in the mood to drink, “Jungwon’s frat is throwing tonight.”

“San?” Wooyoung tips his chin in San’s direction, like if San said yes, he’d say yes. That’s usually how partying goes— how everything goes, really. 

San makes a face that tells Wooyoung he doesn’t care either way. “Sure,” he shrugs, “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“I wanna come,” Yunho interjects, ripping his eyes away from the screen just long enough to look at Wooyoung with begging eyes. 

“I’m not your keeper,” Wooyoung doesn’t know why Yunho still asks. 

“I am,” Mingi’s lips pin upward in a teasing grin. “I’ll come, too, my first class is at noon tomorrow.” 

“As if any of you ever go to class,” Seonghwa snickers. 

“I go to class,” comes from Hongjoong and Yeosang, at the same time. They look at each other and grin, proud of their studious efforts.

“Let’s all go,” Jongho offers, sitting up straight, lips pinned in something mischievous. “We can infiltrate their house.”

“I don’t care about infiltrating,” Wooyoung’s head finds the back cushions, spreading his knees. “I want to drink and fuck and leave.”

Yeosang, ignoring Wooyoung, offers, “I’ll drive, if we want to squeeze into my car.”

They’ve all fit into Yeosang’s SUV before, after a serious game of Tetris, bending and forcing limbs into places they’re not supposed to go. But it works, and Wooyoung doesn’t mind stretching himself to fit, as long as the night ends with him stretching someone else to fit. 

“You can’t only go to class and work forever,” Yunjin’s arms are crossed in your doorway, her hair tied up over her head, her casual-but-cool outfit trumping yours completely. You’re still in the shirt you wore to bed, shorts hidden somewhere beneath, flip-flops on your feet, hair dirty as fuck and slicked back because of it. You had two classes earlier today, too.

“Yes I can,” you argue, your laptop screen suddenly beyond interesting. Soobin was right, it is a small campus, and it’s not like you were just avoiding one person, you’ve been avoiding three. “I really have to finish this report, Jen, it’s due tomorrow.”

“You finished it a week ago,” she sighs as she walks into your bedroom, leaning onto your desk, arms still crossed. Fuck her for knowing you so well. “You partied while you were dating him. You’ve never had any issues going out, so why start now?”

“Did I miss the part where your boyfriend cheated on you?” You sit back in your desk chair, lifting your feet until your toes rested on the edge of the slab of light wood. “Oh, wait, that was me. And he cheated on me with a man. Can’t a girl take a couple weeks to wallow in her heartbreak?”

“You came home that night feeling two emotions. Anger, and relief.” She turns to the side, one leg crossed over the other, the lower half of her tall body leaned up against the desk. “You weren’t crying because you were sad, girl, you were crying because he cheated on you. You admitted it!”

“I was confused!” you argue, voice pitched in defense. “I was with him for over a year, Jen. I thought I was going to marry him.”

“You were with him for six months, maybe nine if I feel like being generous,” she smacks her teeth. “You were never going to marry him and you know it. That basket was a cry for attention, and he gave you a reality check instead. I’ve comforted you for two weeks and let you sit and wallow or whatever, but tonight, we’re going out.”

“I’m not leaving this apartment,” you threaten.

“Jihyo will drag you out of this apartment with her bare fucking hands,” she threatens back, in the same tone you used on her. You stare at each other for a moment, a stand-off, before the side of her cherry-red lips tugs upward in a smile. Her smile makes you smile, and then the two of you are laughing like you weren’t arguing a second ago.

Your laughter blends into a groan as you tip your head back, closing your eyes. You really aren’t in the mood to party, and you especially aren’t in the mood to go to some fuckass frat you’ve been to maybe three times in your life. If Yeonjun was at Wooyoung’s frat the night of the zip-tie party, then he could easily be there tonight, too. You aren’t in the mood to think about what you’ll do, what you’ll feel if you see him.

Realization hits you like a slap across the face when Yunjin’s words process. Your eyes snap open, “You invited the girls over to pregame?”

Yunjin shrugs, a sly grin still playing on her lips. “You need a push.”

“It’s only been two weeks!” you shout, exasperated.

“Two weeks too long,” she complains, pushing herself off the desk. “You’re twenty-one and hot, there’s no reason for you to sit in here and deteriorate.”

“There’s no reason for me to go out,” you argue, rolling yourself backward as she moves toward your closet, watching. “I’m not like you, Jen, I’m not gonna go kiss randoms or fuck someone in the bathroom, that’s not going to make me feel better.”

She sorts through hangers, ordering, “You need to do laundry, this closet is empty.” Pulling out a random top, she makes a face like she’s semi-impressed by it, “You don’t need to kiss randoms or have sex in a bathroom. All you need is a good night out with your girl friends, at the very least it will help jump-start your heart into healing.”

Your bottom lip folds over. “What do I do if I see him? What if he’s with Beomgyu?”

She throws the top on your bed, and holds out her left hand to count on it. “You’ll have me, Jihyo, Momo, Sana, Tzuyu, Nayeon and Chaeyoung as your personal human shields. You won’t see him.”

“And, what? You guys are gonna circle me all night?” you raise your brows, sarcasm in your question. 

“Like fucking hawks,” Yunjin grins like she was already in agreement with the others. “Get up and get showered, and please wash your hair.”

Your lips part, offended. “I was going to wash my hair today anyways!”

She started bothering you about this party before your first class, early this morning. Well, really, she mentioned it last night, and then first thing when she woke up and met you in the kitchen, then once when you got home, and you suppose now she’s officially made the decision for you.

Yunjin wasn’t wrong. You’ve spent two weeks meticulously tiptoeing around campus, keeping an eye over your shoulder on the way to class and back, you’ve been terrified of the jingle over the door at the gym, where you work. You think the fear of seeing them, any three of them, might be overshadowing what emotions you actually feel toward your breakup. 

You’ve heard from Yeonjun several times. The next day he left voicemails on your phone, apologizing profusely, trying and failing terribly to explain the situation. He’s texted you, he’s emailed you, he’s gone as far as saying he’ll kick Beomgyu out of the apartment if it meant you’d get back together with him. You haven’t answered a single message, but you haven’t blocked him, either. It’s strangely easy to ignore, the calls, texts, emails, he’s strangely easy to ignore. Like there’s an imaginary wall up between you and the entire situation. Like you can’t seem to process it, let alone get over it, or try to move past it.

It’s not like it never happened, but it’s put a pin in your entire life like seeing him in bed with someone else has frozen time itself. Nothing outside of school and work seems to exist, or matter, nothing outside of your bedroom-classroom-gym bubble seems to be real.

It’s strange. You feel strange. You aren’t ready to figure out what that means.

After a long shower and an extensive post-shower routine, you still feel like you’re floating through the motions of doing your hair, your makeup. It’s like you’re living outside of your own body, but you don’t really feel an ache, or the hollowness in the space where Yeonjun once filled. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

You jump, throwing your eyeliner pen across your vanity. Whipping your head to the doorway, Jihyo stands as perfect as she always does, smiling wide, shoulders back, chin upward, radiating a comforting dominance you’ve never seen anyone else able to replicate. She’s holding a can in her left hand, a martini glass in her right, she isn’t taking no for an answer.

Her long, dark hair is in a high ponytail, baggy pants on her legs, a top that just covers what it needs to. Her tanned, golden skin glows from the fluorescent light of your vanity, or the LED lights, whatever they are. She looks hot.

Her hips move in a slow sway as she saunters across your bedroom, setting your martini glass down beside your array of compacts. “Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” she asks, her lips a sparkling, glossy pink.

You shake your head before answering, “Jen might have picked something out, I didn’t look.”

“I know you don’t want to go,” she changes the subject, her voice keeping the same confident, smooth cadence she always has. “And I know parties here are a dime a dozen, but tonight is the night you’re finally gonna break out of this funk.”

You haven’t spoken to the other girls about any of it. Not about Yeonjun cheating on you, not about who with, but you don’t mind that Yunjin passed the message along. It’s easier if you don’t have to talk about it.

Your mouth still feels dry. You try a smile, sipping your martini, feeling the absence of all three olives. “I’m not in a funk,” you lie straight through your teeth, “it is what it is.”

“That’s the funk,” she bends down enough to where you have to shift your head down to keep her eye. “You’re not a passive girl. You might have been with him, but that’s not you at your core. From now on, we’re focusing on bringing that back out of you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you basically murmur. “Not being argumentative, or loud, or angry. Being chill.”

“Being passive isn’t being chill,” she stands again, taking a sip of her own drink. “Being passive is allowing yourself to get walked all over, and that’s what you’ve spent the last year doing. Tonight is the first step in undoing all of that shit.”

You think of San, who has seen you since the day he met you at the Penny. When he was reading you just by your coffee order. Or Yunho, who you were able to talk to so freely, so much that you let words slip that you wouldn’t say to any of the women in this house beside Yunjin. You think about Wooyoung, the banter between you, how exhilarating and entertaining it is for a man to not only match your energy, but to send it back to you tenfold. Why is it so easy to be yourself around them? Why does everyone else require a mask?

You haven’t been able to bring yourself to sit in front of your microphone in two weeks, you don’t have anything happy or funny to say, you can’t think of a single topic when you have notebooks upon notebooks with topics written down. You feel disconnected from her, Unscripted, your alter-ego, she feels too far away, hidden beneath too many layers of shit. You miss her.

Your nod to Jihyo isn’t convincing, but it’s there. And it seems to be enough for her, because she smiles wide and orders, “When you’re done getting ready, you’re coming out to the living room and we’re all taking shots. We’re getting you fucked up tonight.”

You laugh, more of an amused huff of breath through your nose as you reach for your eyeliner pen. “If I’m getting fucked up, then you’re all getting fucked up, too.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” she drawls as she heads for your bedroom door again. You keep your eyes on her, just because she looks so fucking good walking away.

She’s right, and it’s easy to realize, easy to come to terms with. You let Yeonjun get away with murder in your relationship. He set the schedule, called the shots, chose your future, and you let him. You think you’ve let all the boyfriends you’ve ever had do the same. None of your boyfriends have seen the sarcastic, witty, loud-mouthed part of you, or the part that seems like she’d enjoy black coffee– hard and mad and serious and shit. 

It’s hard to tell which part of you is the alter-ego now.

“I brought you an outfit!” Yunjin announces, skipping into your room with clothes on hangers. She lays them down on your bed, and then leaves just as fast. “We want to take shots soon, so be quick!”

Maybe you never needed an alter-ego to begin with.

Honestly, Wooyoung doesn’t really like house parties that much. But this time of year the campus is always buzzing with them, including his own frat, and he always participates, so who the fuck is he kidding? He goes for the same reasons, and those are the only reasons parties are actually enjoyable. Drinking and fucking, smoking and fucking, sober and fucking, it doesn’t matter what comes first, just what comes after.

“My boy.” He spots Jungwon first, or Jungwon spots him. The president of his frat, a little taller than Wooyoung, he has a cute face but the personality of an oiled fucking machine. If there’s anyone that loves fucking just as much as Wooyoung, it’s Jungwon. Brown, shaggy hair that sits over his forehead, a lean but sculpted body, clothes that always look tailored to him, Jungwon might be just as rich, just as attractive as Wooyoung, too.

He remembers eventually and cringes. He clasps the younger man’s hand, bringing him into a quick embrace with a pat to his back, grinning. “Good to see you, bro.”

“You brought the family,” Jungwon eyes the pack of animals striding in behind Wooyoung, already on the prowl. They actually managed to fit all eight of them into Yeosang’s car.

Wooyoung nods with a small chuckle, “Couldn’t miss a banger. All your boys here?”

“They’re here,” Jungwon nods. “Good luck finding them, though.”

Wooyoung needs the luck, because Jungwon’s frat house is about six times bigger than Wooyoung’s. Not that Wooyoung was the president, that was Hongjoong, if any of them paid any mind to the dynamics of it all. Wooyoung thinks their entire house could fit into the living room he stood in right now. It was one of the rich frats on campus, with a brick-layed exterior, pillars on the porch, one of the houses that gets cleaned weekly by a service sworn-in and is paid for by donating alumni. Wooyoung, nor the rest of his frat, had any interest in having to take care of something as massive as this.

A blonde makes her presence known, fitting right into the space under Jungwon’s bicep, and Wooyoung takes that as his cue to leave. He sees Mingi’s head of dark, cropped hair beside Yunho’s head of blonde, and uses it as a beacon to weave his way through people, making eyes at a certain few on the way. He sneaks in between the couple and neither of them react, like the spot was already his.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Yunho asks, eyes darting all over the living room, art hung high on the ceilings.

“Why?” Mingi asks, turning his head toward Yunho. “You got plans for after or something?”

“His plans are on the back porch, wherever the smokers are,” Wooyoung adds. “How many miles do we have to walk before we can get a fucking drink?”

“San brought beers,” Yunho makes a face, like he’s just realizing he already lost the younger man. “Fuck, why does he go everywhere except toward the kitchen? That’s where liquor is dispersed.”

“I don’t think those rules apply in a place like this,” Mingi says, stopping in his tracks. In the kitchen, the massive, huge room that is only a kitchen because it has appliances in the corner, is roaring. At their own parties, the kitchen counters are usually filled with liquor bottles, shot glasses, ashtrays full of cigarette butts. Not women.

Wooyoung grins ear to ear, “Nice.”

Music blares, and each pounding beat guides the women on the countertops, on the kitchen island. Hips sway, liquor is spilled, cheers are shouted, there’s a crowd for the elevated-surface-dancers. Wooyoung’s never been one to chase, but he’ll watch and enjoy the free show like his life depends on it.

“I need a drink,” Yunho complains, barely watching the show before him. “We’re not even going to be able to get inside that kitchen, let alone get a fucking drink. Where the hell did San go?”

Wooyoung thinks mini-skirts were created just for him. He loves legs, calves, strength and muscle curving the long stretch of skin. He loves heels especially for that reason, when women’s calves are outlined perfectly, flexed just because they took a step. It’s mesmerizing, entrancing, and it makes his dick open an eye in his pants.

“Wooyoung.” He snaps back to Yunho, who’s clearly still complaining. “Get us in there, we need drinks.”

Wooyoung smacks his teeth. Why is it up to him? Actually, that’s a question for them. He shakes his head in irritation, “Why is it up to me?” He was perfectly fine watching the show.

“Because I said so.” Yunho’s reply is short but lacking the sweet counterpart. He grabs onto Wooyoung’s arm and drags him forward, toward the kitchen. Wooyoung doesn’t let his feet drag, because he wants to drink, too, but he’d rather find San than be the small guy dragging the two big guys through a women-watching crowd.

He weaves through bodies, a few women catching his eye, and he caught theirs, too. After a few winks thrown and another few diversions from women he’s already tapped, he finally finds a liquor bottle at the very corner of one counter, centimeters away from a stiletto. 

He looks up, and gets an eyeful of thong. Grinning, he tilts his head, cocky smirk on his lips as he asks, “Can I grab this bottle without my hand getting stabbed?”

The girl looks down, and it dawns on her the same time it dawns on him who the other one is.

“Wooyoung?” she asks, but slides her feet over, letting him reach in for the bottle.

He gives her a nod of acknowledgement, “Jen.”

She bends until the backs of her thighs are kissing her calves. “It’s Yunjin to you.”

Still pretty. Still a bitch. His favorite. His smirk gets sloppier, “Yeah? I’m pretty sure you told me to call you Jen when I was inside you.”

Her cheeks go pink, eyes widening. “You can forget that ever happened, I already forgot.”

He hands the bottle to Yunho and Mingi behind him, all while keeping his eyes on the brunette in front of him. Licking his lips, he considers going for seconds. “That’s a shame, I think about it all the time.”

“Funny, because you never reached out,” she barks out, her eyes thinning.

“Isn’t it better to meet each other like this? Naturally? Organically? I hate that texting bullshit,” he leans his side against the counter, elbow propped up on the granite. “It works, clearly, since you forgot all about me. Want a reminder?”

“I’m not here for that,” she purrs, a smile playing on her own lips. “I’m here for my friend, to help her get over a breakup.”

“Yeah?” Wooyoung’s eyes slide to the rest of the women on countertops. “Which one is she?”

Yunjin looks, too, to point her out to Wooyoung. But her eyes go wide, color draining from her face, “Shit! Help me down.”

She throws an arm out, which Wooyoung quickly takes, keeping her stable as she leaps off the countertop. “What’s wrong?”

“I fucking lost her,” Yunjin panics, quickly pushing past him, Yunho and Mingi. Wooyoung’s face falls as he turns to his friends.

Yunho and Mingi are already giggling with pink cheeks. Mingi snorts, “Guess you can check her off the list for possible bed-warmers.”

Wooyoung scowls, “Give me the bottle.” Yunho hands it over, a tall, skinny bottle of Grey Goose, a top-shelf vodka. He unscrews the cap and brings it to his lips, sucking down three, deep gulps, enough to make him choke on it. He doesn’t choke, though, he makes a face that relays the feeling, instead.

“Be careful or you won’t be able to get it up,” Yunho snickers, Mingi’s laugh following his words.

“I can always get it up,” Wooyoung quips. “I’m half-hard already.”

Both Yunho and Mingi groan in disgust, but it’s true. He just got a face full of ass, and when she bent down he could smell her perfume, look straight down her top. No one could expect his dick to stay soft after that.

Wooyoung scans the kitchen in hopes of finding someone else to ease what has his pants tightening, but his eyes catch on something else entirely. He squints, blinking away what was hopefully dust in his eyes, for a second he thought he saw your boyfriend. He takes a step closer, Yunho and Mingi intrigued now, too, and it’s a weight sitting heavy on his chest that what he thinks he sees is true.

Your boyfriend. But he’s not alone– no, there’s a brunette at his side, short hair, cut shaggy and layered. He’s giggling at her, cheeks pink, she throws a hand into his hair at the nape of his neck, and pulls him down to kiss her. Wooyoung’s jaw drops.

“Why are you staring at those two guys?” Mingi asks, voice quiet like the three of them were being secretive. “Is there something you need to tell us, Woo?”

Wooyoung’s head whips to the side, “That’s a guy?”

“Yes, bro, look,” Mingi throws an arm in their direction. Wooyoung looks at her– his outfit, baggy jeans, a tight top on his middle. From the back, his gender is ambiguous as fuck. The kiss is short, the brunette turns, letting Wooyoung finally see his face, and his stomach drops to the floor.

He thinks back to what Yunjin said, she’s helping her friend through a breakup. Then he looks up at the counter, realizing the women still dancing above him are Momo, Sana, Chaeyoung, Nayeon and Tzuyu– all women he’s slept with before. Then Yunjin’s Instagram story dawns on him, and all the pieces start quickly sliding into place.

“That’s Virgin’s boyfriend,” Wooyoung tells the other two, like he doesn’t believe it himself. “Yunjin said they just broke up.”

“What?” Yunho asks, baffled. “What do you mean, that’s her boyfriend? He was just macking on the pretty guy.”

“I know,” Wooyoung is still staring, like he couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. He wonders when it happened, if it was before or after he saw you at the gym, if that’s why you snapped at him. “I mean, I don’t know, I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“Do you think she’s here?” Yunho asks, turning to Wooyoung, and he can see that glimmer in his eye again. “Does she know?”

“No,” Wooyoung blurts. “I don’t know, we just got here. She might be.”

“We should find her,” Yunho’s eyes are wider now, serious, problem-solving. “Tell her he’s here or something, I don’t know.”

“She probably knows already,” Wooyoung shrugs. “Yunjin just told me she’s gone.” 

It’s up for debate where you actually are in this big ass house.

You don’t care, anywhere is better than in the fucking kitchen where Yeonjun didn’t even see you. You were standing on the goddamn counter, basically a beacon, a sight to behold, and Yeonjun couldn’t pull away from Beomgyu long enough to notice. You didn’t want to be up there in the first place, that was Jihyo’s idea, and if Jihyo told you to jump off a cliff you’d ask her if you should dive. Your front was pressed to hers, Sana at your back, feeling the music and the liquor, letting your body give in to whatever was possessing it, finally relaxing before your world went upside down all over again.

You knew this would happen. You knew they would be there, that purging feeling in your stomach while you were getting ready wasn’t for nothing. But you still came, you still listened to your friends who told you they would shield you. That tonight was the turning point or whatever the fuck. 

You think you’re in some kind of game room, a pool table in the center of the large room with floor to ceiling windows, the air thick with a cloud of gray smoke from the people in the corner passing a bong around. You squeezed yourself between bodies to get through the kitchen, then you scurried down a hallway, then a weird, second one which curved, and it led you to two rooms: this one, and the one adjacent to it, which was some kind of den. There were more people in here, more bodies to hide behind, more space to make yourself invisible.

But you’re not invisible. You’re standing in the doorway in the tiniest shorts you’ve ever seen after abruptly stopping in a panic, your boots skidding against the hardwood. All eyes are on you for a few seconds, and those few seconds make you feel naked, too visible, too real. A guy on the other side of the pool table tilts his head, a cigarette between his lips, a smile tugging at the corner like he knew every thought going on inside your head, and wanted to make sure you knew, too.

You swallow down your physical panic as he makes his way over to you. “Never seen you before,” he drawls like you’re fresh meat, his voice soft, pretty. He’s pretty. Brown hair, curly and messy over his forehead, his body is lean, but strong, his clothes oversized but somehow fitted to his build exactly.

You force a smile. “I don’t usually come here.”

His lips tighten, the cherry of the cigarette burning a bright orange as he looks you up and down. “You should,” he says, smoke leaving his mouth with the word. He lifts his fingers, cigarette landing between two of them. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” you ask instead, pushing your shoulders back. You bottle up the panic inside you, throw the lid over the top, and store it somewhere deep, a place you won’t find until tomorrow. You’re single. You aren’t dating Yeonjun anymore– he has someone else, even if he’s texting you, making promises he won’t keep, he’s not yours anymore. Turning point.

He grins with a feline kind of stare, like he’s assessing you. “Jungwon,” he answers, some amusement laced in his tone. “Why is it that you don’t come here?”

Some people walk in from behind you, you shift to the left to give them access. Jungwon moves with you, then closer to you. You feel your breath stutter in your chest, and you think he might be able to smell the unease radiating off of you. 

“I don’t…” you start, then stop, because you don’t really have a reason. Maybe that’s reason enough. “I don’t have a reason to come here.”

“You do now,” he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, pulling. When he exhales, he asks, “Do you smoke?”

You shake your head, “‘m not a smoker. I drink, though.”

“But there’s no drink in your hand,” Jungwon points out, frowning. “I should fix that for you, shouldn’t I?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. He’s pretty and a smooth talker. You guess you should start the countdown now for when he makes a move, and when you inevitably reject him. You nod anyways, though, because at least he’s easy on the eyes, and offering to get you a drink. The last party you came to, your boyfriend didn’t even say hello.

He brings you back down the curved hallway, but veers off away from the kitchen, walking down a staircase into what you assume is the basement. Clouds of smoke follow behind him, dissipating into the air over your head, and it only gets worse when you’re in the basement.

There’s pong tables, couches, bean bags, a bar setup with stools, everywhere to sit, to stand, is full. You could say that for the entire house, but walking deeper into the basement, you notice that everyone’s eyes, everyone’s body shifts toward Jungwon. You wonder who he is all the way until you get to the back, which has a secondary bar tucked away in the corner. It’s smaller, quieter, with a movie-theater setup, a screen and a couch, there aren’t as many people. The people that are here, on the long, black leather couch, are all making out.

Jungwon doesn’t seem to care, he slips behind the bar like it's his. He lights a new cigarette, assessing the back of the bar like it was full and functional, and asks, “What do you drink?”

You sit on a stool, “Vodka.”

“Like, straight?” he asks, one chestnut brow popped. “Vodka on ice?”

“Usually at parties I’d be offered a beer or a seltzer or something,” you fold your arms over the table, propping your chin on your knuckles. “You want me carrying around a glass?”

“I didn’t plan on leaving this room without you, so no,” his lips pull into that feline smirk again and your stomach drops. “I planned on you drinking and finishing it right here, with me.”

You can feel your cheeks flush, a heat warming up your bare legs hanging off the bar stool. “Smooth,” you smile. “Do you have vermouth? Olive brine?”

“Don’t tell me you’re a martini girl,” he muses, slightly muffled from the cigarette between his teeth. “No martini glasses, but this will do.” He sets up a short tumbler glass for whiskey, or an old fashioned. Your eyes flare, but you don’t complain. He notices, “Martini drinker and you’re picky?”

You smile, a real smile. “I’m not picky…”

He lifts a brow, “But?”

“But my glass isn’t even chilled,” you scrunch your lips to one side, teasing. “I’m not tipping you for this, y’know.”

He snorts, pulling his cigarette from his teeth to lay it on the glass ashtray you didn’t even notice, right beside you. “What, forgot your wallet or something?”

You shrug, “Caught me. Left it at home, with my emergency olives.”

“You can tip me another way,” he says coolly, like he wasn’t trying to flirt. Your toes curl in your boots. He shakes your drink, getting it all cloudy, then pours it into your glass as if he’s been bartending for twenty years. “Taste it, then you can talk to me about how much of a tip it's worth.”

You bring your lips to the rim, eyeing Jungwon over the crystal. It takes like a martini, and like you said, you aren’t picky. His brows raise, “Well?”

“A martini’s a martini,,” you lick your top lip, lowering the glass back to the bar. You feel lighter. Flirting like this, without pressure, talking to a man who is clearly interested in you feels good. 

He leans over the thick slab of wood, amusement in his eyes. “But is it tip-worthy?”

You don’t know what inside you makes you ask, “Are we still talking about the same kind of tip?”

He smiles, and it’s a full, widespread grin. “You’re funny.”

“I can tell from how hard you laughed,” you tease, picking up your glass again. “I’m not the hookup kind, though. Hate to break it to you.”

“Ah,” he nods his understanding, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray while you sip your drink. “You’re the wine and dine type.”

“I’m the type that needs a genuine connection,” you correct. “And I just met you five minutes ago.”

“I’d say we have a pretty strong connection right now,” he says, cigarette between his lips as he re-lights it. “What do they say? Love at first sight?”

It makes you laugh, a straight punch from your gut. You take a deeper sip, then lean a little closer toward him, swirling your finger around the rim. “I don’t fuck at parties.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he counters, voice a low, heavy whisper. “I think you want to, but you’re reminding yourself that you don’t.” Your smile falters. “Or are you convincing yourself? I can’t tell.”

You did bring it up. Cheeks heating up again, you sputter, “I-I just came out of a breakup, he cheated on me. I’m not in the headspace to do anything with anyone.”

“All I did was make you a drink, baby,” he reminds you, voice soft as cotton. “I only brought you down here to get to know you.”

“You didn’t want to join the orgy on the couch?” you smirk, pointing a thumb behind you. Jungwon glances over, then laughs, a pretty song of delight.

“This is my bar,” he admits, then walks around the side of it toward you. He slips into the barstool beside yours, and says, “Only I can bring people down here. The people on the couch have either been here before, or got the go from me. No, I didn’t bring you down here to join the party on the couch, I brought you down here because I wanted to bring you into my space.”

You weigh his words, the look in his eye, then ask, “This is your house?”

His smile grows again. “You don’t even know who’s house you’re in?”

“Don’t care,” you admit, and it’s honest. “I came here to get drunk and have fun with my friends. They kind of forced me.”

“They forced you?” He reaches across the bar, arm disappearing below the slab of wood. He pulls a bottle back, a deep amber color, bourbon. He unscrews the cap, saying, “I don’t see your friends around now.”

“They’re upstairs,” you watch him as he brings the bottle up to his lips, trading tobacco for whiskey. “They tend to stray toward elevated surfaces, not basements.”

Jungwon smiles as he swallows down the liquor. “And you don’t?”

“I was up there,” you’re grinning, nodding. “But it definitely wasn’t my idea.”

“I’m sad I didn’t get to see,” he mutters, setting the uncapped bottle down on the wood. Licking his lips, he shrugs, “You could always put on a private show–”

“Virgin?” you hear from the doorway, a voice you haven’t heard in over two weeks. Your head turns at the sound of it, the familiarity, and you’re met with Jung Wooyoung standing confused in the entryway. “The hell are you doing down here?”

“Hi,” your lips flatten. You still feel the shame from snapping at him, not seeing him, not hearing from him or speaking to him in these past few weeks. You still haven’t decided how you’d explain your breakup with Yeonjun to him. 

“Yo,” Jungwon stretches an arm out, and Wooyoung clasps his hand when he walks over like the greeting was practiced. Now you’re confused. They know each other? Jungwon turns toward you with furrowed brows, “You’re a virgin?”

“No!” you answer too quickly, eyes blowing wide. “He just calls me that,” you side-eye Wooyoung, “because he’s an asshole.”

Even shameful, the sight of him still pisses you off. White tee, dark jeans, hair long and curling beneath his ears, he’s dressed better than he is at his own parties. Wooyoung still looks confused, “Why are you down here? People fuck down here.”

Jungwon melts into his defeat, and your lips pop open. “You said–” you point at Jungwon, then turn to Wooyoung, “he said he didn’t– I’m confused.”

“People come down here to fuck,” Wooyoung explains, pointing with a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s bedrooms behind the screen, a hallway through the door next to it. Sorry J, but you know you’re running a brothel down here, right?”

Your lips stay parted. “You said you didn’t bring me down here to fuck.”

“I didn’t,” Jungwon’s voice grows in pitch. “People just happen to come down here and–”

Wooyoung snorts, a laugh ripping through his chest. “I’m sorry,” he manages to get out, “I didn’t mean to cockblock, but she might be the worst person you could have brought down here.”

Your lips part further, jaw hitting the floor. “What?”

Jungwon’s face falls flat, and he pushes himself backward in the barstool, the legs making an ugly noise against the tiled floors. “Wait,” you blurt, trying to put the pieces together. “Why are you leaving? What the fuck is going on?”

“He brought you down here to fuck you, Virgin,” Wooyoung spells it out for you, his words still drowning in amusement. “Or did you know that already? I didn’t take you for the mid-party-fuck type, unless it’s your boyfriend, who I just saw upstairs, by the way.”

“I thought you said your boyfriend cheated on you,” comes from a confused Jungwon.

“He cheated on you?” Wooyoung’s eyes blow wide. “No, tell me it was with that guy, the brunette one with the pretty face–”

“Oh my god, can you both shut the fuck up?” you snap, silencing the two men. “Yes, he cheated on me with Beomgyu and no I’m not the hookup type and no I didn’t know this was the fucking sex room. You said people come down here to fuck? Why the fuck are you down here, then?”

As if on cue, one of the prettiest women you’ve ever seen is giggling as she passes through the entryway, her heels clicking against the tile as she walks toward Wooyoung. “Wooyoungie,” she whines, not reading the silence from you and Jungwon as she attaches herself to Wooyoung’s side. “Aren’t you taking me back?”

Your brows raise, and so, so slowly you turn your head toward Jungwon. With pointed eyes, you ask, “You brought me down here to ‘get to know me?’”

“If something came after getting to know you, I wouldn’t have said no to it,” he admits shamelessly.

You grab your martini, sucking the rest of it back like it was a shot. “‘Kay, I’m done here, officially going the fuck home.”

“Wait, Virgin,” Wooyoung calls for you as you’re halfway off the stool. “You said you were going to update me, but you haven’t updated me, and clearly there’s a lot to update me on.”

You can only see the back side of her, but you somehow manage to glimpse her tongue poking out of her lips where they were attached to Wooyoung’s neck. With a flat stare, you respond, “Clearly, you’re busy.”

Turning your head, Jungwon is already gone, the bottle of bourbon gone, too. Fucker. He left you here with Wooyoung. But you think being left here with Wooyoung might be better than Wooyoung leaving you here with Jungwon. 

“Baby, baby,” Wooyoung peels the woman off of him with his hands on her hips. Grinning, using what you think is every ounce of swagger he possesses, you watch as he convinces her, “Go wait for me in a room, okay? I’ll come to you, this won’t take long.”

And to your surprise, she listens. She turns for the door you now notice beside the screen and purrs, “Don’t take long, okay? I don’t wanna have to start without you.”

Once she’s out of earshot, you repeat every word she said in a whiny, mocking tone. Wooyoung smacks his teeth as he crosses his arms, “Shut up, she’s hot. How could you let Jungwon bring you down here?”

“What’s it matter to you?” you retort, brows knitting together. “He said he was getting me a drink.”

“And you decided the safe place to get a drink was in the room with naked people on the couch?” he asks, one of his arms flying behind him, referring to the now very naked people on the couch.

Heat lines your cheeks as your lips part, “Oh.” Shaking your head, voice drawing defensive, you argue, “They weren’t naked when I got down here, they were just making out. It was PG-thirteen.”

“You’re too naive for a guy like Jungwon,” Wooyoung’s arms cross tighter. “He’ll tear you to pieces.”

“Maybe I wanted to get torn to pieces,” you proclaim. You were contemplating it, at most, and you’re not naive. “Why are you grilling me? Go get fucked.”

“You’re not the hook-up type, you just said it yourself.” Wooyoung rakes a hand through his hair, “I didn’t want to be right about your boyfriend, you know.”

“Don’t get serious now,” your tone is vicious. “We’re barely even friends. You have no reason to be consoling me right now.”

“You’ve walked in on me jerking off and you walked in on me having sex,” he counters, voice flat. “Now we’re not friends?”

You sigh, exhaustion building from this conversation alone. “You irritate me.”

“What happened two weeks ago?” Wooyoung asks, and in his eyes you can see the concern, the genuine curiosity. “I want to make sense of what I just saw. I want to know.”

Lips scrunching, running both hands through your hair, you don’t have it in you to argue anymore. “Okay,” you preface, and let the rest of the story come tumbling out. From the night he gave you advice, to having sex with Yeonjun, to the basket, to catching him in bed with Beomgyu, you don’t miss a single detail from that night all the way up to today, all of your friends having to convince you to come out.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Wooyoung’s lips are tied tight to one side. “The marriage shit makes sense now, though. Projection, in a way, him holding on to what was left even though he was the one pulling out.”

Your brows raising is your only agreement, because you’ve thought all of this over already. Under your breath, you mutter, “Yeah, I’m sure, he only did that with me.”

You should have known that because he’s Wooyoung, he’d understand your play on words. “Wait, he didn’t cum inside you? Even though you were dating for that long, and he wanted to get you pregnant?” You shake your head. His head tilts, “Girl.”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s over,” you roll your eyes, sinking into the stool. “Can you go now? Go fuck enough for the both of us, since I won’t be having sex for a long, long time.”

Wooyoung studies you for a moment, eyes thin in a squint, debating. “How many bodies do you have?”

“Wooyoung!” you whisper-yell, looking around. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Now you’re shy? After telling me that whole story?” He laughs a little. “Answer.”

Your heartbeat picks up, feeling heat in your cheeks. “Four,” you mumble, so quietly you’re sure he can’t hear you. He cups his ear with his palm, and you repeat, louder, “Four.”

“I heard you the first time, I just wanted to be wrong,” he groans. Running his hands over his face, he stops when his fingers are wrapped around his jaw, “Have you never hooked up with anyone, literally ever?”

“No,” you answer, shameless. “I’ve always had boyfriends, I’m a lover girl.”

His face twinges with disgust, “Never say that again. You talked so much shit about him not fucking you right, and– you know, you should call Jungwon back in here. You should fuck him. You need to learn what good sex is.”

“I know what good sex is,” you argue, offended. “We had good sex, before… before Beomgyu. In the beginning. It was good!”

“Was it good or was it I think I might die good?” There’s a flush ripping through your entire body now, and Wooyoung takes your silence as an answer. “Did he at least make you cum?”

“Yes,” you reply too quickly. Wooyoung’s brows raise like he’s waiting for the rest. Self-consciously, you give him the rest, mumbling, “In the beginning.”

“When was the last time another person made you cum?” 

You don’t know. You can’t answer. Wooyoung chokes on a disbelieving laugh like this is the most diabolical thing he’s ever heard in his life. Shame bubbles up inside your gut, embarrassed that you stayed with him for so long, mortified that Wooyoung now knows all the nitty-gritty details.

“Not all of us fuck anything,” you snap, frustration boiling over. “At least I’ve never had chlamydia. Can you say the same?”

“I’ve never had sex without giving my partner at least one orgasm, can your ex say the fucking same?” he bites back, and every bit of anger behind the words is intentional. “Yes, I’ve had chlamydia, but I’ve been fucking for a long time and I’ve gotten so good at it, now everyone wants a piece. Is that my fault?”

“Not everyone,” you sneer, fingers curling into your stool. You can imagine it, right now, in your head, all the different ways he does it. If Unscripted were here, she’d be kicking that girl out of the bedroom and taking it for herself, experiencing in detail all the ways Jung Wooyoung makes his partners cum. She’d be fucking Wooyoung within seconds.

“And you’re some kind of saint because you don’t want to fuck me?” He laughs, and it’s coated in sarcasm. “Jesus, you wield the fact that I had chlamydia like it’s some kind of weapon against me. I took the medication, I’m clean, I’m safe.”

“Why are you trying to convince me?” You shoot your hand across the room again, damn near shouting. “Go tell the girl that’s waiting for you! Why do you give a fuck what I think about you?”

“Because you’re the one who can’t remember the last time she had an orgasm, and I can give one to you!” he finally shouts, in the same tone as you, and it renders you both quiet. He turns, running his hands through his hair like he was bringing himself back down to earth.

There’s butterflies in your stomach, static in your toes, your heart is banging against your chest. But the shame, the embarrassment, the anger, it’s all still there.

“What, is this some kind of pity offer?” you argue after a moment, and he starts laughing, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “Look, it’s the girl who got cheated on, let me offer her a free orgasm since her cheating ex-boyfriend rarely made her cum, too.”

“It’s not about you,” Wooyoung grits out, his body only turned halfway toward you. “That’s like, a crime, not making your partner finish. A sin.” He finally turns, and the severity on his face kinda freaks you out. “I could teach a fucking master-class on eating pussy, it’s simple. It’s ridiculous to me that women go around fucking guys who won’t make them cum.”

A laugh cracks from your chest. It’s small, at first, but then it tumbles into loud, obnoxious laughter. “You actually have to be kidding me,” you snort, sinking into the stool as you laugh. “You want to make me cum in spite of all the guys on earth who don’t make women cum? Are you a feminist all of the sudden?”

He walks closer to you, his expression stone-cold serious. “I enjoy it, Virgin, like it’s a fucking hobby. When was the last time he ate you out, just to eat you out? Nothing expected afterward?”

“You expect me to believe you won’t want anything after?”

“Answer my question.”

“Probably never,” you answer honestly, amusement still lying in your tone, laughter still breaking up your words. “I don’t think he’s ever gone down on me just to do it.”

Wooyoung groans in disgust, turning away like he couldn’t bear the sight of you. “God, and you dated him for over a year? This is the type of shit I mean when I say I could never be in a relationship, I can’t wrap my mind around dating someone if you’re not having good sex.”

Your lips fall flat, “Well, he was saving it for Beomgyu. What do you want me to fucking say to that, Wooyoung?”

“I want you to tell me to do it,” he answers, so shamelessly it makes your skin prickle with sweat. “I want you to tell me to show you what I’m talking about, to prove that my words are true. That’s what I want.”

You don’t do hook ups, Wooyoung doesn’t do relationships. You want sex to be fully about you, he’s giving you an option he says isn’t about you at all. The proposition is everything you’re against, everything you don’t want, but in his eyes, you see he’s being truthful, that he means every word he says. Yeonjun is upstairs with Beomgyu, there’s a girl just behind that door waiting for Wooyoung, and he… wants to eat you out.

“I don’t do hookups,” you whisper, looking up at him from where you sit on the stool.

“It’s not a hookup,” he shakes his head. “It’s a favor. One you don’t have to pay back.”

“Sex is about love to me, Wooy–”

“It doesn’t have to be,” his voice is calmer now, steadier. “Sex is fun, an experience, it can be a hobby. It’s about pleasure, and who doesn’t want to be pleased?”

You, you guess. That’s all you’ve wanted these past few months, it’s what you’ve been fucking begging for and he’s handing it to you on a silver platter. His words sound like they’re straight our of your own podcast.

“And all you want to do is eat me out?” you ask, brows raised.

“Well, can we kiss a little?” He tilts his head. “You have to be comfortable to cum, you won’t be comfortable if we walk in there and I tear your little shorts off.” A rush of something racks through you, landing in the base of your gut. You shiver. He smiles. “It’s like the night we met, instead this time, you’re actually gonna cum in a random bedroom at a frat party.”

That makes a smile tug at your lips, and before you know it, you’re nodding. It has to be the vodka, the pregame, the drinks you had before going on the counter, the martini you just chugged down. There’s no other explanation for how giddy you feel jumping off the stool and following Wooyoung straight through the door beside the movie screen.