✨nouelinah✨

it had been building for months now, a slow unraveling that you hadn’t even noticed until the exam grades started rolling in and hitting like sucker punches straight to the ribs. a 61 in econ. 58 in calc. a humiliating 43 in the upper-division statistics course you had only signed up for because your advisor swore up and down you’d “do fine” if you just showed up, paid attention, and did the work. of course, nobody told you how hard it’d be to do the work when school felt like breaking your brain with each passing week.

and sure, it wasn’t entirely your fault you were in this now completely catastrophic mess. life happened. you were busy. sooo busy.

tests piled up, papers came due, and before you knew it, the semester had gotten away from you. one skipped lecture turned into two, and then three, because the hangover was too heavy, or you woke up too late, or maybe skipping just became easier than showing up and realizing you still didn’t fucking get it.

your friends didn’t seem to have a problem with it though. in fact, they seemed to be doing just fine, sitting pretty with half the stress you carried while partying with twice the energy. it was infuriating.

how did these trust fund, name-dropping, parents-pay-everything-for-me types just breeze their way through life while you clawed and struggled and stressed for every single second of yours?

“just don’t think about it,” they’d say when you worried aloud about your scholarship.

“take a mental health day. or week. you deserve it!”

“a curve will carry you through like always.”

but that curve was not saving your ass this time, and honestly, the guilt of falling so far behind wasn’t even the worst part.

the worst part was knowing you were the one who let it happen.

there wasn’t anyone else to pin this on, no scapegoat for the party invites you shouldn’t have accepted or the nights out you couldn’t say no to because it’d look bad to disappear. you’d just… kept up.

and things were fun— exciting, even— until they weren’t. until you realized just how hard you were sinking.

and now here you were; failing half your classes, barely passing the others, one more missed lecture away from kissing your scholarship goodbye. and you didn’t even have anyone to turn to for help.

the people you called “friends,” those picture-perfect girls with weekly blowouts paid on daddy’s card and those polished guys with frat pins and parents on donor lists— weren’t actually your friends.

because now that you needed something? now that you were desperate for someone to swoop in and save you from drowning? they only had half-hearted excuses to offer you.

“sorry, babe, we’re swamped with group projects,” one girl had said while sipping an overpriced matcha latte you knew for a fact her roommate paid for.

“dude, just hit up someone in your class. you’ll figure it out,” one guy shrugged, adjusting his collar on what was clearly a brand-new polo shirt for his friday night out.

every excuse only added to the dull ache in your chest.

so maybe they weren’t your friends, not really. maybe they just liked the version of you who didn’t ask for anything, the one who could keep up, who looked shiny and fun and confident all the time.

now, all you had to show for was a rapidly deteriorating GPA, an inbox of ignored emails from professors, a terrifyingly close “academic warning” notice, and a desperate gamble hanging on a thin thread of possibility.

and that gamble was chan.

you didn’t actually know much about him beyond his name, just that he seemed way too hot to be stuck explaining complex theories to freshmen and that he was ridiculously good at his job as a TA for your statistics course.

almost too good.

you sat in the back most of the time, quietly zoning out while he spoke about office hours or went over practice examples that looked more like hieroglyphics to you than math. sometimes you’d stare down blankly at your notebook, pretending to write, just so he wouldn’t call on you.

but now, you didn’t really have a choice anymore, did you?

you were cornered— trapped, honestly— with the weight of your failing grades pressing down on you so hard that it felt like it’d snap your spine in half. chan was your only chance to fix this, and there wasn’t any guarantee he’d even agree to help you.

as far as you could tell from the few glances— okay, stares— you’d snuck during class or the rare moments you did try to pay attention, chan wasn’t the kind of guy who did anyone favors for free. he was helpful, sure. ridiculously patient, disgustingly smart, but distant in this professional, untouchable way that felt more intimidating than approachable.

which sucked because he was so insanely good-looking it made your stomach twist everytime you saw him.

like how was that even fair? how did someone with a full schedule of grading papers and breaking down theorems for struggling students still look like that?

it wasn’t just the obvious things, either, like his jawline being sharp enough to slice through a brick wall or the way his hair always sat perfectly, even if it looked like he’d run his hands through it a million times. or the broad shoulders that strained against his button-ups, the way the rolled up sleeves gave a front-row view of his inked forearms when he turned to write on the board, he’d done that on purpose, you were sure of it.

no, it was deeper than that. something about him just… oozed authority. he had this natural confidence, this charm that made every interaction feel intentional, sharpened by polite smirks and these piercingly knowing looks that made you feel like he could see straight through you.

and that was terrifying.

you weren’t exactly one to shy away from attention. hell, you practically craved it on most days, but the idea of being in the same room as chan, let alone putting yourself at his mercy by asking for a favor this big? it put knots in your stomach.

to be fair, it wasn’t just how hot he was or how sharp his tone could get if someone asked an obviously stupid question. it was the fact that you knew— you knew— he’d seen you at your worst.

because, let’s face it, you weren’t exactly subtle. it wasn’t hard to notice the girl stumbling into class ten minutes late with one hand clutching a coffee she clearly didn’t need and the other hand trying to smooth yesterday’s mascara out from under her eyes. or the girl who’d roll her eyes during presentations, whispering sarcastic comments to her desk mate only to fail her own turn at the podium because she hadn’t read the material.

you saw it in the way his eyes flicked over you sometimes— brief, appraising glances, like he was clocking all the things you were doing wrong but didn’t have the energy to care. and that made asking for his help… well, humiliating wasn’t even the right word.

but when you thought of all your options, or lack thereof, it was clear. chan was your only shot.

which leads you to now, racing down the hallway outside his office hours, totally unprepared and already out of breath just thinking about how this might go.

your sneakers squeaked against the tiled floor as you skidded to a halt in front of his office door, heart hammering out an uneven rhythm.

what were you even supposed to say? “hi, sorry for being the laziest, least deserving person ever, but can you please do me a favor and save my entire academic career ??”

your reflection wobbled in the slim window beside the door, your hair’s slightly disarray, and your tote bag’s slipping off one shoulder. the image made something bitter crawl up the back of your throat.

you didn’t even look like the kind of student chan would want to help. no pressed chinos or perfectly highlighted notes. you didn’t smell like coffee and effort; you smelled like nerves and desperation.

but fuck it. this was life or death.

your knuckles rapped against the wood once, then twice, before your hand fell limply at your side. god, your heart was racing.

“come in.” his voice rang out from the other side, clipped and smooth, familiar to the point where your knees almost gave out. there wasn’t a single part of you that felt ready for this.

steeling yourself with one last breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside.

chan was at his desk, pen in hand, leaning over a stack of papers with that laser sharp focus that made you question if he was actually human. his glasses sat neatly in place, silver-framed and faintly reflecting the soft overhead light above him. it wasn’t until you had shyly cleared your throat that his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours. they were unreadable, scanning over you, down to your bag and back up again, before settling on your face.

“need something?” he asked, leaning back in his chair slightly.

this was it. do or die.

you tried not to let your voice tremble too much as you spoke. “hi, uh- hi, chan. do you have a minute? it’s about my grades.”

there was a pause, half a second that felt more like half an hour, before the smallest flicker of amusement crossed his lips.

“i figured.”

just two words, said so lightly they could’ve meant nothing, but they were enough to make your stomach curdle. you wrung your hands together in front of you, shifting slightly under the sheer weight of his gaze as he gestured for you to sit.

“go ahead,” he said, resting his chin in his palm now, pen dangling lazily between his fingers. his tone stayed polite, but there was something about the way his eyes followed you as you sank into the chair. “tell me what’s going on.”

fuck. where did you even start?

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling bone dry as you stared back at him. chan’s gaze was pointed, measured, like he wasn’t just listening— he was assessing. waiting, with those sharp brown eyes unblinking, his full attention zeroing in on you in a way that was making it near impossible to concentrate.

this was already a disaster…

“well, um,” you began, your fingers nervously twisting the strap of your bag as you attempted (and failed) to keep your voice level. there was something annoyingly self-assured about the way he sat there, looking completely relaxed while your nerves threatened to devour you alive.

“i’ve been struggling with the coursework,” you said, your tone more apologetic than you wanted it to be. “like, a lot. stats isn’t really coming easy to me, and i guess i.. fell behind.”

he hummed softly, as if that didn’t surprise him one bit.

the sound made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“i know it’s my fault,” you blurted out, tightening your grip on your bag’s strap like it’ll stop the word vomit. “i’ve been really busy, too busy, honestly, and i know i didn’t prioritize things the way i should have, but i swear, i’m not usually this bad—”

“how bad?” chan interrupted coolly.

you blinked, your voice freezing in your throat.

he quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, a gesture so calm, so subtle, and yet it sent a wave of dread rolling through your chest anyway.

“your grades,” he clarified, tone light and casual, the pen absently swaying between his fingers as if he wasn’t deliberately making you squirm. “how bad are we talking here?”

“uh…” you hesitated, swallowing again as the words caught on the lump in your throat. there really wasn’t a more humiliating way to admit this, so you just… ripped the bandaid off.

“failing,” you confessed. “like, actually failing.”

if chan was surprised, he didn’t show it. he didn’t do anything, really— except lean back further in his chair and once again let that infuriating, unreadable expression sit on his face.

“right,” he said slowly, dragging the word out as his eyes flitted down to his desk.

right.

the way he said it— low, simple, dismissive— was somehow worse than if he’d said nothing at all.

your cheeks flushed with heat as you continued feebly, trying to fill the silence stretching between you. “but, um, i can fix it! i’m not- i’m not hopeless or anything, and if there’s any sort of grade curve, i can—”

“you’re not getting a curve,” he said bluntly, cutting you off.

your heart sank somewhere into the pit of your stomach.

the words hit you like a brick to the face— not cruelly, and not even softly, just… so matter-of-fact, almost like he hadn’t even registered your desperation.

“oh,” you said lamely, voice wavering.

for a moment, it felt like the shame might actually swallow you whole.

you couldn’t bear to look at him now, but you felt his eyes narrow on you anyway— burning a hole through you as every ounce of resolve you’d built for this conversation unraveled bit by bit. this is what you’d been afraid of, wasn’t it? being dismissed. getting rejected so fast he wouldn’t even finish hearing you out.

“but,” chan said after the pause had lingered just a second too long, “if you’re serious about getting your grades up, maybe there’s something we can do.”

your head shot up so fast you felt lightheaded.

“r-really?” you stammered, your eyes wide and hopeful.

for the first time, his lips turned upward into a sly smirk— a barely-there expression that might’ve seemed harmless if his eyes didn’t gleam the way they did alongside it.

“sure,” he said simply, leaning forward now to rest his elbows on the desk between you. “come to my next office hours, and we’ll see how serious you actually are.”

office hours. simple enough, you thought.

except… the way he said it didn’t exactly feelsimple.

there was this weight behind the words, an implication you didn’t quite have the nerve (or the clarity) to fully dissect.

“okay,” you said quickly, trying to hide how much of a mess you already were.

chan reached for his notepad then, flipping it open before scribbling something down. you didn’t think you were looking particularly hard at his hands or his forearms, but the way the sleeve of his button-up pulled tight around his arm certainly made it hard not to notice.

“you’ll need help catching up. this isn’t something you can fix overnight,” he began, his voice returning to that smooth, professional tone that simultaneously put you on edge and made your chest feel unreasonably tight. “stats takes focus, effort, attention. it’s not something you can bullshit your way through.”

“i know,” you murmured, feeling small under the lecture but nodding eagerly anyway. “i will. i’m- i’ll focus, i promise.”

he didn’t answer, but the faintest hint of amusement returned to his face when he tore out the slip of paper and handed it across the desk.

a phone number.

his phone number.

“what’s this for?” you asked curiously, blinking up at him.

“so i can send you the address.”

your heart stuttered. “uh… address for what?”

he leaned back in his chair again. “you’ll come to my place next week,” chan said, still calm, but there was a heaviness in his tone you couldn’t miss. “that way, you can get the help you actually need, without all the distractions.”

there was something unreasonably intimate about the idea— you couldn’t even imagine slipping into his orbit here without losing your composure, and now he wanted you to see him in his space?

another knot twisted violently in your stomach.

he must’ve noticed the hesitation creeping into your face because the smirk tilted downward briefly, replaced with something oddly serious instead.

“you do want to get a passing grade, don’t you?”

his question made your lips part uselessly. “y-yeah. of course!”

“then i’ll see you there,” he said plainly, with an air of finality that left you no room to argue even if you’d wanted to.

you clutched the small slip of paper tightly between your fingers as the weight of his expectations, and his presence, stuck to your skin like damp heat.

and when you left that night, your own nerves clinging to you like static, one thing was painfully clear.

you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

+

waking up five hours ahead of schedule should’ve been the first sign that today was going to feel completely off.

in fact, the entire day felt like one long, slow burn nightmare that had started from the moment your eyes shot open at 4 am and never quite recovered. with each passing minute, the reality of what you were about to do crept closer, sitting heavier and heavier in your chest.

you were going to chan’s… apartment. alone. to study. nothing else, obviously. just a completely normal… consensual… totally academic tutoring session with quite possibly the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on.

so what if his arms were covered in tattoos you wanted to lick the outlines of? or if the memory of his sharp smirk from office hours was burned so deeply into your brain that even your shower thoughts felt unholy?

it wasn’t like anything was going to happen.

still, you couldn’t stop the way your whole body buzzed with nerves as you left your apartment that afternoon.

you’d spent way too much time debating what to wear— going through a tornado of outfits in your tiny room until your bed was buried in every top and pair of jeans you owned. you finally settled on something that you hoped gave, oh, this? i just threw it on! what, no, of course i don’t care that deeply about your opinion of me, even if the truth was written all over your mistake-proof eyeliner and the lingering scent of vanilla perfume on your wrists.

as a last minute, desperate attempt to soften him up, you stopped by a bakery near campus to grab some cheesecake slices. they were way too expensive for your crumbling student budget, but you figured they might do a little to save your poor, failing ass if your consistent eye twitch didn’t already scream pathetic gratitude. it was as much a bribe as it was a peace offering. you were about to invade his personal space, after all.

when you got to his building, you were a goddamn wreck.

your hands were clammy against the handle of the bakery box, your stomach twisting into violent knots as you rode the elevator to his floor. when the doors slid open, the reality of the situation hit you all over again; chan had only agreed to this because you were failing.

it wasn’t because he liked you, or thought you were special, or that he wanted to spend any alone time with you, despite every wildly horny fantasy your brain had conjured over the weekend. no, you were here because you were barely passing, and whatever mercy he was giving you came with conditions.

he’s seen it all, you reminded yourself. heard it all. probably helped a million people like you. don’t think you’re anything special, idiot.

your hands shook slightly as you reached his door, and after a brief moment of hesitation, you knocked.

the sound echoed back sharply, filling the silence of the hallway like a bomb ticking down the seconds. you almost bolted on the spot before you heard the faint shuffle on the other side, quick footsteps, the sound of the lock turning— and then, there he was.

chan leaned against the edge of the doorframe, his hand rested casually on the knob as his eyes danced over you in an entirely neutral expression. no glasses today, you noted immediately, your stomach sinking at how irritatingly attractive that somehow made him.

“you’re on time,” he remarked, his voice warm, but lightly amused.

your brain tripped over itself like it was your first time understanding words. “oh- yeah. of course! i didn’t want to, uh, keep you waiting.”

...an embarrassing response. great start.

chan’s mouth quirked, faint but noticeable as he stepped to the side to let you in.

“come in. shoes off right there,” he instructed, gesturing toward the neatly lined space by the door.

you followed silently, fully aware of every movement you made as you tugged your sneakers off and balanced them into place. if your nerves hadn’t already clocked out from overuse, your next observation would’ve totally knocked you out:

his place was spotless.

you weren’t entirely sure what you’d been expecting, but “clean freak” definitely wasn’t on the list. chan’s apartment was airy, quiet, and— dare you say— insultingly immaculate.

there wasn’t a single stray sock, not a speck of dust, no sink of dishes, or tangled wires ruining your line of sight to his bookshelves and minimalist decor. every inch of the space reeked of effortless organization, right down to the softly folded blanket on the couch and the perfectly centered pack of coasters on the coffee table.

it made your mess of an apartment seem downright feral by comparison.

“cute shoes,” he said airily from the kitchen, snapping your attention back to him as he leaned briefly into the fridge.

you blinked. “what?”

he nodded toward where you’d set your sneakers by the door. “your shoes, makes me think of those cheesy cartoon outfits. the ones with stars or glitter or something. kinda fun.”

you weren’t sure if that was meant to be an insult or a compliment, so you went with the safest option. “uh, thanks?”

chan’s faint smirk returned, but just as quickly as it flickered across his face, he tilted his head toward the counter expectantly.

“what’s that?” he asked.

“oh!” you moved quickly to the kitchen, thrusting the bakery box slightly forward in your hands. “i brought these for you! uh, it’s just some pastries- cheesecake slices, actually. i thought they might…” you trailed off, your words jumbling under the weight of his sharp gaze. “you know. be, um, nice. like, as a thank you or something. for helping me.”

you swore his smirk softened into something closer to a genuine grin, but you couldn’t be sure when it disappeared so quickly after.

"you didn’t have to do that,” he said, sliding the box easily from your hands.

“i know, but…” you shrugged weakly. “i just wanted to.”

he didn’t respond, his fingers deftly undoing the box lid before plucking one of the cheesecakes out. the sight felt unreasonably intimate, his hand brushing faint crumbs from the edge of the slice, the subtle twitch of his jaw as he took a bite and let the flavor settle.

“these are good,” he muttered, nodding slightly to himself. “thanks.”

you couldn’t tell if it was your heart that skipped or the entirety of your respiratory system.

+

things started out normal enough— or, at least, as normal as they could be considering who you were talking to and where you were.

after clearing space at his kitchen table, chan brought over your textbook and a loose stack of papers, pen already twirling idly between his fingers as his other hand tugged his chair close enough to yours that your collective elbows almost touched.

you were pretty sure your breathing hadn’t returned to normal for the past twenty minutes. you were hyper-aware of everything. the smooth tone of his voice when he walked you through a concept, the subtle tilt of his head when he waited for your response, the faint drag of his cologne hanging in the air when he leaned just marginally closer to explain something written on the page.

and worse, you were hyper-aware of yourself— your knees glued together without even trying, the way you were actively avoiding looking at his jaw when he spoke lest your brain run headfirst into the gutter.

“you’re staring,” his voice broke through your thought spiral.

shit.

“what?” you said a little too quickly.

“the page,” he clarified, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward knowingly as he glanced between your face and the textbook. “you’ve been staring at it without writing for at least five minutes. you good, or am i wasting my time here?”

heat crawled its way onto your cheeks as you scrambled to collect yourself. “no- no! you’re not wasting your time! sorry, i just—”

“got distracted?”

you hesitated, wetting your lips.

chan’s eyes dragged toward your neck for half a second before refocusing on your face.

“uh… yeah,” you murmured, staring pointedly at the page.

for a few tense beats, you felt like he might call you out for it.

but instead, he just leaned back slightly, pen tapping once against the edge of the table.

“then get back on track,” he said firmly, his gaze somehow impassive and heavy all at once.

sure, you thought bitterly to yourself. easier said than done... when the guy helping you has literal pornstar hands.

chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts once again, a faint edge to it this time that told you he wasn’t exactly sold on the idea that you weren’t wasting his time here. “you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, tapping your mostly blank notebook with the end of his pen.

you blinked out of your haze and nodded way too quickly. “yeah. totally ready. so ready.”

you absolutely, 100%, did not feel ready. not when you were currently dangling a very loose grip on your academic salvation— and yout raging hormones— and failing at both. yet somehow chan managed to keep his composure as if this wasn’t a complete minefield of professional boundaries.

meanwhile, you were over here sweating bullets.

“alright,” he said, leaning forward again, his broad shoulders casually brushing against yours. if he noticed the way you stiffened, he didn’t say anything. “let’s start simple… p-value hypothesis testing. what’s the first step?”

you stared at the page. your brain immediately short circuited.

what’s a p-value, again? what was anything?

chan waited a single beat, then sighed softly, setting his pen down. “you… don’t know the first step, do you?”

oh god. here it came. the humiliation. the “i knew it” look. maybe even a quiet dismissal to wrap things up early before sending you sliding further into a deeper pit of failure.

you started to stammer out some sort of excuse (“oh, i studied this, i promise- okay, maybe not entirely, but i—”), but chan tilted his head and spoke before you could spiral completely.

“it’s fine if you don’t,” he said casually, folding his arms on the table. “that’s why you’re here, right? because you don’t know it yet. the whole point is to fix that.”

you froze.

his tone was impossibly calm, but something beneath it made your breath hitch. if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost call the sharpness soothing.

“right,” you muttered, shrinking a little further. “my bad. let’s…start again.”

chan gave a faint dimpled look as he leaned over the page and grabbed your pen. the pen you were holding. his hand accidentally brushed yours in the process, skin startlingly warm where it touched you. you nearly yelped.

“relax,” he said, not unkindly. “no one’s grading you here, except me.”

unfortunately for you, that felt so much worse..

+

after nearly an hour with his voice calmly talking you through samples, datasets, and linear regression analysis (all concepts that still felt vaguely indistinguishable from alien geometry), you’d somehow managed to make marginal progress— and chan had seemingly noticed.

“see? not bad,” he remarked as he glanced over your most recent set of notes, his eyebrows raising slightly. your handwriting was a little cleaner now, still a chaotic scrawl, but at least things looked almost organized. “you’ve got a handle on it.”

your chest filled with unexpected relief at his words. “you mean i’m not… a complete disaster?”

chan shrugged, brushing his hands over the table before shooting you a teasing grin. “i wouldn’t say that. you’re still a mess.”

you gawked at him. “seriously?”

“but,” he added, “you’re trying. i’ll give you that.”

you weren’t sure whether to hide your face or laugh until you cried, so you settled for rolling your eyes instead. his grin only deepened.

god, why did he have to look so good when he was being insufferable?

you glanced toward the books spread across the table, half a dozen equations and diagrams still staring back at you, and exhaled, hoping the knot in your chest would loosen. it didn’t. of course it didn’t.

the truth was, your nerves hadn’t settled once since you walked through his door. it wasn’t just the teasing remarks or the way he seemed to dig effortlessly under your skin with every perfectly timed knowing glance. it was the way he felt.

chan had this aura about him.

commanding, without shouting. stern, but not cruel. you couldn’t help but want to throw yourself at his feet and say, yes, i’ll sit here and listen for hours if it makes you keep talking. please don’t stop talking.

and okay, that was probably not the best train of thought to have while sitting in front of the TA who controlled your grades. but still.

you were trying.

when the session finally came to an end, you shuffled awkwardly as chan walked you back toward the door, your tote bag once again slung over your shoulder.

“thanks for… all of that,” you started, uncomfortably aware of how clammy your hands felt as they smoothed over the strap. “i know it’s not easy to deal with a failing, uh, wreck of a human being, but—”

“you’re not a wreck,” chan interrupted, his hand pausing briefly on the doorknob as he turned to face you. something in his tone was softer, not as sharp as usual, but still steady enough to stop the flow of your words dead in their tracks.

“…i mean,” you mumbled dumbly, unable to recover from the unexpected crack in his voice.

“i’ve had students who don’t try at all,” he continued, resting his shoulder casually against the door. “they show up late, make excuses, push everything onto someone else. but you’re here. you’re trying. that counts for more than you think.”

your brain did at least three flips and a cartwheel.

“oh,” you said after a beat, staring blankly. “thanks?”

chan’s smile this time was faint, but genuine— and it fucking killed you.

“tuesday next week,” he said casually, pulling the door open before looking you over again. “same time.”

you nodded quickly, trying to ignore how the way he was standing, leaning coolly into the doorway, made his dress shirt stretch just enough to outline the definition beneath his forearms— and goddamn it, your brain needed to stop looking for reasons to self-destruct in real time.

“got it,” you replied finally, your voice cracking slightly. “tuesday. next week. your place.”

for one horrible, beat-worthy moment, chan raised his eyebrows at how awkwardly you repeated the words. his lips tilted faintly, that same painstakingly neutral expression etched onto his face again before he glanced to the side.

“good,” he said, brushing his fingers casually through his blond hair. “don’t be late this time.”

you nodded far too quickly as you stepped into the hallway, your breath caught somewhere deep in your chest and refusing to let go until he gave you a final, two-fingered wave and shut the door behind you.

and as you made your way down the hall, heart still pounding, all you could think was:

there’s no way you’ll survive another week alone with him, is there?

+

if anyone had told you that this was how your semester would go— teetering dangerously between educational burnout and a full blown crisis of unhinged attraction— you wouldn’t have believed them.

then again, you also wouldn’t have believed that chan, your hot-as-hell statistics TA (who was only supposed to exist in the corner of your eye as some mildly inappropriate distraction during lecture), would be giving you one-on-one “study help” in his fucking apartment of all places.

honestly, the past week was starting to make your head spin. it wasn’t just the fact that you’d had two entire hours of uninterrupted, semi-casual conversation with him at his place. it was… everything else.

like how every once in a while now, when you passed him on campus, chan would send you this faint, almost smirk-like smile. just enough to acknowledge you in passing— a reminder that he noticed you, remembered you.

and everytime it happened, your stomach would twist.

the good twist. the kind that left an annoying ache inside you and made your face hot for the entirety of your next class.

chan, for his part, was impossible to read. professionally calm, unfailing in his confidence and aloofness, like every interaction he’d ever had with anyone was just another detail to tuck neatly into his increasingly unbothered day.

sometimes, it caught you off guard how unfazed he was, how precise every movement and word that fell from his lips seemed to be. but then there were little cracks. moments when he’d lean just a little too close, brush his hand against yours, or hold your gaze for just a second too long before looking away.

sometimes you wondered if he even noticed he was doing it, but then, there was a darker part of you, the louder part, that wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

if maybe, just maybe, those brief pauses in his movements carried a bit more weight. if maybe they whispered hints of curiosity, intrigue… or something else entirely.

by the time tuesday rolled around, you’d convinced yourself that your life was one endless spiral of humiliation and implosion.

because the mortifying truth was that, consciously or not, your behavior had become downright pathetic lately.

you’d spent hours agonizing over what to wear to your next session with him. subtle. casual. blank canvas vibes. but… you were also a living, breathing person with a functioning set of eyes and weekly terrible thoughts about chan in compromising positions, so— subtlety didn’t last very long.

instead, only twenty minutes before you were set to leave, you’d swapped out your first two outfits for something else entirely; something tight enough to be dangerous, just low-cut enough to hint without outright show.

effortless, you told yourself in the mirror, even though the amount of effort it took for you to tear your eyes away from your own cleavage was anything but subtle. he won’t even notice!

(spoiler: he noticed.)

and, of course, chan— being chan— acted completely immune.

when he opened the door for you this time, his expression barely shifted, except for a quick glance down at you, his gaze lingering for half a second before he looked away entirely.

“hey,” was all he said. and just like that, you were sweating out of places you didn’t even know could sweat.

you followed him inside like you were walking toward your fucking demise.

the studying itself started as normal, or as normal as it could get when your brain was currently tied up in your own delusions.

chan had cleared the table again, leaning back in his chair with the kind of effortless authority you couldn’t stop staring at even if you wanted to.

“you’re on your own for the first one,” he said simply, sliding a freshly written-out problem set across the table toward you. “show me how you’d do it. no help this time.”

on your own. fucking great.

you nodded quickly, eager, but mostly terrified to disappoint him— and immediately grabbed your pen.

his eyes scraped over your page as you worked, his chin resting against his palm in casual appraisal, until finally glancing over somewhere else. probably the wall or the clock or literally anything but you.

but you… couldn’t stop stealing glances at him.

and it was bad.

unhinged, honestly.

your brain was preoccupied with all the places it shouldn’t have been; his shirt pushed up slightly against his forearms again, revealing more of the ink you’d spent days mentally mapping out from last week’s memories. his brows furrowed faintly with concentration. the way his tongue brushed lightly over his lower lip when he leaned forward slightly to grab—

focus, you remind yourself harshly. seriously, shut the hell up. you’re failing.

...except focusing on him was exactly the problem.

by the time you finished the initial review process, you’d written so many questionable numbers that it almost felt embarrassing to show him the work.

“done already?” he asked, his voice pulling your head up.

“uh,” you said dumbly, sliding the notebook toward him far too quickly. “yeah! kind of.”

chan gave you a blank look, but it softened faintly as he flipped through each line of your work, his mouth twitching slightly with what you couldn’t decide was approval or disappointment.

"well, this part’s definitely wrong,” he said lightly, tapping the edge of your paper. “but at least you got one variable right this time. better than last week.”

a laugh bubbled up your throat before you processed it.

chan flicked his gaze back toward you briefly at the sound, his head tilting faintly.

somehow, the tension in your stomach tightened further.

+

it had only been an hour when things started to spiral.

chan leaned forward to clarify yet another equation you’d totally botched halfway through explaining. the subtle movement made your nerves hit their absolute limit, and suddenly, you couldn’t process a single thing he was saying anymore.

you nodded silently, robotically, as he pointed something out, but the tension had grown so unbearably tight that it felt like your body might snap in half if you didn’t get away for at least two seconds.

“uh, do you mind if i use your bathroom?” you blurted out suddenly, your chair scraping against the floor.

chan lifted an eyebrow but offered no resistance. “sure,” he said easily. “second door on the right.”

you slammed the door shut a little quicker than necessary, chest heaving out a conflicted breath as you caught your reflection in the mirror above his sink.

what were you doing?

you hunched forward slightly, your arms gripping the edges of the counter as your eyes scanned your flushed cheeks and slightly blown-out pupils.

this was insane.

you were really about to self-destruct in front of your TA.

taking shallow, forceful breaths, you tried again to reel in what little sense of self you had left.

it wasn’t just that chan was too good-looking for anyone’s health. it was his sharpness, his confidence— his way of seamlessly controlling the room with the smallest tilt of his chin and the faint, lingering bite of his words.

you weren’t just down bad. you were down atrocious.

your gaze drifted toward the sink while you mentally berated yourself over all the reasons this was so beyond inappropriate.

but instead, your eyes caught something else. an unfamiliar flash of color resting near the corner of the counter: a small, unopened box near the toiletries tray.

...a fucking box of condoms.

you blinked at it blankly for half a second before you stiffened in place with realization.

brand new. pristine. unopened. untouched.

what the hell???

a million questions ricocheted through your head all at once, loud and unbearably intrusive.

did he have a girlfriend? did someone bring these over for him? was he just… that prepared?

your face burned fiercely, the ridiculous line of thought spiraling deep enough to make you lightheaded.

if he was seeing someone, then why was the box unopened? and why, why, were you even dissecting this to begin with, as if it mattered in the first place?

you never had a chance anyway, your brain helpfully supplied. you knew it the second you walked into his office for help.

you didn’t know how long you spent in the bathroom, fuming quietly at the mirror and trying to sweat out the flood of shame that was now taking up every corner of your mind.

chan didn’t say anything when you came back.

but the way his gaze trailed over your face briefly— sharp, appraising, uncomfortably still— made you wonder if he could sense it.

worse, the hum of his voice when he asked if you were ready to start again almost sounded amused.

but no, there was no way.

you nodded numbly, sitting back down as the spiral of your thoughts continued to eat at you little by little.

but then.

chan leaned forward again.

this time— too close.

close enough that his hands briefly brushed over yours as you reached to grab your pen, the low murmur of breath at your ear turned something in your chest completely upside down.

“focus,” he said softly, lips barely tilting upward as his fingers tipped briefly over your notebook.

you stared— stunned, entirely flickered into stasis for just a split half second of hesitation.

the air in chan’s apartment felt so much thicker now, way too humid, like something you could taste if you stayed still long enough.

to your credit, you were trying to focus. really, you were.

but focus didn’t come easy when your TA— your stupidly hot, smart, sharp-tongued TA— was sitting across from you with that faint smirk curling on his lips, watching you too closely like he’d figured you out already.

maybe he had.

“so,” chan murmured, snapping you out of your reverie as he slumped ever so slightly further into his chair. you tried your hardest not to track the way his toned thighs stretched against the fabric of his joggers. “you’ve got two choices.”

“two?” you asked breathlessly, blinking way too fast to feel normal.

he tilted his chin slightly, fingers tapping idly against the table.

“either you tell me why you’ve been sitting there not even pretending to pay attention for the last twenty minutes,” he started smoothly, “or we call it a day, and i can stop wasting my time.”

you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from squirming.

that was new.

this wasn’t the calm, teasing chan from the first session. he didn’t even sound annoyed exactly, but there was an edge to his tone now, sharp and slow and cutting enough that you felt trapped.

“i’m- i was paying attention,” you blurted, a little too defensive to sound convincing.

his narrowed gaze told you exactly what he thought about that.

“you sure about that?” he asked, leaning forward now.

“yeah,” you mumbled, voice faltering slightly as he came impossibly close.

his lips curved sharply.

“prove it.”

the blush reached your ears faster than your brain could process what was happening. “prove it?” you repeated dumbly, as though the words had somehow dropped straight in from another dimension.

“mm,” chan hummed lightly, elbows digging into the edge of the table. the sheer confidence radiating from him was unnerving, not over the top, not cocky, but entirely in control.

he tipped his head toward your notebook, his forearms briefly flexing as he gestured for you to pick up the damned pen.

“last equation,” he murmured, and you swore the way his voice dropped made your heart skip a beat. “show me you’ve been paying attention this time.”

unfortunately, there were several factors actively working against you right now.

the first? chan, with his sharp voice and sharper smirk, was close enough to radiate heat, close enough that your knees brushed lightly under the table. the second? there was no fucking way you’d been paying enough attention to actually solve the equation in front of you.

your chest grew tighter by the second as you scrambled uselessly to make sense of it.

for a brief moment, he said nothing— just watched you with this lazy, barely interested gaze, his lips pressed into an almost-smile that you couldn’t read.

“c’mon,” he drawled finally. “you’ve got this, don’t you?”

the edge of his words made your stomach twist with heat.

surely, he didn’t mean… more than what he was saying, right?

you scribbled down the page as best as you could, desperate and embarrassed as you tried to scrawl out whatever guess felt the least wrong.

but before you could even feign confidence over the partial answer you’d written, a hand abruptly darted into your line of vision.

his hand.

chan’s fingers curled over the edge of your workbook as he slid it back toward himself, “wrong.”

your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.

of course it was fucking wrong.

you braced yourself for the usual disappointment or sharp remark. but instead of belittling your work, chan leaned forward again, folding his arms onto the table between you and leaving no room for you to escape his focus.

then, voice low and deliberate, he caught your gaze fully.

“you don’t even try to hide it anymore, do you?”

you froze. your face immediately burned. “what?”

“you’re not here to study,” he said plainly.

your jaw opened and closed uselessly, and you swore your heart was trying to make an escape straight through your ribs.

“you wear this,” chan murmured, his eyes flicking briefly, heatedly, down to the neckline of your fitted top before locking back on yours, “and you expect me not to notice?”

his words sent a wildfire tearing through your entire body.

you struggled to make sense of it all, to explain yourself, to breathe.

he noticed.

this smoking-hot TA, whom you’d been quietly (okay, maybe not so quietly) pining after, noticed. but he didn’t stop there.

chan leaned in further, the confidence practically rolling off of him, and softened his voice even more.

“you’ve got guts, throwing yourself at your TA like this.”

your entire head was a whirlwind of heat and adrenaline.

chan leaned back in his chair for a moment, still studying you like you were an equation he’d already solved in his head.

the glint in his eye left you pinned in place— and you weren’t sure if it was fear or thrill racing through you when he tilted his head.

“get up.”

you blinked hard. “...what?”

“get up,” chan repeated, his tone leaving no room for debate this time.

your legs moved before your brain could catch up, your heart racing wildly as you stood in front of him like it’d been his implicit command all along.

“do you want to keep wasting my time?” he asked, his head tilting slightly, his eyes burning into you like they were stripping you bare.

“n-no,” you stammered.

“then prove it,” he said with maddening calm. his voice was low but full with that commanding edge that kept sending waves of heat to your core.

you opened your mouth uncertainly, but before you could respond, his gaze dropped, gesturing down toward his lap.

and fuck, if that didn’t make your entire foundation shift.

the stretch of his thighs, the bulge visible against the gray of his joggers, the way his legs flexed as he spread them slightly farther apart.

your mouth went dry.

he noticed.

your face burned brighter than ever, your brain scrambling for some rational excuse to back away, but when chan raised an eyebrow at you again, the composure you were grasping at crumbled entirely.

“get on your knees,” he ordered softly.

you were moving before you could think— sinking to the floor, legs folding beneath you as your breaths came out shaky and uneven.

chan wasted no time once you dropped.

“so eager,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly to slip off his sweats. the faint tug of a smirk played on his lips again. “bet you’ve been thinking about this for weeks, huh?”

you swallowed, lips parting slightly as your eyes stayed glued to him.

“let’s see if that mouth is as good as i think it is, then.”

chan spread his legs wider, his joggers now halfway down as his thick cock strained hard under the fabric of his boxers, the outline of it clear enough to make your mouth water.

your eyes tracked the movement as his large hand casually palmed himself through the fabric, letting out a soft grunt as the pressure of his hand teased a bit of relief. he wasn’t even looking at you— his gaze was tilted lazily downward, like he was letting you take in the view. like he wanted you to be as desperate as you clearly were.

“you’re really something, you know,” he muttered, low and taunting, the air between you so tense you could barely breathe. “acting all shy, pretending you’ve been here to study. but this—” his hand rolled against himself once more, squeezing as he finally dragged his eyes back to yours. “this is what you’ve been wanting, huh?”

you couldn’t even think about lying. you just nodded, staying seated on your knees. “...yes.”

that brought another smirk to his lips, one that only deepened as he started to slip his boxers down, letting his cock spring free.

fuck. you’d expected him to be big because, well… of course he was. everything about him was big. his confidence, his presence, his personality. but knowing it and seeing it were two entirely different things.

he was thick, the head a flushed pink and leaking with so much pre that it glistened just faintly in the low kitchen light.

“eyes up here, sweetheart.”

your gaze snapped up immediately, and his mouth twitched again as he caught you.

“if you wanna use that mouth,” he murmured, tone rougher now, “you’re gonna have to ask nicely.”

you weren’t even sure how you were still alive at this point, let alone speaking, but the words stumbled out anyway in a breathless jumble of need.

“please,” you begged, barely above a whisper. “please. i wanna—” your breath hitched as his cock twitched when you said it, making your chest blaze with heat. “i wanna suck your cock, chan. please.”

he tilted his head, watching you closely for a few suffocating seconds before leaning back in his seat and resting one arm lazily along the table.

“go ahead,” he said finally. “show me what you’ve got.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. your hands shot up, tentative at first, but steadying as your fingers curled around the base of his length. the warmth of his skin and the weight of his cock in your hand made you fucking lightheaded.

you gave him a few experimental strokes, and the faint grunt he let out— mild as it was— felt like a goddamn reward.

“that’s it,” he muttered, almost absent-minded, like he was observing you while thinking a million other things at the same time. “don’t be shy now.”

you ducked your head down, tongue darting out to swipe the bead of pre-cum glistening at his tip. just that one tiny taste had your body heating up everywhere at once, floating deliriously between desperation and excitement as you opened your mouth further to glide him in.

he groaned softly as your lips stretched around him, his other hand coming up to rest lightly at the back of your head.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening just a little as you took more of him into your mouth. “just like that. good girl.”

the praise hit you like a freight train.

the warm weight of him in your mouth, the salty taste of his skin on your tongue— it was already too much, your thighs instinctively pressing together with each muffled moan and wet sound you made.

“deeper,” chan ordered, his tone growing rougher now, sharper, and that alone was enough to set your skin burning like fire.

you let him guide you down further with the hand still resting on the back of your head, his cock sliding over your tongue until it was stretching your throat enough to make your eyes water.

“that’s it,” he groaned again, his voice raspy now. “fuck, you’ve got such a pretty mouth. keep going- don’t stop until you make me cum.”

his words shot straight through your stomach, sending shockwaves of heat pooling between your legs as you bobbed your head, hollowing out your cheeks until he groaned louder.

“you like that, huh?” he said, his grip tightening as a clear bite sharpened his tone. “look at you. so desperate to please me. so desperate to get your TA to cum down your throat.”

you moaned softly at his words, your sounds muffled and messy as you worked your mouth around him, each stroke sinking deeper and deeper.

“shit,” chan hissed, his hips jerking slightly as his cock filled you again and again. “you’re too fucking good at this.”

you barely registered the filthy compliment over the blood rushing through your ears, your focus narrowed to the ragged sounds leaving his mouth as his composure began to slip.

his grip on your head tightened just slightly, enough to keep you in place as his hips rocked forward once, twice— fucking gently into your mouth like he needed to feel you take him even deeper.

“gonna cum,” he grunted, more ragged now as his movements stuttered. “fuck, sweetheart. take it all.”

before you could even think to react, chan groaned low and deep, his head tipping back as heavy spurts of his release shot down your throat. the taste flooded your mouth immediately, thick and milky ropes as you swallowed everything he gave you without hesitation.

his chest heaved as his hips sank back slightly, his grip finally easing from the back of your head.

“holy shit,” he muttered under his breath, a faint laugh pushing out with his exhale as his hand tipped briefly under your chin, guiding your face back up toward him.

you stared up at him, your lips slightly swollen and humiliatingly wet, and the sight alone pulled another satisfied smirk from his mouth.

“such a good little thing,” he murmured, his thumb brushing briefly across your cheekbone.

you swallowed again, your cheeks heating at the praise, but any words you could’ve said were immediately lost when chan shifted in his chair, suddenly leaning forward.

“you didn’t think we were done, did you?”

your stomach flipped entirely.

his hands moved fast, steady as they guided you to your feet before nudging you gently against the corner of the table. it wasn’t until he’d sunk to his knees in front of you that your brain finally caught up.

“chan—” you started, but the sound broke off entirely as his hands sliced up under the hem of your skirt, pushing the fabric up toward your hips.

“quiet,” he murmured, his lips brushing faintly against your thigh when he lowered his head. “let me show you how much better this can feel when you let me do all the work.”

your knees nearly gave out, your breath hitching sharply in your chest as his hands gripped firmly at your thighs.

before you could even brace yourself, chan had slipped your panties down in one smooth movement, leaving you bare and completely at his mercy.

“fuck,” he muttered softly, almost like he was speaking to himself—his thumb brushing faintly against your inner thigh as his head tipped downward, his lips hovering just over your now impossibly wet cunt. “you’re already dripping for me. pathetic little thing.”

you whimpered as his tongue darted out to taste you, his movements slow, deliberate, clearly reveling in every sound leaving your mouth.

he started soft, dragging lazy circles against you that made heat pulse low in your stomach, but it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace.

his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking sharply before your knees buckled. he growled against you, his arm curling around the back of your leg to keep you locked firmly into place.

“not going anywhere,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. “gonna make you cum just like this. ruin you on my tongue.”

you moaned, your head falling back as one of your hands flew to grip the edge of the table for balance while the other curled uselessly into his hair. his dark eyes flickered up to you, sharp and direct, and fuck if that wasn’t worse.

“look at you,” he murmured, barely pausing to speak as his tongue sank deeper against you. “you’re so desperate you can’t even stand.”

you whimpered harder as he slid a single digit inside of you, pumping slowly at first before curling— learning exactly where to aim before adding a second and setting you completely on fire.

“fuck- chan, i—”

“that’s right,” he groaned against you, his pace only increasing with each ragged sound leaving your mouth. “cum for me. now.”

and when your orgasm hit— sharp and sudden and impossibly strong— you cried out, your legs nearly shaking from the pressure as chan’s hands steadied you through it, chasing your high relentlessly.

your legs were still trembling, completely jelly when chan pulled back from between your thighs, his lips glistening in a way that should have been absolutely illegal.

he looked sinfully smug as he rose to his full height, towering over you now as you practically slumped against the table. your chest heaved, your body still tingling from the orgasm he’d just ripped out of you, and yet… it wasn’t enough.

you wanted more. needed more.

and chan? chan could see it written all over your face.

“look at this mess,” he murmured, his deep voice carrying a mix of pride and mockery. his hand reached out, the pad of his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. “such a needy little thing. you’re not even satisfied after cumming all over my tongue, are you?”

you shook your head slightly, biting your lip and meeting his eyes with that same look he’d teased you for earlier— desperation. hunger.

his gaze dragged down to where your panties now hung uselessly around your ankle.

“you want me to fuck you that badly, huh?”

you nodded, no hesitation this time— your pride was long gone anyway. “please,” you whispered, your voice small and trembling.

that was all it took.

chan’s demeanor changed into something darker, something more dangerous, as he grabbed your hips and spun you around in one swift movement until your ass pressed against the cold edge of the table. before you could even catch your own breath, his lips were on you. hot, firm, and overwhelming as he kissed you like his life depended on it.

you moaned into his mouth, arms subconsciously wrapping around his neck as he pulled you closer, his body slotting perfectly against yours. his hand slipped up under your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist before he yanked it off entirely, tossing it somewhere behind him.

“fuck,” he muttered into your mouth. “you’re so fucking perfect.”

his hands found your tits next, slipping underneath your bra and squeezing hard, groaning as his thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples.

“these fucking tits,” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave as his lips moved against your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck. “been dying to get my hands on them. watching you in those tight little tops, tempting me every fucking second.”

you gasped when he suddenly tugged down the cups of your bra and latched his mouth onto one of your nipples, his wet tongue flicking over it before sucking hard.

“fuck, chan,” you moaned, your back arching instinctively into him.

he pulled back just enough to grin up at you, his lips shining with spit. “you like that, baby?” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “needy thing like you just lives for attention, huh?”

you nodded again, words completely failing you as he let his hands slide lower.

without warning, chan hoisted you up onto the table, his strong hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks as he pulled you to the edge. the cool surface pressed against your skin, a direct contrast to the liquid heat pooling between your legs. he yanked you to the edge effortlessly, spreading you out for him like you belonged there.

“stay right there,” he ordered, his lips ghosting over yours briefly before he stepped back to slide his boxers down fully, his cock springing free again and making your stomach twist with anticipation.

“you’ve been begging for this since the first day you showed up to my office hours,” he continued, his voice rough and low as he stroked himself slowly, his gaze locked on you like he wanted to eat you alive. “and now you’re gonna take it. every. fucking. inch.”

you whimpered, squirming on the table, because he was right. the need had been eating you alive, every accidental graze of his hand or brush of his shoulder only fueling the fire until you couldn’t see straight. your breath caught as he grabbed your thighs again, spreading you wide for him, his cock brushing against your entrance.

“fucking dripping,” chan growled under his breath, almost to himself as he dragged the tip through your wetness, spreading it messily. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll fill you up so good, there won’t even be room to think about anyone else.”

before you could process those words, he pushed in.

the stretch was immediate, a maddening burn that teetered on the brink of pain and unbearable pleasure. he was big— so thick, so fucking big it felt like he was splitting you open, inch by inch, pushing so deep your mind went blank.

“oh my godd—” you gasped, throwing your head back as your hands scrambled for leverage, gripping his shoulders like your life depended on it. your thighs trembled as he pressed forward relentlessly, not stopping till his hips were flush against yours and every inch of him was crammed inside you, his cock filling you so completely it felt like he was rearranging you from the inside out.

“god,” chan groaned, his cock pulsing as your walls clenched hard around him like a vice. his head dropped forward, and he growled low in his throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, pinning you in place. “you’re so fucking tight. gripping me like you don’t want me to pull out. you’re greedy for it, aren’t you?”

you moaned weakly, unable to form coherent words, too overwhelmed by the way he stretched you, by the way your pussy wouldn’t stop fluttering and sucking him in even deeper. a lewd, wet squelch filled the air as he shifted his hips, pulling out just slightly before easing back in.

“thereee it is,” he growled, his dark eyes watching your face intently as your lips parted with a choked gasp. his thumb brushed over your bottom lip almost gently, “taking me so fucking good, baby. like you were made for me. made to take this cock.”

your nails clawed at his back, leaving angry red trails as he began to move in earnest. he pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance, before slamming back in with enough force to send your whole body jolting backward. the table creaked, but chan’s pace never faltered.

“fuck- chan—” you sobbed, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs. your thighs quivered uncontrollably as his cock dragged over every sensitive spot inside you, hitting so deep it felt impossible. shame burned low in your stomach with every wet squelch that escaped from between your legs, echoing obscenely in the room, but he only groaned louder at the sound.

“gonna make you scream, baby,” he rasped, his tone rough and uneven as he pounded harder, faster, his grip on your body so tight it felt like you were fused together. “gonna make sure this pussy remembers me. so tight, fuck. can feel you dripping all over me- you hear that? that’s how fucking bad you want it.”

all ou could do was nod, your brain too fogged with pleasure to string together a response. your body was limp against him, letting him use you how he wanted— and god, it felt so good. you clenched around him on instinct, the raw pressure of him stretching you bringing you closer and closer to the edge with every brutal thrust.

“look at you,” chan muttered filthily, his hand coming up to grip your jaw as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. “so fucking wrecked already, and i’m not even done yet. you like this? having my cock splitting you open like this?”

“yesyes- fuck, yes—” you babbled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the pressure, the intensity, the sheer, overwhelming fullness.

“that’s my girl,” he growled, shifting his grip to your throat, his fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp. “you’re mine now. you hear me? no one else gets to fuck you like this. no one else gets to make you cum.”

his words unraveled something deep inside you, sending molten heat racing down your spine to your core. when his thumb slipped down between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles against the swollen bundle of nerves, the coil tightening in your belly snapped with brutal force.

“mmpph- chan- ’m gonna- i’m—”

“do it,” he snarled, his cock slamming into you without mercy as his thumb worked faster. “fucking cum all over me. let me feel this pussy milk my cock.”

the words sent you over the edge, your vision going white as your orgasm ripped through you violently. your entire body tensed as waves of pleasure crashed over you, so powerful it felt unending. you cried out his name shamelessly, your walls clamping down around him so tight he cursed loudly, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“shitshiit- fuck- you’re gonna make me—” chan groaned, and a second later he buried himself deep inside you with one final thrust, his hips grinding against yours as he came hard. he filled you with hot, thick spurts of his cum, so much you swore you felt it flooding you completely, dripping from where you were still stretched around him. his head fell to the crook of your neck as he groaned low and broken, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

for a moment, the room was filled only with the sound of harsh breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. chan pressed messy, lingering kisses to the damp skin of your shoulder as his hands wandered down your body, soothing the marks his grip had left behind.

“did so good for me,” he eventually, his lips brushing against your temple as he leaned up just enough to press a kiss to your swollen lips. “so fucking perfect.”

+

chan didn’t let you move for a long time after that.

he insisted on cleaning you up himself, holding you gently as if you’d break if he touched you too hard now. it was a stark contrast to the man who had just fucked you into oblivion minutes earlier, but the shift made your heart ache in the best way.

and as he kissed you softly, whispering how beautiful you were, how proud he was of you for taking him so well, you felt something else settle deep in your chest.

this wasn’t just a onetime thing anymore.

not the way chan kissed you like he didn’t want to stop. not the way he held you like you mattered everything to him.

this man wasn’t going anywhere— and you weren’t, either.

it made you laugh, softly, almost deliriously, as he pulled you into his lap again.

“what’s so funny?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

“nothing,” you murmured, your lips curving upward. “just… funny how i was losing my mind over finding condoms in your bathroom cabinet when... you didn’t even use them.”

chan blinked at you, then snorted with laughter, pulling you tighter against him.

“don’t need them,” he said simply, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his fingers traced lazy patterns against your bare back. “not with you. never with you.”

you smiled, warmth spreading through your chest as you curled into him, completely at peace.

your grades were safe. your heart was safe. and chan?

chan looked at you like no one else in the world would ever come close.

and really...

what more could you have asked for?

Writers corner ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

Hey friends how y’all doing I hope you are doing well like I’m not going to stop complaining about this heat today was so hot I was sweating bad omg but it’s ok life still goes on and yeah tell how you like this and if you see any mistakes look the other way ok baiii💋

kim seungmin is the smart, annoying friend who always reminds everyone about deadlines two weeks in advance. he is the boy who carries a bag heavier than his own body because he insists on bringing every book “just in case”. he is the boy who sighs whenever one of your friends makes a stupid decision but then immediately helps them anyway.

kim seungmin is the boy who complains the loudest and loves the hardest. 

he loves studying and he loves his colour coded notes and neat handwriting and he also loves getting the highest grade and acting like he doesn’t care much about it.

he likes his routines - waking up at eight, having coffee with exactly one sugar, listening to the same playlists over and over again, walking to university instead of taking the bus because he likes to dedicate those extra fifteen minutes to think.

his life is simple, comfortable and very predictable. or at least most of it is, except for the parts of his life that concern you. 

not that he ever tells you this, god forbid.

because seungmin is brave enough to argue with your professors, brave enough to tell strangers when they’re wrong, brave enough to stand up for every single one of your friends. but when it comes to you? he is pathetic, absolutely hopeless.

you had met years ago during your first year at university, he remembers it with embarrassing clarity - you were sitting one row ahead of him, your hair messy because you had been late to class and your cheeks still red from running across campus. the professor had asked a question and you - very confidently, he has to say - had given the wrong answer. he had laughed at your answer, like a full and proper snort escaped him, and you just turned around and glared at him, making him freeze in his seat. 

“you think it’s funny?”, you had asked him, narrowing your eyes.

he stopped laughing immediately and shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours, and somehow, that was your beginning, because your hatred for him lasted only those twenty seconds, maybe even less, and after that, your friendship began.

now you are inseparable and seungmin thinks that everything about you two is normal, or at least he likes to pretend that it’s normal when he texts you good morning every day, when he walks on the side closest to traffic when you’re together, when he keeps your favourite snacks in his bag, when he knows which things make your eyes light up and when he knows when you’re lying about being okay.

sometimes he thinks he knows you better than he knows himself, and maybe that’s exactly why he’s doomed, because he is completely and utterly in love with you. he knows it, and he also knows that it’s embarrassing and stupid, because now everything revolves around you. every accomplishment means nothing if he can’t tell you first and every joke becomes funnier if you laugh at it.

he tries to ignore his feelings at first, but of course, he fails miserably, because every time you smile at him, his brain short circuits. he’s completely gone and every single one of your friends knows it.

“you are disgusting”, changbin tells him one day.

seungmin frowns, “i’m literally doing nothing”

“you’re staring at y/n as she walks away”

he scoffs and ignores him, but he spends the next ten minutes wondering if it’s so obvious that everyone can see it. well, everyone except you. or maybe you do see it and you just haven’t said anything because you don’t feel the same way and you want to be nice, to still be friends.

seungmin doesn’t know and he’s too scared to find out, so he settles for your friendship and your late night phone calls as well as your movie nights and walking you home every time you go out. 

but he also likes to think that maybe, just maybe, the universe will help him someday, and maybe one day you’ll realise how he looks at you and you’ll look at him the same way. 

but until then, he just wants to be enough for you, your best friend and the person you can rely on. he wants to be good for you, in every possible way, even in ways that he doesn’t understand yet, which becomes a problem because unlike most of your friends, seungmin has exactly zero experience when it comes to romance, and even less when it comes to sex.

zero, nothing, nada. 

he’s never had a girlfriend, never kissed anyone, never gone on a proper date. the closest thing he has to experience is reading awkward advice forums at three in the morning, which he thinks it’s ridiculous, because now, he’s twenty-something and your last year at university is finally here. 

he’s an adult and he still blushes whenever your friends make dirty jokes, he still coughs awkwardly and looks away when there’s a sex scene on tv, and he still pretends to check his phone whenever your friends talk about who they went home with the night before or how many times they came that weekend.

it’s embarrassing, especially because lately he can’t stop thinking about you. not in a bad way, no, not because he wants to disrespect you, it’s quite the opposite really. he likes you so much that he wants to understand relationships better, he wants to know what to do to make you happy, he wants to know how to be caring and gentle but also rough, he wants to know how to make you feel good just in case he ever has the chance to.

so he decides to do some research, because that’s what he always does, research everything. he starts with educational websites, reading some articles and medical journals as well as safe relationship guides. 

he takes notes - yes, actual notes - and reads for hours, learning absolutely nothing useful because every single web says the same things: communicate with your partner, respect your boundaries, be honest, don’t force things… and they are good points obviously, but it’s nothing he didn’t know before and they don’t answer the questions he’s too embarrassed to say out loud.

what if he’s awkward?

what if he’s inexperienced forever?

what if one day you like him back and he disappoints you?

what if you decide to walk away from him? 

those questions keep him awake at night, so eventually, and hesitantly, with his face burning bright red, and in the privacy of his room when he knows changbin is already sleeping in his, he starts looking elsewhere, on different pages, pages where people share their experiences. then he moves to pages where people share videos, pages he had never dared visit before.

he sees one that’s a bit different from the others, a page that shows livestreams too, not just recordings. his cursor hovers over the link for a bit before he rubs his face. he tells himself that this is only to find and learn new things, that he’s only doing this because he has been hopelessly in love with you for years and wants to learn every way to hopefully make you feel good one day, to not make a fool of himself and learn things that you may like. 

his hand hesitates a bit more and then with a racing heart and enough embarrassment to last a lifetime, he decides to explore a world he knows absolutely nothing about and clicks on the link. the screen flashes and a new tab opens, bathing his dorm room in the pale blue glow of it. he sees multiple videos at first before he opens one where a girl is in nothing but a thin white tank top and panties, sitting cross-legged on her bed. her nipples are already stiff against the fabric and she keeps rubbing herself through her underwear, the damp spot growing darker with every pass.

seungmin’s throat goes dry and he closes the livestream fast.

he opens a new one, the girl there naked from her waist down as she fingers herself with two fingers. he sees the chat going crazy, people sending donations and comments, and when he feels his face burn again he closes that livestream too.

another click, another girl, this time lying on her back with her legs spread wide. the livestream doesn’t fully load before seungmin closes that one too, his heart hammering inside his chest. 

he keeps clicking, each new livestream more explicit than the last and then, he finds one that makes him stop when he opens it.

the girl is on her knees in the centre of her bed, her face carefully cropped out of frame. she is wearing a black bra and matching panties and something about the way she moves makes seungmin freeze. she reaches up and cups her breasts over the bra, her thumbs brushing back and forth over her nipples. from the corner of his eye, seungmin can see the chat going crazy, as the comments and donations never stop.

leethighs: fuck yes

aussielord: i’m so hard take everything off 

the girl ignores the comment and keeps touching herself, squeezing and rubbing until her breathing grows heavier. seungmin swallows hard and his hand drifts down without permission and presses against the growing bulge in his pants which he didn’t realise until now. every single sound that comes from the girl makes his stomach twist with a confusing mix of shame and heat and even though he tells himself he is only doing this for research, his cock is already hard and ready to explode. 

the girl on the screen hooks her thumbs into her panties and moves just enough to push them down her thighs and kick them off. then she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, leaving her completely naked, with her knees spread and her cunt on full display. the camera angle is low enough that seungmin can see everything, including her folds and the way her clit peeks out when she moves. 

she reaches down and traces two fingers along her folds, a moan slipping out of her. seungmin’s hand moves on its own, taking his cock out and giving it one slow stroke, biting his lip to keep quiet. the girl spreads her legs wider and uses her fingers to part her folds, showing the camera how wet she already is. she circles her clit a few times and then slides one finger inside herself, moaning again.

seungmin’s grip tightens and he strokes himself in time with her movements, his eyes glued to the screen, completely hypnotised. 

quokkjone: fuck yourself for us

midnightwolf: such a good girl

maknaeontop: i’m gonna come just watching you

artprince69: add another finger

the girl obeys this time and pushes a second finger inside herself as her hips rock forward to meet her own hand. her moans grow breathier and higher, she’s almost screaming now, letting the sounds fall out of her as she fucks herself harder. 

seungmin’s hand moves faster, his eyes locked on the girl’s cunt, watching the way her fingers disappear inside her again and again. he imagines what it would feel like to be the one inside her, no, how it would feel like to be inside you, making you scream like the girl in the livestream is doing right now. he imagines you, spread open like that for him, begging for him, and the thought alone makes his cock twitch hard in his fist, his orgasm growing faster and unstoppable now. 

the girl adds a third finger, her moans turning into cries now. her free hand moves to pinch one nipple, the chat going feral at this point.

maknaeontop: you look so pretty like this fuck

leethighs: three fingers in i bet you like it rough

he is panting now, trying to stay quiet and not wake changbin up, but he can’t stop looking at the girl and how her fingers keep moving as her moans never stop. her thighs start to tremble and then she comes hard, her juices leaking out around her fingers as she keeps rubbing her clit through her orgasm. 

seungmin’s stokes grow frantic and then his orgasm hits him like a punch, his hips jerking as his cum shoots across his stomach and hand, his vision going white for a second. he keeps stroking his cock through his orgasm, milking every drop as he watches the girl on screen pull her fingers out. she leans forward just enough for the camera to catch the movement of her hand and then, she waves once and ends the stream. 

seungmin sits there in the sudden silence, the screen with the image of the girl close to the camera now, his chest heaving and his cock softening in his sticky hand. his cum is cooling on his skin as he stares at the “stream ended” message. he feels his face burn with embarrassment, he hadn’t meant for this to happen. he just wanted to learn, to understand, to find things, to hopefully be good for you one day.

instead he had just jerked off to a stranger while imagining it was you who was spread open and screaming for him.

two weeks, fourteen days, that’s long enough for everyone to notice how seungmin keeps disappearing. not completely, because he still shows up to every class and hands in every assignment on time, but the moment class ends, he’s gone.

he doesn’t linger in the hallway, he doesn’t grab coffee with all of you, there’s no spontaneous movie nights, no teasing you until you threaten to throw your book at him. nothing, he always has an excuse.

“i can’t, i have to study”

“not today, i have to do some research for a project” 

to be honest they’re believable excuses, they’re seungmin excuses, and nobody questions them. and to be fair, he really does some research, just not the one you all expected him to do.

the first livestream should have been the last one, that’s the first thing he told himself the morning after he watched it. he woke up and deleted his browser history, then avoided opening his laptop for almost the entire day. he promised himself that what had happened was a mistake born from curiosity and that he would move on and forget it happened.

but what happened instead was that that same evening, he caught himself wondering if that girl would stream again that day, then he opened his laptop and found the page and the same girl again, embarrassingly fast he has to admit. he told himself he would look at the account for a minute, just to prove himself that the fascination was gone.

but it wasn’t.

one minute became thirty and thirty became an hour and then he had learnt the days she usually goes live, according to the schedule she had posted. and without meaning to, he started planning his days around her schedule and whenever there wasn’t a livestream, he would watch the old ones, archived in previous recordings. 

there are lots of them, more than he expected, and the girl always starts and ends the livestream with a small wave, which makes her seem less like a stranger. that thought unsettles him a bit because he knows he shouldn’t feel familiar with someone he’s never met, he shouldn’t feel familiar with a girl who he watches with her fingers buried deep inside her as his hand strokes his cock wishing it was someone else’s hand instead.

he wonders why he feels so familiar with her and then, one day, he realises the reason he can’t look away, the reason why something about her has felt strangely familiar from the very beginning - it’s her silhouette, her body.

it reminds him of you, of your body.

when he realises, he closes his eyes and shakes his head. he hates himself for even thinking about it because it feels invasive, wrong. the comparison comes from last summer when you all went on a weekend trip and he saw you wearing your bikini when you went to the beach. it wasn’t too revealing, just a normal bikini, but he remembers how hard he had tried not to stare at you, how hard he had to convince himself he wasn’t staring.

apparently his memory had been sharper than he realised.

now whenever he sees that girl, he sees you. he sees her body and wishes it was yours, he sees her fingers parting her folds and circling her clit and he wishes it was your fingers entering you instead. or even better, he wishes that girl was you and he was the one who had his fingers inside you, well his fingers or whatever it was that you wanted from him. 

and every time he sees you now, the real you and not a figure of his imagination when he has his hands on his cock, guilt settles in his chest like a stone. because even though this all started with him wanting to learn and be good for a possible, hypothetical future where you two are together, the reality now is that he will masturbate while he watches a stranger and thinks about you. he wonders when things got out of hand. 

so, when the second saturday after his little livestreams adventure started comes, all of your friends plan to go to the cinema and have dinner outside, just a little break from all your exams and what not. but to no one’s surprise, seungmin decides to stay in, because he has to do some…

‘research’

changbin says goodbye and clicks the door of their dorm shut behind him. seungmin waits one minute, then a bit more, and only when he’s completely sure that changbin won’t suddenly come back because he forgot his wallet or his phone or something, he closes the door of his room and reaches for his laptop. he opens the page that he knows by heart already and then, enters the account and a small message appears at the top.

live in five minutes.

his heart is already pounding like he had run up four flights of stairs. he shifts in his chair, already half-hard from the anticipation alone and he wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs. then the stream loads and the live begins.

the girl is on her knees in the middle of her bed, her face cropped out like always. she’s wearing a baby blue lace bra that barely qualifies as clothing, leaving very little to the imagination, if anything at all, and the delicate cups are sheer enough that her nipples are seen through the fabric. she’s not wearing panties this time, her bare hips and thighs are on full display, but because of how she’s sitting, her cunt isn’t visible for now. seungmin’s cock gives a hard and immediate twitch inside his boxers.

the girl lifts one hand and gives the camera that same familiar wave and the chat starts working, people already sending their comments and donations.

artprince69: fuck yeah she’s back

quokkjone: that bra and no panties? you’re criminal

aussielord: take it off already

seungmin’s mouth goes dry and he presses the heel of his hand against his swelling cock while he bites his lip. the girl brings both hands up to cup her breasts over the lace, her thumbs dragging slow circles over her nipples until the fabric tents even more. the lace looks so delicate against her skin that seungmin can almost feel how soft it is.

she reaches off-screen for a moment and when her hand comes back into frame, it’s holding something new - a big and thick dildo. seungmin lets out an involuntary groan, his cock getting harder just from imagining what she’s gonna do. she has never used a toy on a live before and the sight of it in her hand makes his cock throb painfully.

the chat goes feral, more donations coming and the comments going absolutely crazy.

leethighs: ride that until you squirt 

maknaeontop: i wish it was my cock instead

midnightwolf: the princess wants to play with fire tonight

seungmin shoves his clothes to his thighs until his cock springs free, already leaking. he wraps his hand around the base and gives one slow stroke as his eyes stay locked on the girl. she leans forwards just enough for her mouth to enter the frame and then she parts her lips and lets a long and thick string of spit drip from her tongue onto the tip of the dildo. the saliva runs down the toy and she uses her hand to spread it, making it slick and shiny.

seungmin’s grip tightens, as he imagines that spit was yours and that toy was his cock, he imagines that you were the one getting it ready for him, and that thought makes his hips jerk upwards into his hand.

the girl shifts on the bed, spreading her knees wider, letting everyone see her cunt now, her clit peeking out and her entrance clenching visibly as she positions herself. she holds the dildo beneath her and then begins to lower herself. seungmin’s breath punches out of him in a ragged moan as the toy disappears inside her. she pauses halfway, breathing hard, and then sinks the rest of the way until her ass meets the bed and the toy is completely inside her, a broken moan slipping out of her.

seungmin strokes himself faster, matching her pace as she begins to move, rising up until just the tip remains inside her and then dropping back down, taking every inch again. one of her hands comes up to squeeze her breasts through the lace, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her scream. 

aussielord: that’s it keep riding that toy sunshine

artprince69: fuck i already came from seeing this

midnightwolf: good girl, taking it like a champ 

seungmin barely registers the comments, as his hand keeps flying up and down his cock. in his mind the girl on screen is you, he pictures your body in that baby blue lace and your cunt swallowing his cock instead of the toy, your moans and screams filling his room instead of hers. he imagines reaching up to tug the bra down, freeing your breasts so he can suck on your nipples while you ride him.

the girl starts riding the toy faster, her moans almost desperate now. her free hand moves to her clit, her thighs shaking with the new sensation. the dildo is soaked, shiny with her arousal and every time she lifts off it leaves a string of wetness connecting her pussy to the toy, and the only thing seungmins wants to do is lick it clean. he can feel his orgasm building fast, hotter and heavier than anything he has felt before.

the girl’s movements grow erratic and then her back arches and she finally comes, screaming as one of her hands keeps pinching her nipple and the other circles her clit. a long and broken cry tears from her throat and seungmin comes with her, his cum shooting from his cock and splattering across his hand, his thighs and his t-shirt. the mess is everywhere but he can’t stop looking at the girl and how her cunt still flutters around the dildo.

she lifts herself off the toy slowly, and then she holds the glistening toy up for the camera one last time. she leans forward just enough to wave goodbye and then ends the livestream, the thumbnail of the video being a full and clear image of the baby blue lace bra and her nipples still visible through the lace.

seungmin sits there staring at it, his chest heaving and his cock softening in his hand. his thighs are still shaking and even though that guilt and heat start a war in his chest again, the image of that bra on the screen stays burned behind his eyelids, he can’t look away. his breathing is still uneven, his heart refusing to settle as guilt washes over him.

he drags a trembling hand over his face, “what is wrong with me…”

he doesn’t close the page, he can’t - the thumbnail remains on the screen, frozen exactly where the stream ended. he snaps the laptop shut, hiding the screen for now, pretending that this never happened. he lets out a long breath and then stands up, moving to grab a clean towel and then heading straight for the bathroom.

the cold water from the shower spills over his shoulders, making him flinch immediately. he welcomes it and hopes that it will help him, because he is still thinking about the girl and you, which makes him half-hard again. 

it helps a little but not enough to erase the embarrassment nor to erase the fact that every time he closes his eyes, he sees fragments of the live replaying in his mind, hoping it was you instead. he presses both hands against the wall, shaking his head.

“this is getting ridiculous”, he says to no one in particular.

it is getting a bit ridiculous if he has to be honest, because he started doing this so he could learn and find things that you could like and now? he’s in his dorm, organising his days around a girl he’s never met, making excuses to his friends and avoiding the one person he actually wants to spend time with.

you. 

the irony isn’t lost on him.

when he finishes showering, he goes to his room and pulls on a hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants and then goes to the kitchen. he opens the cupboards, staring blankly inside, trying to choose what to eat but before he can pull something off the shelf, the bell rings. seungming freezes, he’s not expecting anyone, changbin would use the code and all of your friends are at the cinema. 

another knock, softer this time, and then a voice, “seungmin?”

his heart stops when he realises it’s your voice. every guilty thought crashes back into him all at once and then he quickly smooths down the front of his hoodie as though that somehow could wash away all of them.

“coming!”, he says, his voice cracking.

wonderful.

he walks to the door, clears his throat and then opens it. you’re standing there with an overnight bag over your shoulder and a plastic bag dangling from your wrist.  

you grin the moment you see him, “hello stranger”

“i…”, he says, blinking, “i thought everyone was going to the cinema”

“they are”, you say and he frowns, “but i knew you weren’t gonna go, so i came here instead”

his ears immediately burn, “i’ve been busy”

“mmhm”, you say, not sounding very convinced.

“i really was”, he says.

“mmhm”, you say again. 

before he can think of another excuse, you slip past him into the dorm as though you’ve done it a thousand times before, which you have to be honest. 

“okay so seeing that you’ve been so… “busy”, we’re gonna have our own movie night”, you say as you turn to look at him and hold up the bag you have with you.

he walks towards you and looks inside - he sees popcorn, chocolate, cookies, his favourite drink, your favourite candy.

“you know you can't just invite yourself over, you know?”, he says, teasing you, trying to act as normal as he can.

“too bad i already did”, you say, giving him the bag and then turning around, walking towards his room. 

he walks to the kitchen again just as he hears the squeak of his bed when you flop onto it, before you speak again.

“seungmin!”

“what?”, he says from the kitchen.

“bring food”

“you already brought food”

“no, i brought my food”

he laughs without looking at you, the knot in his chest loosening just a little.

“you’re unbelievable”, he says to himself, but somehow you still hear him.

“i know!”

he shakes his head, unable to stop smiling. he gets some of your snacks and also others for him because you’re really serious about your food and not sharing it and he learnt that lesson the hard way. he then walks to his room, settling everything down on the desk, beside his laptop, before he clumps onto the bed with you. 

“so”, he says, “what are we watching?”

you gasp and turn to look at him, “you mean i get to choose?”

“i didn’t say that”, he says, turning to look at you.

“you implied it”

“i absolutely didn’t”

“you did”

“i really didn’t”

you stick your tongue at him and he laughs, turning to look at the ceiling.

“okay, so… romance?”, you say.

“absolutely no”

“minnie!”

“what?”

“why not? you know they’re my favourite”, you say, hitting his shoulder.

“y/n, they’re too predictable and full of cliches”

“well, i still love them”, you say, turning to look at the ceiling too.

“action?”, he asks you, turning his face to look at you.

“no, too loud”, you say, looking at him again.

“animated?”

“ugh, no”

he laughs and shakes his head and you continue.

“what about… a comedy?”

he pretends to think for a moment, “... maybe”

“yes!”, you say, throwing your hands into the air, “i will go and choose one”, you say and then you swing your legs over the side of the bed, already walking towards the desk where his laptop is. 

it takes seungmin one second to realise what you’re doing, but it’s already too late, there’s nothing he can do to stop you.

“y/n, wait-”, he says as he stands up too, his entire body shaking, every ounce of blood draining from his face. 

you reach his desk and look at him smiling before you turn to look at the laptop, “oh shush and just let me choose one, trust me i will-”

you stop talking the moment you open his laptop and see the screen, his hand half outstretched between you and the laptop but stopping there, already too late. the screen shows the livestream page, the thumbnail from earlier frozen there - baby blue lace and a woman cropped at the neck, the unmistakable layout of a cam site surrounding the image.

seungmin hopes that he can somehow rewind the last five seconds if he reaches far enough but he can’t, you’ve already seen it. your smile slowly fades as your eyes stay fixed on the screen before you turn towards him.

“seungmin?”

he can’t answer, his mouth opens but nothing comes out. you look back at the laptop then at him again.

“what…”, you say, your voice much quieter now, “w-what is this?”

his heart plummets.

“no-”, he says as he shakes his head, “no, it’s not-”

he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to deny, you haven’t accused him of anything or looked disgusted or even stepped away from him. you’re just… confused.

“i can explain”, he says, his voice cracking “i-i know how this looks, but it’s not-”, he shakes his head again, dragging his hands through his hair so hard it almost hurts, “it’s not what you think”

you remain silent, looking at him, waiting for him to explain.

“i’m not…”, he swallows, “i’m not obsessed with porn or camgirls”, the words sound ridiculous the moment they leave his mouth, “i mean- i don’t- i don’t usually watch things like this, i’ve never done this before”, he says as his face burns and his breathing grows quicker.

he continues as his thoughts tumble over each other faster than he can sort them.

“i just…”, he gestures helplessly towards his laptop, “i was trying to… learn”

you blink, “learn?”

“yes”, he says, “i know that sounds stupid but i just… i don’t know anything”

his words come out so quietly he almost misses them himself, but it’s not something you didn’t know before, you had had your suspicions for a while.

“i’ve never dated anyone or kissed anyone before, let alone know anything about relationships and, well… sex”, he gestures vaguely towards the laptop again, “i don’t know how any of… that works”

he laughs then, a short and miserable laugh before he continues.

“so i read some articles and wrote some things down”

“what, like notes?”, you ask him.

“i colour coded them, yeah”, he says, shaking his head, “but i know that normal people probably don’t write and colour code relationship or sex advice”

you stand there still, looking at him, watching him spiralling too quickly.

“so i decided to… watch some streams because i thought that maybe i’d understand some things. i thought that maybe…”, another helpless laugh, “i don’t know, it could be a kind of research or something”

he winces at his own words, he knows how bad it sounds, and he’s sure you must think he’s crazy. 

“i wasn’t trying to be creepy, i wasn’t trying to- i just-”, his words begin tripping over each other completely, “i wanted to know how to be enough. i wanted to know what people liked. how to make someone feel good. how to make someone- because- i- i just-”

he laughs again, sounding close to tears this time.

“because what if one day… what if one day you…”, the sentence catches in his throat because he knows he shouldn’t say it, he’s already embarrassed enough, but the panic has completely stolen whatever filter he normally has, “because what if one day you said you loved me too?”

he closes his eyes, not wanting to look at you, not wanting to see your reaction in case this is the moment you decide to walk away from him.

“i’ve loved you for years, y/n, ever since we first met to be honest, and i just… i kept thinking that… what if the impossible happened and you loved me too?”, he says, his voice cracking, “and then…”, his breathing stutters, “i kept thinking that you’d realise that i don’t know anything, i don’t know how to kiss someone or how to date, i don’t know…”, he gestures weakly towards the laptop again, “any of that, and then you’d think that i wasn’t good enough, that i’d disappoint you and then you’d leave me”

he says, his throat tightening as another broken laugh escapes him.

“i was trying to learn. i wanted…”, he says as his eyes remain glued to the floor now, “i wanted to be someone worthy of you, someone that could make you feel good in case you wanted me to”

the words barely leave his lips as he remains there, completely frozen and unable to look at you.

“i know how insane this all sounds, i know. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, y/n. i’ll delete everything, i’ll never open that web again, i promise. i didn’t mean for you to-”

“seungmin”, you say, but he doesn’t hear you.

“i’m sorry i just-”

“seungmin”

“i swear i wasn’t-”

“kim seungmin”

you cross the distance between you and his words die the moment your fingers grab his hoodie, so firm that they stop him from spiralling more. you tug enough to make him lift his head, to make him look at you and for the first time since you opened the laptop, slowly and reluctantly, your eyes finally meet. 

he looks at you and sees something he has never seen before. you aren’t angry or embarrassed or even feeling sorry for him. if anything, you look completely in control, there’s a confidence in your posture that he doesn’t recognise. 

something has completely shifted the balance between you, and seungmin’s heartbeat somehow manages to speed up even more. he feels rooted to the floor and then one of your hands rises until your fingertips brush lightly against his cheek, your eyes never leaving his.

“let me see if i’ve understood this correctly”, you say as he watches you, unable to look anywhere else, “you’re in love with me, have been for years”, you say and he manages to nod his head, “and because you’ve never dated anyone…”, you tilt your head thoughtfully, “you convinced yourself you had to learn everything before you could ever have a chance with me”, his lips part but he doesn’t say anything so you continue, “so you started… researching… and ended up watching videos of a girl fucking herself so you could learn things that could make me feel good so you wouldn’t disappoint me if we ever got together… is that it?”

his voice fails completely and all he can do is nod his head again. he stands there looking at you and wondering when exactly you became so effortlessly confident, when you started looking at him like this. you smirk and lean closer then, so close that he can feel your breath near his ear and when you speak again, your voice is barely above a whisper.

“well, it’s a good thing that you picked my videos to learn from”

seungmin swears that everything stops right there and then, his brain refusing to process what you just said.

“my videos”

no, he must have misheard you, surely.

“you’ve got to be kidding me”, that’s what he wants to say but his mouth won’t cooperate with him.

you pull back just enough to see his face and a quiet laugh escapes you, “what? you don’t believe me?”

he still can’t answer, nothing makes sense.

“i suppose i can’t blame you”, you say as you shake your head with an almost fond smile.

without breaking eye contact, your hands move to the zip at the back of your dress and then you open it and let it fall on the floor. seungmin’s eyes widen when he sees it - the baby blue bra. his gaze snaps towards the laptop, to the thumbnail, and then back to you. it’s the same one, he’s completely sure of it. his breathing stops but before he can say anything, both of your hands come up to him again, one cupping his cheek and the other settling at the side of his neck, your thumb resting just beneath his jaw.

“and i think that you’ll also be very glad to know that i’m in love with you too”

before he has a chance to say anything, you lean forward and your lips meet his, the kiss lasting only a heartbeat before surprise catches up with him and then instinct takes over. his eyes flutter close and every anxious thought that’s been racing through his mind for weeks dissolves all at once.

his mouth parts under the pressure of your lips and you slide your tongue past his. his hands hover uselessly at his sides for a second before he puts them on your waist, his fingers twitching like he’s afraid he’ll do something wrong. you don’t give him time to overthink, you lick into his mouth again and he follows you without thinking, his tongue meeting yours. 

you break the kiss only to catch his lower lip between your teeth, tugging before letting go. his eyes are glassy when they open and you smile at him, your hands sliding down to the hem of his hoodie.

“arms up”, you say.

he obeys you instantly and you take his hoodie off, leaving his chest bare, his skin flushed all the way down to his collarbones. you run your palms over his ribs, feeling the way his breath stutters and then you lean to kiss the centre of his chest, making him let out a quiet and broken sound. 

“so… you learnt a lot from my videos, you say?”, you ask against his skin.

seungmin nods his head, completely under your spell now.

“good”, you whisper, “then let’s put it to use”

you kiss him again, harder this time and then you walk him backwards until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. you push lightly on his chest and he sits, then lies down when you follow him onto the mattress. you settle on your back in the middle of the sheets, wearing nothing but the baby blue bra and the matching panties that you hadn’t worn on the stream before. the fabric already clings to you, the crotch visibly darker where you’ve soaked through and seungmin’s gaze drops straight to that wet patch and stays there, his lips parted and his cock visibly twitching inside his grey sweatpants. 

you spread your thighs a little wider, inviting him.

“do whatever you want with me, seungmin”, you say, “whatever you saw me do on camera. whatever you’ve been thinking about all this time”

he swallows hard and then crawls over you on shaky arms. his mouth finds yours again, messy and eager, his hips already rolling down against your thigh in unconscious thrusts. you let him grind against you for a moment, feeling how hard he is, but then you guide his head with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

seungmin kisses down your throat, across your collarbones, until he reaches the swell of your breasts. his fingers fumble with the bra before he finally opens it and then takes it off of you. he stares at you, his breathing ragged as his eyes stay on your nipples. he leans in and closes his mouth around one, sucking gently and shyly at first, then harder when you sigh and arch into him. his tongue flicks over it and you move your fingers to his hair, holding him there against you.

“that’s it”, you say, the praise warm in your voice, “suck a little harder- yes, just like that”

he moans around your nipple and then moves to the other breast, licking and sucking until both of your nipples are shiny and swollen, as he is completely lost in the taste of you. he moves lower, kissing a trail down your stomach and pressing his lips just above the waistband of your panties. the wet patch has grown and he stares at it before he lowers his head and kisses right over the soaked lace. the heat of his mouth makes you gasp and he does it again, open-mouthed this time, sucking the fabric and the slick underneath.

your hips jerk up and he groans, pressing his face harder against you, licking broad stripes over the lace until it’s completely drenched. 

“fuck, minnie”, you say, your fingers tightening in his hair, “that feels so good. keep going”

he sucks harder then, his tongue pressing the fabric into your folds, and you can feel every desperate noise he makes, every single move of his body against the bed. your thighs tremble around his head and he keep licking and sucking until the lace is dripping. he looks at you and when you nod your head, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and drags the panties down your legs with your help and the moment they’re off, he dives back in, his mouth sealing over your bare cunt now.

“f-fuck… seungmin”

his tongue is hot and eager, licking from your entrance up to your clit before circling there. you moan loud and unrestrained, your hips rolling against his face as he sucks your clit between his lips.

“such a good boy for me- yes, just like that. fuck… your mouth feels amazing”, you say.

seungmin whines against you, your words making him go crazy. he licks lower, pushing his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before returning to your clit, making you scream louder than before. one of his hands slides up your thigh and you feel two fingers press against your entrance. he hesitates at first but then he slides them inside you, stretching you open while his mouth keeps working your clit.

“don’t stop”, you gasp, your back arching off the bed, “i’m gonna come- seungmin, i’m gonna come on your tongue”

he moans desperately and sucks harder, his fingers curling until you finally shatter, your thighs shaking around his head as you ride his mouth through your orgasm. he doesn’t pull away, he licks you through it until you finally go limp, panting.

when you open your eyes, you look at him and find him still between your legs, his face shiny with your juices. but there’s something uneasy in his expression and you reach down and stroke his cheek.

“hey… what’s wrong?”, you ask him softly.

he looks at you shyly, then looks away, his cheeks burning. he moves a bit then and glances down at his own lap. you follow his gaze and you see the front of his grey sweatpants completely dark and soaked, a large wet patch spreading across the fabric. he came untouched, just from eating you out. you feel yourself clench again at the sight, fresh arousal dripping down your thigh. 

“that’s so fucking hot”, you tell him, your voice completely honest and sincere, “you came just from making me come? oh god, seungmin… come here”, you say as you reach for him.

he obeys you instantly, crawling up your body until his face is level with yours. you pull him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he moans into your mouth. your hands slide down his back, feeling the way he trembles under your touch, and you kiss him again, slower this time, letting him feel how much you want him. 

your tongues slide together, wet and hungry, both of you breathing hard. you can feel him already getting hard again against your thigh, the sticky mess in his clothes pressing against your skin. you moan into the kiss and he answers with a shaky whimper, completely lost in you.

your hand slips down between your bodies, sliding straight under the waistband of his sweatpants and into his boxers. the moment your fingers wrap around his cock, still sticky from his earlier orgasm, seungmin whines into your mouth, the sound high and needy. his hips jerk forward instinctively, pushing his cock into your palm as if he can’t help himself. you stroke him slowly at first, feeling how he gets hard again, the precum already beading at the tip one more time.

“y/n…”, he moans against your mouth.

“shh, it’s okay”, you murmur, “you’re such a good student, minnie. but i need to see what else you learnt from watching me”

you pump his cock with a firm rhythm, your thumb circling the sensitive tip on every stroke. his breath stutters and his forehead presses against yours as his hips roll into your hand chasing the friction.

you tug at his sweatpants with your free hand, “help me”

he scrambles to obey, lifting his hips so you can shove both his sweatpants and his boxers down his thighs. he kicks them off the rest of the way, leaving him completely naked now. the moment he’s free, he crawls over you again, settling between your spread legs and his cock, flushed and leaking, brushed against your inner thigh. he looks at you with wide and bright eyes, completely under your control, letting you do whatever you want with him.

you reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock again, guiding the tip to your entrance. 

“you ready?”, you ask him, your eyes locked on his.

seungmin just nods, desperate for you, and then he crashes his mouth back onto yours as you line him up. he pushes forward slowly, a bit unsure but so desperate and needy for you that he doesn’t care. a broken moan escapes him and he trembles above you, his arms shaking as he sinks deeper slowly. 

“you feel so good already, minnie. that’s it, take your time. you’re doing so well, my good boy”

he bottoms out with a shaky gasp, buried to the hilt inside you. his forehead drops to your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath, as he tries to stop himself from coming again already. you clench around him and he whimpers, his hips twitching. 

“y-y/n”, he says, his voice trembling.

“come on”, you whisper, nipping at his ear, “show me how much you learnt”

seungmin starts with slow and careful thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. each drag of his cock against your walls makes you moan and you encourage him with kisses and bites on his skin.

“harder. yes, just like that”, you say.

his pace gradually picks up, his hips snapping forward with growing confidence.

“f-fuck… you’re so tight”, he says, his voice breaking, “you feel so good”

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, “don’t stop. fuck me harder seungmin, i wanna feel you”

he starts moving faster, the bed creaking beneath you. your hands roam his back, your nails dragging down his spine as he fucks you with increasing urgency. both of you are loud now, your cries mixing with his broken moans and desperate grunts. when he’s right on the edge, his hand slides between your bodies until his fingers find your clit and he rubs it the way he watched you do on the livestreams.

your orgasm crashes through you without warning then, making you cry out his name as your walls pulse around his cock. the tight squeeze pushes seungmin over too and you come together, both of you screaming and groaning as you break at the same time.

you both tremble together as you come down from your climaxes, breathing hard. he lies on top of you and you turn your head just enough to kiss him slowly, and when you pull back, a teasing smile curves your mouth.

“so… you couldn’t stop watching my videos, huh?”

his face burns and he tries to hide against your neck, but you just laugh softly and stroke his hair.

“congratulations on ruining my life”, he mumbles against your skin.

you laugh louder this time and move his head just enough to kiss him again.

“you’ve ruined me too, you know”, you say, before you lean in and peck his lips again, “but the good thing is that there’s still so much more i can teach you”, you say, pressing a kiss to his temple this time, “and i’m happy to, whenever you want”

he lifts his head, his eyes soft and shining, and he smiles before leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet, the perfect ending to his…

research.

a/n: our sweet puppy’s part is up!! again thank you all soooo much for all your love and support, i’m so happy you all love this series as much as i do 🩷 i hope you’re ready for what’s next: our sunshine brownie boy 😏

the library

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🌟

dividers by my darling @lariesographic 🩷

Mornings always started the same way back then.

You stood in front of the mirror, slipping your arms into the sleeves of your jacket, fixing your hair, backpack already waiting by the door. You were halfway through zipping your bag when the sound of a car horn cut through the quiet. Three rapid honks. Impatient in a way that was never actually impatient. Chris.

You took one last glance around the room to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. Then you grabbed your backpack and ran down the stairs. You made a turn toward the kitchen to snatch the lunchboxes your mom had packed early in the morning before she left to open the bakery—two of them, stacked neatly together. The strap of your backpack slid down your arm as you locked the door, and you safely tucked the keys into your jacket pocket afterward.

On the driveway, Chris was leaning halfway out of the driver’s seat of his car, one arm draped casually over the door. His varsity jacket was slightly rumpled, his hair a little messy, like he’d rolled out of bed and forgotten to tame his wild curls.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said easily, flashing that dimpled grin of his.

You barely acknowledged it and slid into the passenger seat. Instead, you asked, “Did you finish your homework?”

He laughed, already reaching for his bag. “I knew you were gonna ask.”

Chris handed you his notebook without hesitation, like this was just another part of the routine. He started the engine and slowly backed out of the driveway as you flipped through the pages, scanning his answers. He watched you with quiet patience, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as the car glided through the neighborhood streets.

“It’s fine,” you finally said, satisfied, sliding the notebook back into his bag. “You didn’t mess it up this time.”

“See? All thanks to my personal tutor,” he grinned, relief painted across his face. Only then did he pick up the speed of his driving.

The drive to school was filled with half-finished conversations and Chris’s designated going-to-school playlist playing in the background. He parked in his usual spot—right next to the school field. Chris slung his bag over one shoulder and waited on the side of the car for you.

Three steps into the school building, he was already drawing attention as people started calling his name from every direction.

“Chris, my man!” “Hey, Capt!” “Let’s crush it at practice later!”

He responded to all of it with smiles, nods, and a quick joke here and there. Everyone knew him. Everyone liked him.

But honestly, you always dreaded this part—you and him walking the school hallways together. The attention. All the pairs of eyes looking in your direction. The whispered secrets being exchanged when they saw you walking next to him.

In fact, this was the only time you weren’t invisible to the rest of the school, as the girl known only—strictly—as Chris’s nerdy friend.

That was what they called you. Not cruelly—just factually. The girl who helped him study. The girl who’d been around since elementary school. The girl no one imagined he’d ever date—not when there were popular girls openly crushing on him, not when he could have anyone he wanted. And honestly, you didn’t even dare to imagine it either.

In homeroom, you slid into your seat near the front. Chris took the desk behind you, stretching his legs out comfortably. When the teacher wasn’t looking, you felt that familiar weight as he gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Canteen today?” he murmured, launching straight into a discussion about where to have lunch later.

You tilted your head slightly. “Maybe. Or the bleachers if it’s not too hot.”

“Yard?” he suggested.

You hummed while keeping your eyes on your homeroom teacher. “We’ll see.”

He squeezed your shoulder once before pulling his hand away like he always did, like it didn’t mean anything more than friendship.

The bell rang, and the students dispersed, beginning to move toward their next classes. The two of you stood, already knowing what came next. Different classes. Different hallways.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Chris said, slinging his bag back onto his shoulder.

“Don’t make me wait,” you warned him.

“I won’t,” he said with an easy grin.

You watched him disappear into the crowd before turning in the opposite direction, hugging your books to your chest and blending in with the other students, becoming invisible once more.

-

The lunchtime noise buzzed around you, but you were only half paying attention. You sat on the bench just outside the canteen, one leg tucked beneath you, a book resting open in your hands. You’d already read the same paragraph twice, kept getting distracted by the fact that Chris had made you wait despite his promise.

You decided to send another text. Where are you?

Barely a second passed before a shadow fell over the page.

“I’m here.”

Chris’s head appeared far too close to yours, his cheek nearly brushing your temple, his dimpled grin already in place like he’d planned the timing just to scare you.

You jolted, nearly dropping the book. “Chris—!”

He laughed under his breath, settling beside you like nothing had happened.

“You’re late,” you grumbled, snapping the book shut. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Forever?” he echoed, amused. “It’s been, like, three minutes.”

“That’s forever in lunchtime,” you shot back.

He only grinned wider, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the bench. He waited until you finished huffing before turning to you with a softer smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said thoughtfully, and he placed your favorites on the table like a peace offering—a can of sparkling cider and a pack of M&Ms. A carton of pineapple juice sat in front of him.

Then he leaned close and sweetly asked, “Now, can we eat in peace?”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand was already reaching into your bag. You pulled out the two lunchboxes your mother had packed, placing one between you before pushing the other toward him.

Chris’s eyes lit up as he opened the lid, nodding in approval at what your mom had packed for today’s lunch. He practically shouted a thank-you in the direction of your house, palms pressed together dramatically before digging in with unrestrained enthusiasm.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, just as you opened your own lunch—

“Wow.” A voice cut in.

You looked up to see Aaron and Walcott—Chris’s friends and fellow soccer team members—sliding onto the bench, trays of school lunch in hand.

Aaron stared openly at the lunchboxes, eyes full of envy. “Please, pack lunches for us too.”

You shot him a look. “And what do I get in return?”

Aaron leaned back cockily, cupping his own face with both hands. “You get to see my charming face for free the whole lunch break.”

You groaned because not only were they wearing the same varsity jackets, but they also shared the same level of smugness and cockiness. “You’re all the same, I swear.”

Chris laughed, nearly choking on his food, while Walcott just grinned, stealing a bite out of Chris’s sandwich.

Conversation drifted easily as they talked about practice, the upcoming match, and the soccer match that had happened last night. You listened more than you talked, used to this dynamic.

Then a girl approached and stopped in front of Chris, holding out a cold can of soda. You knew her as one of the popular girls at school—Cheryl. She smiled brightly, eyes fixed on Chris, as she sweetly said, “Good luck on the upcoming match.”

Chris blinked, surprised, then smiled politely as he accepted it. “Uh—thanks. I appreciate it.”

As soon as she walked away, Aaron leaned in with a knowing grin. “Told you, man. She’s into you.”

“Just date her already,” Walcott added, squeezing his shoulder hard.

“Just stop,” Chris said firmly, sliding the soda toward Walcott, who was more than happy to receive it.

That, apparently, was invitation enough for the boys to spiral into teasing and listing the girls who had been hitting on Chris. You focused very intently on your lunch, but inside, you were annoyed by these girls who didn’t even do the bare minimum of knowing that Chris didn’t even drink soda.

When the bell rang, they all stood as you did, gathering your bag and book in your arms.

“We’ll walk you,” Aaron declared.

“I’m fine,” you protested immediately. “I can go alone.”

Your protest didn’t mean anything to them, as Walcott slung an arm around your shoulders, steering you down the hallway. Every time you tried to shake him off, he only tightened his hold.

“Stop,” you hissed.

“Nope.”

You eventually gave up and once again dreaded the way people stared—not at them, but at you. You kept your head down, heat crawling up your neck.

When you finally reached your classroom, you let out a breath of relief, but they lingered in the doorway, waving exaggeratedly, calling your name just to make it worse.

“Have a great class, sweetie,” Walcott shouted teasingly.

Chris grabbed the back of both of Aaron and Walcott’s jackets and pulled them away to make them stop. It was too late. Everyone witnessed it. You groaned, hiding your face as they laughed their way down the hall. However, Chris glancing back once, waving his hand and flashing you his dimpled grin before walking away.

-

After the final bell rang, you made your way toward the field without really thinking about it. Your steps felt automatic, like your body already knew where it wanted to be.

Practice was already underway when you arrived. You could spot him easily — Chris in his school soccer jersey, the fabric darkened slightly with sweat, his dark hair flopping over his forehead as he moved. You slowed near the bleachers, dropping your bag beside you before sitting down.

You watched him juggle the ball effortlessly at his feet—once, twice, three times—before sending it flying cleanly to the other end of the field. He moved with a kind of confidence that only came from years of practice and hard work, from knowing exactly what his body could do. You stayed there for a long moment, feeling content from just watching.

When he finally jogged off to the side for water, you stood and made your way down the bleachers. Gravel crunched softly beneath your shoes as you approached.

Chris noticed you almost immediately. His face lit up in surprise. “You’re still here?”

You smiled, tilting your head. “Just wanted to check if you’re still good.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Rude. I’m amazing.”

You snorted. Hate that he was right.

As he took another drink, his expression softened. “Sorry I can’t drive you home today,” he said.

“It’s fine,” you waved him off easily. “I’ll just take the bus.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, the sounds of the field fading into the background and Chris looked at you like he wanted to say something else, like the words were sitting right at the edge of his mouth.

Your fingers fiddled with the strap of your backpack and broke the silence first. “Are you still coming over later to study?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. If practice ends in time, I’ll come.”

“Okay.”

You hoisted your bag higher on your shoulder and took a step back. “Have a good practice.”

“You too—” He stopped himself, smiling. “Be careful on the way home.”

You nodded, turning on your heel.

You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away, the awareness warm and strangely heavy in your chest. You didn’t look back right away. You waited until you reached the edge of the field.

When you finally turned, Chris had already pivoted back toward the game, jogging to rejoin his friends like nothing had happened at all.

And yet, the feeling lingered.

-

You were halfway through highlighting a paragraph in your textbook when the sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached your room. You didn’t need to know who it is.

A moment later, the front door opened, followed by a warm, polite voice, just a little louder than necessary.

“Good evening, Ma’am!”

You smiled to yourself as you kept reading. You could hear him laying it on thick like he always did, thanking your mother for the lunchbox, complimenting the food, promising he ate everything. He had perfected the art of charming adults, and your mom adored him for it.

Footsteps followed soon after, taking the stairs two at a time. Chris didn’t knock but pushed through your bedroom door without ceremony. He dropped his bag by the wall before collapsing onto your bed with a dramatic groan.

“Chris,” you sighed without looking up. “You know you’re supposed to knock.”

He rolled to the side and coyly shrugged. “I know you’re just studying.”

“That’s not the point.”

You stood, walked over, and grabbed his arm, dragging him off the bed despite his half-hearted protests until he was sitting on the carpeted floor.

“No outside clothes on my bed,” you reminded him.

Chris grinned up at you, mischievous. “Then I’ll just take my clothes off.”

You took his bag and dropped it onto his lap. “Start studying,” you deadpanned.

Chris huffed but reaching into his bag. He moved slower now, fatigue evident in the way his shoulders slumped as he pulled out his book. Up close, you noticed his hair was still slightly damp, dark strands falling messily over his forehead. He smelled like soap and his musky cologne you’d grown used to without realizing when it happened.

He leaned back against the edge of your bed, flipping to the page he needed. “This part,” he said, pointing. “I don’t get it.”

You grabbed your notebook and pencils, sliding down to sit beside him on the floor, your shoulder brushing his as you leaned against the mattress too. You walked him through it step by step, slowly and patiently explaining it the way you always did.

Chris really listened. His brow furrowed in concentration, eyes following your pencil as it moved. He asked questions. He corrected himself when he realized his mistake.

You watched him, quietly admiring the effort. You knew he had to be exhausted. School, practice, expectations. And still, he showed up. Still sat on your bedroom floor, trying his best to understand something he didn’t have to care about.

It was one of the things you liked most about him among other things. You just didn’t tell him because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, make him cockier than he already was.

The room was quiet except for the scratch of pencil against paper as you waited while Chris finished the last of his practice questions, knees tucked to your chest, back resting against the bed.

“Are you done?” you asked after a while.

“Not yet,” he answered halfheartedly.

It took longer than it should have. Suspicious, you leaned forward, peering over his shoulder. Chris was lying on his stomach now, notebook angled slightly away from you and he was very clearly not doing math.

You slapped his shoulder. “Chris!”

He laughed, twisting onto his side and holding the notebook up proudly with tongue slightly peeking out from the corner of his mouth. “Look.”

You frowned at the page. “…What is that?”

“A dinosaur,” he said confidently.

You scoffed. “You made me wait so you could draw?”

Before you could scold him further, he flipped the page. “All done,” he said smugly.

You stared at the finished questions, then glared at him. “You could’ve said that instead of wasting my time.”

Your argument dissolved quickly into a mess of laughter and shoving, hands pushing shoulders, legs tangling until you were both rolling on the carpet.

“Kids,” your mom stood in the doorway, shaking her head in amusement, taking in the sight of the two of you wrestling on the floor.

“She started it,” Chris said immediately, index finger pointed at you.

You smacked him lightly on the chest and he yelped in exaggeration.

“Your daughter practicing violence instead of studying,” he added solemnly while rubbing his chest.

Your mom laughed, setting a tray of cut fruit and snacks down beside you. “Behave,” she said lightly before leaving you to it.

Chris wasted no time grabbing a handful of grapes, leaning onto his side with one elbow propped against the floor as he popped one into his mouth. Even with his dishevelled hair and the dark t-shirt rode up his waist, he looked like he’s posing for a magazine.

You quickly shifted your focus back to studying. You picked up your pen and his notebook, carefully checking his answers.

One after another—correct. All ten.

You paused, surprised, then cleared your throat and kept your expression neutral. “Well done.”

Chris smirked, popping the last grape into his mouth. “See? I get it.”

You gathered your things, returning them to your desk but stayed seated on the floor next to him.

Chris rolled onto his stomach and reached for a few crackers, chewing thoughtfully. “Studying after school is boring,” he complained.

“You could hang out with your soccer mates instead. I’m sure they’re much more fun than me,” you teased as you bite into sliced apple.

He turned his head toward you. “How about we go see a movie this weekend?” he asked rather too casually.

You assumed the usual, that Chris will bring along his friends and watch the movie together. He’d done it before. “Oh, yeah. I’d love to hear Walcott’s commentary the whole time,” you said dryly.

He frowned. “No. Just you and me.”

You stopped chewing for a second. “Just… us?”

“Yeah,” he nodded like it was obvious.

You schooled your face to remain calm. You didn’t want to overthink it. You couldn’t. You told yourself it was just two friends going to a movie together. Nothing more.

“Yeah, sure,” you said lightly.

“Cool,” he smiled while subtly nodding. “I’ll pick you up at seven then.”

Later, you walked him out. He charmed your mom once more in the living room before heading for the door, waving at you as he climbed into his car. You stood there until his headlights disappeared down the street. Only then did you go back inside and couldn’t stop yourself from hiding your smile anymore.

-

You stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary, changing in and out of clothes for a few times. All this effort… You told yourself you were just making sure you looked presentable.

A presence lingered at the doorway as you adjusted the collar of your top. Your mother leaned against the frame, watching you with a knowing smile. “Where are you going?”

“To the movies,” you answered, eyes still on your reflection.

“With who?”

“Chris.”

Her eyebrow lifted slowly. Deliberately. “Oh? Is this… a date?” she teased, delighted.

“No,” you answered without a beat and groaned for giving yourself away.

You calmed your face before turning toward her and tried again. “It’s not a date. We’re just going to the movies.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, clearly unconvinced.

You busied yourself by combing your hair with your fingers. “We’re just friends. That’s all.”

She chuckled softly, then gestured toward your closet. “Date or not, I think you should wear that cute top.”

You followed her finger to the white blouse hanging neatly among your clothes. The one she bought for you as Christmas gift. The one you hadn’t worn ever since.

“Mom…” you groaned for unknown reason.

“I’m just saying,” she said, picking up the laundry basket from your room and took it with her.

You stared at your reflection again, doubt creeping in as you kept glancing at that white top. With a dramatic sigh, you reached into your closet, took the blouse off the hanger, and changed into it.

You know. Just in case.

-

Chris’s car pulled up right on time.

You grabbed your bag and headed for the door, only for your mom to beat you to it. She leaned casually against the frame as Chris stepped out of the car, greeting her with his usual easy smile.

“Hey, Chris,” she greeted him brightly. “You look dazzling.”

The compliment made him a bit flustered as he grinned, ears reddening. “Thanks, Ma’am.”

You hurriedly made your way out of the door before your mom could tease either you or Chris. Or both.

“Have a great time, you two,” she said brightly.

“I’ll have her home before curfew,” Chris promised without hesitation.

Your mom laughed. “Oh, you can take her out all night. I’m fine with that.”

“Mom!” you groaned, mortified.

Chris laughed but before you could recover, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the car.

“Goodnight!” He called over his shoulder at your mom.

You barely had time to protest before you were guided into the car, his hand warm around yours as he opened the passenger door for you.

The car ride to the movies was filled with his voice. Chris rambled easily about the movie options, about how one had better reviews and the other had cooler trailers. You nodded along, half listening, suddenly very aware of how he looked.

He’d dressed nicely in simple dark shirt, blue jeans. His hair was styled, pushed away from his face in a way that made your chest feel oddly tight. And when he leaned over to adjust the volume, the scent of his cologne filled the space between you, familiar but sharper tonight.

Somehow, you thought about what your mom had said and how you told yourself after. Just friends. Still, you wondered if this was really just the two of you going to the movies as Chris kept talking, oblivious, one hand on the wheel as he smiled to himself. You stared out the window, something tugging at your chest and tried not to think too hard about it.

The two of you ended up choosing a rom-com because the other options were horror and thrillers, and despite Chris’s image as this badass, confident soccer captain, he absolutely could not stomach those kinds of movies.

“I’m not watching something that makes me jump every five minutes,” he said flatly.

You smirked. “You can be honest with me and say that you’re scared.”

“I’m sensible,” he corrected.

Tickets bought, the two of you joined the queue for snacks next. What started as a simple decision quickly turned into a heated yet entirely unserious argument.

“We don’t need nachos and popcorn,” you insisted.

“Yes, we do. It’s all about balance,” Chris argued.

“That’s not how balance works.”

Before you could respond, someone stepped into his line of sight.

“Hi, Chris!”

It was Cheryl—the one who’d given him a drink the other day. She smiled, eyes fixed on him and only him, barely sparing you a glance. You were used to it so you did what you always do in this situation, eliminating yourself from it. You stepped forward in the queue, giving them space, and focused on the menu.

By the time it was your turn to order, Chris reappeared beside you, casually slipping an arm around your shoulders.

“Popcorn,” he said to the cashier, “and sparkling cider. And M&M’s.”

You turned to him. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “You always get the usual.”

You scoffed, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Don’t act like you know me.”

He only smiled wider and continued ordering more snacks for him. Then insisted on paying the whole thing.

Inside the theater, you barely had time to sit before Chris was already reaching into the popcorn.

“Hey,” you scolded, lightly slapped his hand. “It’s gonna be gone before the movie starts.”

He pouted dramatically but stopped. “Can I have some of your M&M’s then?”

You poured some onto your hand and handed him a few.

He frowned. “Why are they all brown?”

“Because the colored ones have artificial dyes,” you said seriously. “Bad for your athlete body. I’m basically giving you the best ones.”

He paused, genuinely considering this. Then nodded. “Fair.”

You turned back to the screen just in time to see him lifting an entire handful of M&M’s toward his mouth.

“Chris!” you hissed, grabbing his wrist. “One at a time!”

“Stop scolding me,” he whispered back.

The lights dimmed and everyone in the theatre immediately stopped shifting, turning quiet.

“Shh,” you hurriedly whispered, settling back into your seat.

At the same time, you both let out suppressed laughter, shoulders shaking in the dark. And for the first time that night, you didn’t think about labels. You just leaned back and let yourself enjoy being there with him.

-

The movie played on, soft music filling the theater as the story unfolded. You tried to focus on the screen, on the predictable banter and the slow build between the characters, but Chris kept moving. Not a lot. Just enough for you to notice.

He leaned over to grab popcorn from the bucket resting on your lap, his arm brushing yours every time. At first, you stiffened, then you forced yourself to relax, pretending it didn’t register. His hand settled on the armrest between you, palm turned upward, open and close enough that you were painfully aware of the space it occupied. Too close to be nothing. Too far to be something.

A few times, you felt his gaze on you, and when you glanced back, he looked away like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, his attention snapping back to the screen.

The movie reached the part you knew was coming. The characters finally stopped pretending. They stood too close, voices dropping, eyes searching each other’s faces. When they kissed, it was soft and inevitable, and the theater went quiet in that shared, collective stillness.

You felt warm all of a sudden. You shifted in your seat, trying to act casual, like the scene didn’t affect you at all. Like you weren’t imagining what it would be like if it were you and Chris instead—if his hand on the armrest moved just a little, if he leaned in the way the actor did.

You had to actively tell your brain not to look at him and forced your eyes on the screen instead, heart beating a little faster than it should, telling yourself again and again that this was just a movie. It was the proximity, the dark playing tricks on you.

Still, when Chris’s fingers curled slightly on the armrest, you felt the unspoken invitation to put your hand on his, slipping your fingers between the gaps and intertwining them together.

God, you wondered…

And yet, you didn’t dare to move.

-

When the credits rolled, the lights slowly came back on. You stretched, blinking as the theater filled with movement again.

“I’m going to go to the restroom,” you told Chris, already standing.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said easily.

You nodded and slipped away. Inside, the restroom hummed with the sounds of people shuffling in and out of the stalls, footsteps against tile, the rush of water, the harsh whine of the hand dryer. You ducked into a stall, shutting the door quietly behind you, taking a breath.

The sounds faded one by one until it was quiet. You took a moment to relish everything—the moments you’d quietly shared with Chris in the darkened room. You smiled to yourself as you recalled and questioned everything at once.

Then you heard voices, and you recognized them immediately. It was Cheryl and the friend she’d come to the movie with.

“At first I thought I was seeing things,” Cheryl said with a scoff. “But it was Chris. With her.”

Your stomach tightened, your breath slowed, realizing she was talking about you.

Another girl hummed in response, uninterested but listening.

“I mean—how does that even make sense? What does he even see in her? She’s not… like—” Cheryl trailed off, sounding distracted for a second before finishing the sentence. “She’s not fit for him.”

Your fingers curled against your thigh, nails digging through the denim. You pressed your lips together to keep from making any sound, exposing yourself for listening in on their conversation.

The second girl laughed softly. “She probably thinks she has a chance.”

They giggled, the sound echoing in the quiet room, endlessly mocking you.

“Like some hopeless wannabe Chris’s girlfriend,” Cheryl said with a sharper scoff. “As if.”

“So… pathetic,” the other added and they burst into laughter. Like the words they’d said were harmless. Like the very person they were talking about couldn’t hear it.

You sat back on the toilet lid, heart pounding, staring at the stall door as if it might give you away. You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything, because interrupting would hurt worse. You just waited in silence as your heart grew heavier, sinking deeper and deeper.

Eventually, their voices faded. You heard the door open and close. Then silence.

You waited a few more seconds before stepping out and walking to the sink. You turned the faucet on and stared at your reflection. You looked the same as you always did. The same face Chris had known since you were six. The same girl who packed lunchboxes and tutored him on bedroom floors.

And suddenly, you felt foolish for fixing your hair, for changing your top, for thinking—just for a moment—that this night meant something. What a fool you were to believe someone like Chris would ever look at you that way. To imagine you could be enough. To even let the thought exist.

The doubt spiraled fast, relentless, pulling you under until you couldn’t tell which parts were theirs and which parts were yours. You dried your hands slowly, fought the tears stinging your eyes, swallowed the lump forming in your throat. And when you looked at your reflection in the mirror again, you convinced yourself you were okay and walked toward the door.

Chris was leaning against the wall when you came out of the restroom, phone in hand. He looked up immediately, a smile breaking across his face like nothing in the world could be wrong.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. “Let’s go grab something to eat before we head home? I’m thinking something greasy, so… burgers?”

“I just want to go home,” you said.

He paused, glancing at you. “What? Why—are you sick?”

“No. I think all that romance just made my stomach sick,” you joked weakly and managed a faint smile. “Probably hormones. Or my period.”

Chris grimaced in sympathy, concern flickering across his face before he nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll take you home.”

The drive was quiet, but your head was loud instead—those words replaying over and over, sinking deeper every second. Not fit for him. Wannabe. Hopeless. Pathetic. They echoed until it was hard to hear anything else. Hard for you to ignore.

Chris glanced over at you. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just sleepy,” you lied easily, staring out the window.

He checked the time. 10.03 p.m. “Wow. Yeah, it’s way past your bedtime.”

You let out a small chuckle, hoping it sounded convincing enough while still avoiding his eyes.

When the car stopped in front of your house, you forced a smile and reached for the door. “Goodnight.”

“That’s it? No goodnight kiss for me?” he teased, dimples sinking deep into his cheeks as he grinned.

You glared at him. “Goodnight, Chris.”

He laughed as you closed the door, and you could feel his eyes on you as you walked toward the house—but this time, you didn’t turn around. You kept walking until you were inside, until the door shut behind you.

Your mom looked up from the living room. “Hey, honey. How was the movie?”

You didn’t answer and headed straight for the stairs, feet heavy, chest tight. Once inside your room, you dropped your bag and collapsed onto the bed, curling into a ball as the tears finally spilled over.

Your mom’s footsteps approached, and not long after, the door creaked open. “I didn’t expect you home so—” She stopped when she saw you.

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, immediately sitting on the edge of your bed, her hand rubbing slow circles against your back. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Everything, you answered inside your head. Instead, you shook your head, crying harder.

“Are you hurt?” she asked gently.

All over. Yet you shook your head again.

She was quiet for a moment before asking softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You lifted your face just enough to whisper, “I just want to be alone.”

She nodded, understanding without pressing. “Okay. You tell me if you need anything, alright?”

You nodded as you hid your face behind the pillow.

“I love you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before leaving you alone in the dim quiet of your room.

And you cried and cried until the night felt too big to hold.

-

After that night, you learned how to draw lines.

Not the obvious kind, just invisible ones you kept reminding yourself not to cross. You told yourself, over and over, that you were just Chris’s friend. That you had always been just that, and that it would stay that way. You became good at repeating it until it sounded true.

School kept moving whether you wanted it to or not. Classes piled up, deadlines crept closer, graduation looming on the horizon like something unreal. You threw yourself into your studies because it was easier to focus on grades and schedules than on the way your chest still tightened whenever Chris smiled, or grinned, or leaned too close. Or how he made jokes just to make you smile.

Some part never really changed. You still talked to him every day. He still drove you to school, still had lunch together with you, still texted you memes at midnight like nothing had shifted. And maybe nothing had—not for him, anyway.

You learned to swallow the ache and answer him like everything was normal. Because friends did that.

You watched him live his life—soccer practices, matches, teammates, people who orbited around him so naturally it made you feel like you were standing just outside the frame. You reminded yourself that he was allowed to have a world that didn’t revolve around you, that you weren’t entitled to more.

So you chose yourself instead. You stayed up late to study, headphones in, notes spread out across the table. You started thinking about the future, about colleges, about leaving, about who you could be when high school was finally over. You told yourself that that feelings were temporary, just things you outgrew if you ignored them long enough.

Some days, it almost worked. Other days, you caught him looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and your heart stumbled all over itself. And on those days, you looked away first and locked your heart shut.

You learned how to want him quietly. You learned how to be his friend without asking for more, how to smile without letting it show how much it cost you. And somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that this was safer.

High school would end. You would move on. And Chris would just be someone you once loved in a way you never said out loud.

-

The box of sandwiches was warm against your stomach, the paper bags crinkling softly with every step. Your mom had woken up early to make them because it was something she liked to do as a form of contribution and also because it was the last match of the season—the last time this team would play wearing the school’s colors.

The second you pushed open the locker room door, the noise hit you.

“YEAHHH—!”

Cheers erupted like they’d been waiting for you. It seemed like they had been, in fact, expecting you. Someone whistled. Someone else clapped. Aaron was the loudest of all, already halfway across the room with his arms in the air.

“Our favorite person is here!” he announced, dramatic as ever.

You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “Don’t eat them yet. These are for after warm-ups,” you warned, narrowing your eyes while holding the box away from him.

A collective groan filled the room, followed by laughter. You scanned the space out of habit, craning your neck to look between the rows of lockers and through the chaos of a room full of testosterone. You noticed the absence of one person.

“Where’s Chris?” you asked, turning back to Aaron.

He jerked his thumb toward the hallway. “He got called to the coach’s office earlier.”

Your brows knit together, confused and slightly concerned. “Why? Is he in trouble?”

Aaron snorted like the idea was offensive. “Please. Chris? Trouble?”

You hummed, unconvinced, but before you could say more, you gestured toward the door. “Can you help me grab the boxes from the car? There’s more. My mom went all out.”

Aaron’s eyes lit up at the mention of more food. “Say less.”

The two of you headed out to the parking lot, the late afternoon sun hanging low and golden. Aaron hoisted the box like it weighed nothing, chatting as easily as he always did.

“So,” you said casually—maybe too casually—“do you know why Chris was called in?”

Aaron scoffed again, like the answer should have been obvious. “Scouts.”

Your feet skidded to a stop as you used the chance to adjust your grip around the box of cookies. “Scouts?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back at you, grinning. “He’s been getting offers from universities to join their soccer teams. Big ones. They’ve been watching him for a while.”

Your chest tightened because Chris had never told you any of it. “Oh.”

It wasn’t really a surprise. You’d always known this was coming. You’d seen the hours he put in, the way he treated the field like something sacred. Chris was good. Everyone knew it.

“Do you think he’ll take it?” you asked, even though part of you already knew the answer.

Aaron gave you a look. “Of course he will. It would be stupid not to take it.”

You nodded slowly, your steps falling back into rhythm beside him. “Yeah. Right.”

Chris was smart. He knew what he wanted. He knew how hard he’d worked for this. You pictured him in a different jersey, on a different field, chasing the same dream he’d always had—and instead of sadness, what rose first was pride.

You smiled to yourself as you walked back toward the locker room, because good things were happening to good people. And even if your place in his life had shifted, even if it hurt sometimes, you were still happy for him.

That was what you did. That was what friends did.

-

The bleachers were already packed by the time you and your mom squeezed into a spot halfway up.

It felt like the whole town had shown up tonight. Familiar faces from school, parents, kids with painted cheeks, even shop owners who definitely should’ve still been working—your mom included. She’d closed the bakery early to watch her charming boy, Chris, play his last match defending the school.

“This is a big one,” she said, more to herself than to you.

When the team finally ran out, the crowd erupted. The sound was almost physical, vibrating through the metal bleachers beneath your feet. You leaned forward automatically, eyes sweeping the field, and you spotted him immediately.

Chris jogged out with the rest of the team, jersey clinging to his shoulders, hair already a little wild. Then he slowed, craning his neck, scanning the bleachers like he was searching for something—or someone.

Your heart stuttered when his eyes landed on you and his face broke into that dimpled grin you knew too well, the one that felt like it was meant just for you. He lifted a hand and waved, a little shy despite everything.

You laughed softly and waved back, mouthing good luck with an exaggerated thumbs-up. Your mom squeezed in beside you, also waving and wishing him luck.

He nodded, eyes lingering for half a second longer, before turning back to his teammates and taking his position on the field.

A moment later, the whistle blew and suddenly you weren’t thinking about anything else. You gripped the edge of the bleacher, breath caught in your throat as the ball moved back and forth across the field. You sucked in a sharp breath when Chris nearly scored, your mom clutching your arm at the same time.

When he got tackled, you gasped, half-rising from your seat until he pushed himself back up, shaking it off like it was nothing.

With only a few minutes left in the second half, the ball arced perfectly, Chris moved on instinct, and when it hit the back of the net—GOAL!

You were on your feet before you realized it and the crowd exploded in cheers, whistles, screams. You were shouting too, hands clapping, heart pounding as you watched Chris throw his arms up, his teammates swarming him in celebration. He’d done it. They’d won.

When the final whistle blew, the noise became deafening. The team piled together at the center of the field, laughter and shouts and pure, unfiltered joy spilling out of them.

You watched Chris in the middle of it all, sweat-soaked and glowing, smiling like this moment was everything he’d ever worked for.

And it hit you all at once.

You were happy—so happy—for the way he’d grown into this person, for the way his hard work had finally paid off, for the future opening up in front of him, wide and bright. But tucked into that happiness was a tint of ache.

High school was ending. This chapter was closing. Soon, the paths you’d been walking side by side would start to drift apart, each of you following your own direction. The realization was bittersweet, but even as your eyes burned, even as a tear slipped free, you smiled anyway because this moment deserved joy.

And you let yourself feel all of it at once.

-

The car ride felt much quieter after all the loud, deafening cheers from the soccer match earlier. Your mom hummed along to the song playing on the radio, hands steady on the steering wheel as she pulled into the diner’s parking lot. The neon sign buzzed softly, the place already glowing with noise and a growing crowd.

“Okay, we’re here,” she announced, slowing to a stop.

You nodded, gathering your phone and jacket. You paused with your hand on the door handle, then turned back. “I’ll be back before curfew.”

Your mom snorted. “You’re eighteen. You don’t have a curfew.”

“I’ll be back before curfew anyway,” you said with a grin.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Just have fun. You earned it.”

You pretended to think about it, eyes drifting up as if considering something monumental. “Hmm… nope. I’ll be back before curfew.”

She laughed again, softer this time. “Just be safe, okay?”

“I will.” You leaned over, gave her a quick hug, and murmured, “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight,” she replied, watching you fondly as you stepped out of the car.

The diner was already packed, booths full, laughter bouncing off the walls. As soon as you stepped inside, you spotted Aaron’s girlfriend, Celia, waving both hands enthusiastically from a booth near the back.

“Over here!” she called.

You weaved through the crowd and slid in beside her, passing the time chatting about the match earlier.

A moment later, the front door burst open and the team stormed in like a parade—a sea of blue and black varsity jackets, loud and chaotic. The entire diner erupted into cheers, people clapping and whistling as if the match were still happening. You laughed as Aaron and Walcott hoisted Chris into the air, leading everyone to chant:

“Best captain! Best captain! Best captain!”

Chris groaned, ears and face reddening as he laughed and squirmed. “Put me down—guys—guys—”

They finally released him after throwing him into the air once, and he stumbled back to the ground, still smiling like he didn’t know what to do with all the attention.

Once everyone settled into booths, plates of burgers, fries, and sodas crowded the tables. Chris slid in next to you without thinking, his shoulder brushing yours as he grabbed a fry from his plate.

“Great match!” you praised genuinely, a hand gently placed on his shoulder. “Great play. All of you!”

“Thank you,” Chris said with his mouth full.

“My mom cheered so hard I think she’s legally allowed to adopt you now.”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Whoo! Free bread for life.”

“Not bad, right?”

Still, he couldn’t help himself. “I should’ve passed earlier in the second half. And my timing on that last run—”

You cut him off with a look. “You played great. The team won. That’s the part that matters.”

He exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

With that, he took a bite of his burger, chewing at ease. And you wanted to ask about the scouts or the offers he’d received so far—but you figured it wasn’t the best time. Not here. And definitely not when everyone was celebrating.

Across the table, Aaron and Celia suddenly leaned in at the same time, muttering something to each other before their lips met in an innocent kiss—and when they kissed again, it escalated into a full-on make-out within seconds. You and Chris groaned in perfect sync.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, looking away in disgust.

“Get a room!” Chris groaned as he grabbed a fry and tossed it. It bounced off Aaron’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Aaron laughed, holding up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay—no violence from the captain.”

Celia only giggled as Aaron wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Then he eyed Chris. “After-party at my place?”

Chris shrugged, then tilted his head toward you. “I gotta drive her home. She has curfew.”

You elbowed his side. “I’m eighteen. I don’t have a curfew.”

Chris winced and tried again. “I meant it’s way past her bedtime. She gets cranky.”

You slapped his chest hard enough that he yelped, his hand flying to his heart. “Ow!”

You looked back at Aaron, smiling sweetly. “We’ll be there.”

Aaron leaned back, satisfied. “Cool.”

Chris looked at you, rubbing his chest, eyes bright. “You’re violent.”

You leaned in and grinned, then absentmindedly said, “You love it.”

And for a second, he looked at you like maybe that was true.

-

The celebration continued from the diner to Aaron’s house, as it was the designated hangout place for the soccer team. Chris drove the car slowly, his night drive playlist softly playing through the speakers, the windows cracked open, the night air cool against your skin. You were halfway relaxed when you realized the streets were… wrong.

“Chris, you missed the turn,” you said as you glanced at him.

He didn’t even look at you. He just smirked, one hand steady on the wheel. “Did I?”

“Yes. Aaron’s place is the other way,” you said matter-of-factly.

“I know.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Then where are we going?”

He finally looked over, a crooked grin on his face. “Trust me.”

You scoffed, arms crossing. “That’s not an answer.”

The farther he drove, the more you recognized the road. The old stretch with the uneven streetlights. The public library. The park, and then—

“This is—”

“The elementary school,” he finished lightly as he pulled into the empty parking lot and killed the engine.

The building loomed in the dark, windows black, the flagpole creaking faintly in the breeze. It looked smaller than you remembered and somehow more intimidating at night. You stepped out of the car, hugging your jacket closer as you waited by the door, eyes drifting over the school you’d both attended years ago. Memories flooded in—sticky cafeteria tables, scraped knees, the first time you’d met him.

Chris shut his door and walked over, his grin still firmly in place. He turned on the flashlight on his phone and shone it straight up at his face, casting ridiculous shadows. “You up for a trip down memory lane?”

“You’re so stupid,” you groaned, a smile tugging at your lips.

He laughed, already turning away. “C’mon.”

Despite having no idea what he was planning—and every instinct telling you to ask more questions—you followed him. Past the school building. Past the quiet playground where the swings swayed slightly in the wind. And then farther.

Toward the tree line. Into the woods.

-

The woods felt different at night.

Teachers had warned everyone not to go past the fence, not into the woods—but you and Chris had never listened. You remembered how you used to run through here without a second thought, sneakers crunching over leaves, laughing too loud, convinced nothing bad could ever happen to you. You were braver then. Or maybe just smaller, with less to lose.

“I think we were fearless,” you murmured, following close behind him, your flashlight beam shaking slightly with each step. “We were, like… eight. Wandering around here like it was nothing.”

Chris snorted softly. “Yeah. I’m realizing now this place is actually kind of terrifying.”

You laughed under your breath. “Right?”

You’d been walking for more than ten minutes when the boulder came into view. It was still there, massive and stubborn, perched near the edge of the hill like it had been waiting for you. Memory crashed into you all at once—scraped palms from climbing it, afternoons spent drawing on the rough surface with crayons, pretending the two of you were explorers instead of bored kids.

You shone a light over the surface and swallowed. “I thought everything would be gone.”

“Me too.”

But when you angled the light just right, you saw the faded streaks of color caught in the crevices. Ghosts of crayon. Red. Blue. Yellow.

“This stupid rock,” you whispered with quiet affection as it held so many memories.

Before you could react, hands gripped your waist and lifted you effortlessly.

“Chris—” you yelped as he hoisted you up.

“You’re welcome,” he grumbled.

You scrambled onto the top and scowled down at him. “I could’ve climbed myself.”

He scoffed, already pulling himself up with ease. “Sure.”

You sat side by side, so close your shoulders brushed, legs dangling over the edge. The town stretched out below you, lights scattered like stars fallen to the ground, framed by trees swaying gently in the wind.

“Didn’t know the view looked this beautiful at night,” you sighed in awe.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly.

A cold gust cut through you and you shivered. Without a word, he shrugged off his varsity jacket and draped it over your shoulders. It was warm and smelled just like him. You didn’t argue, but clutched it closed and smiled as you muttered, “Thank you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable and full. But at the same time, it was heavy with things you wanted to say but didn’t know how.

“School’s ending soon,” you said eventually.

“Thank God,” he muttered as he leaned back, hands propped against the rock.

“You’re gonna be this huge soccer star,” you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Too famous to remember me.”

He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I heard you got scouted,” you added carefully.

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a slow nod.

“That’s amazing.” You turned to him, eyes bright. “You’re so close to your dream.”

“Mm.”

The faintness of his smile made you uneasy. “You’re taking it, right?”

He went quiet, and you waited patiently for his answer. Inside, you hoped he was only hesitating to share—not because he had bad news.

When he sat straighter and finally looked at you, it felt like the air shifted. Like the world narrowed down to just the two of you sitting on a rock in the dark. He inhaled deeply and held your gaze.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he blurted quietly.

For a second, the world felt suspended in time and your heart skipped a beat.

“No—” Chris quickly corrected.

The world tilted and your heart dropped.

“I…” He swallowed before finally finishing. “I love you.”

Air caught in your throat. Your heart hurt so good.

He kept going, voice steady but raw. “I love that you’re smart. You care. You see me. You’re patient with me. I love the way you worry about everything. I even love your weird sense of humor.”

You laughed softly, confused, flabbergasted, heart pounding.

Then his hands cupped your face, and he said it again with all of his heart. “I love you.”

The words hung there, fluttering in the air, heavy with everything that hadn’t been said out loud until now. You were still processing when he leaned in and kissed you. His lips were plush and soft against yours, brushing so tenderly, like he was afraid of breaking the fragility of the moment. The kiss was gentle yet certain, like something inevitable finally happening. Your eyes stung, tears threatening, because it felt right in a way you hadn’t known how to want.

Chris pulled away slightly, his thumb swiping across your wet lower lip, his eyes lingering with want before flicking up to yours, searching for permission. You gave him a small nod, and that was all it took. He moved his hand to the side of your face, cradling your jaw as he leaned in once more.

The first press of his lips was innocent until he parted his mouth just enough to capture your lower lip between his. You felt the way he gently sucked on it, the way his warm tongue brushed over your lips, patiently coaxing your mouth open. You caved almost immediately, letting him taste you more.

Chris didn’t rush. He knew how to build anticipation. First, his hand slid to the nape of your neck, holding you there as he tilted his head. Only then did he slip more of his tongue in, deepening the kiss, stealing the air from your lungs with each passing second. It was dizzying, intoxicating—and still, you didn’t want it to stop.

By the time he broke the kiss, you were gasping for air. He smirked in satisfaction like it had been his intention all along. Then he rested his forehead against yours, and the two of you stayed like that for a moment.

“I want to be with you,” he whispered.

Maybe it was because you were still catching your breath, the lack of oxygen clouding your thoughts, that you didn’t immediately question what he meant beyond wanting to be with you like this.

“I want to stay close to you,” he continued, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with such care. “I’ll go wherever you go.”

That was when you saw the fault in his words, and you hesitated to ask, afraid of the answer. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll come with you wherever you’re going,” he said like he hadn’t just committed himself to you.

You should’ve been happy to hear it, to know he was willing to go that far to be with you. Instead, your stomach dropped in shock. “But Chris… what about the scouts, the offers—”

“I won’t take it.”

“No,” you said instantly, pulling back. “No.”

His face fell. “Why?”

“You can’t do that,” you insisted, your voice trembling.

“Yes, I can.”

“We’re eighteen. You don’t know—”

“I do,” he cut in. “I know what I want.”

“But I—I have my own dreams,” you stuttered desperately. “And you have yours. You worked too hard for this.”

“There are other teams—”

“I don’t want you giving this up because of me,” you said, tears spilling over. “I couldn’t live with that.”

“It’s my life,” he argued softly. “I know what I want.”

The wind cut through the trees, colder now, like it was trying to sober you from the moment. You sat there in silence, Chris’s jacket heavy on your shoulders—warm, but weighing on you now.

Part of you thought you should feel happy. You were happy, in some fragile, devastating way. Because your feelings hadn’t been imagined. Because he’d said it out loud. Because he loved you enough to consider giving everything up.

But instead, it hurt.

It hurt because loving you shouldn’t mean sacrifice. Not like that. Not his dream. Not the thing he’d chased with sweat and tears and hard work and every ounce of discipline he had. The thought of him letting it go for you settled in your chest like guilt—heavy and suffocating.

“Chris, please…” you said, your voice trembling with sadness. “Take the offer. Do it. For yourself.”

The silence stretched before you added, pleading once more, “For me. Please…”

He grew quiet, considering it for a long, solemn moment until you saw surrender in his eyes.

“Okay,” he said with a heavy sigh, like it hurt to say it.

You closed your eyes, letting out a breath of relief, telling yourself you were doing the right thing. That this was what loving him looked like.

Still, a quieter, crueler thought slipped in and refused to leave. That someone like him—bright, driven, adored—should never have to choose. That you weren’t deserving of a love that asked him to shrink his future. That letting him go might be the only way to prove you loved him back.

So you sat there, next to the boy who loved you, staring out at a town full of lights, holding onto warmth that already felt like a memory, telling yourself the ache was worth it.

That someday, you’d understand why it had to hurt this much.

-

Graduation day felt unreal. It hadn’t fully sunk in that you had finished high school, that you’d graduated and this part of your life had ended. You were about to step into the real world now.

You loosened the front of your gown as you stepped onto the field, joining the other students greeting their parents. Your mom pulled you into a tight hug and placed a kiss on the cheek, a flower bouquet pressed to your chest as she looked at you with pride and fondness—and a hint of disbelief at the reminder of how much time had passed, how much you’d grown.

“So proud of you,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Thank you, Mom,” you muttered with a smile.

She sniffled and shifted her focus to the camera she was holding. “Let’s take some pictures.”

You stood beside your mom, cap crooked on your head, smiling for pictures you knew she would treasure more than you ever would.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “Chris!”

You turned just in time to see him walking toward you, gown hanging open, hair slightly messed up like always. He smiled when he saw you—soft and knowing, a little careful now.

“Come here,” your mom insisted, already waving someone down to take the photo.

You stood together, your mom wedged snugly between you and Chris, her arms hooked through both of yours. The student holding the camera laughed, counting down before snapping the picture. You smiled automatically, your cheeks aching.

However, your mom wasn’t done when she got the camera back. “Now just the two of you,” she said, ushering herself out of the frame.

You stepped closer to Chris, the space between you shrinking until your arms nearly brushed. He hesitated for half a second before his hand settled at the small of your back.

The touch was light, but it sent a quiet ripple through you—different now that you knew what it meant. You glanced up at him without thinking, and for a brief moment, your eyes met. There was something there, something warm and aching, unresolved.

You looked away first, faced the camera, and smiled. So did he.

Once your mom had taken more pictures than strictly necessary, she turned to Chris, her hands clasped proudly.

“Congratulations, Chris!” she said with a bright smile and a gentle pat on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said politely, his usual charm reserved just for your mom. He took his cap off and teasingly added, “All thanks to your smart, violent daughter.”

Your mom chuckled softly. “I heard about the scout. My God, you’re going places.”

His eyes met yours for a brief moment before he responded to your mom. “Not yet.”

“Yeah, but soon,” your mom corrected. She gave Chris’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as she added, “I wish you good luck, Chris. I really do.”

Chris grinned, dimples showing, eyes crinkling. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

The air was still buzzing with chatter and laughter, but the field grew less crowded as students and their families left in groups. Chris straightened slightly and turned to your mom. “Can I take your daughter for a drive?”

Your mom glanced at you before grinning. “Just take her away as you please.”

You rolled your eyes, though you smiled anyway.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Chris said, amused.

The car ride was quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. It was nice and comfortable, like nothing had changed at all. Chris drove slower than usual, like he was stretching the road on purpose. You watched the town pass by through the window, committing everything to memory—the movie theater, the bowling alley, the diner glowing faintly in the afternoon light. Every place felt like a bookmark in your life.

You turned your head to the side and didn’t even try to hide that you were looking at Chris. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel, the other on his thigh. His dark curls swayed in the wind slipping through the open window, his pale skin glowing under the sun. He looked calm. At ease. Confident. Like thoughts of the future didn’t scare him one bit. He looked most attractive when he was confident like that.

When he signaled and took the turn toward the elementary school, you already knew where he was taking you, and you let him.

-

The woods were way less frightening, more familiar in daylight. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dust motes floating lazily in the air as you and Chris walked side by side along the path you had taken so many times before.

“It’s not as scary during the day,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah. Night really does a number on this place,” he agreed.

When the boulder came into view, you let out a small sigh of relief. You took a moment to breathe it in, the town stretching out below you, rooftops glinting under the sun. Warm. Familiar. Home.

You turned to Chris and held your arms out expectantly.

He raised his brows. “Didn’t you say you could climb by yourself?”

You pouted. “Not in a dress.”

With a huff, he gave in immediately, hands gripping your waist as he lifted you up. You settled on top of the boulder, smoothing your skirt just as he climbed up after you without any effort. His white shirt tugged loose from his slacks as he moved, exposing a strip of skin, the hint of abs beneath. You looked away quickly, pretending you hadn’t noticed.

He sat close enough that your arms brushed with the smallest movement—enough to remind you that he was there, real.

“It’s just as beautiful during the day,” Chris sighed, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“I think I’m going to miss this,” he added softly.

You nodded again, then asked almost wistfully, “Do you think it’ll still be this beautiful when we come back someday?”

“It will still be beautiful,” he said like it was a fact he’d known all along. “Because it survives time.”

You smiled, catching the meaning tucked beneath his words. You chose to believe him.

“I can’t wait for the future,” you said, letting out a soft chuckle. “I can already see you—famous soccer player. National team. Playing the biggest match of your life.”

He smiled, but it faded when you added lightly, “Though honestly, the biggest match of your life is trying to understand a math formula.”

He bumped his shoulder into yours in offense. You yelped, nearly slipping, and his arm shot out instantly, wrapping around your waist and holding you close.

With a mischievous smile, he said, “I can see you in the future too. Being a…” His words trailed off. “Wait—what was your dream again?”

You bumped his shoulder back, carefully this time. He laughed and tightened his hold.

Your heart ached then, because the future was still unknown. There was a very real possibility that you wouldn’t be part of each other’s lives the way you were now.

So you reached for his hand, slipping your fingers between his, intertwining them.

“Wherever we end up,” you said sincerely, your voice trembling just a little, “I hope you’re always happy.”

You swallowed hard, managing a faint smile even though the thought of not sharing a future together was painful to bear.

He squeezed your hand, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles over your skin. “I wish you the same.”

You stayed like that—looking at each other with ache and warmth and everything tangled in between. When tears threatened, you looked away, resting your head against his shoulder. You closed your eyes to hold them back, but they spilled anyway. You wiped them quickly before they could fall.

“You should’ve said it earlier,” you muttered, part scolding, part joking. “We could’ve had more of this. We could’ve planned better.”

He scoffed softly. “Anyone could see it. You were just too stupid to notice.”

You huffed, offended. “How was I supposed to know if you didn’t say anything? I’m not a mind reader.”

The bickering softened, turning into something tender, and then you were both laughing—sad, breathless laughter that felt like relief.

When his eyes found yours again, they were steady and certain. “I love you,” he said, his voice as soft as his gaze.

You felt it everywhere—in your chest, your hands, the way your heart answered before your mind could catch up. “I love you too,” you said.

His smile was warm and full, the happiest you’d ever seen it, like he’d waited his whole life to hear it back from you.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in and kissed him. The moment your lips met in a deep, loving kiss, the world felt suspended in time. It was just you and him, sharing everything spoken and unspoken, and everything in between through the kiss. And God, you really hoped it lasted for eternity.

By some miracle, you managed to pull away. You rested your forehead against his, breathing him in.

“I’m surprised you know how to kiss,” he joked softly.

You scoffed. “I know how to kiss. I’ve read books.”

He grinned, dimples deep, and you smiled before resting your head on his shoulder again.

You stayed there like that, hands clasped tight, holding onto something you didn’t know you’d be allowed to keep. Neither of you said it, but you both knew—you were already yearning for each other.

So you held on tighter before you had to let go.

-

✨ EVENTUALLY: NOW is available on Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

I just want to receive love.

Ask any survival show contestant why they want to become an idol, and that’s the bullshit they’ll feed you with a wholesome smile, which is the politically correct way of saying, “I want to be worshipped.” No one even judges them for it because new gods on the block will always be in demand.

Fresh meat and whatnot, you know.

The only catch is you’re no longer allowed to worship anyone if you have worshippers yourself. Have you ever seen a god who simps for her own devotees?

Please.

If you “make it”, there is only one law you have to abide by—stick to your meticulously crafted persona and be generous with fanservice, and almost a decade into his career, Hyunjin hasn’t had a problem with it. He does study the faces of his “regulars” before he goes into fancalls. He does flirt a little extra with them at fansigns, holding their hands a little longer, a little tighter, less tsun more dere, even sharing little intimate details of his private life only they are privy to.

Well, allegedly.

That’s the least he can do for his off-the-books sugar mamas, no? He is a part of a grand romance scam after all.

It doesn’t mean he’s never struggled with keeping up the act, of course. With all the things he has to suppress, all the things he cannot scream at certain entitled brats’ faces, some days he does come very very close to snapping. What’d you expect? He is trapped in a life he hates doing something he loves.

Which is why it’s Stockholm as fuck that he’s found distraction from his delulu dealer duties by completely leaning into it.

It’s not even guilty, just pure pleasure for him to browse through fan work. As if he needs any more reasons to inflate his behemoth of an ego… Over time, his fandom has become a point of pride with him—so much talent scratching his Stendhal itch just right. The origin point doesn’t matter; the end result is still solid fucking art. It’s like he’s the Beatrice to a thousand Dantes.

Maybe “Like artist, like fan” does have some merit to it.

The literature department of his counterfeit Renaissance cult is where things get a little more unhinged. Some of these people write him so vividly, so intensely sexy that if Hyunjin could fuck himself, he would. It’s kinda disappointing that there is a strict hush-hush rule about fan spaces, which forces him to pretend he doesn’t know what a Kinktober is. Otherwise, he would have loved to send some flowers, signed merch, fucking fan club membership as a thank you for all the nuts busted. When the average market value for life-changing orgasms is in three to four digits, a cup of coffee seems criminally low.

Is it still sex work if someone makes you cum without touching you at all?

Among the sea of creators he religiously follows, of course he has favorites, and whoever goes by zipcode10320 tops that chart. He finds the hardcore shipping fucking hilarious, but he actually respects the preferred method of worship. The thirst might be heavy, but unlike the bitches practically living outside his apartment, it’s at least from a non-suffocating distance.

From a... distance...

anonymous asked: what if hyunjin is deadass reading you lol

A decade-long career with a fake boyfriend side hustle. Five restraining orders. Three court appearances. Endless blacklists…

Hyunjin lived to see the day where it’s the distance that suffocates him.

He never thought one day he’d find himself on the other side of the fence like this. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he just can’t tell what it is about this person he’s so hung up on. He has a battalion of authors writing about him, so what’s so special about this one? Is it a style thing? Is it the subject matter? Why is he looking forward to the next character he’ll play like it’s the next season of his favorite show? Why is he getting this ticklish feeling for no reason whenever he scrolls through a new drop in his bed? It’s as if the words are laced with something because he only feels it when he reads.

But what the fuck IS IT that he’s feeling?!

zipcode10320 replied: im pretty sure he has a life 🤣 on the super off chance that he does tho, hi bby save me from my misery and swipe my v-card plz 💋

Huh…

Well, now he knows.

So it wasn’t for no reason that he turned into a shark—there was blood in the water, and it reeked of the proverbial innocence. So all that lustful longing you keep writing… All that unhinged sex you keep depicting…

Is that…? How you want to be…? By him?

It’s too late when he realizes his fascination with the “art” has turned into something else entirely, but he can’t stop it. He just can’t! It’s in his every waking thought that someone out there loves him just a few drops shy of unconditionally, wanting him with lust so carnal that the desire can no longer stay inside its shell. It jumps into a getaway car with words for engine and fucks right off, all gas no brakes, because it has to get to him as fast as it can. It has to exist in the same corporeal realm as Hyunjin so it can call out to him. It’s in his every waking thought that a god out there compulsively conjures little Hyuniverses, unable to contain the fond smile whenever they doodle his name on a surface, be it cellulose or binary codes.

Hyunjin as a psycho.

Hyunjin as a prince.

Hyunjin as a psycho prince.

Hyunjin as the meaning of life.

Hyunjin as the meaning of MY life.

Hyunjin.

Hyunjin.

HYUNJIN!!!

anonymous asked: if he asks you to give your virginity to him ur ACTUALLY gonna say yes? zipcode10320 replied: who tf says no to hwang hyunjin fucking BET!!! anonymous asked: what if he’s a freak tho zipcode10320 replied: if the freak is me getting sandwiched between hyunchan i volunteer as tribute thank 😌 anonymous asked: what if IM hyunjin and ur just giving me ideas lol zipcode10320 replied: even IM not that delulu bro cmon

Well, maybe you should get on his delulu level because there is some freak that needs to be matched here. It’s okay if you can’t right from the get-go; he has all the time in the world for you. He can show you everything. How to match it. How to get him there. How he will get you there. Everything. Everything you can imagine, he will teach you with utmost care.

But he needs to complete a little self-assigned mission first.

He starts bringing his notebook to every single fan event to take notes of his interactions. Mannerisms, tone of voice, clothes worn that day, some word that sticks out to him… Whenever someone asks what he’s writing so fervently, his go-to excuse is, “Things that inspire me before I forget”. He does show a few actual snippets to cover his tracks, and luckily, all he gets in response is dreamy sighs and, “Oh my god, you’re like sooo romantic!” instead of suspicious looks.

It’s called a “bias” for a reason.

It doesn’t matter if your face doesn’t show in your posts. He has all your notifications on, so every fancall or concert video you share, every photo captioned with “They don’t know I’m zipcode10320” goes straight to his “data” folder where he compares his “field notes”. It doesn’t take too long for him to finally put a face to the name, and the satisfaction of victory weirdly feels like afterglow. He doesn’t smoke, but he craves a cigarette all of a sudden.

His fascination with you mutates into infatuation so fast, he might just blurt out a marriage proposal next time he sees you.

He keeps waiting for you to pick up what he’s putting down, but you seem a bit too insistent with that godforsaken “respect to his personal space” thing. What personal space? There is no personal space when it comes to the two of you; don’t you get it? You need to occupy the exact same space so he can be where he’s meant to be. As your very first. As your very last. So he can be your muse for the rest of your life. Can you even imagine the stories he’ll inspire you to tell if you spend just one night with him?

Don’t get it twisted, that’s just a figure of speech. He can’t and won’t settle for anything less than a couple of hundred nights with you. You know, to teach. So that the freak can match perfectly in the finale.

Unfortunately for him, the news of the iceberg arrives before he can finish packing for the maiden voyage, and for the first time ever, Hyunjin wishes he was blind so he wouldn’t be able to read your words.

zipcode10320 guys im this 🤏 close to ulting the shit out of chris hes been wrecking me left and right this comeback SEND HALP

Oh, you just… Oh, you fucking did not…

Really? That’s the extent of your loyalty? One whore goes Magic Mike, and all of a sudden you’re wrecked? Did the memories you shared mean jack shit to you? Weren’t you the one going on and on about him being your muse just YESTERDAY?!

Oh, you’re gonna get wrecked alright.

“Jiwon, do you have an NDA copy on hand?” Hyunjin addresses the driver in the front seat, his eyes still glued to his phone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he opens his contacts and dials a number. “Turn the car around.”

“Where to, sir?”

“I’ll tell you in a bit.”

The car completes the U-turn after the third ringback tone, and a trollmeister voice answers the call on the other end.

“Yo, Hyunzales.”

“Where are you?”

“Fucking your girl in the backseat of my car.”

“I know you’re ragebaiting, but do you want to?”

The elongated silence on the line lets Hyunjin know that the hunter was successfully hunted. He softly chuckles to himself, amused by his triumph.

“Pussy got your tongue, motherfucker?”

“You’d actually give the fic girl to me?” Chris asks for good measure, his rabid giddiness spilling all over his voice.

“Calm the fuck down. No one said anything about giving you stuff,” Hyunjin sternly corrects. “I’m just inviting you to come play.”

“You’re the pettiest, most possessive man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing, and that includes the GOAT Joe Goldberg,” Chris starts a mini interrogation to do his due diligence. “If there is a chance for you to hit that yourself, how come you’re inviting me?”

“You fucking know why. I don’t trust myself,” he admits. “It’s not a random hookup. Bin’s hosting an opening ceremony tonight, and I want her there.”

“No fucking way…”

“Deadest of asses,” Hyunjin finally releases the death grip on his lips and lets them curl. “Meet me at his place if you’re interested. Otherwise, I’ll risk it all and go solo.”

“Race you there, fuckface.”

When the call disconnects, Hyunjin takes a deep breath to calm… his nerves? And well, his residual annoyance—he can’t be in that kinda headspace right now. He closes his eyes, and just the thought of your surprise is enough to put him in a good mood. He pulls up your profile again and presses play on the video from the concert two months ago, fondly smiling as he listens to you scream at the top of your lungs, “I’LL SIGN THE NDA, HYUNJIN, JUST ONE CHANCE!!!”

“Well, you said it yourself, beautiful,” he turns to his right, watching the nightlights pass by the tinted window. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

You blankly look at the man’s face for a solid ten seconds, unsure if you’ve heard it right, because there ain’t no way…

“Just to triple confirm,” you briefly squeeze your eyes close. “We’re talking about the performer Hwang Hyunjin, right?”

“Yes.”

“The art harlot Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Yes.”

“The Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Just assume every adjective you can think of is true, but if we could get to the matter at hand, please,” the man sighs, rapidly losing patience. “Mr. Hwang strongly wishes for your companionship tonight.”

cOmPaNiOnSh— What?

How would the man, the myth, the legend himself, the only baby daddy you’d be willing to accept, Hwang motherfucking Hyunjin even know you? This has to be a hidden camera prank or something!

As you suspiciously look the man up and down, however, you’re struggling to hold onto your prank theory. The weirdly familiar butler-henchman hybrid guy is clad in a crisp Dior suit, his nails are perfectly manicured, and his hair is so neatly coiffed that bro can walk a runway if he wants. Now you’re trying to logically explain why someone would send a man like this to locate you at this hour. Maybe if they are bored enough? But what entertainment can possibly come out of interrupting a plain mortal’s cocktail hour with their friends?

WHY would a Diorland resident want to locate YOU in the first place? There is literally NO possibility of your paths ever crossing!

“Wait, you’re in every single fansite picture when Hyunjin attends a public event,” Mina points at him, her face contorting with her revelation. “You’re Kim Jiwon, aren’t you?”

“I am,” the man acknowledges.

“How do you even know this guy?” you turn to Mina.

“Girl, even you know him,” she answers with a content smile. “He’s Hyunjin’s bodyguard.”

As you let out a long “Ohhh…”, it finally clicks in your mind why he seems so familiar. He pulls something out from the inside pocket of his blazer and clicks a silver pen.

“I’ve been told this was your own request,” he hands you an envelope containing a single sheet of paper. “You need to sign it before I can take you to him.”

There ain’t NO WAY…

You can see the words, but your brain refuses to process them. That’s it; you’ve been fangirling so hard that it has finally given you permanent brain damage, and now you’re hallucinating worse than ai. At least, that was how you were planning to plead insanity.

But the “OH MY GOD!”s raising from the table confirm that your friends can also see the title reads “Non-Disclosure Agreement”.

“Please don’t. This document contains sensitive information,” he snatches the paper from the prying eyes before they can commit it to memory, and points at the bottom. “If you won’t be signing it, please let me know right now, so I can relay it to Mr. Hwang. This is a time-sensitive issue.”

“T–Time-sensitive?!” you widen your eyes. “Can’t I at least tell my friends where I’m going so they know I’m safe?”

“No, you can’t, but I’m obligated to ensure your protection just as much as Mr. Hwang’s,” he indirectly informs the table. “This isn’t a job offer, so there is nothing to contemplate here. It’s just a promise that you will be discreet about the time you will be spending in Mr. Hwang’s company. Yes or no.”

Yet another “OH MY GOD!” erupts from the table, and by then, Jiwon is at his limit. Before he rescinds the invitation altogether, you lunge at the document telling you to shut the fuck up and sign it. You don’t have one logical answer as to how the Hwang Hyunjin knows you, or why he, quote, “strongly wishes for your companionship”. But the three Cosmopolitans in your bloodstream convince you that making shady deals in the middle of a restaurant is a great idea. And that you will regret it if you don’t go all in tonight.

Whatevs, if anything goes off the rails, you’ll just scream bloody murder, and his career will be over before he can spell “handwritten apology”.

“If I don’t send a thumbs up within 15 minutes, call the police,” you quietly scheme with Mina as you take your sweet time gathering your belongings. “If I do send a thumbs up, call a mortician because his sheer hotness will fucking kill me.”

You follow Jiwon to the valet area, barely registering that he’s just opened the door to a Rolls-Royce Phantom for you. It’s a true test of willpower not to yell “SHUT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK UP!” as you get into the disgustingly smug flex all over Hyunjin’s socials. So it’s true. It’s actually true. You are being taken to the only man ever. For whatever fucking reason…

WHO CARES?!

You make it to the mystery venue in just under five minutes. As he accompanies you to the elevator, Jiwon hands you what looks like a gold-plated card, instructing you to just swipe it to reach your intended destination. So you do. With a thousand butterflies in your stomach, and still only half-believing that you’re about to appear before His Majesty.

Once you get out of that cabin, you can only see one large door at the end of the hallway. A light breeze of music leaks into the carpet-clad corridor. The distance you need to walk suddenly seems like miles long, and the entire time, you keep repeating to yourself, “What am I doing? What am I doing? What the ACTUAL FUCK am I doing?!”, which is entirely pointless considering you’ve already made it this far. Might as well see what’s behind door number two.

Well, door number 4001, to be exact.

Standing in front of the heavy-looking oak, you take the deepest breath of your life and ring the doorbell, your group chat still open in your hand just in case. After a ten-second silence, it finally opens.

Your knees damn near give way when you make eye contact with your greeter.

“Hey, beautiful,” the only man ever leans against the door frame with that sultry smile you know too well. “Remember me?”

You quickly send a thumbs-up emoji to the group chat and shove the phone inside your bag, having no idea what to do with yourself. It’s him. The man who stuns you when he just breathes, the man who has sheer grace and absolute harlotry running in his veins instead of blood is right there smiling at you. It’s REALLY him!

It is really him, but something is not.

Every memory you have of him suddenly flashes before your eyes. Every “private” moment you were lucky enough to share, the handholding, the small talks about his personal work, the eggplant lasagna jokes… All were so soft, so comfortable, and it was like that by design. Even though he knew your name, you were fully aware that this man was at work. That “See? I remember intimate details about you because you’ve made a mark on me” shtick was the first line of his job description. These guys were probably handed a study pack full of attendee information before those events anyway.

But right this moment, not even a shred of the sentimental soft boi is present in his demeanor. Eyes darkened, pupils dilated, posture relaxed, cunningly smirking. The man standing at door number 4001 isn’t Hwang Hyunjin.

It’s the fucking DEVIL!

“Uh… I feel like I need to make sure, just in case,” you shake your head to snap out of it. “You are aware I’m not an escort, right?”

“Why would you even say that?” he furrows his brows.

“I signed a document that says you want my companionship for an opening ceremony tonight?”

He’s so amused, he starts laughing, and you die a little bit. That part is at least the same. When he laughs, your heart still goes into overdrive.

“Yes, I’m aware,” he answers.

“How do you… even know me?” you hesitantly ask, making sure your tone wouldn’t make him think you’re displeased by the invitation. “I couldn’t come up with one reason why you of all people would look for me.”

But the way his face falls, he must be offended. You panic, trying to find ways to explain yourself and what you really meant by that. That he is a god walking among mortals, that you’re one of the aforementioned mortals, and that it just doesn’t make any sense why he wouldn’t summon a fellow goddess instead.

“See, I’m a glass-half-full kind of man,” he speaks through a sigh as he slowly approaches, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Some might say your zip code starts with 103. I say it ends with 320.”

No.

No, there ain’t NO MOTHERFUCKING WAY…

How is that even POSSIBLE?! How many degrees of separation have you been from Hyunjin all this time? Does one of your followers just HAPPEN to know him somehow? Then what, did they just show him the fucking embarrassing amounts of delusion? Did he at least get a good laugh out of it?

Seems a bit too late to deactivate now…

“Well, you asked for it yourself, didn’t you?” he chortles, lifting your chin. “You signed the NDA. Now’s your one chance.”

How are you still not passing out?

Fuck the how, he knows. He knows about it all, and you have never been this mortified about something in your damn LIFE! Your shame brute-forces its way into the main control room of your brain and disables all your cognitive functions.

You can’t think of ONE thing to say to him!

“Unless… You’d rather it was someone else instead,” he cocks a brow at your silence. “Someone who’s been wrecking you recently?”

“I… I–I’m… I don’t…”

The door he left ajar behind him opens again, and another familiar face peeks out, flashing you a pair of heart-stopping dimples.

“Fucking hot,” Chris bites his lips, resting his chin on Hyunjin’s shoulder while staring at you. “Lucked out with this one, huh, Hyun?”

WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN GOING ON RIGHT NOW?

Where did he come from all of a sudden? What does it all mean? And why is this whole thing starting to feel like a fujoshi trap?!

“It’s just a party,” Hyunjin reassuringly smiles, caressing your cheek as if to calm you down. “We’ll hang out, talk, have a couple of drinks, that kinda thing.”

He holds your hand and presses his lips on your wrist for at least a solid five seconds, deeply inhaling your scent, then looks at you with dreamy eyes.

“But if the fancy strikes,” he steps aside, gently pushing you from your waist to lead you in, “we can always party a little harder.”

Incredulous that you are actually flanked by your very own OTP, you walk into the gigantic suite where the chatter of the crowd melts into the music. You recognize a lot of these faces because it’s crawling with idols inside, but the sight is the furthest thing from variety show cutesiness. Their claim holds up. It is a party.

They just forgot to tell you what kind.

The front end is “frat”. Two fandoms are amidst a vicious fanwar online, yet their “oppas” are heavily broing it out, all clearly intoxicated, laughing their asses off as two of the bunch are trying to do body shots off of each other.

Whereas the back end is “swinger”. Socials are filled with snark about who paved the way, yet the younger artists are busy teaching their seniors how to eat their pussies properly. No one cares that they are in the presence of a crowd—they are going at it.

“How’d you like the cesspit black hole of bubblegum pop?” Chris asks, plopping down next to you on the giant sectional by the window, and hands you a glass of vodka on the rocks. “Not giving ‘ending fairy’ at all, yeah?”

“You don’t say,” you raise your brows. “Feels like I passed through an underworld portal just now.”

“So…” Hyunjin flings an arm around your shoulder, comfortably spreading his legs. “You’re a shipper.”

Your drink almost comes out of your nose with panic-slash-fluster. THAT’S how he chooses to bring it up?!

“It’s just entertainment,” you play it cool, trying to choose your words carefully. “I don’t actually believe you are in a relationship.”

“Even when we live together?”

“That’s not proof of anything.”

“Even when we shower together?” Chris presses. “Stuck in hotel rooms together for months on tour…”

“Everybody knows that’s a convenience thing when you’re strapped for time,” you refute.

“But what if Hyunchan is real, and we’re laughing our asses off hiding in plain sight?” he looks you up and down, annoyingly smirking. “Post a picture of me giving him head right now, and haters will still say it’s fanservice.”

“Didn’t you see the pepero thing?” Hyunjin chimes in. “He’s the only one I almost made out with, and our parents were in the audience, mind you.”

Before you catch on goddamn fire, you have to force quit the fangirling and put your rational thinking into overdrive QUICK! What are they even after, having a weird ship conversation about themselves out of nowhere? It’s almost like they are trying to convince you it’s real, but even if they do, what’s going to possibly come out o—

Oh.

Oh, okay.

Okay, so it’s just a random jackpot thing. They saw your stuff, picked you as a target, and this is how they’re “getting even” by humiliating you to your face. Ha ha, very funny…

“Alright, message received,” you sigh in defeat, your mood suddenly bitter. “Do you want me to apologize in writing, or—?”

“What are you talking about? I’m not mad about that at all,” Hyunjin quickly interjects. “I canceled a porn subscription because of you. I goon to your stuff a lot.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO YOU FUCKING DO NOT!!!”

You scream at his face out of pure reflex, but everyone in the vicinity is so faded that no one even hears it. Well, except for Chris who folds in half howling with laughter.

“Ask him,” Hyunjin points at the yang to his yin extremely seriously. “What was I doing just last night?”

“I’m gonna be a gentleman and say he was reading the latest drop, but he changed his sheets at 2 a.m. Do the math,” Chris corroborates while wiping the tears from his eyes. “So yeah, can confirm he’s not mad. Mad horny, maybe”

“But…” Hyunjin snuggles up to you, speaking directly into your ear. “I am mad about something else.”

“W–What did I do?” you turn your head to face him, almost brushing against his lips.

“What is it about me that you don’t like anymore?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

“WHAT?!”

“It’s the haircut, isn’t it?” he tsks in disappointment. “You find it off-putting.”

“Absolutely not! Where did that even come from?!”

“Then how fucking come you’re wrecked so easily after all these years? I thought we had something.”

The course of the night is quite disorienting as it is. Then he goes ahead and says all that in a single breath, fire shooting out of his eyes as if you’ve cussed out the entire Hwang bloodline. He sounds more delulu than all fics in existence combined, yet he’s dead serious, legitimately demanding an answer from you.

You’re so dumbfounded, you can’t produce a single coherent thought!

“Fine,” Hyunjin pulls out his phone and shows you the screen. “Read it. Out loud.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake…

If you can get an ETA on when you can vanish, please, because the self-cringe of looking at your own blog is suf–fo–ca–ting! Nevertheless, it suddenly doesn’t seem entirely implausible to you that these two may indeed be dying laughing at the fanservice defenders. If you posted about this very moment right now, no one would ever believe you, either, would they?

Mad imagination, bro. 12/10 gooned. Have my reblog.

You sigh in exasperation, trying to dissociate from the fact that those are your own words on the screen, and start reading.

“Guys, I’m this cl—”

“No,” Hyunjin stops you with the tone of an insufferable director. “With feeling.”

Are you unknowingly auditioning for something, or…?

You try to remember what you were doing when you rabidly typed this nonsense and yeeted it into the void of the interwebs. Some teaser pictures had dropped, so it wasn’t even anything that deep. Just plain, good ol’ thirst for normal people, but treason-level betrayal by a certain kiwi’s insane biasing standards.

And nothing less than a recommittal blood oath will convince him of your loyalty, apparently.

“Guys, I’m this close to ulting the shit out of Chris. He’s…” you pause to chase some of the cringe with a sip of vodka. “He’s been wrecking me left and right this comeback.”

“I know, right?” Chris cheeses at you, then mimics Hyunjin’s earlier tone. “It’s the bench press thirst traps, isn’t it?”

“All of it,” Hyunjin demands. “Don’t stop at the best part now.”

Real talk? You’d rather endure the ship interrogation than this medieval-adjacent self-reflection moment. Maybe they used to make witches read their own fics aloud, too, who knows?

“Send help,” you punctuate your unhinged diary entry with an eye roll and hand him his phone back.

“Well then.”

He suddenly pulls you close from your waist, shifting you to straddle his lap. The sight must be a little too satisfying, the way his jaw drops watching you sit on your new throne, breathing heavily as he runs his hands up your waist.

“Help,” he brushes two fingers down your cleavage, “has arrived.” 

It doesn’t feel real at all. You’re so close to him that if you move forward just an inch, you can kiss him. In your absence, Chris moves right next to Hyunjin and starts lazily stroking your legs, smiling to himself as he watches goosebumps spread on your skin in slow motion.

“Be honest with me,” Hyunjin puts a hand on your cheek, pointing at Chris with a nod. “Do you wish it was him touching you instead?”

“That’s not what I meant when I said—”

“Look, I get why you might have slipped for a moment,” he interrupts, holding Chris’s face between his thumb and index fingers. “Just look at him. He’s so hot, fucking pisses me off sometimes.”

“Pisses you off, my ass,” Chris scoffs with a snort. “Tell that to your dick standing at attention every time I get out of the shower.”

“Not the time to air our dirty laundry,” Hyunjin turns off the black box, then turns to you. “But if you’re really sorry for abandoning me—”

“I didn’t abandon you!” you protest.

“You did, and it broke my heart,” he instantly denies your appeal, his expression somehow crestfallen and quietly enraged at the same time. “Or are you not sorry at all?”

“I am sorry for upsetting you, but not for abandoning you,” you respond. “Because I didn’t.”

“But you are sorry.”

“I am.”

“Then,” he slowly drags a strap of your dress down your shoulder, “show me how much.”

“T–There are people here,” you quickly grab his hand.

“Of course there are,” he purses his lips. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a ceremony.”

“Just what the hell is this ceremony for?” you crease your brows. “I haven’t seen one ribbon getting cut.”

“Just because they aren’t in your face doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” he responds with a grin. “You asked me to save you from your misery, remember?”

what if IM hyunjin and ur just giving me ideas lol

Your face changes when it finally starts to sink in.

You look around, and that’s when you see the room for the first time. There are clusters of people spread all over the place, each with a “focal point” amidst them. Depending on the kind of lens you have, you can claim they are being worshipped, pleasured, or entirely humiliated.

Only then does it dawn on you that the “opening ceremony”, at least the one held on this side of the room, is of you.

“Don’t avert your eyes,” Hyunjin holds your face with the kind of tenderness that does not belong to the salacious backdrop. “Look at me.”

And look, you do.

You see two men before you, their gaze somewhat soft but not because it bears any wholesome intent. It’s a tiger and a wolf sitting side by side, and the only reason they don’t snarl is not to spook the gazelle. Otherwise, you can see the drool pooling in their mouth. The intent doesn’t seem entirely nefarious, either, but you have lowered inhibitions and complete heart eyes for them, so… Not exactly the beacon of sound judgement.

When Hyunjin starts pulling you in, the remaining crumbs of sound judgement evacuate the building anyway.

“Kiss the lips you keep writing about,” he quietly demands.

Your life temporarily ends when he takes your lips within his. It’s not like your makeout scoreboard is completely blank, but you’ve never felt anything like this before. The man doesn’t kiss; he attempts to pour himself into your body, then permeate every single corner until he completely possesses you.

Divide and Hwangquer.

“Feeling a little neglected here,” Chris interrupts. “No kisses for me?”

That pout paired with the puppy eyes gives you a little cuteness aggression. You steal a glance from Hyunjin, trying to gauge how upset he’d be if you kissed Chris, but he beats you to it. He just knows you’ll prefer the “fanservice” over a stupid membership card anyway. Now he can thank you for all the sheets he ruined in a single installment.

He grabs Chris by the nape and fucking goes for it, showing you what you would have seen if he had finished that pepero to completion. It makes you wanna combust that their rhythm seems so memorized. It’s pure muscle memory. If these demons had a side hustle where they made out to entertain an audience, the entire community would find out the day they created an account. Not even the most devout “It’s fanservice!” supremacist can explain how two people can know each other’s hot spots this well if they haven’t found them firsthand.

FUCK, IT’S TRUE THEN?!

As Hyunjin languidly grinds against you, he unbuttons Chris’s pants and frees his cock, making him whimper when he wraps his long fingers around him. You can’t control the throb between your legs when you hear that sound, and of course Hyunjin notices, breaking into a diabolical smile.

He channels his attention to you again, this time meeting no resistance when he reaches for the strap of your dress. He takes the left side while Chris takes the right, both men savoring the fuck out of unwrapping the present they treated themselves to. The tiger and the wolf can no longer hide their intent, openly showing their teeth as they stare at your bare chest. As if they communicate with telepathy, each sucks on a nipple at the same time, the same way they make out with each other. Loud. Messy.

Wet.

When you run your fingers through his hair, Chris looks up and makes eye contact with you. He lets go of your nipple and reaches for your face, demanding his kiss. They both melt within your lips, but it’s like night and day. Hyunjin kisses like a Sunday morning—slow and lazy, deep sighs, soft touches because you have all the time in the world. Whereas Chris is like a quickie you know you shouldn’t have—fast and passionate, heavy breathing, firm gropes because you are strapped for time before you get busted.

But both set your body on fire just the same.

Hyunjin stops when he realizes there’s a makeout session going on over his head and starts kissing your neck, fondling everything he can reach. Shortly after, you feel a hand on your inner thighs caressing you. Then it moves up. More. A bit more. It makes you shudder when it reaches the dampened fabric gatekeeping your wetness.

“So, you’re saying,” Hyunjin unzips his pants and lets his cock hang, “if I dip my tongue in there, I’ll be the first ever to taste you?”

“Y–Yes,” you barely manage to answer, wits barely intact.

“You wouldn’t… lie to me, would you?” he squints with suspicion.

Then something you can’t quite explain happens.

Hyunjin looks the same, but his demeanor feels… sinister, almost. It’s like there is a very specific answer to his question, and if you can’t get it exactly right, there will be consequences. The problem is, you can’t tell if he’s roleplaying or if his personality is actually changing right before your eyes.

If the tiger snarls that loudly, obviously it will spook the gazelle.

“Of course not,” Chris intervenes with the wholesomest smile, his voice softer than cumulus clouds. “She would never do that to you.”

“She said she loved me, but it didn’t stop her from having eyes for you,” Hyunjin stares daggers at him. “How do I know she’s telling the truth this time?”

“Hyun, you’re scaring her.”

Hyunjin swiftly turns to you, and when you make eye contact, his rigid scowl suddenly disappears. He averts his eyes like he’s ashamed, but the pout doesn’t go anywhere.

It’s like you’re trying to communicate with a stubborn kid.

“If I hurt you so much,” you softly utter, tilting your head to look into his eyes, “would you like me to leave?”

He immediately grabs your hand like you’re going to vanish otherwise, his eyes widened like saucers. Chris giggles at his reaction and wraps his arms around Hyunjin’s waist behind him.

“You just loooove being a mega spoiled brat, don’t you?” he nibbles on Hyunjin’s earlobe, then flashes his mega reassuring dimples at you. “Asking for a kiss like a normal person is too pedestrian for our prince, so he has to make a scene.”

You thought he was fucking around when he said he was heartbroken earlier, but he looks it. You are so confused, and nothing makes sense to you, but a part of you feels weirdly privileged to witness whatever is going on.

“Come closer,” Chris invites you, placing open-mouth kisses on Hyunjin’s neck. “Let’s pacify him a bit.”

You hold Hyunjin’s hands and put them on your waist, then pull him into a kiss. As soon as your lips touch, he immediately starts melting, and you can feel his body go limp in your arms. He softly moans into you, one hand on your face, the other holding Chris’s hand behind him.

“Do you really love me?” he asks with a pout.

“I came here tonight because Mr. Hwang asked for me,” you affirm. “There was no mention of Chris.”

“Will you stop loving him then?”

“Will you?” you raise your brows, unwittingly laughing. “Don’t ask me for things you don’t have the balls to do.”

“Will you at least stop biasing him then?”

“What’s happening to you?” you smile through your creased brows, strangely endeared.

“Nothing, baby. It’s his dinner time, and he gets very groggy when he doesn’t eat,” Chris answers on his behalf, looking at you knowingly. “So you might wanna feed him now.”

Hyunjin doesn’t lose another second and gently pushes you to lie on your back, comfortably settling between your legs. He has zero patience left to take the teasing route, but still tries his best to hold it together and not rip your underwear off altogether.

“Oh, you so wanna shove it in there already, don’t you?” Chris chuckles, seeing Hyunjin practically drool at the amount of slick.

“Fucking look at this, my god,” Hyunjin bites his lips hard.

“Rock paper scissors?” Chris extends his hand.

“Oh, fuck you, I have bias privileges,” Hyunjin slaps it away. “Dibs on everything.”

“Yes, you do, but you will do my requests, right?

You kinda wanna slap Chris when Hyunjin stops two millimeters away from your pussy and looks up at him. It’s so strange that he seems to only listen to Chris and do everything he says with blind obedience, as if he doesn’t have a mind of his own.

Huh…

“What do you want?”

“How about you get her suuuper wet first,” Chris speaks, dragging Hyunjin’s lip down with his thumb, “then double cream her?”

They smirk at each other, and you almost die because WHAT EVEN IS THIS INSANE DYNAMIC?! They’ve done this before for sure; the correct question is JUST HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES?

“I’m just gonna borrow her a bit so I can cum faster, okay?” Chris gives a quick peck on Hyunjin’s lips. “She still only loves you.”

“I know,” Hyunjin tries to play it cool, but massively fails when he can’t help his smile.

“And I only love you, too.”

FUCK—THIS!!!

You suddenly forget where you are and what you’re about to do, barely stopping yourself from shedding happy tears, because what other proof do you need here, really?

fAnSeRvIcE, my ass!

“I guess it’s only fair that I warn you about this,” Hyunjin licks his lips with sheer hunger, spreading your legs wide.

“A–About what?”

“That no one’s gonna compare to me after tonight. You’ll live the rest of your life looking for me in everyone you fuck,” he smirks big. “So maybe don’t even bother fucking them in the first place.”

You inadvertently arch into him with a gasp when he finally graces you with that first lick, grabbing onto Chris lying by your side. It’s such an unfamiliar, brand-new feeling, and it spreads all over your body faster than a pandemic. So wet. So warm. Dangerously addictive. Unfathomable that someone could have this kind of appetite for you one day, but there you have it in technicolor. And out of all people it could possibly be, it’s Hwang Hyunjin.

The only man ever.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” you let slip unbeknownst to yourself.

“Mpf…”

You sink your fingers deeper into Chris when Hyunjin moans into your pussy. The vibrations feel so nice. It’s like an ‘achievement unlocked’ moment—when you talk to him, he reacts.

And he reacts good.

“Feels good, yeah? Now we’re gonna do the same with you,” Chris gets on his knees and presses his cock on your lips. “Open your mouth for me.”

You don’t exactly understand why, but you’re starting to relate to Hyunjin. For whatever reason, when Chris says something, you just do, no questions asked.

You take him into your mouth, but he doesn’t move for a while, just enjoying the sensation as he watches Hyunjin work wonders on your pussy. The man is gone, eating like he’s been starved to death, and when he realizes Chris is watching, he stops sucking, spreads your lips, and makes a complete show of flicking his tongue on your clit as fast as he can.

You’ve heard of chain reaction crashes before, but only now do you understand how they work. Hyunjin licks your soul out of you, you moan louder, and it somehow manifests itself within Chris’s body even though he’s fucking your face. It’s as if you’re just a vessel connecting the two lovers, and Hyunjin pleasures Chris through you.

If you can choose your own death, this is your preferred way to go.

“Oh, FUCK, sorry baby, borrowing your man for a bit,” Chris hurriedly pulls out and rushes to Hyunjin. “I’m about to explode. Fucking finish me!”

Hyunjin gets on his knees, fervently stroking Chris until he unloads a hefty load all over his cock. It’s unclear whether it’s Chris or you who’s about to pass out when he cums because you’ve never seen something this hot in your entire life.

“Do it now,” Chris flashes a fucked out smile. “Before it dries.”

Hyunjin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and aligns himself with your entrance. As his precum mingles with Chris’s drops at the tip, you see the tiger has fully murderous intent now, groaning loudly even though he very very shallowly thrusts into you, only a knuckle deep. Literally just the tip, barely holding himself back from ramming himself into you with how deliciously slippery you are.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he soothes you when you flinch a bit. “I’ll be very gentle.”

“Why? I didn’t ask you to.”

The two men look at each other and flash the most evil smiles you’ve seen anyone flash.

“Jackpot,” Chris sinks his teeth into his lips.

“Lick her clit so she gets tighter around me,” Hyunjin demands, then looks deep into your eyes. “We’ll see how you like me now.”

“Ah, FUCK!”

You said it yourself. You said so many things yourself. How you were this obsessed with him. How you wanted him to break you in. How you wanted just one chance in exchange for an NDA. And now not to be gentle with you. You’re right, why should he? It’s not like you’re made of glass. You’re a big girl, you can take it.

He’s just complying with your wishes here.

“Your eyes are rolling back,” Hyunjin clenches his teeth, maniacally laughing. “Go ahead. Go ahead and fall back in love with me.”

All you can make is incoherent noises while he sinks into your deepest spots, Chris’s tongue gliding all over your clit. This is it. This is how you go certifiably insane, if not die altogether. Not even the worst fantasies your mind has ever conjured can compare to this, and in your heart of hearts, you know Hyunjin is right. No one’s gonna compare to him, to them, after this, and you have no idea how you’re supposed to go on with your life.

If only there was a way that… If only…

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m about t— HYUNJIN!!!”

As you let out a sound you didn’t even know you were capable of making, both men pin you in your place, forcing you to just let the pleasure in. In all your years of self-pleasuring, you have never reached a high this surreal, tearing your soul from your body, and you just know that after tonight, you never will. Squeezing him to death within your walls, you shove Hyunjin into his atom-rearranging orgasm, and his load is so heavy that you can feel every single drop he shoots inside you.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin is so happy he got to be your first that he could die.

“Are you in love with me again?” he nuzzles against your neck once he comes back enough to be able to speak words.

“If I say yes, will you stop obsessing over this?”

“I’m not promising anything.”

You flash him the most fucked out smile. He smiles back. Your heart swells in your chest to the point of combustion when you see his dimples.

“Then no, I’m not,” you stroke his kiwi hair. “Try again.”

He’s not in the least bit offended. If anything, this is the closest he’s been to fansign Hyunjin the entire night, his chuckle making your heart go into overdrive.

“Now that the official ceremony is over,” Chris gets up and starts putting his clothes on, “let’s bounce.”

“Are you really gonna make us move right now?” Hyunjin whines.

“Of fucking course, I am!” Chris scowls, incredulous that Hyunjin would even dare say something like this. “I still need to fuck her, and all our toys are back home.”

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Hyunchan bias you.

This is a one shot. There is no part two.

「© 2026, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

📋 Permanent taglist (Form here if you wish to join): @straywrds @lee-omens-fics @skzfelixlove @surreallyst-void @krayzieestay @tirena1 @idiotmaterial @vvamp3 @tsunderelino @stayjinnie @dessianna1 @palindrome969 @unimportantweirdo @vixensss @homelessmeowmeow @birdiebangsworld @biribarabiribbaem @compersian @wobblewobble822 @pixie-felix @ariaaleelynn @littlestcheese @angelbabygremlin @whatifthisaintreal @akindaflora @ebnabi @hyunjinsicecream @lvnanazz @pinkflowerdream @binniewalrus @agalitzine @4lndr17 @sfiakamo @jinx4karma @yonglixswifeyy

Being single had never bothered you. It was simply something you’d grown used to. Romantic attention wasn’t something you’d ever been familiar with, and you’d made peace with that a long time ago. You didn’t experience the innocence of teenage love, the exploration during your college years. You just didn’t really get approached like that.

It used to bother you a lot more than it does now. You’d be out at a bar with your friends, or sometimes even just walking around campus, and they’d get approached. Some attractive guy would come up, ask for their number, and either score or take the L. It used to weigh heavily on the way you viewed yourself.

You just couldn’t figure it out. Was it the way you looked? You’d tried to fix it with makeup, but maybe you weren’t good enough at it, or the products weren’t enough. Was it your personality? You’d tried to fix that, too, not speaking until spoken to, always being polite, never showing your personality until you truly trusted someone. 

You didn’t think you were ugly, but statistics can be hard to deny… How had you made it well into your twenties without so much as being asked for your number? There’s no way you could be that repulsive, right?

That’s why you’d just… let it be. It was easier to accept that you’ll be an old, lonely cat lady one day than to dwell on anything and everything that could possibly be “wrong” with you. Besides, you’re happy. You lead a good life; you have a steady job and a decent apartment. You’d found out that you have a bit of a green thumb, and now, you find joy in the plants you call your “babies”. You even left all of the “fixing yourself” nonsense behind. You’re loud and colorful, and you don’t hide who you are.

That doesn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in sometimes, though. It’s usually late at night as TikTok has a way of reminding you of your insecurities during your pre-bedtime scrolling, and it’s significantly more difficult to fend off those thoughts when you can’t distract yourself like you can during the day. All there is to do in those moments is close the app and stare up at the ceiling, wondering if you’d ever find the love you used to dream about so innocently.

Romanticism still comes easily, thankfully. You can still admire couples when you see them; elderly couples in particular always warm your heart. You don’t hate roses, or Valentine’s Day, or those heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, or anything else that would fall under “romantic and cheesy.” You find it sweet, endearing even. You’re still able to see the light in those things, and sometimes, you’re still able to hope that someone would want to be romantically cheesy with you one day. 

But you’d never let any of those doubts or hopes take up too much of your time, right? No, you have a life to live, a job to do. You still get up every day, go to work, enjoy the little things, spend time with your friends… You don’t dwell, ever.

So, here you are, walking into the JYPE building once more. Another day, another dollar, or at least that’s what they tell you. Styling idols isn’t too strenuous of a job, though; at the very least, it’s something you enjoy deeply. The majority of the idols are incredibly nice, and sometimes, you’re lucky enough to be paired with an absolute sweetheart. 

That’s the risk you face every day, though. You never know which group you’re paired with until you get there. This week’s culprits are still yet to be discovered as you walk into the meeting room, slumping into your chair before taking a slow sip of your coffee. You’d been up way too late last night, and now, your head is pounding. Apparently, trashy TV is your weakness when it gets juicy. You force yourself to sit up a bit straighter as your boss moves her attention toward you.

“You’re getting bumped up to a lead role for the next couple of weeks since Jiwoo is out. We’re sticking you with Stray Kids. They have an upcoming comeback, and the first music video shoot and photoshoots are approaching quickly. Be swift.”

She fixes you with a look, and you nod obediently. “Yes, of course.” 

You make quick work of gathering your things once the morning meeting is over, and you head to the floor you were directed to. They sent two of the younger stylists with you to assist with the project, but for the most part, you’re running the show.

You love it, honestly. This was what you’d originally gotten your fashion design degree for, to run your own company. Working with idols wasn’t bad, though, and the scenery in Seoul was to die for. You were more than content with this gig.

When you arrive on the correct floor, your two associates disperse, finding some of Stray Kids’ staff, or Skzigi, to get a clearer picture of the comeback. You, however, are off to find the members. This will be your first time working with the group, but you’re familiar with who they are. Basically, everyone who works at JYPE is; they’re difficult to avoid.

After searching for a minute or two, you notice one of them at the snack bar. Short, common for the group, with long, bleached hair, fair skin, and the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen. Felix, you think is his name. You approach him calmly; he seems nice enough anyway. 

“Excuse me… Hi, I’m your lead stylist for the upcoming comeback. I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of your other members, maybe your leader…” The last sentence comes out as more of a question, but you speak with a friendly but professional smile. 

He returns it easily and twice as brightly. “Yeah, of course! They’re right over here. I’ll show you. I’m Felix, by the way, or you can call me Yongbok. You’ll hear both.”

You return the favor by sharing your name as well. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m excited to work with you all.”

“Good! We’re pumped for this comeback. Chan can relay the details better than me, but the vibe we have going is sick,” he nods eagerly. 

“I can’t wait to see it,” you grin back. Soon enough, he’s leading you into the room where almost all of his fellow members await. It looks like Chan, the leader, is out at the moment, but Felix still introduces you to everyone.

They take to you kindly, and you get to work making notes of their sizing and preferences. Changbin isn’t comfortable showing a ton of skin, but he doesn’t mind showing off his arms. Seungmin and Minho specifically asked to be fully covered. So far, no crazy requests and entirely respectful conversation. You could get used to working with this group. 

“Yah! I’m sorry, Skzigi got confused about our lunch orders, and I was trying to help them out. Have I missed any-” He pauses when he notices your presence. This must be Chan. “Oh. I’m, um… I’m Bang Chan, or Chan, o-or Chris, or you know what, just call me whatever you want,” he chuckles awkwardly. You have to stifle a laugh when you notice how red his ears are as he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. 

You offer your name in return once more before continuing, “It’s nice to meet you, Chan. I’m the lead stylist for this comeback, so I was just getting some measurements and preferences from the other members. Once I finish up with Jisung, I’ll get you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, no worries,” he nods, ears still crimson. You think you hear Felix snickering at him, but you pay the noise no mind as you finish taking Jisung’s measurements. Soon enough, you’re measuring Chan while he’s informing you of his stylistic preferences, his arms sticking straight out in a T pose.

“I’m not really a fan of anything too restricting,” he starts. “I don’t mind showing skin, though. As long as it’s nothing crazy, anyway.”

You let out a snort without thinking about it. “Don’t worry. If you weren’t at least mostly covered, I’d lose my job, and I rather enjoy it.”

You finish measuring him just then, and he turns to face you as he lets his arms down. “Good. Maybe we’ll just have to keep you around as our stylist, then.” He quirks a brow up as he talks, and there’s a slight lilt in his Aussie accent that anyone else would interpret as flirtation. You pay him no mind, though, too busy scribbling down his last few measurements along with the preferences he’d mentioned. 

“Sounds great,” you chuckle softly. “You guys have been great to work with, and we’re just getting started.” You sigh a bit as you realize what time it is. “It’s almost lunch time… Are you cool with pausing for now and talking more about the concept after?”

He deflates just the slightest bit, but once again, you don’t pay attention to it. “Yeah, no, that sounds great. Go eat,” he nods, motioning toward the door to sell his compliance with your idea.

“Perfect. See you all in an hour or so.” With that, you’re gone, already halfway to the cafeteria downstairs with your associates.

“Mate, you fumbled bad,” Felix snickers, clapping a hand onto Chan’s shoulder. 

“Wha- I didn’t fumble! There was nothing to fumble. We’re at work,” Chan argues defensively.

“Yeah, and I’m the maknae,” Minho huffs with a smug smirk.

Chan sets his sights on him instead of Felix, giving Minho a firm glare. “No one asked you.” 

The younger members continue to relentlessly tease their leader for his failed attempt at flirting, and downstairs, you’re still none the wiser, enjoying lunch with the two associates you’re working with. 

The next day, you’re going over some options with the guys for their music video outfits. You’d already finished with six of them, and now, it’s Chan’s turn.

“You want me to wear that?” He points to the picture of the jacket you’d picked for him. There are lots of buckles, and it has both a deep V-neck and an open stomach. You can see why he’s a bit worried, but you can’t help but mess with him.

“What? You said you’re cool with showing some skin…”

“Yeah, but that’s…” He trails off, unsure of what word he’s even looking for because you do kind of have a point.

“Relax, Chan,” you giggle. “I’m messing with you. It’ll be open, and I’m thinking one of these two tops will be under it, depending on your comfort level.” You show him two pictures, each showing a different top for the outfit. One is solid but fitted with an interesting pattern, giving him some actual coverage while still keeping the outfit interesting. The other is almost completely sheer, offering a more visually pleasing contrast; it would be your choice.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he sighs in relief. “Honestly, though, I’m leaning toward the one that’s kind of see-through.”

“Perfect. We’ll get everything sent here ASAP, so we can start making adjustments. Can you send Hyunjin in on your way out?”

“Oh… That’s it?” Chan asks, playing with his fingers subtly. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want his opportunity to talk with you one-on-one to end, but he’s trying not to be obvious.

“Unless there was anything else you needed to discuss.” You turn your head toward him, waiting expectantly for him to add something.

“Ah, no. No, I think that covers everything… See you tomorrow, I guess.” He gives you one last nod as he exits the room, head hanging low. When he makes it to the room next door, where all of the guys are waiting, he looks to Hyunjin and nods toward the meeting room. “You’re up.” 

Chan lets out a huff as he plops into one of the open seats, and he chooses to ignore the look that Jeongin and Changbin share. It’s better for his sanity to pretend he didn’t see it. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a second. He’s got to stop letting this silly work crush get to him.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin has already made it into the meeting room with you and is approving his outfits for the music video. Once it’s set in stone, he reclines back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. 

“So… I’m your last meeting, right?” Hyunjin wonders aloud.

“Yep. Now, I can grab some lunch and head back to my office to request the pieces we decided on.” You smile, relieved, as you drop your pen on top of your notebook.

“Why don’t we grab something together?” Hyunjin offers nonchalantly.

“No offense, but I’d rather not be seen outside of a work environment with an idol.” You huff out a laugh, fully turning in your seat to look at him properly.

“So, we’ll order something to be delivered here,” he shrugs.

“You’re set on this, huh?” You’re struggling to hide the grin on your face. These guys seemed determined to become your friend by the time this comeback is finished.

“Very much so. Let me treat you for how quickly you’re pulling this together for us. You’re already a day ahead of where the other stylists are usually at by now.”

“Alright, alright. We can have something delivered, I guess, but I’m working until it gets here.” You reopen your laptop with a slight shake of your head. It’s hard to tell him no.

Hyunjin doesn’t bother hiding his smile. He quickly shoots off a text to the Stray Kids group chat, telling them not to wait up for him, before ordering some food for you both, asking for your preferences along the way.

Before you know it, the food’s been delivered, and you’re both halfway through two orders of tteokbokki and gimbap. The conversation has been flowing well, and you’ve found that your personalities mesh well. 

“So, are you ever gonna acknowledge Chan’s flirting?” Hyunjin asks with a smirk, nudging his food around with his chopsticks.

You blink at him slowly before letting out an abrupt laugh. “Yeah, maybe when it actually happens.”

Hyunjin’s face scrunches in confusion. You’re messing with him, right? “Uh… It’s definitely happening.”

You let out another brief laugh. “When?”

The thought seemed preposterous to you. No one ever flirted with you. Now, all of a sudden, an idol wants you to believe his fellow idol, no, his leader, has been flirting with you over the past two days? Fat chance. 

“Literally every time he speaks to you,” he deadpans like it was obvious. 

“Why would Chan flirt with me?” It was a genuine question, yet you couldn’t seem to stop yet another laugh from escaping with it. 

“Because you’re hot.” Hyunjin seems flabbergasted, completely thrown off by you not seeming to see his leader’s interest in you. 

“Pfft, I’m cute at best. Definitely not hot,” you wave him off. Now, you know he’s crazy. 

Hyunjin blinks before leaning in closer, now close enough to rest a hand on your shoulder as he looks at you in concern. “You’ve looked in a mirror before, right?” he asks softly, like it was entirely serious. 

You chuckle quickly, “Yes, Hyunjin, I’ve used a mirror.”

“Oh, so, you’re just lying for fun, then. Cool,” he huffs, dramatically flopping back against his chair. 

“Wha- No, I’m not! I’m not saying I’m ugly or anything. I know I’m not. I’m just not hot. That’s not a word people use to describe me,” you shrug casually. 

Hyunjin’s jaw drops again. “It’s a word I’m using to describe you right now!”

“Well, you’re wrong, or just too nice.”

He frowns, realizing just how serious you are about it. “Why on Earth are you so convinced you aren’t a certain level of attractive?”

“Hot girls get approached,” you shrug. That’s the simplest way you could put it. 

“So, what…? You don’t get approached often, so you think you can’t be hot?” His brows are furrowed, genuinely confused. 

“I don’t get approached at all,” you correct him. 

Hyunjin has to take a deep breath to keep himself from losing his cool. Chan has been trying to approach you every time he’s seen you over the past two days. Are you blind? “That doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” he argues. “Maybe you’re just-“

You cut him off, “Too intimidating? Right, because I’m so scary.” A scoff escapes your lips. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but he quickly closes it again. You have a point. You aren’t intimidating. You look sweet. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about you. 

“Look, Hyunjin, you aren’t gonna tell me anything I haven’t been hearing for years. I’m intimidating, or I’m not missing out on anything. Or, my personal favorite, it’ll happen when I least expect it. Well, I promise, I couldn’t expect it any less. I don’t get asked out, and I’ve made my peace with that.”

He can only stare while you talk; he knows he won’t be able to change your mind. You seem set in stone on this, but maybe if he couldn’t change your mind, Chan could. 

“Alright, I get it. Just know, I think you’re beautiful and hot and whatever other synonym you can think of. Now, finish your tteokbokki before I steal it.” He points to your food with his chopsticks, brow raised threateningly, and suddenly, the atmosphere feels a little lighter again. 

Lunch goes more smoothly after that. No more expressing your biggest insecurities or airing out your self-esteem issues. Just two coworkers, or maybe friends, sharing a meal. 

Hyunjin decides to keep his cards close to his chest. It’s not really his place to air out your business, but when Chan finally admits just how into you he is and lets out his frustrations about you being unable to take a hint, Hyunjin knows he has to help out his friends. 

“I just don’t get it! I flirt so well with STAY. It can’t be any different, right? It’s never been different. Are they just genuinely not into me?” Chan is currently pacing the living room of Hyunjin and Changbin’s dorm, and the other two can’t do much but watch him spiral. 

“I mean, honestly, there’s no way anyone is that oblivious. I’ve done everything except directly ask them out.” He runs a frustrated hand through his short, bleached hair. Hyunjin, however, finally has enough. He won’t admit to knowing anything, but he’s to give Chan a push. 

“Then, maybe that’s exactly what you should do,” the taller man shrugs from his spot on the couch. 

Chan whips around, glaring at him for a moment. “You can’t be serious. Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” Hyunjin raises a brow at his friend. 

“They haven’t responded to flirting! I’ll just get shot down!” Chan waves his hands around like that’ll help get his point across. 

“Exactly. Maybe they’re just bad at realizing when people are flirting. At least if you ask them out, you’ll know for sure if they’re oblivious or just not into you,” Hyunjin reasons. 

Chan looks to Changbin for help but finds none. 

“He’s got a point,” Changbin nods. “That’s the only way to know for sure.”

“I hate you both,” the eldest sighs. He knows they have a valid point, though. He’s just scared. He’s never let himself get so worked up over liking someone. What’s he gonna do if you say no?

He lets the thought sit for a few days, but when the last day of the music video shoot comes, he knows he’s almost out of time. Who knows when you’d get paired with Stray Kids again?

He catches you just after he’s changed back into his normal clothes, a loose-fitting zip-up over a black tank top, paired with some comfy shorts. 

“Hey… I just wanted to say thanks again for all of your hard work. You really showed up and showed out for us, and I appreciate that a lot,” he speaks softly, playing with the zipper of his jacket. 

“Oh! Thank you. I mean, you guys were just so great to work with. You made it easy,” you smile back as you pack up your things. Your work was done, which means you were free to go home for the night. 

“Would, um… Would you let me take you out to dinner? Just as a thank you. I mean, you handled our chaos really well, and you got everything done so quickly-“ 

You cut off his rambling by resting a hand on his bicep. He’s pretty sure it short-circuits his brain. “You really don’t have to do that,” you assure him. 

“I don’t think you understand how badly I do need to do it,” he responds dumbly, still reeling from the slightest touch from you. 

“Then, I guess dinner would be nice,” you chuckle. “Just let me know when and where.”

His eyes light up. “Really? I, uh, I mean, that sounds great. I’ll text you,” he nods as he starts backing away, trying not to look too excited. 

“Chan?” You stifle a laugh. What’s up with this dude? Maybe Hyunjin was right… No. No way. 

“Hmm?”

“You need my number to text me.”

“Right! Yeah, yep, totally knew that. I was just testing you…” His ears are bright red as he types his number into your phone. “There. I texted myself, so I’ll text you. About dinner. Not anything else. Unless you want me to! I mean- I’ve gotta go…” He gives one last awkward wave before disappearing in the other direction. 

When he finds Hyunjin, he nearly tackles him into a hug. “I could kiss you!”

Hyunjin hesitantly returns the hug, confused by the sudden affection but not against it. “I mean, I won’t say no, but I’d like to know why…”

Chan slaps his arm lightly as he pulls back, still smiling widely. “They said yes! I asked them out to dinner, and they said yes! You were right!”

That makes Hyunjin grin. “I told you! You just have to be more upfront with some people.”

“Ugh, I have so much to do. I’ve gotta book reservations, and be sure to find quiet places so that no one will see us… Oh, my god. What am I gonna wear? I can’t look stupid,” Chan rambles, one hand on his hip while the other has a grip on his hair. 

“You sound stupid right now,” Hyunjin deadpans. “Dude, you’re, like, incredibly well-dressed. Just be normal. It’s a date, not your wedding.”

“But what if it leads to my wedding?”

After bugging Hyunjin for who knows how long for advice about this date, Chan texts you all of the details. Now, you’re sitting in the back of an Uber, stressing yourself out over what this dinner means. 

Is it a date? No, why would it be a date? He literally said it was just as a thank you for your hard work. But what if it is? You’ve never been on a date… You’ve never even held hands with someone. 

What’s the protocol for dates? How are you supposed to act? Are you meant to kiss him after? Would he be expecting that? Is that how you lose your first kiss, at 27 years old, after one date with an idol you barely know? You suppose it’ll happen at some point, hopefully anyway. At least Chan seems like a nice enough person; he’s not a bad option for a first kiss. 

He’s not a bad option for a first anything. He’s sweet and thoughtful and caring, and he makes you laugh, sometimes when he doesn’t mean to. He’d be a great first date. He’d be a great first kiss. He’d be a great boyfriend. He’d be a great first- No.

Nope, you’re not letting your mind go that far. This is a dinner between coworkers, associates. Nothing more. You’ve let Hyunjin get into your head with his nonsense, but you’re smarter than that. You won’t get your hopes up. 

Before you know it, you’ve arrived at the restaurant, and suddenly, your nerves are tenfold. You walk in, looking around for him, when you realize the restaurant is completely empty. You spot him at a table toward the back, away from any windows, and you approach slowly. 

“You know this is kinda creepy, right?” you ask when you get close. Without wasting a second, he gets up and pulls out your seat for you before returning to his own once you’re settled. 

“Well, not until right now…” He chuckles sheepishly, finger tracing a small wrinkle on the tablecloth. 

“Why is it so empty, anyway?” You laugh softly. 

“I, uhh… I rented it out.”

Your eyes go as wide as the saucers on the table. “You- What? The whole restaurant?”

“Hyunjin mentioned you saying something about not wanting to be seen with an idol out of the workplace, so I thought this might make things a bit more comfortable for you,” he admits. 

You’re stunned into silence for a moment. “Chan… That’s too much-“

“It’s not, not if it makes you more comfortable.” His hand reaches out to rest on top of yours on the table, and all you can do is stare at him for a moment, touched deeply by his words. 

“Thank you,” you whisper earnestly. 

He smiles shyly, leaning back a bit but leaving his hand on yours. “Hey… I’ve gotta make a good impression on the first date, right?”

You pale, removing your hand from under his. No. No, no, no. This can’t be a date. You didn’t mentally prepare for a date. Hyunjin was telling the truth? He couldn’t have been. This is some kind of joke, right?

“What?”

Chan panics a bit inside at your reaction, but he forces himself to remain calm outwardly. “This is a date… U-Unless you don’t want it to be. It can just be dinner.”

“I just… Why would you ask me on a date?” You look at him in genuine confusion, and his heart shatters as his head goes through a million reasons why you might not have ever expected him to ask you out. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks softly, his voice cracking slightly halfway through. 

You let out a scoff. Why do they keep asking that? “I’m not… I don’t get asked out, Chan. I-I’ve never done this.”

“Done what? Had a boyfriend? That’s normal. Plenty of people wait until later in life to find someone-“

“It wasn’t on purpose. I’ve never been asked on a date. I didn’t have a high school sweetheart. No one’s ever had a crush on me, even in middle school. I’m not… Why would you be the first?” You frown deeply as you speak, gesturing toward him vaguely at the end. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” His brows furrow, and he leans forward in his seat again. 

“You’re… you. You’re an idol. You’re hot. You could have literally anyone-“

“I want you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

The air gets heavy after that, and after gathering his thoughts for a moment, he speaks up again, voice gentle, “Why do you think that?”

You’re not sure why, but you find yourself being honest with him. “I told you… I’ve never, ever, received romantic attention, even just for a hookup. I’ve seen guys flirt with my entire friend group and glance over me like I wasn’t an option in the first place. I’ve been told more than once by people I’m close to that they couldn’t imagine me in a relationship. I haven’t ever had a reason to think I’ll find love, but the universe has given me plenty of reasons to assume I won’t.”

His heart breaks for you all over again. Why would anyone say that to someone else? He, of all people, knows how your mind can twist mindless comments into something that can tear you apart. Gingerly, he reaches out, taking your hand into his once more, covering it with his other hand. 

“Let me be your reason,” he says softly, eyes pleading with you. 

“What?” The word comes out like a breath, soft, airy, with a tinge of confusion. 

“Let me be the reason to assume you’ll find love. I don’t care how slow we take things. I don’t care if we have to start as friends. I don’t even care if I’m not the one you marry. Just let me prove that you can be loved like anyone else,” he proposed. 

It knocks the air out of your lungs for a second. He said it with such conviction, like he needed it as much as you did, and he’s still staring at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him. Maybe you are right now. 

“Chan-“

He cuts you off, “Please.”

You hesitate only a moment longer. “Okay…”

“Yeah?” His brows shoot up to his hairline in hope. 

“Yeah. If you really want to try, then I do, too. I trust you enough to know that this isn’t some kind of prank or something.” It was true. You hadn’t known Chan long, but you could tell he wasn’t that type of person. 

“Thank you. I won’t waste this, okay? Starting tonight. Let me show you a real first date.” His hands squeeze the one of yours they’re holding. 

“Alright…” you smile softly, forcing yourself to relax into this. It wouldn’t be easy, but you could see how genuine he is. He deserves a chance. 

By the time dinner ends, you’re feeling much lighter. He was a perfect gentleman, and he’d proven to be a professional at making you laugh. You manage to get to his car without being seen; he’d convinced you to let him drive you home. You weren’t surprised to see the sleek, black luxury car he brought you to, and you were somehow less surprised when he opened the passenger door and helped you in. 

The drive was nice, filled with the same easy conversation that took place during dinner. He puts the car in park when you arrive at your building, and he shifts in the driver’s seat to look at you properly. 

“I had a really nice time, Chan, even with the dramatics at the start of dinner…” You try to joke away your slight embarrassment, looking down at where your hands hold your purse in your lap. You can feel a blush coating your cheeks, but you don’t care too much. 

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” he grins. “I enjoyed myself, too. Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

You feel your heart burst with warmth as you look back up at him. “Thank you for wanting it.”

“Can we do this again sometime?” he asks softly, reaching his hand out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I’d really like that,” you murmur in return. 

You escape that night without a first kiss, but five dates in, neither of you wants to wait anymore. Safe to say, Chan was successfully capturing your heart, tearing down your walls brick by brick until you had no choice but to let him in completely, and he was doing it with a smile. 

Tonight’s date is on the couch in your apartment. Two pints of ice cream and one bowl of popcorn sit on your coffee table, all half-eaten, as you and Chan watch a movie. Well, you’re technically on movie number two, but that’s neither here nor there. Chan’s been playing with your fingers for half an hour now, and you can feel him staring at you every few minutes. 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you snort. 

“‘Cause you’re pretty…” he replies, a dreamy look in his eyes. What a loser. You wanna keep him forever. 

“Stop,” you push him away playfully. 

“No, come back!” He doesn’t hesitate to lean closer, dramatically wrapping his arms around you like he wouldn’t be able to live otherwise. “Don’t leave me…”

He pouts up at you with those boba eyes and plump lips, and all you can think about is kissing him. He’s just so perfect, so attentive and caring, so attractive. It’s so not fair that you don’t know how to kiss. 

“I’m not leaving you,” you roll your eyes, pretending to be grumpy about it. Your eyes flick back down to his lips, and he catches it this time. It makes his dart down to look at yours, too. 

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs. 

“I’ve never-“

“I can show you. It’s not hard,” he tries. 

“That’s what everyone says,” you argue. 

“Because it’s not,” he laughs. “Please? You just have to follow my lead. I won’t even open my mouth if you don’t want to.”

“…Okay. Just go slow, alright?” You fix him with a look. 

“Slow,” he nods, already leaning in. 

You do as he said, following his lead. You close your eyes, and before you know it, his lips are pressed against yours. It’s soft, gentle, a test. When you lean into it, he tilts his head, kissing you more deeply, more confidently. 

He pulls away after a moment and just looks at you, silently asking if you’re okay with more. When you nod, he cups your cheek to pull you back in, and when you get comfortable again, he lets his tongue glide against your lower lip. You’ve read enough books to know that’s your cue to open your mouth, so that’s what you do. 

When he presses closer, letting his tongue brush against yours, you lose yourself in the kiss, in him. Maybe this is everything it’s cracked up to be; you’re pretty sure you could kiss him all day. 

Eventually, you both need air, so he pulls away slowly. “How was that?”

“Really good,” you grin. “It was good for you, too, right?” You had to be sure. 

“It was amazing. You’re a natural.”

“Maybe I just have a good teacher,” you flirt. 

“Ooh, kissing and flirting. That teacher must be pretty good, then,” he teases you back. 

You laugh with him, lightly shoving him again because, of course, he’d be all about hyping up your “teacher”. 

“You really don’t mind, though? Being my first… well, everything?”

“Do I mind being the person to show you how it feels to be loved? No… not at all,” he replies in earnest. This is his favorite thing ever; of course, he doesn’t mind it. 

“Are you ever gonna stop making this sound so romantic?” you chuckle. 

“It is romantic, first of all, and second of all, no.” His grin is cocky, but you find yourself endeared by it anyway. 

It wouldn’t be easy, but you already knew you’d be keeping him around for every first you’ll ever have from now on. You still have some self-esteem issues to work through, and you still struggle with your inexperience in romantic relationships. He’ll be there through every bit of it, though, and he’ll enjoy every second. 

He’s found his person, and soon enough, you’ll know for certain you’ve found yours, too.

⋆｡°✩ ───────────────── ✩°｡⋆

taglist: @night-storm7 @justwanttoreadfics @dovelydrz @itsraininghyunebuckets @dreamerwasfound @skzbbyyy @0sunshinecryptid0 @rainierii @stayrachaa @carrotcakeesblog @sliveb @chandlxa @keylimegr33n @theyknowagus @myen2rude @gnabcc @chlodavids @melodyladean @whydolife @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo @becrazy--beyou @superboywife @majesticallyme @urfavleobiscuit @keyplosion @itsmmmm @yourtypicalnerd @babythisisourcinema @ma0bread

✧ join the taglist ✧

⋆｡°✩ ───────────────── ✩°｡⋆

It can be quite scary to share your thoughts on someone's writing, but here is a way for you to do so completely anonymously!! Please take a moment to fill out this feedback form !! It helps so much more than you know!

Reblogs help as well!! If you feel comfortable with it and enjoyed this fic, please give it a quick reblog!

That first “I love you” had knocked the air right out of your lungs.

It wasn’t because you hadn’t wanted to hear it—God, you had—but because it was Yang Jeongin saying it. Jeongin, with his stupidly pretty smile and effortless charm, who could walk through the halls and have heads turning without even trying. Jeongin, who somehow looked just as good in a wrinkled hoodie at eight in the morning as he did dressed up for a date. Jeongin, who had chosen you.

You still remembered the exact moment he’d said it.

You’d been sat on the swings in the park near your flat, the chains creaking softly as the two of you swayed back and forth under the orange glow of the streetlights. It had been late, later than either of you should’ve been out on a school night, and your fingers were tucked inside the sleeve of his hoodie because you’d forgotten your coat again. Jeongin had laughed at you for that, of course, before shrugging off the hoodie and forcing it over your head despite your weak protests that he’d be cold.

He’d just looked at you then—really looked at you, with that quiet softness he only ever seemed to have around you—and smiled.

“I love you, you know.”

You’d genuinely thought you’d misheard him.

Your swing had slowed to a stop as your eyes widened. “What?”

Jeongin’s ears had gone pink, but he’d still held your gaze, still smiled that tiny, nervous smile that made your chest ache. “I said I love you.”

And because apparently your brain had decided to abandon you in your moment of need, all you’d managed was a stunned, breathless, “Why?”

The second the word left your mouth, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

But Jeongin hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t looked offended. If anything, his expression had softened even more, eyes going warm as he stepped off his swing and crouched in front of yours, slotting himself between your knees so he could take your hands in his.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he’d asked gently, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re kind. You’re funny when you forget to be shy. You remember tiny things I tell you that even I forget. You always make sure I’ve eaten when I’m busy, and you pretend not to care but you worry about everyone all the time.” He’d squeezed your hands when your eyes started stinging. “And you look at me like I’m someone worth loving. So yeah. I love you.”

You’d cried. Not cute, movie-style crying either. Actual tears, face burning, trying to hide in the sleeves of his hoodie while Jeongin laughed softly and wiped under your eyes with his thumbs. He’d kissed your cheeks and the tip of your nose and told you that you were ridiculous in the fondest voice imaginable, and then he’d pulled you into his lap on the swing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That had been a month ago now, and somehow, even after six months together, it still didn’t feel real.

You still caught yourself staring at him across the cafeteria while he sat with his friends, sunlight catching in his hair as he laughed at something one of them said, and thought, he’s my boyfriend. You still felt a jolt of disbelief every time he reached for your hand under the desk in class or kissed your temple in the corridor without caring who saw. You still expected someone to tap you on the shoulder and tell you there’d been some kind of mistake.

Because you were still just… you.

Still awkward. Still quiet. Still the girl who overthought every text before sending it and hated raising her hand in class and had to rehearse what to say before ordering coffee. You weren’t one of the pretty, effortless girls who usually orbited boys like Jeongin. You didn’t know how to flirt properly, and half the time you were convinced you only got by on sheer luck and Jeongin’s apparently terrible taste in women. Yet every day, he chose you anyway.

Sometimes it showed up in big ways—like him turning up at your flat with your favourite snacks after you’d had a bad exam, or dragging you out to watch the sunset because he said you’d been cooped up too long. But mostly, it was in the small things. The way he always walked on the outside of the pavement without even thinking about it. The way he’d wordlessly tug your hand into the pocket of his coat when it was cold. The way he never let go first when you hugged him. The way he’d learned exactly how to calm you down when your anxiety got too loud—guiding you somewhere quiet, rubbing circles into your wrist, talking softly until your breathing evened out again.

And maybe that was why it still felt so unreal. Because Jeongin didn’t treat you like some charity case or a secret or a phase. He treated you like someone precious. Like someone worth being gentle with.

You were thinking about all of this as you stood at your locker after lunch, trying and failing to remember which textbook you actually needed for your next class.

Your fingers hovered uselessly over a pile of notebooks as voices and footsteps echoed through the corridor around you. You could feel yourself getting flustered already, brain fogging over from the noise, and you were just about to give up and take all of them when a familiar hand slid around your waist.

You startled so badly you nearly smacked your head on the locker door.

A laugh sounded by your ear. “Easy.”

You twisted around to find Jeongin grinning at you, his tie already loose despite the fact there were still two lessons left in the day. His hair was a mess from where he’d clearly been running his hands through it, and there was a tiny smear of pen ink on the side of his hand.

You stared at him for a second too long and you saw the moment his grin softened into something fond. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Heat crept into your cheeks. “I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before glancing into your locker. “Why do you have every book you own in here?”

“I can’t remember what I need.”

Jeongin hummed, utterly unbothered, and reached past you to scan your timetable pinned to the inside of the door. “English, right?”

“I think so.”

He pulled out the correct textbook immediately and handed it to you with a look that was half amused, half affectionate. “Good thing you’re cute.”

Your face burned hotter. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He said it with complete confidence, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.

And the worst part was, he was right.

You took the book from him, muttering a weak thanks, and Jeongin just smiled wider before resting his chin on the top of your head. People brushed past in the corridor, some of them glancing your way, and the old self-consciousness tried to creep in at the edges of your mind.

Jeongin must have noticed the way you stiffened, because his hand at your waist squeezed gently.

“You okay?”

You nodded automatically, but he tipped his head, clearly unconvinced.

“You sure?”

There it was again—that quiet softness, that careful attention he always paid to the things you tried to hide.

You looked down at the textbook in your hands. “I just… still don’t get it sometimes.”

“Get what?”

You hesitated, then forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Why you like me.”

Jeongin’s expression changed instantly. Not annoyed, not exasperated—just tender in a way that made your throat tighten.

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You still doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like it’s weird that I’m obsessed with you.”

Despite yourself, you huffed a tiny laugh. “Obsessed is a strong word.”

“It’s an accurate word.” He said it so seriously that you snorted, and his mouth twitched. “I like you because you’re you. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true.”

You looked away, embarrassed by how much those simple words affected you.

Jeongin nudged your chin back toward him with two fingers. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped, soft enough that the corridor noise seemed to blur around the edges. “I know you don’t see yourself the way I do. But that doesn’t make me wrong.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and Jeongin noticed immediately, just like he always does. His face went alarmed for half a second.

“Oh no, don’t cry at school, I’ll fight someone.”

A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Who are you going to fight? Me?”

“If necessary.”

“That’s not very boyfriend of you.”

“Actually, it’s extremely boyfriend of me. I’m defending my girlfriend from her own terrible opinions.”

You laughed properly then, shaking your head, and Jeongin visibly relaxed at the sound. He smiled too, small and warm, before leaning down to press his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Even when you’re being annoying about it.”

Your breath caught. It still did that every time. Even after a month of hearing it, even after saying it back enough times that the words should’ve settled comfortably by now, they still landed in your chest like something fragile and precious.

You curled your fingers into the front of his blazer. “I love you too.”

Jeongin’s smile turned so bright it made your heart ache. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed you then—quick and sweet because you were in the middle of school and because if he kissed you any longer you were pretty sure you’d actually combust on the spot. When he pulled back, he stayed close enough that his nose brushed yours.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

And maybe, six months in, you still didn’t fully understand how someone like Jeongin had fallen in love with someone like you. Maybe part of you still waited for the dream to break. But as he took your hand and laced your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world, leading you down the corridor toward class with that easy warmth only he seemed to have, you thought that maybe understanding it didn’t matter as much as you’d always assumed.

Jeongin loved you. For some miraculous, incomprehensible reason, he did. And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to believe that was enough.

You’d never been to one of Jeongin’s parties before. In six months of dating him, you had always found an excuse. Too much homework. A headache. Your social battery already dead from school. A family thing. Anything to avoid stepping into a house full of loud music, drunk strangers, and the kind of attention that made your skin feel too tight.

Jeongin had never pushed. He’d pout sometimes, tugging at your hand and telling you he wanted to show you off properly, but the second you looked even a little overwhelmed, he’d kiss your forehead and let it go.

So no—parties were not your thing.

But tonight felt different.

Maybe it was because your parents were out of town and you were lonely. Maybe it was because you were tired of feeling like the timid little shadow trailing behind your own life. Maybe it was because Jeongin had been so busy the last couple of weeks—football training, study sessions, his friends constantly dragging him around—that you’d barely had any proper time alone with him. Maybe it was because some ugly, insecure part of you hated that there was this whole side of his life you’d never seen, a side full of people who knew him in loud rooms and flashing lights while you only ever seemed to get the quiet leftovers.

Or maybe you’d just wanted to prove to yourself that you could do one scary thing for once.

Whatever the reason, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror at eight-thirty on a Friday night, staring at a version of yourself you barely recognised.

You’d changed outfits four times. The discarded clothes were in a heap on your bed, and your room looked like a small disaster zone, but eventually you’d settled on a black top with a neckline lower than anything you usually wore and a skirt that made your legs look longer than they actually were. You’d even put makeup on—nothing dramatic, just enough concealer and mascara and lip gloss that your reflection looked softer, prettier, a little less like the nervous girl who always hid in oversized hoodies. You’d spent ten minutes just looking at yourself afterwards, trying to decide if it was ridiculous. In the end, you’d grabbed your coat before you could change your mind.

The whole drive there, your stomach twisted itself into tighter and tighter knots. You almost asked the taxi to turn around twice. By the time you were standing outside the house, music thudding so loudly you could feel the bass through the pavement, your palms were damp and your heart was beating way too fast. Coloured lights flashed behind the downstairs windows. People spilled in and out of the front door, laughing too loudly, drinks in hand, cigarette smoke curling into the cold night air.

You stood on the pavement for a full minute, frozen before you thought of Jeongin’s face when he saw you. You imagined him grinning, surprised and pleased, maybe pulling you into his arms and telling you how pretty you looked. Maybe kissing your cheek in front of everyone. Maybe introducing you properly, proud and warm and gentle in the way he always was with you.

That image alone was enough to get your feet moving.

You stepped inside; the house was chaos.

Bodies packed shoulder to shoulder in the living room, music blaring from speakers so loud it rattled in your chest, the air warm with alcohol and perfume and something sweetly sickly you couldn’t identify. Someone bumped your shoulder before you’d even fully closed the door behind you. You muttered an apology they definitely didn’t hear and pressed yourself closer to the wall, eyes darting over unfamiliar faces.

Your breathing had already started to go funny. It was too loud, too crowded. Too hot.

You reached for your phone instinctively, thumb hovering over Jeongin’s contact. Maybe you should text him. Tell him you were here and ask him to come find you before you lost your nerve entirely. You spotted a group of boys in the kitchen archway—faces you recognised from school, from the football pitch, from the cafeteria table Jeongin sat at when he wasn’t with you and realised you didn’t need to text him after all.

His friends were just there, and with them, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red plastic cup in one hand, was Jeongin.

Your heart gave a stupid, traitorous leap.

He looked unfairly good, of course he did. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, ginger hair falling messily over his forehead, the top few buttons of his shirt undone like he’d tugged at them in the heat of the house. He was listening to one of the boys talk, mouth curved in a distracted half-smile.

And hanging off his arm was a girl.

She was unfairly pretty. Tiny waist, glossy hair, perfect makeup. She was tucked against his side like she belonged there, fingers looped around his bicep as she laughed at something one of the boys said. Jeongin wasn’t touching her back, but he also wasn’t pulling away.

You stopped dead.

For one disorienting second, your brain tried to explain it away. Maybe she was drunk and clingy. Maybe she was someone’s little sister. Maybe you’d just walked in at a weird moment and Jeongin would shrug her off the second he noticed you. So you stayed where you were, hidden half behind the hallway wall, waiting for him to look up.

He didn’t.

One of his friends—Hyunwoo, you thought vaguely—snorted into his drink and said, far too loudly over the music, “I’m still saying you should’ve ended it after the first month. Six months is insane commitment for a stupid bet.”

Your body went cold. The world around you didn’t stop, exactly. The music still pounded. People still shouted and laughed and moved around you. But it all seemed to lurch sideways, sound muffling at the edges as if you’d suddenly been dropped underwater.

A bet.

Someone else laughed. “Nah, you don’t get it. He got attached to the role. Method acting and all that.”

There was more laughter as your eyes locked on Jeongin. He wasn’t laughing. If anything, he looked annoyed—brows drawn together, jaw tightening slightly as he took a sip from his cup. But he didn’t interrupt either. Didn’t tell them to shut up. Didn’t say they were wrong.

The girl on his arm giggled and nudged him with her shoulder. “Wait, seriously? You actually did that? That’s evil.”

Heat rushed to your face so fast it made you dizzy.

Hyunwoo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “It was his idea? No—whose was it first?”

“Wasn’t mine,” another boy said. “I just said there was no way he could pull the shy girl.”

Shy girl.

Your stomach twisted so violently you thought you might actually throw up but they were still talking, still laughing at your expense.

Someone—maybe Minjae, maybe one of the others, you couldn’t even tell anymore because your ears were ringing—said it plainly, casually, like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Bet was just to see if he could get her into bed, wasn’t it?”

The whole room tilted. You looked at Jeongin again.

Please, you thought wildly. Please say something. Please laugh and say it’s bullshit. Please look disgusted. Please do anything.

Jeongin scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly uncomfortable now. “Can you not—”

But it was too late because you didn’t hear the rest. You didn’t hear whether he was going to deny it or shut them down or tell them to stop talking about you like that. All you heard was the confirmation already carved into your chest, cruel and immediate.

A bet.

A six-month joke.

A challenge.

How stupid had you been? How painfully, humiliatingly stupid?

Of course a guy like Yang Jeongin had never actually fallen for a girl like you. Of course there had to be a catch.

You thought of every time he’d looked at you softly, every whispered I love you, every kiss pressed to your forehead, every careful touch when your anxiety got bad, every tiny moment you’d tucked away like proof that someone like him could really want someone like you.

And suddenly, all of it felt rotten. Fake and manufactured. Something performed so well you’d been idiot enough to mistake it for love.

Your eyes burned.

Not here. Not here. Not here.

You took a shaky step backwards, then another, pulse roaring in your ears. Your hands were trembling so badly you almost dropped your phone trying to pull it from your pocket. You couldn’t breathe properly. The walls felt too close, the room too hot, your clothes suddenly wrong on your body, the makeup on your skin suffocating.

You shouldn’t have come. God, you shouldn’t have come.

You turned blindly, shoulder-checking someone hard enough that they swore at you, but you barely registered it. You just kept moving, head down, vision blurring, one hand clamped over your mouth to stop the horrible little sob trying to crawl out of you.

You were halfway down the hallway when you heard it - your name, Jeongin’s voice, sharp with confusion at first, then louder.

“Y/N?”

You flinched like you’d been hit.

Maybe he’d seen you. Maybe one of his friends had noticed. Maybe he was coming after you because he didn’t want you causing a scene. Maybe he was worried you’d tell someone and ruin the joke and ruin whatever image he had to protect.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You shoved through the front door so hard it slammed against the wall, the cold night air hitting your face like a slap. The sound of the party dulled behind you, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Your chest was too tight, your breaths coming in short, painful gasps that never seemed to reach your lungs.

“Y/N—wait!”

His footsteps pounded behind you on the front path as you stumbled down the drive, nearly twisting your ankle in shoes you were suddenly regretting, tears spilling properly now. Your phone screen swam in front of your eyes as you tried to unlock it, fingers slipping, thumb missing the numbers twice before you gave up entirely.

“Y/N, stop—”

A hand caught your wrist. You spun on instinct, ripping yourself free so violently it shocked even you.

“Don’t touch me.”

The words came out cracked and wet and barely recognisable as your own.

Jeongin froze.

He’d followed you out without a jacket, chest rising and falling hard, hair a mess from where he’d clearly run his hands through it. Up close, he looked panicked—actually panicked, eyes darting over your face as if trying to understand what the hell was happening.

And then his expression changed.

He looked at your makeup, your clothes, the tears running down your cheeks, and something awful like realisation hit him.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “You heard that.”

You laughed, and the sound was horrible - wet and choked off at the origin.

“I heard enough.”

“Y/N, no, listen to me—”

“No.” You backed away from him, hugging your arms around yourself so tightly it hurt. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you care.”

His face went white. “I do care.”

The sheer nerve of it made your vision blur again. “You were laughing about me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were standing there while your friends talked about me like I was some kind of challenge.” Your voice shook harder with every word, humiliation and hurt and fury all clawing up your throat at once. “A bet, Jeongin? Seriously?”

He took a step toward you, then stopped when you recoiled. His face crumpled in a way you couldn’t bear to look at.

“It started as a bet,” he said, and every single part of you shattered at once. “But it’s not like that now—”

You made a small, broken sound.

Not like that now.

As if that somehow made it better. As if you were supposed to be grateful that somewhere along the way, after lying to your face for six whole months, he’d apparently decided you were worth keeping around.

Jeongin realised what he’d said the second it landed. “No, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“Six months,” you whispered.

Your voice was so quiet he had to lean in slightly to hear you.

“Six months,” you repeated, staring at him through tears. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do.”

“Stop.” Your whole face twisted. “Please stop saying that.”

He looked like you’d slapped him.

You pressed the heel of your hand to your mouth, trying to hold yourself together and failing miserably. “Was everyone laughing at me this whole time? Is that what this is? Some joke I’m the only one not in on?”

“No.” His answer came immediately, fiercely. “No, never. I swear to you, no one’s been laughing at you.”

“I just saw them laughing, Jeongin.” Your voice cracked again. “They all knew, and I didn’t. You let me stand there and believe you actually wanted me, and all your friends knew the truth.”

Jeongin’s eyes were shining now too, whether with panic or guilt or something else entirely, you didn’t know. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” you shot back. “After you’d slept with me? After you got bored? After graduation?”

He flinched and that, more than anything, made your stomach turn because flinching meant guilt. Flinching meant there was truth buried somewhere in all the things you were saying, and you couldn’t bear to dig through it, couldn’t bear to hear exactly how stupid you’d been.

A car pulled up at the curb behind you—a taxi someone else must have ordered—and you latched onto it like a lifeline. You stepped around Jeongin before he could react.

“Y/N, wait, please—”

You yanked the back door open, eyes avoiding his. “Just leave me alone.”

He caught the top of the door before you could slam it, not hard enough to stop you if you really wanted to close it, but enough to make you look at him one last time.

He looked wrecked. Not annoyed or caught out or defensive like you’d expected.

Wrecked.

His voice broke when he said your name. “Please let me explain.”

For one horrible second, your chest ached with the urge to let him. To hear him out. To let him tell you there was some context you were missing, some version of this that didn’t make you feel like your skin had been peeled off in public.

But then you remembered the kitchen. The laughter. The girl on his arm. The words shy girl said like a punchline. The way he’d admitted it—it started as a bet—without you even having to drag it out of him.

And whatever tiny piece of your heart was still trying to defend him finally gave up.

You shoved his hand off the door. “Go back to your party.”

Then you climbed into the taxi and slammed it shut.

Jeongin was still standing on the pavement when the car pulled away. You didn’t look back for long—just long enough to see him take a step after the car, one hand half-lifted like he didn’t know what to do with himself, his face pale under the streetlights. Then you turned away, curled in on yourself in the backseat, and cried so hard you could barely breathe.

The makeup you’d spent forty minutes doing was probably ruined, black mascara and wet foundation and smeared lip gloss all over your face. Your nice top felt too tight, your skirt too short, your skin wrong, your whole body burning with shame. You scrubbed at your cheeks with the sleeve of your coat and stared out of the window as the streetlights blurred past.

You’d really believed him, and that was the part that hurt most.

Not the humiliation of the bet, not even the image of that girl wrapped around his arm, but the fact that he’d made you feel safe enough to believe him. Safe enough to let him close. Safe enough to hand over all the soft, terrified parts of yourself you usually kept hidden because you were so scared of exactly this.

And he’d taken them anyway.

By the time you got home, your phone was vibrating nonstop in your lap.

Jeongin was blowing up your phone with texts and calls.

You didn’t read a single message.

You let yourself into your house with shaking hands, kicked off your shoes somewhere quietly near the door, and made it all the way to the bathroom before the first sob tore out of you loud enough to echo off the tiles.

The girl staring back at you in the mirror looked like a stranger. Mascara streaked under red-rimmed eyes. Foundation patchy where tears had carved through it. Hair falling out of place. Lip gloss gone. Pretty in the saddest, most pathetic way possible—as if dressing up had just made the whole thing crueller somehow. Like you’d wrapped your hope up in eyeliner and a skirt and walked it straight into a room full of people waiting to laugh.

Your phone was still buzzing crazily, this time on the sink where you’d left it when you’d reached the bathroom. With shaking fingers, you grabbed it.

Jeongin💕: please answer me

Jeongin💕: i’m coming to your house

Jeongin💕: please don’t lock me out. please just let me explain

Another message came through before you could even process that one.

Jeongin💕: i know i don’t deserve it but please

Your throat tightened. You turned the phone face down on the sink and gripped the edges hard enough for your knuckles to ache. You couldn’t do this tonight. You couldn’t hear his voice and listen to him say all the right things in that soft, careful tone and risk being weak enough to believe him again.

So when the buzzing started once more, you switched your phone off entirely. Then you slid down the bathroom wall, pressed your forehead to your knees, and sat there in your ruined makeup and party clothes while the silence closed in around you.

Six months.

Six months of first kisses and late-night phone calls and borrowed hoodies and whispered I love yous. Six months of thinking maybe, just maybe, someone like Jeongin could look at someone like you and mean it.

And now all you could think was that maybe the cruelest part wasn’t the bet.

Maybe the cruelest part was that for a little while, he’d made you believe you were enough.

You didn’t sleep, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.

You changed out of your party clothes with trembling hands, scrubbed your makeup off so hard your skin felt raw, crawled into bed and curled beneath your duvet with every light in your room switched off—but sleep never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in that kitchen doorway.

The shy girl.

Just to see if he could get her into bed.

It started as a bet.

The words played over and over until they felt carved into the inside of your skull.

At some point, there had been knocking at your front door - soft at first, then louder, then desperate enough that you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying again.

“Y/N,” His voice drifted in through your open bedroom window from down below, voice hoarse and strained. “Please. I know you’re in there.”

You’d sat frozen on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the wall while he knocked.

“Please just let me explain.”

You were silent, part of you wishing he’d disappear whilst another part of you longed to open the door and throw yourself into his arms, longed to forget this whole night.

There was another knock.

“Y/N, please.”

You hadn’t moved. Hadn’t answered his calls, hadn’t replied to his messages, hadn’t gone to the door even when you heard him slide down against it on the other side and stay there long enough that the flat fell quiet around him.

Eventually, sometime after two in the morning, the knocking stopped.

You didn’t know when he finally left.

By the time your alarm went off, your eyes felt full of sand.

For one blissful, stupid second, you forgot. But then you saw your phone on the bedside table—still switched off, still face down—and it all came crashing back so hard it made you feel sick.

Your stomach turned and you lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and wondering if you could just stay in bed forever but knowing couldn’t.

School didn’t stop just because your boyfriend was never really yours to begin with.

So you dragged yourself up, showered in water that was too hot, and got dressed with the kind of numb, mechanical movements usually reserved for brushing your teeth. You picked the baggiest hoodie you owned, even though the weather was warming up, and a pair of jeans that hid as much of you as possible. You didn’t bother with makeup this time. There was no point trying to look pretty when you felt like a hollowed-out version of yourself.

You turned your phone back on only because you needed to check the time, and it lit up like a warning sign, messages flooding in so fast the screen almost froze.

Jeongin💕: please answer me

Jeongin💕: i’m outside your house

Jeongin 💕: please just tell me you’re okay

Jeongin 💕: i know you hate me right now but please let me explain

Jeongin 💕: i’m not leaving until i know you’re safe

Then, nearly an hour later:

Jeongin💕: your neighbour told me to go home

Despite everything, a horrible little laugh almost escaped you. You’d need to remember to apologise to your neighbour (but also to thank them).

The messages kept going.

Jeongin💕: i’m sorry

Jeongin💕: i’m so fucking sorry

Jeongin💕: please don’t ignore me at school. please.

That one made your chest tighten, the thought of seeing him in school nearly unbearable.

You locked your phone and shoved it into your bag without replying.

The walk into school felt like walking to your own execution.

Every step closer to the building made your pulse jump harder. Your eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, your stomach too unsettled for breakfast, and you could feel the fragile kind of composure you’d pieced together that morning threatening to crack with every passing second.

Maybe he wouldn’t be there yet, you told yourself. Maybe he’d be late. Maybe he’d be sick with guilt and stay home.

You knew better than to hope for that kind of mercy.

The second you stepped through the front gates, you saw him. Jeongin was standing halfway up the path to the main building like he’d been waiting there for hours, eyes scanning every face that came through the gates. The moment they landed on you, his entire body jolted.

He looked awful. Not in the dramatic, still-pretty way boys in films did after heartbreak. He looked genuinely wrecked. His hair was messy like he’d been dragging his hands through it all morning, his school tie hung loose and crooked, and there were dark shadows under his eyes that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. He was pale, too, the kind of pale that made his freckles stand out sharply across his nose.

For a second, you stopped breathing before you dropped your gaze and kept walking.

“Y/N—”

His voice cracked around your name, the sound making you flinch. But you didn’t slow down.

Jeongin hurried after you, shoes slapping against the pavement. “Y/N, please, just let me talk to you.”

You tightened your grip on your bag strap and kept moving.

“Please.”

People were starting to look, but what else could you expect? Yang Jeongin chasing after the quiet girl in the oversized hoodie was always going to draw attention, and humiliation crawled hotly under your skin as whispers started to ripple around you. You could feel eyes on the back of your neck, hear the shift in tone from normal morning chatter to something curious, something hungry.

“Y/N.” He caught up enough to step in front of you.

You stopped so abruptly your shoulder nearly collided with his chest.

Up close, he looked even worse. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was something frantic in the way he was breathing, like he’d been holding himself together by threads ever since last night.

“Move,” you said quietly.

Jeongin’s face crumpled a little at the sound of your voice—flat, exhausted, nothing like the way you usually spoke to him.

“Please just give me five minutes.”

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“Move.”

He didn’t, but not because he was trying to intimidate you. If anything, he looked terrified of you. He stayed where he was, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you and knew he couldn’t.

“I know how bad this looks—”

You laughed once, sharp and humourless. “Looks?”

His mouth snapped shut and you stepped around him. This time he didn’t try to block you, but he followed, close enough that you could hear every uneven breath.

“I came to your house,” he said quickly, as if you might not know. “I stayed for hours. I texted, I called, I—”

“I know.”

The words came out cold enough to make him go quiet. You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead as you climbed the stairs to the main building.

“I know you came,” you said. “I ignored you on purpose.”

The silence that followed was so abrupt it almost rang. When you finally glanced at him, Jeongin looked like you’d physically winded him.

“Oh.”

It was such a small sound, barely a word at all, but something inside your chest twisted painfully. You forced yourself to crush it before it could become pity.

“Yeah,” you said. “So take the hint.”

You turned and walked into the corridor. Jeongin stood there for half a second, stunned, before hurrying after you again.

The corridor was filling up fast now—lockers slamming, voices echoing, people drifting into classrooms—but the second Jeongin called your name again, it felt like the whole space tilted toward you.

“Please don’t do this.”

You spun around so quickly he nearly walked into you.

“Don’t do what?” you asked, keeping your voice low only because you were one second away from shattering and couldn’t bear the idea of everyone hearing it. “Ignore the fact that my boyfriend started dating me because of a bet?”

His face went white. A couple of nearby students glanced over.

Jeongin’s eyes darted around the corridor, panic flaring. “Can we not do this here?”

“Why?” You swallowed hard. “Worried people will hear?”

“No, I’m worried you’re upset and everyone’s staring.”

You almost laughed again. The nerve of him.

“They stared last night too, didn’t they?” you said. “Didn’t stop your friends.”

Jeongin’s whole expression twisted. “They’re not my friends right now.”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

“Y/N—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You need to hear it,” he said, voice breaking with desperation. “Please. I know I fucked up, I know I should’ve told you, I know I should’ve shut it down the second they started talking, but please don’t look at me like this.”

Your throat tightened. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a stranger.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because that was exactly what this felt like. Like every version of Jeongin you thought you knew had peeled away overnight, leaving behind someone unrecognisable.

You looked at him properly then, taking in the red-rimmed eyes, the way his hands were trembling, the raw panic on his face. Six months ago, that expression would’ve destroyed you. Even a week ago, you would’ve reached for him without thinking. Now all it did was make you tired.

“You should’ve thought about that before you lied to me for half a year.”

Jeongin recoiled slightly.

“I didn’t lie about everything,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

You stared at him.

He swallowed hard. “What I feel for you—that’s real.”

Something ugly and wounded twisted in your chest.

“You don’t get to say that to me anymore.”

His eyes filled so fast it startled you.

He blinked hard, jaw clenching, and for a second he looked like he was physically trying to stop himself from falling apart in the middle of the corridor. “Then tell me what I do get to say, because I can’t just let you walk around thinking I never cared about you. I can’t let that be the last thing you believe about us.”

Us.

The word made your stomach lurch.

“There is no us.”

You saw the moment he broke. The composure Jeongin had been clinging to cracked clean down the middle. You saw it happen in real time—the way his shoulders dropped, the way the colour drained even further from his face, the way his mouth parted around a breath that sounded too shaky to be steady.

“Don’t say that.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, and you hated that it still hurt to hear him sound like that. You hated that some stupid part of you still wanted to comfort him even now, even after all of this, even when you were the one who’d spent the night crying on your bathroom floor because of him. So you did the only thing you could think of.

You hardened yourself against the desire to comfort him.

“I mean it.”

Jeongin shook his head immediately, frantic. “No, you don’t. You’re angry, and you should be, but please don’t say things you don’t mean.”

The disbelief of it almost knocked the breath out of you.

“Don’t tell me what I mean.”

“I’m not—I just—” He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “Please, Y/N, please. Scream at me, hit me, tell me you hate me, I don’t care. Just don’t shut me out.”

Your eyes stung, and he noticed the tears well up in your eyes instantly, stepping forward on instinct.

You stepped back just as fast, Jeongin freezing. The look on his face then was awful. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just raw, open hurt, like that one tiny movement had sliced him open from throat to stomach.

You couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with people watching and whispering and pretending not to stare. Not with Jeongin looking at you like you were the one holding the knife.

Your next class bell rang, shrill and sharp through the corridor, the sound breaking the moment in half.

You clutched your bag tighter and forced your voice to stay steady. “If you care about me at all, you’ll leave me alone.”

Jeongin stared at you before he gave the smallest, weakest shake of his head.

“I can’t.”

The honesty of it almost made you falter.

Almost.

“Well,” you said, stepping around him again, “you’re going to have to learn.”

This time, when you walked away, he didn’t follow. You could feel his eyes on your back the whole way down the corridor, heavy and devastated and impossible to ignore, but he stayed where he was.

You made it into your classroom with thirty seconds to spare and sat down in your usual seat by the window, hands trembling so badly you nearly dropped your pen.

Your friend Mia—your only friend, who sat beside you in English and usually spent the first five minutes of class gossiping under her breath—took one look at your face and frowned.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes fixed on the contents of your bag whilst you tried to pull yourself together.

Mia’s expression softened immediately. “Hey, no, seriously. Are you okay?”

No.

Not even remotely.

But the word lodged in your throat and refused to come out, because if you started talking about it, you knew you’d start crying, and if you started crying in the middle of English class you were pretty sure you’d actually die on the spot.

So you just muttered, “I’m fine.”

Mia looked like she didn’t believe you for a second, but before she could press further, your teacher walked in and the room fell quiet. You stared at the board and heard absolutely none of the lesson. Every few minutes, your phone buzzed in your blazer pocket but you ignored it.

At break, you stayed in your seat until the room emptied, pretending to search for something in your bag just so you wouldn’t have to risk walking into the corridor while Jeongin was out there.

At lunch, you ate half a cereal bar in a bathroom cubicle because the thought of the cafeteria made your chest seize up.

By last period, exhaustion had sunk into your bones so heavily that even lifting your head felt like effort.

And still, Jeongin kept trying.

You saw him between classes, hovering at the end of corridors like he was scared to get too close and even more scared to let you out of his sight. He texted. He called once during lunch, then again ten minutes later, then stopped—presumably realising you weren’t ever going to pick up. He looked at you across classrooms, across the courtyard, across the canteen when you finally forced yourself to walk through it for a bottle of water, and every time your eyes accidentally met, the expression on his face made something twist sickly inside you.

Panic. Guilt.

And something that looked too much like heartbreak.

By the final bell, you felt wrung dry.

You just wanted to go home, lock your bedroom door, and sleep for twelve hours. You should’ve known Jeongin wouldn’t make it that easy.

The second you stepped out of your last lesson, he was there, waiting right outside the classroom door like he’d been counting down the minutes. His eyes found yours instantly.

“Please,” he said before you could even turn away. “Just let me walk you home.”

You stared at him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten all day. Like he’d spent every second since this morning spiralling deeper and deeper into whatever guilt-ridden hell he’d built for himself. His tie was gone entirely now, shirt untucked at one side, and there was a crease pressed into his cheek like he’d been sitting with his face in his hands.

For a moment, neither of you moved before you snapped yourself out of it, tightening your hold on your bag and saying the one thing that made his face fall completely.

“No.”

You walked away before he could say anything else.

You made it halfway down the front steps before you heard him behind you.

“Y/N—wait.”

Of course he’d followed.

Your grip tightened around your bag strap so hard your knuckles ached, but you didn’t turn around. The school day had wrung every last scrap of energy out of you. Your head was pounding, your chest still tight from the strain of holding yourself together for eight straight hours, and the only thing keeping you upright was the thought of getting home, shutting your bedroom door, and not seeing another human being until Monday.

“Y/N, please.”

His footsteps quickened until they were right behind you, but you kept walking, speed picking up marginally.

Students spilled around you in clusters, loud and careless and free in the way everyone seemed to be at the end of the day. They streamed out through the gates in laughing groups, bags slung over shoulders, phones in hand, already planning where they were going next. The pavement outside the school was crowded, and every brush of a stranger’s shoulder against yours made your skin jump.

“Can you just stop for one second?” Jeongin asked, breathless.

Your answer came instantly, flat and sharp. “No.”

He was quiet for a beat, then tried again. “You haven’t eaten.”

You almost stumbled - not because the words were particularly shocking, but because it was such a Jeongin thing to notice. Such a Jeongin thing to say. Soft and observant and infuriatingly familiar.

You hated that your chest still reacted to it.

“I’m fine.”

“You had half a cereal bar in the bathroom at lunch.”

That made you stop.

You turned so fast he nearly walked into you. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t step back.

“You were watching me in the bathroom now too?” you asked, voice low and dangerous.

Jeongin’s face dropped. “What? No—God, no. Mia told Hyunjin you disappeared all lunch and then I saw you come back with that stupid cereal bar wrapper and—” He dragged a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Jeongin?”

He looked at you like the answer should’ve been obvious. “You.”

The word hit like a slap. It didn’t hurt because it was cruel, but because it sounded so earnest that it made your throat tighten with anger.

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Right.”

“I mean it.”

“Stop saying things like that.”

His expression crumpled. “Why?”

Because you didn’t get to sound like you cared when you were the reason she’d cried until three in the morning. Because every soft word out of his mouth felt like someone twisting a knife in a wound and apologising while they did it. Because if he kept sounding like Jeongin—your Jeongin, the one who tucked your hands into his coat pockets and kissed your temple and remembered what snacks you liked after bad exams—you might start forgetting that he wasn’t yours at all.

“Because I don’t believe you anymore,” you snapped.

That shut him up.

For half a second, all the noise around you blurred. Cars passed on the road. Someone shouted from across the street. A group of younger students ran past, nearly clipping your shoulder, but you barely registered any of it. All you could see was Jeongin standing there in front of you with that wrecked look on his face, tie gone, shirt untucked, eyes ringed red like he hadn’t slept either.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you don’t.”

“Then why are you still doing this?”

“Because I can’t just leave you like this.”

Something ugly and exhausted surged up inside you.

“Like what?” you demanded. “Like I’m upset? Like I’m angry? Like I finally found out my boyfriend was using me and now I’m inconveniently having a hard time with it?”

Jeongin winced so hard it almost looked painful. “I wasn’t using you.”

“Oh my god.” You laughed again, louder this time, the sound wobbling on the edge of something hysterical. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I know how it sounds—”

“No, you don’t.” You stepped closer before you could stop yourself, voice dropping into something sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get it, Jeongin. You don’t get to stand here looking heartbroken and tell me I’ve got the wrong idea when I literally heard your friends talking about your bet to sleep with me.”

His face drained of colour.

“Please lower your voice,” he said, glancing around.

The last thread of your restraint snapped.

“Why?” you said, louder. “Scared people might hear?”

A few heads turned but for once in your life you didn’t care.

Jeongin went pale. “Y/N—”

“No, actually, let’s do this properly, since you seem so desperate to talk.” Your heart was already starting to race, too fast and too hard, but you couldn’t stop. The words had built up all day, hot and poisonous and impossible to swallow down any longer. “What exactly were you waiting for, huh? Were you just seeing how long you could keep me around before you got bored? Did your friends get a good laugh every time I held your hand in public? Every time I kissed you? Every time I told you I loved you?”

“Stop,” Jeongin whispered.

“Or were they waiting for updates?” you shot back, tears stinging now because of course they were. “Did you tell them when I stayed over? Did they know every time I let myself trust you a little more? Was that funny too?”

“Y/N, stop, please.”

“Was I just some pathetic little project to you?” Your voice cracked, and now people were definitely staring, slowing on the pavement, whispering to each other. “The shy girl you thought you’d fix up enough to fuck?”

“Don’t.” Jeongin’s voice broke on the word. He looked horrified now, properly horrified, like each sentence out of your mouth was hitting him in the chest. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what this was?”

“No!” It came out so sharply that a couple walking past actually turned. Jeongin immediately lowered his voice again, breathing hard. “No, it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. There it was again.

Not anymore.

As if that somehow made the beginning disappear. As if there was any version of this where you weren’t still the idiot who’d spent six months falling in love with someone who had first looked at her and seen a challenge.

Your vision blurred. You looked away from him, blinking hard, but the pressure in your chest was getting worse now—too tight, too hot, your lungs refusing to fill properly. The pavement suddenly felt unsteady beneath your feet. The noise of the street swelled until it all blurred together: engines, voices, footsteps, laughter, a car horn somewhere in the distance. Too much. Too loud.

“Y/N?”

Jeongin’s voice changed instantly. The anger drained right out of it, leaving only alarm.

You took a step back. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

You knew that in the same detached way you knew your own name. Your hands had started shaking. Not subtly—violently enough that you had to curl them into fists to hide it. Your breaths were coming too fast, too shallow, and there was a horrible buzzing in your ears like static.

Jeongin noticed all of it, just as he had these past six months.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, taking one cautious step toward you. “Hey, look at me.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you need to breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

The lie barely made it out. Your voice sounded strange to your own ears—too high, too thin.

Jeongin’s eyes flicked over your face, panic rising. “No, you’re not. Come here, let’s just get you out of the crowd—”

He reached for your wrist, but you shoved him away before he could touch you.

“Don’t touch me!”

It wasn’t enough to actually hurt him, but it made him stumble back a step, shock flashing across his face.

A few people outright stopped walking now. You hated them for looking. Hated Jeongin for being here. Hated yourself for falling apart in public like this, for not even being able to keep your own body under control for five fucking minutes.

Your lungs seized.

A sharp, humiliating sound tore out of your throat as you tried to inhale and couldn’t get enough air. Suddenly everything was spinning—too bright, too loud, your heartbeat hammering in your ears so violently it drowned out everything else.

“Okay.” Jeongin lifted both hands slowly, palms open like he was approaching a frightened animal. His own face had gone white. “Okay, I won’t touch you. I promise. I’m not touching you.”

You backed away again, arms wrapping around yourself so tightly it hurt.

“Go away.”

He looked devastated. “I can’t.”

“I said go away!”

Your voice came out broken, cracking in the middle, and then your body betrayed you completely.

Your knees gave. It wasn’t enough to send you sprawling onto the pavement, but enough that you staggered hard and had to grab blindly for the nearest wall. Your bag slid off your shoulder and hit the ground with a dull thud, papers crumpling inside.

Jeongin moved on instinct. He caught your elbow before you could hit the pavement properly but you jerked out of his grip so violently you nearly lost your balance again.

“Don’t!”

He let go at once, hands lifting back into the air.

“Sorry, sorry—shit, I’m sorry.” His voice was shaking now too. “I’m not going to touch you, okay? I’m not. Just—please stay still for a second.”

You pressed your back against the brick wall outside the school gates and squeezed your eyes shut, but that only made it worse. The darkness behind your eyelids tilted sickeningly. Your chest was on fire. Every breath snagged halfway in and came back out in a sharp, ugly gasp. You could hear yourself making these awful little choking noises and it only made the panic worse.

“Look at me.” Jeongin was in front of you again, crouching slightly so he was in your line of sight without crowding you. “Y/N, look at me.”

You shook your head, tears spilling hot and useless down your cheeks.

“I hate you,” you gasped.

The words clearly hit him, but he swallowed them down.

“I know,” he said, voice cracking. “You can hate me. Just—please look at me for one second.”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to give him anything. Not your eyes, not your trust, not the chance to slide back into the role he’d gotten so good at playing—the gentle boyfriend who knew exactly how to calm you down when your anxiety got too loud. But your vision was tunnelling. The pavement had narrowed into a smear of grey beneath your feet. You were dimly aware of people slowing as they passed, of someone whispering is she okay? and another voice saying should we get a teacher?

Jeongin heard it too.

He looked over his shoulder and snapped, “Can you all stop staring?”

The sharpness in his voice cut through the murmurs immediately, people scattering but still throwing worried looks over their shoulder.

When he turned back to you, his face was stricken. “Can you sit down for me? Not with me—just sit. Please.”

You slid down the wall before you could answer, legs folding under you because they’d stopped feeling reliable. The second you hit the ground, Jeongin dropped down too, kneeling a careful distance away.

“Okay,” he said, breathing hard like he was trying not to panic with you. “Okay. That’s good. That’s okay.”

You were crying properly now, shoulders shaking, fingers digging into your sleeves. Your breaths were still coming in short, painful bursts, your chest locking up tighter every time you tried to drag in air.

“Stop—” you choked out, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking him to stop. Talking? Looking at you? Caring? Existing?

Jeongin scrubbed a hand over his face, helpless. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. Just listen to me, okay? You don’t have to say anything back. Just listen.”

He glanced down at his own hands like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

“In for four,” he said softly, voice trembling. “Hold for four. Out for four. You know this. Come on.”

You let out a broken laugh-sob. Of course he’d remember. Of course he’d use the exact same voice he always did when you got overwhelmed—the one that was low and steady and careful, like if he was gentle enough he could smooth all the sharp edges off the world.

It made you want to scream.

“I don’t want your help,” you whispered.

The pain on his face was immediate.

“I know.” His eyes were bright now, his own breathing uneven. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry. I’m still going to help if I can.”

Something inside you twisted so violently it hurt. You shoved yourself to your feet too fast, wobbling instantly. Jeongin lurched forward, hand half-outstretched, but stopped before he touched you.

“Don’t,” you snapped, pressing yourself harder against the wall as if distance could somehow save you. “Don’t act like you still get to do this.”

His hand dropped. For a second he just looked at you, kneeling on the pavement in front of you with his tie stuffed in one pocket and his shirt wrinkled and his eyes red, like some pathetic aftermath of the boy you’d fallen in love with. Then he nodded once, small and broken.

“Okay.”

Your breathing was still awful. Better than thirty seconds ago, maybe, but only in the sense that you no longer felt seconds away from passing out. Your hands were numb, your face soaked with tears, and there was a crowd-shaped awareness hovering at the edge of everything that made humiliation burn hotly through your chest.

You couldn’t stay here.

You bent to grab your bag with shaking hands.

Jeongin stood immediately. “Let me carry that.”

You shot him a look so full of exhausted fury that he actually stopped mid-step.

“No.”

“Right.” His throat bobbed. “Right. Sorry.”

You slung the bag over your shoulder, nearly fumbling it, then turned toward home with your head down and your entire body trembling.

Jeongin fell into step behind you. Not beside you or close enough to touch. Just… there.

You made it ten steps before whirling around again. “Why are you still following me?”

He stopped dead.

“Because I’m not leaving you alone after that.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I know.” His voice was wrecked. “I know I don’t get to decide anything right now. But you can barely stand up and I can’t just watch you walk off on your own like this.”

“You don’t get to care now.”

His face twisted. “I never stopped caring.”

You let out a shaky breath that felt halfway to a sob. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“What?”

“You caring is the problem.” Your voice cracked, and you hated how weak it sounded. “If you were just an asshole, if you’d only been pretending this whole time, maybe this would hurt less. But you keep looking at me like you mean it, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Jeongin went completely still. The crowd noise around you seemed to fade for a second, replaced by the awful ragged sound of your breathing and the silence between you.

You saw his eyes fill. It wasn’t dramatic or in a way meant to manipulate. It was just sudden, helpless, like the words had slipped past whatever thin control he’d been clinging to all day and hit somewhere deep.

“Y/N…”

“Don’t.” You stepped back again, swallowing hard. “Just don’t.”

He wiped quickly at one eye with the heel of his hand, jaw clenching. “I’m still walking behind you.”

You stared at him.

“I won’t touch you,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t talk if you don’t want me to. But I’m not letting you go home alone when you can barely breathe.”

You wanted to argue. Wanted to scream at him until your throat gave out, wanted to tell him to fuck off and mean it, wanted to stop caring that the person hurting right in front of you was also the person who had hurt you in the first place.

But you were so tired. So painfully, bone-deep tired.

So instead, you just turned around and kept walking, and Jeongin followed, always a few steps behind. Close enough that you could hear his footsteps, far enough that he never brushed against you once.

The whole walk home, you fought every desire to look back.

By the time you reached your house, your legs felt like they were made of wet paper.

The panic attack had left you hollowed out, shaky in that awful aftershock kind of way where every sound still felt too sharp and every breath still had to be thought through. Your face was sticky with dried tears, your chest ached from how hard it had seized up, and your bag strap kept slipping down your shoulder because your hands wouldn’t stop trembling long enough to fix it properly.

Through it all, Jeongin was still behind you. Far enough back that he wasn’t crowding you, yet close enough that you could hear his footsteps every time the street went quiet.

You hated how aware of him you were. Hated that even without looking, you knew exactly where he was. Knew the rhythm of his walk. Knew when he slowed because you did, when he stopped because you had to press a hand to the wall for a second and get your breathing back under control.

You just wanted to get inside. To lock your front door, go upstairs and collapse in the privacy of your own bed.

But as you turned onto your street, you saw someone sitting on your neighbour’s low brick wall, one long leg stretched out, the other bent, a half-finished can of energy drink balanced in one hand.

Chan looked up at the sound of your footsteps, and immediately stood.

You’d known Chris Chan—just Chan, because he’d laughed the first time you called him Christopher—for nearly a year now. He lived in the house next door, studied at the local university, and possessed the kind of stupidly unfair face that made people turn twice on the street. Tall, broad-shouldered, soft dark curls that always looked slightly messy no matter what he did with them, and warm dark eyes that somehow managed to look kind even when he was exhausted.

The first time you’d met him, you’d nearly dropped your shopping on the street because he’d said hello and startled you so badly. He’d ended up carrying your bags for you while making gentle conversation so easy you hadn’t realised until halfway through that you were actually answering. Since then, he’d become one of those strange, quiet fixtures in your life—someone you’d run into on your way to school, someone who’d fix the boiler when your landlord took too long to help your parents, someone who’d sit with you on the front steps when you’d had a bad day and talk absolute nonsense until your shoulders unclenched.

Chan knew about your anxiety in the vague way neighbours who paid attention sometimes did. He knew what you looked like when you were trying not to panic. And the second his eyes landed properly on your face, every trace of casual ease vanished.

“Hey,” he said, voice instantly gentler. “What happened?”

That was all it took. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the softness of them. The concern. The way he said it like he was already bracing for the answer. Your throat closed as Chan’s gaze flicked from your tear-stained face to the way you were clutching your bag strap, to the boy a few steps behind you.

His expression changed, just enough that something in him seemed to sharpen.

“Right,” he said quietly.

Jeongin stopped at the bottom of the path, chest rising and falling too fast, school bag hanging limply from one shoulder. He looked exhausted, wrung out, eyes still rimmed red from whatever emotional hell the day had put him through.

Chan took one look at him and understood far more than you wanted him to.

“You live here?” Jeongin asked, glancing between the two of you.

Chan ignored the question entirely. Instead, he stepped down from the wall and came to stand beside you—not touching, just close enough that his presence felt solid. Safe.

“You okay to get inside?” he asked you, low enough that the question didn’t feel public.

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was true. Chan looked unconvinced, but he accepted it for now. Then he turned his head and fixed Jeongin with a look that was calm enough to be more intimidating than if he’d shouted.

“I’ll take it from here.”

Jeongin stiffened. “She doesn’t want to be alone.”

“I didn’t say I was leaving her alone.”

“I’m serious,” Jeongin said, taking a step forward. “She had a panic attack on the way here. She nearly collapsed and—”

“I know,” Chan cut in, still infuriatingly calm. “And right now, she’s standing next to me looking like she’s one sentence away from having another one, so I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

The silence that followed was instant. You blinked, and Jeongin looked like he was trying his best to keep his cool.

Chan wasn’t cruel about it. His tone never rose. But there was something in the way he stood—steady, certain, already halfway into protective mode—that made it obvious he wasn’t about to budge.

Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “I’m not leaving her when she’s like this.”

“You are,” Chan said. “Because she doesn’t want you here.”

You saw the words hit Jeongin right in the chest. His eyes flicked to you immediately, desperate, raw, as if hoping you’d contradict Chan, or at least soften it somehow.

You couldn’t. You were too tired to even feel guilty about that. Instead, you just looked away, missing the way Jeongin’s face fell.

For a second, nobody said anything. The street hummed quietly around you—distant traffic, a dog barking somewhere, a door slamming down the road. Chan stayed still beside you, arms folded loosely across his chest. Jeongin stood at the edge of the path looking like he was physically fighting the urge to ignore him and come after you anyway.

“Y/N,” he said finally, voice rough. “Please.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but Chan answered for you.

“She’s done for tonight.”

Jeongin dragged a hand through his hair, visibly unraveling. “I just need to know she’s okay.”

“I’ll make sure she gets inside,” Chan said. “You have my word.”

Jeongin laughed once, bitter and exhausted. “No offence, mate, but your word doesn’t really mean much to me right now.”

Chan’s expression didn’t change. “That sounds like a you problem.”

If the situation had been even slightly less awful, you might have laughed, but Jeongin didn’t. He just looked back at you, face open in that horrible way that made your chest ache despite yourself.

“Please don’t do this,” he said.

Your eyes burned at his words, the pleading tone.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whispered. “I just want you to leave.”

The words came out thin and scraped raw, but they were enough.

Jeongin went still, the fight seeming to leave him all at once, shoulders dropping like someone had cut the strings holding him upright. He looked at you for another long second—at your red eyes, your trembling hands, the way you still couldn’t quite stand straight after crying and panicking your way home—and something in his expression cracked.

“Okay,” he said hoarsely.

It didn’t sound okay at all.

He swallowed, hard, then looked at Chan. “If she gets worse, call someone. Or me. I don’t care if she hates me right now, just don’t leave her alone if it gets bad.”

Chan gave a short nod. “I know what I’m doing.”

Jeongin hesitated, and you could see how much it cost him to turn around. How every instinct in him was screaming not to leave you like this, not with your face blotchy from crying and your breathing still uneven and another man standing where he thought he should be. But after one last look at you—one you couldn’t bring yourself to return—he stepped backwards down the path.

Then he left.

You watched him go despite yourself. Watched the slow, reluctant set of his shoulders. The way he kept glancing back until the corner of the street swallowed him whole.

The second he was out of sight, all the tension holding your body upright seemed to dissolve at once, your knees buckling under you.

“Whoa—hey.”

Chan caught your bag before it slipped off your shoulder again and guided you—not touching, just steering with his voice and presence—towards the low wall outside the building.

“Sit down for me.”

You sat instantly - mostly because your legs no longer felt like they belonged to you. Chan crouched in front of you, elbows resting loosely on his knees, eyes searching your face with careful concern.

“Do you need water?”

You shook your head.

“Tea?”

Another head shake.

“Want me to call someone?”

You thought of Mia. Of your mum. Of literally anyone asking what had happened and forcing you to say it out loud.

“No.”

“Okay.” Chan nodded easily, accepting that too. “Then we’re doing this the boring way.”

You blinked at him.

He tilted the energy drink can in his hand. “You sit there and look tragic, and I sit here and ask annoying questions until you either answer me or tell me to piss off.”

A weak, surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and Chan’s mouth twitched.

“There she is.”

And that—stupidly, embarrassingly—was the thing that finally broke you.

Your face crumpled, the first sob coming out so abruptly that it startled even you, and then Chan was swearing softly under his breath and setting the drink aside, shifting from his crouch to sit on the wall beside you.

He didn’t sit too close, didn’t crowd you. Just close enough that you could feel the warmth of another person there if you wanted to.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

You covered your face with both hands as it all came spilling out in pieces after that. Not neatly. Not in a straight line. Half of it was choked out between breaths and the other half muffled behind your palms, but Chan listened anyway.

About the party.

About seeing Jeongin with a girl hanging off his arm.

About overhearing his friends laughing about the bet to sleep with the shy girl.

About Jeongin admitting it had started as a bet and how the words had split something open inside you.

About him turning up at your flat and you ignoring him. About him waiting for you at school, following you all day, chasing you after class, trying to help when you had a panic attack and you shoving him away because you couldn’t stand the idea of him touching you.

Chan didn’t interrupt much. He only asked questions when he needed to—small, practical ones that kept you going when your thoughts started spiralling.

“What exactly did you hear him say?”

“Did he deny it?”

“Did he ever actually sleep with anyone else while you were together?”

That last one made you look at him, horrified.

“No.”

“Okay. Good.”

“That’s not good, Chan.”

“No,” he said mildly, “but it’s less bad than it could’ve been.”

You stared at him through wet lashes, and he held up both hands. “I’m not saying he’s innocent. I’m saying there’s a difference between a teenage boy making the worst decision of his life and a teenage boy deliberately setting out to humiliate you for six months straight.”

You laughed bitterly. “Feels pretty humiliating either way.”

“Yeah.” Chan’s voice softened. “I know.”

Silence settled between you for a moment as you sniffed and wiped under your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “You think I’m stupid.”

“What?” Chan frowned. “No.”

“I should’ve known.” The words came out before you could stop them. “I mean… Jeongin. Look at him. Look at me. It was obviously too good to be true.”

Chan went very still before he turned to face you fully, one arm draped along the back of the step behind you.

“Don’t do that.”

You looked away.

“I mean it.” His voice sharpened—not harsh, but firm enough to make you listen. “Do not take his stupidity and turn it into evidence that there’s something wrong with you.”

Your throat tightened.

“You didn’t do anything wrong here,” Chan said. “You believed someone you cared about when he told you he cared about you. That’s not stupidity. That’s trust.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood, and Chan sighed softly as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not about to defend the bet. It’s disgusting. If he was twenty-five, I’d tell you to set his car on fire.”

Despite everything, you let out a watery snort.

“But,” Chan continued, “I also don’t think this is as simple as you’re making it.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I watched that boy’s face while he stood out here.” Chan tipped his head in the direction Jeongin had disappeared. “And unless he deserves an Oscar, he’s not acting.”

Your stomach twisted as you stared down at your hands, thinking about Chan’s words and Jeongin’s pale face.

Chan noticed and sighed. “I know. That’s probably the last thing you want to hear.”

“I don’t care if he feels guilty.”

“I know you don’t.” He paused. “But guilt isn’t the only thing I saw.”

You hated how your chest reacted to that. Hated the tiny, traitorous flicker of hope trying to force its way into a situation where it had no business existing.

Chan seemed to read the conflict on your face, because his tone gentled again.

“I’m not saying forgive him,” he said. “And I’m definitely not saying what he did is okay. It isn’t. It’s cruel and immature and I’d like five minutes alone with him in a locked room, just on principle.”

That got the tiniest smile out of you.

“But,” he said again, “I do think you should hear him out.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

Chan held your gaze steadily. “Hear him out.”

“Why?”

“Because right now, your brain is doing what anxious brains do best.” He tapped two fingers lightly against his temple. “It’s taking the worst possible version of every missing piece and filling it in as fact.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.

“You heard enough to know he fucked up. That part’s real. But you didn’t hear all of it. You don’t know what he was about to say when you walked away. You don’t know how long it stopped being a game to him. You don’t know why he never told you. And unless you hear it from him, you’re going to sit in your room for the next week inventing a hundred different explanations, and every single one of them will hurt.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “He lied to me, though.”

“Yeah.” Chan nodded. “He did.”

“So why should I listen?”

“Because listening isn’t the same as forgiving.” His voice was calm, patient, matter-of-fact in the way it always was when he was trying to guide you out of your own head. “Hearing him out doesn’t mean taking him back. It doesn’t mean letting him off the hook. It just means you get the full truth before you decide what to do with it.”

Your eyes burned again.

Chan leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe. “And if after that you still want nothing to do with him, fine. Block his number, tell him to go to hell, date someone with better decision-making skills.”

“Like who?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. A nice cousin of an engineering student with excellent hair and a heroic willingness to carry your shopping?”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“There you are,” Chan murmured again, smiling a little.

The laugh died quickly, but the knot in your chest loosened just enough to let you breathe around it. You stared out at the street for a long moment, arms wrapped around yourself.

“I don’t know if I can do it.”

Chan was quiet for a second before answering. “You don’t have to do it tonight.”

You looked at him and he shrugged one shoulder. “Make him wait until tomorrow. Or the day after. Let him sweat a little, build character.” Then his expression softened. “But don’t make a forever decision based on the worst ten minutes of your life.”

His words settled somewhere deep. They didn’t fix anything—not even close—but they cracked open just enough space in the panic and humiliation for something else to exist alongside it.

Uncertainty. Questions. The horrible possibility that Chan might be right.

You scrubbed at your face again, exhausted. “I hate that this is your advice.”

“I know.” He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours. “I was annoyed too. I really wanted to tell you to egg his house.”

You snorted as he teased you again. “Still can, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Shame. I’d be very good at it.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and Chan’s expression softened with relief—like seeing even that tiny reaction told him you were starting to come back to yourself.

After a moment, he stood and held out a hand. “Come on.”

You looked at it, and he wiggled his fingers. “I’m not letting you sit outside crying yourself into hypothermia. I’m making tea, and you’re telling me whether Jeongin’s always been this much of an idiot or if it’s a recent development.”

You hesitated only a second before taking his hand. Chan hauled you gently to your feet, steadied you when you swayed, then picked up your bag from where it had slumped against the wall.

As he led you towards his house, he glanced sideways at you.

“For the record,” he said, fishing his keys from his pocket, “if you do decide to hear him out, I’m sitting just next door with a cricket bat.”

You huffed a laugh. “You don’t even own a cricket bat.”

“No, but I can acquire one. I’m resourceful.”

And for the first time since the party, the ache in your chest eased just enough for you to believe that maybe—maybe—you wouldn’t drown in it after all.

The weekend passed in fragments.

You spent most of Saturday in Chan’s house because he’d apparently decided you were a flight risk and kept finding increasingly ridiculous reasons to stop you retreating into your bedroom for forty-eight hours straight. He made tea, ordered takeaway, put on terrible reality television and offered running commentary so sarcastic it dragged a laugh out of you more than once, even when you were trying very hard not to give him the satisfaction.

But no matter what was on the screen or what Chan was talking about, your mind kept circling back to Jeongin and the party.

To the look on his face when you’d told him there was no us.

To the way he’d followed you home at a distance because he knew you didn’t want him near you but couldn’t bring himself to leave anyway.

To the way he’d looked when you shoved him off during your panic attack—hurt, yes, but never angry. Just terrified for you.

And the more you thought about it, the less it fit. That was the problem.

If Jeongin had just been cruel, this would’ve been simpler. If he’d laughed with his friends, if he’d rolled his eyes when you cried, if he’d acted annoyed by your anxiety or embarrassed by how quiet you were or impatient with how long it took you to come out of your shell, maybe you could’ve built a clean, sharp version of him in your head and hated him properly.

But he hadn’t.

He’d held you through panic attacks. He’d kissed the tears off your face after bad exams and stayed on the phone with you until two in the morning when your thoughts got too loud and your chest wouldn’t settle. He’d remembered tiny things no one else noticed—how you hated fizzy drinks unless they’d gone flat, how crowds made you itch under your skin, how you needed five extra minutes after waking up before you could handle conversation. He’d learned exactly where to rub circles into your wrist to calm you down and exactly how to speak to you when your breathing started going funny.

He’d never made you feel like too much. Not once.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force those things into the shape of a bet.

Saturday night, lying awake in your own bed with the streetlight cutting a pale stripe across your ceiling, you found yourself thinking about the first time he’d told you he loved you.

It wasn’t at the swings in the park under the soft orange streetlights with the hoodie sleeves and the warmth of his hands in yours. It was earlier than that. The first real time.

You’d had a panic attack at his house five months into dating.

It had been stupid, really. One of those ridiculous little things that wouldn’t have affected anyone else—too many people in the kitchen, his friends turning up unexpectedly while you were already exhausted, someone dropping a glass in the next room and the sound slicing straight through you. You’d tried to hold it together because you were in his house, because you didn’t want to be dramatic, because you were still so scared back then of letting him see the uglier parts of you.

You’d made it as far as his bedroom before your lungs gave out, and Jeongin had found you on the floor between his bed and the wall, shaking so hard your teeth hurt, hands clamped over your mouth as if you could physically hold the panic inside yourself if you tried hard enough.

He hadn’t looked annoyed or embarrassed, but he hadn’t looked surprised either. He’d just dropped to his knees in front of you and said your name in that low, steady voice of his. Again and again and again until you looked at him.

After that, he’d sat on the floor with you for nearly an hour.

He’d talked you through every breath. Let you squeeze his hand hard enough to leave marks. Moved slowly enough that nothing felt like pressure, and when the panic had finally ebbed enough for you to stop crying, he’d helped you onto his bed and tucked you under the duvet like you were something fragile. You’d fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion with your face pressed into his shoulder.

When you woke up, it was dark outside. Your head ached, your eyes felt swollen, and for one awful second you had no idea where you were.

Then you realised Jeongin was still there.

He was propped up against the headboard with one arm around you, his phone abandoned on the duvet beside him, his free hand absently combing through your hair in slow, repetitive strokes. He’d clearly been there the whole time.

The second he noticed you were awake, his hand paused.

“Hey,” he’d said quietly. “How’re you feeling?”

Mortification had hit you all at once. You’d pushed yourself upright too fast, face burning, and immediately started apologising. For ruining the evening. For falling asleep on him. For being weird and dramatic and too much and—

Jeongin had cut you off by taking your face in both hands - actually taking your face in both hands and looking at you like you’d said something genuinely absurd.

“None of that,” he’d said.

You’d stared at him, teary and exhausted and still too wrung out to hide how badly you wanted to believe him.

“Y/N,” he’d said again, softer this time. “You don’t have to apologise for panicking.”

“I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Your friends were here—”

“I don’t care.” His thumbs had brushed under your eyes, wiping away tears you hadn’t even realised had started again. “I care about you.”

Your throat had tightened, but Jeongin’s gaze had gone impossibly gentle. “Do you know how strong you are?”

You’d laughed weakly because the idea was ridiculous. You’d literally just spent an hour on his floor sobbing because you were overstimulated and overwhelmed. But he’d just shaken his head, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours.

“I mean it. You fight your own brain every day and you still keep going. That’s strength.” His voice had dropped quieter, rougher somehow. “And I love you for it. I love all of you. Even the parts you’re still trying to hide from me.”

You hadn’t known what to say, but you’d cried again—less dramatically this time, just silent tears sliding down your face because no one had ever looked at the worst, messiest part of you and called it something worth loving.

Jeongin had kissed your cheeks until you laughed through it before he’d pulled you back against his chest and held you there until you fell asleep again.

That memory stayed with you all Sunday, and you’d tried to pick it apart.

You’d tried to tell yourself he could’ve been acting. That maybe Jeongin was just good at saying the right thing, good at wearing sincerity like a second skin. But every time you pictured his face that night—half-asleep, worried, so careful with you it hurt—you hit the same wall.

No one could fake that for months, not like that and not that consistently. Not when they thought no one was watching.

By Sunday evening, you were still angry, still hurt and humiliated in a way that made your stomach twist if you thought too hard about the party.But underneath all of it now was something else: a quiet, stubborn need to know the truth.

Not the version of the truth that you’d overheard in a kitchen full of drunk boys trying to impress each other; the real truth.

What the bet had been. How it had started. Why he’d done it. Why he’d stayed. Why he’d never told you. Why he’d looked at you on Friday night like the idea of losing you was killing him.

Chan didn’t say I told you so when you admitted that on Sunday night. He just handed you a mug of tea and said, “Good. Hate him with all the facts, at least.”

So Monday morning, you went to school with your stomach in knots and one thought looping over and over in your head:

I’m going to hear him out.

It didn’t make it easier. If anything, it made the walk through the gates worse.

Your hands were sweating around the straps of your bag, your pulse too loud in your ears, every step towards the main building heavy with the knowledge that at some point in the next few minutes, you were going to have to walk up to Jeongin and ask for the conversation you’d spent all weekend dreading.

You spotted him before he saw you. He was standing near the benches outside the science block with three of his friends, school bag hanging from one shoulder, tie half-done like he’d fixed it in a rush. Even from a distance, he looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes again, and he kept rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he hadn’t quite figured out what to do with his body when he was anxious.

Your chest tightened, and the tightened further when you saw the girl. It was the same one from the party. She was leaning against the bench beside him, glossy hair perfect, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup like she was starring in some kind of campus advert. She wasn’t clinging to his arm this time, but she was standing close enough that your stomach still dropped anyway.

You almost turned around. You got as far as shifting your weight backwards, fingers tightening around your bag strap, panic prickling under your skin, but then you remembered Chan’s face when he’d said don’t make a forever decision based on the worst ten minutes of your life.

You took a deep, steadying breath, and then took another.

You started walking towards them, and the closer you got, the shakier your hands became. Your pulse was so loud you were half convinced everyone around you could hear it. One of Jeongin’s friends noticed you first—Minjae, maybe—and went visibly stiff, his expression flickering from surprise to something a lot like guilt.

Then the others followed his gaze and Jeongin turned to see what had caught their attention.

The effect was instant.

His whole body jolted like someone had grabbed him by the spine. The half-empty bottle of water in his hand slipped a little in his grip, and for one disorienting second he just stared at you. You couldn’t read the look on his face. There was shock there, definitely. Hope so sudden it was almost painful to witness. Fear too, sharp and immediate, like he was scared that if he moved too fast you’d vanish.

No one spoke, and the silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable, but then the girl looked you up and down with a lazy sort of disdain and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Oh. The charity case is back.”

Everything went still, and you stopped walking, face flushing in embarrassment.

One of the boys muttered, “Jisoo—”

But Jeongin was faster.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The words cracked through the courtyard so sharply that even you flinched.

Jisoo blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction. “Excuse me?”

Jeongin took a step away from the bench and looked at her with a kind of cold fury you’d never seen on his face before.

“I said shut up.” His voice was low now, but somehow that made it worse. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. Ever.”

Jisoo stared at him. “I was joking.”

“No, you were being a bitch.” He didn’t even hesitate. “And if you ever speak about her like that again, I don’t care whose friend you are, I’m done being polite.”

The entire group had gone silent, and you could see the guilt on his friends’ faces now, plain as day. Minjae looked like he wanted the ground to open up beneath him. Another one—Hyunwoo, maybe—wouldn’t meet your eyes at all.

Jisoo gave a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously? You’re taking her side after the stunt she pulled at the party?”

Jeongin’s expression turned glacial.

“She didn’t pull a stunt,” he said. “She found out something she should’ve heard from me months ago because you all can’t keep your mouths shut for five fucking minutes.”

No one had a response to that, but you barely had one, either. Jeongin’s eyes were on you now, all the anger from a second ago draining away into something much softer. More uncertain. He looked almost scared to speak.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

Your throat felt like it was trying to close in on itself, but was what you’d come here for.

You nodded, and the relief that hit his face was so intense it was almost hard to look at.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, like he didn’t trust the moment not to disappear if he moved too slowly. “Yeah, okay. Of course.”

He turned to his friends, jaw tight again. “I’ll be back.”

None of them tried to stop him.

Jisoo just rolled her eyes and looked away. Minjae muttered a weak, “Jeongin—” but whatever he’d been about to say died when Jeongin shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

Then Jeongin was stepping toward you, slower this time, as if he was trying very hard not to crowd you. He stopped a few feet away.

“Is the music room okay?” he asked quietly. “No one uses it before second period.”

You swallowed and nodded again, words still trapped in your throat.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t try to touch you. He just fell into step beside you—careful to leave space between your shoulders—and led you across the courtyard.

The walk to the music block was silent. It wasn’t tense exactly, just fragile. You could feel the weight of a hundred questions pressing against the inside of your ribs now that this was actually happening. You’d imagined this conversation all weekend—angry versions, devastated versions, versions where you screamed and versions where he cried and versions where you walked away after two minutes because hearing him explain made it worse somehow.

Now that the moment was here, all you felt was raw.

Jeongin unlocked the practice room with the spare key he borrowed sometimes for guitar club and pushed the door open for you. You stepped inside first, Jeongin stepping in behind you.

The room smelled faintly of dust and old wood polish. There was a piano shoved into one corner, a stack of music stands against the wall, and a row of chairs under the window. It was quiet in a way that made the rest of the school feel very far away.

Jeongin closed the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. He didn’t come any closer, though. Just stood with his back to the door for a second, staring at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here. Then he exhaled shakily and said, very softly—

“Ask me anything.”

The words hung in the room between you.

Ask me anything.

For a second, all you could do was stare at him. He looked awful up close. Not just tired—exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes, his tie was crooked, and his hair looked like he’d been dragging his hands through it all morning. He was standing too stiffly too, like every muscle in his body was braced for impact, shoulders tense under his blazer, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.

You hated that you noticed. Hated that some part of you still catalogued every sign of his distress automatically, the same way you always had

Your hands were shaking again, though not as badly as they had on Friday. More a fine, restless tremor in your fingers than anything else. You tucked them into the sleeves of your hoodie and looked away from him, trying to gather your thoughts into something coherent.

There were too many questions, too many places to start, so you went for the one that had been lodged under your ribs since the party.

“Tell me about the bet.”

Jeongin flinched. Just a sharp little jerk of his shoulders, like the words had hit somewhere tender. He dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded once.

The room felt very quiet. Jeongin dragged a hand over the back of his neck, then exhaled through his nose like he was forcing himself to walk into something painful.

“It was at the start of the year,” he said. “Before we started talking properly. Before… all of this.”

You said nothing, so he swallowed, continuing.

“We were in the locker room after practice. Hyunwoo and Minjae were being idiots, talking about girls they thought were fit, and someone brought up you.”

Your face burned instantly, and Jeongin noticed and shut his eyes for half a second, hating himself.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “Keep going.”

“They were joking about how you never talked to anyone. About how you looked terrified every time someone even said your name.” His mouth tightened. “One of them said there was no way anyone could get you to go out with them because you’d run a mile first.”

Your stomach twisted, ashamed of your own anxiety and how easy it made you into a punchline.

“I should’ve told them to shut up.” His voice was flat with self-disgust. “That should’ve been the end of it. But they kept going, and then Minjae made it into this whole thing about who could get your number, who could make you blush, all this stupid, pathetic teenage bullshit.”

He laughed once under his breath, and there was nothing funny in it.

“Then Hyunwoo said there was no chance I’d be able to pull you because you were ‘too shy to fall for someone like me.’” His jaw clenched. “And instead of acting like a normal human being, I got cocky.”

You stared at him. Jeongin met your eyes for exactly one second before looking away again.

“I said I could get you to date me if I wanted to.”

The words landed like a punch no matter how much you’d already known. Your throat tightened, and he saw it happen. He looked sick at his own words.

“It wasn’t supposed to become…” He gestured helplessly between you. “This. It was supposed to be stupid and short and over in a week, maybe two. I thought I’d flirt with you a bit, prove a point, and then find some excuse for why it didn’t work.”

Your laugh came out brittle. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.” His answer was immediate. “No, nothing about this is supposed to make you feel better. I’m just telling you the truth.”

You looked away before he could see how much that hurt.

“Did they actually bet money?” you asked.

Jeongin’s mouth twisted. “Yeah.”

“How much?” He hesitated, but you needed to know. “How much, Jeongin?”

“Fifty quid.”

The room went still. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh and turned away from him completely, pressing a hand to your mouth.

Fifty pounds. Six months of your life reduced to the price of a takeaway and a decent bottle of vodka.

Jeongin’s voice cracked behind you. “I know.”

“Did you win?”

You turned back around when he didn’t answer, and you saw that his face had gone white.

“Did. You. Win?”

“No.”

You stared, momentarily confused. “No?”

He shook his head quickly. “I never took anything from them. It didn’t get that far.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice sharpened. “Did you win?”

Jeongin looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

“They considered it a win when you agreed to go out with me,” he said quietly. “So technically, yeah.”

Your stomach lurched. “Did they ever give you the money?”

“No.”

“How do I know that?”

“You don’t.” He didn’t even try to defend himself. “You don’t know any of this for sure. You only have my word, and I know that’s worth basically nothing right now. But I swear to you, I never took it.”

You swallowed hard. “When did it stop being a bet?”

That one made him look up properly. The answer was there on his face before he even said it—something raw and immediate and almost pained in its honesty.

“Embarrassingly fast.”

Your eyebrows pulled together despite yourself.

Jeongin let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know exactly. There wasn’t one dramatic moment where everything changed. It was just…” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “You weren’t what I expected.”

“Meaning?”

He gave a humourless huff. “Meaning I was an idiot.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know.” He looked at you, really looked at you, and something in his expression softened despite how wrecked he still seemed. “You were so nervous around me at first, but you still tried. You still showed up. You still answered me, even when I could tell every conversation was costing you something.”

Your throat tightened, and Jeongin took a step forward before catching himself and stopping.

“The first time I realised something was wrong with me was that day it rained after school and you gave me your umbrella.”

You blinked. “What?”

His mouth twitched faintly, sadly. “You remember? We’d only been talking for like two weeks. I’d forgotten my coat and it started pissing it down, and you stood there in the doorway of the science block looking like you were going to faint from talking to me, and you still shoved your umbrella into my hands because I had football training and ‘you didn’t want me getting ill.’”

You remembered. God, you remembered. You’d spent twenty minutes after that replaying the interaction in your head and dying of embarrassment because you’d practically thrown the umbrella at him and bolted.

Jeongin’s voice softened. “You ran to the bus stop in the rain after that. Got soaked because you were too awkward to stand under the same umbrella as me.”

Heat crawled into your face at his words.

“I asked Minjae that night what the fuck I was doing,” he admitted. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart stumbled, traitorous and stupid, but you hardened your expression immediately. You still needed an answer.

“That still doesn’t tell me when it stopped.”

Jeongin nodded, accepting the correction.

“It stopped before I even asked you out properly,” he said. “I know that sounds convenient. I know it does. But it’s true.”

You stared at him, and he held your gaze this time, forcing himself not to look away.

“I asked you out because I wanted to,” he said. “Not because of them. By that point I was already trying to figure out how to get out of the bet without telling anyone I’d bottled it.”

You laughed bitterly. “And you couldn’t think of any way to do that except keep lying to me?”

His face crumpled. “I know.”

“No, answer me.”

Jeongin’s shoulders slumped. “I was scared.”

You almost snapped at him for the audacity, but something in his expression stopped you.

“Scared of what?” you asked.

“Everything.” He dragged a hand through his hair again, frustrated with himself. “Scared that if I told you, you’d hate me before I even got the chance to explain myself. Scared that if I ended things suddenly, you’d think it was because you’d done something wrong. Scared my friends would tell you first. Scared they’d say it in the worst possible way. Scared that if I came clean after we’d already been together for a while, it would hurt even more.”

A hollow laugh escaped you. “Well, good news. It did.”

“I know.” His eyes filled immediately. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

You looked away before the tears in his eyes could do anything dangerous to your resolve.

“What exactly was the bet?” you asked, forcing your voice steady. “Because at the party they made it sound like it was about sleeping with me.”

Jeongin’s expression changed instantly, a flash of genuine anger cut through the guilt.

“It wasn’t.” The words came out hard and immediate. “I swear to you, it wasn’t.”

You folded your arms tighter. “Then why did they say that?”

“Because they’re disgusting.” His jaw clenched. “The actual bet was just that I could get you to go out with me. That was it. It was still awful and manipulative and cruel, but it wasn’t about sex.”

You searched his face. He took a breath, then kept going before you could decide whether to believe him.

“They started making gross jokes later. After we were already together. Because they’re boys and they think they’re funny and I should’ve shut it down the first time it happened.” Shame flooded his features. “That’s on me. Every single part of that is on me. I let them keep treating the whole thing like a joke because I was too much of a coward to tell the truth.”

You thought of Friday night. Of the kitchen. Of the shy girl and get her into bed and the way the floor had seemed to vanish under your feet.

Your chest ached. “So they all knew.”

Jeongin closed his eyes for a second. “Yeah.”

“How many people?”

“Just the boys from the team who were there when it started. And Jisoo because she was dating Minjae for like two weeks and he tells everyone everything.”

You stared at him. “Minjae dated her?”

“Unfortunately.”

The word almost made you laugh. Instead, you asked the next question that had been burning through you since Friday.

“Why was she hanging off you at the party?”

Jeongin looked startled. “Jisoo?”

“Yes, Jisoo.”

He blinked, then swore softly under his breath like he’d only just realised how it must’ve looked.

“She was drunk,” he said quickly. “And annoying. That’s it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is, I swear.” He shook his head. “She cornered me in the kitchen asking where you were because she wanted to know why I’d ‘ditched’ the party for a girlfriend who never even came to them. I told her to mind her own business, she called me boring, and then she started hanging off my arm because she thought it was funny.”

“You could’ve moved.”

“I know.” He looked furious with himself all over again. “I should’ve. I should’ve shoved her off immediately. I didn’t because I was half listening to Hyunwoo talking and trying not to start an argument in the middle of the kitchen.”

His mouth tightened.

“Then you walked in, and I didn’t even see you until you were already leaving.”

Your eyes burned. “You called after me.”

“Yeah.” His face twisted. “Because I heard Hyunwoo say ‘shy girl’ and realised what they were doing.”

You swallowed hard. “What were you going to say?”

The question came out smaller than you intended, and Jeongin’s whole expression softened into something almost unbearably sad.

“The truth.”

You looked at him, unconvinced, but he continued. “I was going to tell them to shut the fuck up,” he said. “I was going to tell them it hadn’t been a bet in months and that they didn’t get to talk about you like that.” He let out a shaky breath. “And then I was going to come after you and tell you everything, because the second I saw your face I knew there was no fixing it any other way.”

“But you still wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t heard.”

Jeongin went quiet at that. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“No.”

The honesty of it was brutal.

“I wouldn’t have told you that night if you hadn’t heard them first.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “And I hate that about myself.”

“Why?” you asked, and the word came out cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked up slowly. This, maybe more than the bet itself, was the thing that had been eating at you all weekend. Not just that he’d lied in the beginning, but that somewhere in the middle—somewhere between your first date and your first I love you and every late-night call and panic attack and quiet moment in between—he had looked at you, supposedly loved you, and still kept this one horrible truth tucked away where you couldn’t reach it.

Jeongin’s face crumpled under the weight of the question. “Because every day I waited made it harder.”

He laughed once, shakily, but it broke in the middle.

“At first I told myself I’d tell you after the first date. Then after we’d been together a week, because by then I’d know whether there was even anything real there.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Then you kissed me, and I thought I’d tell you after that because there was no way I could keep something like that from you if we were actually doing this.”

His voice was getting rougher now, more uneven.

“But then every time I looked at you, I’d think, not today. Not when you’re smiling at me like that. Not when you’ve just had a bad day. Not when you’re finally starting to trust me. Not when I’ve just spent an hour convincing you I actually like you and you don’t need to panic every time I hold your hand in public.”

Your chest tightened painfully at the memories.

“So I kept putting it off,” he said. “And the longer I put it off, the worse it became, because suddenly it wasn’t just ‘I made a disgusting bet before I knew you.’ It was ‘I made a disgusting bet, then I fell in love with you, and now I’ve let you build an entire relationship on top of a lie.’”

Tears were slipping down his face now, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I knew if I told you, I’d lose you.” His voice cracked completely. “And I was selfish enough to want a little more time first.”

That one hurt because it was probably the most honest thing he’d said all morning. You pressed your lips together hard to stop them from trembling, before you asked your next pressing question.

“When did you realise you loved me?”

Jeongin looked at you like the answer had lived in his bones for months. “Your panic attack.”

Your breath caught. He took a shaky step closer, then stopped again, leaving the same careful distance between you.

“The one at my house,” he said softly. “When you were on the floor in my room and you were trying so hard not to let me see you like that, and all I could think was that I’d kill anyone who’d ever made you feel like you had to hide from them.”

Your eyes stung, and Jeongin’s own were red-rimmed and glassy.

“You fell asleep on me after,” he went on. “And I sat there with your head on my chest for like two hours because I didn’t want to wake you up. And I remember thinking that if I moved and you left, I was going to miss you even while you were still in the house.”

You had to look away, and Jeongin swallowed hard.

“That was the first time I said it out loud,” he admitted. “Not at the swings. At my house, after you woke up.”

Your head snapped up. “You remember that?”

He gave a watery, disbelieving laugh. “Of course I remember that. You looked at me like I’d told you the sky was green.”

You hadn’t thought he knew you remembered. You’d always treated the moment like some strange, private thing because you hadn’t been sure whether it counted—whether he’d only said it because you were half asleep and crying and he’d wanted to calm you down.

As if he could read every thought on your face, Jeongin shook his head.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel better,” he said quietly. “I said it because it was true, and because I was stupid enough to think maybe if I said it while you were half out of it, I could get away with not explaining why I looked like I wanted to climb inside your ribcage and live there.”

The corner of your mouth twitched before you could stop it, and Jeongin noticed. His own face crumpled a little harder.

“Please don’t do that unless you mean it,” he whispered, voice breaking on the edges. “I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

The tiny almost-smile vanished immediately, silence filling the room. It wasn’t sharp, but it was heavier somehow. More fragile.

You stared down at your sleeves. “There’s one thing I still don’t get.”

“Anything.”

You took a breath. “If you loved me that much… why didn’t you walk away?” Your voice wobbled despite your best efforts. “Why keep going if every day you stayed with me meant lying to me more?”

Jeongin went still, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then, very quietly, “Because I was weak.”

You looked up. He held your gaze, eyes bright with tears he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.

“Because every time I thought about ending it or telling you the truth, I’d picture your face when I picked you up from school, or the way you’d fall asleep on my shoulder when you were tired, or how happy you got when I brought you those weird strawberry sweets you like, and I’d think, just one more day.”

His mouth shook around the words. “Then one more day turned into six months.”

You could hear his breathing now—unsteady, almost as uneven as yours had been outside school on Friday.

“I know that makes me selfish,” he said. “I know it makes me a coward. You can call me whatever you want and I’ll agree with you. But none of it was fake. Not one second of it.”

He scrubbed angrily at his face.

“I loved you every day,” he said, voice rough. “Even when you were mad at me for stealing your chips. Even when you got so anxious before presentations you made yourself ill. Even when you’d wake me up at stupid o’clock because your brain wouldn’t shut up and you needed someone to talk to. I loved you when you were laughing, and I loved you when you were crying, and I loved you so much it made me feel sick every time I remembered how this started.”

Your throat closed. You hadn’t meant to cry, but tears were spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them, hot and humiliating and impossible to wipe away fast enough.

Jeongin took one instinctive step forward, but you still stepped back. He stopped dead, and the hurt that flashed across his face was immediate, but he nodded quickly, hands lifting slightly in surrender.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Sorry.”

You covered your mouth with one hand and tried to breathe through the ache in your chest. This was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? The truth. The whole ugly, painful, honest truth laid out in front of you so you could stop guessing.

So why did it feel like someone had taken your heart apart with their bare hands and arranged the pieces on the floor between you?

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you whispered.

Jeongin looked destroyed. “I know.”

“I hate that I still—” Your voice broke off.

Still what?

Still loved him?

Still wanted to believe him?

Still wanted him to be telling the truth badly enough that it scared you?

You couldn’t finish the sentence. Jeongin’s face folded in on itself anyway, as if he knew exactly what you’d almost said and hated himself for making it so hard.

“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said quickly. “I’m not asking you to. I know I don’t deserve that.”

You laughed weakly through your tears. “Then what are you asking?”

He stared at you, and for the first time since you’d walked into the room, there was no hesitation in his answer at all.

“A chance to prove I’m not lying now.”

The words settled in the silence. Your breathing hitched, and Jeongin took a shaky breath of his own.

“I know I don’t deserve another chance,” he said. “I know that. But if there’s even a tiny part of you that believes what we had was real, then let me prove it. Let me spend however long it takes showing you that I mean every word I’m saying now.”

His eyes dropped to your hands, still hidden in your sleeves.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I won’t ask you to forgive me before you’re ready. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, answer every horrible question, take whatever you need to throw at me.” His voice cracked again. “Just don’t let this be the end without at least giving me the chance to be honest with you properly.”

You stared at him through blurred vision. This beautiful, stupid boy who had broken your heart with both hands and was now standing in front of you looking like he’d hand you the pieces if you asked.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there even was a right thing to say. So in the end, all you managed was the truth.

“I’m still angry.”

Jeongin nodded immediately. “You should be.”

“I still don’t know if I can trust you.”

Another nod, but slower this time. “I know.”

“And I’m not promising anything.”

“Okay.”

You wiped at your face with your sleeve and took a shaky breath.

“But…” Your voice wobbled. “I don’t think I’m ready to let go of six months without trying to understand what was real and what wasn’t.”

Jeongin went completely still. You could actually see the hope hit him—small and frightened and almost too fragile to touch.

“So,” you said, swallowing hard, “you can answer more of my questions when I have them. You can be honest. And after that…” You looked away. “I’ll decide.”

For one awful second, you thought he might cry properly. Instead he just nodded, once, twice, jaw tight like he was physically holding himself together.

“Okay,” he said, voice wrecked. “Okay. Anything.”

The bell rang somewhere outside the music room, but neither of you moved. The sound echoed faintly through the corridor, followed by distant footsteps and muffled classroom chatter, but in the little practice room, everything stayed suspended.

You and Jeongin.

The truth between you.

And whatever came next.

a/n: don’t hate me I gave you warnings okay I love you all mwah xo

a/n2: if you want a part two full of grovelling then I can absolutely do that, just lmk in the comments!

Chan watched Jia run into the house as soon as he unlocked the door. She kicked off her shoes somewhere near the entryway and disappeared down the hall.

"Daddy, I can wash up by myself!" she called over the sound of running water. "You need to wash up too!"

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "Don't rush, bug. And make sure you clean up if you make a mess."

The response came immediately, "I know!"

Shaking his head, Chan made his way into the kitchen and turned on the sink.

Across the street, you were probably already setting the table. Maybe plating dinner. Maybe trying to decide how much food was enough for a preschooler who alternated between eating three bites and eating like she hadn't seen food in days.

The thought settled into him far too easily, that was the part that caught him off guard. A few months ago, the idea of ending a Monday evening at your house would've felt unexpected. Now Jia accepted invitations before he did.

And if he was being honest with himself, part of him had already said yes the moment you'd offered.

He dried his hands and stared down at the sink, watching the water disappear down the drain. The sound of hurried footsteps running down the hall, broke him out of it.

Jia skidded into the kitchen with damp hands while grinning. "Lets go! Lets go! Lets go!"

Chan glanced down at her, "we don't need to rush bug," he chuckled out.

"But what if she starts without us?"

Chan paused although it was such an innocent question. Jia wasn't really worried about dinner, she was more worried about missing time with you.

His smile faded slightly. He spent the entire weekend trying not to think about that. About how easily you'd become someone Jia looked forward to seeing, and about how disappointed she'd be if that were to ever change. "I-I don't think she'd leave us out like that bug."

Jia nodded like she seemed satisfied with the answer, "Okay," then she grabs his hand leading him to the door. "But, let's hurry anyway."

𐙚

By the time they reached your house, Jia was already halfway up the walkway.

"Bug."

"What?"

"Slow down."

"I am going slow."

She wasn't.

Chan sighed as she bounded up the last step, already reaching for the door.

Before he could remind her to knock, you opened it. "We're back!" Jia announced, slipping past you and into the house before either of you could say anything else.

"Welcome back," you said, laughing as you watched her. She made it only a few feet into the house before stopping abruptly and turning around, "Thank you for waiting for us."

You blinked. Beside you Chan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

"You're welcome?"

Jia nodded, completely satisfied with that answer, and disappeared deeper into the house.

You watched her go before looking over at Chan. "What was that about?" you asked laughing. He let out a long sigh, "You don't want to know."

"That's usually a terrible sign."

"It usually is."

You laughed and shook your head before leading him further inside.

The smell of dinner grew stronger the closer you got to the dining room. Chan followed a step behind while Jia disappeared ahead of both of you. By the time they reached the table, she was already climbing into her chair.

"I win."

"It wasn't a race," Chan said immediately.

"It was for me."

You snorted, pulling out your own chair, "at least she's honest."

"Unfortunately."

Jia beamed.

The table was already set, dinner laid out between the three places. For a moment, the room settled into a comfortable quiet as everyone got situated.

Chan found himself looking around the table for a second longer than necessary before reaching for his glass. He wasn't sure when exactly the evening had stopped feeling like an invitation.

Maybe somewhere between crossing the street and sitting down. Maybe sometime before that. All he knew was that, lately, he kept finding himself in moments like this and forgetting they were supposed to feel unusual.

Everything settled into an easy rhythm after that.

Jia did most of the talking, as usual, narrating parts of her day that didn’t always follow logic but always demanded full attention. Chan listened like he was used to translating her world in real time, occasionally stepping in when she drifted too far from reality.

You didn’t interrupt. Just filled in the gaps when they appeared.

But you were also aware of him in ways that didn’t have much to do with listening.

The way his knee bumped yours under the table when he shifted, and stayed there. The way he reached for your water glass instead of his own and didn’t seem to notice until his fingers were already closing around it. The way he watched you explain something to Jia with a focus that felt borrowed from somewhere else entirely, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth forming words he’d heard a hundred times before.

Somewhere between bites of food and half-finished stories, the edges of the evening started to soften.

A shared laugh over something Jia insisted was “very serious.”

Chan quietly pushing the last bit of food on his plate toward you without comment. In which you pretending not to notice.

Jia deciding, mid-sentence, that she was suddenly too tired to finish speaking and continuing anyway.

Eventually, she leaned heavily against Chan’s side without warning, her voice slowing into something softer.

“I’m not tired,” she insisted, already blinking slower than before.

“Sure,” Chan said automatically.

But his hand moved anyway, resting lightly at her back. And his eyes lifted to yours across the table, just for a second, something in them that looked almost like apology. Or confession. Or both.

You watched it happen without thinking about it too much.

When the table was finally cleared, Jia was barely making it through her words. Her energy had drained all at once, like someone had quietly turned her volume down.

“I can walk,” she said, standing up too fast to be convincing.

“No you can’t,” Chan replied immediately.

“I can.”

“You just nodded off while sitting, bug.”

You stood beside them, smiling softly. “Do you want to go lay down in my bed?”

Jia considered this like it was a negotiation. Then nodded once, decisive. “Yes.”

Jia didn’t argue much once she was in your room. She only clung briefly to Chan’s sleeve before letting herself be guided down into the bed. He stayed until her breathing slowed.

You stayed too, leaning in the doorway while the room fell quiet.

Neither of you said much when you stepped back out. Just the subtle shift of leaving one version of the night behind and returning to another.

It felt quieter after that.

Chan helped without being asked. Stacked dishes. Wiped counters. Moved around the kitchen like he knew where things belonged even if he didn’t fully live there.

At some point, you noticed him carrying the trash bag toward the back door. “I’ve got it,” he said before you could reach for it.

“You don’t have to do everything,” you replied, following him anyway.

“I know.” He stepped outside before you did, the screen door clicking softly behind you.

The porch light was already on.

You stayed where you were for a second, just watching him move into the dimmer air beyond the threshold. He tied the bag, set it in the bin, but didn’t rush back inside.

When he looked back up at you, he saw you leaning lightly against the door frame. “You’re just going to stand there and watch?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you said. “Nothing I haven’t already done.” That earned a small exhale from him that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“You’re good with her,” he said after a moment. It didn't feel casual in the way he said it.

You blinked slightly, like you weren’t expecting it to land that directly. “Is that so?”

The space between you shifted.

He stepped back toward the porch slowly, like he wasn’t fully deciding to close the distance until he was already doing it. “You make it feel…” he started, then paused, choosing the rest carefully.

“Very normal....when you’re around.”

Your breath caught a little on the edges of that. “Chan,” you said quietly, like a warning and not a rejection.

But he didn’t move away from it. He just looked at you like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be allowed to, but he did it anyway.

You let him.

The space between you stopped behaving like something either of you was actively managing. It just…stayed.

Chan’s gaze flicked to your mouth, then back up. Not fast enough to pretend he hadn’t done it.

His voice came rougher. “I should probably—”

Your hand lifted, not reaching, just hesitating in the air between you like you were checking if the moment would hold its shape.

That was enough for him.

Chan moved before the thought could complicate itself any further. Not slowly this time. His hand came up and cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone with something that felt almost desperate, and he kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for hours and you were the only air in the room.

The first touch wasn’t careful.

It was need, pure and sudden, his mouth hot against yours, his other hand finding your waist and leaning into you hard enough that your back met the doorframe with a soft thud. You made a noise against his lips, surprised or relieved or both, and your fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself to something that suddenly felt less like an idea and more like reality.

For a moment it stayed like that. Urgent and close. The porch light casting both of you in something too warm for the night air.

Then he pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, his thumb still tracing your jaw like he couldn’t stop touching you. “Sorry,” he said, voice low, not sounding sorry at all.

You laughed, breathless. “Are you sure?”

“Not really.”

You didn’t say anything for a second, just let your hand rest over his, feeling the small tremor in his fingertips. Then you nudged your nose against his. “If you’re going to apologize every time, we’ll be here all night.”

He grinned, and it was the first time you’d seen him look completely unguarded. “Maybe that’s not so bad,” he said.

For a second after, neither of you really move. Chan is the first to shift, but it’s small. Subtle, like the moment is only now catching up to him.

His hands were resting at your waist, by now but the grip was different from before. His eyes flick over your face like he’s trying to place what this is now that it’s real in a way it wasn’t a few minutes ago.

“…I didn’t mean for that to happen like that,” he says quietly. It’s not regret exactly. It’s the start of thought, way too many of them at once.

You exhale softly, like you were expecting that exact direction. “Chan,” you say, gently enough that it interrupts without pushing.

He stops as you step in a little closer, your chest almost against him, “Don’t overthink it,” you say simply.

“I’m not—” he starts, then stops again, jaw tightening slightly like he’s trying to find the right version of the sentence that won’t turn into something bigger.

“It’s fine,” you add, softer now. “We don’t have to turn this into anything tonight.”

His shoulders loosen slightly, but not all the way, “You sure?” he asks.

You nod once. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you reach up and lightly adjust the front of his shirt where you were holding it earlier, and places a gentle peck on his lips.

“Go home,” you say, not dismissing him, but putting a hold on it. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Chan studies you for a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to memorize the way you’re handling this without making it heavier than it is.

Then he exhales slowly like he’s letting go of the instinct to complicate it.

“…Okay,” he says finally.

But he doesn’t move immediately. The moment lingered between you for another second before reality quietly inserted itself back into the conversation.

Jia, who was asleep in your bed right now.

"You let out a small laugh first, "I guess you should get her home."

He closed his eyes briefly, "Right."

"Before she wakes up catches us like this."

He groans backing away from you reluctantly, "I'm not ready for that conversation yet."

You smiled softly as you pulled away from the doorframe, "Come on."

The walk back through the house felt completely different after that.

Which was ridiculous, because nothing had actually changed.

The hallway looked exactly the same as it had ten minutes ago. The framed photos were still hanging where they'd always been. The floorboards still creaked in the same places.

Yet Chan found himself noticing every time your shoulder brushed his as you walked ahead of him, every time you glanced back to make sure he was following.

By the time you reached your bedroom, his thoughts had already started getting away from him again.

Jia was sprawled diagonally across your bed, one arm wrapped around a pillow she'd clearly stolen for herself.

"Cute," you whispered.

Chan smiled softly as he picked her up leaning her head against his shoulder. "Yeah," he said as she sighed against his neck.

The goodbye at the door was shorter than either of you wanted it to be.

Maybe because neither of you trusted yourselves with another one, or because there wasn't anything left to say.

Not tonight at least.

𐙚

The problem with kissing someone was that it became impossible to remember what things felt like before.

Chan discovered that approximately six minutes after waking up.

By eight-thirty he was overthinking.

By lunch he was actively losing the argument against himself about texting you first.

By four-thirty he was standing outside the shop staring at his phone.

By four-thirty-two he gave up.

But even that didn’t feel like relief. Just a pause before his brain found another way to keep going in circles. So he did the only thing that didn’t require thinking through three possible outcomes.

He called you.

You picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, free to chat?” he asked, like he hadn’t been standing outside long enough to lose an entire argument with himself.

“I am” your voice came through easy. “You okay?”

That alone made him exhale a little,“…Yeah,” he lied automatically.

Then, he added on weaker, “Not really.”

That got a small laugh from you, “I figured,” you said.

He shifted his weight, still standing outside the shop without fully committing to going in or walking away.

“Is this one of those situations where I’m overthinking something that doesn’t need thinking?” he asked.

There was a pause on your end.

“Probably.”

That was so blunt he almost laughed. “…That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not meant to be,” you said lightly. “It’s meant to stop you.”

That made him go quiet for a second. Not the kind of silence that meant the call dropped, but the kind that meant his thoughts were finally lining up in a way he didn’t like.

“…So what am I supposed to do with this?” he asked eventually.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because you could hear it, what he was actually asking wasn’t logistical. It was definition-shaped.

What are we?

What is this allowed to become?

What happens next?

And you could tell he was already building answers he didn’t trust, so you didn’t meet him there. You kept it simple.

“We don’t have to do anything with it right now.”

That made him exhale through his nose, “feels like avoiding it.”

“No,” you said. “It feels like not forcing it into something it’s not ready to be.”

He pauses again, “and what is it?”

That’s the moment where everything naturally narrows, because now he’s said it out loud without naming it.

“We can just be two people who like each other,” you said again, softer this time. “That’s enough.”

He repeated it under his breath, like he’s testing whether it holds under pressure.

“Two people who like each other….and that’s it?” he asked.

You let a small pause sit between you before answering, “Yeah,” you said. “We don’t have to define everything the second it starts existing.”

“…Okay,” he says, "I can do that."

𐙚

Chan had mentioned dropping by later in the evening, and you had agreed. He just didn’t plan on it being as late as it was.

By now, the house was silent, the kind of quiet that settles in after everything for the day has already happened. Inside, Jia slept peacefully, her room undisturbed, unaware of anything unfolding just beyond it. The rest of the house had softened with her sleep, each room feeling stiller than before.

You found yourself at the window more than once, looking out across the street without fully thinking about it. Chan’s house was dim now, the porch light off, only faint light coming from inside.

You caught movement from the garage.

Chan stepped out and, as your eyes met, you knew it was an invite for you. Nothing needed to be said or overthought. You already understood what he meant.

You stepped outside without hesitation.

The night air was cool and still, the street quiet around you. No one else was out, no sound beyond the faint rustle of leaves.

Chan was already there, and you closed the distance between you easily, like it was something neither of you needed to question.

"Let's go to the back," he says smiling at you before he grabs your hand like it's second nature.

You follow him, footsteps light but steady. The cool night air brushes against your skin, sharpening your senses. The deck in the back is quiet, bathed in soft moonlight, shadows cast by the nearby trees swaying gently in the breeze.

He gestures for you to sit on the railing, and you do, with his assistance. Chan follows, leaning casually against the railing, directly next to you, both of you taking in the peaceful night.

The silence is comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You glance at him, feeling the warmth of his presence, the quiet thrill of just being here together. He breaks the silence, voice gentle, “feels good out here, huh?”

You nod, smiling softly, “Yeah. Peaceful. Just us.” Your eyes trace the stars, then drift back to Chan’s face. The moonlight catches the slight crinkle of his eyes as he looks at you, a softness that’s almost shy.

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment, then gently takes your hand in his and interlocks your fingers. You squeeze gently, feeling the unspoken connection deepen.

There’s a moment of silence, then Chan leans in slightly, his voice a whisper, “I’ve thought about this, about us, more than I’d like to admit.”

You give a quiet, breathless laugh, "Yeah? Me too.” He smiles, a little nervous, a little hopeful. “It’s just… nice to be like this.”

You nod again, feeling the truth in his words. The night feels different now, more open, more honest. The cool air, the quiet backyard, the stars, all of it wraps around you like a shared secret.

He pauses, then softly brushes his thumb across your knuckles, “Can I kiss you?”

You smile, heart fluttering.“Yeah.”

His lips meet yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss, no rushing, no hiding. Just two people who want to be close, savoring the quiet night and the warmth of each other.

The kiss deepens slowly, a tender exploration of connection and trust. He leaned in closer, shifting from being beside you, to standing in between your legs. One of his hands moved to rest on your waist, steady and reassuring as you rested your arms on his shoulders.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough, resting his forehead against yours, “tonight, I just want to be here with you. Not thinking about anything other than us, no rush.”

You breathe in deeply, feeling the calm and the thrill of this simple, honest moment, “Me too. Just us.”

He offers a soft, shy smile, then leans in for another gentle kiss, one that feels like the beginning of something real and unforced.

As the night deepens, you stay close together in the quiet night air, watching the stars, feeling the comfort of each other’s presence; free, open, and entirely real.

𐙚

That following Sunday, Jia was sprawled across their living room floor, completely absorbed in a cartoon that had apparently become the most important thing happening in the world.

You sat on one end of the couch, half paying attention to the television and half scrolling through your phone, listening to Jia's running commentary drift through the room.

The back door opened.

You didn't think much of it at first. Chan had been in and out all afternoon, splitting his attention between whatever he was working on in the garage and checking on Jia whenever he had an excuse.

A few seconds later, footsteps crossed the kitchen.

When you glanced up, Chan was standing in the doorway.

His eyes found yours immediately. "Can I borrow her for a second?" The question was directed toward Jia, but he never looked away from you.

Jia finally tore her attention away from the television long enough to squint at him. "No."

Chan blinked.

"No?"

"No," she repeated firmly before pointing at the screen. "We're watching this."

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing.

His gaze flicked toward you before returning to his daughter.

For a moment, it looked like he was considering arguing.

Then Jia sighed dramatically, already turning back toward the television. "Fine," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "But bring her back."

A smile tugged at the corner of Chan's mouth.

"Thanks, bug."

The second she lost interest, she was fully immersing in her cartoon, Chan looked back at you.

You already knew that look. The one that usually appeared right before he decided something and expected you to follow along.

Sure enough, the moment you stood up, his hand closed around yours.

"That was subtle," you murmured as he led you toward the kitchen.

"I asked permission."

"Barely."

"It still counts."

The kitchen was quieter, the sounds of Jia's cartoon muted by the doorway behind you. Chan didn't stop until you were fully out of sight of the living room, and even then, it only took another second before his hands settled at your waist.

You laughed softly. "Chan."

"What?"

"You saw me this morning."

"I know."

"You saw me an hour ago."

"I know."

His answer came without hesitation, like neither fact had any bearing on the situation.

Before you could point that out, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you. Like he'd been thinking about it long enough that the moment he had access to you again, this was where he ended up.

Your amusement faded into something softer as you slipped your arms around him in return.

For a few seconds neither of you said anything.

The kitchen sat quiet around you, the only noise coming from the television in the next room and the occasional sound of Jia talking back to it.

Chan rested his chin against your shoulder and let out a long breath.

“You okay?” you ask softly, caressing his upper back, feeling the tension melt away as he leaned into you.

He nods, and when he finally lifts his head, his eyes drop briefly to your mouth, lingering there for just a heartbeat before he slowly looks back into your eyes.

The smile you were trying to suppress didn't help. Neither did the fact that he was smiling too.

His smile widens slightly, mirroring your own unspoken feeling, and for a moment, everything else fades away; the room, the TV, Jia’s cartoon echoing faintly in the background.

In that suspended moment, the only thing that matters is the softness of his gaze and the quiet understanding passing between you. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leans in, closing the distance slowly, gently brushing his lips against yours.

It’s a tentative, almost hesitant kiss, light and tender, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand moves from your waist to rest softly on your hip, anchoring him there, steady and sure.

Your lips part just slightly, responding to the intimacy, your heart pounding a little faster. One of his hands brushes your back, pulling you just a fraction closer, as if he’s trying to hold onto this perfect, fleeting moment.

Time seems to stretch in the quiet space between you, the only sound your shared breathing, soft and warm. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes still closed for a moment.

You both breathe in sync, a silent agreement passing in that breathless pause. The smile you were trying to hide finally breaks free; soft, genuine, and full of hope. Neither of you says a word; the moment speaks for itself.

Until, Jia's voice carried from the living room.

"Daddy!"

You both froze.

Chan closed his eyes. "What?" he called.

A pause.

"Are you done?"

You immediately buried your face against his shoulder to keep from laughing. Chan chuckled quietly, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked down at you.

“Guess that’s our cue,” he murmured, his voice low, still holding you close.

You nodded, your heart still pounding from the moment, but feeling the warmth of his presence settle comfortably over you. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice husky with lingering emotion.

He finally stepped back, gently taking your hand and leading you out of the kitchen, back toward the living room where Jia was waiting, blissfully unaware of how much just happened in those few seconds.

As you crossed the threshold, Jia’s bright voice called again, and you exchanged a subtle, knowing glance, the kind that said, we’re in this together, in quiet, shared understanding.

The moment might have been interrupted, but its significance lingered, woven into the fabric of this ordinary Sunday, an unspoken promise waiting to unfold.

𐙚

Your stolen time together didn’t feel like a series of moments anymore, just something that continued to happen.

The house was quiet, just the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of cartoons down the hall while Jia was sleeping. You and Chan sat on the couch without really settling into it, the silence between you stretching long enough to feel like it had its own shape.

Eventually, Chan broke it.

“I’ve been thinking about her,” he said quietly.

You turned toward him immediately, but he didn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere low, unfocused, like he was trying to hold the thought steady before it slipped away.

“Jia’s mom,” he added.

That made the room feel tighter.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I keep thinking about it lately. About why she did it. What it looked like from her side. What she was willing to walk away from.”

His jaw flexed once before he continued, quieter now. “And I keep thinking about what she missed. About what that did to Jia without her even realizing it.” He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, “And us. What it’s shaped.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time.

He finally leaned back slightly, but it didn’t ease anything in him, “I wonder if she ever thinks about her,” he said after a moment. “About Jia. Or if it ever crosses her mind at all.”

You didn’t rush to fill the space. You just watched him, the way his hands stayed loosely clasped together like he was holding himself in place.

When you did speak, it was quiet, “that’s a hard thing to carry around on your own.”

His eyes flicked toward you at that, but he didn’t fully meet your gaze.

“I don’t even know what to do with it,” he admitted. “I keep telling myself I’ve moved past it, but I haven’t. It’s always there, and lately it feels…louder.” He pauses again before continuing, “I think I’ve just been trying to function around it instead of actually dealing with it.”

His fingers flexed slightly, like he was trying to ground himself in something physical. “And I don’t want that to spill into everything else,” he added. Softer now. More honest than planned. “I don’t want to get it wrong with her. With Jia. With you.”

That last part landed differently, even in the quiet. You shifted a little closer without thinking, letting your hand find his.

“You’re not pretending it’s easy,” you said gently. “That already matters more than you think. And you’re not doing it alone, even when it feels like it.”

His grip tightened slightly around your hand. He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at you like he was letting the words sit somewhere deeper than conversation usually reached.

Then he leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

Eventually, Chan exhaled, slow and uneven, and pulled back just enough to look at you properly again. His hand was still around yours, but the grip had softened, like he was slowly remembering where it was supposed to stop.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he said quietly. It wasn’t firm. It sounded more like something he was trying to convince himself was reasonable.

You nodded anyway, because staying would’ve meant holding onto something that was already starting to shift. His hand stayed around yours as he walked you to the front door, like neither of you had fully agreed to the idea of letting go yet.

The house felt quieter as you moved through it. Not in volume, but in attention. Every small sound seemed closer than it should’ve been—the soft creak of the floor, the muted hum of the night settling outside the walls.

Chan opened the door but didn’t step through immediately. Just held it, like he was giving himself a second to figure out where the moment ended.

You stepped out onto the porch first. He followed you out, stopping just inside the threshold, one hand still resting on the doorframe. Close enough that the space between you didn’t feel like distance yet, just hesitation.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Not because there was nothing left to say, because anything said now would make it more serious in a way neither of you were fully prepared to carry out into the night.

His eyes stayed on you a beat too long. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said finally.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Then quieter, like it slipped out before he could decide whether to keep it in, “Text me before you go to bed.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

The silence didn’t break. Chan’s hand tightened slightly against the doorframe. And then he moved towards you again. Like the decision had already been made somewhere between the last sentence and this one, and his body was just catching up.

His hand came up first, careful, not rushed, fingers finding your jaw like he needed something solid to anchor to before he lost the nerve.

And then he kissed you.

Soft at first, controlled in the way hesitation tries to stay in charge even when it’s already losing. But it didn’t stay there for long.

The space between you collapsed in on itself, not suddenly, but inevitably, like the moment had been leaning this way the entire time and just finally stopped resisting.