liv

Exceptionally talented. Infuriatingly charismatic.

And always, somehow, one place above you.

Every assessment. Every showcase. Every audition. Every ranking posted outside the faculty office.

There is your name.

And directly above it—

Kwon Soonyoung.

You have spent nearly two years pretending this does not bother you. You are doing a decent job of it. Until he sits beside you on a Monday morning and ruins everything.

The psychology lecture hall is crowded with students from multiple faculties, an arrangement that already feels suspicious. Dance students rarely interact with psychology students unless somebody is dating across departments, and even then it usually ends with one person psychoanalysing the other during finals week.

You are halfway through answering emails when somebody drops into the seat beside you with enough force to shake the entire row.

A water bottle rolls across the desk. A notebook falls open. Someone behind you groans. You do not need to look up.

There is only one person on campus capable of making sitting down feel like a dramatic entrance.

"Good morning."

You continue typing.

"Morning."

"You didn't look at me."

You sigh. Then slowly raise your head. Soonyoung beams. Immediately. Like he has been waiting for this exact moment.

"Hi."

"Hi."

For several seconds he simply stares. You stare back. Neither of you blink.

"What?"

His grin widens.

"You know who I am."

"No."

"You're lying."

You return your attention to your laptop.

"You have tiger stickers on your water bottle."

"So?"

"You wore tiger-print socks to Contemporary Technique last week."

"So?"

"You introduced yourself to a guest lecturer by saying, and I quote, 'I'm Soonyoung but spiritually I'm a tiger.'"

The student in front of you snorts. Soonyoung looks delighted.

"See? You do know me."

"I know of you."

"That's basically friendship."

"It really isn't."

Before he can respond, the lecturer enters the room. The conversation dies immediately. Unfortunately, your peace dies with it.

The professor begins setting up a presentation at the front of the room while students settle into their seats.

"Dance and psychology students," she says. "Thank you for attending. Today's briefing concerns an interdisciplinary research project that will run throughout the semester."

A collective groan spreads through the room. Nobody likes hearing the word project. Nobody likes hearing the word interdisciplinary even more. The PowerPoint clicks to the next slide.

NONVERBAL INTIMACY AND MIRROR NEURON ACTIVATION IN PARTNERED MOVEMENT

Silence. Then—

"What does that mean?"

The professor smiles.

"It means we're studying how people subconsciously mirror one another's movements and emotions."

More slides appear. Brain scans. Research papers. Movement diagrams. Psychological studies. You try to pay attention. You genuinely do. Unfortunately, the person beside you keeps vibrating with excitement.

"You okay?" you whisper.

"So cool."

"It literally involves brain activity."

"Exactly."

"You dance."

"And now I get to dance and do science."

"That's not how either of those things work."

The professor continues speaking.

"Students will be paired across participating disciplines. Throughout the semester, partners will complete movement exercises designed to measure synchronization, trust-building behaviours, emotional recognition, and nonverbal communication."

A psychology student near the front raises her hand.

"So we need a partner?"

"Correct."

The next slide appears.

PARTNER REGISTRATION TODAY.

A wave of panic immediately spreads through the room. Students begin turning toward friends. Names are exchanged. Groups start forming.

The entire lecture hall descends into chaos. You are still reading the registration requirements when somebody abruptly places a form in front of you. You stare at it. Then at the hand holding it. Then at Soonyoung.

"No."

"What?"

"No."

"I haven't said anything."

"You don't need to."

His smile becomes suspiciously innocent.

"I just thought—"

"No."

"—that since we're both dancers—"

"No."

"—and we're around the same performance level—"

"Absolutely not."

"—and the study specifically involves movement synchronization—"

"No."

"So that's a maybe."

"It isn't."

He looks genuinely offended.

"Why not?"

You gesture vaguely toward him.

"You're you."

"What does that mean?"

"You know exactly what it means."

"I really don't."

"You have too much energy."

"So your problem is that I'm fun."

"My problem is that you treat every situation like a game show."

"So your problem is that I'm entertaining."

"My problem is that partnering with you sounds exhausting."

He considers this. Then nods.

"That's fair."

You blink. The agreement catches you off guard.

"So you'll find somebody else?"

"No."

The agreement was a trap.

"I'll simply prove that I'm not exhausting."

"You are exhausting right now."

"I haven't even started."

"That's somehow worse."

Around the room, registration forms continue disappearing as students finalize partnerships. One by one. Until very few names remain unclaimed. You return your attention to the paperwork. Unfortunately, Soonyoung does the same. Unfortunately, he does it faster.

By the time you realise what he's doing, he has already written something down. Your stomach drops.

"Did you—"

"No."

"You absolutely did."

"No."

You snatch the paper. There, under partner registration, are two names. Kwon Soonyoung. And yours.

You stare. Slowly. Dangerously.

"Why is my name there?"

"Efficiency."

"That's not efficiency."

"It saved time."

"That is forgery."

The psychology student collecting forms reaches your row. Before you can react, Soonyoung hands her the paper. She takes it. Smiles. And walks away. Your soul leaves your body.

"Did you just submit that?"

"Looks like it."

"Are you insane?"

"A little."

You drop your head onto the desk. Somewhere above you, Soonyoung laughs. The sound is irritatingly warm.

You hate it. A lot.

—

The first research session takes place three days later. You arrive determined to maintain professionalism. The psychology students are already setting up cameras around the rehearsal studio. Clipboards appear. Laptops appear. There are far too many clipboards.

Nobody should ever trust a room containing that many clipboards. You spot Soonyoung immediately. He is stretching in the corner. Or attempting to. Most of his effort appears focused on talking. His friends occupy the surrounding floor space. One of them notices you first.

"Oh."

Another follows his gaze. Then another. Then another. The entire group collectively turns. You immediately regret arriving. Soonyoung spots you next. His face lights up.

"Partner!"

You close your eyes. Deep breath. Very deep breath. When you open them again, he is somehow already standing beside you.

"Good morning."

"It is eight a.m."

"Exactly."

"Nobody should be this awake."

He grins.

"You ready?"

"No."

"Perfect."

A psychology student claps her hands.

"Okay, everyone. First exercise."

The participants gather. Clipboards ready. Researchers waiting. You are already suspicious. Then she explains the activity. Mirroring. One person moves. The other follows.

Simple. Straightforward. Entirely harmless. Unfortunately, Soonyoung treats it like a competition. The moment the exercise begins, he narrows his eyes. You narrow yours back.

"Oh, we're doing this?"

"We're doing what?"

"The thing."

"There is no thing."

"There is absolutely a thing."

Then he moves. You follow immediately. His arm rises. Yours matches it. A step forward. A turn. A shift in weight. You mirror everything effortlessly. The exercise grows faster. Then more complex. Then absurdly complex. Neither of you notice.

You are too focused. Too determined. Too unwilling to lose whatever invisible argument has developed between you. The room gradually falls silent.

Researchers stop writing. Other participants stop moving. Somewhere in the background, somebody whispers,

"What the hell?"

You and Soonyoung continue. Perfectly synchronized. Without hesitation. Without discussion. Without needing to think. Eventually the exercise ends. Neither of you realise until the instructor calls time. The room remains strangely quiet. You look around.

Every researcher is staring. Every participant is staring. The lead psychology student slowly lowers her clipboard.

"...well."

You frown.

"What?"

She exchanges a look with another researcher. Then glances down at her notes. Then back at you.

"You two have never partnered before?"

"No."

"Nope," Soonyoung says.

Another pause. The researcher looks even more confused.

"Are you sure?"

Beside you, Soonyoung starts smiling. Slowly. Dangerously. You immediately know you're going to regret whatever comes next. The researcher clears her throat.

"Your synchronization score is currently the highest we've recorded."

Silence. Then Soonyoung turns toward you. Looking unbearably pleased.

"See?"

You groan.

"Don't."

"We're scientifically compatible."

"We are not scientifically compatible."

"The data disagrees."

The psychology students begin discussing results among themselves. Clipboards fill with notes. Numbers. Observations. Excitement. You watch all of it with growing dread.

Because if this is what happened during the first session, the rest of the semester is going to be a disaster. Beside you, Soonyoung is still smiling.

Like somebody who has just won something. Maybe he has.

And for the first time, you have the uncomfortable feeling that partnering with Kwon Soonyoung might end up changing far more than a research project.

—

[CASE FILE 001]

SUBJECTS

Y/N

Me

OBSERVATION

Y/N says I'm exhausting.

This is hurtful.

Possibly true.

Further observation:

Y/N mirrored every movement perfectly today.

Not ninety percent.

Not ninety-five percent.

Perfectly.

Psychology students looked like they had discovered a new species.

I looked normal about it.

(Seungkwan says this is a lie.)

WORKING THEORY

Y/N is secretly competitive.

Evidence:

The death stare.

The death stare.

The other death stare.

IMPORTANT SCIENTIFIC NOTE

When Y/N concentrates, they bite the inside of their cheek.

I noticed this after approximately thirty seconds.

This information probably means nothing.

Probably.

K.S

—

The problem with spending three hours a week attached to another person is that eventually you start learning things about them.

Not important things. Not the kind of things that would matter. Just small things. Completely insignificant things.

Things that absolutely do not explain why you find yourself looking for Kwon Soonyoung whenever you enter a room.

The first thing you learn is that he talks constantly. The second thing you learn is that he somehow talks even more when he's nervous. The third thing you learn is that he becomes nervous far more often than anyone realizes. This revelation arrives during the second research session.

The psychology students have transformed Studio B into something that resembles a social experiment designed by people who enjoy causing emotional damage.

Several cameras line the walls. Observation tables sit in one corner. Clipboards have multiplied. You are beginning to suspect clipboards reproduce when left unsupervised.

"So," one researcher says brightly, "today we'll be focusing on trust-building exercises."

The room collectively groans. The researcher ignores everyone.

"The first activity involves blindfolded guidance."

The groaning becomes louder. Your stomach sinks. Across the room, Soonyoung raises his hand.

"Question."

"Yes?"

"Have any of these exercises been approved by people who actually have to do them?"

"No."

"Okay. Just checking."

The researcher smiles.

"You'll take turns leading your partner through movement sequences while they're unable to see."

You already hate this. You hate it even more when a black blindfold lands in your hands.

"Absolutely not."

"It's just walking."

"It's never just walking."

"You sound like you're about to enter a haunted house."

"Because this feels like a haunted house."

Soonyoung laughs. Unfortunately, the sound makes you laugh too. The researchers immediately notice. Pens begin moving. You narrow your eyes. The pens continue moving. You are starting to dislike psychology students. A lot.

—

You lose the coin toss. Which means you're blindfolded first. Wonderful. Just wonderful. The fabric settles over your eyes, plunging the studio into darkness. Immediately, every sound becomes louder.

Footsteps. Conversations. The faint hum of the air conditioning. And somewhere very close—

"Ready?"

Soonyoung's voice. Much closer than expected. You nearly jump.

"No."

"Good answer."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Your heart does something strange. Something deeply annoying. You choose to ignore it.

"Can we start?"

"Sure."

A hand brushes your elbow. Gentle. Careful. Steady. The contact catches you off guard. Because Soonyoung is rarely careful.

Most of the time he barrels through life with the enthusiasm of somebody who believes consequences are optional.

Yet now his movements are deliberate. Measured. Like he's genuinely worried about making a mistake.

"Step forward."

You obey.

"Good."

"You sound surprised."

"I was mentally preparing for you to walk into a wall."

"I wasn't going to walk into a wall."

"You absolutely were."

His laughter echoes through the studio. Then his hand shifts slightly. Still resting against your arm. Still guiding. For several minutes he leads you through a series of movements. Turns. Weight shifts. Simple dance combinations. Nothing particularly difficult. And yet the strange awareness from last week returns. You know where he is. Even without seeing him. You know when he steps closer. When he moves away. When he's watching you.

The realization is unsettling.

By the time the blindfold comes off, you're relieved. Then you look up. And find three psychology students staring. One slowly lowers her clipboard.

"Oh, come on."

She blinks.

"What?"

"You wrote something."

"We're supposed to write things."

"Whatever it was, I don't like it."

The researcher exchanges a look with another student. Neither of them answer. That is somehow worse.

—

The next exercise is worse. Much worse. Catastrophically worse. Weight-sharing. A concept that sounds innocent until someone explains it.

"You'll be supporting your partner's balance."

You already know where this is going. You dislike where this is going. The researcher continues.

"Trust your partner completely."

You glance at Soonyoung. He glances back. Neither of you look convinced.

"Trusting him completely feels irresponsible."

"Hey."

"It's true."

"It kind of is," another dance student admits.

"Traitor."

The exercise begins. For the first ten minutes, everything goes fine. Then somebody introduces lifts. You immediately regret attending university.

"Okay," Soonyoung says.

"We're not doing that."

"We have to."

"We could fake our deaths."

"That's not a solution."

"It's a pretty good solution."

Unfortunately, the researchers insist. Which is how you find yourself standing in front of him while he stretches his shoulders.

"This is a terrible idea."

"You say that about everything."

"Because everything involving you becomes a terrible idea."

"So dramatic."

You cross your arms.

"So if I fall—"

"I'll catch you."

"You don't sound confident."

"I am confident."

"You hesitated."

"I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

"I was breathing."

The lift itself lasts less than five seconds. One moment your feet are on the floor. The next they're not. Your stomach drops.

Instinctively, your hands find his shoulders. His grip tightens. Steady. Secure.

You are suddenly aware of several things at once. The strength in his arms. The way his concentration replaces his usual grin. The fact that he's looking directly at you. The fact that you are looking directly at him. The fact that neither of you seem capable of looking away.

The room disappears. Just for a second. Then—

"Okay!"

A psychology student practically shouts.

"Great data!"

You nearly fall out of the lift. The moment shatters instantly. Soonyoung sets you down. Too quickly. Both of you step back. Immediately. Like the extra space might somehow undo whatever just happened.

"See?" he says.

Voice slightly higher than usual.

"Told you I'd catch you."

You clear your throat.

"Good for you."

Very smooth. Exceptionally normal response. Nobody suspects anything. Especially not the psychology students furiously writing notes.

—

The semester progresses. The project continues. And despite your best efforts, spending so much time together becomes routine.

You rehearse between classes. Grab coffee before sessions. Complain about assignments. Argue over choreography. Argue over music. Argue over whether cereal counts as soup.

The answer is obviously no. Soonyoung remains wrong. You discover he leaves encouraging sticky notes inside borrowed textbooks. You discover he stays late helping first-year students practice. 

You discover he pretends not to care about grades despite checking assessment results within minutes of release.

Meanwhile, he learns things too. Like how you always arrive fifteen minutes early. How you rehearse difficult sequences long after everyone else leaves. How you keep old performance programs folded inside your notebook. Neither of you mention these observations.

Doing so would require admitting you've been paying attention.

Far too much attention.

—

The trouble starts during the fifth research session. Everything is going normally. Or as normally as possible when a room full of psychology students is analysing your body language.

You and Soonyoung finish another improvisation exercise. Applause breaks out from somewhere in the room. The researchers look thrilled.

Again. A familiar feeling of dread settles over you. One of the graduate students approaches.

"Can I ask something?"

"No," you say immediately.

"Please?"

You sigh.

"What?"

The student checks her notes. Then looks between you and Soonyoung. Then back to her notes. Then back to both of you. You already know this conversation will end badly.

"How long have you been together?"

Silence. The entire room freezes. Your brain stops functioning. Beside you, Soonyoung chokes on his water. Violently. Someone starts laughing. Then another person. Then another. The graduate student looks horrified.

"Oh my god."

"We're not together," you manage.

"We're not?" Soonyoung blurts.

You stare at him. He stares at you. The room explodes.

"Oh, you're unbelievable."

"I meant—"

"You are unbelievable."

"I was joking."

"You were not."

"I was mostly joking."

"SOONYOUNG."

The psychology student is frantically apologising now.

"I'm so sorry. It's just that your synchronization scores are extremely high and—"

"And?" you ask.

She immediately regrets speaking.

"And you kind of dance like you're in love."

Silence. Again. Somehow worse this time.

Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Nobody speaks.

Then Seungkwan, who has apparently materialized from nowhere, says exactly what everyone is thinking.

"Thank god somebody finally said it."

The room erupts. You want the floor to open beneath you. Preferably immediately.

—

Later that night, long after rehearsals end and everyone goes home, Soonyoung sits alone in an empty practice room. The notebook appears again. The same notebook that now contains far too many observations.

Far too many thoughts. Far too many things that should probably stay inside his head. Instead, he uncaps a pen.

And starts writing.

—

[CASE FILE 002]

Today's research findings:

Apparently Y/N and I dance like we're in love.

This conclusion was reached by:

Psychology students

Dance students

Seungkwan

A random professor

One janitor

Current scientific consensus seems concerning.

COUNTER-ARGUMENT

Maybe we're just really good dancers.

COUNTER-COUNTER-ARGUMENT

Nobody believed this.

Not even me.

Additional observation:

Y/N laughed today when I accidentally called a pirouette "spinny spin."

This was the best part of my week.

This information is irrelevant.

Probably.

PERSONAL NOTE

Need to stop noticing things.

Need to stop noticing Y/N.

Need to stop thinking about how safe they looked when they trusted me to catch them.

Research integrity is suffering.

Severely.

K.S

—

By the middle of the semester, the entire project has become a problem. Not because the research is difficult. Not because the rehearsals are exhausting. Not even because every psychology student in the study has apparently developed a personal investment in your relationship status.

The problem is that you have stopped being able to remember what life looked like before Kwon Soonyoung became part of it.

At some point between the blindfold exercises and the synchronization assessments, he had quietly inserted himself into the spaces between your classes, your rehearsals, your study sessions, and your weekends, until looking up and finding him there felt less surprising than looking up and not finding him there at all.

You dislike thinking about this. You dislike it even more when Seungkwan points it out.

"You know he's waiting outside."

You don't look up from your laptop.

"I know."

"You looked through the window before I even finished speaking."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

You finally glance toward the café window. Unfortunately, Seungkwan is right. Soonyoung is outside. Waiting.

A takeaway coffee balanced in one hand. His dance bag slung over his shoulder. The bright afternoon sun catches his grin the moment he spots you looking.

He immediately waves. You immediately look away. Across the table, Seungkwan sighs heavily.

"Hopeless."

"We're not dating."

"I didn't say you were."

"You implied it."

"I implied nothing."

"You always imply things."

"Because they're usually true."

Before you can formulate a response, the café door swings open. The source of all your current problems enters.

"Hi."

"Why are you here?"

"I came to get my dance partner."

"So dramatic."

"I learned from the best."

You stare. He grins. Seungkwan looks like he wants to throw himself into traffic.

"Please leave," Seungkwan says.

"No."

"You've become unbearable."

"No."

"You've gotten worse."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I choose to accept it as one."

The fact that you laugh is unfortunate. The fact that Soonyoung immediately notices is even worse.

—

The final phase of the project begins two weeks later. Every participating pair is assigned one last task.

A performance. An original duet. The culmination of the entire semester. Months of data collection. Months of observation. Months of increasingly invasive psychological analysis. The presentation slide appears at the front of the room.

FINAL ASSESSMENT: NONVERBAL EMOTIONAL COMMUNICATION THROUGH PARTNERED MOVEMENT

You already hate it. The researcher continues.

"The performance should communicate a clear emotional narrative without spoken dialogue."

Your stomach drops. Beside you, Soonyoung sits up straighter.

"Any emotional narrative?"

"Within reason."

"Define reason."

The researcher immediately ignores him.

"The purpose of this assessment is to evaluate emotional expression, synchronization, and nonverbal communication."

Several students begin writing notes. Several others begin panicking. You fall into the second category. Because emotional communication is one thing. Emotional communication with Soonyoung is another.

The psychology students hand out project guidelines. You scan the document. Then freeze.

PARTNERS MUST CREATE CHOREOGRAPHY COLLABORATIVELY.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. As if spending hours together every week wasn't already becoming dangerous. Now you're expected to build an entire performance together.

—

The first rehearsal goes badly. Not because you disagree. That would actually be easier.

The problem is that you agree too much. Every movement one of you suggests immediately makes sense to the other. Every transition works. Every adjustment improves the piece.

The choreography develops faster than either of you expect. Which means you quickly run out of technical discussions. And begin having personal ones instead.

You hate personal discussions. Unfortunately, Soonyoung likes them.

"What emotion are we starting with?"

You pause. The music continues playing softly through the studio speakers.

"Curiosity."

"Okay."

"So the opening should feel uncertain."

"Like meeting someone."

You glance at him. He doesn't seem to realize what he just said. Or maybe he does. The distinction is becoming increasingly difficult to identify.

"What about the middle section?"

You think for a moment.

"Comfort."

"Comfort?"

"People don't fall in love immediately."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Silence follows. Immediate. Dangerous silence. Your pulse jumps. Soonyoung doesn't speak. The music continues. A distant door closes somewhere down the hall. Finally, he clears his throat.

"No."

His voice sounds softer than usual.

"They don't."

Something shifts. Neither of you acknowledge it. Instead, you return to the choreography. Because pretending is easier.

—

The duet begins taking shape. Curiosity becomes familiarity. Familiarity becomes trust. Trust becomes something neither of you are willing to define. The movements grow increasingly intimate.

Not intentionally. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself. The problem is that dance rarely lies.

People do. Words do. Excuses do. Bodies don't.

Every rehearsal leaves you feeling exposed in ways you cannot explain. Especially during one particular section. A section involving eye contact. Prolonged eye contact. The worst kind.

"Five counts."

You immediately shake your head.

"No."

"It's five counts."

"No."

"You literally wrote it."

"I've changed my mind."

"You can't change your mind."

"I absolutely can."

The choreography says otherwise. Unfortunately. You take your positions. The music starts. The sequence unfolds.

Step. Turn. Reach. Closer. Closer. Then—

Eye contact. Five counts.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Something tightens painfully in your chest. Because Soonyoung is looking at you the way he always does lately. Like you're the only thing he's paying attention to. Like he forgot the rest of the room exists.

The music ends. Neither of you move. For a moment. Then Soonyoung steps back. Too quickly. The spell breaks. Again.

The problem is that these moments keep happening. And every time they do, they become harder to ignore.

—

By the week before the presentation, everyone notices. Everyone. Your classmates. The psychology students.

Your professors. Even strangers.

One afternoon, while rehearsing in an open studio, a first-year student walks past. Stops.

Watches for thirty seconds. Then turns to her friend.

"They're definitely dating."

You nearly trip over your own foot. The first-year immediately flees. Coward.

—

The disaster arrives three days later. Because of course it does. You should have expected it. Life has become far too peaceful. The universe was bound to correct itself eventually. The psychology department schedules a preliminary review.

Each pair performs an unfinished version of their duet and explains the emotional narrative behind it.

Simple. Professional. Entirely manageable. At least until it's your turn. You and Soonyoung finish performing.

The room applauds. The researchers look thrilled. Again. One of the faculty supervisors smiles.

"Beautiful work."

"Thank you."

"The emotional progression feels very genuine."

Your stomach twists. The supervisor turns toward Soonyoung.

"How did you approach developing the narrative?"

You watch him think. A mistake. A terrible mistake. Because Soonyoung always tells the truth when he's thinking out loud. Always. Even when he shouldn't.

He scratches the back of his neck. Glances at the choreography notes. Then shrugs.

"I kind of imagined what it'd feel like to fall for your best friend."

The world stops. Immediately. The room goes silent. A researcher drops a pen. Someone coughs. A chair squeaks. You stare at him. He stares at the floor. Realization dawns across his face.

Slowly. Horribly. The supervisor blinks.

"Oh."

Across the room, Seungkwan makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scream being strangled. You stand. Instantly. Your chair nearly topples over.

"Y/N—"

You leave before he can finish.

—

The hallway feels too small. Too warm. Too loud. Your pulse pounds against your ribs. 

Fall for your best friend.

The words replay endlessly.

Again. Again. Again.

You know he could have meant anything.

The choreography. The narrative. The project. The performance. Any of those explanations would be reasonable.

Yet none of them feel convincing. Not after months of shared rehearsals. Not after every glance.

Every smile. Every late-night conversation. Every moment that felt suspiciously like something more. Footsteps echo behind you.

Fast. Familiar. You don't turn around.

"Y/N."

You keep walking.

"Y/N, wait."

You stop. Eventually. Not because you want to. Because your legs refuse to carry you any farther.

The silence stretches between you. Heavy. Awkward. Uncomfortable. When you finally turn around, Soonyoung looks as miserable as you feel. Neither of you speak immediately.

For once, he doesn't seem to know what to say. The realization frightens you more than anything else.

Because if Kwon Soonyoung has run out of words, something must have gone very, very wrong.

—

[CASE FILE 003]

Emergency update.

Huge problem.

Massive problem.

Catastrophic problem.

Potentially career-ending problem.

Emotionally devastating problem.

Today I accidentally told an entire room of psychology professors that I wrote our choreography based on falling in love with my best friend.

Technically speaking, this is true.

Unfortunately, the best friend in question is Y/N.

Further unfortunately, Y/N was present when I said this.

Additional unfortunately:

Y/N left.

Immediately.

I would like to report that my soul also left.

Current status:

Regret

Panic

More panic

Seungkwan yelling at me

Additional panic

WORKING THEORY

Maybe if I throw myself into the ocean, this situation will resolve itself.

Seungkwan says this is not a solution.

Seungkwan has never appreciated innovation.

FINAL OBSERVATION

I think I've been in love with Y/N for a while.

Long enough that I stopped noticing when it happened.

Long enough that dancing with them stopped feeling like pretending.

Long enough that the choreography became honest without me realizing it.

This seems important.

Unfortunately, I am currently too busy ruining my own life to investigate further.

K.S

—

The problem with leaving dramatically is that eventually you have to stop leaving. Unfortunately, there are only so many places on campus where you can hide before reality catches up to you.

Reality, as it turns out, wears oversized practice clothes and has a tendency to follow you around until you listen.

Three days pass before you speak to Soonyoung properly. Three days of avoided messages. Three days of rehearsals cancelled under increasingly ridiculous excuses. Three days of pretending the final presentation is not rapidly approaching.

The psychology department is unimpressed. The dance department is unimpressed. Your friends are extremely unimpressed.

You are sitting in an empty practice room attempting to ignore seventeen unread messages when the door suddenly opens.

Seungkwan walks in. Looks at you. Looks at the phone in your hand. Then closes the door behind him.

"Oh good."

You immediately know this is going to be unpleasant.

"What?"

"I'm about to say something as your friend."

"No."

"And you're going to hate it."

"No."

"And then you're going to realize I'm right."

"No."

He pulls a chair around and sits backwards on it. The posture of a man preparing for violence. Verbal violence. The worst kind.

"You know he's miserable."

You stare at the floor.

"He'll survive."

"That's not the point."

"He said it in front of everyone."

"Because he's stupid."

You can't argue with that. Unfortunately. Seungkwan notices.

"Exactly."

The silence stretches. Neither of you move. Finally, he sighs.

"You know what the annoying thing is?"

"What?"

"He didn't even realize he'd confessed."

You blink.

"What?"

"He genuinely didn't."

The words settle heavily in your chest. Because that sounds exactly like something Soonyoung would do.

Not plan. Not prepare. Just accidentally tell the truth before realizing what he'd done. Seungkwan shakes his head.

"Nobody should be that emotionally constipated and emotionally honest at the same time."

"That isn't a thing."

"It is when it's him."

Against your better judgement, you laugh. Seungkwan points accusingly.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The reason this entire situation is ridiculous."

You narrow your eyes. He narrows his right back.

"You like him."

You immediately look away. Unfortunately, your silence answers for you. Seungkwan groans.

"Oh my god."

"Stop."

"You actually do."

"Stop."

"You're both unbelievable."

He throws his hands into the air.

"Do you know how annoying you've been?"

"I haven't done anything."

"You've spent months staring at each other."

"We have not."

"You literally choreographed a love story."

"It wasn't—"

"It absolutely was."

You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Nothing comes out. Seungkwan stands. Victorious. The worst kind of victorious.

"I hate being right."

"You love being right."

"That's true."

He heads for the door. Then pauses. For a moment, his expression softens.

"If it helps, he's just as scared as you are."

The door closes behind him. Leaving you alone. And with far too much to think about.

—

The next day, you find Soonyoung waiting outside the studio. Of course you do. For a brief moment, neither of you move. Neither of you speak.

Months ago, this silence would have been impossible. Now it feels strangely natural. The familiar shape of him. The familiar weight of his presence. The familiar nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck.

You know all of them now. Far too well.

"Hi."

His voice is quieter than usual. You hate how relieved you feel hearing it.

"Hi."

The silence returns. Then—

"I'm sorry."

The words come immediately. Before you can speak. Before you can react. Like he's been carrying them around for days.

"I shouldn't have said that in front of everyone."

You swallow.

"So you didn't mean it?"

His head snaps up. The answer arrives so quickly it almost startles you.

"No."

The word hangs between you. Then—

"No, that's not what I mean."

His eyes close briefly.

"See? This is why talking is terrible."

Despite everything, a laugh escapes. Small. Unexpected. His shoulders relax slightly. Just slightly.

"I meant..." He exhales slowly. "I meant I shouldn't have said it like that."

Something shifts. The air feels different. Lighter. More fragile.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you like that."

Your pulse begins climbing. Dangerously.

"What way were you supposed to tell me?"

The question slips out before you can stop it. Soonyoung freezes. Immediately. You watch the realization hit him.

The understanding. The opportunity. The absolute panic.

His eyes widen.

"Oh."

For a moment he genuinely looks like he'd rather perform six consecutive dance showcases than continue this conversation.

Then he laughs softly. Disbelieving. At himself. At the situation. At both of you.

"Honestly?"

You wait.

"I had no plan."

That sounds right. Painfully right. A smile pulls at your mouth.

"So your strategy was to accidentally confess during an academic presentation?"

"Apparently."

"That's terrible."

"I know."

You stare at each other. The distance between you suddenly feels much smaller than before. The months of rehearsals. The study sessions. The coffee runs. The choreography. The trust exercises. Every moment begins stacking together.

One after another. Until neither of you can pretend anymore.

"Soonyoung."

His breath catches. Just slightly.

"Yeah?"

You look directly at him. And decide you're tired. Tired of avoiding. Tired of pretending. Tired of acting like the best part of your week isn't standing beside him.

"I think I started falling for you during the blindfold exercise."

The confession arrives quietly. Without drama. Without fanfare. Without choreography. Yet somehow it feels more terrifying than any performance you've ever given. For one horrifying second, Soonyoung simply stares. Then his entire face changes.

Like sunrise. Like someone switched on every light in the room.

"You did?"

You immediately regret saying anything.

"Don't make me repeat it."

His grin appears. Slowly. Wonderfully.

"You liked me during the blindfold exercise."

"I hate you."

"You trusted me."

"I regret everything."

"You totally trusted me."

You cover your face. Somewhere above you, Soonyoung laughs. The sound is warm. Familiar. Dangerously fond.

When your hands finally lower, he's still smiling. Still looking at you. Like he can't quite believe you're real.

Neither can you.

—

The final presentation arrives three days later. The auditorium is full. Far too full. Faculty members.

Students. Researchers. Friends.

People who absolutely have better things to do than attend a psychology presentation. Yet somehow everyone is here. Especially Seungkwan. Who looks entirely too excited.

The traitor.

Backstage, the nervous energy feels overwhelming. You adjust your costume. Check your shoes. Check them again. Beside you, Soonyoung bounces lightly on his feet.

Anxious. Excited. Both. The familiar sight settles something inside your chest. You reach out. Without thinking. 

Your fingers find his.

Immediately. The movement surprises both of you. His eyes widen. Then soften. The smile he gives you is small. Private. Different from the bright ones he shares with everyone else. This one belongs only to you.

"You ready?"

You squeeze his hand.

"Yeah."

And for the first time all semester, you actually mean it.

—

When the music begins, everything else disappears.

The audience. The researchers. The expectations. The nerves.

Gone.

Only the dance remains. The story remains.

The two of you remain.

The choreography no longer feels like acting. Perhaps it never did. Because every moment now carries the truth beneath it.

The curiosity. The friendship. The trust. The affection. The love.

None of it needs translating anymore. You don't have to perform it. You simply have to let it exist. And somehow that makes the dance more beautiful than either of you imagined.

When the final note fades, the silence that follows feels endless. Then applause erupts.

Loud. Immediate. Overwhelming.

Beside you, Soonyoung is breathing hard. Smiling.

Looking happier than you've ever seen him. You realize you're smiling too. Neither of you stop.

—

Later, during the presentation of findings, one of the graduate researchers clears her throat.

"Our study found that strong nonverbal synchronization was often associated with emotional familiarity, trust, and interpersonal attachment."

The audience nods. Notes are taken. Slides advance. Then the researcher smiles. A dangerous smile. The kind that means trouble.

"In one particular partnership, the synchronization scores exceeded every prediction in our original model."

The room begins laughing. Because everyone knows exactly which partnership she's talking about. You bury your face in your hands.

 Soonyoung looks delighted. The researcher continues.

"Although the study cannot scientifically prove romantic feelings..."

More laughter.

"...the data certainly suggested something."

The entire auditorium turns toward you. Immediately. 

Traitors.

Every single one of them. 

Beside you, Soonyoung groans. Then laughs. Then reaches for your hand beneath the table.

And doesn't let go.

—

[CASE FILE 004]

Status update:

Y/N likes me back.

This feels important.

Scientific conclusion:

Mirror neurons are real.

Synchronization is real.

Psychology students are terrifying.

Seungkwan is annoying.

Most important finding:

Apparently dancing like you're in love becomes significantly easier when you actually are.

Who knew?

(Everyone knew.)

Additional note:

Y/N laughed today.

Still my favourite thing.

Final conclusion:

Best research project ever.

Peer reviewed.

Statistically significant.

Tiger approved.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Mingyu’s bedroom, tugging at the hem of your oversized shirt. It barely covered the top of your thighs, and no matter how many times you adjusted it, you still felt… exposed. Too soft. Too thick. Not the long, toned legs you saw on every idol and influencer.

You sighed, turning sideways. Why can’t they just be smaller? The thought was automatic now, a quiet little voice that followed you into every dressing room and every summer outfit.

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. You didn’t even hear him come in.

“Baby,” Mingyu murmured, voice still husky from sleep, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you lied, trying to pull the shirt down further.

He hummed, unconvinced. His hands slid down to rest on your hips, thumbs gently stroking the skin just under the hem. Then lower. His palms cupped the sides of your thighs like they were made to fit there.

“You’re staring at my favorite part of you again,” he said softly.

Your cheeks burned. “Gyu…”

“No, listen.” He turned you around to face him, tilting your chin up so you had to meet those big, earnest eyes.

“I’ve been obsessed with these thighs since the first time you let me put my head on your lap during movie night. Remember?”

You nodded shyly.

“I kept thinking… how soft. How warm. How perfectly they squish when I grab them.”

His hands demonstrated, squeezing gently, reverently.

“They’re so fucking pretty.”

You tried to look away, but he chased your gaze.

“I know you don’t like them,” he said, quieter now. “I see the way you hide them under long clothes even when it’s hot. But baby… they drive me crazy. In the best way.”

He walked you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed, then gently pushed you down so you were sitting. Mingyu dropped to his knees in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His large hands parted your thighs just enough for him to settle between them, cheek resting against one like it was a pillow.

“See?” he whispered, turning his head to press a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Your breath hitched.

His lips were so warm, so deliberate. He kissed again, a little higher, then sucked lightly, just enough to make your fingers thread through his hair.

“Mingyu—”

“Hm?” He looked up at you through his lashes, eyes dark but so full of love it made your chest ache.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You didn’t.

He took his time, mapping every inch like he was memorizing you. Kissing the stretch marks you hated, tracing the softness with his tongue, squeezing the plush flesh between his fingers while groaning like it was him getting spoiled.

“Love how they shake when I do this,” he murmured, giving a playful jiggle before kissing the spot again. “Love how they wrap around me so tight when you’re riding my face.

Love how they look with my hands all over them. They’re mine, yeah?”

You nodded, voice small. “Yours.”

“That’s right.” He nipped gently, then soothed it with his tongue. “Don’t ever hide them from me. I want to see them in my shirts. In your little shorts. In nothing. All the time.”

He climbed up onto the bed, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling his waist. His hands immediately returned to your thighs, spreading them wider over him, thumbs rubbing circles into the soft skin.

“You’re so beautiful it hurts sometimes,” he said, almost to himself. “And these thighs? They’re my weakness. My safe place. My favorite thing to hold onto when the world feels too loud.”

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, and he sighed into your mouth like he’d been waiting for it all morning. When you pulled back, his hands were still kneading your thighs possessively.

“Gonna make you love them as much as I do,” he promised, voice low. “One kiss at a time if I have to.”

You laughed softly, burying your face in his neck. He smelled like home warm skin, faint cologne, and safety.

And for the first time in a long time, when his hands stayed glued to your thighs, stroking and holding like he couldn’t bear to let go… you didn’t want to pull away.

End.

Hope this hits the spot, anon 💕 Mingyu would so be the type to turn your insecurities into his favorite obsession.

Taglist 🥂

[ONE]

Filtered sunlight beaming through the treetops hits your eyes as you step out into the quad, making you squint in the sudden brightness that starkly contrasts the dim interior of the Literature Hall you were just in. The air is crisp — not yet chilly, but fresh and invigorating, a tell-tale sign of fall being right around the corner. The quad is buzzing with life, students chattering as they stroll to class, bikes zipping past you on the sidewalk, every bench and shaded spot under a tree occupied with people laughing, reading, relaxing. You leisurely make your way over to your usual spot, but as you approach the small oak near the Communications Building you see two girls you don't recognize sitting in the grass beneath its low branches. Puzzled, you look around, but then you spot a familiar lanky figure standing outside the Comms building. His back is turned to you, so all you can see is the mess of long dark hair upon his head, but the baggy flannel shirt and the black backpack adorned with various pins and patches slung over one shoulder are a dead giveaway. As you head in his direction, you see he appears to be staring straight ahead at a lamppost.

"Hey dork, I was looking for you," you call out playfully as you walk toward him, but he doesn't seem to hear you. Getting closer, you spot the pair of headphones on his head, the wire plugged into the portable CD player in his hand — the loud, raucous sounds of Linkin Park blaring in his ears tinnily resonating through the air from halfway across the sidewalk. When you get within arm's reach you tug on the handle of his backpack. He nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around and yanking the headphones off his head with a startled expression on his face. When he sees it's you, he relaxes, but not without majorly rolling his eyes.

"Jesus, you fucking scared me," he sighs. He lifts the CD player in his hand and pauses the song, the banging melody ringing through the foam-covered headphones ceasing.

"Sorry," you apologize, but a wide grin spreads on your face. "I didn't think you'd react that much. What are you doing, anyway?" you ask, looking over to the lamppost.

"Nothing," he says quickly, but a flier with bold text catches your eye.

Do you like punk music? Do you like radio? WFVC 90.5 is HIRING for a DJ position! No experience necessary, Communications majors preferred. APPLY NOW at the station (Comms Building 2nd Floor)

"Oh my god, Jeonghan this is perfect!" you exclaim, but your friend shakes his head.

"I was just looking."

"Dude, you HAVE to apply. This is literally your dream job!"

Jeonghan frowns. "I doubt they would hire me."

"What the hell are you talking about? You're exactly the person they're looking for," you tell him. And it's true — Foxville College's singular radio station may be a local joint, but it's famous across all of Wisconsin for being the station for underground grunge, punk, and alternative rock. You've been listening to it since you were a kid, and its where your love of the genres originated. Jeonghan happens to share the exact same music taste — it's how you became friends in the first place back in Freshman year.

"Hey!" Jeonghan calls after you as you both exit the same building. You had just came from the same class, Intro to Poetry, but it's the very first day of school, so he doesn't know your name. But he saw your notebook fall out of your half-open backpack, and you didn't notice it.

He picks up the small, black leather notebook and quickly zips after you. "Excuse me," he tries again, but you're wearing headphones. Your music is loud, and familiar. He taps on your shoulder, startling you slightly.

"Hi, sorry," Jeonghan tells you as you turn to face him, shifting the headphones off one ear so you can hear. "You dropped this." You look at his hands as he extends the notebook to you.

"Oh! That is mine," you remark, taking your headphones off fully now and pausing your music.

"Yeah, your backpack was open."

You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, the bag is half-unzipped.

"Whoops," you tell him with a lighthearted laugh, taking the notebook and putting it back in the bag, making sure to close it all the way this time. "Well, thank you, I appreciate it," you say with a friendly smile. You go to put your headphones back on and walk away, but before you can do so he points at your portable CD player.

"Are you listening to Green Day?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah! I am!" you reply excitedly. "It's the Dookie album, one of my faves."

"That album is so good," he agrees with a smile. "I don't mean this in a rude way or anything," he says shyly. "But you I wouldn't have guessed you'd be into punk music."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," you say with a laugh. "I don't particularly dress very edgy or anything. Maybe I should start dressing the part."

"Wear whatever you want," he responds with a shrug. "The most punk rock thing you can do is be yourself."

"That's very true," you grin back at him. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"I'm Jeonghan," he replies with a soft smile. "It's nice to meet you."

And so you and Jeonghan quickly became friends. He's a pretty quiet guy, very much the opposite of your bubbly, sociable self; but despite your differences you get along well. He's also pretty much the only person you know who likes the same type of music as you, so you definitely share a close bond over that.

"Besides," you say to Jeonghan. "You really should get a job anyway."

"Hey!" he pouts. "Are you calling me broke?"

"Yes. Because you are."

The left corner of his mouth lifts slightly, giving you a half-grin. "So are you, moron."

You playfully give him a light punch in the arm. "Takes one to know one."

"I'll think about it," he concedes.

"You better. If not then I'll submit the application for you."

"Pretty sure that's not allowed," he replies, raising a brow at you.

"Like that's gonna stop me," you inform him.

"Unfortunately, I believe that," he chuckles, rolling his eyes again. "Anyway, c'mon," he says to as he starts walking off. "I have a surprise for you."

"Oh god, what have you done now?" you pretend to complain as you follow after him.

"No no, you're gonna like this one," he grins. "I promise."

"Okay, well now I know where we're going," you say as Jeonghan turns onto Harton Street. The street boasts a Dead End sign, and it's path is winding. You can't see much past the trees, but you know there is only one reason to come down this way.

"I was here over the weekend," you inform him. "I don't need to buy anything else."

"Oh please, like you'd pass up the opportunity to get some new vinyl," he grins.

"Dude, I'm already living off ramen."

"Just trust me."

"Okaaay," you reply, feigning skepticism. "If you say so."

The tires of Jeonghan's 1991 Mercury Tracer crunch as he turns off the main road onto a white gravel drive. A humble building comes into view, its exterior painted pastel yellow with a giant sign reading TURNPIKE RECORDS in a large, swirling font that looks straight out of the 1970s. A neon sign resides in the window, flickering slightly but advertising that the shop is open. There's only one other car in the small lot: a pristine, hot red Chevy Camaro also straight out of the 70s, belonging to the shop's owner.

Jeonghan parks the car and the two of you head into the store. The front door squeaks as you open it, an assortment of small bronze bells hanging above the door ringing out to announce your entry. The familiar, slightly-musty scent of the used record store fills your nose as you walk down the three steps taking you to the shop floor. Aside from the natural light from the window, the place is pretty dim, lit mainly by a couple of bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling and a variety of glowing lava lamps of all shapes, sizes, and colors placed throughout the room. Nearly every inch of wall is covered in a hodge-podge of framed posters and photographs, giving the whole place a chaotic but vibrant feel. Without a doubt, this is your favorite spot in town.

"I wonder if they have the new Muse album yet," you comment, meandering through the empty shop over to the Rock section.

"Not yet," Jeonghan replies as he starts flipping through a nearby discount bin. "I checked already."

You hear a faint swoosh come from behind you. You turn around to see a tall, heavily-tattooed man carrying a large box emerging from the thick velvet curtain that leads to the back of the store — none other than the shop's owner, Tripp. He's in his mid-40s, bald except for a long goatee on his chin, and he has more earrings than you can even count.

"Hey hey, I thought I heard my favorite customers out here!" Tripp says cheerfully when he sees you and Jeonghan. He sets the box on top of the counter, brushing his hands off and coming out to greet you on the floor.

"Oh please, you say that to everyone," you grin at the man.

"Definitely not," he shakes his head. "Besides, between the both of you you guys are keeping me in business. Speaking of," he says as he suddenly snaps and points at you. "I got something for ya."

He quickly returns to the counter and retrieves something from the shelves beneath the register. He walks back to you and hands you an album, light gray in color. You flip it over, and your jaw drops. It's a Japanese edition of Led Zeppelin IV — your favorite album of all time.

"Your friend told me you've been looking for this one," he tells you, nodding his head in Jeonghan's direction. "He convinced me to set it aside for you."

"Wow, that's so nice thank you!!" you tell Tripp excitedly. "How much?"

"Don't worry about it. It's already paid for."

"What?!"

You look over at Jeonghan, but he just smiles back at you sheepishly.

"What the hell, thank you," you grin at him. "You did not have to do that though."

"Actually, I did," Jeonghan admits. "Tripp made me."

Tripp lets out a hearty laugh. "Well regardless, I'm glad it's in the hands of someone I know will really appreciate it."

"Let me pay you back," you say to Jeonghan as Tripp returns to restocking, but he just shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it, really," he tells you warmly.

"Okay, fine. But you're gonna come over and listen to this with me," you insist, poking him in the chest. "We can smoke and I'll order pizza."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Sounds like a deal to me," he grins.

brrrrrrr

brrrrrrr

The dull trill of the phone rings in your ear as you wait for the call to connect. You've only hit the bong once, but your head already feels like you're floating in the clouds. You mindlessly twirl the cord around your index finger, and you're halfway zoned out by the time the other line picks up.

"Arthur's Pizzeria," a cheerful voice suddenly speaks into your ear. "How can I help you?"

"Yeah hi!" you blurt out in your mildly startled state. "Can I order one large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese for delivery?"

"You got it! What's the address?"

"22 Elmwood Street, Unit 201."

"Great! It'll be about 20 minutes."

With a click you set the handset back onto the hook, returning to the living room. Your roommate won't be back until later, so you two have the place to yourselves — perfect for getting high and lazing around without judgment. Jeonghan sits on the couch, sinking into the cushions already and staring off into space. It takes him a moment to register that you're back; when he notices you, he tries to sit up, but the effort required for it currently seems monumental.

"Pizza ordered?" he asks, peering at you through lazy eyelids.

"Yup," you reply as you plop onto the other end of the couch. "Be here in 20."

"Sweet," he grins. You reach for the bong, grabbing the lighter next to it and lighting a bit more of the bowl. After a decently fat rip and a few solid coughs, you extend it out to Jeonghan.

"Man, I'm so high already," he groans, but he takes the colorful swirled glass from your hand anyway. "Where'd you get this grass?"

"Got it from Joshua," you reply, lifting your feet up onto the couch and tucking them beside you.

"Oh," Jeonghan replies, giving you a look as he exhales a cloud of smoke and hands the bong back over.

"What's your deal with Joshua?" you question, raising your brow at him.

"What? Nothing," he says quickly. "We should open a window."

He gets to his feet and walks across the room, lifting the nearest window up as far as it will go. It's a nice evening — the crisp air from earlier has gotten cooler, but it feels delightful as it begins to drift into the apartment in the light breeze.

"I know you don't like him," you continue, not letting Jeonghan ignore your question. "But I've never known why."

"I never said I didn't like him," he denies, flopping back onto the couch.

"You didn't have to," you point out. "Your face says it all."

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. "Curse my expressive nature. Anyway, I dunno, he just always seems like he's trying to make a move on you."

"Oh, he's like that with everyone," you reply matter-of-factly.

"Right."

"He is," you affirm. "And besides, so what if he was?"

"Huh?" Jeonghan pipes up, seemingly surprised by your question. "Oh, I just mean… I just don't trust guys who are always talking to girls that. Seems sleazy."

"No, really," you reiterate. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay," he concedes skeptically. "If you say so."

"Should we play some Zeppelin?" you ask, getting up to go grab the record. Jeonghan's face lights up.

"Fuck yeah," he grins.

You put the album on, the signature bold, heavy sounds of the band greeting your ears as you crank up the volume. As you sit there listening, you finish off the bowl with Jeonghan, the air of your apartment now completely overtaken by smoke despite the open window.

"When's that damn pizza gonna get here?" he mumbles, but before you can even respond you hear a knock coming from the front door.

"Whoa, you summoned it," you giggle, rising to your feet a bit too quickly and stumbling slightly on your way over to the door. You answer, having a quick conversation with the usual delivery boy before paying and scurrying back over to the couch, the heavenly smell of hot, greasy pepperoni pizza joining the weed aroma in the room. You don't even bother with plates, instead simply picking up the slices and shoveling them directly into your hungry mouths. The conversation remains paused for a few minutes; you zone out, letting yourself get lost in the music, but eventually your conversation with Jeonghan earlier pops back into your head.

"You really should apply to that DJ job," you say, turning to him, but he just shrugs.

"Eh, I don't think I'd get it."

"Not with that attitude you won't."

"You always say that," he rolls his eyes.

"It's true!" you insist. "Jeonghan, come on. This is basically your dream job, and you're literally the perfect guy for it. Just apply and see what happens!"

"Maybe, I dunno."

"Besides," you add. "You need the money to fund your poor spending habits."

"Hey!" he balks. "I do not have poor spending habits."

You pick up the vinyl sleeve, tapping the little yellow sticker on the cover with a messy $40 scribbled on it in black ink.

"Yeah, you do."

He groans, letting his head fall back into the couch. "You're so annoying," he says to you with a grin.

"Takes one to know one," you tease back. He grabs the nearest throw pillow, lobbing it at you and hitting you in the arm.

"Okay, I probably earned that," you admit with a laugh.

The current song ends, the gentle guitar strums of "Stairway to Heaven" filling your ears as the iconic song begins.

"Oh shit, shut up," you tell Jeonghan, launching the pillow right back at him. He jumps slightly as the unexpected pillow hits him in the chest with a soft thump. "I fucking love this song."

He is about to tell you that duh, everybody with a brain loves this song — but your eyes are closed already, bobbing your head slightly to the beat, clearly already lost in it; so he just shakes his head, chuckling silently to himself.

The both of you feel like you're drifting to a higher plane as the song progresses, fully immersed in the grand crescendo you've both heard so many times yet have never tired of. When it ends, your eyes flutter open again, finding Jeonghan fully sunk into the other end of the couch. You start to wonder if he actually fell asleep, but then he lifts his head, opening his eyes to look at you.

"You know how some people say a hot dog is a sandwich?" he asks. You stare at him for a moment, trying to comprehend in your inebriated state what it was he just said.

"Who the fuck says that?" you inquire once you finally process his question.

"I dunno. People."

"Stupid people, maybe."

"I mean, yeah," he agrees. "But like… do you think pizza is a sandwich?"

You stare at him for a moment. "What?"

"I don't know, it's got bread and cheese and meat and tomatoes, right? Those things go on sandwiches."

"You're high as shit, dumbass," you tell him.

"Okay, well watch this!" He reaches over to the pizza box and picks up a new slice. Turning to show it to you, he slowly folds it in half. "See? That's a sandwich!"

"Oh shut the fuck up," you reply, but you can't help but laugh.

Jeonghan munches on his pizza-sandwich while you reach for your stash, refilling the bowl and lighting up again. When he finishes, you hand the bong over.

"Not like either of us needs it, but whatever man," you say with a pleased grin.

With heavy, banging drum beats, the last song on the album begins to play. This one has always been Jeonghan's favorite, you recall despite being astronomically faded. You glance over at him, finding him staring out the open window into the now-dark night. Certainly not out of the ordinary, but something about him in this moment seems… sad, almost. He notices you watching him, but he seems to have become self-conscious, averting your gaze.

"What's on your mind?"

Jeonghan continues staring out the window, but he lets out a small sigh.

"Do you ever think about how big the universe is?" he asks. "And then it makes you realize how small and meaningless we really are?"

You pause for a minute, considering the gravity of his question.

"No, not really," you finally answer gently. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answers instinctively; but after thinking about it for a moment, he adds: "But sometimes I wonder if I'm not."

"In what way?"

"Just… the whole entire world feels impossibly huge, yet Earth is just a tiny pale blue dot compared to the whole galaxy. In the grand scheme of things, we're nothing. Nothing we do matters."

"I don't think that's true at all."

Jeonghan finally looks over to you, staring at you curiously.

"But how? How can anything have any meaning if we are so tiny?"

"I think that makes everything all that much more meaningful," you reply. "Like… the universe is so huge and vast and yet here we are, chillin' together, existing at just the right time to eat pizza and listen to Zepp. I just think that's a really nice thought."

"Hmm," he mumbles, opening his mouth to say something else — but his words never come. At this point he is so physically relaxed that he seems fused to the couch.

"You're fuckin' blasted, dude," you giggle, reaching over and shaking him playfully.

"Am nottttt," he pouts, but moments later he starts giggling too. "Okay, fine, I am. But, I guess I've just never thought of it that way before."

The album ends, the room falling silent. You get up, casually shuffling over to your ever-growing collection of records that is now taking up the entire corner of the small living room.

"What next?" you ask Jeonghan over your shoulder.

"Surprise me."

You peruse through your titles, not sure exactly what you're looking for; but then one catches your eye.

"Ooh, got it," you say with a grin. You replace the vinyl on the turntable and set the needle in position, the sounds of Dookie by Green Day playing aloud in the room, making Jeonghan smile too.

[TWO]

You stroll through the library, exiting the stacks to make your way to your next class. On your way out, you're surprised to spot Jeonghan, sitting alone at one of the tables. Unexpected — as he usually spends most of his free time out in the quad or in the Comms Building's study space; if he's in the library, it's usually just to take a nap. He has a book on the desk beside him, but it's closed, and he instead seems to be intensely focused on a piece of paper, brow furrowed and deep in thought. You walk over to him, but he doesn't notice you approaching. As you near the desk you can see the word APPLICATION in bold font at the top of the paper.

"Yay, you're doing it!!" you say to him as you appear beside him, shaking him by the shoulder excitedly and making him nearly fly out of his seat.

"Jesus Christ you have got to stop sneaking up on me!" he yelps quietly, but it still earns him a glare from a nearby librarian. She raises her finger to her lips, shushing the two of you before going back to re-shelving books. You sit down in the chair next to him, scooting in close enough so you can whisper.

"This is so exciting!" you tell him in a hushed voice, but he sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm not even sure if I'm gonna turn it in," he admits.

"What? Dude, you're halfway there, just finish and go turn it in!"

"I don't know," he frowns. "They're probably just gonna laugh at me."

You raise your brow at him. "Why on earth would you think they'd do that?"

"Most people do," he shrugs.

"Well, even if they do — which they won't — who cares?" you question. "Just follow your dreams, don't let other people get in the way."

The librarian turns around again, her displeased glare telling you you're still being too loud for her liking.

"C'mon," you say to Jeonghan. "Finish up your application and let's get out of here."

He quickly fills out the rest of the form and you ditch the library together. Jeonghan is done with classes for the day, but he accompanies you across the quad to your next class.

"What are you up to tonight?" he asks. He kicks a pebble along the sidewalk as he walks; you watch his dingy old converse scuff against the ground as he does, noticing the small hole forming in the toe of his right shoe.

"I'm getting dinner with Mark," you reply casually. You see his face drop slightly out of the corner of your eye.

"Basketball team Mark?"

"Yep! We have History of Feminist Literature together, though he's a Economics major so he's just taking it for an elective."

"Hm," Jeonghan says out loud without meaning to.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just hardly ever go on dates, that's all."

"Oh, it's not a date," you say plainly, but you see him roll his eyes. "It's not!!" you insist. "We're just friends."

"I doubt he sees it that way."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because dudes only think with their dicks."

"Are you speaking from experience?" you inquire teasingly.

"This is not about me," he mutters, looking mildly embarrassed as he avoids eye contact. Luckily for him, you've arrived at the Literature Hall, giving him an excuse to change the subject.

"Hope you have a good class," he tells you warmly.

"Thanks," you reply with a smile. "Now you go turn in that job application or I'm going to kick your ass."

"I will," he laughs.

"Pinky promise?" you ask, extending your hand. He chuckles, but he connects pinkies with you.

"I promise."

"Good!" you tell him with a grin. "See ya later!"

"See ya," he smiles back.

You unlock your front door quietly, trying not to make noise and wake up your roommate considering how late it is by now. But as you enter the apartment you see her sitting at the computer, back turned to you as she is absorbed in whatever is on the screen.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd still be up," you say as you shut the door and kick your shoes off.

"Oh hey," Mina replies as she turns around to greet you. She lifts her wrist to peer at her watch. "Damn, I didn't realize how late it was."

"What are you doing on the computer?" you inquire, walking over to the desk out of curiosity.

"It's this new MySpace website Irene told me about," she replies, turning back around and double-clicking on something. "It's so sick, I've been here all night making my profile."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of that," you tell her as you watch her scroll through her profile. "Seems pretty cool."

"You should make one!" she tells you. "I can add you to my Top 8 friends."

"Oh, maybe. I'm still getting used to this whole Internet thing, honestly," you laugh.

"Soooo," Mina starts, shutting down the computer and heading into the kitchen. "How was your date with Mark?"

"It wasn't a date," you tell her. "I don't know why everyone keeps saying that."

"Okay, whatever," she responds, browsing through the snack cabinet for a minute before deciding on the bag of Cheeto Puffs. "How was your not-date?"

"It was… good."

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"No, it was!" you assure her. "It's just that… I don't know, he kinda just talked about basketball the whole time."

"Ugh. Typical guy shit," Mina rolls her eyes.

"He's really nice, though…" you say, though you're not sure if you're trying to convince her or yourself more.

"Nice enough to go on a second date — sorry, not-date with?" she raises her brow at you.

"Well, I don't know about that…"

You sigh, feeling a bit dejected suddenly. It's not like you're trying to date or anything, but you can't deny that it would be kinda nice to have at least a little bit more success.

"Maybe I should just give up on dating," you grimace.

Mina pops another Cheeto in her mouth. "I mean, I don't know why you bother. You basically already have a BF."

"What?" you ask, puzzled. "No I don't?"

"C'mon, you're literally hanging out with what's-his-name all the time. The metalhead."

"Jeonghan?? He's not into metal."

"Okay, whatever noise it is you guys listen to."

"It's called punk, and it's cool."

"Riiight."

"Anyway, he's just my friend," you tell her. Her lips curve into a slight grin, and she gives you a look.

"Sure he is."

"I can be friends with dudes!"

"Dudes only think with their dicks," she retorts, echoing Jeonghan's exact words from earlier.

"He's not like that," you assure her.

"Well that's rare, if true. Maybe you should date him."

You roll your eyes, but you're tired. Mina means well, but you don't really feel like having this conversation right now. Luckily, she's already putting her snack away, and then heads off to her room.

"Anyway, I'm off to bed. Goodnight!"

You too head off to bed, but as you brush your teeth you start to think about what Mina said. What if Jeonghan does see me as more than a friend? you wonder to yourself. After all, he did say the exact same thing earlier, too. You don't think he meant it in that way, but now you're beginning to second-guess your intuition…

You go straight to bed, deciding not to think about it anymore tonight.

[THREE]

You have some time between classes, so you take up residence in your usual spot in the quad, sitting on the ground reclined against your usual tree. Fall is officially here now, and it's a bit cold out, but you're perfectly comfortable in your thick sweater and windbreaker. Out of the corner of your eye, you suddenly see something in the distance charging directly at you. Looking up from your book, you see Jeonghan, forgoing the sidewalks and sprinting across the grass straight toward you, waving and flailing his arms like a maniac.

"You look like a psychopath," you call to him as he approaches.

"I got it!!!"

"Got wha— wait, the DJ job?!" you perk up excitedly.

"YES!!"

He plops down on the ground next to you, out of breath from running, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Holy shit, congrats!!" you tell him enthusiastically. "See, I told you you'd get it!"

"I can't believe I almost ripped up the application and threw it in the trash."

"Jeonghan!" you blurt out, hitting him playfully in the arm, but he just shakes his head and laughs.

"I didn't though! You made me pinky promise."

"This is amazing! When do you start?"

"Tonight, actually," he answers. "Unfortunately, I'm stuck on the late night shift since I'm a newbie — 10pm–4am."

"Oh, yikes," you reply concernedly, but he shrugs it off.

"It's fine," he smiles. "I don't sleep anyway."

"Damn, I guess I'm never gonna see you again," you say jokingly, but an unexpected wave of sadness washes over you as your own words sink in.

"No way," he shakes his head resolutely. "We're still gonna hang out. I'll find a way to make it happen."

A fluttering sensation hits your stomach. You hang out with Jeonghan all the time, so you're not sure why you'd have this reaction. But something about the way he said it — "I'll find a way"— feels… different. But, regardless, you're just glad you're still going to be able to see your friend.

"What are you doing until then?" you inquire.

"I was just gonna go grab a bite at the dining hall and then go nap in the library."

"Wanna go to Jacq's instead?" you ask. "My treat."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Hell yeah," he grins. "That sounds like a way better idea."

The low hum of neon lights buzzes gently through the tune of the usual rotation of 1960s hits as you and Jeonghan sit in the corner booth, chatting and giggling over your meal. Jacqueline's Diner is an old-fashioned joint, and the majority of its clientele is over the age of 60 — but the food is cheap, greasy, and delicious, so the two of you are practically regulars. Jeonghan ordered his usual, chicken tenders and a Cherry Coke float; you opted for a grilled cheese and chocolate milkshake, and you ordered a basket of fries to share.

"You heard about this MySpace?" Jeonghan asks, dipping three large, salty fries in ketchup and shoving them all into his mouth at once.

"Oh yeah," you say, picking the maraschino cherry off the top of the whipped cream and eating it one bite. "Mina's on there, she told me about it. Seems pretty cool."

"I think it sounds lame," he shrugs indifferently.

"What? Why?"

"I dunno, the whole Top 8 friends is kinda weird. Just sounds like one big popularity contest if you ask me."

"Yeah, I guess so," you agree.

"Besides, I don't even have eight friends."

"Oh shut up," you retort. "That's not true!"

"It's okay," Jeonghan chuckles. "I'm just not the kind of guy who has a lot of friends."

"We'll I'd put you in my Top 8," you tell him, but he rolls his eyes. "It's true, I would!"

"C'mon, y/n," he laughs. "You have so many friends."

"Mmm, not really," you reply. "Not ones I hang out with on the regular, anyway. It's mostly you and Mina these days."

"Well, thanks for hanging out with me," he says sheepishly.

"You say that like it's a charity case," you tease him. "I hang out with you because I like you, moron."

Jeonghan says nothing, sipping on his float instead, but the big grin creeping across his face is undeniable.

"So," you ask after a bite of grilled cheese. "Are you excited?"

"For the job?"

"No, for Christmas," you reply jokingly. "Yes, the job!!"

"I guess so," he shrugs. "Mostly I'm just nervous."

"Why?"

"Because what if I'm bad at it and they fire me?"

"Jeonghan, that is not going to happen."

"But I don't know what I'm doing!" he frowns.

"Dude, nobody knows what they're doing when they start a new job," you remind him. "Besides, they're going to train you! You'll learn the ropes in no time."

"What if I don't?"

"I find that hard to believe. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, Hannie. Stop being so hard on yourself."

"Easier said than done," he replies lightheartedly, but his lack of confidence still shows.

"Why is that?" you inquire.

He thinks for a moment. "I don't know," he eventually answers. "Sometimes it just feels like there's a little voice in my head telling me I suck at everything and that I should just give up."

"I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm okay, I promise," he smiles softly at you. "Sorry for being sad so much."

"You don't have to apologize for that," you tell him firmly. "You're my friend and I'm here for you no matter what."

A couple remaining fries sit at the bottom of the basket, calling to you from the red-and-white checkered paper lining. You reach for them, but Jeonghan does too, your hands colliding over the table.

"Ope, sorry," he says timidly, retracting his hand. "You can have it."

"No, you take it," you insist, sliding the basket toward him. "You've got a long night ahead of you, you need the fuel. Speaking of, want another float?"

"No, it's oka—"

But you're already signaling to the waitress across the restaurant, pointing to Jeonghan's empty glass.

"I don't know why I asked," you tell him. "I already knew the answer."

The waitress quickly brings him a refill in a fresh glass, complete with his usual order of an extra cherry on top.

"Thanks, y/n," he smiles. "You're the best."

After you finish your meal and pay, Jeonghan drives you home. He pulls up next to the curb outside your apartment, putting the car into park and turning to face you.

"Thanks again for dinner," he smiles.

"Of course," you smile back. "I got ya. And I'll make sure to tune into WFVC tonight!"

Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm going to be on the air just yet. I think I gotta be less of a noob first."

"Well, I'll be thinking of you anyway," you tell him with a nod. He drops his head slightly, trying to hide his face behind his long hair.

"Besides, I wanna support the station — and maybe I'll find some new bands I like." You playfully give him a punch him in the arm. "Jut remember to relax, you're gonna crush it."

"I'll do my best," he promises.

"Good!" you nod, opening the passenger door and hopping out of the car. "Later skater," you smile at him, giving him a wave before shutting the door. He waves back, watching you walk toward your building, waiting until you've made it safely inside before shifting the car into gear and driving off.

[FOUR]

Jeonghan stands in the hallway, staring at the windowless, red door in front of him. He pulls a crumpled sticky note out of his jacket pocket, flattening it to reveal C-302 written in smudged pen. Looking up, he triple-checks the room number on the small metal plaque next to the door, but just as the first two times, it still reads C-302. The dozens of band stickers all over the door, some that look like they have been there for decades, are also a dead giveaway — this is it: the campus radio station. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then reaches for the door handle.

As the door swings open, a small, hectic room comes into view. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every bit of wall, overflowing with endless stacks of CD cases; the rest of the room is crammed full of all sorts of audio and mixing equipment — some he recognizes, some he doesn't — and it seems that every bit of exposed surface is covered in show posters and even more band stickers. A too-small desk pushed against the far wall houses two computers, and at one of them sits a tough-looking man with a ponytail, seemingly older than himself, but not by much — perhaps a graduate student. The man peers up as Jeonghan enters the room.

"Hi, I'm Jeonghan," he says timidly. "I'm the new student employee, I was told to meet here at 9:45—"

"Yes, hello!" the man says cheerfully, hopping out of his seat and strutting across the room to give Jeonghan a very firm handshake. "I'm A.J., I'm the one running this joint for the most part — aside from Professor Sampson, of course. You're in undergrad, yeah?"

"Yes," Jeonghan replies politely, relieved that the man doesn't have the tough-guy demeanor he initially expected. "I'm a Junior."

"Awesome, well welcome to the team bro! Johnny's almost wrapped in the booth, and then you're on," he says, pointing his thumb back at the small window in the far wall; Jeonghan tries to peer through it, but all he can see is the top of the current DJ's head, clad with chunky headphones. "But don't worry — tonight I'll be showing you the ropes, so you just have to follow my lead. Cool?"

"Yeah, cool," Jeonghan nods in agreement.

"Excellent! Well, for starters, obviously we want to keep the volume to a minimum so there's no background noises when we're on air, but the soundproofing in the booth is good enough that you can talk at a regular volume out here and nobody's gonna hear ya. Just no screaming or anything crazy. As you can see over here," he says, pointing to the packed shelves. "We have quite a number of CDs on file. Now, I assume you're familiar with the station's catalogue?" Jeonghan nods, and A.J. continues. "Good. So you know we don't play anything that's even remotely popular — and if it's ever been on the radio, forget it. Most of our inventory is underground artists, garage bands, et cetera; the purpose of this station is to put a spotlight on new or small groups, show them some love and appreciation. So unless you're big into the local scene, you probably won't have heard of most of these bands."

Jeonghan skims over the nearest shelf, sure enough finding nothing familiar. Instead he finds jewel cases boasting all sorts of unheard-of band names — plunk!, Blister, Pisswizard, The Underwater Grandmas, and Groob, to name a few.

"Anyway, few ground rules. First, if the ON AIR sign is lit, you are live. Don't go saying anything you don't want hundreds of strangers to hear. Second, keep up with the queue, but also clean up after yourself. Don't leave loose CDs laying around, and make sure they go back into their actual cases — makes everyone's jobs easier."

Jeonghan nods attentively, trying not to seem nervous, but he feels like he's not doing a very good job. A.J. seems to notice too, but he claps Jeonghan on the shoulder and gives him a grin.

"Third, and this one's the most important if you ask me: just have fun. As long as you're doing a good job, just be yourself. Nothin' to stress over, I promise."

Jeonghan hears the booth door swing open; peering over A.J.'s shoulder, he sees a tall, dark-haired student stepping out into the main room.

"Ope, looks like we're on," A.J. says to him. "Johnny, this is Jeonghan, our new night shift guy."

Johnny walks over, shaking Jeonghan's hand enthusiastically. "Welcome! Nice to meet you, bro!"

"Thanks," Jeonghan replies, slightly intimidated by how friendly everyone is being, but he smiles politely at his new coworkers.

"Catch you guys 'round!" Johnny says as he takes off, giving the other two men a cheerful salute.

"Alright, the queue will be running for another 10 minutes or so," A.J. says as he enters the booth, pointing at the unlit ON AIR sign. "So in the meantime I can show you the basics…"

As promised, A.J. gives him the rundown, going over the master audio mixer controls, how to queue up songs, how to check the logs to see what's already been played, and a few different generic scripts for radio announcements.

"Like I said, you won't be talking on air just yet. But it's good for practice — and the more you practice the more natural it'll feel," he assures him. "Alright, we're coming up on the end of the queue. Grab some discs from that stack over there — doesn't matter which ones, really — and get them ready, I'll make the announcement." He places the bulky headphones on, pulling the mic in front of him and waiting for the song's outro begin to fade. He signals to Jeonghan as he goes live, the ON AIR sign lighting up bright red above their heads.

"That was 'Bitchcraft' by the Lipstick Dollz, and you're listening to WFVC 90.5 — the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll," A.J. speaks effortlessly into the mic. "Coming up next for you this hour, we've got some more Doomcock, a few from Spaceshuttle, and The Mary Jane Planes with their newest track, "Reefer Renegade" — only here on WFVC 90.5. Don't you dare touch that fuckin' tuner!"

The ON AIR sign shuts off, its red glow disappearing as the next song begins to play.

"See? Pretty easy," A.J. grins.

"Damn, that sounds so cool when you do it," Jeonghan tells him shyly.

"Don't sweat it, man. You'll get the hang of it in no time!"

Jeonghan isn't so sure, but he tries not to let the negative thoughts win. A.J. has him running the broadcast mixer, learning how to fade in and out and how to balance everything just right. He picks up on it faster than he expected, and the rest of the late-night shift seems to fly by. The job isn't the most exciting thing, but it's fun and interesting — and Jeonghan finds he enjoys even the monotony of mindlessly shelving CDs back into their places. But it seems that as soon as there's a lull in the job, you pop into his mind. By the time it's the middle of the night, he's certain you must have gone to bed by now — but he wonders if you were actually listening earlier. Did she like the music? he muses. Did she think of me at all?

He doesn't know the answer, but he really hopes you did.

The next day, Jeonghan doesn't show up to class.

You don't actually have any classes with him this semester, but after your Advanced Creative Writing class you always meet him in the quad underneath the usual tree. He's usually there first, so you waited for him for about 10 minutes — but he never showed.

Fortunately, his apartment is within walking distance from campus, so you make your way there. You knock on his door, but no response. You try again, a bit louder; after a few moments you hear footsteps from within the unit, shuffling their way toward the front door. The door swings open, revealing a messy-haired Jeonghan wearing pajamas, looking very much like you just woke him up.

"Have you been sleeping all day??" you ask with a grin.

"I guess so," he answers, placing his hand over his mouth as he yawns. "What time even is it?"

"3:23pm," you read from your wristwatch.

"Holy shit," he grumbles. "I slept through everything."

"You must've been exhausted," you point out. "Sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to make sure you were alive."

"No, no — don't apologize," he shakes his head. "Here, come on in," he says as he swings the door open, traipsing back into the apartment. "I'll make us some coffee."

You follow your sleepy friend into his kitchen, where he locates a bag of coffee grounds and starts to brew a fresh pot.

"Soooo," you say eagerly, sitting down at the kitchen table. It's stacked with books, CDs, piles of mail, and one very ripe-looking banana sitting atop a toppled box of Lucky Charms — but you're able to clear off enough space for two coffee mugs. "How was it? Tell me everything!"

"It was actually really good!" he responds enthusiastically, leaning against the counter. The warm aroma of hot coffee drifts across the room as the dark liquid begins to drip into the carafe. "Nothing particularly exciting, since I was just training. But it's all super cool, I think I'm really going to like it."

You haven't seen Jeonghan this excited about something since he scored tickets to the blink-182 concert last summer. He's become one of your closest friends, so you know that he's generally a bit of a melancholy guy — but seeing him so passionate about something really warms your heart. Happiness is a good look on him, you think to yourself.

"What's that look for?" he inquires, raising his brow at you.

"Nothing! I'm just really excited for you," you smile at him. "I was listening last night, you know."

His face lights up. "You were?" he asks eagerly The pot begins to sputter as the coffee finishes brewing; he grabs two mugs, filling them with the beverage: one cup black, for himself, and one with a tablespoon of sugar, for you.

"Of course! I said I was going to, didn't I?"

"You did," he smiles, bringing the mugs to the table and setting yours in front of you. You take a sip — it's piping hot, but it's delicious. "Didja hear any new songs you liked?"

"Yeah, I really liked all of it! There was one band called something weird that I enjoyed, I think it was 'Beenis'?"

Jeonghan laughs. "Yeah, I recall seeing a Beenis in the mix. Hey, speaking of new bands…"

He gets up, fetching his backpack and pulling a slightly-bent bright yellow piece of paper from it. He hands it to you, and you see that it's a flier for a show down at Dizzy's Tavern, a local dive bar known for it's cheap beer and loud, live rock music. The two bands listed are Fuckwagon and The Flagstaff Arizonas — names you've certainly never heard of before, but then again you're not too acquainted with the local music scene.

"My boss told me about this show tonight, apparently Fuckwagon are a pretty well-known name around the station. Said they're always bringing in new demos and singles for us to play," he explains. "I don't work tonight, and I don't know what you're up to, but I thought maybe we could go check it out."

"I'm down! I have nothing else going on today, and that sounds fun!"

"Sweet," Jeonghan replies casually, trying to contain his excitement, but his face is positively beaming. "I'll pick you up at 7:45, then?"

"Sounds like a plan," you grin back at him.

[FIVE]

Dizzy's Tavern is, for lack of better words, a shithole. As you step through the front door you are immediately hit with a wall of cigarette smoke that is somehow both stale and fresh. It's dark inside, the only source of lighting being the red lights above the bar and neon signs of various beer brands hanging around the walls; despite the dim environment, the dinginess of the establishment is still glaringly obvious. The place is a decent size, but it's packed — there are people of all ages, most of whom seem to be clad in leather jackets, and many with hair dyed unnatural colors or a multitude of piercings. The vibe of the place certainly screams punk.

"Holy shit, it's crowded," you remark to Jeonghan as you both shuffle into the crowded bar area.

"We don't have to stay if it's too much—" he quickly offers.

"No, it's okay!" you assure him. "I just think this will be more fun once I have a drink or two in me," you say lightheartedly.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks, grabbing onto your arm gently as you meander through the throng of bodies as not to get separated.

"Jack and Coke," you answer. He raises a brow at you.

"Oh so we're drinking drinking tonight," he smirks.

"Hey, you get whatever you want," you tell him, poking him in the chest. "You don't have to drink just because of me."

"Maybe I want to."

"Okay, just be careful though. I know how much of a lightweight you are."

"Hey!" he protests.

"Well, you are! Am I wrong?"

"No, you're right," he concedes with a smile. "As usual."

He finally gets the bartender's attention, ordering a Jack and Coke for the both of you. You sip it as you make your way through the crowd, holding onto Jeonghan as you head toward the small stage at the back of the bar. The band isn't on yet; according to the flier they should be on any minute now, but you have a feeling that being precisely punctual perhaps isn't very punk rock.

"Let's hang out here," you say, spotting a tiny, unoccupied high-top table off to the side. It's less crowded over here, and not too close to the stage. "I'm sure we will be able to hear just fine."

You're in the middle of a very non-serious debate about Halloween costumes when you spot a familiar face emerging from the nearby hall that leads to the bathrooms. It's Joshua, your weed dealer, and you unintentionally make eye contact with him. His face lights up with recognition, and he waves at you, heading in your direction. Jeonghan looks over his shoulder, doing a poor job of hiding his grimace when he realizes who it is.

"Hey hey!" Joshua says cheerfully as he approaches your table. "What's up you guys?"

"Hi Joshua!" you tell him cheerfully. "We're here to see the show," you explain, nudging your head toward the still-empty stage. You want to ask him what exactly he's doing here, considering that this doesn't seem to be his scene in the slightest, but you figure that might be a bit rude.

"Oh, cool!" he nods eagerly. "Hey, by the way," he says, leaning in to the both of you. "I got some new school supplies coming my way soon, if you catch my drift." He winks at Jeonghan, nudging him playfully with his elbow. "I'll make sure to save the good stuff for you."

Jeonghan stands there frozen with awkwardness at Joshua's directness. "Um," he finally manages to reply. "Yeah, uh, that sounds cool. Thanks."

"Awesome!" Joshua smiles at him sweetly. Turning back to you, he gives you a casual salute.

"Well, I gotta bounce," he excuses himself. "Catch you guys on the flip side."

Once he's out of earshot, you turn to Jeonghan, giving him a knowing look.

"Told you," you tease. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay, okay, fine," he huffs, raising his hands defeatedly, but a smile spreads across his face. "I believe you now."

Several minutes later, the band finally comes out on stage, eliciting drunken cheering and whooping from the crowd of bar-goers.

"What the fuck is up!!!" the lead singer screams into the microphone. "We're Fuckwagon, and here's some fucking music!"

A screeching guitar riff begins, joined momentarily by crashing drums and a bassline that somehow already seems out of sync with the song. The lead singer appears to be playing the shrill guitar, and the bass player also has a mic; they start singing in tandem — sort of. You're not sure if the sounds coming from either of them can even be considered singing, but they proceed regardless, wailing into the mics as the drummer is already flailing crazily at the drum set. You nod your head to the beat as best you can; turning to Jeonghan, you see he also wears a stunned expression, staring blankly at the raucous scene on the stage.

"Is this the same song or a new one?" you ask him a few minutes later, leaning in to speak into his ear.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugs. He tosses back the rest of his drink, picking up your empty glass as well. "Want another one?"

"Yeah, definitely."

He returns a few minutes later with two fresh Jack and Cokes in hand. The lead singer has somehow already taken his shirt off, revealing a plethora of tattoos that you personally would consider hideous. You and Jeonghan down the drinks fast — unintentionally, but anything to make the music more tolerable. There seems to be no distinction from one song to the next, the night going by in a non-stop cacophony of hard, grungy rock sounds. You don't pay too much attention to the music though, instead talking and laughing with Jeonghan the whole time.

"That's not even the weirdest part," Jeonghan continues his story, resting his elbow on your shoulder as he leans in close to your face. "The next week, I get home and the apartment is filled with boxes of potatoes. Turns out, Jun had built a potato cannon, and he thought he had placed an order for a hundred potatoes — but he had accidentally ordered a hundred ten-pound bags."

"Oh my god," you laugh in disbelief. "How did he not notice, wasn't it expensive??"

"I have genuinely no idea," Jeonghan shakes his head, also laughing. "He just does things like that sometimes."

"I think he has to be the strangest guy I've ever met," you respond. "I can't believe you live with him."

"Hey, he's a great roommate. He's clean, quiet, and half the time he's not even there — off doing god knows what."

"And that was our last song!!!" the lead singer screams into the mic over the drummer continuing his solo despite the song having ended. "Goodnight motherfuckaaaas!!!"

The band exits the stage, the next band already setting up their instruments.

"Thank god," you say to Jeonghan, who is all but fully leaning on you at this point. You pick his drink up off the table, finishing it off before he can drink any more; he doesn't seem to notice.

"You think the next band will be any better?" he asks you, his face mere inches from yours, heavy eyelids blinking slowly in his drunken state.

"There's no way they can possibly be worse than that."

You were wrong. Despite it being harsh and grating, the first band at least had upbeat rock music; the new band consists of six people, one of whom plays the trumpet, and all of whom barely fit on the stage — and their music is dull, drawn-out, and extremely repetitive. You're not sure if lead singer is drunk or if he just sounds like he is, but either way, it's borderline insufferable.

You turn to Jeonghan, about to suggest you call it a night, but he clearly has the exact same thought.

"Should we… leave?"

"Yeeaaaah," you nod eagerly in agreement. "We should leave."

It's even colder now as you step out of the bar, but despite the chilly autumn wind the fresh, smoke-free air feels delightful.

"So," Jeonghan asks as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He drove you to the bar, but neither one of you seem to recall that detail — but you're both too drunk to drive, anyway. "What did you think of… that?"

"I think it sucked shit," you reply honestly. Jeonghan bursts out laughing, making you start giggling too.

"Yeah, that was pretty terrible," he agrees. "Sorry I dragged you to this."

"Don't be!" you insist. "I still had a good time."

"Good," Jeonghan replies, a smile lighting up his face. "I did too."

Though your apartment is further than his, he walks you home first. The alcohol in your system has kept you warm all night, but the cold nighttime breeze is starting to get to you. You shiver, tugging the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands and tucking them into you as you cross your arms to try and stay warm.

"Here," Jeonghan tells you as soon as he notices, immediately taking his jacket off.

"No, I'll be fine—" you start, but he's already wrapping it around your shoulders. The jacket is warm, both from its thick leather and Jeonghan's body heat. You accept it graciously, slipping your arms into the baggy sleeves and zipping it all the way up.

"Thanks," you tell him sincerely. "You're the best."

In the dim orange-y glow of the incandescent streetlamps it's hard to tell, but Jeonghan blushes, his face turning even pinker than the alcohol made him.

You arrive outside your apartment a few minutes later.

"Well, goodnight," Jeonghan smiles at you. To his surprise, you suddenly throw your arms around him, leaning your head against his shoulder as you hug him. He tenses up slightly as his inebriated brain tries to process what's happening, but slowly he wraps his arms around you too, sinking into your embrace. It only lasts a few seconds, but the moment simultaneously feels hours long and also over way too fast.

"Goodnight," you reply as you let go, waving as you turn toward the sidewalk to head home. "Get home safe, okay?"

"I will," he nods softly. He watches until you've made it inside, then turns to head back to his own apartment, wondering if you knew that you just completely flipped his world upside down.

[SIX]

You wake up the next day uncomfortably hot.

Prying your eyes open, you see that you're in your living room. Apparently, you were too tired to make it all the way to your bedroom, so you just crashed on the couch, still wearing your shoes and Jeonghan's jacket. Your arm feels like lead as you try to lift it, peering at your watch: 12:16pm.

"Holy shit," you grumble as you hoist yourself up into a sitting position, your head pounding with a killer hangover. A few seconds later, Mina walks into the room.

"Jesus Christ, you're a mess," she tells you bluntly. "What the hell did you do last night?"

"Um, went to a shitty bar and saw a shitty band," you answer, rubbing your aching eyes. "Scratch that — two shitty bands."

"With your boyfriend, I assume?" she asks, glancing at the oversized leather jacket with its many pins and buttons.

"He's not my boyfriend," you mumble through a yawn, shimmying out of the jacket and neatly placing on the armrest next to you.

"Well, you knew who I was talking about without me even saying his name, soooo…"

"Shut uppp," you groan, flopping your tired head onto the back of the couch. With a pleased grin, she heads into the kitchen. You close your eyes, nodding off again, but soon you start to smell fresh coffee, and hear the sound of a sizzling skillet. A few minutes later, Mina returns, carrying a large mug of steaming coffee and a plate of fried eggs and pancakes.

"Here, eat," she says firmly, setting the plate and mug in front of you on the coffee table.

"Thanks, Mina," you smile at her.

After devouring your breakfast, you hop in the shower, standing there under the hot stream of water for far too long — but, you feel a million times better afterward. You toss on some sweats and decide to work on some homework from your bed. After a surprisingly productive afternoon, make your way back to the kitchen to find some dinner. On your way there, you pass by the couch, spotting Jeonghan's jacket still laying there. You feel bad that you didn't remember to give it back last night — after all, this is quite literally his only jacket. You're figure you should just take it over to him after you eat dinner. But, you're pretty sure he mentioned that he was working tonight; and since it's getting late and campus is a closer walk for you anyway, you figure you'll just try and drop it off at the station.

Your walk to campus is eerily empty. You've never seen this few people around, but it is Saturday night, after all. Most people are probably either at home or partying off-campus by this point. You approach the Comms building, suddenly worried that the door might be locked at this hour; but its swings right open when you pull it, and you let yourself inside. You've only had a couple classes in this building before, so you're not familiar with its layout, and you realize you have no idea where the radio station is actually located. You're about to start wandering down the halls in a random direction when you spot a directory by the staircase. The station appears to be on the top floor, so you head up the stairs.

There's no signage for the station, but you figure the bright red door with all the stickers all over it is probably the one you need. You knock at the door quietly, just now realizing that maybe this was a bad idea and that you shouldn't be here. You consider turning around and leaving before you can bother anybody, but then the door swings open. A tough-looking man with long hair and a beard pokes his head out.

"Hi, so sorry to bother you," you tell him apologetically. "But I was wondering if Jeonghan was working tonight? I just wanted to drop off his jacket."

"Oh!" the man replies with a smile, looking suddenly much less intimidating. "Yeah, he's here, come on in!"

You're not sure what exactly you thought a college radio station that plays punk music would look like, but this place seems to fit the bill. You don't see Jeonghan, but then the man points his thumb back to the small window in the far wall.

"He's in the booth right now, but I'll go grab him once we cut to commercial," he tells you. "I'm A.J., by the way," he adds, extending his hand to you.

"Y/n," you introduce yourself.

"Oh, so you're y/n!" A.J. responds amicably. "I've heard all about you.""

"Oh," you reply, feeling your face turn hot suddenly. "Really?"

"Yeah, Jeonghan talks about you all the time. All good things, though, I promise," he smiles. "Hey, I gotta go fax something real quick — just hang out in here for a sec, I'll be right back."

He exits the room, and you walk over to the window, peering into the booth. There's a lot of equipment in the way, but you spot the back of Jeonghan's head, clad with headphones and bobbing his head to whatever must be playing on the radio right now. You can't see his face, but you get the sense that he really is enjoying the job.

A.J. returns in a couple minutes. He waits outside the booth door, glancing at the lit-up ON AIR sign overhead.

"I'll go grab him as soon we're not on air," he tells you. Sure enough, it shuts off a few seconds later, and he slips into the booth. Watching through the window, you see Jeonghan turn around to greet his boss; A.J. points to you through the window, and Jeonghan turns, his face lighting up when he sees it's you.

"Hey!" he says cheerfully as he comes out to greet you. "What are you doing here?"

"Just returning your jacket I accidentally stole from you," you say, extending the garment to him.

"Oh yeah," he chuckles, taking the jacket from you. "I didn't even realize until I was almost home, I was wondering why I was so cold."

"Sorry," you smile apologetically.

"Don't even worry about it," he smiles back at you. "Thanks for bringing it to me, you didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did. I know for a fact that you don't own any other jackets," you tease.

"Okay, you got me there," he grins.

"How's the job going?" you ask.

"It's great!" he answers with more enthusiasm than you're used to from him. "I'm can officially run the show and be on air by myself now, no more supervision required."

"That's so cool," you beam at him. "You seem like you're really liking it so far."

"Yeah," he nods. "I definitely am."

"Well, I should let you get back to work now," you tell him. "Hope you have a good rest of your shift."

"Thanks, y/n," Jeonghan smiles warmly. "See ya later."

The end credits to Law & Order: Special Victims Unit begin to play as you lay on the couch, eating potato chips straight from the bag. It's not particularly the most exciting Saturday night you could be having, but you're enjoying the relaxing night in. You're not really in the mood to keep watching TV, so you grab the remote and shut it off. Mina isn't home yet, so you figure you'd take this opportunity to play your music out loud without wearing headphones. You get up and shuffle over to the boombox perched on the bookshelf, turning it on; it's tuned to the local pop station — clearly Mina used it last. You enjoy this station too, but your mind flashed back to Jeonghan in the booth. Maybe I'll hear him on the air, you think to yourself excitedly. You change the tuner to 90.5 and are greeted by the heavy tune of an unfamiliar but grungy-sounding song.

Plopping back on the couch you reach for your bag of chips again — but over the crinkling of the bag as you stick your hand in it, a very familiar voice comes through on the radio.

"You're listening to WFVC 90.5, the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll. The track you just heard was "Beautiful Monster" by Meatglove, one of their earliest and most iconic releases. Up next — we've got some Death Day Party for you, as well as a classic from Wunderguts; but first, some local flavor from Z-41 with their newest track "Hell Highway."

You're a bit taken aback by the confidence and air which he delivered his spiel. You can tell he's still getting used to it, but you swear you've never heard him sound so self-assured. The crashing drums of the next song begin; you're getting a bit sleepy, but you're comfy — so you end up laying on the couch for another hour or so, zoned out as you enjoy the music. You're halfway asleep when Mina returns home, so out of it that you don't even hear her come in; but you do hear Jeonghan's voice over the speakers, making you smile as your eyes start to drift close.

"I assume that's your boyfriend on the radio?"

Your eyes shoot open again at the sudden sound of Mina's voice. Looking up, you see her looming above you as she stands beside the armrest.

"I didn't even hear you come in," you tell her, rubbing your tired eyes.

"Yeah, I can tell," she teases. "You wouldn't be swooning and gushing over him like that if you knew I was here."

"I was not," you roll your eyes. "I was like half-asleep."

"Mhmm. Well, I'm going right to bed — goodnight!"

And with that, you're alone with the radio again.

While the commercials play, an idea pops into your head. You remember Jeonghan making an off-hand comment about how the station does take requests — it's just that hardly anyone ever calls them in. You consider for a minute, and then decide, fuck it.

You get up again, quietly heading over to the landline. You're don't actually know the number, so you flip through the phone book, perusing the thin yellow pages for the station. Eventually, you spot it: Foxville College Communications Department, WFVC 90.5 — 555-1004.

You dial the number, the line ringing as you wait for it to connect. You realize you're not even sure what exactly it is you planned to request, considering that the station only plays underground stuff. Anything you would normally request on the radio is off the table.

Before you can think of something, the line picks up.

"WFVC 90.5, we have a caller live on the air," you hear Jeonghan answer the call. "Hi there, whatcha calling for?"

Your stomach drops a bit — you weren't expecting him to actually pick up live on the air. You're not a shy person, but the thought that a bunch of random strangers can hear you right now does make you at least a little bit nervous.

"Hi!" you say cheerfully, careful not to be to so loud as to wake Mina. "Um, I was hoping I could call in a request."

"Of course you can!" he answers. You were wondering if Jeonghan would recognize your voice, but the slight pause and the upward shift in his voice tells you he definitely does. "What are you looking for?"

Thinking on the fly, you say the first thing that pops into your head.

"Well, I don't actually have a specific song in mind," you reply. " Can you play me something upbeat and happy? A song I'd play if I was just chilling with my friend or something."

"I sure can," Jeonghan responds, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice. "What's your name?" he remembers to ask at the last second — of course, he already knows, but he makes sure he sticks to the script.

"Y/n," you tell him.

"Well, y/n, thanks for calling in — we appreciate ya. Got a special one just for you coming up right now: this one's called 'Heart Attack', by good friends of the station, Fever Baby — right here on WFVC 90.5!"

The call ends, the flat tone humming in your ear. You put the receiver back, heading back into the living room. You're not entirely sure how radio requests work, but you assume there's some sort of slight delay. Sure enough, right as you return the end of your call plays, followed by a light and rhythmic guitar strumming — the song he chose for you. You sit down as you listen, the melody picking up with a bright atmosphere. The song is exactly the vibe you were looking for, and you like it a lot. Turns out the band has a female lead too, something you always love, especially in this genre of music. You must've said that once a long time ago, in some off-hand comment, but Jeonghan remembered. That's the thing about Jeonghan, though — he always does.

[SEVEN]

The semester passes by, days getting shorter and temperatures getting lower as the final weeks of fall come to a close. School has kept you plenty busy, with midterms and papers taking up the majority of your time. You haven't been able to have as much of a social life as you would like, which isn't particularly unusual for this time of year; but Jeonghan especially has been busy — late nights at the station have caused his sleep schedule to shift significantly, rendering your schedules largely incompatible. You miss him, and you really hope you can find a way to hang out with him soon.

You're sitting in your apartment studying one night when the phone rings. The phone doesn't have caller ID, but you expect it's one of Mina's friends calling, as she likes to chat on the phone more often than you do. She's not home right now, so you could easily just let it go to voicemail, but something in you feels the urge to answer.

"Hello?" you answer as you pick up, grabbing the nearby stack of sticky notes and a pen in case you need to take a message.

"Hey y/n," you hear Jeonghan say softly through the line.

"Hannie!" you say, surprised but excited to be hearing his voice. "How's it going? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

"I know, I've been so busy," he concurs. "I'm tired as hell, but I'm okay. How are you?"

"Same, I'm exhausted but I'm getting by. How's the DJ life treating you?"

"It's good!" he answers eagerly. "I mean, that's why I'm so tired. But in a way it also kinda gives me an energy boost. I know that probably sounds crazy…"

"Not at all," you smile. "That means you really like it! I'm so glad it ended up being a great fit for you."

"Me too," he agrees. "I've been so happy lately. Except for the fact that we haven't hung out like, at all. That part sucks."

"We gotta find some time to hang," you say assertively.

"Actually, that's why I'm calling," he replies. "The Comms Department is having this social thing on Friday night. I wasn't really planning to go, but guests are allowed if you'd wanna come with me. There's gonna be free food."

"Hell yeah, I'm always down for free food," you grin — though, you're much more excited about getting to see Jeonghan finally.

"Cool! It starts at 7, I'll drop by your place around then and we can walk to campus together."

"Sounds good," you say excitedly. "Is this like, a formal event?"

"Um, I don't think so? But like, maybe a little?"

"I'll dress up at least a little, then," you tell him. "I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed."

"Good idea, I'll do the same. Well, I gotta head to work in a few minutes, so I gotta go."

"Have a good shift!" you tell him. "See ya on Friday."

"See ya then, y/n."

Friday afternoon you start rummaging through your closet, looking for something to wear to the social later. You have a few hours until you need to be ready, but you figured you'd give yourself a little extra time to make yourself look at least a little bit nice. It's been a while since you've had an excuse to dress up anyway, so what the hell, why not.

Nothing is particularly catching your eye as you flip through the hangers, until you get to the end and spot a brand new skirt you had completely forgotten about. You pull it out to look at it; it's a black pinstripe pleated mini skirt, brandishing a built-in belt, and it still has the tags on. A bit on the casual side, but you figure if you pair it with a nice sweater and tights that don't have any holes in them the outfit will look just the right amount of sophisticated for the occasion.

Digging through your dresser drawer, you take a look at your sweaters. Most are a bit too tattered, and about half of them are just sweatshirts featuring a band logo, but you do find a deep maroon sweater that you rarely wear. You lay it on your bed above the skirt and grab a pair of tights to lay out as well; all put together, it actually looks pretty nice.

You throw your outfit on and spend a little bit longer than usual putting makeup on, adding some shimmery eyeshadow and some tinted lip gloss to your usual routine of eyeliner and mascara. When you're done styling your hair, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. It's not that you usually look bad, but you definitely tend to dress more on the casual side, so you're pleasantly surprised by how put-together you look right now. Turns out, a little extra effort can go a long way.

You're reading your book a couple hours later when you hear a light knocking at your door. Hopping up off the couch you flutter over to answer it, opening the door to reveal Jeonghan looking the fanciest you've ever seen him. He's still in his leather jacket, of course — but underneath he wears a maroon button-down shirt and crisp black dress pants, and you've never seen his long hair so neat and styled.

"Holy shit, since when do you own dress pants?" you ask with a playful smirk.

"Hey, shut up," he pouts. "I know they look stupid."

"They do not!" you insist. "You look really nice, Jeonghan. I've just never seen you so dressed up. And we even matched on accident!" you chuckle.

"Looks like we did," he smiles. "You look really nice as well," he says, staring at your outfit for a moment but quickly averting his gaze. You typically wear clothes that are at least a little bit baggy, but this sweater fits you snugly, its thin knit fabric accentuating your every curve very flatteringly. Jeonghan tries not to think about it.

"Thanks! Here, let me put my shoes on and then we can bounce."

He steps inside as you grab your Doc Martens, leaning down to slip your feet into them and tighten the laces. Your back is to him as you bend over, and while your skirt isn't super short it does ride up a bit in the process, your thighs on full display through the sheer black tights. He ogles you as you tie the boots up, feeling his face grow hot. He knows you don't notice, but he forces himself to turn away before you do, prying his eyes off of you, but it's too late.

"Um, I'm gonna go pee real quick," he tells you, scurrying off to your bathroom.

"Okie dokie," you reply.

Jeonghan doesn't actually have to pee, but he locks himself in the bathroom anyway. He stares at himself in the mirror, still thrown off by how different he looks all cleaned up.

"Get it together man," he grumbles to himself.

A couple minutes later he returns.

"Ready?" you ask, grabbing your coat.

"Yep!" he says with a smile.

The walk to campus is cold, but there's no wind, so it's surprisingly pleasant. On your way there it begins to snow, huge flakes falling gently through the air and starting to accumulate on the ground. You arrive to the Comms Building, brushing the snow off your jacket before you step through its doors to the warm interior.

"You've got some in your hair, too," Jeonghan points out. You ruffle your hair lightly, shaking the snow off.

"So do you," you tell him, reaching up and brushing your fingers across his hair, brushing the stark white snow out of his long, dark locks. Jeonghan freezes up slightly, grateful that his cheeks are already pink from the cold so you can't see him blushing like an idiot.

"Thanks," he says softly.

You make your way to the end of the hall, where two doors propped open lead you into the event space. Immediately you see that despite your efforts, you are both still noticeably underdressed.

"Welp," he mumbles to you quietly. "Guess I didn't get the memo that this was actually fancy."

"It's okay," you reply reassuringly. "We still look nice." And it's true, but amongst all the suits and heels you still feel a bit out of place.

You make your way over to the food table together, grabbing plates and piling them high with the assortment of hors d'oeuvres on display. It earns you a few judgmental glares from a group of older adults standing nearby, but you're both broke college kids, so you don't really give a fuck.

"Let's go over there," Jeonghan says after you each grab a glass of wine, nudging his head toward the back of the room. You meander through the groups of professors and whomever else standing around and chatting, claiming the two chairs in the corner.

"So, what exactly is this event supposed to be again?" you ask him as you pop a fancy cracker with cheese on it into your mouth.

"Um, I don't actually know," he admits as he sips at wine, glancing around the room. "I thought it was for students and professors to meet each other, but I don't think any of these people are actually students…"

You look around too, and he seems to be right. Everyone is significantly older and distinguished-looking — very clearly not undergraduates.

"Oops," you say, trying not to smile too big. "Does that mean we just walked in here and stole their food?"

A grin starts to spread across his face. "Um, yeah. Looks like it."

He starts to giggle out loud, prompting you to subtly whack him in the leg.

"Shhh, people are gonna notice!" you whisper, but you feel the urge to start laughing too. A voice rings out over the speaker system as somebody starts talking into a microphone. The attendees all turn and face the small stage, where a woman in a sequined navy dress starts to speak.

"Should we go?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, definitely," you reply, tossing back the rest of your wine. "But let's grab some more food on the way out."

Jeonghan grins. "I like the way you think."

After piling the small plastic plates with as much food as you possibly can and grabbing another glass of wine each, you sneak out the back door of the room, quickly making your way towards the building's exit.

"Holy shit," Jeonghan laughs as you burst through the door returning you to the quad. "That was awesome."

"I love to steal free food," you giggle. The falling snow has picked up, blustering around calmly but shrouding everything in a sea of white. "C'mon," you say to him, zipping off toward your usual spot under the small oak tree. "Let's go over here."

You stand together beneath the branches, accepting their humble offering of any sort of cover as you scarf down the rest of the food on your plates.

"I guess we also technically stole these wine glasses," Jeonghan comments as he stares at the remaining red liquid in the bowl. "I didn't even realize they were real."

"Me neither," you say, finishing your drink. "Whoops."

Hors d'oeuvres and wine now gone, you toss the plates in a nearby trashcan, leaving the glasses sitting on the steps to the Comms Building and zooming off before somebody catches you. When you get off campus you slow your pace, strolling casually down the block through the deluge of snow.

"Maybe I should've driven," Jeonghan chuckles. "But also who wants to drive in this weather."

"True," you smile. "But I don't mind the snow. It's nice."

"Me neither."

You chat the whole walk home, taking and laughing about anything and everything and nothing at all. By the time you make it to your building, your cheeks hurt — not only from the cold but from smiling nonstop the whole night.

"Tonight was really fun — even if it wasn't what we expected," you say, turning to face Jeonghan.

"Same here," he smiles softly. "I'm glad I finally got to see you."

"Me too," you beam back. You're thinking about inviting him up, maybe to smoke a J or something, when suddenly his lips are on yours.

Your whole body freezes. His lips are soft, the kiss is sweet, but you were not prepared for it. Quickly he pulls his face back, his eyes widening with fear like a deer in the headlights.

"Sorry," he stammers, then takes off.

"Wait!" you call out after him. "Jeonghan!" But he's gone in the blink of an eye, running off down the street into the snowy night.

[EIGHT]

Almost an entire week passes, and you don't see or hear from Jeonghan once.

You tried calling him, but you just kept getting Jun, who seemed to be confused but didn't ask any questions. You tried to meet him after several of his classes, but he either wasn't there or managed to completely evade you. You even tried e-mailing him, but as you expected, no response.

So you gave up for the time being. You knew he wasn't going to avoid you forever, that eventually he would come back. But damn, you hated waiting for it.

It's now Thursday night. Six nights have gone by, and still radio silence from Jeonghan. You're not even upset with him, you just want to talk to him. There's too many questions swimming around in your brain right now — you can hardly think about anything else.

Why did you kiss me?

Why did you run away?

Why have you been so scared to talk to me?

Do you love me?

The living room boom box softly plays the local classic rock channel as you lay at the couch, staring at the ceiling and thinking too much. For reasons you can't explain, you suddenly get up and go change the tuner to 90.5. You lay back down, unsure what exactly the point of that was, but also you don't really care. You're not even sure if Jeonghan is working tonight, and even if he is it's too early for him to be on — but the radio station is enough to remind you of him. You feel tears begin to well in your eyes, blinking them away quickly.

The DJ eventually comes back on the air; as expected, it's not Jeonghan, but that doesn't make you any less sad about the whole situation. The next song that comes on sounds vaguely familiar, and awful; it occurs to you about two minutes into the song that this sounds like that terrible band you saw at that bar — Fuckwagon or whatever. The one you saw with Jeonghan.

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks. Unable to shut them down, you just let them flow, softly sobbing into the couch.

This is so fucking stupid, you tell yourself. I'm crying to a Fuckwagon song right now. You let out a laugh through your tears, in disbelief of how utterly stupid this scenario is. After crying for a few more minutes, you eventually calm back down. Your mind is a bit clearer now, and you come to the realization that there's nothing stopping you from marching over there right this instant and putting an end to this nonsense.

Fifteen minutes later, you're standing outside Jeonghan's apartment. All that's left is to knock, but now that you're here that part feels daunting. You take a deep breath, slowly raising your hand to the door, then you knock. It comes out a bit more aggressive than you meant it, but you hope that means he'll hear you right away. You hear footsteps trodding toward the door, and then it opens.

"Oh, hi y/n," Jun greets you. He looks frazzled, like you just woke him from a thousand-year slumber.

"Hey, Jun. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," you tell him apologetically.

"Oh, I wasn't asleep," he replies nonchalantly. You're about to ask him what the hell he was doing then, but you decide some questions don't need to be answered. Besides, that's not why you're here.

"Is Jeonghan here?" you cut to the chase. "I was hoping to talk to him."

"Sorry, no," he shakes his head. "You just missed him — he left for work about ten minutes ago."

"Dammit," you mutter.

"Has he still not talked to you since he kissed you?"

You look up at Jun, a perplexed expression coloring your face. "You know about that?"

"Yes," he replies matter-of-factly. "He came home right after that and was freaking out about it. He wasn't exactly very coherent, but through his ramblings I got the general picture."

"Did he say why he was freaking out?" you try.

"He was scared that it was a mistake, that he fucked it all up."

"Fucked what all up?" you ask, furrowing your brow. "Our friendship?"

Jun lets out a gentle sigh. "So you didn't know, then," he says softly. "Jeonghan is in love with you, y/n. Has been since the day he met you."

You make it to campus in record time, speed-walking as fast as you can, zooming across the quad directly toward the Comms Building. You're out of breath as you enter, groaning as you spot the three flights of stairs you now have to climb. But you move quickly anyway, your body seemingly unable to slow down for anything.

This time you don't even bother knocking on the red door. You fling it open, expected to have to come up with some sort of explanation on the fly with his boss, but you are greeted by an empty office. The door slowly closes behind you as you walk over to the booth window. Peering in, sure enough you can see the top of his head as he sits at the broadcast mixer. The ON AIR sign above you is lit; you wait for the red light to shut off, then you knock on the booth door. Jeonghan turns around slowly, looking confused, but then he sees you standing outside the window. His eyes widen, and he leaps out out of his chair, bolting to the door and swinging it open.

"What are you doing here??" he asks, looking genuinely surprised.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, but we have to talk."

"Nobody else is here tonight," he replies. "Here, come inside."

He shuts the door behind you as you enter, but as soon as he does you grab him by the arm and spin him around to face you.

"What the—"

"Why did you run away?"

"I—" He pauses for a moment. "That's… not what I thought you were going to ask," he admits.

"What? Why?"

"Well, I just thought you were going to ask me why I kissed you first."

"Okay," you reply. "Then why did you kiss me?"

Jeonghan sighs, dropping his head slightly; but a moment later he lifts it again, looking you directly in the eyes.

"I kissed you because I love you, y/n. I ran away because I was scared you didn't love me back, and I wasn't prepared to face that reality."

His gaze is locked onto yours so intensely that you feel like you might burst into flames. He looks like he's experiencing every emotion at once, anxiously waiting for you to say something, anything. But you don't know what to say, so you do what only feels right — you throw your arms around him, pulling him into your embrace.

He gasps softly as you squeeze him tight, burying your face into his chest; you can feel the accelerating pace of his heart, thumping against your cheek. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, leaning his head on top of yours.

"I love you too," you say softly. "I didn't realize it for a while — but it's so obvious to me now."

He kisses the top of your head, rubbing your back as you nuzzle your face deeper into his sweater.

"That's the best news I've ever heard."

You could stay here in his embrace indefinitely, but eventually you lift your head, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Kiss me — but for real this time."

Slowly, Jeonghan grabs your face with both hands, eyeing you hungrily before pulling you into a kiss. This time it's slow, sweet; you slip your hands around his waist, clinging to him as you savor it. Your heart pounds in your chest as your lips tug at each other, refusing to let go, pressing your body into his and pushing him up against the door. A soft, involuntarily moan emanates from his throat, and you feel the stiff, growing bulge in his pants against your stomach.

Eventually your lips part, lingering near each other as he presses his forehead into yours.

"Holy shit," he mutters. "I can't believe this is really happening."

He drops his hands from their grasp on your head, unzipping your coat and taking it off of you; tossing it on a nearby desk, he hurriedly slips his hands around your waist, kneading at the soft flesh and holding your body tightly against him. He feels slightly embarrassed by how quickly he got a full-fledged boner, but he's too aroused to care — besides, judging by the burning desire in your eyes, you're feeling the exact same thing right now.

"You're perfect," he tells you, cracking a smile and blushing as the words leave his lips. You grin back, giving him another soft kiss before taking hold of his hands.

"C'mere," you say to him, dragging him over to the sound mixer.

"What are you—oh." You cut him off by giving him a slight push, sitting him down into the thick, sturdy chair. You straddle his lap, pressing your core against his bulge, rubbing yourself against it through both of your jeans.

"Fuck," Jeonghan gasps as your weight presses against his cock; you lean your head down to kiss him again, locking lips as you start to make out, mouths crashing and tongues eagerly dancing against each other. Eventually you begin to sway your hips, unable to contain your excitement. You gasp as your mouths part, tossing your head back as you grind against him harder; his arms around you squeeze tighter, pulling you in as close as physically possible. His face presses against your tits as he rubs his hands over your ass, guiding you as you rock back and forth on top of him.

"Oh my god…" he sighs. He tosses his head back, and you swoop in, kissing the delicate flesh of his neck, making him let out the most pathetic-sounding groan. You moan as you grind your heat against him, getting the both of you off at once.

"F-fuck, that's so hot," his voice wavers.

"If I keep doing this it's gonna make me cum," you tell him, starting to sound whiny and frantic.

"Oh my god, please do."

You increase your pace, pressing your aching clit against his clothed cock. It feels incredible — you simply can't help the soft little cries escaping your lips.

"Can I…" Jeonghan asks, tugging at the button of your jeans.

"Please," you say breathily as you eagerly nod your head. He unfastens the button, tugging down your zipper and opening your pants enough for him to slip his fingers beneath your underwear. You let out a whimper as his fingertips dip into your folds, his lips parting lustfully as he discovers the absolute pool of wetness in your panties right now.

"Fuck," you whine, rubbing your clit against his fingers with fervor. A burning fire builds in your gut, your whole body tensing in anticipation of your release. It washes over you in bursting waves, your body trembling atop Jeonghan as you ride out your orgasm. As your movement slows, you catch your breath, lifting your head to kiss him on the lips. As you open your eyes you get a glimpse at him, you find him looking utterly desperate, and ready to bust at any given moment. You let out a giggle, still in a daze from your high; but you slip off the chair, kneeling down before him between his legs.

"Oh my god, you're gonna kill me," he half-laughs, half-whines. He raises his drenched fingers to his mouth, lapping your juices up feverously, eyes rolling back as he savors the taste of you. You slowly unbuckle the studded leather belt around his waist, unbuttoning his jeans painfully slowly; he wriggles in his seat, silently pleading for you to take his cock out, for you to put your mouth over it…

Finally, you do — reaching into his boxers, you tug them down, wrapping your hand around his hard, thick cock and pulling it out.

"Holy shit," you blurt out, glancing up at him and giving him a giddy smile. "You've been packing this the whole time?!"

He bursts out laughing, cradling your cheek in his hand, slowly guiding your lips to his cock. You lightly circle the tip with your tongue, teasing him; he lets out a sigh, licking his lips as he watches you taste his cock. Slowly you take the head between your lips, suckling it lightly before you start to slide your mouth down his length. You're not even halfway down when it reaches the back of your mouth; you push down further, taking him in your throat, gagging audibly on his size.

"Ohhh, wow," he mumbles as his eyelids flutter back. "That's so good…"

His hips gently push upward as you bob your head up and down, feeding you more of his length as you slide it in and out of your mouth. Your noises escalate, pathetic whining growing louder as you start to increase your pace. He can't help himself — he starts to fuck his cock into your mouth, sliding deep into your throat. Tears well in your eyes, but you continue to stare up at him; the sight is enough to send him over the edge.

"Baby, 'm gonna cum," he groans. A few thrusts later, you feel ropes of hot cum shooting down your throat, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he releases. Soft whimpers escape his trembling lips as he cums hard in your mouth, relishing every moment of the delicious sensation. He strokes your head gently as he finishes; you swallow all his cum, slowly dragging your lips off his spent cock.

"Fuck," he sighs, melting into the chair. Opening his eyes, he looks down at you sweetly, his head still spinning from the orgasm. "Thank you."

"For sucking your dick?" you ask, starting to giggle.

"Yeah," he says with a stupid grin. "That was awesome."

He helps to you your feet, tucking his cock back inside his pants and zipping them up again. He pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you again.

"Sorry I kissed you and ran away like an idiot," he tells you, holding you snugly against him. "That was really stupid and embarrassing."

"You're not an idiot," you reply, playfully thumping him in the chest. "I like you just the way you are."

Jeonghan smiles. In the few years you've known him, you've never seen him radiating with genuine happiness like this — you decide it looks great on him.

[EPILOGUE]

You gasp for air as your head falls back into the pillows, chest heaving in the aftermath of your orgasm. Jeonghan remains parked between your legs, lazily lapping at your soaked pussy — his new favorite place to be.

"Fuck," you sigh, dragging your fingers through his hair. "That was so good."

He lifts his head, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices.

"Good," he replies, grinning at you proudly.

"Kiss me," you plead softly; he crawls up the bed to greet your lips with his, planting a deep kiss onto your mouth. A sudden knocking at your bedroom door makes the both of you jump.

"Hey lovebirds," Mina calls out through the door. "Your take-out just got here. I already paid for it, so you owe me $20."

"It was only $15!" you shout back.

"Service fee. For me," she responds cheekily, already walking away. You roll your eyes, laughing it off. Jeonghan starts kissing your cheeks, pecking gently as the soft skin.

"Hey, that tickles!" you giggle.

"But you look so pretty when you laugh," he replies, continuing to kiss you.

"You're ridiculous."

"I just love you, that's all."

He lifts his head, smiling at you sweetly.

"I love you too," you reply, beaming back at him. "We should go get our food before it gets cold—" you say, starting to try and sit up, but Jeonghan holds you pinned against the bed.

"Hey!" you protest, but he's already sliding back down the bed.

"You have a microwave," he says matter-of-factly, taking hold of your thighs as he positions his face right in front of your dripping core again.

"Besides, I'm not done here yet…"

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, don't forget to REBLOG and COMMENT — your feedback is greatly valued ♡

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @hannieween @smiileflower  @hanniebub

> lowtone.sin:

You clicked first. So you’re either impatient or a little reckless.

Which one is it?

You bite your lip, already smiling at the confidence behind his tone. Typing back feels like slipping into something dangerous.

> petal.crush:

Maybe both.

You planning to do something about it?

> lowtone.sin:

That depends

Are you here for sweet words and flirting?

Or are you here to get ruined?

Your thighs instinctively press together.

> petal.crush:

Ruin me. Slowly.

There’s a long pause. You stare at the screen, anticipation crawling up your spine.

Then finally—

> lowtone.sin:

Good girl.

Let’s start with something easy.

What would I hear if I called you right now?

Would you sound sweet and shy?

Or would you already be wet and waiting?

You suck in a breath.

There’s no point pretending. No coyness left in you tonight. This man — whoever he is — has the kind of tone that makes your stomach clench and your mind submit. You press the mic icon before you can talk yourself out of it.

> petal.crush \[voice note – 0:12]

“I’m not touching myself yet. But I’m aching for it. My panties are soaked. Just from reading your messages”

The response comes fast.

> lowtone.sin:

You’ve got a filthy little mouth for someone who hasn’t even been told to touch yet.

Bet you squirm when someone takes control of you, don’t you?

That tight, needy body of yours probably begs for it.

You whimper — aloud — and type with trembling fingers.

> petal.crush:

You’re right.

I love being told exactly what to do.

I want to be teased, edged, used.

> lowtone.sin:

Fuck.

Get your hand between your thighs. Now.

Over your panties. I want your fingers soaked before I even let you move them.

You obey.

The fabric sticks to you immediately. You slide two fingers up and down the drenched cotton and exhale into the dark.

Your phone buzzes again.

> lowtone.sin:

I want to hear how wet you are.

Show me.

You record again, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you press a little harder.

> petal.crush \[voice note – 0:16]

“I’m dripping. The fabric’s so wet it’s clinging to me. I want to slide them off and touch my bare pussy for you.”

> lowtone.sin:

Not yet

Good things come to desperate girls

Tell me — how often do you touch yourself thinking about strangers?

You bite your lip.

> petal.crush:

Not streangers

Someone specific.

> lowtone.sin:

Oh?

Lucky bastard.

What’s he like?

Your throat goes dry.

Because he’s you. You’ve fantasized about him. That voice — it’s too perfect, too polished. The way he calls you good girl feels familiar in a way that’s wrong and addictive.

You shake it off.

> petal.crush:

Tall. Broad.Big hands. Sharp jaw.Smiles like sin.Looks like he could ruin me in one night and leave me wanting more.

There’s a pause. Then a photo notification.

Image\[jpg.1]

You tap on it, breath catching in your throat.

It’s a hand — his hand — wrapped around a thick cock. His grip is firm, the tip flushed red and glistening. You can see the base of his abs, tight and flexed, veins running across his forearm. It’s cropped — no face, no hints — but god, it’s pretty.

> lowtone.sin:

What do you think?

> petal.crush:

I think I want it down my throat.

> lowtone.sin:

You say things like that and expect me to keep my composure?

> petal.crush:

No.

I want to hear you lose it.

Another voice note comes in. His voice is deeper now — rough, frayed around the edges.

> lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:28]

“Fuck. If you were here right now, I’d have you on your knees. I’d hold your jaw, make you look up at me while I slide my cock across your tongue. I bet your eyes would water so pretty when I push deep.”

You moan. Loud. Hand slipping inside your panties at last, slick fingers circling your clit in dizzy little swirls. Your legs tremble.

> petal.crush:

I can’t wait. Please.

Tell me what to do. I’ll be so fucking good.

> lowtone.sin:

Take off your panties.

Lie back.

Spread your legs and take a photo for me.

I want to see the mess you made just from my voice

You obey.

You slide them off and grab your phone with one shaky hand, angling the camera down — flushed thighs, glistening lips, your fingers posed teasingly just above where you ache most.

Image\[jpg.2]

You hit send. Instantly.

> lowtone.sin:

Jesus

Look at that cunt.

Bet it’s tight as hell.

You fuck yourself slow or fast?

> petal.crush:

Depends how desperate I am.

> lowtone.sin:

And how desperate are you tonight, baby?

> petal.crush:

I’m so wet I could come without touching.

But I want you to drag it out. Make it painful.

There’s a moment of silence. Then:

> lowtone.sin:

…Fuck.

This is going to sound crazy.

But your voice?

Your photos.

You’re too fucking familiar.

Your chest goes still.

That tone. That rasp. That deep little breath before he speaks.

Your heart lurches.

No.

It can’t be.

You type, hands shaking:

> petal.crush:

Say something. Just one word.

I need to be sure.

He doesn’t text.

He sends a voice note.

> lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:06]

“Y/N.”

Your stomach drops.

It is him.

That voice, you know it. You’ve heard it a hundred times.

Because Mingyu — your brother Seungcheol’s best friend — has been in your house more times than you can count.

And now, he’s here. Holding his cock. Telling you how good your pussy looks.

Your fingers are still between your legs.

And you’re still soaked.

Your heart is pounding.

You’re sitting in your dark bedroom, soaked fingers trembling between your thighs, staring at your screen like it’s a weapon pointed directly at your chest.

Mingyu.

Your brother’s best friend.

The voice you’ve moaned to in secret.

The man whose towel dropped in front of you two summers ago, whose gaze lingered a beat too long when you walked into the kitchen in your smallest sleep shorts. The man who walked in on you changing and looked—just looked—but didn’t leave for three entire seconds.

Your mouth goes dry.

You wait for him to say something else. Anything.

lowtone.sin:

Say it.

I know you know it’s me.

I want to hear it.

You type slowly, every nerve ending alive.

petal.crush:

Mingyu.

I knew it the second you said my name.

You sound exactly how I imagined when I used to fuck myself to the thought of you.

A pause.

Then—

lowtone.sin:

Holy fuck.

You used to what?

petal.crush:

You have any idea how hard it was living in the same house and pretending I wasn’t soaking through my panties every time you smiled at me?

lowtone.sin:

Tell me.

Everything.

You pause, pulse pounding.

And then you type like you’re possessed.

petal.crush:

The shorts?

I wore those on purpose. I knew they barely covered my ass.

Every time I bent over to grab something, I made sure you were in the room.

Once, I even “accidentally” spilled water on my chest so I could walk past you in a wet tank top.

And that day you walked in on me changing?

I left the door unlocked.

His reply comes fast.

lowtone.sin:

You fucking minx.

I had to jerk off in your goddamn bathroom after that.

I saw your tits. I saw your thighs.

And the way you looked at me—like you wanted me to stay?

petal.crush:

I did want you to stay.

I wanted you to push me against the mirror and fuck me stupid.

Right there. With Seungcheol downstairs.

Another voice note.

You brace yourself before you tap it.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:34]

“I swear to God, Y/N. If I had known you wanted it even half as bad as I did, I wouldn’t have lasted another day pretending. Every time you moaned in your sleep when I stayed over, I nearly lost my mind. I wanted to sneak into your room and make you finish what you started.”

Your whole body jolts.

petal.crush:

I used to fake moan just loud enough for you to hear when I knew you were sleeping in the next room.

I imagined you sneaking in and putting your hand over my mouth while you fucked me into the mattress.

lowtone.sin:

Jesus fuck.

I used to picture you riding my thigh on the couch while Seungcheol played video games right next to us.

Just your pretty little cunt grinding against me, biting your lip so you wouldn’t make a sound.

You moan—out loud—and grab your phone, hand back between your legs.

You don’t even bother hiding it this time.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:23]

“I’m touching myself again. I can’t stop. I’m picturing your hand over my mouth, your cock buried in me, and your voice in my ear telling me I’m your filthy little secret.”

lowtone.sin:

You are my filthy little secret.

Mine.

No one else gets to hear you like this.

No one else gets to see what I’m seeing.

Another picture arrives.

Image\[jpg.3]

He’s naked now, lying back, abs tight, one hand gripping his cock. He’s glistening with pre-cum, thick and flushed, the kind of cock you want to sink your teeth into.

You whimper.

lowtone.sin:

Let me see you again. All of you.

You slide your shirt off. Fingers trembling, you spread your legs wider and take the shot — body flushed, thighs slick, clit swollen and needy.

Image\[jpg.4]

You don’t even hesitate before sending it.

lowtone.sin:

I want to fuck you against every surface in your house.

Against the washing machine while it rumbles.

On your brother’s bed while he’s in the shower.

On the goddamn kitchen counter while you beg me not to stop.

petal.crush:

I used to imagine you standing behind me while I washed dishes.

Sliding your hand down the front of my shorts and telling me to keep doing chores while you made me come.

lowtone.sin:

I fantasized about making you gag on my cock while Seungcheol watched a movie in the next room.

You’d cry on it. I’d fuck your throat until you begged me to come inside.

And I’d pull out, grip your jaw, and say: “Open.”

You rub yourself harder now, two fingers circling your clit while you picture everything he’s saying.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:28]

“I’d do it. I’d drop to my knees for you so fast. I’d swallow you down and let you use my mouth. I want it so fucking bad. Please—talk me through it. Tell me what to do.”

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:32]

“Slide two fingers in. Slow. Stretch that tight pussy out while I stroke my cock and imagine it’s your sweet cunt clenching around me. Keep rubbing that clit. But don’t come. Not until I tell you.”

You moan brokenly and do as he says.

Fingers curling deep.

Your walls flutter.

You need him so badly it hurts.

lowtone.sin:

How many times have you come to the thought of me?

petal.crush:

I lost count months ago.

lowtone.sin:

What was your favorite fantasy?

You hesitate… then type.

petal.crush:

You bend me over the bathroom sink after a swim.

Your trunks are still wet.

I’m dripping all over the tile.

You grab my throat. You fuck me so hard I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

And when I come, you keep going.

Until I’m shaking. Ruined. Begging.

He moans — this time in a voice note — and the sound is enough to send you right to the edge.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:24]

“You’re going to be the death of me. You want to be fucked that dirty, babygirl? You want to cry from how good it feels? I’ll give you every filthy fantasy you’ve ever had. Just say the word.”

You hit record with shaking fingers.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:19]

“Please. Make me come. I’m right there. I want to scream your name. Let me be yours. Just say it, Mingyu.”

lowtone.sin:

Come.

Now.

Be my good girl and make a mess for me.

You explode.

White-hot pleasure tears through your core, every nerve singing. You cry out his name, legs twitching, soaked fingers buried in your pussy as you ride the orgasm out.

You’re a mess.

You can barely breathe.

And then—

A voice note. Raspy. Guttural.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:14]

“Fucking hell. I’m coming—fuck—Y/N, I’m coming thinking about that tight pussy and your filthy mouth saying my name.”

You both go quiet for a minute.

Breathless.

Spent.

But buzzing.

You’re still panting.

Your fingers are sticky with your own slick. Your body’s boneless. Your skin feels too hot, your breath too shallow. The little hum of your phone is the only sound in the room, and you’re suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

And how loud the truth is.

You just came for Mingyu.

And he just came for you.

Your brother’s best friend. The one you’re not supposed to want.

But God — you want him so bad your bones ache.

The screen glows.

lowtone.sin:

…Still alive?

petal.crush:

Barely.

I think you melted my brain.

lowtone.sin:

Good.

That was the goal.

You sounded so fucking pretty when you begged for it.

I replayed your voice note three times before I came.

Your cheeks flush with warmth that runs straight to your core.

petal.crush:

My legs are shaking.

Like… actually.

You wrecked me through a screen.

lowtone.sin:

Bet you’re all messy and flushed and glowing right now.

Wish I was there to see it.

Would kiss every inch of you. Clean you up with my tongue.

Your breath stutters.

petal.crush:

You’re gonna make me start all over again.

lowtone.sin:

Oh?

You that greedy for me already?

petal.crush:

I’ve been greedy for you since I was nineteen.

Since you walked out of the shower that one time shirtless and dripping and smiled like nothing was wrong while I nearly came just from looking at your waistline.

lowtone.sin:

Holy fuck.

I remember that day.

You wouldn’t meet my eyes.

You were wearing that little white top… no bra.

I had to jerk off in Seungcheol’s bathroom after dinner.

petal.crush:

I knew it.

I remember hearing the water run again and thinking, please let him be thinking about me.

lowtone.sin:

I always was.

Every time I came over, you were the only thing on my mind.

And every time I smiled, every joke I cracked — it was me trying to keep it together.

Pretending I didn’t want to drag you into your room and fuck you until you screamed.

petal.crush:

You don’t have to pretend anymore.

A beat passes.

Then:

lowtone.sin:

I want to ruin you, Y/N.

For real.

I want to see how that pretty mouth looks moaning my name.

I want to taste how sweet you are when you’re trembling under me.

I want to hold your wrists down and fuck you until you're mine.

Your chest squeezes. It’s still hot and filthy between you, but now there’s something else curling underneath it — something heavy and sweet and real.

lowtone.sin:

Remember that party last year?

When you wore that backless dress?

petal.crush:

Yeah. You kept refilling my drink.

lowtone.sin:

Because I couldn’t stop staring.

I wanted to drag you into the guest bathroom and eat you out against the door.

You were laughing, dancing like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.

petal.crush:

I knew.

I bent over on purpose.

Just so I could feel your eyes on my ass.

I wanted to know if you’d finally break.

lowtone.sin:

I almost did.

I had to go home early and jerk off to the image of your bare back and heels.

Imagining how you'd sound if I fucked you in them.

You’re flushed again. Dizzy with need. The ache is back, deeper than before.

petal.crush:

You’re making me wet again.

lowtone.sin:

Good.

Want you wet every time I speak.

Want you to fall asleep with my voice in your head and my name between your legs.

You record another voice note, throat thick with need.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:18]

“You’re already in my head, Mingyu. I’m aching for you. Touching myself again. Can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel inside me.”

lowtone.sin:

Fuck.

You’re gonna kill me.

You’re perfect. You’re mine.

There’s a moment of pause. His next message is slower, quieter.

lowtone.sin:

We’re not going back after this, are we?

You stare at that sentence, heart pounding. You type slowly, surely.

petal.crush:

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to pretend I don’t want you anymore.

I want this. You.

Even if it’s wrong.

lowtone.sin:

Then it’s us.

No more secrets.

No more pretending.

petal.crush:

You gonna come see me?

lowtone.sin:

You better leave the door unlocked.

Because I’m coming over tomorrow night.

And I’m not leaving until I’ve had your legs around my shoulders and my name in your throat.

Your whole body tingles.

petal.crush:

You sure you can handle me?

lowtone.sin:

Baby, I’ve been waiting for this for years.

I’m gonna make sure you never forget the first night we stop pretending.

And just like that, you're already aching for round two.

Even if it hasn't even begun yet.

__________________

Part 2

He walked towards you, locking you in between his body and his room mate's bedroom door.

"Tell me angel, was my friend better or was it me?" Your chest was heaving, inner thighs tightening together as your eyes carelessly wandered to his lips, your inner demon just wanting them back onto yours and Seungcheol did exactly that.

It wasn't sweet. It was rough, needy and eagerly full of lust. His tongue entering your mouth to swipe the gum and somehow place it in his own mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you in as your skimpy little club skirt was now grinding on his running shorts, as your hands ravaged his fit body. The grip on your ass was your signal to jump as he carried you more into their apartment, and to their kitchen. Seungcheol laid you down on their kitchen counter, making you shudder at the coldness but his body being on top of you as you both still heavily made out kept you warm. His hands unzipping the corset top from the front leaving your breasts bare for him as his lips move from your mouth to your tits.

"So you always go to clubs without a bra on?" he teased. You could only whimper as his fingers played with your nipples licking a stripe in between your breasts to then use his huge hands to basically smoosh your tits over his face to motorboat you. Hearing his groans in between your chest, you can't help but giggle.

"What's so funny?" He asks, biting your tit as he removes his face from your chest.

"You have a thing for motor boating?" You asked, recalling him doing the same thing as he fucked you last time.

"Well, it's because these tits are perfect, just as much as this pussy is." Seungcheol explains as one of his hands creeps under your skirt and cups your pussy tightly. It made your back arch and a loud moan escape, by quick reaction you covered your mouth with your hand as you look to the side where Mingyu's door is in slight fear that you were going to get caught.

Seungcheol saw this and a low growl escape, he then pulled your skirt and underwear down in one swift motion.

"I've been thinking about how fucking good you taste all fucking week, jerked off so many fucking times thinking about your pussy." He admitted. Seungcheol knelt down, holding your wrists to pin your arms to the sides of your body as his also laid his biceps across your thighs to restrict your movement. He blew air onto your pussy and grinned seeing you squirm.

"Want you to be loud baby, wake him up to a good surprise yeah? Call me daddy like you did last time." Before you could object, Seungcheol spat the gum in his mouth to the side so he could dive in head first. He wasn't lying about the fact he wanted this, needed this.

"Oh my god!" you yelled, lifting your head up to see his eyes already watching your every reaction and that only made things hotter.

What he didn't know was you thought about his mouth all fucking week too, though your one night stand rule was to dip without any other contact. A part of you wished that you did get Seungcheol's contact, you hadn't had anyone eat you out as good as he did. Which is one of the reasons why you even went out last night to try to forget the need for Seungcheol's mouth, is it coincidence or pure fucking luck for your distraction to be his fucking room mate of all people.

Seungcheol ate you out so good that it was loud and wet, the slurps felt like it was bouncing off the walls and he was devouring like a thirst deprived man receiving his drink. His tongue was fucking magic, going from flicking your bud to entering you and drawing figure 8s on your pussy. To just full on mouth on clit.

"Oh daddy I'm so close!" you moaned out, as soon as you did that you could feel the grin. He then let go of your hands to use one of his thumbs to rub circles on your nub and used the other to vastly thrust two fingers in you. With his tongue still working his magic and the motion of his fingers, you were going crazy, basically now humping his face. He loved the desperation of your movements that he stopped using his hands, including fingering you to wrap both his arms around your thighs to pull you even more closer to his face. Wanting you to cum on his mouth and his desperate mouth only.

It was giving you deja vu the last time you two fucked and how you felt you were suffocating him but he didn't care and things have clearly not changed. Your back arched as the pit of your stomach only felt tighter, you moved your head to the side for only a split second and paused with your blurry vision seeing Mingyu now wide awake in the hallway.

But yet, your shock only lasted for a split second and his presence, knowing he was watching only made you get to your release sooner. Your eyes travelled downwards to see Mingyu's hard cock against his grey sweatpants and that was it, your hand reached into Cheol's hair as you released all over his mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to control it with how good and sweet the release felt.

You shrieked when you felt your pussy get slapped, a signal to open your eyes and quickly diverting your head back to Seungcheol who stood proudly. The look in his eyes full of ego as he tasted what was left of your cum on his lips, his eyes never leaving your face and reading you were not a bit uncomfortable at the surprise third guest.

"Really Cheol?" You hear from Mingyu.

"Don't be whining Mingyu, technically I had her first." Cheol said with a smirk.

You see Mingyu's face turn into realisation. The moans that spilled out of your mouth last night that sounded like heaven in his ears to the point it naturally made his hips thrust faster sounded oh so familiar because he jerked off (and came) to the same moans only a week before.

"But..." Seungcheol coughs, now leaning onto the counter to face Mingyu (but where your legs were to not cover your view.)

Cheol's hand reached to cup your breast, his two fingers rubbing your nipple so you didn't feel neglected. It was like to tell you, without words that he was nowhere near done with you despite not looking directly at you.

"I think she likes this predicament right now, hm?" His eyes, finally now looking at you as he pinches your nipple making your body jerk by his touch. The eye contact between you and Seungcheol heavy, like he needed to read your facial expressions and how you were feeling.

"Does this little slut like knowing that you have two hard cocks wanting you right now?" You could only whimper at the dirty talk, your pussy still wet and brain mush from how hard he ate you out. Seungcheol's hand moved from your breast to your chin, cupping your face.

"Use your words darling, say you want us both right here at the same time and we're all yours." Seungcheol explained.

You nodded fast, in the back of your brain knowing how utterly pathetic you must look but you didn't care.

"Yes! Yes! I want both of your big cocks right now, please daddy." you begged to Seungcheol, then looking at Mingyu now standing closer to the both of you. You address him. "Please sir."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊

And here you were. On all fours in Seungcheol's king size bed with his mirror closet giving you a view of how you looked when your eyes adverted to the side. You looked like a mess and it was a view all three of you wanted planted in your brains forever.

Mingyu, standing on one side with his huge cock in your mouth had you using one arm to steady yourself and the other to play with his balls. His hands were in your hair to balance himself as he harshly thrusted into your mouth.

Seungcheol, standing on the other side has his large cock slamming in and out of your pussy from behind. One hand gripped your hip tightly throughout the whole fucking while the other hand would go from gripping your other hip to thrust in you roughly to slapping your ass just when he felt like it. It was loud and messy, tears ran down your face at the pleasure.

Though Mingyu was thrusting in your mouth, you made sure to swirl your tongue to give him even more pleasure. Your eyes couldn't leave the sight above you, despite it being so blurry from the tears in your eyes. Mingyu was so fucking pretty. The way his eyes scrunched but forced himself to stare at you with his mouth agape and the grip on your hair tightening to signal when your mouth did a really fucking good job.

Mingyu was fighting a war with himself. He was shutting his eyes because the pleasure was getting to him but god, did he also want to see your pretty, teary eyed face that included seeing your eyes roll back from the pleasure Seungcheol was giving you.

For Seungcheol, he loved every minute of this. He also thought Mingyu was endearing when he was getting his cock sucked, of course this wasn't their first time sharing.

With your second orgasm approaching, you felt yourself getting closer to your release before Seungcheol was even done. You wanted to release Mingyu's cock to give a warning of your orgasm but his grip on your head was so tight. You didn't have to say anything though because Seungcheol knew you were close from how much your pussy was tightly gripping his cock.

He moved both his hands back to your hips, thrusting faster and harder that his balls slapping against your ass echoed throughout the bedroom.

"I know you're close baby, give it to me, coat my cock with your cum so I can paint you white." Cheol chanted, it only made your eyes roll and Mingyu grin at the sight once again.

"Fuck she love this." Mingyu moaned out, his hand going from your hair to your face and with both hands using his thumbs to stroke your hollowed out cheeks.

"Does princess like getting creampied? Want me to cum in your next?" Mingyu questions, you nod fast in his hands.

With Cheol's brutal pace and a grip on your hips that will leave bruises, you cum hard. Your arms losing the balance of keeping you upright making your mouth leave Mingyu's cock and though he hissed at the cold air. He rather cum in your pretty pussy than your mouth anyways.

You moaned and cried onto the bed, your body spasming at the pleasure. But Cheol didn't give up despite the new position. Still thrusting into your pussy vastly as your walls clutched onto his cock, you felt so fucking wet and tight that he couldn't help himself and came right after you. In you. The feeling of his cum spurting into your gummy walls only made your body yelp more, your hands gripping onto the sheets tightly.

"Thank you daddy! Thank you!' You screamed into the bed. Making more spurts of cum from Cheol come out.

Mingyu could have came at the sight of both of you orgasming knowing he was next.

You couldn't dare lift your head up, feeling slightly humiliated and knowing the makeup from last night probably looked even more messy as your chest was heaving. Pussy twitching. But that didn't last long as you felt yourself get flipped. Your back now laying on the bed as the two men switched places without you realising, you steadying your own breath was all you heard and focused on.

Mingyu smiling widely at your shock as he softly stroked your outer thighs.

"Ready to take me princess?" He asked. With your need to be their good girl, you nodded.

"Words" Mingyu sternly said.

"Yes sir, nee-" before you could finish your sentence about needing his cock. A large shriek fell out your lips as he pulls your body closer to the edge of the bed by your legs; to wrap them around his waist.

"Sorry for surprising you baby, but I'm not sorry for this." Mingyu utters and before you could question what he meant.

He thrusted his huge cock all in, making you loudly scream. The stretch hurt but my god was it delicious. Seungcheol was huge in the sense of his length, while Mingyu was huge from his girth. Both easily stretching you in different and addictive ways.

"T-Thought Seungcheol's cock prepped you already but you're still so fucking tight. Fuck ... babe." Mingyu stutters, chants, breathless.

You don't miss the weight of the bed dip as Seungcheol now sits beside you.

You reach your hand out to stroke Seungcheol's semi-hard cock to become hard again, but he hisses and smacks your hand away.

"Did I say you could touch?" He tells off, you whimper in response.

Instead of being closer to you, he moves away until his head leans against the bed's headboard. Legs criss crossed as he began to stroke his own cock while watching you get fucked. Your eyes never leaving each other as he does this, he smiles at your pout, finding you cute as your brain whines on how this isn't fair.

Before you could further complain, Mingyu readjusts his hips that he finds the spot you needed. It makes you gasp, your attention diverting back to him as he himself wears a similar pout to you.

"Pay attention to me too baby" he complains.

"I-I'm sorry sir! You fuck me so good sir, p-please don't stop" you moan out and praise. Back arching, eyes shutting as your delicious tits are bouncing from the thrusts, both Mingyu and Seungcheol can't stop watching your chest as one strokes his cock faster while the other penetrates you faster.

You can't control it any longer, your orgasm approaching and your mouth spewing every noise your throat can make. Mingyu fucking you so good, you don't even register how tight he's holding you or how Seungcheol's moaning with you. Unable to say any words, with a scream you come once again. Mingyu nearly topples over with how your pussy grips his cock while you orgasm, knowing why Seungcheol nearly lost himself as well.

With Mingyu's hard cock still plugged into you, not moving to let you have a breather both your eyes go to Seungcheol whose cum is splattered all over his stomach. You feel drool leave your mouth and both of them snicker seeing this.

An idea sparks in Mingyu's head, he takes his cock out of your warm pussy and before you whine of the emptiness he plunges two fingers in you.

"Get on all fours baby and lick daddy's cum off" Mingyu orders, both you and Seungcheol are surprised to hear him take control for the first time throughout this ordeal.

It makes you eagerly listen and as you move, reposition yourself. Mingyu's fingers never leave you. Instead he joins kneeling on the bed behind you, once you face Seungcheol you attempt to lower your head but Mingyu grabs your hair to lift your head up. You yelp in surprise but love the delicious burn like you did when you were sucking his cock.

"Film it on the bedside table Cheol" Mingyu orders, nodding to the phone on the same table and Seungcheol smiles. You feel your pussy flutter and cheeks blush at the same time,

"Hm, I was going to ask if that's okay angel but seems like it is. Naughty girl" Mingyu announces as he kisses your back softly.

When you hear the noise of the phone camera recording, you see it on the bedside table on selfie mode perfectly capturing all three of you.

"Lick baby" Mingyu orders again and lets go of your hair, just for it to be held in a makeshift ponytail by Seungcheol. You lower your head and lick a stripe of his load on Cheol's stomach, the salty and sticky liquid on your tongue making you hum as Seungcheol watches your every move of continuously licking his body. Hissing as you casually try to take his semi-hard cock's tip after licking his cum up. His cock was sensitive but if you went to suck him off, he wouldn't object.

At the same time, Mingyu unplugs his fingers to thrust his cock back into you. The motion making your lips that were around Cheol's tip now take his cock fully and deeper into your mouth.

"Oh shit" Cheol moans out, his cock now fully hard.

You wish this overwhelming pleasure of sucking Cheol's cock and Mingyu's fast thrusts mixed with your wet and full of cum pussy would never end. You bob your mouth up and down Cheol's shaft, tongue feeling his veins.

Seungcheol knew he wasn't going to last long, his free hand not in your hair gripping the pillow beside him as he thrusted into your mouth. Now he understood Mingyu's predicament before, he couldn't describe how good you sucked cock even if he tried.

Mingyu was in the same predicament, not knowing how much longer he can hold on as your tight pussy continues to grip him from the pleasure of sucking cock and Mingyu thrusting into your pussy so deliciously.

The fact this was the fourth orgasm they were pulling out of you and so close to your third, you were close as well. But with full persistent you wanted daddy to cum first, with the one hand not steadying your position just like you did with Mingyu. You played with Cheol's balls while deep throating him. That was all it took, as his load spilled into your mouth. Despite thinking you swallowed all of it, when your mouth left his shaft. You felt liquid still around your lips and leaving your mouth like drool but the warmth and thickness of it made you realise it was his cum on your lips.

"Oh fuck" Seungcheol quietly whispered, chest still panting. He grabbed the phone off the bedside table to film your face close up, your fucked out face was both beautiful and a fucking mess.

"F-Fuck I'm close" Mingyu panted behind you, using one of his hands to start rubbing your clit to get you closer. You bite your lip, tasting the cum. Seungcheol still filming every bit of this.

"Mingyu look at the phone" Seungcheol points out, moving it to the side a bit to still capture your makeup ruined face while letting Mingyu have his view.

The sight of your pleasured out face was all it took for Mingyu, cumming in your pussy with a scream from his lips. The sensation making your own pussy spasm and cum for the fourth time, both of them had massive loads that felt like they were filling your cunt to the brim. Just like before, your arms give up on you. Head plopping onto Seungcheol's thighs as he softly strokes your hair.

Mingyu grabs the phone from Seungcheol with shaky hands, now filming from the side right next to where his cock and your pussy were as your hips were still upright. Finally unplugging his cock, you and Seungcheol watch from the phone as Mingyu watches with his own eyes how the mix of all three of your cums trickle down your thighs, drops falling onto the bedsheets.

All three of you are sweaty and tired beyond belief, you feel your own eyes drooping to a shut on Cheol's thigh not even getting to see who was cleaning the sticky mess on your legs with a towel. All you heard and felt before your slumber was a kiss on the shoulder, hair strokes and a sentence of

"Sleep baby girl, you earned it, we'll be here."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊

Mingyu is still engrossed in conversation, and in an ideal world you would join in with him, looking effortlessly nonchalant. Instead you’re sat frozen with utter bewilderment in your features, with a million questions in your head, with your heart beating so fast it feels like it’s trying to escape your ribcage. 

He starts to walk over then, and your eyes lock with his, and for some God-forsaken reason you can’t tear them away. 

What do you say? How do you act? How are you even supposed to go about this? Mingyu doesn’t even know he’s your ex.

Fuck.

“Choi Seungcheol?” comes Mingyu’s voice, booming with surprise, cutting off your whirlwind of thoughts to give you a different whirlwind of thoughts that includes how the fuck do they know each other?

Mingyu stands up, sauntering over to the man and pulling him into a hug.

“Yah, Kim Mingyu, did you get taller?” Seungcheol says, scanning your boyfriend up and down with a grin as he pulls away.

“No, hyung, I think you’re just getting shorter. You know, the way old people do.”

“Wow… Still as annoying as you were in college?”

Their laughs harmonise. You still can’t take your eyes off your ex-boyfriend.

Seungcheol is different now, but he’s also the same. His head-turning charm hasn’t wavered — you’ve been in his presence for a minute and there’s heat crawling up the back of your neck from you hoping he’ll look your way. The boyish confidence he’d had is now a manly one. Never arrogant, but he knew his worth then, and he undoubtedly knows it now. 

His hair is longer. It’s dark, like it always was, his bangs framing the sides of his face. You used to tell him he looked most handsome with it this way. He looks older, yet he hasn’t aged a day. In a way he looks younger, in fact — his cheeks have filled out, his skin flawless. 

He’s bigger. He’s wearing an oversized leather jacket, but he’s far broader than you ever remember him being. He always did like working out. 

It hits you like a train — you’re still attracted to him. Of course, he’s attractive. But you still want him. The flicker of desire and hunger he gave you; your affection for him — none of it ever really died out. 

While your boyfriend and your ex-boyfriend catch up, you take the opportunity to pick up your drink, pluck the straw out, and gulp down every last drop.

Reality rears its head when Mingyu says, “ah, this is my girlfriend, by the way. Baby, this is Choi Seungcheol. We played football together in university.”

You gulp, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

Seungcheol’s eyebrows raise at you, not judging but inquisitive, and he pauses like he’s waiting for you to speak first, like he’d hate to say the wrong thing.

“Mingyu, um… Seungcheol and I… Used to be together,” you say, picking at your nails as guilt makes your body heavy.

“Huh?” 

You don’t have the courage to look up at him, knowing exactly what kind of kicked puppy eyes you’ll be greeted with if you do. 

“It was years ago, ah… Was it seven? Seven years?” Seungcheol pipes in and fuck, his immediate coming to your rescue doesn’t help the fact that you’re supposed to be over him. “It was right after I graduated, so, it’s been a while.”

You can only nod, finally turning your gaze to Mingyu just to find him exactly as you thought you would: looking like a kicked, hurt puppy. What’s worse is the glint of disappointment in his eyes that are usually gleaming when they’re on you.

“You never told me,” he says, quiet, like he can’t muster up anything more.

“I mean, it never came up! How was I supposed to know you two knew each other?”

Mingyu stays silent. Eventually, he speaks again: “can we go? And talk about this at my place?”

“But it’s only 11:30… You really wanna leave already?”

“Yeah, I do,” he says, throwing a not-so-subtle sideways glance in the direction of Seungcheol, who’s standing there awkwardly.

“Okay then, let’s go,” you say. 

You know your boyfriend well, yet you’re still surprised when Mingyu’s hand catches yours loosely. He is the clingiest man in all of South Korea, however, and if he doesn’t get his physical touch fix he’ll die, and so despite the fact that he wants to be mad at you, how could he possibly not hold your hand?

He’s on his phone the entire elevator trip downstairs and the moment you step foot outside of the building, he’s leading you towards a taxi, parked and waiting for him. Still he opens the door for you, and if it was anyone else you would be quick to assume that it’s an attempt to soothe his bruised ego — to prove he’s better than Seungcheol. But this is just Mingyu. He was raised to never put his morals aside for anything, especially not for petty fights with the love of his life.

The short ride home gives you time to contemplate. You feel bad — of course you do. You’ll do anything to avoid hurting your boyfriend in any way, considering he treats you as though he was put on this Earth to worship you. You’re quite certain, however, that Mingyu is just being sulky. He doesn't have a jealous bone in his body, so it’s uncharacteristic of him to be envious of another man for having had you once, which means the only reason he’s upset is solely because he feels left out for not being in the know about you and Seungcheol. 

The taxi pulls up to Mingyu’s apartment building and he doesn’t waste a second before paying, clambering out of the car in haste, bounding over to your side in three long strides, and opening the door for you.

He lets you into the apartment first, slips his shoes off, and heads straight to his kitchen — unsurprising. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, already pulling ingredients out of the fridge. You settle onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, watching him move without so much as thinking about what he needs to do next. It’s all instilled in him. You find it one of the sexiest things about him.

“Yes, but I thought you wanted to talk,” you say.

He stays silent, however, more focused on mincing garlic while he chews on the inside of his cheek. 

“Mingyu, if I had known that you and Seungcheol were familiar, of course I would have told you. How was I supposed to know he was more than just some guy to you?”

“It’s not that,” he says eventually.

“Then what?”

Silence. He’s dicing an onion with the skill of a chef with a twenty-year career.

“There’s no way you’re jealous, are you?” 

No answer. He’s not disputing it.

“Oh, Mingyu,” you sigh pitifully, sliding off the stool and rounding the island until you’re behind him, your arms snaking around his waist. You shove your face into his gorgeously toned back, nuzzling your cheek into his warmth, feeling him freeze, tense, and relax in your hold all in the span of one second. “Can you put the knife down and hear me out, please?”

The sound of chopping comes to a stop, and you presume he picks up a towel to wipe his hands before shifting in your embrace. You let go of his waist, taking a step back so he can turn to face you, his solemn face wringing your heart and making you reach forward so you can have your hands on him again, settling them on his chest. 

“You know you’re all I want, right?”

“Why did you and Choi Seungcheol break up?”

You pause, blinking at his forwardness. Then you sigh, dragging the memories of six years ago to the forefront of your mind. “He got offered a graduate position in New York. We tried long distance for a few months, but we couldn’t do it. We were both so busy, and there was such a big time difference, and it was all just making us go crazy.”

“So you only broke up because he went overseas?” 

You’re not stupid. You know what he’s implying, and now you understand that maybe he wanted to hear that you and Seungcheol had ended on bad terms, or lost feelings, or because he had cheated. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about you going back to him. 

“Mingyu,” you sigh. This time it has an air of frustration. “I’m over him now.”

You swallow the sour taste the words leave in your mouth. 

It was easy to say that your feelings for Seungcheol had dissipated when he wasn’t around; when he wasn’t there to remind you of how he had once loved you. Seeing him again today proved otherwise. 

Then again, you only saw him for five minutes. You spoke one sentence to him, lusted over how much hotter he’d gotten, and then Mingyu was dragging you away from him. 

“Are you?” he asks. For a second you wonder if he can read your mind. 

“Yes, and I’m with you now. My tall, strong man who can cook and sing… Who takes care of me and fucks me good… Who has such broad shoulders and big biceps,” you tell him, watching him fail to bite back a smile, and he’s rolling his eyes too, cheeks turning pink as he melts from just a few of your buttery words.

“What, you only like me for my physical appearance?” he teases.

You shoot him an unamused look. 

“Yes, because all you’re good for is being my accessory,” you quip. “Can I suck your dick now?”

“Huh?! All of a sudden?”

“Just wanna show my appreciation for my man,” you hum, sinking to your knees in front of him, pawing lightly at his crotch.

“You can’t just solve things with sex, baby,” he argues, but he’s groaning as you press your face against his clothed length, mouthing at it through his jeans.

“Consider this part of my grovelling,” you say, reaching for the button until Mingyu grabs your hand.

“No,” he says. Your blood runs cold. He’s done with you, isn’t he? Then he speaks again; one word that makes your body temperature soar right back up — “couch.”

You rise to your feet at lightning speed, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the living area like you’re running out of time, pushing him onto his couch and dropping to your knees again between his legs. This time he lets you undo the button and the zipper, lifting his hips as he helps you tug the pants down his legs, struggling to keep up with you as you grab at the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, not faltering even a little in the way you move like a starved animal. 

He’s only half-hard when his cock springs free. When your fingers wrap around him he’s too thick for them to touch and it’s quick to have you drooling — literally. You lean forward, dribbling spit over your hand, smearing it up and down his shaft as you pump him to full hardness. 

Mingyu’s humming already, his head falling against the back of the couch from the first lick of your tongue at his tip. You adore how sensitive he is; how little you have to do to make him fall apart. It’s a testament to how smitten he is, he likes to tell you.

Your mouth wraps around him, then you’re swallowing as much of him as you can handle (which is not a lot, considering he has a monster between his thighs) with a hand curled around the base of him. As you pop up, your hand does too in tandem, jerking him off and taking him in and out of your throat simultaneously.

Mingyu is reeling already. His head is fuzzy, the ceiling spinning above him. His hand grips at the couch, the other rooting itself in your hair. His gasps and sighs quickly turn into moans as you work him with more and more vigour every minute. 

It’s hard to hear or concentrate on anything else when you have cock down your throat, so when Mingyu whimpers something that sounds like “fuck, hyung,” it doesn’t even register to you. You’re more concentrated on sucking his soul out, just as lost in the sensations of his tip prodding at the back of your mouth as he is on your warm mouth enveloping him.

Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Spit pools from your mouth and glistens down your fingers. The noises you’re making are utterly depraved — slick, gagging, guttural moaning. Don’t you know you drive him fucking insane?

His head is heavy when he raises it to peer down at you. You’re some kind of succubus, he concludes, when he finds your eyes staring back at him, bleary and full of adoration. 

“God,” he whines, clutching at your roots. His voice, low and buttery, makes you gush. “Keep going just like that, fuck.”

It’s a little funny; how you’re supposed to be the one grovelling and yet it’s Mingyu who’s begging. Either way, it’s not like you plan on stopping. 

You’re taking more of him now; almost to his base. You fight against your gagging, too eager to make your man fall apart. Pulling off him, you catch your breath while swirling your tongue around his red, leaking tip. 

“So pretty like this, ah-aren’t you?” he says, but the strain in his voice utterly betrays his composure. 

Your effect on him is what gives you the confidence to swoop down and start to swallow every last inch of him. When your nose hits his pelvis, Mingyu can no longer keep it together. 

He cums with a whimper, spurting his load down your throat, and you take every drop like a good girl. 

Mingyu is blushing and blissed out as he eases you off his cock gingerly. He gives you a moment to catch your breath — one, two — then he’s tugging you into his lap, faced away from him, your back to his chest.

Your skirt gets pushed up and you whine when his fingers slip into your panties and trace along your folds. 

“Look how wet you are,” he says, low and gruff, his breath hot on your ear. “Just from having dick in your mouth.”

Your only response is a pathetic little sound, your brain already void of any thoughts. Mingyu slips two of his fingers into your hole — shallow, just the tips of them — only to pull them back out and circle your clit instead. He does this a few times: dips in, dips out. Plays with your clit. Teases your folds. It’s not long before your hips start bucking, begging.

“Baby, please…” you sigh, but impatience bleeds into your attempt at sounding pitiful.

“Mm? What do you want?” he asks, then his thick fingers slide into your hole, all the way to his knuckle, leaving you squirming. “That?”

“Yes, please,” you gasp, clenching around his fingers that dip in and out of you steadily. Quickly his touch becomes not enough though, and you would hate to be so greedy, so all you do is whine his name, not pleading for anything; behaving for him.

Mingyu reads you well, however. He’s completely in tune with you. Sometimes, perhaps, too in tune. He speeds up his wrist, revelling in the way your legs tremble when he does. Then he crooks his digits upwards, curling them right against that sensitive patch deep inside you. You almost scream.

His fingers drag in and out of your cunt with purpose. All you can do is cling to the arm he’s wrapped around your waist and let him finger fuck you into oblivion. You’re growing closer every second, if the the squelching sound of your growing arousal is anything to prove it. 

You can practically see your edge — heat is pooling in your abdomen and it’s ready to burst. Then, just as you’re about to tip over, Mingyu pulls his fingers out of you.

“What the– fuck you!” you sob, itching and aching now that he’s left you high and dry. There’s a stream of curses coming from your mouth as Mingyu shifts you around in his lap so you’re facing him. He’s grinning up at you, because he finds everything you do both amusing and endearing, and it takes everything in you not to smack his pretty face, walk to his bathroom, and finish yourself off without him. 

“You’re so mean,” you exclaim, letting him raise your hips off his lap and line up his hard-again cock with your sopping entrance.

“Sorry,” he sings without an ounce of remorse. “I wanted revenge.”

Next thing you know, he’s sheathed inside you, every last inch of him buried in your pussy. 

“Min-gyu! Fuck,” you cry, hands flying to brace yourself on his shoulders as he starts fucking into you with abandon. 

You’re gasping, and so is he. His hips are so fast and powerful, years spent in the gym perfecting his physique manifesting in the way he drives his cock in and out of you, hard and precise. He seems to hit deeper with every thrust, his biceps flexing as he grips your hips and bounces you up and down his cock too. Like he’s eager to ruin you.

“Taking me so good, baby,” he says. His voice is breathless and a little gruff. It makes you melt a little. 

You haven’t even cum once yet, but you’re soaked. Mingyu’s thighs glisten with your juices, growing wetter with each time his cock dives back in you. 

No one else could fuck you like this. No one could reach so deep, so hard, so fast, stretch you out this good, make you feel this full. 

Well, except maybe one man.

The next time you glance down at him, your boyfriend’s eyes are replaced with another’s: a haunting shade of brown that makes you shiver. It’s a different pair of lips grinning up at you. The next time you blink he’s gone and Mingyu is the one beneath you again. 

He knows you’re going to cum before you do. Your pussy clenches uncontrollably, your nails sinking into his sunkissed skin. Your whines don’t stop; an incoherent, breathy mess of pleas and chants of his name. His hips are unrelenting, spurred on by your depraved state and the way he holds your pleasure in the palm of his hand. 

Mingyu barely lets up as you climax, bliss making you tremble in his hold. You bury your face in his neck, filling your lungs with his warm, woody scent as your orgasm racks through your body and makes you sob.

Even as you come down, Mingyu doesn’t falter the pace of his thrusts. Your nerve endings are lit on fire; raw. It’s too much, and yet you want nothing more than the sensation of his release filling you up.

He hears your pathetic whimpers of his name in his ear, coaxing. 

“Gyu… cum in me? Please?” 

Then his fingertips on your waist become bruising, and he’s dragging you up and down his cock almost brutally, as though you’re nothing but a toy. You clench around him subconsciously, your tightness forcing him closer to his edge. It’s the finishing blow.

Mingyu cums with a whimper. His fingers sink into the meat of your ass, holding you down so he can bury himself as deep as he can and fill your insides with his seed. 

His head drops back against the couch as he catches his breath. You sit up, your eyes finding his. Warmth floods your chest as a post-coital affection sets in. It seeps into the way you cup his face, tracing his nose and lips. 

Contemplation simmers in his gaze. Then, “can I tell you something?” 

You push dark strands of hair out of his face. You’re not sure why he needs to ask.

“Always,” you reply.

“Back in university… Ah, how do I even say this?” He swallows as he considers his words, and now your mind is running. “The thing is, I wasn’t just teammates with Choi Seungcheol… I had a crush on him.”

When the next weekend rolls around, Jeonghan decides that everyone should go clubbing. While you’d much prefer to spend your Saturday night huddled around the TV with wine and takeout, dating Kim Mingyu means that there’s no getting out of a night out. He’ll never pass up an opportunity to go to the club. It’s a red flag to some. To you, it’s taking your dog to the dog park so that it can socialise and get its energy out. 

You meet your friends at an old downtown bar first, quickly greeting them all with a hug and squeezing onto the sofa next to Yoon Jeonghan himself. 

“I’ll go grab us drinks,” Mingyu says, waiting until you give him the okay before he disappears.

Next to you, Jeonghan elbows you playfully because that’s his idea of striking up conversation. 

“So, Choi Seungcheol didn’t get in the way of you and Mingoori,” he says, never one to hide his nosiness. It’s how he’s up to date on everyone’s latest drama — he doesn’t shy away from prying.

“Why, were you hoping he would?” you ask, but your tone doesn’t contain any animosity. On the contrary, you match Jeonghan’s impudent teasing with a grin.

“What do you take me for, Satan?” 

Your look warns him. Do you really want me to answer that?

He snorts. “Anyway, Mingyu told me everything. Have you talked to Seungcheollie since?”

“No… And even if I still had his number and socials, why would I?”

Jeonghan hums. “Maybe he was concerned. He’s back in Korea for good now, anyway, so I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

You glare at him, at his stupid, gremlin smile, and you hate how good he is at making you utterly, completely puzzled. It’s not the fact that your ex-boyfriend is now back in the country, it’s the weird unspoken implication of Jeonghan’s words. The one that you can’t seem to figure out. 

“You’re bothering me,” you say, deciding you’re no longer interested in this conversation and standing up from the seat.

“Yeah, I’m good at it.”

You send him a sneering look, still in jest, before walking off in the same direction Mingyu went. 

You find him quickly; after all a six-foot-two man is not that hard to spot. He’s leaning on the bar counter as you sidle up to him.

“Hi,” you say. 

“Oh, hey. Why didn’t you stay with the others?” 

“Got bored,” you reply, curling your arms around one of his biceps.

“Yeah? I left for two minutes,” he laughs. “I know you’re just being clingy.”

You pout at him, refusing to confirm or deny his statement. Just then, the bartender wordlessly sets two drinks down in front of Mingyu and vanishes to serve the other customers before either of you can thank him.

“What did you get me?” you ask as he hands you one of the tall glasses, filled to the brim with ice and amber. Spiced rum, maybe.

“Whiskey,” he tells you, holding his own glass towards you. You clink with him, then you take a heavy, reckless swig, much to his dismay. “Easy, baby.”

He’s so hot that you’re almost inclined to obey. Being bratty is just a little more fun, though.

“Hmm, you have to take care of me either way,” you taunt, reaching for his hand and leading him back to the table where everyone is sitting. 

He sighs, but he’s smiling fondly. 

For the next hour, you chat with your friends; laughing, telling stupid anecdotes that will be told again, slowly getting more and more tipsy. A unanimous vote soon decides on ‘one last drink’, so Mingyu stands, and you follow. 

After he orders and pays, he turns to you. “I’m gonna go pee before we head to the club. Stay here?” 

You nod assuringly at him, then he leaves you to wait for your highball to be concocted. When you’re a woman in a bar, however, you’re never alone for long.

“Come here often?” a man’s voice asks. 

“Oh, I have a boyfrie-” 

Your automated, practiced line dies on your tongue when you turn towards the voice and see who it is.

“S-seungcheol!” you exclaim. 

“Hey. Where’s Mingyu?” is the first thing he asks. 

He looks handsome. Scratch that — he looks hot. He’s just in some baggy jeans, an oversized black t-shirt with some graphic scrawled on it, and a thin gold chain around his neck. On most men it would be a basic outfit. Choi Seungcheol looks like an A-list celebrity. 

“Oh, he went to pee,” you answer, hoping and praying that the din and chatter of the bar swallows the way your voice shakes. You hate the effect he has on you — you literally dated him, for God’s sake!

Seungcheol laughs at your bluntness and you swoon. You missed his dimples and the way the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he smiled. You missed the way he held your gaze with such affection when you looked at him. His bergamot scent radiates off of him and engulfs you; the same one that used to live in your closet when it was filled with borrowed hoodies. You’re just a girl fresh out of college again. 

“Oh, by the way, I’m sorry about the other night,” you say before your thoughts can wander off. “It’s not like I was keeping the fact that we were together from Mingyu, or anything. I’d told him about an ex a couple times but never specified anything. I’d moved on, so I just didn’t really think it was important.”

Telling Seungcheol now that you’d moved on from him tastes like a lie, especially with the way your heart is fluttering like you’re talking to your crush. Your body heats when it sounds like he picks up on it. 

“Moved on from me, huh? Stings a little,” he says. He’s grinning, but you know Seungcheol, who doesn’t really have an ego per se, but rather a need to be coddled, and so you know he’s not entirely joking.

“I mean, have you seen who I’m dating now? Besides, you’re telling me you don’t have a girl? You?”

“And what does that mean?” he presses, lips still curled upwards.

“You know what I mean. Answer my question,” you say, taking a sip of your drink and honing in on the way the cool liquid glides down your throat — grounding yourself. You might do something embarrassing otherwise. 

“You still think I’m hot.”

Your drink nearly flies back up. You swallow it just before it can. “Well, I’m not blind.”

“Well, to answer your question, no, I don’t have a girl. I had my hands full with work pretty much the entire time I was in the US,” he says, shrugging.

You shouldn’t feel relieved. Why do you feel relieved, for God’s sake? Oh wait — it’s because you can’t stand the thought of him with another girl. 

“So then, how come you’re back in Korea?” you ask, taking another sip of your drink.

“I’m finally starting my own company here.” 

Well, you have a thing for founders, you guess. 

“And how is th-”

Your words get cut off again, but it’s by your boyfriend this time.

“Choi Seungcheol!” he calls out, as though it’s his first time seeing him again.  

“Hey, Kim Mingyu,” Seungcheol replies as they go in for their dap-to-hug greeting. 

“Sorry for last weekend,” Mingyu offers. He almost looks… Shy. “I was kinda stupid for that, and, um, I hope it didn’t make you feel too uncomfortable.”

Seungcheol waves his hand dismissively. “I knew that me being back in Korea would be a little weird for everyone. I just hope things got sorted out between you two.”

You and Mingyu side-eye each other. 

“They’re definitely sorted, yeah,” you say, clearing your throat to hide your laugh.

“Have you ordered a drink yet?” Mingyu swoops in, suave as ever. 

“Ah, I’m debating if I’ll even go after. Just wanted to stop by and say hi to some of the guys.”

“Uh-uh. We’re taking shots and you’re coming with us,” Mingyu insists, flagging down the bartender and ordering five shots — two each for him and Seungcheol, one for you. 

Seungcheol protests the entire time, but evidently it’s lighthearted as he knocks back the liquor along with you and your boyfriend. Somehow, nothing feels out of place. 

After that, the three of you head back over to your friends, who are gathering their things and getting ready to go. When your eyes meet Jeonghan’s, he’s staring at you with the same look from earlier: the sly grin that makes you narrow your eyes at him. Then Mingyu slings an arm around your shoulders and leads you out of the bar and Jeonghan dissolves into thin air.

The club is just a few streets away, and when you get there, you waste no time before you and your boyfriend are on the dance floor. 

As the night goes on and more alcohol enters your bloodstream, you become ignited. 

Lights strobing. Music pounding. You, moving mindlessly along with the bass pumping through your body, your head fuzzy with something euphoric. Sweat coats your skin and your limbs feel weighted, yet the only thing that could stop you from dancing is if you dropped dead. 

Mingyu’s hands are an anchor around your waist, his hard chest flush to your back. He’s taken his jacket off, and his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat too. 

A few feet away, Seungcheol’s eyes lock with yours, sending an immediate shiver down your spine. It’s the rooftop bar all over again. Only this time, you’re buzzing with boldness. 

Your hand reaches for him. There’s a beat of hesitation, of questioning, but then he’s shimmying his body through the crowd. You crane your head back to meet your boyfriend’s gaze and he’s grinning, a silent understanding. The assurance it gives you makes you float. 

The next time you blink, Seungcheol’s right in front of you. You don’t think twice when you reach for his shoulders that are begging to be grabbed and pull him right up against you, sandwiching yourself between the two of them. It’s shameless. You don’t have a care in the world.

You’re surrounded by pure muscle. Two sets of arms, abs, chests are pressed to your body, rock-hard and toned, with enough strength in them to pick you up like you weigh no more than a feather. Mingyu’s crotch rubs against your ass, Seungcheol’s to your front. It’s like a wet dream come true. 

Something finally dawns on you then, in your drunken daze as you grind yourself between the two men. You still want Seungcheol, yes, but that’s not to say you don’t also want Mingyu. 

No — you want them both. 

At the same time. 

With both of their thick dicks splitting you open- woah. 

The countless glasses of soju you’ve had manifest in the words you say as you tug Seungcheol towards you and bring your lips to his ear.

“Did you know Mingyu used to have a crush on you?”

Something shifts then. Seungcheol pulls away from you, eyebrows pulled together in disbelief, yet when he looks past you, at Mingyu, his eyes simmer with traces of something else — intrigue, almost, and simultaneously knowing. He’s not averse to it, and that makes you giddy.

“What?” Mingyu mouths to him.

“You used to have a crush on me?” The music drowns his voice, but Mingyu gets the gist, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t tend to run from his problems, but in that moment all he can think to do is grab you by your wrist, shake his head in a weak denial, and drag you away to somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

The thick air of the club soon falls away, the cooler air of the night wraps around you, and the music becomes the one that is muffled. There are some smokers scattered here and there in the enclosed area he’s taken you to, but all you’re focused on is your boyfriend as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Why the hell would you say that?” he asks, but he’s so soft when he scolds you. Never will he raise his voice at you. 

“I dunno, to make things interesting,” you say, your words slurring a little and a small, playful grin on your face.

Mingyu huffs, throwing his head back in exasperation. All of a sudden, Seungcheol’s voice rings out: “yah, are we in middle school?” 

You and your boyfriend’s heads whip towards him as he enters the smoking area with that sexy smirk he always has. 

“Hyung, she was joking,” Mingyu blurts out.

“I don’t joke about serious things. You moaned ‘hyung’ when we were fucking!”

Your boyfriend claps a hand over your mouth and your fingers latch onto his wrist, trying to pry it off of you. 

“She’s drunk,” he continues while you wriggle in his hold.

Seungcheol laughs, sounding both flustered and amused, and Mingyu realises that between the three of you, he’s the only one who’s being serious. 

“It’s not a big deal to me,” Seungcheol says. 

Mingyu is lighter the second he hears it. His hand loosens on your face, but he doesn’t take it off yet.

“You’re a hot guy, Mingyu.”

Before the weight of his words can settle, you free yourself from Mingyu’s grip, gasping dramatically. “Can Cheollie come home with us? Pleaseee?”

You’re batting your lashes up at your boyfriend as he opens his mouth to reply, but Seungcheol beats him to it.

“Alright angel, I think you’re a little too drunk for that, don’t you?”

“I think she’s a lot drunk,” Mingyu says, giving an exasperated chuckle.

“Okay, I’m a little drunk, but whooo cares? I want to fuck you both even when I’m sober, and you two wanna fuck, so we all win,” you say, finishing your sentence with a hiccup.

Seungcheol and Mingyu share an amused look. Mingyu snaps back into boyfriend mode a second later.

“Alright, come on, baby, let’s go home,” Mingyu says, taking your hand gently. 

“But I’m having fun,” you whine, but you don’t fight against him either. 

“You won’t have fun with a hangover in the morning,” he teases, tugging at your hand. “Let’s go.”

“Ugh, fine. Bye, Cheollie,” you say, waving haphazardly at your ex-boyfriend. “Think about that threesome, yeah?” 

Mingyu groans and Seungcheol just laughs. He doesn’t say anything else, only a small “goodnight.” Unbeknownst to you, your drunken words have wormed their way into his mind, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t made up his mind already. 

When you wake up, your eyes are heavy, your head pulses with a dull pain, and you need to pee so bad you’re scared you won’t make it to the bathroom. 

With determination, you haul yourself out of bed and waddle to the ensuite, feeling pretty triumphant when you don’t pee your pants.

When you glance into the mirror, you find that your face is bare and even moisturised. That’s when you remember Mingyu herding you in your drunken state into bed and feeding you enough water to make you complain about how much you’ll have to pee… Case in point. You assume somewhere along the way he must have wiped your makeup off and done your skincare, too. 

The urge to be with him is overwhelming, so you shuffle out of your bedroom like an anxious cat and sigh with relief when you find him lounging on your sofa. 

“Good morning,” he says in his cute, babyish tone, glancing up from his phone to find you sauntering towards him. 

His arms open automatically when he realises you’re about to toss yourself on top of him, curling around you as you bury your face into his neck. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, rubbing his warm hands up and down your back.

“Head hurts a little.”

He responds with a sympathetic hum. He sits with you in silence for a while, holding you, stroking you. He would tell you to take pain meds, but you’ll just whine about only wanting cuddles. 

A few moments later, he speaks again: “so, do you remember any of the crimes you committed last night?” 

You groan into his chest, then push yourself to sit up and straddle him. “Don’t say it like that… Was I that bad?” 

“Well, you grinded between me and Seungcheol-hyung, then you outed me to him, then you asked him to have a threesome with us.”

You slap a hand over your mouth, assuming the worst. You’re about to contemplate ending your life for ruining your relationship with both Mingyu and Seungcheol, but the grin on your boyfriend’s face tells you you’re probably being a little dramatic. 

“I only remember dancing with you both. Did I seriously tell him about your crush on him?” 

Mingyu nods and guilt makes a pit in your stomach. 

“You wanted him to come home with us,” he continues. 

Your hands cover your burning face. “Fuck, I’m s-”

“Do you still want that?”

Just as quickly you move your hands away to look at him. “What?” 

“Do you want him to join us? The only reason he said no was because you were drunk out of  your mind, you know,” he says, giggling. Does that mean..?

“What about you?” you ask. You’re starting to shake your unease. 

“Having sex with both you and Choi Seungcheol is my dream, baby.”

Your face breaks out into a grin. Images start to spring to your mind, of being sandwiched between them again, but this time you’re all naked, and they’re both grunting and moaning in your ear, and calling you all sorts of obscene things, and-

“Then when are we doing it?”

Your boyfriend’s smile turns mischievous.

“I was texting him this morning. I told him he can come over tonight if you still wanted it.”

“Tonight?! Let me go shower,” you say, jumping off of him, feeling as though someone dumped a bucket of ice over your head.

“What- why are you trying to impress him?” Mingyu yells, sounding vaguely offended.

“I’m not, dummy, I’m still sweaty from the club!”

Seungcheol is supposed to arrive any minute and you’re sweating with excitement.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you tell Mingyu, your voice surprisingly steady.

He only gives a hum before you leave him and skip to your ensuite. 

You find yourself staring into the mirror again, mentally cursing Choi Seungcheol for igniting such an anticipation in you. It’s not like you and Mingyu’s sex life is boring — it’s incredible, actually. There’s just something about another person entering it. The cherry on top is that it’s Choi Seungcheol, who you had just as good a sex life with. Who you know will satisfy you. Who Mingyu is attracted to, too.

When you emerge from your bedroom you almost scream. He’s stood there in the middle of your living room, looking effortlessly hot in just a hoodie and shorts. Not to mention, Mingyu is standing next to him. 

Two beefy men, and they both have huge cocks. You must look like a deer caught in headlights.

“Don’t get shy now, babe. You wanted this,” Mingyu coos, slinging an arm around Seungcheol.

“I’m not shy,” you lie, but with the confidence of the hottest woman alive, you turn on your heel and make your way back to your bedroom. “Let’s go.”

They follow you like dogs. 

Mingyu shuts the door behind him, the click loud against the heavy, charged air. As you sit upon your bed, they stay standing, watching you like they’re wolves and you’re a piece of meat. You wait for one of them to move first, but they’re staring as though they’re waiting for your permission. Well-trained.

“You know, I’ve kissed both of you already. I think it’s only fair if you two make things equal,” you say with a shrug. You want them both on you immediately, but this won’t go anywhere unless you break some boundaries first. 

There’s a beat as they glance at each other, catch sight of one another’s mouths, then Seungcheol grabs Mingyu by his shirt and pulls at him until their lips collide. Their kiss is timid at first; the layers of their relationship engulfing them, the gaze of a one-person crowd burning into them. 

Mingyu quickly turns greedy though, and the feelings he thought he had buried years ago come crawling back to the surface. He takes, and Seungcheol lets him — lets him lick into his mouth, lets him bite at his lips, lets him settle his hands at the back of his neck and draw him in even closer until their breaths and skin become one.

Between your thighs, a warm pulse has become impossible to ignore. You clench your legs together, but it does nothing to quell the want that drips out of you and drenches your underwear at the sight of your lover and your past lover lost in one another like this. 

You wish you could say you don’t feel even a tinge of jealousy. Or maybe it’s that you feel excluded — you can’t quite pinpoint it, but something makes you pout and decide to shove your sweatpants down your legs and pull your (Mingyu’s) t-shirt over your head. Their attention falls back on you as soon as you do.

“Someone’s feeling left out,” Mingyu teases. 

Seungcheol’s too busy drinking you in with a look so intense it gives you goosebumps. As you sit there, perched politely, his eyes rake down your neck, your chest, your hips, your thighs. Your heart beats so loud you wonder if he can hear it. You want to know what he’s thinking. Is it about the way he used to touch you? Mark you? Is it how you’ve changed since the last time he saw you bare like this? Do the memories of where his teeth and hands have explored come rushing back to him?

Suddenly you’re burning under his gaze, pulling your eyes downwards, playing with the ends of your hair.

Seungcheol steps forward, gingerly hooking a finger under your chin. He tilts your head up, making you look at him once more.

“How are you more beautiful than I remember?”

Your skin turns searing and his deep, husky words go straight to your core. It’s embarrassing how weak you are. You fear what will happen when he touches you properly. 

You move without thought, rushing to your feet, standing an inch away from him.

“Kiss me, please,” you say, softly. 

It’s not that he hesitates, but he doesn’t move immediately, and it’s so that he can stare at you for a little longer with what you can only describe as relief. His lips quirk into a tiny smile, then he’s leaning down to slot his lips against yours.

Kissing him tastes just as you remember. It was always so easy to get lost in it — the way he made you feel as though you were in control when really it was him pressing his tongue against yours and deepening the kiss and weaving his fingers into your hair to pull your head back a little and turning you putty in his hands. He kisses with a hunger that’s frightening yet with a greed that’s arousing, but above all he kisses you so fervently that it makes your stomach boil with an impatient, selfish want.

“Mingyu,” you mumble against Seungcheol’s lips, pulling away from him to crane your head to look at your boyfriend, who’s standing and observing with the patience of a saint that’s so characteristic of him. “Touch me.”

You didn’t think you’d be the one calling the shots in this arrangement. Not when Seungcheol, who thrives on being in charge in every aspect of life, would be here. You visualised yourself as the toy they would share, to use and get off with for their own base desires. The truth is, you presume, that Seungcheol feels like an intruder, and that Mingyu also feels like an intruder. You’re the bridge between their gaps. 

Mingyu’s hands quickly settle on your waist and he plasters himself to your back, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your shoulder. 

Meanwhile, your hands are like a cat’s devious paws as they play with the hem of Seungcheol’s t-shirt. He gets the hint quickly, pulling it over his head with a timid laugh, and instantly the air is punched out of your lungs.

Seungcheol is huge — broad, defined shoulders; thick biceps; perky pecs. The image of pure strength and power. And it’s not that he used to be super skinny or anything — he always loved working out — but he’s so well-built now that all you’re thinking about is the ways he could pick you up, toss you around, bend you at his will, and take from you whatever he pleases. 

You turn then, with Mingyu as your next victim. While you peel his t-shirt off and he rids himself of his sweats and boxers, Seungcheol plays with the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs and reaching to cup your pussy, only you grab his wrist to stop him.

“Wait, wanna suck you off first,” you say, falling to your knees in front of him, your hands moving straight to the band of his shorts. “You’re clean, I presume.”

“Of course,” he says, sly. 

You convince yourself it’s abstinence. 

“Mingyu, would you like to help me?” you ask next.

Your boyfriend is frozen for a moment, but after a beat he’s dropping to his knees next to you as you pull Seungcheol’s shorts and boxers down his legs. Both of you gape as his cock springs free, bobbing there in its thick glory. 

“Was it always this fucking big?” you mumble, wrapping your fingers around it, biting your lip when the tips of them don’t even touch. 

Mingyu is enamoured as he watches you lean forward and drop a glob of spit on the tip. Instinctively he reaches for your hair, bunching it up out of your face. Seungcheol feels himself going crazy already. 

You slather your saliva down his shaft, pumping your hand up and down until you’re satisfied with how wet he is, aching for the taste. You suck at the head first, your soft lips closing around it, your tongue circling it and lapping up the first few salty beads of his precum. Mingyu peers up to watch Seungcheol’s reaction when you take the rest of him down your throat.

He looks like a god above — plump, cherry red lips parted, eyes half-lidded because he refuses to not watch, abdomen flexing, the soft moans as he revels in the feel of your mouth for the first time in years like a pornographic melody.

Your head bobs up and down, one hand stroking at the base, a combination that would send any man into the clouds. He hadn’t realised how badly he’d missed your dirty mouth, and now he’s already trying to stave off an orgasm.

“Just like that, baby, missed the way you suck me off,” Seungcheol purrs. 

You’re a little minx that doesn’t like being told what to do though, so you pop off of him suddenly, turning to look at Mingyu.

“Your turn,” you grin. 

Mingyu is reluctant — he’s never done this before, and you’re objectively way better than him at it, and this is his fucking college crush (which, clearly, never really went away). 

“I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” you assure him, winking. 

People often tell Mingyu that he’s good at everything, even if he’s never done it before. That, as well as your words, are all he needs to hear to lean forward, wrap his hand around where yours is gripping Seungcheol, and take his cock in his mouth. 

He starts with shallow bobs, and Seungcheol is sighing with bliss. It scratches the part of Mingyu that itches to be praised, spurring him to life. It’s all he needs for the pinpricks of insecurity to wither away, and soon he’s mimicking your techniques, sucking the man’s dick like his life depends on it. 

Your mouth latches on next to Mingyu’s, your lips and tongue dragging along Seungcheol’s length, eliciting a punched out string of swears from him as he wonders who he saved in a past life to deserve this: getting his dick sucked by a gorgeous man and a beautiful woman at the same time.

What’s worse is how sloppy the both of you are with it. Saliva drips from your lips as they mingle with Mingyu’s. You’re slurping, Mingyu’s moaning, you’re both half-kissing each other, sharing spit and precum. It’s the lewdest thing he’s ever witnessed. 

“God, wait, stop before I cum,” Seungcheol groans, pulling both of you off of him. He throbs at the thought of painting your faces with his cum, but right now there’s nothing more that he wants than to fill you up again. Before he does that, though, he wants a taste of you.

“Mingyu-ya, play with your girlfriend while I eat her out,” he orders, catching his breath.

Mingyu doesn’t have to be told twice. You’re about to settle against the pillows before he scoops you into his lap and his big hands spread you out like a platter for Seungcheol’s enjoyment. Seungcheol comes crawling up the bed to you, his willing prey, until he’s right between your legs in a long-awaited homecoming, giving no warning before he dives in and drags his tongue through your folds.

When Seungcheol eats, he is not precise; on the contrary, he is sloppy, and he’s also practiced. Despite all the years that have passed, he’s still an expert in the study of you, and every lap of his tongue against your pussy has the ability to make you writhe. He was always good at it. Hungry. Starved, even. But what once bordered on learned technique is now replaced with skill, not to mention a pure, genuine desperation to taste the way you fall apart. 

He buries himself in your cunt — nose to your clit, tongue flat against your folds as he laps up your juices. For the past seven years he’s been thinking about your pretty pussy, and now that he has her again, he’s going to indulge. 

“Cheollie- God, so good,” you moan, burying a hand in his hair. 

Your head lolls back onto your boyfriend’s shoulder as Seungcheol swirls his tongue over your clit. Mingyu’s arm is wrapped around you, gluing you to his warm, sticky chest, and one of his hands cups your tits, kneading at them one by one, pinching at your nipples until they become pebbled. It turns you into an even bigger wreck, drawing pathetic whimpers out of you and making you squirm in his hold.

Then Seungcheol prods a finger at your entrance, sliding it in and curling up, finding your sweet spot so seamlessly that you cry out. He knows you like the back of his hand. He also knows you can take another, so he slides a second thick finger into your heat and starts thrusting them in and out, all the while his tongue still swipes over your clit. Your thighs try to snap shut, but he’s far stronger, and he keeps them pinned to the bed with ease. 

“Be good for Seungcheol-hyung, baby,” Mingyu coos in your ear while his hands continue to tug at your hard nipples. All of it is dragging you dangerously close to your high. 

“Close, angel?” Seungcheol asks, his mouth glistening with your juices, his fingers dipping in and out of you with a squelch each time. He’s grinning, triumphant. “Pussy’s clenching so much.” 

“Yes, Cheol, gonna cum,” you gasp, and with a few more thrusts of his fingers, his tongue slurping at your cunt, and Mingyu playing with your tits, the knot in the pit of your stomach unravels, and you’re crying out with incoherent bliss. 

Seungcheol works you through your orgasm, and when you’ve stopped trembling for the most part, he pulls his fingers out of you. His eyes fall straight to Mingyu as he holds your limp body. He moves towards the man, holding his hand to Mingyu’s lips.

“Taste her,” he says. Two words that hang heavily in the air.

Mingyu’s mouth parts, obedient as he lets Seungcheol push his soaked digits against his tongue. He wraps his lips around his fingers and sucks, moaning softly as he cleans them of your cum, indulging in the taste of you on Seungcheol’s skin. 

Seungcheol lets out a shaky breath, Mingyu’s round eyes gazing at him. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop, cupping Mingyu’s face before he leans in to press their lips together.

It’s even messier this time. Mingyu chases your essence on Seungcheol’s tongue, licking into his mouth with desperation. There’s something unbelievably intimate about it — them sharing your taste despite the fact that you’re right there. 

Seungcheol pulls away first, letting out an airy laugh at how dazed Mingyu looks. His dark hair is a little unkempt, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glazed over with something saccharine. 

This feels right — all of it, you in his arms, Seungcheol next to him. Mingyu didn’t expect that it would feel this right. He’ll have time to think about it later, though. Right now he has a sulking you in his lap and an almost painful erection between his thighs.

“I’m sorry, Mingyu-ya, but can I fuck her?” Seungcheol asks, but it’s more rhetorical than anything. 

“I think you should ask h-”

“Please, fuck me! Someone, anyone,” you cry. Your desperation should make you embarrassed, but you’re splayed out on a bed with two Roman gods above you, so you don’t really care. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Seungcheol smirks, shuffling back between your legs and grabbing his member so he can line it up with your pussy.

You wish you could say you’re used to the stretch of Seungcheol’s cock, but the girth is something that never gets easier to take. Mingyu is just as big, after all, and taking him as often as you do (which is often) doesn’t help to ease the feeling of being torn in half. Regardless, it’s a welcomed stretch, and one that you’ve missed dearly. 

Seungcheol knows it’s a challenge to take him, so his hand is between your legs, his thumb playing with your clit. Your legs tremble as he pushes into you, your walls welcoming him home. He’s so thick that it punches the air out of you, making you clench around him before he’s even started moving. 

His eyes are on you the entire time, until his pelvis is flush to yours and you’re gasping with delight. 

“Fuck, I missed being in this pretty cunt,” he grunts, then the last semblance of discipline he has is gone and he’s fucking you, hard. 

Seungcheol, too, channels the strength he’s built up over years into his thrusts, hips rocking into you in a powerful, expert motion. It’s not just the roughness that makes you see stars though. Every slam into you has his cock grinding against your sweet spot, feeding the embers of heat in your belly.

Mingyu sees himself as you for a second, with Seungcheol rutting into him over and over. The dampness of his leaking cock against his abdomen becomes hard to ignore then, so he cups your face, his thumb on your chin, the look in his eyes a silent request that makes you drop your mouth open and stick your tongue out for him. 

He strokes along the length of his cock as he nears you and pushes it past your lips, hissing as you swallow every inch of him until you’re gagging and there are tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. You love when he abuses your little throat like this, always begging him to but he feels too guilty. Tonight, you’re desperate and willing. 

“Gonna let me fuck your face, baby? Give Seungcheol-hyung a little show?” Mingyu grits out, wrapping a hand around your throat softly, not pressing, just relishing in the way he can feel the way he’s lodged down your oesophagus. 

Seungcheol fucks you with something animalistic — something that wasn’t there before, when you were dating him. It could be that he’s older, more experienced. It also could be something more… possessive. Years of pent-up emotions and regrets spill into the relentless pace he’s set, into the bruising way he grasps at your curves and tits. 

He’s spurred on by the sight of you with your pretty mouth full, grunting as his eyes zero in on the way your lips stretch around Mingyu’s cock; on how it disappears in and out of your throat while salty, hot tears leave tracks down your cheeks. Mingyu looks ethereal too, his head tossed back with absolute bliss; his eyes fluttering shut; his Adam's apple bobbing. 

If he’s being honest, Seungcheol always thought he was cute — his tall, goofy teammate who was two years younger than him, who looked up to him although his skills already rivalled Seungcheol’s own abilities. Now, as he watches Mingyu bite down on his bottom lip and fuck your face, he thinks he’s fucking hot. A small part of him wishes he was in your place, but that’s for another time, he thinks. 

The clench of your cunt around him pulls his attention back to you, dragging a groan out of him. He grins at your devilish ways, angling his hips so that he can reach impossibly deeper inside your guts. 

“Still such a greedy little thing,” Seungcheol says, gritting his teeth from the tight grasp your pussy has on him, suffocating almost. “I bet Mingyu spoils you too, huh?”

All that he gets in reply is a moan muffled by the dick in your mouth. His soft laugh drips with something sadistic. 

He’s not holding back his rough, hard strokes, his thighs clapping against your skin with determination. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, and something in both men urges them to make you fall apart — to break you.

Mingyu pulls out of your mouth for a moment, a string of your spit following the tip of his cock. You’re gasping for air, your throat raw, but that doesn’t stop you from blurting out your next demand. 

“Cheol, fuck, wait- want both of you in me,” you say, smacking at his abdomen. Apparently you’re feeling it too; the need to be wrecked. You want mercilessness. Want to be whittled down to nothing but a hole. 

Seungcheol freezes. Mingyu’s breath hitches in his throat. They exchange a look, one charged with thrill, but even more with uncertainty. 

“Are you sure you can handle that, baby?” Mingyu asks, wiping at the tears that wet your face. It’s not meant to be condescending. It’s not him undermining you. Still, you take it that way. 

“Yes,” you say with full confidence. 

Seungcheol’s cock twitches where it’s still nestled inside you. He’s beaming, pride etched into his features. 

“How do you want us, then, baby?” he asks.

You hum in thought. Both of them are huge, which means that either way it’ll be a lot to handle. You almost want them to blindfold you and do as they please with you, but you know the touch of their hands, the warmths of their skin. Ultimately, what you come up with is this:

“Cheollie’s never fucked my ass.”

Seungcheol groans and pulls out of you. His cock is red hot, the tip weeping. Next to you, Mingyu’s is just as angry, leaking, begging to fill you. 

You’re done for. You can’t wait.

You point at Seungcheol. “So you in my ass,” you say, then you point at Mingyu, “and you in my cunt.”

There’s a faux-innocent smile on your face that drives both men to the brink of insanity. They’re both thinking the exact same thing — they have no idea how they’re supposed to last. 

Seungcheol huffs out a breath. “Hands and knees, then. Gotta open you up first.”

There’s a thrill to being ordered around by him, and it manifests in how quick you are to flip over and prop yourself up, wiggling your ass for him. 

“I bet if you wanted to stick it in straight away she’d let you. Beg for it even,” Mingyu muses, pushing hair out of your face. “She’s just that hungry for cock.”

Seungcheol’s hand smacks at one of your cheeks, making you bite your lip as heat rushes through you. You’re clenching around nothing, pussy drooling despite being empty. 

“Yeah, I see that,” Seungcheol chuckles. “You have lube?”

Mingyu leans over to the nightstand closest to him, pulls open a drawer, and grabs the half-empty bottle before tossing it towards Seungcheol. 

You jolt as he drizzles the cold liquid all over you, smears it over your skin a little, then his fingertips come to circle your rim. 

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at the way you’re whining from his light touch alone. He would love to tease you a little longer, but his dick is so hard now that it’s bordering on agonising. So he presses one of his thick fingers into you, breaching the tight ring of muscle and slipping in all the way to the knuckle with the aid of the lube. 

It’s a different kind of delicious, one that sends a wave of goosebumps along your entire body.

“She can take two,” Mingyu says, with a fist around his cock as he watches Seungcheol play with you. “Also, anal makes her loud.”

Seungcheol doesn’t doubt him, swiftly adding a second slicked up digit. Like clockwork, you let out a breathy moan that gets louder when he starts to drag his fingers in and out. Your hands fist the bedsheets as he scissors them, stretching your hole with each pass. There’s a dull warmth blooming in your belly, but his pace is simply not enough.

“More, Cheol,” you keen, arching your back.

“You want another finger?” he taunts.

“I want your cock.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says, a third finger entering you. You’re clenching around them with a whine, sucking them in, your holes greedy. “You’re still a little tight.”

The squelch as he starts to dip in and out of your hole a little faster is shameful, not to mention the depraved noises coming out of your mouth. A mix of lube and arousal drips down the backs of your thighs, dirtying the sheets beneath you. You’re a mess, and his cock isn’t even in you yet.

It doesn’t take long before Seungcheol is pulling his fingers out of you and swatting a hand against your ass again. 

“I think she’s good to go,” he says, lips stretched into a hungry smirk. 

“Loosened her up enough?” Mingyu asks, settling against the pillows once more and tapping at his thighs to beckon you over. You crawl to him on shaky limbs, crashing against his chest once you’ve straddled him.

“Probably, but I also got a little impatient,” he admits shamelessly, shuffling over between Mingyu’s legs while pumping along his shaft. “Aw, did she tap out on us?”

“No! I’m ready,” you say, jumping where you’re perched in Mingyu’s lap. God forbid they go easy on you. You reach between you and Mingyu, grabbing his cock, lining it up with your hole, and sinking down on it in one fell swoop.

“Ah, fuck, baby,” Mingyu sighs, gazing at you as your hands find his shoulders. His lips, swollen from being bitten, beg for you to kiss them, so you do.

Behind you, the click of the lube bottle makes your walls clench instinctively. Seungcheol coats his cock with liquid while Mingyu’s hands grab at your ass to spread you open for him. Seungcheol takes a moment to revel in the sight: you, glistening with sweat and lube, pussy stretched around Mingyu’s length, your holes about to be split open by both of them.

The blunt head of Seungcheol’s cock presses to your ass. All of the slickness makes it pop inside of you with little resistance, and the stretch that follows is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You nearly cry out when both men have their heavy cocks fully sheathed inside of you. They’re so thick and so deep, and you’re so full that you feel it in your throat. It’s so indulgently good that you find yourself at your edge already, digging your nails into Mingyu’s flesh to stop yourself from giving in so fast. 

“You good, baby?” Mingyu asks, giving your waist a squeeze.

Your eyes squeeze shut to stop tears from welling up in them, and you nod frantically. “It’s just so much… But, like, in a really good way.”

Seungcheol kneads at your asscheeks as he speaks. “Just say when you want us to move-” 

“Move,” you whine, arching your back, reeling your hips back in search of any friction — which you’re soon granted. 

Seungcheol starts to thrust, but there’s caution in the way he moves. Mingyu, on the other hand, is a little more ruthless. 

“Hyung, can you feel me?” your boyfriend gasps, near-slamming his cock in and out of you, his patience fracturing now that he’s finally able to plunge into your heat.

“F-fuck, yeah, I can,” Seungcheol grunts. He’s lost in the way your ass sucks him in, in the tight, wet warmth, in the way he can feel Mingyu’s cock through the thin velvety wall of your insides, finding himself absentmindedly picking up his pace. 

Thick, muscled arms wrap around you. Large hands grip and pull at your skin. You’re being bounced up and down one cock, dragged along another, both so fat that your walls are getting carved into the shape of them. 

Your orgasm comes quickly and ungracefully. You scream, then your walls are clenching and you’re gushing all over Mingyu’s thighs. Everything is tight, your vision blurry. Your brain short-circuits. Seungcheol stops moving, Mingyu comes to a slow grind of his hips. The only thing keeping you conscious is your boyfriend peppering soft kisses all over your face. 

“Good fucking girl,” Seungcheol groans, leaning forward to nibble at your shoulder, giving a shallow thrust inside your ass. 

“Did that feel good?” Mingyu asks, cupping your face so that you look at him.

“So good,” you say, voice cracking. “Want you and Seungcheollie’s cum, though.”

“Hyung, should we give her what she wants?”

Seungcheol hums. “I think she deserves it… Mingyu-yah, switch with me.”

He pulls out, yanking you off of Mingyu’s cock by your waist, making you yelp as he flips you around like you’re weightless and sits you pretty on top of your boyfriend again. 

Mingyu doesn’t protest, gripping the backs of your thighs to pull them up towards your chest and spread you open. He reaches around to line his cock up with your ass this time, gliding into you with ease at this point. Above you, Seungcheol enters your pussy once more, and it is no less delicious than every other time. 

They don’t waste any time before getting back to work. Seungcheol draws circles on your clit, an action that makes your whole body quiver, your nerves alight with pleasure and overstimulation. 

They’re moving with more vigour than before. There’s something more primal in the way they fuck you now, letting greed fuel their thrusting. Your needs are put aside as they slam into you with abandon, panting and moaning from deep within their chests, teeth gritting, neck veins popping, muscles clenching, hair clinging to their sweat-soaked foreheads. Despite their shifted motivation, the band of pleasure in your own abdomen is threatening to snap again.

The room is a cacophony of wet squelching sounds, the smacking of skin against skin, the chorus of moans of all three of you. It is depravity; it is sin. You want to spend forever like this — indulging. 

They start to twitch almost simultaneously inside you.

“Gonna cum soon,” Seungcheol growls, adjusting himself so he can plough into you even harder. Tears of euphoria spill down your face. 

“Me too,” Mingyu whines.

“Cum in me, please! Fill me up,” you sob, clinging to whoever’s hands are on your thighs.

Mingyu spills into you first, the tightness of your walls too much for him to handle any longer. He whimpers in your ear as his hips jerk and he empties every last drop inside your ass. 

Not a moment later, Seungcheol practically roars, driving his cock as far as he can into your pussy and becoming still as he spurts hot cum into your walls. All of you stay like that for a second, revelling in the warmth, panting as you try and catch your breath. Then Seungcheol pulls out slowly, leaning back on his knees, suddenly a voyeur as Mingyu also pulls out and eases you onto the sheets next to him.

You’ve never felt so elated as you do now, with two loads oozing out of both your holes. Your limbs have gone lax, the bedsheets a cloud beneath you, lulling you to a slumber. 

“I’ll go run her a bath,” Seungcheol announces, leaving Mingyu to draw shapes across your sticky back. 

“Doing okay, baby?” he asks. The room fills with the sound of water running from the en-suite.

“Mm. Sleepy,” you murmur. “That was everything I ever dreamed of.”

Mingyu laughs. “Yeah, me too.”