𓈒ིུ ׄ݁ ᩙ᜔🎹 ‧̥˚̩̩̥͙ ✧

Your eyes snapped to locate the voice. It belonged to a tall man in a suit. Standing next to him was a woman. Every detail about them screamed wealth—polished shoes, designer clothes, you could even smell the woman’s expensive perfume from feet away. The man’s eyes burned holes into your skin as he looked you up and down. Suddenly, you felt slightly insecure about your worn clothes. “Can I speak to you in the hallway?” It was a demand framed as a question. You hesitated for a moment, staring at him. Swallowing, you gave a quick nod. “Fine.” He gestured toward the hallway, and cautiously you stepped out, keeping your hands in front of you. As soon as the door closed behind you, the cold air of authority hit harder. “My family donates generously to this hospital. We've been informed about your… Situation.” Heat rose in your chest at the mock pity in his tone describing your current life. “I have a proposition.” Suspicion filled you. “What do you want from me? I don't have anything to offer.” “My son needs to learn a lesson. He’s lived comfortably for far too long. No responsibility. No consequences. He wastes money because he’s never had to think about earning it.”

Heat crept up your neck. “And that has something to do with me?” His gaze sharpened. “Everything. For one year, you marry him. He lives without access to our money. No allowance. No safety net. He will live your life—your village, your routines, your reality.” Your breath caught in your throat. “You want to use me to discipline your son?” “I want to give him perspective,” he corrected calmly. “You’ll give him structure. Humility. Reality.” Anger flared bright and sudden. “So I’m what? some kind of punishment? You think using me—someone poor, struggling—is the way to teach him?” He let out a soft, amused laugh. “Struggling? Oh, my dear, this is struggling?” He gestured vaguely at the hospital, at your hands, at the way your posture carried years of hard work. “I have to admit, it’s… quaint. Charming, almost. But far too inconvenient for my son. He’ll live your life for a year. Perhaps then he’ll stop acting like the world revolves around him.” Heat rose in your chest. “So I’m supposed to be your… your lesson plan?” “Not supposed to,” he said, voice smooth, almost cutting. “You are. Your misery, your poverty, your… quaint little life—everything about you—is the perfect antidote to the arrogance of my spoiled heir.” Your jaw tightened. “You think my life is a joke.” He arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh, it’s more than a joke. It’s an experience. And for him, it’s necessary. For you… Well, it’s an opportunity—one year. Your mother’s treatment is paid for. Top-tier care. And perhaps, if you’re clever, to make it out without losing your dignity entirely.” Your hands clenched at your sides. Pride screamed at you to walk away, to spit in his face for the condescension. But your mother’s pale, fragile form in the hospital bed—the bills stacking impossibly high—kept your feet planted. You swallowed hard. “…I’ll do it,” you said, voice low but resolute—one year. I can survive for Mom. The man’s smirk widened, sharp and satisfied, as if he’d won some private game. “Excellent. Bold, clever… and desperate enough to matter. I like that. One year. That’s all we need.” And as his gaze lingered, cold and assessing, you realized: this man—this wealthy, arrogant monster—saw everything about your life as trivial, pitiful… and yet, he expected you to survive it, for his son. The hallway fell quiet after his words, the weight of the agreement settling heavily on your chest. Before you could say anything else, the click of polished shoes echoed down the corridor. Slow. Unhurried. Confident. You turned instinctively.

He arrived like he owned the building. Lee Heeseung was tall—taller than you expected—and dressed far too well for a hospital hallway. A black coat draped effortlessly over his shoulders, his hair perfectly styled despite the sterile setting. He looked bored, almost amused, as if this were just another inconvenience added to his day. His gaze flicked from his parents to you.

And lingered. Not politely. Not kindly. Slowly. Assessing. Taking in your worn clothes, the tension in your posture, the way your hands curled into fists like you were bracing for impact. “So,” he said lazily, voice smooth and rich with arrogance, “this is her?” Something about the way he said her made your skin crawl. You straightened instinctively, lifting your chin. “I have a name.” His lips curved—not into a smile, but a smirk. “Do you?” His eyes flicked briefly to his father. “You didn’t think to mention that.” His mother sighed softly. “Heeseung.” “What?” He shrugged. “I just expected someone… different.” His gaze swept over you again, unapologetic. “You look smaller than I imagined.” Heat flared in your chest. “And you look exactly like someone who’s never worried about paying a hospital bill.” That earned you his full attention. For the first time, the amusement in his eyes sharpened into something alert. Interested. “Well,” he chuckled, tilting his head, “this is already more entertaining than I thought.” His father stepped forward. “Enough. This is the woman you’ll be marrying.” Heeseung blinked once. Then laughed. A real laugh. Disbelieving. “You’re joking.” “No,” his father said flatly. “One year. No access to family funds. You’ll live with her. Her life. Her village.” Heeseung’s smirk slowly faded as the words settled. “…You’re serious,” he muttered. You watched the realization hit him in stages—confusion, disbelief, irritation, and finally something darker. He looked back at you. Really looked. “You?” he said, incredulous. “This is the lesson?” Your jaw tightened. “Trust me. I didn’t ask for this either.” Something flickered across his face at that. Not guilt. Not sympathy. Annoyance. “So let me get this straight,” he said coolly. “I’m supposed to give up my money, my home, my life… and move into whatever hole-in-the-wall village you crawled out of?” Your breath hitched—but you didn’t look away. “Yes,” you said evenly. “And if you can’t survive one year of my ‘hole-in-the-wall’ life, then maybe you really are as useless as your parents think.”

Silence. His mother sucked in a quiet breath. His father’s lips twitched—almost approving. Heeseung stared at you, eyes darkening. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer until you were standing toe-to-toe. He smelled expensive—cologne, wealth, entitlement.

“You’re brave,” he murmured. “Or stupid.”

You met his gaze without flinching. “I’ve survived worse than you.”

For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes.

Then he smiled.

Sharp. Dangerous. “Fine,” he said. “One year.” His gaze dipped briefly—possessive, calculating—before returning to your eyes. “But don’t get it twisted. I don’t lose.”

Your heart pounded—but you refused to back down.

“Neither do I.” His father adjusted his cufflinks as if this were nothing more than another business meeting concluded. “Everything will be arranged. Her mother’s treatment will begin immediately.”

“And my things?” Heeseung asked sharply. “My car. My phone.” “You won’t need them,” his father replied without looking back. “You’ll have what everyone else has.”

Then they were gone. No driver appeared. No black car pulled up to the curb outside the hospital. Just the automatic doors sliding shut behind them, leaving the two of you standing under harsh fluorescent lights.

Heeseung exhaled slowly. “…You’re kidding.”

You followed his gaze to the empty entrance. “About what?”

“The car,” he said flatly. “This is a joke, right?” “They were serious,” you replied, already turning toward the exit. “One year. No money. No help.”

He scoffed. “You expect me to walk?”

“No,” you said. “We’re taking the bus.”

That finally snapped something in him. “The—” He stopped himself, rubbing his face in disbelief. “I don’t do buses.” You didn’t slow down. “Then you’re going to have a rough year.” Outside, the evening air was cold and damp. The bus stop sat across the street—a metal bench, faded route map, a small cluster of people waiting quietly. An old man. A woman holding groceries. A student with headphones in.

Heeseung stopped dead.

You noticed. The way his shoulders stiffened. The way his eyes scanned the crowd, the cracked pavement, the crooked bus schedule taped to the glass.

“This is disgusting,” he muttered. “Do people actually live like this?”

You turned sharply. “Watch it.”

He blinked, startled by your tone. “I mean—” he gestured vaguely as a bus roared past, exhaust filling the air. “There’s no space. No privacy. It smells like—like metal and oil.”

“And survival,” you snapped. “It smells like people getting to work.” The bus pulled up with a hiss. Doors folding open. People shuffled forward.

Heeseung didn’t move. “You’re not serious,” he said again, quieter now. “I’m wearing designer shoes.” You stepped onto the bus, swiping your worn transit card without ceremony. Then you turned back and met his eyes. “Then stay here,” you said simply. “But my mom doesn’t get her medicine if you don’t get on.”

That did it.

His jaw clenched. Pride warred openly with disbelief.

Finally, with obvious disgust, he stepped on. The bus lurched forward almost immediately. He grabbed the nearest pole, grimacing as someone bumped into him. His coat brushed against a stranger’s sleeve, and he recoiled.

“This is unbelievable,” he muttered. “People are touching me.”

You took a seat by the window. “Get used to it.”

The ride was long. Loud. Cramped. Heeseung refused to sit, staring at the scuffed floor like it personally offended him. Every bump made him scowl. Every stop earned a sharp exhale.

At one point, he leaned down toward you, voice low.

“You live like this every day?”

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

He straightened slowly.For the first time since he arrived, he had nothing to say.

When the bus finally pulled into your village stop, the doors hissed open again. Darkness stretched beyond the streetlights—uneven roads, small houses tucked close together.

You stood. “This is us.”

Heeseung stepped off behind you, shoes crunching against gravel.

He looked around.

Then back at you.

“This,” he said flatly, “is where I’m supposed to survive for a year?”

You met his gaze without flinching. “This,” you said, “is where you’re going to learn.”

And as the bus pulled away—taking the last trace of his old life with it—you saw it finally sink in. Lee Heeseung had never been this powerless before. And he hated it.

The walk from the bus stop was quiet. Not peaceful—just heavy. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you led the way down the narrow road, streetlights flickering inconsistently overhead. The village had settled into its nighttime rhythm: doors shut, lights dim, the distant hum of a television through thin walls.

Behind you, Heeseung walked stiffly, every step careful, irritated by the uneven ground. His shoes were already dusted, his coat brushing too close to fences and walls for his liking. “So,” he said after a few moments, breaking the silence, “how much farther is this?” “Not far,” you replied, not slowing. He scoffed softly. “You know, in Seoul this would barely qualify as a road.”

You didn’t respond. You stopped in front of a small, weathered house. One floor. Peeling paint near the door. A single light glowing faintly from inside. “This is it,” you said. Heeseung stared. “This?” he repeated. “Yes.” He looked around again, as if expecting the real house to appear behind it. “You’re telling me… this is where you live?”

You unlocked the door. “If you don’t like it, the bus stop’s still open.” The inside was warm—but cramped. One small bedroom off to the side. A narrow bathroom barely large enough to turn around in. The kitchen and living space blended into one another—a small table, two mismatched chairs, a worn couch pushed against the wall.

 Heeseung stepped inside and immediately froze. “You’re joking,” he said, disbelief sharp in his voice. “Where’s the rest of it?” “There is no rest of it.” He turned slowly, eyes darting. “This is… everything?” “Yes.”

His face twisted. “How do you breathe in here?” You kicked off your shoes and moved past him, setting your bag down by the table. “You get used to it.” He exhaled loudly, shrugging off his coat like it had offended him. “I’m starving, by the way. We didn’t eat.” You didn’t look at him. You went straight to the sink to wash your hands, then to the cupboard. “I’m serious,” he added, irritation creeping in. “I haven’t eaten since—” “I heard you,” you said calmly. You pulled out a small bag of rice and a few vegetables—onions, zucchini, and a single carrot. Nothing fancy. Nothing extra. He watched you in disbelief. “That’s it?”

You ignored him, rinsing the rice carefully, the practiced motions automatic. You set a pot on the stove, poured in water, and turned the flame on low. Heeseung wandered the space restlessly, opening cabinets without asking. “Why do you have so few plates?” “Why is everything so old?” “Is this table going to collapse if I lean on it?” “Don’t touch that,” you snapped when he reached for a loose cabinet door. He lifted his hands. “Relax.” He wandered toward the bedroom, peering inside. “Where do you sleep?”

“There,” you said flatly. “And me?” “You’ll figure it out.” He frowned. “There’s only one bed.” You didn’t answer. Instead, you carefully sliced the vegetables and added them to the pot as it began to simmer. The soft bubbling filled the room, grounding you. He leaned against the counter, watching you now, quieter. “…Where’s your dad?” he asked suddenly. Your hand stilled.

“What?” you said, not turning. “I mean,” he shrugged, “your mom is in the hospital, and no mention of a dad. So where is he?” The room felt colder. “He’s dead,” you said simply. He froze. “Oh.” Silence stretched. You kept cooking, stirring the pot slowly. “He died when I was sixteen. Heart attack. No insurance.”

He didn’t say anything for once. The soup finished cooking not long after. You ladled it carefully into two small bowls, measuring portions. Rice on the side. You set the bowls on the table. Heeseung stared at them. “…That’s it?” he said flatly. “Yes.” He laughed once, incredulous. “You’re kidding. This wouldn’t even qualify as an appetizer.” Something in your chest snapped. “This is dinner,” you said sharply. “For who?” he scoffed. “A child?”

You slammed the ladle down harder than necessary. “This is what we eat.” He looked up at you, startled by the edge in your voice. “You expect me to survive on this?” “I’ve survived on it my entire life.” He gestured to the bowl. “This is barely enough for one person.” Your hands curled into fists. “Then don’t eat it.” He blinked. “What?” “If it’s not good enough for you, don’t touch it,” you snapped. “But don’t stand there and insult the only food I can afford.” The room went quiet. Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you this time. Your clenched jaw. The way your shoulders were tense. The anger barely masking exhaustion. “…You’re serious,” he said quietly. “Yes,” you replied. “Dead serious.” For the first time that night, he didn’t complain. He sat down slowly.

And ate. The bowls sat drying on the counter, water droplets clinging to their rims. The house felt quieter now—too quiet—like it was holding its breath. The old clock above the fridge ticked steadily, each second loud in the cramped space. You wiped your hands on a towel and glanced toward Heeseung. He was still standing by the table, shoulders tense, like he wasn’t sure whether to sit, pace, or complain again. “So…” he said eventually, dragging the word out. “Sleeping.” You already knew this was coming. “What about it?” He gestured vaguely around the house. “There’s one bedroom.” “Yes.”

“And one couch,” he added, eyes narrowing as he actually looked at it this time. “If that thing qualifies.” You crossed your arms. “I sleep in the bed.” He blinked. “That was fast.” “It’s my house.” “We’re married,” he shot back. “In paperwork,” you replied coolly. “Not in reality.” He scoffed, dragging a chair back and sitting down heavily. “You don’t seriously expect me to sleep on that.” You walked over, pulled open a cabinet, and retrieved a folded blanket—thin, faded, but clean. You placed it on the couch and gave it a small pat. “There. That’s yours.”

He stared at it like it might bite him. “That’s not a blanket. That’s a suggestion.” “It works.” “For you,” he muttered. You turned toward the bedroom, already done with the conversation. “You can take it, or you can stand all night. I’m going to sleep.” “…There aren’t even sheets,” he complained. “There’s one pillow. Use it wisely.” He let out a dramatic sigh, collapsing onto the couch experimentally. It dipped immediately, springs creaking in protest. “Oh, this is fantastic,” he deadpanned. “I’m going to wake up folded in half.”

You stepped into the bedroom and closed the door most of the way, leaving it cracked just enough to let light through. The room was barely bigger than the bed itself. You changed quietly, the familiar routine grounding you. When you lie down, the mattress dips softly, springs sighing beneath you.

Outside, you heard Heeseung shifting again. The couch groaned.

“This thing hates me,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly despite yourself.Minutes passed. Then more.

“…Do you always sleep this early?” he asked, voice softer now.

“Yes.”

Another pause. The fridge hummed.

“…It smells like soup in here,” he said. “Not bad. Just… different.”

You turned onto your side, staring at the wall. “My mom used to make it when I was little. Said it helped you sleep.”

The couch creaked as he adjusted. “Guess she was right.”

Silence settled again—thicker this time, but not as sharp.

“…Hey,” he said quietly.

You hesitated. “What?” “…I’m not used to this.” You didn’t ask what this meant. You already knew. “I know,” you said instead. Another long pause. “…Goodnight,” he said, awkward and almost unsure. You closed your eyes. “Goodnight.” The house creaked softly as it settled around you—small, imperfect, but warm. Outside, the village was quiet, wrapped in darkness. Inside, two lives collided under one fragile roof. On the narrow couch, wrapped in blankets that smelled faintly of detergent and soup, Lee Heeseung stared up at the ceiling, wide awake. Uncomfortable. Out of place. But for the first time that night, not entirely angry. And in the small bedroom, you lay listening to his breathing through the thin walls, knowing tomorrow would be hard—but for now, the quiet was enough.

-

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. The sharp, tinny sound cut through the quiet like a blade. You reached for it instantly, slapping it silent before it could ring twice. The last thing you wanted was to wake him—but the damage was already done. You sat up slowly, muscles aching, eyes heavy. Dawn hadn’t even begun to lighten the sky yet. The room was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones. You pulled on a hoodie, changed quickly, and tied your hair back with practiced movements. This was your routine. You’d been doing this long before Heeseung entered your life. You slipped out of the bedroom and froze. Heeseung was sitting upright on the couch, hair a mess, blanket tangled around his waist. His expression was thunderous—jaw tight, eyes sharp with disbelief as he took in the room again. The cracked table. The tiny kitchen. The thin blanket. “What the hell is this?” he snapped. You paused, one hand on your bag strap. “Morning to you, too.” He rubbed his face hard, like he was trying to wake himself up. “No. No—this isn’t real. I fell asleep somewhere awful, and this is just a nightmare.”

You exhaled slowly. “It’s real. And you’re awake.”

He stood abruptly, the couch springs screaming in protest. “You expect me to believe that I actually slept here?” He gestured wildly. “On that thing? With that blanket?” “Yes.” “You didn’t even warn me I’d wake up at the crack of dawn,” he added, glancing toward the window where the sky was still pitch-black. “I didn’t wake you up on purpose,” you said flatly. “I have work.” “At five in the morning?” His laugh was sharp and humorless. “Doing what? Punishing yourself?” Your grip tightened on your bag. “I run the restaurant.” He blinked. “Run it?” “I open it. I prep. I cook. I serve. I clean. Every day.” You stepped past him toward the kitchen, reaching for the kettle. “Some of us don’t get to sleep in.” “That’s insane,” he snapped. “You’re telling me this is your life? This—” He looked around again, disgust curling his lip. “This miserable schedule, this place—” “Watch it,” you warned, voice low. He ignored you. “My father said I’d live your life, not be tortured.” You turned to face him fully now, eyes blazing. “You think this is torture?” “Yes!” he shouted. “This is humiliating. I wake up in some shoebox, starving, sore, freezing, and now you’re just leaving me here?” “I don’t have a choice!”

“You always have a choice,” he snapped back. “You just like pretending you don’t.” The words hit harder than he intended—or maybe exactly as hard. You went still. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said quietly. “Then explain it to me!” he shot back. “Explain why you’re letting my family walk all over you. Explain why you’re okay with this—why you’re okay being dragged down!” That did it. You slammed your bag onto the table. “Dragged down?” you repeated, incredulous. “This is my life, Heeseung. This restaurant? It keeps the lights on. It paid for my mom’s medicine before your father ever opened his mouth. You don’t get to call it being dragged down just because it’s not wrapped in money.” He faltered for half a second—but his pride surged back just as fast. “You’re acting like this is noble,” he scoffed. “It’s pathetic. You’re working yourself to death and calling it responsibility.” “And you’re waking up on a couch and calling it suffering,” you shot back. “I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen.”

Silence cracked between you. His eyes narrowed. “So what—this is how it’s going to be? You disappear all day and I just… rot here?” “You can come to the restaurant if you want,” you said sharply, grabbing your jacket. “But you’re not going to stand in my house and insult my life.” “Your house?” he echoed. “Yes. Mine.” He stepped closer, towering over you. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.” You met his gaze without flinching. “I absolutely do.” “Do you know who I am?” his fists checked at his side. “Remember. Your status here means nothing.” For a moment, it felt like neither of you would back down. The air was thick, charged, buzzing with anger and exhaustion. Then you broke eye contact first—not because you were weaker, but because you were running out of time. “I’m leaving,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “There’s food in the fridge. Eat it or don’t. I don’t care.”

He laughed bitterly. “Unbelievable.” You stopped at the door, hand on the handle. “Get used to it. This is your life now, too.” You didn’t wait for a response. The door shut behind you with a final, hollow click. Left alone in the dim, silent house, Heeseung stood frozen, chest heaving. The smell of rice and vegetables still lingered in the air. The blanket lay crumpled on the couch where he’d slept. Slowly, the anger ebbed—just enough for something else to creep in.

This wasn’t a nightmare.

And for the first time, that realization scared him more than anything else.-

The bell above the restaurant door chimed softly as you unlocked it, the sound far too gentle for the storm brewing inside you.

You shoved the door open harder than necessary, flipping the sign to OPEN with a sharp snap. The place was still dark and quiet, smelling faintly of yesterday’s broth and rice. You dropped your bag behind the counter and stood there for a moment, hands braced against the wood, head bowed.

What the hell did I do?

Your chest rose and fell unevenly as you stared at the familiar space—the scuffed tables, the worn stools, the faded menu handwritten by your mother years ago. This place had always been your anchor. You're constant. And now it felt… contaminated. Like something foreign had been dragged into your carefully balanced life and knocked everything off-kilter. Married. To him. You scoffed under your breath, running a hand through your hair. “Unbelievable,” you muttered to the empty room. “Absolutely unbelievable.” The argument from that morning replayed in your head whether you wanted it to or not—his anger, his disgust, the way he looked at your house like it was something he’d stepped in by accident. Your jaw tightened. I should’ve said no. I should’ve walked away You moved mechanically, turning on the lights, tying on your apron. The familiar motions usually calmed you, grounded you. Today, they did nothing. “One year,” you whispered to yourself bitterly. “I agreed to ruin my life for one year.” You slammed a pot down on the stove harder than needed, the clang echoing through the restaurant. The sound made you flinch—and then laugh humorlessly. I could still end it.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and tempting. You froze, hands hovering over the ingredients. I could go back. Tell his parents I changed my mind. Tell them I won’t do it. I won’t be humiliated in my own home. I won’t babysit a spoiled man-child who thinks my life is a joke. Your heart started to race as the idea grew roots. The relief it promised was intoxicating. Then your mother’s face flashed in your mind—pale against white sheets, fingers trembling, eyes tired but still so gentle when she looked at you. Your chest tightened painfully. “…Mom,” you whispered. The guilt hit like a wave, heavy and suffocating. Ending the arrangement meant ending her treatment. No more medication. No more stability. No more time. You pressed your palm flat against the counter, breathing through the ache in your chest. “I can’t,” you murmured. “I can’t do that to her.”

So you swallowed it. The anger. The regret. The resentment. You shoved it all down where you’d always put things you couldn’t afford to feel. Just endure it, you told yourself. Just survive one year. The bell over the door chimed again—louder this time. “Y/N-ah!” a familiar voice called out cheerfully. “You’re open already?” Mrs. Kang stepped inside, bundled in her cardigan despite the warming morning, followed closely by two other regulars. The quiet was shattered instantly. You straightened, forcing a smile onto your face. “Morning.” They all paused, looking at you a little too closely. “…You look tired,” Mrs. Kang said, eyes narrowing with concern—and curiosity. “I didn’t sleep well,” you replied, turning back to the stove. “Well,” another woman chimed in, grin spreading, “I hear you had company.” Your hand stilled. Company.

You felt it before they even said it—the buzz, the barely contained excitement. “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Kang added knowingly. “The handsome young man. Tall. Expensive-looking. That one.” Your stomach dropped. So it already spread. You kept your back turned. “People talk too much.” The women laughed. “In a village this small?” one of them teased. “Of course they do! You bring home a husband like that and expect silence?” “Husband?” Mrs. Kang echoed, delighted. “Is it true, Y/N? You got married without telling us?” You turned slowly, irritation flashing across your face. “It’s not like that.” “Oh, don’t be shy,” another auntie said, waving her hand. “We saw him. So handsome. Like a movie star! Where were you hiding him all this time?”

Heat rushed to your face. “I wasn’t hiding anyone.” “Is he rich?” someone asked bluntly. “Does he treat you well?” another added. “Does he eat properly? He looked thin,” Mrs. Kang said, already worrying. Your head started to pound. You set a bowl down harder than necessary. “Please,” you said sharply. “Can we not do this?” The chatter faltered. “I don’t want to talk about it.” The aunties exchanged looks—surprised, confused, a little hurt. “Oh,” Mrs. Kang said softly. “We were just teasing…” “I know,” you replied, voice strained. “I’m just… tired.” An awkward silence settled. One by one, they moved to their seats, murmuring apologies; the excitement dampened.

As you worked, their whispers faded, replaced by the familiar clatter of bowls and spoons. But the damage was done. You stared into the simmering broth, jaw clenched. Great. Not only did I sell my life for a year, but now the whole village knows about him, too. You imagined Heeseung waking up in your house again. Complaining. Judging. Existing in your world like he didn’t belong. Your grip tightened on the ladle. “I really messed up,” you whispered to yourself. And yet—despite everything—you kept cooking. Kept serving. Kept moving. Because that was what you always did. The lunch rush had finally tapered off. The clatter of dishes, the sizzle from the stove, and the chatter of regulars faded to a comfortable hum. You wiped down the counter, tying your apron a little tighter as you tried to shake off the lingering exhaustion from waking so early.

“Y/N-ah!” came the familiar teasing voice. You looked up to see Taehyun at the door, smiling as if he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hair slightly messy from rushing over. “You came again,” you said, half-smiling, half-exasperated. “Of course I did,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I had to make sure my favorite chef was surviving the chaos you call a morning.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m surviving. Barely.” He smirked. “Barely is better than not at all.” You shook your head, laughing softly. There was a comfort in his presence, a lightness that made the heaviness of your life momentarily lift. It had always been like this when he came by—flirting, teasing, playful—but never overstepping. As you cleared some plates from a table, Mrs. Kang popped her head around the corner with a sly smile. “Ah, Y/N, speaking of favorites…” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I was just telling Taehyun here that you have a husband now.”Your heart skipped. You froze mid-step, hands gripping the plate.

Taehyun’s brows shot up. His eyes flicked between his mother and you. “Husband?” His voice was quiet, but something in it—hurt, surprise, disbelief—made your chest tighten. “Yes,” Mrs. Kang said, oblivious to the tension she’d created. “Married last week, apparently. Handsome, apparently very rich. The whole village has been talking about it.” She winked and disappeared before either of you could respond. Silence stretched. Taehyun’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Congratulations,” he said finally, voice careful. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding looking directly at you. “Thanks,” you said softly, unsure of what else to say. He hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged. “I still want to walk you home after your shift,” he added, a small, tentative smile playing at the edges of his lips. “If that’s… okay.” You felt your cheeks warm. It was like nothing had changed, even though everything had. “…Yeah,” you said softly. “That’s fine.” The day dragged on, and the afternoon rush felt heavier than usual. Every time you caught Taehyun glancing your way, your chest tightened. When the last customer left, you leaned against the counter for a moment, rubbing your sore shoulders. “You ready?” Taehyun asked gently, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. You nodded, grabbing your bag. Together, you stepped out into the crisp evening air, the street quiet except for the distant hum of the village.

They walked side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing. Taehyun kept the conversation light, teasing about small things—the way Mrs. Kang fussed over the customers, the stubborn regulars who never finished their soup, even joking about how you were the hardest worker he’d ever met. You laughed softly, thankful for the distraction, and for the few stolen moments where it felt like things could almost be normal. “So… how’s married life?” he asked after a while, careful in his tone, but the faint curiosity in his voice made your stomach twist. You froze, glancing at him. “…It’s… fine. Complicated,” you said lightly, hiding the truth about Heeseung and the arrangement for your mom’s medical bills. It wasn’t a story you wanted to share. He nodded slowly, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips. “I see. Well… good for you, I guess. You deserve to be happy.” You smiled faintly, grateful for his kindness, though a pang of guilt stabbed through you. As the two of you neared the narrow gravel path that led to your house, your chest tightened. The lights from your small home cast a soft glow across the front yard—and there, leaning against the wall near the door, was Heeseung. The same clothes he’d arrived in yesterday. His expression dark, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes sharp. He didn’t move as you approached, but the tension radiating from him made your skin prickle. Taehyun’s steps faltered slightly, and your hand brushed against his as you slowed. You didn’t know if Heeseung had seen the way you laughed at something Taehyun said, or the way you had leaned slightly toward him during the walk—but the moment your eyes met Heeseung’s, something cold and unreadable passed across his features.

Before you could say anything, he spun on his heel, storming inside without a word. The slam of the door echoed sharply in the quiet evening, and the warmth of the small home suddenly felt suffocating. You stood frozen on the path, Taehyun by your side, watching the door close, your chest tight and shoulders tense. “I… guess he doesn’t like company,” Taehyun said quietly, his voice softer now, tinged with awkward concern. You forced a small laugh, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “That’s one way to put it,” you muttered, watching the door as though it might reopen at any moment. The walk home had been peaceful moments ago, but now, with Heeseung inside waiting, the air felt charged. And even though you didn’t know how he’d act next, you were already bracing yourself.Because nothing about this year was going to be easy.

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open.

The house was dim, the only light coming from the small lamp near the couch.

He was exactly where you expected him to be.

Heeseung sat rigidly on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as if he were holding himself back from saying something he might regret. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor.

He didn’t look up when you stepped inside. But you knew he knew you were there. You slipped off your shoes quietly and set your bag down by the table. The air inside felt heavier than when you left, thick with tension. Still, he said nothing. Fine. You walked past him into the kitchen area without acknowledging him. If he wanted to sulk, he could sulk. You had bigger things to worry about than a spoiled rich boy’s bruised ego.| You washed your hands at the sink, the water running loudly in the quiet house. From the corner of your eye, you could see him shift slightly on the couch. Still not looking at you. You opened the fridge and pulled out what little you had—half a zucchini, a small onion, leftover rice from the morning. Your movements were calm, practiced. Knife against cutting board. Vegetables sliding into a pan. The quiet stretched. The soft sizzle of oil filled the room. Behind you, the couch creaked. You didn’t turn around. Heeseung finally spoke. “…Who was he?” Your knife paused mid-slice. You kept your voice neutral. “A friend.” Silence. Then a short, humorless laugh. “Right.” You ignored him and kept cutting—another pause. “Friends usually touch your hand like that,” he said. You turned the stove flame down slightly, still not looking at him. “You’re imagining things.” “I’m not blind.” Neither am I, you thought bitterly, remembering the way he’d stormed inside earlier like a jealous child. But you didn’t say it. The pan hissed softly as you stirred the vegetables. He shifted again, irritation radiating off him. “You didn’t answer my question.” “I did,” you replied simply. “You avoided it.” “I don’t owe you explanations.” That did it. The couch groaned as he stood abruptly. “You’re my wife.”

You turned slowly to face him, unimpressed. “On paper,” you said. “For one year.” His eyes flashed. “That still means something.” “No,” you said calmly. “It means my mother gets treatment. That’s it.” For a moment, he just stared at you. The anger in his expression faltered—only slightly—but you caught it. Then his pride snapped back into place. “So you’re just going to parade guys around while I’m stuck here?” he muttered. You blinked in disbelief. “Parade?” you repeated. “Yes.” Your laugh was sharp. “He walked me home.” “And you were smiling.” You set the spatula down with a quiet clack. “You are unbelievable.” “And you’re avoiding the point.” “There is no point!” you snapped. “Taehyun has been my friend for years. He walks me home because the streets are dark and because he’s a decent person.” The words hung between you.

Something unreadable flickered across Heeseung’s face.

“…Taehyun,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

He scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed that he’d learned the name.

“Whatever.”

You turned back to the stove, done with the conversation.

The silence returned—but it wasn’t the same as before.

Now it buzzed with something sharper.

You finished cooking quickly, spooning the rice and vegetables into two bowls before placing them on the small table.

“Dinner’s ready,” you said flatly.

He didn’t move.

You sat down and started eating.

After a few seconds, the chair across from you scraped the floor.

Heeseung sat down.

Still scowling. Still clearly irritated. But he picked up the spoon anyway.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the quiet clink of metal against ceramic.

Then, out of nowhere, he muttered under his breath—

“…You smiled more with him.”

Your spoon stopped halfway to your mouth.

You slowly looked up.

He was staring down at his food like he hadn’t said anything at all.

Like the words had slipped out by accident.

“You’re jealous,” you said bluntly.

His head snapped up immediately. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“I barely know you,” he scoffed.

“Exactly,” you replied calmly. “Which makes this even weirder.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m not jealous,” he repeated. “I just don’t like looking like an idiot.”

“You looked like an idiot because you slammed the door like a child.”

That hit its mark. His eyes narrowed.

“You brought him to our house.”

“I didn’t bring him anywhere. He walked me home.”

“And you let him.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“You do realize you sound insane right now.”

He opened his mouth to argue—but stopped.

Because deep down, he probably knew you were right.

The tension slowly drained out of him as he leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his messy hair.

“…This place is too small,” he muttered after a moment.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I can hear everything,” he said. “Every step. Every door. Every breath.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

“And it’s annoying.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to your food.

After a few more quiet bites, he suddenly spoke again.

“…Your friend.”

You sighed. “What now?”

“He likes you.”

You didn’t even look up.

“He’s nice.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You shrugged lightly. “Maybe he does.”

His spoon hit the bowl a little harder than necessary.

“And you’re just… okay with that?”

You finally lifted your eyes to meet his.

“What exactly are you asking me, Heeseung?”

The room went quiet.

For a moment, he looked like he actually didn’t know how to answer that.

His gaze dropped back to the table.

“…Nothing,” he muttered.

You watched him for a second longer before shaking your head slightly and finishing your dinner.

When you stood to rinse your bowl in the sink, you felt his eyes follow you again.

But this time, there was something different in his expression.

Not just irritation or pride.

Something quieter. Something conflicted.

And even though neither of you said another word that night, one thing was painfully clear.

Living together was starting to affect him far more than he wanted to admit.

Morning sunlight crept slowly through the thin curtains, pale gold lines stretching across the worn wooden floor. The house was unusually quiet. No alarm. No rush. No frantic morning routine.

But you were already awake.

Years of waking before dawn had trained your body too well. Even on your rare day off, sleep refused to hold you.

You sat at the small kitchen table, a chipped mug of tea warming your hands. A pencil rested between your fingers as you scribbled numbers across the back of an old receipt. The paper was already covered in crossed-out totals and small circles where you’d tried to make the math work.

Rent. Utilities. Restaurant supplies. Bus fare.

Your brow furrowed as you added another column.

Groceries.

You exhaled slowly, circling the smallest number you could manage beside vegetables. It still felt like too much.

The couch's quiet creak broke your concentration.

You didn’t turn around right away, but you knew he was awake.

You could almost feel the confusion radiating off him.

Heeseung slowly pushed himself upright on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs like he’d fought it in his sleep. His hair stuck out in different directions, and his expression was somewhere between exhausted and offended by his surroundings.

He blinked a few times, squinting toward the window where soft morning light had begun to leak through.

“…Why isn’t the alarm screaming?” he asked groggily, voice thick with sleep.

You took a slow sip of your tea before answering.

“Because I turned it off.”

His eyebrows knit together.

“…Why?”

“I have the day off.”

That seemed to wake him up more than anything else.

“You get days off?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Sometimes,” you replied dryly, tapping your pencil against the paper.

He leaned back against the couch cushions, stretching his arms over his head. The movement lasted all of two seconds before his face twisted in pain.

“…My back is ruined.”

You didn’t even look up.

“That’s what happens when you sleep on a couch.”

“That couch is a medieval torture device,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like it had personally betrayed him.

“Yet you survived.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about lawsuits and human rights violations.

After another moment of sulking, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered toward the kitchen area. His steps were slow, like he was still half asleep and unsure where exactly he was.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning slightly against the counter.

“Making a list.”

“For what?”

“Groceries.”

His eyes drifted down toward the small piece of paper in your hand. He leaned a little closer, squinting at the short list.

“That’s it?” he asked.

You glanced down at the paper.

“Yes.”

“That’s barely anything.”

“It’s what I can afford.”

His mouth opened slightly, like the usual sarcastic comment was waiting to come out—but then he stopped himself. His gaze lingered on the list for a second longer before he looked away.

You folded the receipt neatly and stood from the table, grabbing your worn jacket from the chair.

“When do you get groceries?” he asked.

“Now.”

You moved toward the door, sliding your shoes on.

Behind you, the couch creaked again as he straightened up.

“Wait.”

You paused and turned slightly.

Heeseung was already pulling on his coat.

“…I’m coming.”

You blinked slowly.

“No, you’re not.”

“Ye,s I am.”

You stared at him.

“Why?”

He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I need food too.”

“There’s food here.”

“That soup again?” he said, horrified.

“It’s called leftovers.”

He ignored you completely and slipped his arms through his coat.

“I’m not staying in this shoebox all day.”

“You don’t even know how to grocery shop.”

He scoffed, pushing his hair back. “It can’t be that hard.”

You crossed your arms. “Have you ever bought groceries before?”

He hesitated for exactly half a second. “…I’ve been inside a store.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

But he had already grabbed the door handle.

“Well,” he said as he pulled it open, “today you can educate me.”

Cold morning air rushed into the house immediately.

You watched him for a moment, studying his stubborn expression. “You’re going to hate it,” you warned.

“Probably.”

“It’s crowded.”

“Fantastic.”

“And you’re carrying the bags.”

His confidence flickered.

“…How many bags?”

You smiled faintly.

“Enough.”

—A few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the narrow gravel road toward the village market.

The morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of wet grass and distant cooking fires. Birds chirped somewhere in the trees overhead, and a few villagers were already outside sweeping their front steps or watering small gardens.

Heeseung walked beside you with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His eyes moved constantly, scanning everything around him with thinly veiled disbelief.

“…People really live like this,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes.

“You said that yesterday.”

“And I’m still shocked.”

As you approached the market, the quiet village sounds gradually gave way to the low hum of voices and movement.

Stalls lined the street beneath colorful cloth canopies. Wooden crates overflowed with vegetables—green onions, cabbage, peppers stacked neatly in piles. Baskets of apples and pears glowed in the morning light, and the smell of fresh bread and grilled fish drifted through the air.

Heeseung stopped walking.

“What is this?” he asked slowly.

You looked back at him.

“The market.”

“This is outside.”

“Yes.”

“Where are the carts?”

“There are no carts.”

His expression darkened.

“…You’re joking.”

You walked straight toward the vegetable stand.

“Morning, Y/N!” the old vendor greeted warmly.

“Morning,” you replied with a small smile.

Behind you, Heeseung hovered awkwardly, looking deeply out of place among the bustling stalls and chatting villagers.

You picked up a cabbage, turning it carefully in your hands.

“Two thousand won,” the vendor said.

You handed over the money.

Beside you, Heeseung looked horrified.

“…You’re touching all of them.”

“I’m checking which one’s fresh.” “There are no gloves.” The vendor blinked slowly at him. You sighed. “Relax.” He leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice. “Do people just… grab things here?” “Yes.” “That’s barbaric.” The vendor snorted loudly. You kicked Heeseung lightly in the shin. “Behave.” He glared at you, rubbing his leg. “You kicked me.” “You deserved it.” You moved to the next stall, picking up eggs and tofu. Heeseung followed behind you like a reluctant shadow. But after a few minutes, something changed. His expression slowly shifted from disgust to curiosity. “…Why are those cheaper?” he asked, pointing to a pile of slightly bruised apples. “Because they’re ugly,” you said simply. “But they taste the same?” “Yes.” He stared at the apples like he’d just discovered a flaw in the universe. “…That’s stupid.” “Welcome to grocery shopping.” You paid for the apples and handed him the bag without warning. He fumbled it awkwardly, clearly not used to carrying anything heavier than a phone. “…You weren’t kidding about the bags.” “We’re not done.” His eyes widened. “Not done?” You were already walking toward the next stall. “Come on, city boy.” He sighed dramatically but followed after you, the grocery bag dangling from his hand. Yet as he walked beside you through the lively morning market—listening to the chatter of vendors, watching the small negotiations over prices, smelling the mix of fresh produce and warm street food—something unfamiliar settled into his expression. Not anger. Not disgust. Just quiet curiosity. The market grows busier as the two of you move between stalls. You moved through it all easily, greeting people with small nods and quiet smiles, picking up the last few things on your list. Behind you, Heeseung followed with noticeably less confidence. The bag of apples hung awkwardly from his hand as he tried to keep up. Every few steps, someone brushed past him, and each time, he stiffened like he’d been personally insulted by the concept of crowded spaces. “Do people not believe in personal space here?” he leaned down, muttering quietly. You didn’t even turn around. “No.” He let out a long sigh but kept walking. You were reaching for a bunch of green onions when a voice suddenly rang out across the market. “Y/N-ah!” Your hand froze mid-reach. Slowly, you turned your head. Three familiar figures stood a few stalls away, staring in your direction with expressions that could only be described as delighted shock. Your stomach sank immediately. Mrs. Kang stood in the middle, her cardigan buttoned up despite the warming weather. On either side of her were two other village aunties, their heads already leaning together as they whispered excitedly. Their eyes weren’t on you. They were locked directly onto the tall man standing behind you. “Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Kang gasped softly. “That must be him,” one of the other women whispered. “He’s even taller than they said!” Before you could even think of escaping, the three of them began marching toward you with determined steps. You closed your eyes for half a second. This is going to be a disaster. “Y/N!” Mrs. Kang said brightly as they stopped right in front of you. “What a surprise seeing you here this morning!” You forced a polite smile. “Good morning.” But the women barely acknowledged your greeting. Their attention had already shifted completely. Three pairs of curious eyes turned slowly toward Heeseung. He froze instantly. The bag of apples nearly slipped from his hand as he suddenly found himself the center of intense scrutiny. “Ahhhh,” one auntie hummed thoughtfully, looking him up and down with open interest. “So this is the husband.” Heat rushed to your face. Heeseung blinked.

“…The what?” “The husband,” Mrs. Kang repeated cheerfully, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You cleared your throat quickly. “Yes… this is—” But the women had already surrounded him. “Oh my, he’s very handsome.” “So tall too.” “He looks like one of those actors from television!” Heeseung’s ears started turning red almost immediately. He looked completely caught off guard, glancing at you quickly like he was silently asking for help. You suddenly found the cabbage in your hands extremely interesting. “Are you eating well?” one of the aunties asked him kindly. “Does Y/N cook enough for you?” “Are you adjusting to village life?” another chimed in. The questions came so quickly that he barely had time to process them. “I—uh—” “You have very nice shoulders,” one auntie added approvingly. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly. His cheeks were noticeably pink now. Another auntie reached out and lightly poked his arm, testing the muscle there. “Oh!” she laughed. “Strong too!” Heeseung looked like he might actually short-circuit. His gaze flicked helplessly toward you again. You pressed your lips together tightly to stop yourself from laughing. “And look!” Mrs. Kang suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the bag in his hand. They all gasped dramatically. “You’re carrying the groceries!” “Oh, what a good husband!” “Such a hardworking man!” “Most men wouldn’t even hold one bag!” Heeseung stared down at the apples like they had betrayed him personally. “This?” he said slowly, lifting the bag slightly. “This counts as hardworking?” “Yes!” Mrs. Kang said proudly. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the sudden praise. “…It’s just a bag,” he muttered. But the aunties looked thoroughly impressed. “Oh, he’s humble too,” one of them whispered loudly. You nearly choked trying not to laugh.

“Oh, Y/N,” another auntie said teasingly, leaning closer to you. “You hid him from us for so long!”“I didn’t hide anyone,” you protested weakly.

“But he’s so handsome,” she insisted. “Where did you find him?”

Heeseung muttered under his breath beside you.

“She didn’t find me.”

Unfortunately for him, Mrs. Kang heard that.

“What was that?”

Heeseung immediately straightened up slightly, clearly realizing he had to play along now.

“…Nothing,” he said quickly.

The women exchanged amused looks.

“Well,” Mrs. Kang said warmly, patting his arm again, “you must take good care of our Y/N.”

The touch made him stiffen slightly again.

But this time, his expression shifted just a little.

“…I will,” he said quietly.

The words came out before he seemed to realize it.

Your head snapped toward him slightly.

He noticed.

His ears turned even redder.

The aunties, however, looked absolutely delighted.

“Ahhh,” one of them sighed dramatically. “Young love.”

You almost dropped the cabbage. “It’s not—”

But they were already moving away, whispering excitedly among themselves again.

“I told you he was handsome.”

“And polite too!”

“Such a good husband!”

Their voices slowly faded as they continued down the row of stalls.

Silence settled between you and Heeseung.

He slowly turned his head toward you.

His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mortified. “…That was terrifying,” he said quietly.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You burst out laughing. “They like you.”

“They interrogated me.”

“That means they like you.”

He glanced down at the grocery bag again. “…They called me hardworking.” You smirked. “You should hear what they call the men who don’t carry bags.” He ran a hand through his hair, still looking a little flustered. “…Your village is weird.” But as the two of you continued walking through the market, he didn’t let go of the grocery bag. And this time, when another elderly woman passed by and smiled knowingly at him— He lowered his head slightly. Just a little bashful. The days after the market trip began to slip into something neither of you had expected. Routine. Not the kind that arrived suddenly with some grand realization or dramatic change. It crept in quietly, settling into the small spaces of everyday life. At first, you barely noticed it happening. The tension between you still lingered, still sharp in certain moments, but the constant friction slowly started to wear down. The days began to flow in familiar patterns, and before long, the house started to feel less like a place where two strangers were forced to coexist… and more like a place that simply held both of you.

Mornings were still early. They always had been. Your body had long since grown used to waking at the same hour, trained by years of responsibility and necessity. Even on mornings when your bones felt heavy with exhaustion, your eyes would still open before the alarm had the chance to ring. Still, the alarm buzzed softly beside your bed. The sound was sharp in the quiet house. Your hand reached out automatically, turning it off before it could wake the entire neighborhood. At first, that sound had been enough to wake the person sleeping in the living room. Every morning. From the couch, Heeseung would groan loudly, his voice muffled beneath the blanket as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. “Why does it ring like the building’s on fire?” he would complain, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. You would roll your eyes quietly while tying your hair back into a loose ponytail. “It’s called an alarm.” His response usually came immediately. “People shouldn’t be awake at this hour.” You would sling your bag over your shoulder, glancing toward the living room with a flat expression. “People with jobs are.” At the beginning, that exchange usually started an argument. Not always a big one.

But enough for the morning air to fill with the familiar edge of annoyance. He would complain about the hour, about the noise, about the cold floor when his feet touched it. You would snap back about responsibility, about work, about how some people didn’t have the luxury of sleeping all morning. But after a few days, something about those arguments began to soften. The sharpness in his voice slowly faded. The complaints didn’t disappear entirely, but they grew quieter… shorter… almost half-hearted.

Some mornings, he still groaned, but more often, he simply rolled over and pulled the blanket higher over his head, letting you move around the house without another word.

And sometimes…

When you stepped out of the bedroom, ready to leave for the restaurant, you would find something unexpected.

He would already be awake.

Sitting on the couch with messy hair sticking out in every direction, his shoulders slouched slightly forward as he stared blankly at the wall like his brain hadn’t quite caught up with his body yet.

The first time you saw him sitting there, you stopped in the doorway.

“Why are you up?” you asked, confused.

He rubbed his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light. “The alarm woke me up.”

“Then go back to sleep.”

He shrugged lazily, leaning back into the couch. “Too late now.”

You watched him for a moment longer than necessary.

Something about the quiet way he sat there made the house feel… different. But you pushed the thought away quickly and left for work.

At the time, it didn’t seem important—just another strange habit. But as the days passed, more small changes began to appear.

By the end of the first month, the couch blanket was folded neatly every morning.

The first time you noticed it, you thought you were imagining things.

You returned home late in the afternoon, the familiar ache of a long shift settling into your shoulders. The house was quiet as usual, sunlight stretching through the window and across the living room floor.

Your eyes drifted toward the couch automatically.

The blanket was folded.

Neatly.

The pillow had been placed carefully on the armrest instead of being tossed aside like usual.

You stood there for a moment, staring at it.

“…Did you do this?” you asked slowly.

From the table, Heeseung looked up, his expression completely casual. “Do what?”

You gestured toward the couch. “The blanket.”

He glanced at it briefly before shrugging. “It looked messy.”

You blinked. “…You folded it.”

“Yeah?” His tone carried a hint of confusion, like he couldn’t understand why it mattered.

You turned slowly back toward the kitchen, still processing the sight. “…Weird.”

But despite the word leaving your mouth, something warm flickered quietly in your chest.

— A few days later, you came home to something else.

The dishes were done. Not perfectly. One bowl still had a faint streak of soap clinging to the side, and the pan had clearly been rinsed more than properly scrubbed. But they were clean. You stood in the kitchen doorway staring at the drying rack, momentarily stunned by the sight. Two bowls. Two spoons. One pan. All washed and sitting carefully beside the sink. “…What happened here?” you asked cautiously. From the couch, Heeseung didn’t even look up. “I washed them.” Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Why?” He shrugged lazily. “You cooked.” You stared at him for a long moment. “…That’s it?” “Is there supposed to be another reason?” His tone was so simple that it caught you off guard. You didn’t answer. But something about the quiet fairness of it loosened the tight knot that had been sitting in your chest since he first arrived. Eventually, he started coming to the restaurant. Not every day. Just… sometimes. The first time he showed up, he stood awkwardly in the doorway like someone who had accidentally walked into the wrong building. The regular customers noticed immediately. “Y/N-ah!” Mrs. Kang called loudly from her seat. “Your husband is here again!” You groaned quietly behind the counter, pressing your palm against your forehead. Across the room, Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly still not used to being publicly announced like that. “I was bored,” he muttered when he finally approached the counter.

You slid a bowl of soup toward him without looking up. “Sit down.” He did. At first, you assumed he would eat quickly and leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed. Sometimes for hours. He sat quietly in the corner, watching the small chaos of the restaurant unfold around him—the steady rhythm of customers coming and going, the loud conversations between regulars, the clatter of dishes and spoons against bowls. Occasionally, your eyes would flick toward him. And every time, he was watching the room with quiet curiosity. The lunch rush finally began to slow. The restaurant fell into one of those rare quiet moments where the air itself seemed to exhale after the chaos. Only a few customers remained, finishing their meals slowly while chatting softly among themselves. Behind the counter, you stood wiping down a stack of bowls, your movements slower now that the rush had passed. Your shoulders looked heavy. Across the room, Heeseung watched you carefully, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. The thought returned. It had been circling his mind for days now. He could ignore it. Pretend it didn’t exist.

But every time he saw the faint exhaustion in your movements, it pushed itself forward again. Finally, before he could overthink it, he stood up. You noticed immediately. Your head lifted from the counter the moment his chair scraped softly against the floor. Your eyes followed him as he walked over, suspicion already settling into your expression. “What?” you asked. Your tone carried that familiar edge, the one you used whenever you expected him to say something annoying. He leaned his elbows against the counter, hesitating for just a second. “I’ve been thinking.” Your eyebrows rose instantly. “That’s concerning.” Under any other circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes. But this time, he didn’t. “…Let me work here.” For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Your hand froze halfway through wiping the bowl. Your brain struggled to process the words. “…What?” He straightened slightly, repeating himself more clearly. “Let me work here. At the restaurant.” You stared at him like he had just suggested something completely insane. “You want to… work here.” “Yes.” “You?”

“Yes.” You slowly set the bowl down on the counter, your mind racing. Out of all the things you expected him to say… This had not been one of them. “…Why?” you asked. He shrugged lightly, but there was something awkward about the movement, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable explaining it. “You clearly need help.” You scoffed immediately. “I’ve been doing it alone for years.” “And you’re exhausted.” The bluntness of his answer caught you off guard. Your lips parted slightly. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Because the worst part was… He wasn’t wrong. But admitting that felt like admitting weakness. “I’m fine,” you said quietly. He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that annoyingly observant way he had developed recently. “No, you’re not.”

Your chest tightened. You opened your mouth to argue again, but he continued before you could. “I’m here anyway,” he said simply. “I might as well do something useful.” Something about the way he said it made your heart stumble slightly. Not dramatic. Just… unexpected. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to regain control of the conversation. “You’ve never worked in a restaurant.” “So teach me.” “You don’t know how to cook.” “I can carry bowls.” “You don’t know the menu.” “I can learn it.” You crossed your arms tightly. “And when you get bored after two days?”

His jaw tightened just slightly. “I won’t.” The quiet certainty in his voice made you pause. This didn’t sound like one of his impulsive ideas. He had actually thought about it. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other across the counter. Your mind raced through every possible reason this could go wrong. He would hate the work. He would complain. He would quit after a week. And yet… You thought about the folded blanket. The washed dishes. The way he had started carrying bowls during the lunch rush without being asked. Maybe… Maybe he was serious.

You sighed softly, rubbing your hand across your forehead. “…This is a terrible idea.” “Probably,” he admitted easily. “But you’re still asking.” “Yes.” Silence stretched between you again. Your eyes drifted around the restaurant—the empty tables. The dishes are waiting to be cleaned. The quiet exhaustion still lingering in your arms. When you looked back at him, he was still standing there. Waiting. Not impatient. Not smug. Just… steady. You exhaled slowly. “…You’d have to start small.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Small?” “Cleaning tables. Carrying dishes. Taking simple orders.” “That’s fine.” “And if you mess up, I’m yelling at you.” He gave a small shrug. “You already do that.” Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched slightly. “Don’t get used to it,” you muttered.

He leaned back from the counter, something like quiet satisfaction settling into his posture. “So that’s a yes?” You hesitated for half a second. Then you sighed. “…Come in tomorrow morning.” For the first time since the conversation began, a small smile appeared on his face. Not teasing. Not smug. Just… genuinely pleased. “Alright.” As he turned to walk back toward his table, you watched him carefully. Your chest felt strangely warm. Because when he had first appeared in your life, bringing nothing but trouble and frustration with him… The last thing you ever imagined was this. The two of you standing in the same small restaurant… Working toward the same thing. Together. The next morning, Heeseung officially started working at the restaurant, and the village somehow found out before the doors had even opened. You weren’t sure how news traveled so fast in such a small place. Still, by the time you unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to OPEN, two familiar aunties were already sitting at their usual table, whispering excitedly to each other like they had front row seats to something important. Heeseung stood behind the counter, staring at the room with a mixture of determination and mild dread. “You didn’t say there would be an audience,” he muttered under his breath. You didn’t even look at him as you tied your apron. “It’s a village. There’s always an audience.” He exhaled slowly through his nose, mentally preparing himself. But nothing could have prepared him for the aunties. The moment he stepped out from behind the counter carrying his first tray of bowls, Mrs. Kang clasped her hands together dramatically. “Ahhh! Look at him!”

The other auntie gasped loudly. “He’s really working!” Their voices carried easily through the small restaurant. Heeseung froze mid-step. His ears immediately turned pink. You leaned against the counter, watching the scene unfold with poorly hidden amusement. “He’s so tall carrying those bowls,” another woman said. "And so polite!” “He’s helping his wife!” At that word—wife—Heeseung nearly tripped over his own feet. “I’m not—” he started automatically. But he stopped himself halfway through the sentence. Because the moment his eyes flicked toward you, he realized something strange. You weren’t correcting them anymore. Not like you used to. Instead, you simply sighed softly and continued chopping vegetables behind the counter. “…Just put the bowls down,” you murmured to him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and did exactly that. Over the next few days, the restaurant somehow became even busier than usual. Word had spread through the village that your “husband” was helping at the restaurant now. And the villagers were very interested. Especially the aunties. Every afternoon, they filled the tables like a small council of gossip and curiosity, watching Heeseung work with thinly veiled delight. “Ahhh, look at him wiping the tables!” “Such a hardworking young man.” “Y/N is so lucky.”

Every time they said something like that, Heeseung’s ears turned red again. At first, he tried to argue. But the aunties never listened. Eventually, he gave up. Instead, he focused on the work. And to his own surprise… he started getting better at it. He learned the menu faster than you expected. He stopped spilling soup. He learned how to balance multiple bowls on one tray without looking like he was performing a dangerous circus act. And slowly, working beside you began to feel… natural.

You moved around each other easily now, slipping past one another in the narrow kitchen space without bumping shoulders. Sometimes your hands brushed briefly when you both reached for the same utensil. Each time it happened, something strange flickered through his chest. He never said anything about it. But he noticed. Every time.

– The air carried the faint scent of the fields outside, mixed with the comforting smell of rice already cooking in the kitchen.

You stood by the stove stirring the pot slowly, still half lost in the calm of the early morning. Behind you, you could hear Heeseung moving around the house. The soft creak of floorboards. The sound of the back door opening and closing. He had gotten into the habit of starting the day with you now.

At first, you had thought it was strange—Heeseung waking up early in a quiet village after spending most of his life in the city—but somehow he had adapted faster than either of you expected. You glanced over your shoulder just as he walked back into the kitchen. Your breath caught slightly. He had clearly just come in from outside. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his hair slightly messy from the morning wind, and there was a faint sheen of sweat along the back of his neck from carrying the crates of groceries. For a moment, you forgot to stir the pot. When did he get this… handsome? It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed before. Heeseung had always been good-looking. But lately it felt different. Maybe it was the way he moved now—comfortable in the small space of your home as he belonged there. Maybe it was the way his shoulders filled out the simple shirts he wore when working. Or maybe it was the quiet focus on his face whenever he was concentrating on something. He set the crate down on the counter beside you. “These were the last ones,” he said. You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “Oh… thank you.”

Your voice came out a little softer than you intended. Heeseung didn’t notice. He was already reaching for a knife to start cutting the vegetables, his movements easy and familiar now after weeks of helping in the restaurant. You watched him from the corner of your eye. The way his hands worked. The way his brows furrowed slightly when he focused. The faint muscle in his jaw shifted as he concentrated. Your chest felt strangely warm. He looks good doing something so simple. It was ridiculous. He was just chopping vegetables. But somehow he made even that look… attractive. You quickly looked back down at the pot before he could notice you staring. Across the counter, Heeseung felt your gaze for a moment. He didn’t say anything. But the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Later that afternoon, the two of you were at the restaurant. The lunch rush had arrived in full force. Customers filled nearly every table, voices overlapping with the clatter of bowls and chopsticks. The aunties sat at their usual table near the window, whispering and giggling like they always did whenever Heeseung walked past. “Oh my, look at him,” one of them whispered loudly. “He’s such a good husband.”

“Handsome too,” another added. You tried very hard not to react. Heeseung, meanwhile, had turned slightly pink. He carried a tray of bowls across the room, his shoulders stiff with embarrassment as the aunties continued to gush. “Such broad shoulders.” “That face could be in a drama!” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile pulling at your lips because they weren’t entirely wrong. From where you stood behind the counter, you watched him move around the restaurant. The way he greeted customers politely. The way he carefully balanced the trays. The way he bent slightly to listen when the older villagers spoke to him. Your chest warmed again. He really does look like he belongs here now. It was strange remembering how tense things had been between you at the beginning. Now the two of you moved around each other effortlessly. When he passed the counter, his arm brushed lightly against yours. Neither of you pulled away. Later, when the restaurant finally quieted down, Heeseung leaned against the counter beside you with a tired sigh. “Your aunties are terrifying,” he muttered.

You laughed softly. “They like you.” “They stare at me like I’m a zoo animal.” You glanced at him sideways. “Well… you do give them something nice to look at.” He turned his head quickly. “…What?” Your face immediately grew warm. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. You quickly looked down at the dishes. “I didn’t say anything.” But Heeseung was already staring at you. His heart beat a little faster. Because hearing you say something like that, even accidentally, made something warm spread through his chest. And for the rest of the afternoon, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Meanwhile, you tried very hard not to look at him again. Because now that the thought had crossed your mind… It was impossible not to notice. The way his sleeves rolled up when he worked. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you. And every time you caught yourself staring— Your heart skipped just a little.

–Your shared day off didn’t happen often.

Running the restaurant meant that most mornings bled into long afternoons and quiet evenings of cleaning, planning, and preparing for the next day. But today the restaurant door remained closed, the sign read "closed for the day," and for the first time in weeks, neither of you had anywhere to be.

The morning air in the village was cool and gentle, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant fields as you and Lee Heeseung walked slowly along the small dirt path that wound between houses and shops.

For once, neither of you was rushing.

Your hands were loosely clasped behind your back as you walked, occasionally stopping to greet villagers who passed by. The older residents smiled warmly at the two of you, some offering small waves while others gave knowing looks that made you pretend not to notice.

Heeseung walked beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

At first, he focused on the path. On the quiet sounds of the village. On the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you.

But slowly… his attention drifted because you looked different today. Not in a dramatic way.

You weren’t dressed up, and you certainly weren’t trying to impress anyone. Your clothes were simple—just a soft sweater and a long skirt that moved lightly with the breeze.

Your hair wasn’t tied back the way it usually was when you worked in the restaurant. Instead, it fell loosely around your shoulders, shifting gently every time the wind passed through the narrow streets.

Heeseung glanced at you once. Then again. And before he realized it… he had started staring. Since when was she this pretty?The thought arrived suddenly and refused to leave. Maybe it was because he was so used to seeing you busy and focused in the restaurant—hair tied up, sleeves rolled, hands constantly moving. Seeing you like this felt different. Softer. Lighter. More… you. You stopped suddenly in front of a small fruit stand. Heeseung nearly walked right past you before realizing you had paused. “You’re not paying attention,” you said casually as you looked over the fruit. “I am,” he replied quickly.You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Heeseung tried to pretend he hadn’t just been staring at you for the past five minutes. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated. Because the honest answer would be about how pretty you look today. And somehow saying that out loud felt far more terrifying than dealing with the aunties at the restaurant. “…Nothing important.” You hummed softly but didn’t press further. Instead, you reached out to pick up a peach from the stand, turning it over in your hands as you examined it. Heeseung watched you again. The sunlight fell across your face in soft gold, catching faintly on your eyelashes. When you smiled politely at the shop owner, your whole expression seemed to brighten in a way that made something warm twist in his chest. She smiles like that all the time… how did I never notice it before? The realization made his heart beat a little faster. Because lately, it felt like every small thing about you stood out more. The way you laughed quietly at the aunties’ jokes. The way your voice softened when you called his name from the kitchen. The way your hand brushed his when you passed bowls across the counter. It was all suddenly impossible to ignore. You turned slightly toward him, holding up the peach. “Do you think this one is good?” For a moment, they didn’t answer. He had been too busy looking at your face again. “…Heeseung?” He blinked quickly. “Yes—yeah, it looks good.”

"You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You didn’t even look at it.” “I did.” “You’re a terrible liar.” You handed the peach to the shop owner anyway. Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Why was it suddenly so hard to act normal around you? As you continued walking through the village together, your shoulder brushed lightly against his. The contact was brief. But it sent a small jolt through his chest. He looked down at you again. The wind lifted a few strands of your hair, and you absentmindedly tucked them behind your ear as you walked. Your expression was relaxed. Peaceful. Happy. And suddenly the realization settled heavily in his chest. I like seeing her like this. Not tired from work. Not stressed from the restaurant. Just… enjoying the day. Heeseung’s heart softened slightly as he watched you. Because somewhere along the way, the quiet life you shared here had started to mean more to him than he ever expected. And walking beside you through the peaceful village streets, he couldn’t stop thinking the same thing over and over.

She’s really… beautiful.The thought made his chest feel warm. And strangely nervous at the same time. Because the more he noticed things like that… The harder it became to pretend his feelings weren’t growing deeper every day.–

The quiet afternoon had settled over the restaurant like the slow exhale after a long breath.

After the rush of lunch, the small space had relaxed into one of those rare peaceful moments where everything softened. Sunlight streamed through the front windows in warm golden beams, stretching across the worn wooden floor and catching the faint steam still drifting from the kitchen.

The smell of broth and rice lingered warmly in the air.

The village aunties sat near the window, their teacups resting between wrinkled hands as they whispered to each other, occasionally glancing toward the counter where you stood drying bowls.

Your arms ached faintly from the hours of work, but the calm after the rush always made it easier to breathe.

Across the room, Lee Heeseung wiped down one of the tables. At this point, the restaurant almost felt like his place, too, which was strange.

A few months ago,o he wouldn’t have imagined himself here at all—standing in a small village restaurant, wiping tables and carrying bowls like it had always been his job.

But somewhere along the way, the routine had become… comforting. And if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t the restaurant that kept him coming back every day. It was you.

He glanced up from the table without meaning to.

You stood behind the counter, focused on drying the dishes, your hair slipping slightly loose from its tie. The sight made something warm stir in his chest.

Then the bell above the door chimed. The moment you looked up, everything shifted.

Your hands stilled around the bowl. Your shoulders tensed.

Heeseung noticed instantly. Something uneasy curled in his stomach. Slowly, his eyes followed yours toward the door. A man stood there. Tall. Composed. Familiar. Kang Taehyun stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him. The moment his eyes landed on you, something in Heeseung’s chest tightened. “Y/N.” Taehyun said your name softly. Too softly. Like he had said it a thousand times before. “…Taehyun.” You hadn’t expected to see him here. For a moment, you forgot that Heeseung was standing just a few feet away. “It’s been a while,” Taehyun said gently. “Yes,” you replied. Your voice sounded calmer than you felt. From across the room, Heeseung watched the two of you carefully. The way Taehyun looked at you made something unpleasant twist in his chest. It wasn’t obvious. But there was familiarity there. Something comfortable. Something that clearly existed long before Heeseung had ever appeared in your life. Taehyun’s gaze drifted around the restaurant before landing on Heeseung. Recognition flickered across his face. “So you’re the husband.” Something about the way he said it made Heeseung’s jaw tighten. “And you are?” Heeseung asked.

Taehyun gave a small,l polite smile. “Someone who knew Y/N before you.” The words made something uncomfortable settle in Heeseung’s chest. Taehyun turned back to you. “I came to see you.” Your arms folded lightly. “…Why?” For a moment, Taehyun didn’t answer. Then he said quietly: “I wanted to see if you were actually happy in your marriage.” The words hit the room like a stone. Heeseung’s grip tightened around the cloth in his hand. Actually happy? A sharp flare of anger rose in his chest. Before he could stop himself— “…What’s that supposed to mean?” Taehyun glanced at him calmly. “It means exactly what it sounds like.” Heeseung stepped closer without realizing it. “You came all the way here just to question our marriage?” Taehyun didn’t look bothered. “I came to see how she was doing.” His eyes flicked toward Heeseung. “And who she married.” The quiet tension stretched tight between them. “I know Y/N,” Taehyun added. Something about those words hit Heeseung harder than they should have. Because it was true, Taehyun knew you in ways he didn’t. There were memories between you that Heeseung would never be part of. And suddenly an unfamiliar feeling twisted painfully inside his chest.

Jealousy. Real, sharp jealousy. Why does that bother me so much? Heeseung clenched his hands at his sides. Because hearing another man talk about you like that, Looking at you like he still belonged in your life, Made something protective and desperate rise in his chest. Taehyun looked at you again, his voice soft. “You deserve to be happy.” Before either man could speak again, your voice cut through the tension. “I am.” Both of them looked at you. Your heart was beating faster than you wanted to admit because Taehyun’s question had forced you to face something you had been avoiding for weeks. You met his eyes firmly. “I am happy.” Taehyun frowned slightly. “You don’t have to say that—” “I’m not lying.” Your voice was steady. But inside, your chest felt tight. Because saying the words out loud made something else painfully clear. Your eyes flicked toward Heeseung. He stood there tense, jaw tight, clearly angry. But beneath that anger, you could see something else. Something raw.

Something vulnerable. “He works here every day,” you said quietly. “He helps with the restaurant. He handles customers. He fixes things when they break.” Heeseung blinked in surprise. You rarely praised him out loud. “But more than that,” you continued softly, “he chose to stay.” Your chest tightened as you spoke the next words. Because they were the truth you had been trying not to admit. “I’m happy because of him.” Silence filled the restaurant. Heeseung’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest. Because of… me?He stared at you like he had misheard. You avoided his eyes for a second, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. Your thoughts raced. When did this happen?Somewhere between the quiet mornings. The shared dinners. The way he laughed when the aunties teased him. The way he always made sure you ate before the restaurant got busy. Somewhere in those small moments— You had fallen for him.Taehyun studied your face carefully. Then he sighed softly. “…Then I guess I have my answer.”

He glanced briefly at Heeseung. This time, his expression wasn’t skeptical. It was understanding. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said.

When he turned and left, the bell above the door chimed softly again.

The restaurant fell quiet. The aunties slowly returned to whispering. But Heeseung barely noticed. Because his chest felt like it might explode. Your words echoed loudly in his mind. I’m happy because of him. Because of him. A warmth spread through his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. But tangled inside that warmth was something terrifyingly clear. Because the jealousy he felt earlier— The anger at Taehyun. The fear that you might choose someone else. None of that made sense unless one thing was true. Slowly, Heeseung realized it. The truth settled into his chest with overwhelming clarity. He loved you. Completely. And hearing you admit that your happiness came from him, even indirectly, made his heart feel so full it was almost painful. For a moment, neither of you spoke. But in the quiet space between you, something had undeniably changed. The restaurant didn’t suddenly get louder. If anything, it felt quieter. Too quiet. The clinking of spoons, the low hum of conversation from the aunties—it all faded into the background like distant noise underwater.

Because all you could hear was your own heartbeat. And him. You swallowed, fingers still gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You hadn’t meant to say it like that. You hadn’t meant to say it at all. But now it was out there. And he heard you. Heeseung didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to piece something together—like everything that had happened over the past few months had finally clicked into place all at once. “Y/N…” his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it. Not annoyed. Not teasing. Just… careful. Your chest tightened. “What?” You didn’t look away this time. You couldn’t. He took a slow step forward. Then another. Each step felt louder than it should’ve, like the whole room could hear it—even though no one was paying attention anymore. “You said…” he started, then stopped, like the words didn’t come as easily as they usually did for him. That alone made your stomach twist. “When you said you’re happy because of me…”

Your breath hitched slightly. “I didn’t mean—” you started quickly, instinctively, but he cut you off. “Don’t,” he said softly. You froze.“Don’t take it back.”

That made your chest ache.

Because you weren’t trying to take it back.

You were trying to protect yourself.

He finally reached the counter, close enough now that you could see the small shift in his expression—the way his usual confidence was gone, replaced with something more uncertain. More real.

“I need to know,” he said, voice low, almost rough. “Was that true?”

The question sat heavily between you.

You could lie.

You could brush it off, laugh it away, say it didn’t mean anything.

That would be easier.

Safer.

But you were tired of pretending. Your fingers slowly loosened their grip on the counter. “…Yeah,” you admitted quietly. The word barely made it past your lips. But it was enough. Something in his expression broke—just slightly. Not in a bad way. Just… like something he’d been holding onto finally gave way. His shoulders dropped a fraction. And then he let out a small breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding. “…Good,” he murmured. Your brows pulled together. “Good?” A faint, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Because I don’t think I could’ve handled it if you said no.” Your heart skipped. “What are you talking about?” He looked at you then. Really looked.

And this time, there was no arrogance. No teasing. No distance. Just honesty. “I was jealous,” he said simply. You blinked. “I noticed.” He huffed a quiet breath, almost amused. “Not just today. Not just because of him.” His jaw tightened slightly before he continued. “Every time someone looks at you. Talks to you like they know you better than I do.” Your chest tightened. “I hate it,” he admitted. The words came out blunt. Unfiltered. “I hate that there are parts of your life I wasn’t there for. That someone else was.” Silence. You didn’t know what to say to that. Because part of you understood. Too well. “I didn’t understand it at first,” he continued, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice—but not at you. At himself. “I just thought it was… pride. Or annoyance. Or whatever.” He let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “But it’s not.” Your heart started pounding harder. Because you knew where this was going. And it terrified you. His eyes met yours again. “It’s because I—”

He stopped. For a split second, doubt flickered across his face. And that alone was enough to shake you. Because Lee Heeseung didn’t hesitate. Not like this. Not ever. Your voice came out softer than you expected. “…Because you what?” He swallowed. Then said it. “I like you.” Your breath caught. But he didn’t stop there. “That’s not even it,” he added quickly, shaking his head like that wasn’t enough. “I’ve liked you for a while now.” Your chest felt tight. Too tight. “And I didn’t realize how bad it was until I thought—” he paused, jaw clenching slightly, “—until I thought you might actually choose someone else.” Your fingers curled slightly against the counter. “…Heeseung—”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice firm now. “I don’t like the idea of you with anyone else. I don’t like seeing you smile at someone the way you smile when you’re comfortable. I don’t like feeling like I could lose something I didn’t even realize I had.” Your heart was racing. Because everything he was saying… You felt it too. “I don’t know when it happened,” he admitted more quietly now. “Somewhere between the mornings. The restaurant. You yelling at me for doing things wrong.” You almost laughed through the tension. “Hey—” “But it did,” he said, cutting you off gently. “And now I can’t pretend it didn’t.” Silence fell again. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was fragile. Like something important was balancing between you, waiting to see if it would fall apart—or finally settle. Your throat felt dry. “…You’re making this complicated,” you whispered.

He shook his head slightly. “No. It’s already complicated.” That was true. A fake marriage. A one-year contract. Feelings that weren’t supposed to exist. You looked down at your hands.“…We weren’t supposed to feel like this.”

“I know.”

“…This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I know.”

Your chest tightened.

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

That was the real question.

He didn’t answer right away.

For once, he didn’t have something quick or confident to say.

Instead, he leaned slightly against the counter, closer to you now than he had ever been before.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth from him.

Close enough that your heart wouldn’t slow down.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted.

Honest.

Again. “But I know I don’t want to go back to how it was before.” Your eyes lifted slowly to meet his. “…Me neither.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. And the moment they did— Something shifted. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just quietly. Like two pieces finally falling into place. Heeseung’s gaze softened. And for the first time since all of this started… Neither of you felt like you were pretending anymore. “…We should get back to work,” you said quietly. Neither of you moved. “Yeah,” he replied. Still nothing. Your fingers tightened slightly against the counter. “Heeseung.” “Mm.”

“You’re still standing there.” “I know.” You exhaled softly, something between a sigh and a nervous laugh. “This is weird.”

“…A little.”

But his voice didn’t sound uncomfortable.

If anything, it sounded… calmer than before.

That made your stomach flip.

Finally, you forced yourself to move—turning slightly, reaching for a stack of bowls just to give your hands something to do.

The moment you shifted, the space between you returned. And somehow, that felt worse. You focused on the dishes, trying to ignore the way your thoughts kept circling back to what he said. I like you.Not teasing. Not careless. Real. You swallowed. Across from you, Heeseung picked up the cloth again, wiping down the counter—but his movements were slower now. Less automatic. Like his mind wasn’t fully there anymore.

“…So what now?” he asked after a moment.

You paused.

That question again.

It sounded heavier this time.

You set the bowl down carefully. “…I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Silence.

He leaned his weight slightly against the counter, eyes on you. “We can’t just ignore it.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“But you’re not exactly doing anything either.”

You shot him a look. “What do you want me to do?”

He held your gaze.

And for once, he didn’t have a quick comeback.

That should’ve made you feel better.

Instead, it made everything feel more real.

“…This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you said again, softer now.

“I know.”

“…We made a deal.”

“One year.”

“And then it’s over.”

The words hung there.

Sharp.

Too sharp.

Heeseung’s jaw tightened slightly. “…Is that what you want?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard. Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“When the year ends,” he said, more slowly now, like he was choosing each word carefully, “do you actually want it to be over?”

Your heart stuttered.

You hadn’t let yourself think that far.

You weren’t supposed to.

This was temporary.

It had always been temporary.

But now—

The thought of him leaving felt… wrong.

Your grip on the edge of the counter tightened. “…I don’t know,” you admitted.

It was honest.

It was terrifying.

He watched you closely, like he was trying to read something you weren’t saying out loud. “…That’s not a no.”

You let out a small breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Read into everything I say.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips—but it didn’t fully form. “Too late.”

You rolled your eyes, but it came out weaker than usual.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

You were thinking about it now.

About the end.

About what it would mean to go back to a life where he wasn’t there—no early morning complaints, no quiet help in the kitchen, no presence filling the small space of your home.

Your chest tightened. “…You’d leave,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He blinked. “What?”

“When the year ends,” you clarified, trying to sound casual and failing slightly. “You’d go back to your life.”

“My life,” he repeated.

“Your real one.”

Something in his expression shifted. “…You think this isn’t real?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You looked away briefly, gathering your thoughts. “…I mean… this isn’t where you’re supposed to be.”

He let out a quiet breath. “And where exactly am I supposed to be?” he asked.

“In the city. With your family. Your money. Your—everything.”

“And leave this?” he asked.

You looked back at him.

He gestured lightly around the restaurant. “…Leave you?”

Your heart skipped. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I just—this isn’t your world.”

He went still.

For a second, you thought you’d crossed a line.

Then—

“…Maybe it is now.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t say it loudly. He didn’t need to.

Because something about the way he said it—steady, certain—made it land harder than anything else he’d said so far.

“You really think I’m going just to walk away from this like it didn’t matter?” he continued.

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know how.

“I hated it at first,” he admitted. “The house. The bus. The food. Everything.”

You huffed faintly. “I remember.”

“But that’s not what it is anymore.”

Your chest tightened again. “…Then what is it?” you asked quietly.

He held your gaze. “You.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Simple.

Direct.

Dangerous.

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.

He took a small step closer again—not as close as before, but enough to make your heart start racing all over again. “This place matters because you’re here,” he said. “The restaurant matters because it’s yours. None of this feels like something I’m being forced into anymore.”

Your throat felt tight.

“So no,” he added softly. “I don’t think I’d just leave.”

Silence wrapped around you again.

But this time, it felt heavier.

Because now the line between “fake” and “real” had blurred beyond recognition.

“…You’re making this harder,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“…You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Why not?”

“Because,” you exhaled, frustrated, “this isn’t supposed to be real.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stepped just a little closer.

Close enough that if either of you leaned even slightly—

You swallowed.

“…What if it is?” he asked quietly.

Your heart pounded.

“This—us,” he continued. “What if it stopped being fake a long time ago and we just didn’t want to admit it?”

You couldn’t breathe properly.

Because he was right.

And that made everything more complicated than you were ready for.

“…Heeseung,” you said softly, almost a warning.

But it didn’t sound like one.

It sounded like hesitation.

Like uncertainty.

Like something else entirely.

His gaze dropped briefly—to your lips—then back to your eyes.

And that tiny shift was enough to send heat rushing through your chest.

The air between you changed instantly.

Thicker.

Charged.

Neither of you moved.

But neither of you pulled away either.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“…Don’t.”He stilled.

“Don’t what?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t even know what you were asking him not to do. Don’t cross the line? Don’t make this real? Don’t make it harder to pretend later? Your chest rose and fell unevenly. “…Don’t make this something I can’t walk away from,” you finally said. The words landed softly. But they hit. Hard. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not hurt. Not exactly. But something close.“…What if I don’t want you to walk away?” he said.

Your heart clenched. “That’s not your choice.”

“Maybe not.” Silence. “But it’s not just yours either.”

You froze.

Because he was right again.

And that scared you more than anything.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then— The bell above the door chimed. Loud. Sharp. Real. Both of you pulled back slightly, like the moment had been interrupted just in time. A couple stepped inside, chatting casually, completely unaware of the storm they had just walked into. You turned quickly, grabbing the nearest towel just to keep your hands busy. “Welcome,” you said, your voice almost normal. Almost. Behind you, Heeseung let out a slow breath. And for the rest of the afternoon— Neither of you said another word about it. But the tension didn’t fade. If anything… It settled deeper. Because now you both knew. There was no going back to how things were before. And sooner or later—

One of you was going to have to decide what this really meant. That night, the house felt different. Not quieter. Not louder. Just… heavier. Like something had followed you home from the restaurant and settled into the walls, into the air, into every small space between you. You moved through your usual routine on autopilot—washing dishes, wiping the counter, setting things back where they belonged. Heeseung did the same, drying the last bowl beside you without being asked. Neither of you brought it up. Not what he said. Not what you said. But it lingered anyway. It was there in the way your shoulders brushed once… and neither of you pulled away immediately. In the way your eyes met for a second too long over something meaningless. In the silence that wasn’t empty anymore—just full of things neither of you knew how to say. Eventually, there was nothing left to do. The lights dimmed. The house settled.

And the moment you had been avoiding all evening finally arrived. Sleeping. You stood near the kitchen, hands resting lightly against the table, staring at nothing in particular. Behind you, the couch creaked softly as Heeseung shifted, grabbing the familiar thin blanket. The same one he had complained about months ago. Now he didn’t say anything. That somehow made it worse. You turned slightly, watching him out of the corner of your eye. The way he moved—quieter now, more used to the space. Like he had already accepted it. Like he wasn’t expecting anything more. “…You don’t have to sleep there.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. He froze, the blanket paused halfway in his hands. Slowly, he looked up at you. “…What?” he asked. You swallowed, heart already starting to race. “I said…” You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how small the house felt, how close he was, how there was nowhere to hide from this. “…you don’t have to sleep on the couch.” Silence. Heeseung straightened slowly, the blanket slipping slightly from his grip. “…Where else would I sleep?” he asked, quieter now. You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “The bed.” The words hung in the air. Clear. Unavoidable. For a second, he didn’t react at all. Then—

“…With you?” he said. Your face warmed immediately. “It’s not a big deal,” you said quickly, even though it very much was. “There’s enough space. And the couch is—” you glanced at it briefly, “—terrible.” A faint breath left him, almost like a laugh, but softer. “You just figured that out?” You ignored that. “I’m serious,” you added, voice steadier now. “You don’t have to keep sleeping there.” Another pause. He looked at you—really looked this time, trying to read something. “…Are you sure?” he asked. And that question— It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t arrogant. It was careful. Like he knew this meant more than just sleep. Your chest tightened again. Because he was right. It did. You hesitated for half a second too long. But then you nodded. “…Yeah.” Your voice came out softer this time. “I’m sure.” Silence stretched. Heeseung exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “…Okay.” Just one word. But it shifted everything. You nodded once, turning quickly before he could see the way your expression changed. “I’ll—uh—change first.” You disappeared into the bedroom faster than you meant to. The moment the door closed behind you, you leaned back against it, pressing your hand lightly to your chest.

What are you doing?

Your heart was pounding too fast.

This was just sleeping.

That’s it.

Nothing else.

You changed quickly, hands moving faster than your thoughts could keep up. But your mind wouldn’t quiet.

You remembered the way he looked at you earlier.

The way his voice softened when he said your name.

The way he almost—

You shook your head, pushing the thought away.

Don’t think about it.

Just sleep.

You pulled the blanket back and climbed into bed, staying firmly on one side, leaving space.

A lot of space.

Just in case.

Outside, you could hear him moving.

Slower.

More hesitant than usual.

The couch creaked one last time—then stopped.

A few seconds passed.

Then the door opened.

You felt it before you saw him.

Your entire body tensed slightly as he stepped inside.

Heeseung paused near the doorway.

The room suddenly felt even smaller than usual.

“…You’re taking up half the bed,” he said quietly.

You stared straight ahead at the wall. “There’s still space.”

“Barely.”

“Then don’t move around so much.”

A small breath of amusement left him.

But he didn’t argue. Instead, he moved closer.

Each step felt louder than it should have.

The mattress dipped slightly as he sat down on the edge.

Your heart jumped.

Then—

He shifted.

And laid down.

Carefully.

Like he was trying not to disturb you.

The bed dipped again under his weight, the space between you shrinking instantly.

Not touching.

But close.

Too close.

The warmth from him was immediate.

You stared at the wall, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the sound of his breathing, the slight movement of the mattress when he adjusted, the faint scent of soap and something distinctly him.

“…This is better than the couch,” he muttered quietly.

You huffed softly. “Obviously.”

Silence.

But not the same silence as before.

This one was… charged.

Your hands rested stiffly against the blanket, unsure of where to go.

You could feel him beside you.

Every inch.

“…You’re tense,” he said after a moment.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m fine.”

A small pause. Then—

“…Relax.”

You almost scoffed. “Easy for you to say.”

“You invited me.”

Your face warmed again. “Don’t remind me.”

A quiet chuckle came from beside you. And somehow, that sound did more to settle your nerves than anything else. Your shoulders loosened just slightly.

Minutes passed.

Neither of you moved much. But slowly… the tension began to ease.

Your breathing evened out. Your body adjusted to the unfamiliar presence beside you.

And then—

Without thinking—

You shifted. Just slightly.

Your arm brushed against his.

Both of you stilled. The contact was light. Barely anything. But it felt like everything.

Your breath caught. You waited for him to move away.

He didn’t. Instead—

His arm shifted too. Just enough that it rested more comfortably beside yours.

Not pulling away. Not pulling you closer. Just… there.

Your heart started racing again. But this time, it wasn’t panic. It was something softer. Warmer.

“…Y/N,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “…Yeah?”

A pause.

Like he was thinking.

Then—

“…Goodnight.”

You blinked.

That’s it?

Something in your chest loosened unexpectedly.

“…Goodnight,” you replied softly.

The room fell quiet again.

The kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy anymore.

Just… full.

Safe.

And as the minutes passed, your body slowly relaxed further, your eyes growing heavier.

Beside you, his breathing steadied.

And for the first time since all of this started—

You didn’t feel like you were pretending. You didn’t feel like this was temporary. You just felt…

Comfortable.

Your fingers shifted slightly against the blanket. Then, without thinking—they brushed his again.

This time, neither of you pulled away.

And somewhere between that quiet contact and the steady rhythm of his breathing—

You fell asleep. Together.

The room is quiet in that soft, fragile way that only exists late at night. You don’t mean to say it out loud.

Morning comes quietly.

Soft light slips through the curtains, pale and warm, brushing across your face.

You don’t wake up all at once. It’s slow—like your body realizes something before your mind does.

Warmth.

Weight.

Comfort.

Your fingers twitch slightly, and that’s when you notice it.

You’re not just close anymore. You’re curled into him.

Your face is tucked against his chest, one arm loosely wrapped around his side, your leg tangled with his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm is draped around you, hand resting securely against your back, holding you there even in sleep.

For a second, you freeze. Your heart stutters, then starts racing.

When did this happen…?

Carefully—very carefully—you tilt your head just enough to look up at him.

Heeseung is still asleep.

His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it. No tension, no teasing smirk, no guarded look—just peaceful. His grip on you tightens slightly, almost instinctively, like he’s reacting to your movement even without waking up.

Like he doesn’t want you to go.

Your breath catches. Something warm spreads through your chest, unfamiliar and overwhelming all at once.

You should move. You know you should. But you don’t.

Instead, you stay there for a moment longer than you mean to, listening to his steady heartbeat under your ear, feeling the quiet comfort of being held like this—like you belong there.

Then, slowly, his breathing shifts.

His eyes flutter open. For a split second, he looks confused. Then he realizes. And freezes.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

But the space between you—gone now, completely gone—feels heavier than ever.

His eyes meet yours. And just like that, everything becomes real.

You’re still pressed against him. His arm is still wrapped around your back, holding you like he forgot how to let go. Your leg is tangled with his, your hand resting against his chest, where you can feel his heartbeat—fast now, no longer calm like it was moments ago.

Neither of you moves.

It’s like if either of you does, the moment will shatter.

“…Morning,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual, still rough with sleep.

You swallow. “…Morning.”

But neither of you makes any effort to pull away.

Your mind is screaming at you to move—to create space, to fix this, to make it less something—but your body won’t listen. Not when he’s warm, not when he’s looking at you like that.

Like he’s thinking the same thing you are.

Don’t move yet.

His fingers shift slightly against your back, barely there, but enough for you to notice. Like he’s becoming aware of what he’s doing… and still not stopping.

“You move a lot in your sleep,” he murmurs, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Your brows knit together. “I do not—”

“You do,” he interrupts softly. “You were all the way over there.”

His hand lifts just enough to gesture vaguely behind you before settling back against you again—like it belongs there.

“And then you just…” he hesitates, glancing down at the way you’re curled into him, “…ended up here.”

Heat rushes to your face.

“I didn’t mean to,” you mumble, suddenly very aware of everything—how close you are, how your hand is still resting on him, how his thumb is slowly, absentmindedly brushing against your back.

He hums quietly. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Your breath catches.

There’s a pause.

A long one.

The kind that stretches just enough to feel dangerous.

Your fingers curl slightly against his shirt. “We should probably—”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

But he doesn’t move.

You don’t either.

Instead, his gaze softens, drifting over your face like he’s memorizing it—like he’s noticing things he hasn’t let himself notice before.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks suddenly.

The question catches you off guard.

“…What?”

“Like this,” he clarifies, quieter now. “With me.”

Your heart pounds.

You should lie.

You should brush it off, laugh it away, make it easier for both of you.

But the words don’t come.

“…Yeah,” you admit softly.

His expression changes—just slightly, but enough.

Something in his eyes warms, deepens. “…Me too.”

The air shifts.

It’s not awkward anymore.

It’s something else.

Something softer.

Something a little harder to ignore.

His hand slides just a little more securely against your back, pulling you a fraction closer—not enough to be obvious, but enough that you feel it.

Enough that it means something.

You exhale slowly. “People are gonna talk if they see this,” you whisper, even though there’s no one around.

A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Let them.”

Your heart stumbles.

That shouldn’t make you feel the way it does.

But it does.

And neither of you pulls away.

Not yet.

His gaze drops.

It’s subtle at first—just a flicker—but you notice.

From your eyes… to your lips.

And then back again.

Your breath catches, the shift so small but so loud at the same time.

Heeseung goes still.

Like he’s realizing it too.

Like he didn’t mean to look—but now that he has, he can’t stop.

The space between you suddenly feels thinner than ever. One small movement, and—

His hand tightens slightly against your back.

Not pulling you in. Not pushing you away. Just… holding.

Like he’s stuck in the middle of a decision he’s not sure he’s allowed to make.

Your heart is racing now, loud enough you’re sure he can hear it. Your fingers curl more firmly into his shirt without you meaning to, like you’re bracing yourself for something that hasn’t happened yet.

He swallows. “…Y/N.” Your name sounds different coming from him like this. Quieter. Careful.

You don’t answer.

You’re not even sure you can.

His eyes flick down to your lips again, slower this time. Lingering.

And this time… he doesn’t look away right away.

You feel it—the hesitation, the want, the restraint.

He inches closer.

Barely.

So close you can feel his breath now, warm against your skin.

And then he stops.

Right there.

Like there’s an invisible line he’s afraid to cross.

His brows knit slightly, conflict written all over his face. “I don’t know if I should—”

But he doesn’t finish the sentence.

Because he already knows the answer.

Or maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe that’s the problem.

His thumb brushes against your back again, slower this time, grounding himself. “Say something,” he murmurs, voice low, almost unsteady. “Because if you don’t…” He exhales shakily. “…I’m not sure I’ll stop.”

The words hang between you.

Heavy.

Honest.

And so, so close to dangerous.

He doesn’t move any closer.

But he doesn’t pull away either.

He’s waiting.

For you.

You don’t say anything.

And somehow… that is your answer.

His eyes search yours one more time—like he’s giving you a chance to stop him, to pull away, to make this easier.

You don’t.

Your grip on his shirt tightens just slightly instead.

That’s all it takes.

Heeseung exhales softly, as if something in him finally gives way, and then he closes the distance.

The kiss is gentle.

Careful.

Like he’s afraid you might disappear if he presses too hard.

For a second, it’s barely there—just the soft brush of his lips against yours, testing, uncertain.

And then—

You melt into it.

Your eyes flutter shut, your hand instinctively sliding up from his chest to rest against his shoulder, holding onto him like you need something steady. The hesitation between you fades, replaced by something warmer, deeper, something that had been building long before this moment.

His hand shifts against your back, pulling you closer—this time without stopping, without second-guessing.

The kiss deepens, not rushed, not overwhelming—just… real.

Like he’s been wanting this.

Like you both have.

Your heart is pounding so hard it almost feels unreal, your thoughts completely scattered, reduced to nothing but the feeling of him—warm, close, here.

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow.

Reluctant.

His forehead rests lightly against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier now, like you just crossed something neither of you can undo.

Neither of you speaks at first.

You just stay there.

Close.

Too close to pretend this didn’t mean anything.

His thumb brushes softly against your side again, almost absentminded, but there’s nothing uncertain about him anymore.

“…So,” he murmurs, voice low, a little breathless. “That happened.”

A small, nervous smile tugs at your lips, even though your heart is still racing.

“…Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

Then his gaze softens again, something more certain settling in this time.

And instead of pulling away—

He leans in again.

Because now that he’s kissed you once…

He doesn’t want to stop.

–

Rain tapped softly against the windows, steady and quiet, like the world had decided to slow down for the night.

The house was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner and the faint glow from the kitchen. Everything felt warmer when it rained—closer somehow.

You sat on the floor near the low table, a blanket draped over your legs, carefully folding laundry that had long since cooled. It was a simple task, one you didn’t mind. It gave your hands something to do, your thoughts somewhere soft to land.

Heeseung, however, had been watching you for the past five minutes.

Doing absolutely nothing about it.

You could feel it without even looking up.

“…What?” you finally asked, not bothering to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

There was a pause.

Then, casually, “Nothing.”

You glanced up.

He was stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other lazily draped over the edge—completely relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on you in a way that made your chest tighten just a little.

“You’ve been staring,” you said.

“Am I not allowed to look at my wife?”

You rolled your eyes softly, folding another shirt. “Not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking too much.”

That made him smile.

He pushed himself up slowly, running a hand through his hair before walking over. The floor creaked lightly under his steps, and then he was right there—hovering just long enough to make your heart beat faster before he dropped down beside you.

Closer than necessary.

Always closer than necessary.

“You caught me,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look at him this time. “What were you thinking about?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his hand found the edge of the blanket over your legs, absentmindedly smoothing it out—like he needed something to do while he figured out how to say it.

“…This,” he said finally.

You paused, fingers stilling on the fabric in your hands. “Folding laundry?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No.”

His shoulder bumped lightly against yours.

“You. Here. Like this.” His voice softened. “It still doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

Your chest tightened, just a little.

You set the shirt down slowly. “It’s real.”

“I know,” he said. “I just… didn’t think I’d get this.”

There was something honest in the way he said it. Not sad—just… genuine.

Like he was still adjusting to being happy.

You turned your head to look at him, really look at him. The softness in his expression, the way his eyes lingered on you like he was afraid you might disappear if he looked away.

“You gave up everything,” you said quietly.

He shook his head immediately. “I told you—”

“I know what you said,” you interrupted gently. “But it’s still true.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The rain filled the silence for you.

Then, slowly, you reached over, taking his hand in yours. His fingers curled around yours instantly, like it was instinct now.

“Then I’ll just have to make it worth it,” you said.

His expression shifted—something deeper, softer.

“You already do.”

Your heart skipped.

He leaned in slightly, his forehead brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“You have no idea how much.”

The world outside kept moving—the rain falling, the wind brushing softly against the house—but inside, everything felt still again.

Safe.

Warm.

He tilted his head just enough, his nose brushing yours in that familiar, gentle way that always made you forget what you were saying.

“You’re distracting me,” you murmured, though your grip on his hand tightened.

“That’s the point.”

You let out a quiet breath, a small smile slipping through before you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first—slow, familiar, like something you’d both learned by heart. But when his hand came up to cup your cheek, pulling you just a little closer, it deepened without thinking.

Not rushed.

Not uncertain.

Just… sure.

Like everything between you had settled into something steady and real.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his again, both of you lingering there like neither of you wanted to let go fully.

After a moment, he glanced down at the half-folded laundry.

“…We’re not finishing that tonight, are we?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Definitely not.”

“Good,” he said, already pulling the blanket further over both of you as he leaned back, taking you with him.

You didn’t protest.

Didn’t need to.

You just settled against him, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder as the rain continued outside.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Just the quiet. The warmth. The steady rhythm of something that felt like peace.

But then—

“…We should tell her soon.”

His voice was softer this time. Careful.

You stilled slightly against him.

You knew who he meant.

Your mom.

Your fingers tightened just a little in the fabric of his shirt. “I know.”

Another pause.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

You let out a small breath, staring ahead at nothing in particular. “A little.”

That felt like an understatement.

It wasn’t that you thought she’d be angry—no, that wasn’t it. It was the opposite.

She loved you. She worried about you. She had been through so much already.

And now you were going to stand in front of her and say: I got married.

Just like that.

Quietly.

Without her there.

“I don’t want her to feel left out,” you admitted.

Heeseung’s arm tightened around you instantly.

“She won’t,” he said gently. “She knows you. She knows this wasn’t… some careless decision.”

You swallowed.

“She’s going to cry.”

He huffed softly. “Yeah. She definitely is.”

Despite yourself, you smiled a little.

“And what if she doesn’t like you?” you added, glancing up at him.

He looked down at you, pretending to think about it.

“…Then I’ll just have to win her over.”

“You already did,” you murmured. “You just don’t know it yet.”

His expression softened at that.

“Then we’ll be okay,” he said.

You nodded slowly, letting your head fall back against his shoulder again.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” you said quietly. “Or… soon.”

“Soon,” he agreed.

His hand found yours again under the blanket, fingers lacing together like they always did.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Just steady.

The rain began to lighten outside, the soft tapping fading into something quieter, gentler—like the storm was passing.

And somehow, it felt the same for you.

There were still things ahead.

Conversations.

Reactions.

Change.

But here, in this moment, wrapped up in his arms with your future waiting just a little closer than before—

It didn’t feel overwhelming.

It felt possible.

And as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you just a little tighter, you realized—

You weren’t afraid of it anymore.

Because you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Your hand is still wrapped around Heeseung’s as you step inside, your thumb brushing faintly against his skin like you need the reassurance that he’s really here. That this is real.

“…You ready?” he murmurs.

You nod, even though your heart is beating a little too fast. “Just—let me talk first.”

He gives a small smile. “I’ll behave.”

You glance at him. “…You better.”

That earns a quiet huff of amusement, and for a second, it calms you.

Then you step into the sitting room.

Your mom is already there.

She looks up the moment she hears you, her eyes immediately softening when they land on you—like they always do.

But then she notices him.

Her gaze lingers.

Curious. Gentle. Careful.

“…You brought someone,” she says quietly.

You nod, stepping forward slightly. “Mom, this is Heeseung.”

Heeseung straightens beside you, respectful, calm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She gives a small nod, but her attention is already shifting back to you—reading you, the way she always has.

“…What is this?” she asks, not harshly. Just… needing to understand.

You take a breath.

Your fingers tighten in his.

“We wanted to tell you something.”

Something in her expression softens further—like she already senses this matters.

“…Okay,” she says gently. “Tell me.”

Your throat feels tight.

But you say it anyway.

“We’re married.”

The words hang there.

Your mom doesn’t react right away.

She just looks at you.

Then at him.

Then at your hands.

And slowly… her expression changes.

Not to anger.

Not to shock.

But to something softer.

Something full.

Her hand lifts to her chest like she needs to steady her breathing. “…Married?” she repeats, her voice quieter now.

You nod.

“It’s been… a quiet romance,” you explain, glancing briefly at Heeseung. “We didn’t want to make it a big thing.”

Heeseung nods in agreement. “We just wanted it to be ours.”

Your mom’s eyes fill slightly.

And that catches you off guard.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, letting out a soft, emotional laugh as she wipes beneath her eyes. “I just—” She looks at you again, really looks. “You look… happy.” Your chest tightens. “I am,” you whisper. She exhales shakily, smiling through the tears. “Then that’s all I needed to know.” Relief hits you so suddenly that it almost makes your knees weak. “Really?” you ask. She nods, stepping closer. “Really.” Her gaze shifts to Heeseung again—but this time, it’s different.

Warm. Welcoming. “You must care about her very much,” she says softly. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. “I do.” “And you’ll take care of her?” His grip on your hand tightens just slightly. “Always.” Something in her expression melts completely at that. She reaches out, gently taking his free hand in both of hers. “Then…” she says, her voice trembling just a little, “I’m grateful you found each other.” You blink quickly, your vision blurring. “Mom…” She pulls you into a hug without warning, holding you tighter than usual—like she’s been waiting for this moment longer than you realized. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers. You cling to her, your heart full and aching all at once. When she pulls back, she laughs softly again, wiping her eyes. “…I never thought I’d see the day.” Then she looks at Heeseung, smiling warmly. “I suppose I have a son-in-law now.” Heeseung blinks, a little surprised—but something soft settles in his expression. “…I’d like that,” he says quietly. Everything feels… right. Light. Like maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay. — Later, as you and Heeseung step outside, the evening air feels cool against your skin. You exhale softly, your shoulders finally relaxing. “That went better than I expected,” you admit. Heeseung lets out a quiet breath beside you. “Yeah…” There’s something in his tone. Not doubt. Just… awareness. Like he knows things aren’t fully settled yet. Your fingers tighten in his again. “We’ll figure everything out,” you say softly. He glances at you, a faint smile forming. “We will.” Footsteps echo from behind you. You turn— And your heart drops. Heeseung’s grip on your hand goes rigid. His parents stand at the end of the path. Watching. Your stomach twists instantly. His mother speaks first, her voice tight. “So it’s true.” Silence crashes down. Heeseung steps slightly in front of you—not fully, but enough. “…What are you doing here?” he asks. His father’s expression is unreadable. “We came to bring you home.” “I’m not going back.” The words come too fast. Too certain. “You disappear, you ignore your responsibilities, and now you show up here and say something like that? As if it’s nothing?” “It’s not nothing,” he says, firmer now. “Then what is it?” she demands. “A rebellion? A phase? Because I promise you, this—” her gaze flicks to you again, sharp and dismissive, “—this is not worth throwing your life away. All for some poor girl.” Your chest tightens painfully. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers twitch in his hand—but Heeseung squeezes back, grounding you, stopping you from pulling away. “She's not just some poor girl, she's my wife,” he says, glaring coldly.  His father finally moves, stepping further into the room, his presence immediately commanding all attention. “You will come home,” he says, voice low and final. “We’ll discuss this properly.” “No.” The word is quiet. But it lands harder than anything else. His father’s eyes narrow. “…What?” “I’m not coming back,” Heeseung repeats, more clearly now. “I’m staying here.” Your breath catches. His mother lets out a disbelieving laugh again, but there’s no humor in it now—just anger. “You don’t get to decide that.” “I already have.” “You’re being irrational—” “I’m being honest,” he cuts in, sharper now. The shift is immediate. You feel it in the way his hand tightens around yours, in the way his shoulders square—not defensive anymore, but certain. His father’s voice drops even lower. “You are not throwing away everything we have built for you over a girl you barely know.” Something in your chest twists at that—but before you can react— “I know her enough,” Heeseung says. There’s something dangerous in how calm he sounds. “And I’m not throwing anything away.” His father takes another step closer. “You are if you stay here.” “Then maybe it wasn’t worth keeping.” The room goes completely still. Even your breathing feels too loud.

His mother stares at him like she doesn’t recognize him anymore. “Listen to yourself,” she says, her voice trembling slightly now—not weak, but furious. “Your future—your career—everything you’ve worked for—” “It was never mine,” he says. That lands. Hard. “You don’t mean that,” she insists. “I do.” “You’re just confused—” “I’m not confused,” he snaps, the first crack in his composure finally showing. “For once, I actually know what I want.” Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. His father exhales slowly, like he’s reached the end of his patience. “…If you walk away from this family,” he says, each word deliberate, “you do not come back.” Your heart drops. You feel it—this is it. The line. The point of no return. Heeseung doesn’t look at them. He looks at you. Just for a second. And there’s so much in that glance—certainty, apology, something soft and unspoken that makes your chest ache. Then he looks back at them. “…I know.” His mother’s composure finally cracks. “Heeseung—” “I’m staying,” he says. Final. Unshakable. His father’s expression hardens completely, any trace of emotion gone. “Then you will have nothing.” The words hit like a slap. “No inheritance,” he continues coldly. “No financial support. No connection to this family whatsoever.” Your stomach twists. His mother doesn’t argue. She just turns her face away, jaw tight, eyes glassy—but she says nothing. That silence hurts more than anything. “And when this falls apart,” his father adds, glancing at you with quiet disdain, “do not expect us to be there to fix your mistakes.” Your chest burns. But before you can react— “Don’t,” Heeseung says, low and sharp. It’s not loud. But it’s enough. His father pauses, eyes narrowing slightly—but he doesn’t continue. Instead, he turns. His mother hesitates for just a second—like she might say something, like she might reach for him— But she doesn’t. Then they're gone. The night feels heavier now. Colder. You look up at him, your heart twisting. “…Heeseung, I’m so sorry—” He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t,” he says, his voice softer now. “But—” “I meant what I said.” His hand tightens around yours again, pulling you just a little closer. “I’m staying,” he repeats. Your eyes sting. “You just lost everything…” He looks at you. Really looks at you.

And something in his expression softens in a way that makes your heart ache even more. “…Not everything.” Your breath catches. Behind you, the door opens. Your mom steps outside, her expression shifting immediately when she takes in your faces—then the empty path where his parents had been. “…What happened?” she asks softly. You don’t answer. You don’t need to. She looks at Heeseung. The way he's still holding your hand, at the quiet, heavy understanding in his eyes. And something in her softens even more. She steps closer, gently placing a hand on his arm. “…Then you’re not alone,” she says quietly. Heeseung blinks, just slightly. Your mom gives him a small, tearful smile. “You may have lost something tonight,” she continues, “but you gained a family too.” Your heart swells. His fingers tighten around yours again. And this time— He doesn’t look back. The house felt different after everything. Quieter—but not in the hollow, lonely way it once had been. This quiet was warm. Lived in. Sunlight spilled lazily through the curtains, painting soft gold across the wooden floors. You stood near the window, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your sleeve, still not entirely used to how calm your life had become. No more hiding. No more fear of being taken away. No more pretending your heart didn’t belong to him. Behind you, you heard the faint creak of the floorboards before familiar arms slipped around your waist, gentle but sure. Heeseung rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Thinking again?” he murmured. You smiled, leaning back into him. “Just… everything.” His grip tightened slightly, like he was grounding himself—like he still needed to remind himself you were really here. “We survived it,” he said softly. You nodded, your gaze drifting toward the kitchen. Your mom was there, moving slowly—carefully—as she stirred something on the stove. The sound of her quiet humming filled the space, softer than it used to be, but still there—still hers. The medicine had helped. More than anyone had dared to hope. It hadn’t been easy—the cost, the waiting, the fear that it might not work—but somehow, it had. Enough to bring her home. Enough to give her color back in her cheeks, even if it was faint. She was still weak. You could see it in the way she leaned a little too heavily against the counter sometimes, in how she tired more quickly than she used to. But she was here. And that was everything. Your chest tightened slightly, but not with sadness—something softer. Something grateful. Heeseung followed your gaze, his arms tightening around you just a little. “She looks stronger today,” he said gently. You nodded. “She is… because of you.” He shook his head immediately, almost stubbornly. “No. Because she fought. I just… helped where I could.” You turned in his arms, looking up at him. There was something different in his eyes now—not the polished confidence he used to wear, not the weight of expectation from a life he’d left behind.

This was lighter. Freer. Happier. “You gave up a lot,” you whispered. Heeseung didn’t hesitate this time. “I chose something better.” His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin like it was something precious—something he still couldn’t believe was his. “I chose you.” Your heart stuttered, even now, even after everything. “You’re my home,” he added quietly. For a moment, all you could do was look at him. At the boy who had walked into your life unexpectedly, who had stayed when it was hard, who had chosen love when it cost him everything else. And somehow, neither of you regretted it. Not even a little. You leaned in first this time, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—familiar now, easy, filled with something deeper than that first hesitant moment. He smiled into it, his arms pulling you closer like he always did, like he always would. From the kitchen, your mom glanced over at the two of you, a soft, teary smile forming on her lips. She didn’t say anything—she didn’t need to. That look said enough. It wasn’t the life any of you had planned. But it was yours. Simple mornings. Careful steps. Shared glances. Quiet laughter. Hands always finding each other without thinking.

And love—steady, unwavering, chosen every single day.

Heeseung pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing briefly.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked.

“The old life?”

You thought about it.

The fear. The loneliness. The distance.

Then you looked at your mom—still fragile, but alive. Still here. Then back at him.“No,” you said, your voice certain. “Not when I have this.” His smile was soft, but it held everything. “Good,” he whispered. Outside, the world moved on like it always did. But inside, in that small sunlit home, time felt slower. Kinder. Like it had finally decided to give you all a chance to just… be. Together.

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Your heart was racing in your chest, and you tried your best to get your breathing under control while you lowered yourself to a chair next to Heeseung. The metal was warm, the sun had been shining the whole day, bathing the campus in bright light, the trees and their golden leaves making your surroundings seem like a painting. 

Heeseung reached for one of your crutches and lowered to the floor before looking up at you again.

You grinned sheepishly at him, reaching into your bag to get out the to-go cup you prepared just before you went to the campus. „I brought you some coffee.”

He accepted the cup, looking between you and his hands. “You brought me coffee? I didn’t ask–” “I know,” you cut him off quickly, shaking your head slightly. “Just…take it.” He blinked at you, processing for a moment. “Thanks,” Heeseung finally said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “But…why?” You let out a breathy laugh, feeling heat rush to your face. “As a thank you,” you said, shifting in your seat, “for you know…driving me home and listening to my sap story.” Heeseung raised an eyebrow, taking the cup from the table, but his expression softened. “I don’t need a thank you, Y/N.”

You nodded and gave him a weak smile. “I know,” you mumbled, “but it felt like I should do something. To…you know…thank you.”

He was silent for a second, just looking at you, mustering you. You felt nervous under his stare and tucked a stand of your hair behind your ear, trying to avoid eye contact. You weren’t sure if this was too much, if bringing him coffee was weird.  

But before you could think of a way to get out of the situation, Heeseung gave you a soft smile and took a sip. He nodded and hummed, his tongue darting out to swipe over his upper lip. “Thank you for the coffee, but don’t feel guilty for talking to me. I’m gladly listening to you, if it's about how you’re doing or even if it's about our plans in a zombie apocalypse. You don’t owe me anything for it.” 

You nodded and averted your eyes, pressing your lips onto each other, pulling in your lower lip. The lipstick you put on earlier felt silly now; it tasted weird, fruity and nutty at the same time. 

His gaze felt heavy on you, while you struggled to find something to say. After a few seconds of silence that felt like an eternity, he slowly reached out and gently took your hand, which was resting on the table. “I am serious, Y/N. I like spending time with you, being around you is nice, and everyone has bad days. You’ve been listening to me complain about my classes for almost three weeks now, so it’s only fair if I listen to you talk about the most traumatic day of your life, okay?”

You sniffled, cursing yourself for feeling like crying again before nodding slowly, looking up again. His dark eyes were searing your face, and he carefully turned your hand around, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

“Okay.” 

He squeezed your fingers and gave you a small smile before letting go. “Good. Are you hungry?”

You blinked at him in confusion. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve been out here for like three hours, and I’m starting to get hungry.” 

“You want to go eat now?”

“If you’d like to?” Heeseung grinned sheepishly. “I’m craving ramyeon.”

“I have…classes in like ten minutes? After that?” You bit your lip, debating for a moment before offering, “Gyu claims you make the best ramyeon he's ever eaten? Maybe we could cook them together?” His eyes lit up at your suggestion, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest. “I’d love that! When do your classes end? I’ll have everything ready.” You hesitated for a second. Your eyes are darting between his suggestions. “At your place?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I can get you from the campus if you’d like?”

“I…I’ll have to study a bit today. Maybe we could do that afterwards?” Your voice was small when you asked that.  “Absolutely,” he agreed, nodding seriously, though a smile tugged at his lips.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

What was he thinking? Heeseung couldn’t believe himself. He had invited you over. He had invited you over. 

After his last class of the day, he raced into his dorm, the realisation hitting him two hours too late. 

Heeseung nearly slammed the entrance door to his apartment against the wall as soon as the unlocking sound came from the lock. Jake and Jay were sitting around the kitchen table studying. Both their heads shot up at the sound of Heeseung entering. 

“Guys, I might have messed up!” Jake blinked a few times, confusion etched across his face. “What happened?” “I invited Y/N over to eat Ramyeon,” he said, trying to slide out of his coat, but one of his arms got stuck in the sleeve. “But our dorm is a disaster. I don’t have any Ramyeon left. My room is a mess!” 

Jay stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the drama. “So you want us to speed clean so you can impress Y/N?” “Yes!” Heeseung exclaimed, already kneeling down to pick up the shoes littering the entrance. “Please, help a guy out. I can’t let her see this place!” “Hyung, what the fuck,” Jake laughed out loud before shaking his head. 

“Please! I promise I’ll clean the bathroom for the next month,” Heeseung wasn’t above begging. He couldn’t let you come in here only for it to look like a mess. 

“You don’t have to beg, Hyung,” Jake said with a chuckle, standing up and grabbing the takeout boxes scattered around him. “Our dorm needs a cleaning session anyway. And honestly, I’m so done with thermodynamics right now. If I see another heat transfer mode, I might bang my head into a wall hard enough to skip out the next semester. I am suffering.” Jay joined in. “I’ll take the living room and vacuum. Hyung, just focus on your room and run down to the GS25 to get some ramyeon.” “Yes, thank you,” Heeseung said, practically sprinting to his room.

Once inside, he was greeted by the mess that was his room: clothes sprawled across the floor, bed, and desk, a collection of empty water bottles. On top of that, his hockey gear was spread haphazardly around the room, gloves, sticks, bags. He immediately began tackling the mess, grabbing clothes, checking which ones were clean, which needed to be folded and put away. He picked up a discarded hockey glove and tossed it into a corner before realising he’d have to deal with the smell somehow. By the time he emerged from his room, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than what it had been. He glanced over at Jay, who was in the living room, vacuuming with an exaggerated flourish, as he pulled on his shoes. “If she comes while I am gone…”, he tripped over his foot. “Just be normal?”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

The taxi stopped in front of a tall, sleek structure. A few seconds later, you stood in front of it, your gaze drifting upwards. 

14th floor, Heeseung said. 

The apartment complex was just a few minutes away from the one your parents were living in, but it felt like entering a different universe. You knew Heeseung came from a rich family, his father being an NHL hockey player himself before he retired and moved back to Korea, but you didn’t realise he was this rich. 

You laughed in disbelief before making your way to the entrance. With each step, your heart seemed to beat a bit faster. 

You haven’t really had the chance to be over at a boy's house since…ever. The only male friends you had were Soobin's friends as well. Technically, Heeseung was as well, but this didn’t count. 

He was your…friend. 

The elevator ride up didn’t help with easing your nerves; you shifted your weight onto your good leg, adjusting your crutches slightly. 

Over the past few weeks, you had grown used to Heeseung hanging out in your office, almost like it was his second home. Some days, he was already there when you finished your last class, quietly studying or taking notes. His presence had become a strange comfort, one that didn’t bother you. If anything, it helped you stay focused. But this, being invited into his space, felt like a new step, one that made your heart race a little. When you reached his door, you hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath. You could hear muffled voices and the sound of something being moved around inside. 

The door swung open almost immediately after you pressed the doorbell. Heeseung stood in front of you, his hair was a lot messier than when you saw him a few hours ago. 

“Hi,” he said, sounding breathless. 

“Hi,” you gave him a small smile and peeked behind him. Jake stood behind him, waving at you with one hand while holding a full trash bag in the other. 

“Hello, Y/N. Nice to see you!” He dumped the bag next to the entrance to the hallway, where another one was already lying.

“I…we are cleaning today,” Heeseung said, his ears turning red. You chuckled watching him helplessly look between Jake and the trash bags. 

“That’s okay,” you grinned at him and leaned your crutches against the wall to take off your jacket. 

“Oh, wait! Let me–”, he reached forward, taking your crutches and helping you with sliding off your backpack. 

“Thank you.” “Sure!” Heeseung beamed at you while you crouched down to take off your sneaker. By now, you were able to stand on your foot with the cast on for a few minutes a day, and you usually used those minutes to get dressed or undressed. So you did just that, leaning onto your injured foot to slip out of your shoe. 

“Oh fuck sorry,” he reached forward to steady you, his hand wrapping around your elbow. You straightened up again, giving him a small smile. ”Thank you, Hee.”  

His eyes met yours before he averted them, almost shyly. A few seconds later, he seemed to notice that he was still holding your arm, and he let go fast enough for you to almost lose your balance, before catching you again. 

“I ’m-I-sorry,” he laughed breathlessly before handing you his crutches. “Are you hungry?” 

You blinked at him and then caught Jake's gaze. He was stifling a laugh, his shoulders shaking a bit. 

“Yeah,” you nodded once, pressing your lips onto each other to stop each other from smiling. “I have to take my meds soon, so I gotta eat.”

Heeseung nodded. “Okay,” he nodded again, before turning towards the kitchen. “I’ll get going then.”

He walked a few steps only to stop mid-movement. “Wait, I’ll get your bag.” Jake started laughing out loud now, before crossing the hallway to take your bag. “Hyung, go and coo. I’ll bring Y/N to your room. Just cook, if she has to take her meds.”

“I–”, Heeseung looked between you and Jake, blinking, so you nodded at Jake, wanting to save Heeseung from more humiliation in front of his roommate. “Sure!”

Jake shook his head with an amused grin, slinging your backpack over his shoulder before gesturing down the short hallway. "Let’s go then."

You snorted, grabbing your crutches from where Heeseung had leaned them against the wall and following him deeper into the apartment. It was big and spacious but furnished rather cosily, with dark wooden elements here and there and a few framed NHL posters and jerseys on the walls. You recognised the name on one of them. ‘Lee Manseok’, Heeseung's father.

"So," Jake said over his shoulder as he pushed open a door to a tidy room that had barely any decoration in it, a faint cedar scent hitting you. "How's your day been? You have classes on Wednesdays, right?"

"Yeah," you said, easing yourself onto the edge of the bed with a small sigh, putting your crutches on the floor next to it. "It’s been excruciatingly boring today, but that's alright. We don’t have an exam, just one paper and one group project, so I spend my time online shopping."

He giggled again. He dropped your bag on Heeseung's gaming chair, eyes flicking to your cast. "And the foot? How's that doing? You’ve been walking a lot better. I haven't seen your wheelchair for a while now."

You shrugged, rubbing your thigh absently where the pain had been spiking more lately. It was true, you were using the wheelchair less, putting more weight on your foot, you should have been able to walk without a cast for almost a week now, but your physiotherapist recommended you not do so yet. You weren’t ready. It left you incredibly frustrated, but you weren't about to unload that on Jake; it was bad enough that you did just that with Heeseung yesterday. "Alright. Getting there. I can stand on it for a few minutes now. It’s still gonna take like three or four weeks until I’m getting rid of the cast."

"Cool, cool," Jake nodded toward the closet. "Do you want a pair of joggers or something? I’m sure your jeans must be uncomfortable as hell. With your hip and all? Heeseung has an impressive amount of joggers. I swear.”  

You laughed, the sound lighter than you felt. "Sure, why not–"

Jake was already rummaging in the closet before you finished your sentence, pulling out some joggers with a triumphant grin. "Boom. These'll do. Comfy as hell. I steal those from the wash so often, I love these."

You shook your head, still chuckling. "Thank you."

Just then, the door swung open wider, Heeseung stepping in with two steaming bowls of ramen balanced carefully in his hands. His eyes widened at the sight of Jake elbow-deep in his closet. "Dude, what are you doing in my stuff?"

Jake straightened up, holding the pants like a trophy. "I’m graciously giving our dearest social media manager a pair of comfortable pants from your gigantic collection!"

Heeseung's ears went red again, but he set the bowls down on the desk with a huff, shooting Jake a look. "Out. I've got it from here."

Jake smirked and tossed the pants onto the bed beside you. "Alright. Have fun with your ramyeon, you two." He winked at you on his way out and pulled the door mostly shut behind him.

Heeseung exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his messy hair. He grabbed the bowls and handed one to you. The chopsticks were already tucked inside. He kicked off his slippers and settled cross-legged on the bed beside you. Your knees bumped lightly when you both balanced the steaming ramen. The rich, spicy smell filled the room.

"Thank you," you murmured, waiting for him to start eating first.

He hummed and blew on a bite before glancing at you sideways. His tone was casual but careful. "So, did you sleep okay after last night? You were pretty out of it when I dropped you off at the rink."

You shrugged and twirled your noodles slowly. You had tossed half the night after you had woken up at around ten. You decided to be honest with him.

"Not that well, actually. The weather flipped to this sunshine today. It makes my leg throb worse most of the time. It's the pressure drop or whatever. I kept waking up every hour."

His brows knit tight at that, and his chopsticks paused mid-air. Genuine concern etched his face. "Shit, yeah. I forgot about that. Coach mentioned it once. He said barometric changes mess with injuries. Do you need ice or anything? Physio gel? I can grab it from the freezer. Or heat? Whatever helps."

"No, I'm good for now," you said. You managed a small smile around a mouthful of the ramen. "Just gotta pace it. I’ll take painkillers after we’ve eaten. How about you? Did you finish whatever you were brooding over today? You seemed annoyed before I came."

He groaned dramatically and set his bowl on his knee for a second.  "Don't even get me started. I've got this song arrangement due Friday for my music production class. The girl I'm paired with is not doing anything. She was supposed to handle the melody and vocals. But there had been radio silence for three days now. I haven't touched her. I'm basically rewriting the whole damn thing from scratch later tonight." Annoyance bled through as he stabbed at a piece of egg. “I’ll have to sing the whole thing, even though she is the one in the Singing and Vocal undergrad.” 

You laughed and leaned back against his pillows to take some pressure off your leg. “I didn’t know you were singing.”

“I–I am occasionally?” Heeseung said, giving you a sly smile. “I am not the best, but whatever. I do what is needed for a good grade.” 

“I still haven’t found your Soundcloud”, you grinned at him, before taking another bite of the ramyeon. “These are really good, by the way.” 

Heeseung spluttered and coughed. “You tried finding that?”

You shook your head, reaching forward to gently pat his back when he continued to cough. “I haven’t, no. I respect your privacy, but it makes sense that you’re singing when, you know, you’re releasing music and stuff.”

He nodded, and the coughing stopped. “I’ll show you some. Later. Maybe.”

“I’d love to, Hee,” you gave him a warm smile before digging in again. “I understand why Gyu loves your ramyeon.”

Heeseung shook his head and laughed at that. “He’s an idiot.” You agreed to that. “He is, but I love him, so it’s alright.” 

Heeseung was chewing a bite of the noodles, looking at you intently all of a sudden. “Like love love? I didn’t know you and Guy were together.”

You stared at him, chopsticks suspended halfway to your mouth. “Together? Beomgyu and I?”

Heeseung nodded slowly, suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. “Yeah, the two of you seem pretty close. I just kind of didn’t want to… You know, ask and make it weird.”

You blinked once. Twice. Then a laugh burst out of you, loud and incredulous. “Oh my god, no. No. Beomgyu is–” You shook your head, still laughing. “He is like my annoying older brother. I have never had anything with him. Ever.”

Heeseung’s chewing slowed to a stop. He watched you carefully, like he was trying to figure out if you were joking. “Really?”

“Really,” you said firmly. You set your bowl down on your lap so you could gesture properly. “He has been friends with Soobin for like ten years now, and they had to always take me everywhere and shit. He and my family go on family holiday trips once a year. That man is family. That’s it,” you wrinkled your nose in disgust. “That would be like… dating Soobin. I’d rather die.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh at that, but his eyes stayed on you, lingering a little longer than usual. The room felt smaller for a second, the space between you shrinking even though neither of you moved.

“Okay,” he said at last, voice softer. “Good to know.”

You tilted your head at him. “Why? Were you worried I was secretly in love with Beomgyu or something?”

He looked away then, down at his bowl, jaw working like he was choosing his words. “I just didn’t want to assume anything,” he muttered. “Or…cross a boundary or whatever.”

It took you a heartbeat to catch up. When you did, your stomach flipped. You shifted against the pillows, your leg twinging as you did, but you barely registered it. “Well,” you said quietly, “there’s no boundary to cross. Not like that,” you paused for a moment, your heart slowing down as you formulated the next few words. “If I’m into someone, it’s… definitely not him.”

Heeseung went very still at that. His gaze slowly drifted to yours, and for a long moment you just looked at each other, the glow of the lamp throwing soft shadows across his face. You could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his fingers tightened slightly around his chopsticks.

“Okay,” he said again, but this time there was something different in his voice. “I’m… kind of glad, then.”

Your heart kicked up at that, beating loudly in your ears. “Yeah?” you asked, your voice coming out softer than you intended.

He let out a small, breathy laugh and scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Would’ve sucked if I…” He trailed off, eyes flicking away for a second before forcing themselves back to your face. “If I was reading this wrong.”

You swallowed, the warmth in your chest spreading out to your fingertips. “You’re not,” you said quietly.

His eyes widened just a fraction.

You rushed on before your courage could evaporate. “I mean… I like being here. With you. Like this,” you gestured vaguely between you, cheeks heating, your voice growing quieter with each word. “It’s not just the…ramyeon.”

Heeseung’s mouth curved into the smallest, almost disbelieving smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too. It’s… definitely not just the ramyeon.”

You both went a little quiet after that, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting, how your knees still touched, how his comforter bunched under your legs where they almost overlapped. 

He cleared his throat softly. “So,” he said, a little tentative, “Would you like to watch Nteflix?”

You matched his tone with a small smile of your own. “Yeah.”

He reached for the remote, fingers brushing yours for half a second longer than necessary. Neither of you pulled away. Then he hit play, and the room filled with eerie music, both of you settling back against the pillows.

You shifted around slightly, trying to find a position that made the cast not press into your skin as uncomfortably, while trying not to spill any of your noodles or jostling Heeseung too much. 

His eyes flicked to your leg and lowered his bowl to his lap. "Do you need something to drink with your painkillers? Have you eaten enough for them?"

You sighed and rubbed your thigh lightly over the cast. The pressure was a small relief. "Yeah, I think I should take some now. I don’t think it will get better today. Usually, the only thing that really helps is phyiso."

"Massage gun? Would a massage gun help?" Heeseung perked up, handing you his bowl, getting up before you could even utter a word.  "I've got one in a drawer somewhere. Wait, give me a second"

You blinked at him. "A massage gun?"

He scooted off the bed with a grin. “Yeah,” he rummaged in his nightstand until he pulled out a sleek black device. He held it up triumphantly. "It’s a gift from my dad. I don’t really know why he thought I needed one, but whatever.” 

He shrugged and then focused on the buttons on the bottom of the gun. “It sounds a bit like a gigantic vibrator.” 

It came to life, vibrating for a few seconds before dying down again, with a rather pitiful sound.

You both stared at it for a beat before you burst out laughing at the exact same time. 

“I sure hope you didn’t use it as a vibrator? That would have been a quick session?”, you said, causing Heeseung to snort. His shoulders shook as he dropped the gun back in the drawer. "I haven’t, no. The others just joke about it. Our walls are thin.”

You flopped your head back against the bedframe with a sigh. “You all have the humour of a bunch of thirteen-year-olds.”

Heeseung shook his head at that and eased back onto the bed, taking his bowl from you. “Said the one who just made a joke a thirteen-year-old would make.” 

You hit his shoulder, which caused him to yelp and snort, before your laughter faded. The slow pulsing in your leg and the uncomfortable pressure around your ankle seemed to dislike your constant shifting. 

"I'm a bit annoyed," you admitted after a moment of silence. You pushed the rest of your noodles around in your bowl, trying to separate them from the egg that Heeseung had added. "My leg's just not cooperating today. I'm behind on the walking schedule, too. It's fine, but like…I don’t even know. I never thought that the surgery would help. I just,” you gestured vaguely with your hands, “wish the pain would stop? I’ve come to terms with the fact that my life will be different compared to everyone else's. Being disabled, especially in Korea, comes with a lot of accommodations I have to think about. That’s shit sometimes. The hills and the stairs.” 

Heeseung's face softened completely. He gently nudged your good shoulder. "It's not fine. I’m sorry that the crash happened and that you don’t think the surgery helped. I’m not pitying you, but I want you to know that it’s all right to feel shit about the whole situation, Y/N. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

You stared at him for a second, taking in his presence, the soft smile on his lips, his eyes looking so sincere, it made your heart stop beating for a second, warmth spreading in your ribcage. 

“I know. It’s just hard sometimes,” you whispered. 

“That’s alright,” he hummed, and nodded before giving you a small smile. “As long as you don’t let that take over. It might be hard, but there is so much you enjoy doing, isn’t there? Even if it is making us dance to those random TikTok dances.”

You giggled at that, rolling your eyes, while smiling at him. “I really like doing that, don’t I?”

“Well, it’s fun for us as well,” Heeseung took a bite of his noodles, slurping them down with a loud sound. You hummed and copied him, eating the remaining noodles you had left.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

Heeseung shifted slightly on the bed, stretching his legs as the second episode ended. He turned his head, ready to ask if you wanted to start another one, the question already on his tongue, until he actually looked at you.

You were fast asleep.

For a moment, he just stared at your figure. You were curled up against his pillow, wrapped in his blanket. One of your arms was tucked under your head, propping it up slightly. His heart skipped, then stumbled into a faster rhythm.

Your chest moved in slow, steady breaths, while your eyes fluttered from time to time. You looked so relaxed, your shoulders loose, your jaw relaxed, your breathing slow and steady. 

He didn’t dare move.

He became painfully aware of everything: how loud his breathing sounded, how the AC hummed quietly in the background, how the mattress dipped where you lay. He swallowed, tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, heat crawling up his neck.

What was he supposed to do? Wake you up? Ask if you want to go home? 

In a rush of mild panic, he fumbled for his phone and opened a chat with Soobin.

Heeseung Hey man, Y/N fell asleep at my place. Is it cool if she stays over? I don’t want to wake her up.

He glanced from the screen back to you while he waited for an answer. His eyes were tracing the way your fingers were loosely curled near your cheek, the way a strand of hair had fallen across your face. You shifted just a little, nuzzling deeper into the pillow, and his chest clenched.

When he found you in the office yesterday, with your shoulders hunched and your leg up on that horrible armrest, his heart had sunk. You had been crying, your eyes were puffy, and you were sniffling, even in your sleep. He had wanted to reach out and smooth your hair back, to wipe away the dried tears, to do something to make it better. 

He hadn’t. 

He hadn’t been sure he was allowed to, hadn’t been sure you’d even want him close.

Now, his hand hovered awkwardly halfway between his lap and your face, fingers twitching. He wanted to tuck that strand of hair behind your ear, just once. To see your face clearly. To fix the tiny, meaningless thing he actually could fix.

But touching you while you slept felt… weird, right? Too much. Too intimate. He froze there, hand suspended in mid air, feeling ridiculous.

You sniffed softly in your sleep, and he panicked, yanking his hand back as he’d almost burned himself.

His phone buzzed.

Soobin Hyung (New) She’s an adult, dude. I’ll let my parents know she’s sleeping over, though.

Heeseung let out a breath he’d been holding, shoulders dropping with relief. 

Okay. 

This is fine. 

You’re fine.

He is fine. 

Heeseung sent a quick thank you, then set the phone aside and, moving as slowly as humanly possible, shifted a bit closer in the process, not enough to crowd you, just enough to tuck the blanket a bit higher over your shoulder. The fabric brushed your chin, and you let out a tiny, content hum, making his heart thud painfully hard once.

“Sorry,” he whispered, even though you didn’t wake.

He eased himself back toward the edge of the bed, trying to give you space without falling off. Every movement felt too loud in his own head: the rustle of the blanket, the creak of the mattress, the hush of his breath. 

The TV’s soft glow painted a faint light across your face. From here, he could see the way your lashes rested on your cheeks, the way your mouth relaxed when you exhaled. 

His hand hovered near your face again, closer this time, fingers stopping a few centimetres from your hair. He could almost feel the warmth of your skin, even without touching. He wanted to smooth his thumb along your brow, to check if you were really as relaxed as you looked, to erase the memory of you asleep with tear-streaked cheeks and a clenched jaw.

But you weren’t crying now. You weren’t in pain, or trapped in that crammed office room, or fighting to breathe through sobs. You were just… resting. In his bed. In his space.

And he was not going to risk ruining that.

He let his hand fall back to his side with a quiet sigh, fingers curling into the blanket instead. “I’m going crazy,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything.

He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes drifting from the ceiling to you and back again. Sleep felt impossible. 

He turned his head for one last look before forcing himself to try and rest. There you were: tucked under his blanket, your crutches leaning against the wall, your shoulders loose, your face free of tension.

He still didn’t really know what to do with all of the feelings crowding his chest, but one thing he knew for sure was that if this was what you looked like when you felt safe, he would do whatever he could to keep it that way. Even if it meant sitting perfectly still all night, overthinking every breath, just so you wouldn’t wake up.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

You woke up slowly, like someone was gently turning the world back on one switch at a time. You kept your eyes closed, refusing to open them, trying to convince your body to fall back asleep, to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of the low humming pain. After a few seconds, you forced your eyelids open, your lashes sticking a little to each other.

This… was not your room.

The ceiling was wrong. The comforter was too light and felt different. Your brain tried to piece that together, but you were so tired you couldn’t be bothered to panic properly. You just made a small noise in your throat and instinctively curled onto your side, trying to find a more comfortable position.

You rolled toward the warmth beside you and nearly bumped straight into him.

Heeseung was lying on his side, facing you, one arm tucked under his head. He was on top of his blanket, his styled hair was a bit mussed, smushed from the pillow. A low snoring sound came from his partly opened lips, while his chest was moving in slow, steady breaths.

For a second, your brain completely stalled.

You were in his bed.

You were in his bed. Under his blanket. Hogging his blanket.

Oh.

Heat shot up your neck at light speed as the realisation properly hit. You tugged instinctively at the covers, eyes widening as they slid with you. 

Your movement was enough to disturb him. 

His brows twitched first, then his lashes fluttered before his eyes blinked open, unfocused for half a second. He looked dazed, caught between sleep and waking.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

You lay there, barely a hand’s width of space between you, faces close enough that you could see the tiny moles along his cheekbone, could feel the warmth of his breath ghost against your cheek. The room was quiet, washed in soft, blue‑grey light, and the eye contact was suddenly so intense it made your stomach flip.

“I–” you whispered, your voice rough with sleep. You swallowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinked slowly, then the corners of his mouth tipped up in a tiny, sleepy smile. “It’s fine,” he murmured, voice low and husky from sleep. “You didn’t. Not really.”

His eyes scanned your face, a quick flicker of worry passing through them. “You okay?”

You hummed, a small noise, and gave the faintest of nods. “Just… tired.”

He huffed out a quiet breath, something like a laugh. “Yeah. I figured.” There was a pause, his gaze dipping down for a second, as if he had only just realised you were wrapped tightly in his blanket. “Do you… Want something to sleep in? Like actual sleepwear?”

You scrunched your nose, already preemptively protesting. “I don’t wanna get up,” you mumbled, eyes slipping half‑closed again. “I’m tired.”

He let out a soft, amused exhale. “I understand now why Beomgyu was so insistent you get a sofa,” he said, tone teasing, barely above a whisper. “With how much you sleep, he might’ve been onto something.”

Your eyes opened a little wider at that, just enough to send him a weak, offended look. “Rude,” you muttered, fake scandal bleeding through the sleep in your voice. “I just need a lot of sleep, okay? It’s called recovery.”

He smiled, softer this time. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m just teasing.”

For a beat, he just looked at you. His face was so soft, his expression so gentle, it made your heart beat faster. Then his hand lifted, hesitating in the air between you for the tiniest second before he reached forward. His fingers brushed against your temple as he pushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear with almost absurd care. The touch made your skin tingle, warmth blooming where his fingers had been. Your breath caught without your permission.

“I’ll get you something else to wear,” he whispered, his hand lingering for half a heartbeat near your cheek before he pulled it back. “So you’re comfortable.”

You just nodded, suddenly unable to string words together. “Okay,” you breathed.

He offered you one more sleepy, reassuring smile, then carefully pushed himself up, moving slowly. You watched him pad across the dim room to his closet, the blanket still wrapped snugly around you, heart doing that annoying, fluttery thing in your chest.

He came back to the bed with an armful of clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the quiet.

“Here,” he said, voice low as he held them out to you. On top was a shirt made of heavy, soft cotton. Underneath, he handed you a pair of shorts.

Your stomach dropped a little.

“I figured these would be more comfortable than your pants,” he added, smiling lazily at you. “They should fit. Or, you know, be huge.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric. You knew they wouldn’t cover them, the scars littering your legs, the discolouration, the deformations on the muscles. 

The thought of him seeing everything made your chest squeeze, nausea curling low in your stomach. You hated it, seeing and feeling the odd texture. You knew most people tried not to look when you wore something that showed off your leg, but they still did. They always did.  

You opened your mouth, trying to find the words to not sound unthankful, to ask for different pants. 

It looks ugly. 

My leg looks wrong. 

I don’t want you to see.

But nothing came out. Your throat just closed around the sentence 

“Yeah,” you said instead, swallowing hard. “This is… good. Thanks.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. “I’ll turn around,” he said, already moving. He stepped around the bed and sat down on the floor on the other side, his back against the frame, facing the wall. “Take your time. I won’t look.”

He folded his arms loosely over his knees, head tilted away, giving you space in the most literal way he could.

You stayed frozen exactly where you were.

The shirt lay in your lap, the shorts beside it, and your hands didn’t move. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker. The thought of standing up, of peeling off what you were wearing and exposing your leg, your scars, in his room, even if he was turned away, made your stomach twist. Your skin prickled, a familiar wave of embarrassment and something like panic creeping in.

You hated this. 

Hated how much space it took up in your head. 

Hated that you could break bones and survive surgery and drag yourself through physio, but the idea of someone you… liked seeing the marks it all left behind, made your body want to shut down.

Seconds passed, a minute, maybe more, maybe less, without you moving.

Heeseung shifted a little. “Y/N?” he asked quietly, not turning around. “You okay?”

Your fingers tightened around the hem of the shirt.

“Can you…” You paused, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “Can you give me long pants instead?” The words came out small, almost guilty. “I don’t… I don’t want you to have to look at the scars.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he shook his head once, more to himself than at you. “Y/N,” he said softly, still facing the wall, voice steady. “I wouldn’t care.”

You let out ahumourlesss huff. “You say that now.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, and there was something so firm, so sure in his tone that it made you pause. “It’s part of you, isn’t it? Part of what you went through.” He drew a slow breath. “I’m… glad it’s scars. That’s just that. That’s not your whole leg missing. Or you… not being here at all.”

Your throat tightened at that, the nausea mixing with something else, something heavy and warm and terrifying.

He kept going, gently, like he knew if he stopped, you might retreat completely. “I’m not going to think you’re ugly because you have scars,” he said. “If you want to, I can give some to you, but you don’t have to wear long pants. I don’t care about your scars, I promise.” 

You stared at his back, at the way his shoulders were set, at how he still hadn’t turned around, like he was physically holding the boundary for you.

You swallowed hard, the words you wanted to say piling up. 

I hate them. 

I hate that you might see. 

I hate that I care so much what you think. 

Instead, you just muttered, barely audible, “I…okay.”

Your hands finally moved.

You changed quickly, fingers clumsy with exhaustion and nerves, skin prickling every time the fabric brushed over the rougher parts of your leg. You moved as quietly as you could, as if noise might draw his eyes even though he had promised he wouldn’t look. The shirt fell over you, heavy and soft and smelling like him, the hem almost comically long on you. The shorts sat higher on your waist than you were used to, but they were loose and easy to move in.

When you were done, you sat down on the bed again, wrapping the blanket over your legs, clearing your throat. “Okay,” you said again, a little louder. “You can… turn around.”

He pushed himself up and turned, careful, like he was afraid of startling you. His eyes flicked over you quickly, then softened when he saw you properly wrapped in his clothes.

“Looks comfortable,” he said simply. 

You nodded, suddenly too tired to do much else. He settled back on top of the blanket next to you, taking less than half of the bed. 

“Lie down,” he said gently. “You need sleep.”

You did as he said, turning onto your side, facing the wall this time. 

The room fell quiet again.

You stared at the fabric bunched in your hand and tried to ignore the way your chest still felt tight. 

Behind you, you heard him shift slightly. The mattress dipped a bit as he moved into your direction and then back onto his back. You waited for him to say something, anything, but he just let out a slow breath and stayed where he was, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth along your back, while he wasn’t touching you.

You lay there for a while, staring at the shadowy outline of his wall, listening to the soft shift of sheets as he settled behind you. 

You swallowed, then slowly rolled back over.

Heeseung was on his side again, propped slightly against his pillow. When he noticed you turn, his eyelids fluttered open, and his eyes met yours, surprise flickering briefly across his face before it melted into something softer.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low.

“Hey,” you echoed, your own voice small. You fiddled with the edge of the blanket for a second, then cleared your throat. “Um… good night. And… thank you. For… all of this. Letting me sleep here. The clothes. Just… everything.”

He shifted a little closer on top of the blanket, careful not to crowd you, so you were facing each other with only a small space between. His lips curved into a tired, warm smile.

“You don’t have to thank me. Really,” he replied quietly.

You held his gaze, the dim room making his eyes look softer, darker. The closeness felt strangely intimate and oddly gentle at the same time, like neither of you wanted to break the moment.

“I’ve got training in the morning,” he added after a beat, tone apologetic, “but I’ll get you home after, if you want. Or before, if you’d rather not wait. Whatever works for you.”

You shook your head, the blanket rustling slightly. “No, it’s okay,” you said. “You don’t have to. I can just grab a taxi in the morning. Or whenever I wake up. You don’t need to worry about it.”

His brows knit for half a second, like he wanted to argue, but he let it go. “Okay,” he said softly. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you murmured.

Silence settled again, but it felt different now, less heavy. He studied your face for a moment, something gentle and almost painfully fond in his expression.

Then his hand lifted, slow and unhurried, giving you enough time to pull back if you wanted to. When you didn’t, his fingers brushed against your cheek, the back of his knuckles barely grazing your skin as he gently petted the side of your face, thumb smoothing over a spot just below your eye.

“Let’s sleep now,” he whispered. 

The touch made your eyelids grow heavier than they already were. Your cheek leaned into his hand without you meaning to.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word barely more than air.

He let his hand linger for a second longer, then slowly pulled it back, tucking it close to his chest.

“Good night, Y/N,” he said, just above a whisper.

“Good night, Heeseung,” you mumbled back, your voice already thick with sleep as you let your eyes finally close, his face the last thing you saw in the soft, dim light.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

“A little bird told me you didn’t return home last night,” Beomgyu teased as he entered your office without knocking first. You looked up from your laptop and sighed, already bracing yourself for his relentless teasing. “I didn’t,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “Did that little bird also tell you I fell asleep after watching, like, one and a half episodes of Gyeoseong creature? And that absolutely nothing else happened?” 

You knew exactly who the “little bird” was: your brother, who had left several messages on your phone after he had claimed you fell asleep at his dorm and not as Heeseungs, saving you from your father's wrath. “He did mention that, actually,” Beomgyu smirked, shaking his damp hair free from his hat. “But I have to say, I’m a little disappointed.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “You had the perfect opportunity to get something going with,” he paused for effect, “a hot guy that Yeonjun hyung, and I fully approve of, and you did nothing? And don’t give me the ‘I’m not interested in Heeseung’ excuse. I know all about your little evening sessions in your office.”

You ignored the last part of what he had said. “You and Yeonjun? What about Soobin? Wouldn’t he approve of Heeseung?” Bromguys's grin grew in size as he leaned onto your desk, his face in his hands. “Why? Should he?”

Your face heated up when you realised you essentially just confessed to Beomguy that, yes, yes, your brother should approve of Heeseung. “I-no? Yes? Maybe?”

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Bromguy laughed once in disbelief, but his face grew soft as he leaned back, leaning onto your desk with his hip. “You like Heeseung?”

Your eyes darted away from your friend, back to your screen, where a clip of Heeseung and Sunghoon racing through the arena was currently looping. It did not help. At all.

Your face burned now, heat crawling all the way up to the tips of your ears. “I…” You clicked your mouse for no reason, just to have something to do with your hand. “Can we not talk about this?”

Beomgyu huffed out a soft laugh. “So that’s a yes.”

You slumped back in your chair, staring stubbornly at the monitor. “I didn’t say yes.”

“You also didn’t say no,” he pointed out gently.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. 

You did like him, you really did. 

You liked how he made your heart race, you liked talking to him, you liked being around him. But…saying those words out loud felt heavy and awkward…it would make everything real.

You had never really liked someone. 

You didn’t really have the opportunity to do so, at least that is what you told yourself. Ryjin always claimed you just refused to let anyone into your heart that didn’t know you before the accident, before life had turned upside down. 

You knew she was right. 

But it was hard, letting someone in. 

Letting them see the burden you had to carry, the burden they would have to carry, the uncertainty of what would happen next. Of when the next surgery would put your life on hold again, of when it might be too much. 

Your cursor hovered over the pause button, but you did not press it. You kept watching Heeseung race across your screen, frame by frame, over and over.

“Yeah,” you said finally, voice small. “I think…I…I like him.”

The admission hung between you. You did not look up. 

Your heart was beating too fast, like it was trying to escape through your ribs.

Beomgyu was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke again, his voice had lost its teasing edge. “Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

You forced your eyes away from the monitor. He was watching you with that annoyingly perceptive gaze he got sometimes, the one that made you feel sixteen again and caught sneaking out.

“There she is,” he said, lips quirking into a small, fond smile. “You like Heeseung.”

You exhaled, a shaky little puff of air that was almost a laugh. “You don’t have to say it twice.”

“I kind of do,” he said. “It’s cute.”

You groaned and slapped a hand over your face. “I hate you.”

He laughed once, but it was soft, not mean. “No, you don’t.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “I’m serious. This is embarrassing.”

“Why?” he asked. He shifted his weight, hip still propped on your desk, arms loosely crossed. “You like a guy who is nice to you, makes you laugh, and clearly cares about you. That’s not embarrassing, that’s… normal. Healthy, even.”

You rolled your chair back an inch, the wheels squeaking. “It’s not just that,” you muttered. “He’s my dad’s player. He’s in and out of the rink all the time. If it goes weird, I still have to see him. And Soobin is going to freak out. And my leg is a mess. And I–”

“Hey.” Beomgyu reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist lightly, pulling on it enough to make you drop your hand from your face. “Breathe.”

You did, grudgingly.

He held your gaze. “You don’t have anything to worry about with him. Heeseung is a great guy. Like, objectively. Yeonjun and I don’t hand out the ‘we approve’ stamp for fun, you know?”

You snorted despite yourself. “You literally do.”

“Okay, for other people it doesn’t count,” he conceded. “But for you, we would never, you know that, Y/N. Heeseung is my friend, yes, but I also know that he makes you happy, and you make him happy. You’re one of the most important people in my life, you know that. I only want the best for you, and if that is Heeseung, I’ll gladly support and defend the two of you. He’s respectful. He’s not going to mess you around. Soobin knows that too. He’s just…” He hesitated, searching for the word. “…Soobin.”

You let out a slow breath, shoulders slumping. “Protective,” you finished for him.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu agreed. “He watched you almost die in a hospital bed. He watched you learn how to walk again. It fried his brain a little. He’s always going to be twitchy about anyone getting close, because he doesn’t want to see you in pain.”

“I know,” you said quietly. You fiddled with the edge of a sticky note on your desk, peeling it up and pressing it back down. “Doesn’t make it less annoying.”

“True,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “But he’s not stupid. He likes Heeseung as a player and as a person. He’s grumpy because you’re his little sister, not because Heeseung is bad news.”

You huffed, looking back at the frozen frame on your screen, Heeseung mid-laugh, eyes almost closed, shoulders relaxed in a way they rarely were on the ice. Your chest squeezed.

“So,” Beomgyu continued, voice lightening a bit, “you like him, he clearly likes you, and both Yeonjun and I approve. Soobin will come around, I’m sure.” He straightened and spread his hands. “Honestly? You’re pretty much out of excuses.”

You glared half-heartedly. “You’re very irritating when you’re right.”

He grinned. “It’s a gift.”

You hesitated, then let the corner of your mouth lift. “You really think I don’t have to worry?”

“I really think,” he said, his tone warm and sure, “that if there is one person you’re allowed to fall for, it’s Lee Heeseung. Please don’t literally fall. I don’t think anyone around you would survive seeing you fall to the floor without having a heart attack. Me included.”

You groaned again, but this time there was a laugh tucked into it. “Shut up.”

He pushed off the desk and headed for the door, tossing a look back over his shoulder. “I’m just saying: if you’re going to like someone, he’s a pretty good choice. And if Soobin freaks out, I’ll tell him it was my idea.”

You blinked. “It wasn’t your idea.”

“I know,” Beomgyu said, winking. “Makes the sacrifice more heroic.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt a little lighter. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And you like Heeseung.”

“Get out of my office,” you said, cheeks burning.

He laughed all the way down the hall.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

The living room in Yeonjun’s, Beomguy’s and Soobin’s dorm was loud and stuffy with ten people crammed in the tight space. Game night at their flat was usually chaotic and filled with loads of unhealthy food and alcohol, which is why it didn’t happen too often during the season, but they had this weekend off and decided it was time to just come down for a second. Someone was screaming about being blue-shelled in Mario Kart, and laughter echoed through the room. Heeseung barely registered any of it.

He was sunk into one end of the couch, shoulder pressed against the backrest, and you were stretched out along the cushions, your back resting against the opposite arm, both of your legs draped over his lap. Your right ankle was propped carefully, and he had his hands wrapped around your calf, thumbs moving in slow, deliberate circles into the tight muscle. He could feel the tension under his fingers, the way your leg slowly, gradually relaxed. 

He had come a bit later than the others, having had a meeting with the coach about the new recruits for the team. They haven’t integrated themselves as well as anyone would have wished, and the coach was looking for ways to change that, asking his captain for his intel. Heeseung doubted that his opinion on the whole situation mattered much, seeing how your father was set on benching most of the new players. You told him to just tell your dad what he thought, that maybe he would listen, even if you yourself doubted that. 

When he finally entered the living room, you were already stretched over the sofa, Beomguy in the position Heeseung was in now, while he played an intense match of Mario Kart against the others. Beomguy had lost and excused himself to go to the toilet, when Heeseung had just finished greeting the rest and getting himself some pizza, so he took the opportunity and sat down in Beomguy's place. 

You tentatively asked if you could use him for stretching out your legs, and he had carefully guided them into his lap. “You are never allowed to stop doing this,” you muttered, as he started to work on the muscles, or well, whatever muscle was left in the calf. It was surprisingly soft when he first touched it. 

Your head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. “I will sue you.”

Heeseung huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at your leg so he would not stare at your face too much. “I am pretty sure that is not how suing works.”

“It is now,” you said, not even trying to inject real threat into it. 

“Sure,” he said softly. “I’m shaking with fear, Y/N.”

You snorted at that, but the sound dissolved into a breathy, involuntary noise when his thumbs pressed into a knot just above your ankle. It was not a polite little sigh. It was a low, almost obscene groan that punched straight through his chest and settled somewhere hot and uncomfortable in his stomach.

Oh. Oh no.

He felt his ears burn instantly, heat creeping up his neck. Heeseung kept his gaze firmly on your ankle, fingers continuing the same slow, steady motion as if nothing had happened.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, voice coming out rough. “Marry me.”

He laughed, but it came out a touch higher than usual. “I have to decline, Y/N. I want a more romantic proposal. ”

“Rude,” you sighed. “That was very romantic.”

He swallowed a smile and focused on his hands. “Is it bad today? You seem tired?”

You hummed, your head resting on the backrest of the sofa. “A bit? My hip and my back have been acting up, so I took the legally allowed dosage of painkillers. So I’m a bit,” you gestured vaguely in the air with one hand. “Tired? But it’s fine.”  

It didn’t feel fine to him, so he just nodded and hummed, caressing your knee for a second. Even through your jeans, he could feel the unnatural shape of the bone and the tissue underneath. 

“How was your meeting with my dad?” you asked a few seconds later, watching his hands work. “I'm sorry if he was pissed. We fought a bit because I wanted to come even though I am in pain.” 

Heeseung's gaze wandered up, his hands halting for a second before he continued. He didn’t agree often with his coach, but not letting you come seemed like a good idea, considering how exhausted you looked. “It was fine. He is pretty set on benching the others for the next few games until they finally get it in their heads that we won’t play as violently as they do.”

You hummed and closed your yes, nodding in agreement. "He's right tho. Woojin and Seojong should stop trying to start fights on the ice. It won’t get you anywhere.”

“I know,” Heeseung muttered. 

A shadow fell over the two of you, and a hand appeared in his peripheral vision, holding a bottle and a glass with a milky fluid inside. “Another drink for you, Y/N!”  Beomgyu announced, already flushed and grinning. “Heeseungie, do you want a drink?”

Heeseung’s hands stilled for a second. You turned your head toward Beomgyu, eyes lighting up just a little. “For me? Hell yeah.”

“No, Y/N,” Heeseung said at the same time.

Both you and Beomgyu looked at him. “What?” you asked.

Beomgyu blinked. “She said yes, captain.”

“She is on meds,” Heeseung replied, keeping his voice calm but absolute. “She is not drinking on top of that.”

Your bottom lip pushed out immediately. “Just one?”

“No.” He met your gaze, forcing himself not to soften. 

Beomgyu raised his free hand in surrender. “Okay, no Milkis shots for Y/N.” He backed away toward the kitchen again, calling over his shoulder, “More for me then!”

You let your head fall back against the cushion with a dramatic groan. “You are no fun.”

“I am very fun,” Heeseung said, starting to move his thumbs again, slower now. “I am also not interested in seeing you passed out on your brother's floor because you mixed meds and alcohol.”

You huffed, pouting at him. “It wouldn’t have been that bad,” you muttered while you reached for a class filled with what he assumed was Coke. “I’ve done that a million times.”

“Well, not on my watch, Y/N,” he said. Then he added, quieter, “Alcohol will make your foot feel worse, and if you’re already feeling like shit, you don’t have to add fuel to the fire. I would love to not have to worry about that, Y/N.”

He felt, rather than saw, the way that landed. Your shoulders relaxed a little, your mouth softened around the straw of the Coke you had. You did not comment on it, but you did not pull your legs away either. 

“I promise I’m usually careful,” you mumbled after a moment, “You won’t have to worry about me.”

He smiled, eyes flicking to your face. “I know.”

“Good,” you said. 

The two of you went silent for a long moment, just watching the TV screen where the four characters were driving through Bowser's castle. You made another sound when he found another knot, half sigh and half something that sat too close to that earlier groan for his sanity, and your eyes slipped closed. He kept massaging the spot, his finger gently pressing into your calf, while you took deep, relaxed breaths. 

He loved this more than he should.

He loved that you trusted him enough to pass out like this in a room full of people, your leg over his lap, your face turned toward him. 

He loved that he could say no when you wanted something that would hurt you, and you would pout, complain, and then listen. 

He knew exactly what it was at this point. 

He didn’t just like you. 

He had a crush, full-on, warm and terrifying and relentless. 

And he was pretty sure you were reciprocating those feelings to a certain degree. And he loved knowing that even more than anything else. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

At some point, the volume in the living room dipped. Mario Kart had finally been abandoned, and someone had put on a movie. Yeonjun had dimmed the lights, only the TV and a floor lamp casting soft pools of glow across the room.

Soobin wandered back in from the kitchen, a fresh drink in his hand. His gaze swept the room, landed on you and Heeseung on the couch, and softened.

“Move,” he said quietly, nudging Heeseung’s knee with his own.

Heeseung shifted without complaint, scooting a bit closer to the middle so Soobin could squeeze onto the other side of you. Your legs were still draped over Heeseung’s lap, his hands resting lightly around your calf now instead of working into the muscle. Soobin settled down with a small sigh, one arm draping over the back of the couch behind his shoulders.

You were clearly fighting sleep, your blinking slower, your breaths deeper. Every so often, your foot twitched against Heeseung’s thigh, and he adjusted his hold automatically, checking without thinking that your ankle was still in a position that would not hurt later.

Then your head started to dip forward.

He watched it happen in slow motion, your chin tipping toward your chest, shoulders hunching as gravity won. You jerked awake at the last second, catching yourself with an embarrassed little inhale, eyes blinking wide for a moment.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, straightening, rubbing at your face. “I am awake.”

“It is fine,” Heeseung said, voice low so he would not disturb the others. He shifted a bit closer, angling his shoulder toward you deliberately. “Just use my shoulder.”

You looked at him like he had suggested you climb onto his lap instead. “No. That is weird.”

“It is not weird,” he insisted. “You are tired. Your neck is going to die if you keep doing that.”

“I’m fine," you muttered, and stayed upright, staring stubbornly at the screen.

He let it go for about five minutes. In that time, your head bobbed forward twice more, each time snapping back up with a soft curse. Soobin glanced down at you once, worry flickering over his face, but you just waved him off, insisting you were fine.

Heeseung gave it one more minute, then spoke again, quieter. “Seriously. Just use my shoulder. It is okay.”

You blew out a breath, somewhere between annoyed and resigned. “You are very persistent, you know that?”

“Yes,” he said, a smile ghosting over his lips. “I get told that a lot.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, when your head dipped again, you let it keep going. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you leaned sideways until your temple found his shoulder. You adjusted for a second, a small frown appearing as you shifted to find a better angle, then your muscles unwound bit by bit. He felt the exact moment you gave in, your weight settling more fully, your body sinking into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“There,” he murmured. “Not weird.”

You hummed something faint that he could not catch. It might have been an insult, might have been an agreement, but your eyes slid closed fully this time and did not open again. Your breathing evened out, warm against his neck. One of your hands, which had been resting on your stomach, slipped sideways, fingers brushing his forearm before going limp.

He kept his shoulder steady, barely daring to move. He adjusted his arm just enough to keep your leg from sliding, his fingers resting light against your shin. On his other side, Soobin watched the screen, but from the corner of his eye, Heeseung noticed the way Soobin’s gaze flicked down to you every so often. 

There was something soft there, something protective, but there was no tension directed at him. If anything, Soobin looked… relieved. 

Heeseung's heart made a weird movement at that. His gaze wandered to your face again before he turned his eyes back to the TV, even though he was not really absorbing anything on it. 

All his senses were full of you, the weight of your head, the warmth pressed along his side, the occasional small twitch of your foot. 

An hour later, the movie credits rolled slowly across the screen, casting pale blue light over the living room. The volume had been turned low at some point, just enough to hear the soft synth music over the occasional snore from Yeonjun. Some of the others got up to get something to drink or to go to the toilet, but Heeseung didn’t move. 

His shoulder was stiff, his right leg numb under the weight of yours, but he stayed still as stone. Your head was still tucked against him, temple pressed warm to his collarbone, your breaths slow and even. One of your hands had curled into the fabric of his t-shirt sometime while you slept, fingers loose but holding on, like you had reached for him without thinking.

He glanced down at you, careful not to shift too much. Your face was relaxed in sleep, mouth parted just slightly, the tension gone from around your eyes. It made something ache in his chest, sharp and sweet.

He noticed that Soobin had been watching him for a moment, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "You alright?"

Heeseung blinked, tearing his gaze away from your sleeping figure. "Yeah. Why?"

Soobin shrugged one shoulder, but there was a knowing tilt to his mouth. "Just checking. She’s been sleeping on you for a while now."

Heat crept up Heeseung's neck before he could stop it. "Yeah, she was tired. I figured my shoulder was more comfortable than her sleeping without any support.”

Soobin hummed, not quite buying the casual tone. "She sleeps like a baby, apparently. Especially when you're around."

Heeseung's ears burned hotter. "She was tired," he said, aiming for defensive but landing somewhere closer to flustered. "Painkillers and everything. You know."

"Mhm," Soobin said, clearly amused now. "And she apparently likes to do that, resting on your shoulder. Very cosy."

"Shut up," Heeseung muttered, but there was no heat in it. He could feel his face going red, scrambling for an out. "She was just comfortable. It is not–"

Beomgyu looked up from his phone, cutting in before Soobin could twist the knife further. "Leave Heeseung alone. You are not Y/N's dad."

Soobin snorted, uncrossing his arms. "I might not be, but I’m still her older brother. And I just wanna make sure they are being safe and happy before I go on and ruin Heeseung's life."

Heeseung choked on air. "We are not–"

"Relax," Soobin said, waving a hand. "I am messing with you. Mostly."

Beomgyu cackled quietly, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "My god, Hee, you should have seen your face."

Heeseung groaned, rubbing his free hand over his face, but the rest just chuckled quietly.

“So are we gonna watch part two?, Yunjin asked after she came back with another round of drinks for the rest and water for Heeseung. 

“Sure,” Soobin shrugged and searched for the second instalment of whatever movie they were watching, while Heeseung leaned back into the sofa, adjusting your body a bit and carefully brushing some loose strands of hair out of your face, not caring that the whole room was watching. 

When the second movie ended, almost everyone was asleep or close to falling asleep. Heeseung was sure he himself had slept for a bit, his head now resting on yours. He couldn’t remember a big chunk of the movie and couldn’t understand the plot twist, not that he cared much. 

Soobin reached for the remote, turning the TV off before he slowly got up, squatting down next to Chaewon, who was curled against the wing chair Yunjin was sleeping in, slowly waking her up. 

Heeseung watched them for a second, the way she blinked her eyes open, how Soobin lovingly stroked her hair, her face, until she seemed more awake. She stretched, and they whispered something before he leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead. He straightened up and collected a few of the cups standing around, carrying them to the kitchen. 

Heeseung followed his figure for a few seconds, thinking about what to do next. He decided that he should wake you up, so you could go to bed properly. He dipped his head a little, voice barely above a whisper near your ear. "Y/N. The movie's over. Let’s get you home."

You stirred immediately, but not in the way he expected. Your eyebrows pulled together in a grumpy little frown, and instead of lifting your head, you curled closer. Your hand tightened in his shirt, fingers fisting the cotton, and you made a small, displeased noise deep in your throat. "No," you mumbled, face pressing harder into his shoulder. "Five more minutes."

Heeseung bit back a smile, heat creeping up his neck at the way you burrowed into him. "Come on. Don’t you want to get changed and sleep in your bed?"

"Mm," was all you managed, stubbornly clinging.

Soobin watched the exchange, amusement flickering in his eyes before it shifted to something more serious. He chuckled softly, taking the empty Coke cans on the table. "Just let her sleep. I will carry her to my bed."

Heeseung's stomach did an unhelpful flip. He looked down at you again, your fingers still curled in his shirt, your weight fully relaxed against his side. 

“Are you sure? Don’t you and Chaewon noona sleep there?” He asked with uncertainty. “I can bring Y/N home, it’s no problem.” 

Soobin's eyebrows lifted slightly, wariness sharpening his gaze. He studied Heeseung for a long moment, glance flicking between his face and the way your hand gripped his shirt. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Heeseung nodded once, firm. "I have her. Do not worry."

Soobin held his eyes a beat longer, something unreadable passing there. Heeseung knew this facial expression. Soobin was calculating, thinking, but then he exhaled slowly and nodded. "Can you take her to your flat? I am sure neither you nor she wants my dad to know about the two of you."

"I will," Heeseung promised.

Your brother hummed. “Okay. Let me get Beomgyu. He’ll help with her stuff. I’ll get Chae to bed in the meantime.” 

Heeseung nodded wordlessly, and Soobin seemed satisfied enough, turning back to Chaewon, who seemed a bit wobbly on her feet when she stood up. 

A minute later, Beomgyu stumbled in from the kitchen, cheeks flushed and eyes a bit glassy, carrying your crutches in one hand and your bag and shoes dangling from the other. 

“Got it,” he slurred cheerfully, swaying just a bit. “Ready, loverboy?”

Heeseung huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, carefully shifting to gather you up, one arm behind your back, the other under your knees. You were lighter than he expected, even with the dead weight of sleep, your head lolling to rest against his shoulder. 

He stood slowly, adjusting his hold, silently thanking his coach, Jay, and Sunghoon for every gruelling gym session that made him go through.

Your hand stayed fisted in his shirt the whole time.

Beomguy walked ahead, balancing your crutches and bag, kicking open the door with his foot. On the way down the hallway, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re taking such good care of her, hyung,” he said over his shoulder, voice a little thick from the alcohol but warm, sincere. His eyes met Heeseung’s for a moment, soft and trusting. “She needs someone like you. Don’t mind Soobin too much. He’ll come around. You’re a great guy for her.”

Heeseung blinked for a second, stunned from the statement, before he swallowed. “Thanks, Gyu. It means a lot to me to hear that from you.” Heeseung adjusted his hold on you. “I don’t mind,” he answered honestly. “I mean Soobin, and the coach. I like being there for her, even if I have to defend myself from them.”

Beomgyu’s mouth twitched into a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. I figured.” He pushed the building’s front door open, letting the cool night air wash over all three of you. Rain tapped softly against the pavement outside. “You two will be fine. Just… keep her out of her dad’s line of sight until you’re ready for that talk, okay?”

“Okay,” Heeseung said. 

They crossed quickly to his car. Beomguy opened the back door and set your crutches and bag on the seat, tucking your shoes beside them. Meanwhile, Heeseung opened the front passenger door with his elbow, then shifted you carefully to settle you into the seat. Your head lolled toward him, eyes blinking open for a second.

“Hm?” you murmured, voice heavy with sleep. “Where’re we going?”

“To my place,” Heeseung said softly, buckling your seatbelt and adjusting the strap so it did not dig into your neck. “You can sleep. I’ll get you home tomorrow.”

You hummed, eyelids already drooping shut again. “’ Kay,” you breathed. “’S fine.”

Heeseung chuckled and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over you like a blanket, tucking it gently around your shoulders. You made a small, content sound and snuggled deeper into the seat.

He closed the door quietly and walked around to the driver’s side. Beomguy watched him with a mixture of fondness and something like amusement. “Drive safe. Text me when you’re there.”

“I will,” Heeseung repeated, meaning it.

The drive was mostly silent. The radio was off, leaving only the hum of the engine and the occasional swish of tyres on the damp road. You slept through almost all of it, your face turned toward him, breaths slow and even. 

Halfway to his building, you stirred, blinking groggily. “Hee?” you asked, voice rough. “Where are we?”

“Almost at my flat,” he said gently. “You okay with that?”

You stared at him for a moment, eyes heavy, brain clearly fighting through sleep fog. Then you nodded once. “Yeah,” you whispered. “’ M tired.”

He smiled to himself. “Thought so. Go back to sleep.”

By the time he parked and turned off the engine, you were out again. He sat there for a second, just watching you, the way his jacket had slipped half off your shoulder. Then he shook himself and climbed out, circling around to your side. He opened the door carefully and slipped one arm under your knees, the other around your back, lifting you out of the seat and cradling you against his chest again.

You mumbled something unintelligible, your head dropping to his shoulder. He nudged the door shut with his hip and made his way into the building. The elevator came quickly, and he stood in there, your weight solid and warm in his arms, your breath brushing his collarbone in little puffs. He shifted you a little higher as he reached his door, fishing his keys from his pocket with his free hand. It took him two tries, but he managed to unlock it without dropping you.

Inside, the apartment was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city through the windows. He nudged the door shut with his heel and walked straight to his room, moving by muscle memory. At the edge of his bed, he paused for a second, lowering you slowly, like you were made of glass.

He eased you down onto the mattress, one hand behind your head until it met the pillow. Then he slid his arms out from under you, careful not to jostle your leg. You sank into his duvet, his jacket still wrapped around you, a soft exhale leaving your lips.

But before he could fully pull away, your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.

"No," you mumbled, eyes still closed, voice thick with sleep. "It's cold. Stay."

Heeseung froze, heart thudding hard against his ribs. "I’m gonna get the two of us pyjamas, Y/N."

You tugged weakly at his wrist, not opening your eyes, curling toward his warmth. "Just a minute. Please."

He exhaled slowly, glancing at his closet, then back at you. You looked so small there, half-buried in the duvet, fingers loose around his wrist. He gave in to your plea.

"Okay," he whispered. "Just a minute."

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed. You curled into him almost immediately, your head resting against his thigh, a content little hum escaping as you settled. His hand moved on instinct, fingers threading gently through your hair, petting slow, slow, careful strokes from crown to nape, the strands soft and cool under his touch. 

"Mhmm," you sighed, your body going fully limp.

Heeseung sat there, barely breathing, one hand in your hair, the other resting light on the duvet near your arm. The room was dark except for the sliver of light spilling from the city lights outside. Your breathing evened out deeper, face smoothing completely now, and he could not make himself move.

His thumb brushed your temple lightly, tracing the edge of your hairline. 

One more minute, he told himself. 

Then he would get up, get changed, get ready for bed, maybe even coax you into changing into pyjamas.

But he stayed put. 

Petting your hair, feeling the soft strands slip through his fingers, listening to the quiet rhythm of your breaths. 

After a few minutes, he did get himself to stand up. He slid his hand free from your hair with infinite care, lifting your head just enough to settle it back onto the pillow. You stirred faintly but did not wake, curling into the warmth of the duvet instead. He stood up, his legs a little numb from sitting so still, and moved quietly to his closet. He pulled out a loose t-shirt and drawstring pants that would not press on your leg, then laid them neatly on the bed beside you.

"Hey, Y/N. I’m going to the bathroom," he murmured, unsure if you were still awake enough to hear him. "You can change into them if you want to."

You hummed faintly, a small, incoherent sound, but did not stir further.

Heeseung chuckled lowly and grabbed his own sleeping clothes before he headed to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth quickly, splashed water on his face, changed into a t-shirt and sweats. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, of his messy hair, the stubble along his chin, the faint blush on his cheeks. He shook his head and slipped back into the bedroom. 

He was surprised to see that you had also changed into the pyjama he had laid out for you. Your hoodie and pants are lying in a small pile on the floor, next to your cast. Heeseung cursed under his breath when he realised that your bag and more importantly, your crutches were still in his car. He turned around and begrudgedly made his way down to his car again.  

When he carefully closed the door to his room, your stuff in his hands, he had to suppress a laugh. You had shifted positions again, lying spread out almost horizontal in his bed, one of your arms hanging off his bed. 

Heeseung set your bag and crutches against the wall, then eyed the tiny strip of bed still technically "his." There was no way he was fitting without moving you a bit. 

He eased onto the mattress carefully, trying to shift your limbs just enough to carve out space, one hand nudging your dangling arm back onto the bed, the other sliding your sprawled leg over a few inches.

You stirred immediately, whining low and petulant without even opening your eyes. "Mmm... nooo, stop moving me," you mumbled, flopping dramatically back into your original position, reclaiming every inch. "My spot."

Heeseung laughed softly, the sound escaping despite his efforts to stay quiet. "Y/N, this is my bed. You've taken the whole thing. There's no space left for me."

Your eyes cracked open just a sliver, bleary and unimpressed, before you huffed and pushed yourself up with a groan. "Fine," you slurred, scooting toward the headboard just enough to let him slide in fully. The second he was settled, his back against the pillows, legs stretched out, you let yourself drop right onto him like dead weight, burying your face in his chest with a contented sigh. Your arms looped loosely around his waist, cheek squishing against his t-shirt, legs tangling carefully around his to avoid your bad one.

He froze for half a second, heart stuttering at the sudden closeness, then relaxed with a quiet chuckle, his arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders. "There. Happy now?"

"Mmhm," you hummed into his chest, already drifting again, your breath warm and even against him. "Perfect."

He smiled into the dark, fingers threading lightly through your hair once more. "Night, Y/N."

You did not answer, already gone, and he let his eyes close, the weight of you grounding him perfectly into sleep.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

You woke slowly, the world filtering in piece by fuzzy piece, first the soft glow of morning light sneaking through the blinds, then the steady rise and fall of Heeseung's chest underneath you. Your cheek was squished against the soft cotton of his shirt, one of your arms slung across his waist, while your legs tangled up, with your injured one resting upon his. One of his arms was resting behind our neck, the other one behind his head, his breathing deep and even, face slack in sleep.

You blinked up at him carefully, not daring to twitch a muscle. His hair stuck up in every direction, lips parted just a little, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw catching the light. He looked younger like this, softer, completely unguarded. Your heart did a slow, warm flip. 

For a second, you were embarrassed for having apparently decided to cling to him like a monkey for the night, but if you were honest, you couldn’t care less. You’ve been in pain ever since you woke up the day before. Not even the pain killers helped, the only thing they did was make you incredibly tired and leave you nauseous the whole day. 

Your leg was still throbbing, but you didn't know exactly why. The position you’ve fallen asleep in wasn’t exactly the best for your body; your hip felt stiff, and the pressure against the scar wasn’t helping, nor was the fact that your ankle was still wrapped in a sock and not elevated. You could feel the swelling, your foot pressing against the compression in pulses that mirrored your heartbeat.

You slightly moved your leg, experimentally flexing the muscles, only to suppress a wince. You took a deep, resigned breath and just closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep again, ignoring that you should get up and take your meds, maybe even go to the toilet, only to rip your eyes open. 

You couldn't remember going to the bathroom, nor could you remember brushing your teeth, nor removing your makeup. 

That thought got a real groan out of you before you pressed your lips onto each other, praying that Heeseung didn’t wake up from the sound. 

You glanced at his face, but he didn’t even flinch in his sleep. You chuckled lowly, remembering how the others had mentioned that an atombomb could go off next to Heeseung without waking him. You slowly moved your leg a bit, trying your best to ignore the pain and adjust your upper body a bit, feeling his heartbeat thump steadily and strongly under your palm.

A few minutes after you had closed your eyes again, doing your best to fall asleep again, a knock came from Heeseung's door. It creaked open cautiously, Jay’s head poking in. He froze mid-step, eyes widening at the sight of you curled into Heeseung’s side, his arm draped protectively over you, both of you tangled deep in the duvet.

Jay cleared his throat quietly, suppressing a grin. “Uh… hey…Y/N. Good morning.”

“Hi Jay,” you answered, smiling at him, not lifting your head from Heeseung's chest.

“I’m going to go grocery shopping because I was planning on cooking galbi jjim later and wanted to know if Hyung wanted something from E-Mart…or if the two of you are here for dinner?”

You blinked at him for a second, warmth spreading in your chest at the more or less casual invitation. “I would love to stay for dinner, but I should probably get home. I don’t have my meds here, and I need a change of clothes? But I’ll ask Hee if he needs something from E Mart and make it text you?”

“Sure, thank you,” Jay gave you a small, but warm smile. “Have a nice day then, Y/N.” 

You nodded at him. “You too, Jay.”

He quietly closed the door again, only for Heeseung to stir awake a few seconds after. He blinked groggily, his arm tightened instinctively around your shoulders for a split second, cheeks flushing as he sat up a little straighter. “Y/N?,” he rasped, voice rough and gravelly with sleep.

You hummed, leaning onto your elbow to look at his face. “Good morning.”

He groaned low, moving his free arm up to his face, trying to block the weak light coming from his curtains by draping it over his eyes. “Too early,” he mumbled. His voice was muffled and whiny, cursing you to chuckle. 

“You just missed Jay,” you whispered, watching him run his hand over his face, before he slowly put his gaze on you. “He’s going to e-mart and asked if you need anything?”

He grunted low in acknowledgement, the vibration rumbling through his chest into you, his fingers coming up to brush your hair back gently. “I’ll text him later. He spends hours grocery shopping.”

You nodded and hummed contentedly, nestling deeper into him despite the persistent throb in your leg and the slow but growing need to use the toilet. His warmth seeped into you, while his heart was still beating slow and steady beneath your palm.

You were silent for a while, and if it wasn't for his fingers still brushing your hair back with the gentlest touch, you would have thought he fell asleep again. His hand had drifted lower after a while, tracing light, lazy lines along your arm, fingertips grazing from your shoulder to your elbow and back again, so feather-soft it sent goosebumps prickling up your skin in warm little waves. 

You shivered faintly at the sensation.

"You were really out of it yesterday," he murmured after a moment, his voice low as he broke the silence in the room. "Like, completely gone. You barely stirred the whole time I carried you."

You cracked one eye open. "I sleep like a baby after taking pain killers,” you said softly. "Those things always knock me flat. I am a truly deep sleeper on them. Like, you could not wake me up if you tried."

He nodded slowly, his thumb continuing those slow circles on your arm, raising fresh goosebumps every pass. "I noticed." He paused, his touch lingering a little longer at your elbow. "I like that you feel safe enough to crash like that around me. Even though you’ve missed both movies."

Your heart squeezed, warmth blooming deeper in your chest. You tilted your head up just enough to meet his eyes, soft and sleepy in the morning light. "Were they good?"

Heeseung let out a sheepish laugh, his cheeks tinting pink as he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "I didn’t really pay attention, if I’m honest. I’ve been pretty tired the last few days as well, and zoned out during most of it. I fell asleep for at least half of it myself, I think."

You grinned up at him, your eyes crinkling despite the quiet discomfort in your body, which was now rapidly growing, the more awake you were. "We both suck at movie nights."

"I don’t care if it’s only that we’re bad in," he said, smirking back, his arm tightening around you just a fraction. His fingers resumed their path along your arm, slow and tender.

You let out a soft sigh, your hand curling a little tighter into his shirt. "I really like this," you admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper, your cheek pressing warmer against his chest. "Waking up here. With you. Like this."

He went still for a heartbeat, his hand pausing mid-stroke. Then he smiled down at you, eyes crinkling soft and full of something warm and unspoken. "I like it too," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, thumb brushing your arm again like a promise. "A lot."

You both fell quiet after that, just breathing together, his hand petting lazy patterns on your skin, your body soaking in his warmth despite the ache, before you decided to break the spell and use the toilet. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ It had been raining all week. 

Thick clouds were above the skyscrapers of the city, relentlessly blocking out any late autumn sunrays that could have lightened your mood just a little bit. 

Since you’ve gotten home from Heeseung's flat on the weekend, you’ve been caught up trying to get on track with your classes. Midterms were coming up soon, and you really had to start taking them seriously.

You had been sitting in a random classroom in the business department, clicking through your flashcards, trying to memorise everything you had noted down for over an hour now. Beomguy had promised to pick you up after his classes ended for the day, the two of you wanting to go out and get something to eat together.

The rain pelted against the windows, thick drops coating the whole thing into streaks of water. 

You hated the sound of it.

But you couldn’t study while listening to music, so you did your best to ignore it.

And it did work, you did get through at least half of your flashcards when the first rumble of thunder rolled low in the distance.

You flinched before you could stop yourself, your shoulders jumping, the cursor stuttering where your hand jerked. 

You froze, eyes on the screen, then forced your jaw to relax.

It was just thunder. It was fine. You were inside. 

You were safe.

You took a slow breath and tried to focus back on your laptop, only to flinch when it thundered a second time, much closer this time. You raised your head and caught the exact moment a lightning strike hit. It felt like the following thunder rattled the whole building, a bright white flash bleeding at the edges of your vision.

Your hand tightened around your mouse, your nails scraping along the plastic, while the next flashcard appeared. 

The screen started swimming in front of your eyes, your pulse suddenly thudding in your throat. You tried to close your eyes and control your breathing.

This was only thunder. 

Nothing happened. 

You were safe.

You fumbled for your phone while trying to keep your breathing as steady as possible. Heeseung's contact was on top of your recent caller list and, without thinking, you pressed the button. 

He picked up a few seconds later. “Hi Y/N. What’s up?” His voice was hushed, but he sounded upbeat. 

You swallowed and tried to collect your thoughts as best you could. “Are you... Are you on the campus?”

“Yes, I am in the library. Why? What’s up, Y/N?” he sounded alarmed, his voice a bit louder now. 

“I-”, another rumble of thunder interrupted you, and you had to grip your phone tighter, so it wouldn’t escape your sweaty palm. “Can you get me? I’m in the business building. It’s- I-,” you took a rapid breath. “Please.” 

“Fuck,” Heeseung cursed under his breath, and you heard rustling on his side of the phone. “I’ll be there in a second, Y/N. Where in the building are you?” 

You tried to remember to think of where you were, but it felt like your thoughts were racing too fast for you to grasp any. “I-I upstairs? Third floor?” 

“Okay,” Heeseung said, his voice still hushed. “Can you try to go to the door and open it for me? So I can find you better?” 

You nodded and made a sound that he hopefully interpreted as an agreement. He said something else, but the words didn’t reach your brain.

The room felt smaller all at once, the air tighter when you willed your legs to stand up. You were still pressing your phone against your ear, and you were pretty sure that Heeseung was talking to you, but your sole focus was on trying to get to the door, to get away from this, from here, to safety. Your feet felt like they belonged to someone else, your crutches forgotten next to the chair you had been sitting on. You couldn’t feel the pain of putting your full weight onto your foot, underneath the panic racing through your veins. 

You had made it to the door, it was barely ten steps from your seat, before another crack of thunder hit, so loud it vibrated through the walls and turned your legs to lead. Your whole body jerked, your phone slipping from your hand, clattering onto the floor.

The room spun more slowly, and your vision tunnelled, while nausea built up in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the grey vinyl floor or the door frame that you were clinging to; instead, you saw rain-slick road, wipers slapping frantically, headlamps blinding white in the downpour. 

It wasn’t real.

This was not real. 

But your breaths came faster, ragged gasps that barely filled your lungs, heart slamming so loud it echoed in your ears. Sweat prickled cold down your spine. 

You wanted it to stop. 

Someone had to make it stop. 

Your thigh burned, a deep, vicious phantom pain flaring up, knives twisting in scar tissue, bone-deep fire racing up your leg like it was happening all over again. 

No. 

Stop. 

You pressed your palm hard against your stomach, but it only made the nausea roll thicker, bile surging hot in your throat. It was as if you could feel it, blood pooling warm on your thigh, your leg going numb, then exploding in white-hot agony, every nerve on fire. You squeezed your eyes shut, sliding down the doorframe, your forehead grinding into your knees. You were starting to hyperventilate, short, desperate pulls of air that left you dizzy. Black spots were dancing behind your lids. 

You couldn't breathe. 

Couldn’t–please stop–

A scream out of pure terror ripped free from your mouth when two hands suddenly touched your shoulders.  

Your head shot up, and when you realised that it was Heeseung, who was gently holding you, you lurched forward, flinging yourself into him, your nails clawing into his wet hoodie, your face smashing into his neck.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, hands rising then wrapping firm around your body, pressing your shaking form against him. "It’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe."

"I–it hurts–", you didn't even know what you had tried to tell him, through your frantic gasps, but he seemingly understood. “Heeseung–”

"It’s okay," he murmured, his voice low and soft. "You’re okay, I've got you." 

He manoeuvred you a few inches inside the room, pulling the door closed behind him, before he sat down on the floor, sliding you into his lap, your legs draped over his. He rocked you gently, one arm locked around your back, the other cradling your head to his shoulder. "Breathe. You're safe. Everything's fine. It’s just you and me. We're inside. We’re safe."

His rocking was slow, rhythmic, as he whispered against your hair. "In slow, out now, that's it,” his hand rubbing firm circles on your back while you did your best to regain control over your breathing again. 

When your sobs quieted to sniffles, he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs swiping tears. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked softly.

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes closed. 

"Okay," he said instantly, no pressure. "That's fine. We don't have to."

The sound of thunder cracked through the room again, this time quieter, the storm having slowly moved on, but your heart still lurched,d and it sent a fresh wave of panic through you. 

"Hee," you whispered, voice breaking. "Get me out. Please. I need to go home. I can't stay here."

"Yeah," he said, no hesitation, arms tightening. "Yeah, I’ll bring you home."

"I... I need my crutches," you rasped, voice raw, glancing toward the desk where you had left them. Your legs felt like jelly, and pain flared up from your ankle, but staying here wasn't an option.

Heeseung nodded once. "Okay." 

He eased you off his lap gently, steadying you on your good foot while he grabbed the crutches, handing them to you, before walking back to your desk, packing up your laptop and the rest of your things. “I forgot my umbrella in the library. Do you have one here?”

You sniffled and belatedly realised that he was soaked from head to toe. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead, and his hoodie as well as his jeans were dark from the moisture of the rain outside. 

You swallowed and sniffed before nodding. “I think there is one in my bag.” 

He hummed and rummaged in your bag until he found the foldable umbrella at the bottom of it. "Let’s get going,” he said, crossing the room with long strides, after he slung your bag around his shoulders, his hand coming around your elbow. 

You gripped the handles of your crutches tightly, your knuckles turning white, as you slowly made your way to the elevator and towards the main entrance. Heeseung stayed glued to your side, his free hand hovering at your elbow. "Easy," he murmured when you stumbled once. 

Outside, wind whipped rain sideways, but he held the umbrella firm, guiding you to the passenger door. He tossed your bag in the back, helped you fold the crutches down, then buckled you in gently and efficiently, like he'd done it a hundred times. You shivered slightly. The rain had soaked your pants and even your coat, despite his best efforts to keep the two of you dry. 

As soon as heeseung started the car and the windscreen wipers came to life, you had to do your best to suppress a wave of panic. 

The car moved smoothly through the parking lot, and you realised that Heeseung had put on his favourite playlist, turning the volume down, but your hand darted forwards, stopping him. 

“Louder,” you said, closing your eyes, a laboured breath escaping your mouth. “I hate the sound. Please make the music louder.”

You felt his eyes on you, but his fingers moved worldlessly, and the music coming from the speakers increased in volume. 

Your hand was still gripping his wrist, and you dropped it, as if the touch was burning. “Both hands. Use both hands.”

His hand flew to the wheel. 

You stared straight ahead, your eyes fixed on the streaks of water sliding up the windshield as the wipers dragged them away, only for more to take their place. 

The music was loud now, but even your favourite songs in his playlist could not fully drown out the soft hiss of rain on metal. 

You focused on the sound of the engine instead, on the steady hum beneath your feet, on the way the car responded smoothly when Heeseung braked at a light or eased around a corner. One of your hands was fisting the damp fabric of your pants, while the other one was braced against your knee, as you counted each breath in and out. 

The phantom ache in your leg had settled into a heavy throb, but your stomach still twisted with leftover nausea. 

Beside you, Heeseung drove with both hands on the wheel as you had asked, knuckles pale against the dark leather. His jaw was tense, eyes flicking between the road and you more often than any driving instructor would recommend. 

He didn’t speak to you.

You would probably not have been able to answer him anyway.

Every few minutes, you felt his gaze on you again, checking your breathing, the way your shoulders rose and fell.

“Almost there,” he said quietly after a while, more to fill the silence than anything. “Just a few more turns.”

You swallowed and nodded, keeping your eyes shut for the next stretch of road, letting the music wash over you, clinging to the fact that it was his playlist, his car. 

This was not that night. 

You repeated it in your head like a mantra.

When he pulled off the main road toward your apartment complex, you forced your eyes open again. The familiar outline of the buildings rose out of the rain. He flicked on his blinker, slowing down in front of the entrance like he always did when he dropped you off.

“I’ll just–” he started, preparing to stop at the curb.

“Can you drive into the parking garage?” you cut in quickly, your fingers tightening on your knee. Your voice sounded small and hoarse. “Take my mom’s spot. Please.”

He glanced over at you properly then, reading the plea in your expression, the way your shoulders still trembled faintly. “Do you want me to come upstairs with you?”

You nodded slightly. “Yes. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay,” he said immediately. “Yeah. We’ll park.”

He steered past the entrance and pulled into the underground garage, the sudden absence of rain on the roof making the car feel strangely quieter. 

Concrete swallowed the outside noise. 

The lights were dim, casting long reflections on the wet floor. He eased into your mother’s usual spot, shifted the car into park, and turned off the engine. The wipers stopped mid-swipe, leaving a half-moon of clear glass in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

With the storm muffled by concrete, it was easier to breathe. 

You could still hear the rain distantly at the garage entrance, but it no longer felt like it was pressing in on you from all sides. 

Your shoulders dropped a fraction, and your grip on your pants loosened.

Heeseung stayed very still, hands resting on his thighs now, giving you the space to decide. “We can sit here as long as you want,” he said quietly. “No rush.”

You stared at the dashboard, at the faint reflection of your own tired face on the dark screen. The frantic pounding of your heart had dulled to a heavy, exhausted beat. 

Your breathing was still a little uneven, but at least it did not scrape anymore. 

After a minute, you nodded, wiping the back of your hand under your nose.

“Okay,” you murmured. “I think… I’m okay to go up now.”

He nodded once. You watched him unbuckle first, then he reached for your own seat belt with clumsy fingers. The click echoed in the small space. He slipped out and circled the car, opening your door before you could reach for it. 

Cool, dry air from the garage brushed your face. 

He grabbed your crutches from the back and set them within easy reach, then offered you his hand without a word.

You took it.

Your legs still felt unsteady when you swung them out of the car, the brace heavy, muscles sore from the panic. Heeseung slung your bag over his shoulder and locked the car, falling into step with you as you headed toward the elevator.

In the enclosed quiet of the lift, you could hear nothing but the soft hum of the motor and your own breathing. He stood close enough that his arm brushed yours slightly, but he did not crowd you. 

You focused on the numbers ticking upward, on the reflection of the two of you in the mirror, your tired eyes, his worried ones.

When the elevator dinged and the doors opened onto your floor, he looked to you again as if asking for permission before stepping out. You gave him a small nod and moved forward, the rubber tips of your crutches tapping a slow, steady rhythm down the hall. 

At your door, you fumbled with the keypad. Your hands were still a little shaky, but you managed to get it open on the second try.

“Come in,” you said quietly, stepping aside to let him pass. “Just for a bit. I don’t… I don’t want to be alone.”

Heeseung hesitated for a second before he took off his wet sneakers on the threshold. You leaned against the wall, ignoring that your damp clothing would touch the wallpaper, as you fumbled with your shoe and then with your cast, freeing both your feet.  

He watched you silently, waiting for you to finish up, before reaching for the bot, the cast and your one sneaker, to neatly put them next to his shoes. 

You waited for him to straighten up before you limped through the apartment, towards Soobin's old room. The door opened up quietly, and you beelined for his old closet. You flicked on the overhead light, harsh yellow spilling out, and yanked open the cabinet door, before grabbing the first oversized hoodie and sweats you could find. "Here," you muttered, thrusting them at him. "Yours are soaked."

"Thanks," he said softly, taking them.

You hummed and gave him a small smile that didn't reach your eyes, before gesturing for him to leave the room again. “The one to the right is my room.”

He turned around and opened the door to your room softly, revealing the mess that was your room. A few pieces of clothing were strewn across the floor, accompanied by your physio bag and a basket full of freshly washed clothing. 

Heeseung took a few steps inside, putting your bag onto the floor next to your desk before looking up at you again. You hummed a quiet thanks before dropping your crutches onto the floor. 

Exhaustion hit you like a wave, and everything felt wrong: your wet clothes clinging cold to your skin, your smudged makeup, the compression tights that did not stop your leg from throbbing relentlessly. 

You just wanted it off. 

Wanted to rest. 

To sleep. 

Your fingers went to the hem of your shirt, peeling it off in one damp, heavy motion, letting it slap to the floor. Your wet jeans followed next, before you let yourself drop onto your bed to peel the tan compression sock off your leg. The scars on your thigh glared under the light, jagged lines from surgeries, from the accident, colouring and deforming the pale skin in different shapes and colours. You heard Heeseung shift, and when you looked up, his back was turned towards you, and you realised belatedly that you just got undressed in front of him. 

You pressed your lips onto each other and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, a sinking feeling spreading in your chest, before you turned around on your bed to grab your pyjamas. 

You saw Heeseung tentatively move, where he was standing before he raised his hands and pulled his hoodie over his head, leaving him in a plain t-shirt that clung to his shoulders, jeans still dark and heavy. He hesitated, glancing back, eyes widening when he saw you watching him. Heat blossomed in your face, and you quickly turned towards the wall, "Uh, sorry," you mumbled,” I didn't want to stare.”

Heeseung laughed softly, low and warm. "It's fine." 

Fabric rustled behind you, as you kept staring at the texture of your wall, you heard him unzip his jeans, before he spoke up again. “Where’s the bathroom? We should put our stuff up, so it can dry properly.”

You turned around and hummed in agreement. He was carrying both his and your wet clothes, standing patiently next to the door. 

“I’ll come with you,” you mumbled, already reaching for your crutches. “I want to undo my makeup.” 

Heeseung nodded, adjusting the bundle of damp fabric in his arms, your shirt tangled with his hoodie, jeans slung over one shoulder. You crutched down the short hall after him, the rubber tips thumping softly on the wood floor. 

He moved efficiently, draping everything over the shower curtain rod and the edge of the tub, hoodies unfolded to let air hit the wet spots, jeans hung straight so water wouldn't pool.

You propped your crutches against the wall and leaned in, twisting the faucet with shaky fingers. Your hands were almost working on autopilot, grabbing your cleanser first, the oil dissolving your makeup into milky brown and black rivulets, dripping from your chin into the basin. You watched it for a second, the grime of the day washing literally away, before scrubbing harder, splashing until your face felt raw and clean.

Heeseung waited patiently by the door, arms crossed loosely, eyes on the floor but flicking to you every few breaths, checking without staring. 

"Done," you rasped finally, shutting off the water, grabbing a towel to pat dry.

He followed you back to your room without a word, the air between you comfortable. Heeseung eased onto the bed first, stretching out on his back against the pillows. His arms opened slowly, inviting you in.

You didn't hesitate and crawled in, curling tight into him. Your head found his chest, nose tucked into the crook of his neck, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. His arms wrapped around you, firm but gentle, one hand splaying across your back.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" he murmured, fingers tracing slowly along your spine.

You nodded against him, eyes heavy. "Yeah."

Silence settled for a few breaths, just the soft thud of his heart under your ear, the faint whoosh of cars far below your window. Then the words that had been chewing at you forced their way up.

"I’m… I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice cracking on the last word. "For all of this. For calling you. For–"

Heeseung’s hand stilled on your back. "Hey," he cut in gently but firmly. His fingers slid up to your jaw, guiding your face away from his chest. "Look at me."

You resisted for a second, shame clawing at your ribs, but he waited you out, thumb brushing soothing circles over your cheek. Finally, you let your gaze drag up to his. His eyes were soft, but there was something steady, almost fierce, behind them.

"You did the right thing by calling me," he said, every word deliberate. "Okay? You did the right thing."

Your throat tightened. "But I–"

"No." His brows knit, grip gentle but unyielding as he kept your eyes on his. "Listen to me. I would rather you call me a thousand times like that than sit alone and be terrified. I want you to call me when you’re scared."

Heat burned behind your eyes. "I don’t want to scare you," you whispered. "I know that being there for someone during a panic attack is terrifying."

He let out a breathy, humourless laugh. "Yeah, I was scared shitless," he admitted, lips quirking in a small, self-conscious smile. "Especially when you dropped your phone. One second you’re talking, the next I hear a crash and nothing. I’ve never run so fast in my life." His thumb swiped at the corner of your eye where moisture had gathered. "But I’m glad you did call. I’m glad I could get to you. I’m glad you’re okay."

That did it. The first tear slipped free before you could blink it back, hot against his thumb.

"I’m so tired of this," you choked out, the words tumbling over each other. "I hate that I’m like this. Not just my leg, but… all of it. My head. I’m so–" Your voice fractured. "I’m so sick of being sick."

You dropped your face back into his chest before he could see more, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. A few more tears broke loose, dampening the cotton. Frustration burned sharp and bitter, shame twisting in your stomach. 

You knew you were a burden to your mom, to Soobin, to your friends, and now…now you were it to Heeseung as well. Calling him during an episode. His arms closed around you again, holding you tighter, one hand rubbing slowly up and down your spine, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head. 

He didn’t hush you, didn’t tell you to stop. 

He just let you cry, his fingertips occasionally tracing along your cheekbone, catching stray tears and brushing them away as they fell.

"I know," he murmured after a while, voice low and rough near your ear. "I know it sucks. I know it’s not fair. But you’re not alone in it, okay? You’re not too much. Not for me."

More tears slipped out at that, a soft, broken sound leaving your throat. 

You felt awful, heavy and raw.

He pressed his cheek against the top of your head, breath warm in your hair. "Y/N," he said softly. You don’t have to be okay right now." His hand smoothed over your back again, slow and rhythmic. "Just try to sleep a bit, yeah? After some sleep, everything will feel a little less shit. I promise."

You sniffed, swallowing hard, fingers still twisted in his shirt.

"Will you stay?" you whispered, the words barely there.

His chest rose and fell beneath your ear, steady and sure. "I’m right here," he said, no hesitation. "I’m not going anywhere. Close your eyes."

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

Sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how hard you tried, how exhausted you were, you couldn’t fall asleep. You were still lying in your bed, tangled up with Heeseung, his arm resting warm and heavy across your stomach. He had fallen asleep a while ago; his breathing rose and fell in deep, even rhythms against the back of your neck. 

The storm had faded to a distant drizzle outside your window. 

You felt tired down to your bones. Your leg was throbbing with pain now; it wasn’t bad, but uncomfortable enough for you to struggle falling asleep. 

The silence in the room left your mind enough space to try to piece together what had happened today. 

You haven’t had an episode as bad as today in a while. 

It was so frustrating, not knowing when your brain might shut down, being triggered. You should have known better today. You knew there would be a thunderstorm, you just…ignored it. You ignored the fact that you knew it was a risk, going anywhere when it might thunder. 

You sighed and tried to shake, but he thought away, letting your fingers lightly trace over his hand. You caressed the knuckles where they draped across your stomach. 

His skin was warm under your touch. 

His fingers twitched faintly in sleep. 

You hated how it stole your control, the ghost of the accident haunting you years after it happened. How it turned loud noises into crash, crunch, and blood. How it left you shaking and sick to your stomach. 

You were so tired of fighting it. 

Tired of the pain that came with it. 

The nausea that still sat heavy in your gut.

But Heeseung was here. 

He was right, you did the right thing. You were glad you called him. You were grateful he had come running. Grateful he held you through the worst without a single complaint. 

Your thumb brushed slow circles over his wrist. Thank god for you, you thought. 

The ache in your chest softened just a little.

Your ears perked up at the familiar sound of the keypad unlocking the front door. You heard the sharp sounds of your mom's heels clicking against the flooring before she changed them to the ridiculous Apeach slippers you got her a few years back. 

You glanced up at Heeseung's face. It was relaxed, his eyelids closed and his mouth slightly open, small snoring sounds occasionally escaping them. You knew your mom would check your room. It was the first thing she did whenever she came home. 

You should probably warn Heeseung, wake him up, untangle yourself from his hug, but you couldn’t care less. The two of you were consenting adults…cudding in your bed, there was nothing wrong with that. 

A few seconds later, you heard a small knock coming from your food before your mom carefully peeked in, only to freeze. Her eyes widened at the sight of you being wrapped up in a random stranger's arms, his face half-buried in our hair, while your legs were tangled under the covers. 

A gasp escaped her. "Y/N?!"

You hummed and freed your hand enough to wave to you, Mom. “Hi, Mom.” 

Even to yourself, your voice sounded tired and exhausted, and you saw her face soften for a second before Heeseung stirred slightly, blinking groggily. 

His gaze shifted from you to your mom in the doorway, and his eyes opened comically wide, his cheeks and ears turning red. 

"I–uh–shit–sorry, I–" he made an attempt to sit up, only to be stopped by your hand gently pressing him back into the mattress. 

Your mom stood there, one hand covering her mouth while she processed the fact that there was an unfamiliar man lying in your bed.

 Your own cheeks burned, but your voice stayed steady as you introduced them. "Mom, this is Heeseung. Heeseung, this is my mom."

Heeseung went rigid underneath you, and his face turned even redder. "M-Mrs. Choi," he stammered. His voice cracked high. "I am Heeseung. Lee Heeseung. From the team. Hi. Sorry. I mean, good evening. Nice to meet you."

Your mom blinked. Shock rippled across her features. 

Her mouth opened. 

Then it snapped shut. 

For a heartbeat, the room hung silent. 

But she pulled herself together faster than either of you, smoothing her expression into something composed. She looked almost amused.

"Heeseung," she repeated, nodding once. "Nice to meet you too. Do not panic. You two look cosy. I will cook dinner. Will you be eating with us?"

You answered before he could open his mouth. “Yeah, he will.” 

“Okay, I’ll make sure to cook enough then. I hope you are hungry, Heeseung,” she gave him a teasing smile, and Heeseung just wordlessly nodded, his eyes flickering between you and your mom. 

She nodded and backed out of your room, pulling the door shut with a decisive click.

The second she was gone, Heeseung let his head fall back onto the pillows. He slapped his hands over his face. 

"Your mom," he moaned. His voice was muffled. "She saw me in your bed. I am done. My career is over."

You laughed fully now, the sound was warm and light, before you reached up and pried his hands down slowly. He peeked through his fingers at first. Then he let you peel his hands away completely. 

"It’s not," you murmured. You reached up to fix his sleep-mussed hair. Your thumb brushed his cheek in a gentle caress. "My dad fucking adores you. My mom has never heard him or any of us mutter a bad thing about you."

"Fuck me," he muttered. But his eyes crinkled softly when they met yours.

“I don’t think we’re there yet,” you teased, before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his temple. Surprising him and yourself with the action, but he just sighed and pulled you back down against him. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

Heeseung's stomach was a knot of pure mortification as the smell of sizzling meat and rice drifted through the gaps in the door. 

Your mom had just seen him, wrapped up in her daughter's bed, sleeping on her daughter, and she invited him for dinner?

You were resting on his chest again, swiping through TikTok on his phone, while he tried to stop himself from panicking. He couldn’t understand how you were so chill about this situation. 

Your mother, the wife of his coach, saw the two of you!

He would get killed. 

Your father would kill him. 

You were still lounging on his chest, thumb flicking lazily through TikTok on his phone, your breath warm and even against his collarbone. 

How were you this calm? 

He cleared his throat carefully, and your eyes flicked up, soft and searching, locking on his. “Do you… Do you know if your dad will be there for dinner?” he asked, voice cautious.

You hummed, thumb pausing. “Maybe. But usually not. Thursdays, he’s out with friends.”

He hummed back, strained, fingers twitching restlessly against your shoulder. “You don’t think it’s… weird?”

Your head tilted against him. “Maybe? Do you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, cheeks heating fresh. “Your mom saw us. Like this. And now I’m… what? Staying for dinner?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t think she minds? Do you want to go home?”

“No,” he rushed out, arm curling tighter around you on pure instinct. “I want to stay. I want to make sure you’re okay.” 

His eyes dropped to your mouth without meaning to, then snapped back up to your eyes, his pulse kicking harder. He was sure you could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest now.

You shifted, propping yourself up on one elbow, your expression turning tentative, almost shy. Your hand lifted, careful, hesitant, fingers ghosting the air before brushing his jaw in an almost feathery-light touch. They trembled faintly as they traced the line of it, cupping his face fully, thumbs sweeping slowly under his eyes. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered, voice thick and low. “I promise I am. Thank you, Heeseung. For… everything.”

His free hand slid up instinctively, covering yours, pressing it firmer against his cheek, his thumb stroking your knuckles softly. 

“Anytime,” he rasped, voice gravel. “I mean it. Always.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth again, in an almost helpless motion. You were close enough for your foreheads to almost touch. He could feel the heat of your breath against his lips, your gaze focused on his lips, as he carefully leaned in, only to stop millimetres before touching your lips. “Dinner’s ready!” your mom called from down the hall, her voice warm and welcoming, breaking the moment.

You both froze, chests heaving, eyes locked wide. Neither of you moved for a moment before his forehead dropped the last centimetres to yours instead, your noses nudging, and your breath mingling together.

“Dinner’s getting cold!” she called louder, laughter threading through now, footsteps padding closer down the hall.

Both of you huffed out laughs before slowly leaning back after lingering a beat longer. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

You slid into chairs at the small kitchen table, the scent of galbi and steamed rice thick in the air, steam curling up from the dishes your mom had set out with practised ease. Heeseung hovered awkwardly for a second, eyes darting between the spread and your mom bustling at the counter.

"Can I help with anything?" he asked. "Plates? Anything at all?"

Your mom waved him off with a warm laugh. "Sit, sit! You're a guest. Relax."

He sank down beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table. The wooden chair creaked under him, amplifying the sudden quiet. He was hyperaware of every sound, every movement you or your mom made, but he forced a small smile on his face, trying to look at least a bit relaxed.

Your mom didn't let the silence stretch. She slid into her seat across from you both, her focus landing straight on you. "You doing okay, sweetheart? You look tired."

You hummed, swirling your spoon through rice, your hand flicking side-to-side in a so-so wave. "I’m fine now. I had a pretty bad episode earlier today. I completely freaked out during the thunderstorm, but Heeseung got me home safely; luckily, he was on the campus.”

Your mom's gaze shifted to him then, warm gratitude lighting her face. "Thank you for that, Heeseung. I’m glad you were here for Y/N."

Heeseung's neck went hot, his fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "N-no problem. Really. Happy to–glad I could help." Smooth.

Really smooth. 

He winced internally, his ears burning as he stabbed at a piece of meat.

She nodded, satisfied, then turned back to you. "Honey, do you want me to call Dr. Kim and schedule an appointment? Just to talk it through?"

You shook your head firm. "No, thanks. I'll handle it myself if I need to. I promise. I know how."

She sighed but nodded, letting it drop. 

"I think I’ll need to vist her soon. Work is going to drive me crazy one day. One of our indie acts just landed a collaboration with that big group everyone's buzzing about. You know the one you’ve told me about," she gestured into your direction. “But we aren’t able to come up with a contract that all parties will agree with. It’s horrible, Dazed is so hard to work with. I can feel my hair turning gray, every time I walk into that office.”

Heeseung's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Wait, you work at a Dazed Labels?"

She grinned, popping kimchi in her mouth. "No, I am at A&R at Big Ocean Records. Been there eight years now."

"No way." He leaned forward. "I've been trying to get an internship there for three years in a row now. "

Your mom lit up, and launched onto a berate of questions about him and his music. Questions he gladly answered, if it mean that he now knew someone working at his dream label, even if you now knew his soundcloud id. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

You and Heeseung were standing in the hallway after you had wrapped up eating dinner. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you asked, watching him put on his still wet shoes. 

He hummed in agreement, before he straightened up again. “It wasn’t. Your mom is nice.”

“She is. And she loved you, Hee, I could tell.” Your grin softened, but you glanced at the clock on your phone, and our expression turned serious. "Speaking of... You should head home soon. Dad might be back any minute."

Heeseung's face fell immediately. “Oh, Lord help me.”

You giggled at that and shook your head. “I think no one can help you, not even the lord, if my dad catches you here.” 

He shook his head and stood there for a second, just watching you smile up at him, before you took a step forward, almost stumbling into him, as you pulled him into a hug, your arms looping tight around his neck despite the awkward brace. He melted into it instantly, hands settling carefully on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"Thank you," you whispered into his collar. "For today. For everything."

He held on a beat longer than needed, breath warm against your hair. Then he tilted your chin up gently with one finger. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, your skin soft and warm under his lips. 

"Always," he murmured, lips brushing your skin. "Text me when you’re going to the rink tomorrow. I’ll come to the office."

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

ᵎ!ᵎ PT3 ──── COMING SOON

⤷ ゛OTHER INSTALLMENTS OF THE SERIES ˎˊ˗

PERMANENT TAGLIST @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @mangoescrazy @ddolleri @goldenmellow @en-boyz @bananasrme @classicroyalty @stars4kooo @evilangel404 @angelhyuka @heeseungiess @minjsui @andieekosmos @enhaverse713586 @dearestdreamies @rizz00 @aquitkuro @vixialuvs @typewonnie @vtyb23 @wintereals @enhapagluuuuu @kristynaaah @libby0705 @enhypenina @vtyb23 @drewstarkeyloverilikemysuitcase @nishimurarizzler @sectusempraa @sweetshinypuppy

you've mapped his schedule without meaning to. tuesdays and thursdays, practice at 6:42pm. mondays he lingers after class pretending to pack slowly- something you still can't find the reason to. and fridays he checks his phone before stepping outside, probably waiting, with his foot tapping the door frame; waiting for something you still can't figure out.

but you don't reach out to him. you're not dumb. instead, you adjust. shifting your routine by minutes- not hours- you can't do hours, you have to keep appearances. so you sit three rows up in the stands during his games, close enough to see his face and his brows curl, but far enough to remain forgettable. you never cheer too loud. you don't wave, or look interested- despite watching his shoulders tense before a kick, and the way he heaves when he scores. it's all purely harmless. people watch atheletes all the time. except you remember everything.

when you first fell in love with his soft features- the first time he got injured sophomore year and didn't post for two days. you remember how he limped slightly to his right the second week of lab, how his bag swung into your hip and he muttered a sorry, kindly bowing and complimenting your bunny keychain that you bought at the market he was also at one time, and with his cute apology, he smiled- even squishing it a lil. your keychain is now attached to your hip.

you don't tell anyone this, you don't even tell sunoo how bad the crush is other than you telling him it's just a small one. yes, the sunoo- the one who somehow knows everything.

you don't tell anyone that you memorized his student id number from a shared document "just in case." you don't tell anyone that you've walked past his dorm building enough times to know which light is his- which was always strangely dimmer than the rest.

but you've never crossed the line. you've never touched his door. you've never followed him at night. you just,

hover. observe, stay nearby. close enough to exist in his orbit; but never close enough to follow him at night, sniff his things, or grab his attention.

sometimes you wonder what would happen if he noticed you. if he just turned around, mid-stride and looked you into your eyes directly and not past you. if he asked why your gym schedule mysteriously mirrors his. that day when it comes, knowing you have calculated it, you think you’d smile politely and say 'coincidence' with a confident smile to match your meek appearance. just the year group's high achiever and the college campus sunshine, overlapping schedules because perfection grows from the same root.

it’s familiarity. and familiarity, you tell yourself, is the safest kind of devotion.

you've never achieved this level of devotion to other crushes before, so why is it that jake stood out to you? maybe its the difference in personality, his looks, or how easy he gets it. maybe, its because he saw you differently, his eyes intensely sharpening when you first made eye contact with him, and for a split second- you believed you could be seen again. you crave for that moment. devoted to living a life so blindly that he could one day enter again.

these recent days, you cling onto sunoo and yunah more, puffing your cheeks out in the library after successfully completing all modules, happy for another hotpot night with them and the rest of your friends, all while he tells you all the hot goss and scolds you for being glued to the phone. so you rest your phone down on the table, pretending to act surprised about the campus drama- when you've heard it several times through different accounts.

you stare at the time, zoning out. 8:46pm- your mind immediately goes to jake wrapping up his practice on the field, probably washing up and saying bye to his usual fieldmates, jungwon and jay. you narrate his whole routine in his mind.

he drives on wednesdays, so-

"oi." sunoo pushes ur shoulder. "finish your tea! i bought it just for you." he huffs, and you break a smile. sipping it mockingly in front of him who rolls his eyes. he then lights up again, "oh yeah! forgot to mention-" he pauses looking around in the local restaurant for other campus goers before looking at you again. "your little crush jake?" he bites his lip, "i think he has a thing with another girl, she's in physics 119. like you. 'jina'? ring a bell?" he scowls, "it better be a rumour, i swear he has a thing with every girl he sits nexts to." "he doesn't even talk much besides smiling and answering questions." yunah rolls his eyes. you sit there, laughing along. when in reality, jealousy boils within you. "its always the girl that initiates the talk, does he think high of himself?" sunoo hisses his lips. no. he's too humble. "nah he seems only the type to get what he wants and leaves." no, he'd never. but nevertheless, you respond; "i wonder who the lucky girl is." mundanely, causing a sympathetic chuckle to escape their mouths.

walking home on campus grounds in that dead of night, you slumped your shoulders. eyes pounding to the thought of waking early, just to secure the spot you want in chem. head hurting at the thought of someone else taking it, or worse, him not being there at all.

why couldn't it have been me? am i.. not pretty enough? am i not.. visible enough?

you shake your head, settling down your things before checking the college class portal's syllabus.

PROJECT: BOND_ASSIGNMENT A3_PAIRS_NAMES.slx

The project pairings will be announced randomly this Thursday afternoon if you haven't put your name aside on excel!

you’re already aware of the possibility before the professor puts you with another foreign exchange student again. reliable, class rep energy. you stay quiet mostly, but speak your truth and opinion in elegance. you're respected, cute, pretty, but never enough to be chosen by another classmate. you sigh again, before checking the class roster after your shower. refreshed it twice. memorized the alphabetical sequence. calculated where your name would fall if the pairs were random. you delete your name on the spreadsheet, knowing you'd probably be paired with another helpless student.

and then the page froze. another anonymous student checking the spreadsheet. 2:11am. it overwrites, but you quickly close the tab just incase someone catches your initials snooping around jake's name.

so you close your eyes. wishing the days go by faster to unknot the clouded jealousy of him being paired with another clueless girl.

the next morning, you arrive to class exactly three minutes early. to sit on your favourite spot. you always do. except, the class has been rearranged, desks put together in pairs rather than seperate, and some being occupied already by books and drinks. jake is already there. that’s new. he doesn’t usually arrive before the professor. he’s sitting in your row. not the front. not the back. your row. he looks up when you walk in, you don't meet his eye, your hands feel clammy. cold, your hair falls across your ear and into your view, you smile as a confident greeting. masking the heartbeat hastening your very body. he clears his throat, and he smiles like this is coincidence. you take your usual seat, pulling out your usual pen and journal, fixing the strap of your bag and unlocking your ipad.

it's no one else in the damn room besides you and him. and your mind cannot compensate for the speed of thoughts rushing in. you feel his eyes, hover. waver between you and the board that projected the college's isignia. he clears his throat- something you know all too well he does before he speaks, and so you bite the inside of your cheek- internally panicking.

“did you check the roster?” he asks casually.

did i.. accidentally change something last night? you panic.

your stomach dips. “yeah.”

did i sound too casual?

“late night,” he adds.

WHAT?

you freeze for half a second. “what?”

did somebody see me lurking?

“it updated at 2:11.”

your pulse stutters. you didn’t mention the time. you didn’t mention you saw it update. you didn’t mention anything. you look at him carefully. he’s twirling his pen. calm. "oh. proffessor worked overtime. typical." you comment, before looking down at your phone, absent minded.

"yeah." he replies. a wave of silence following. "im your project partner.. by the way. i-um.. checked the spreadsheet." he casually adds.

"oh." your eyebrow perks up. you can't help it. you take your time to turn to him. pulse steadying. you must keep appearances. your keychain on your bag jingles when you turn to face his shaggy hair. fuck,

he’s closer than you expected.

not leaning in. not invading your space. just sitting there like he’s always been that distance from you. like this isn’t new. those occasional blocky glasses he wears perched on that high nose-bridge you wished you could feel, and his hands, gripping the edge of his table. like he's ready to leap on the empty desk right next to you. "okay." you remind yourself to polietly reply to his comment. all while half your brain is trying to figure out if the professor really did put your name back in- or if-

“guess that makes this easier,” he says lightly, tapping his pen against his notebook. “no awkward introductions.” awkward? he think's i'm not awkward. good.

“i don’t think we’ve ever talked,” you reply, watching his face carefully. before watching the people pile in, saying hi to jake and you. his lips curve faintly. “not directly.” your pulse skips.

not directly.

“i mean,” he corrects smoothly, eyes turning to the professor settle down his bag and wave the cursor around, “we’ve had the same classes for two years.” you fakely chuckle, "right. true." you say, before being quiet. listening to the faint murmur of classmates talking about their partners. you failed to calculate the possibilities of someone putting your name back into the excel. or maybe you hit control z- either way- you thanked whoever put your name to the empty slot next to his name.

"i thought it was gonna be randomised." you bring up, to which you see jake shrug, bringing his bag next to you. cologne wading into your presence. "i think the professor changed his mind. typical." he mocks your tone. banter, something you have analysed is his friendly attribute of his.

he's talking to me.

you exhale as a laugh, slightly moving away as you open up your macbook, lowering your brightness. and while he looks away, you delete your notes. you delete his contact number, you delete everything including the evidence that you were on excel. you wanted to remain calm. and you did so by acting like you're not fond of his cute remarks.

the class lecture about the syllabus made your eyes roll. stupid easy investigation that can be done in two days. you wished it was harder, something that you could even imagine going to his place for-

"should we exchange numbers?" jake perks at you, whipping around with a casual smile, eager for your own casual reply. "s-sure." you answer, bringing your phone up, acting busy while he unlocks his. his fingers start tapping on his screen. "also, should we meet up soon? maybe next friday?"

next thursday. doable for you, very. but you know his schedule all too well, there's absolutely no way on friday's that he's free.

"i'm free all day." he smiles, again. a slight dimple carved from his jaw and chin compliments his puppy eyes. you blink several times, nodding to him politely, smiling back. "oh really?" "really."

"i thought a guy like you would be usually booked." you bring up, chuckling. sly. lying. joking about his apparent popularity, when in reality, you wanna know why his schedule is suddenly free for record-keeping.

"nah, i care about my grades too." he says, eyes too intense- feeling as though he's measuring your reaction. "that's new." you tease lightly. feeling a momentum in your conversation. "didn't think varsity boys had time for stuff like this."

his smile falters just a microsecond, small, controlled. you've never seen that expression before. his eyes fall between you and your phone. "i make time for what matters."

the way he says it makes your stomach tighten. you look down at your phone instead of answering. phone buzzing.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you blink- slowly raising your eyes to him. he's still holding his phone, but it's already back on the table. quick. you understimated him. "fast fingers?" you ask lightly. he tilts his head. "what?"

"you texted before i even saved yours." you comment, and you find that unfamiliar expression reside on his face for the second time- eyes fluttering. he chuckles loosely, shaking his head. "did i? maybe i just type fast." looking down at your lockscreen- "you like pink? cute."

cute.

pull yourself together.

you try to replay the moment in your head: handing him your phone- which honestly you don't recall, and him typing his number in. strange- but nonetheless, you are thrilled. officially having his number (with consent) is enough for you. "right." you smile again. the class officially starts with no extra comments made towards the excel, the professor- who seemed hyper for someone who had supposedly tampered with the excel early in the am- had adjourned the class early, gifting everyone an hour early schedule to their day. you watch as people pile their things and go, talking to their friends and newly found partners- in which you expect jake to trail after. you never dared to leave before him, so you hesitate packing, double checking your work as a means to act busy.

"so uh-" jake clears his throat. he hasn't left, which was new. you turn to face him, and his eyes trail to yours. looking at both before looking away. "library next week? 10am?" he asks. blocky glasses sliding off his nose bridge, packed away into his bag.

your mind spikes. thrill. heat rushing to your ears. study date. you try not to delude- i mean it's not a date- but-.. study date. your mind wanders. another thought quickly catches. you're always in the library at 10am regardless. perfect fit. "sure!" you perk back, beaming in a friendly sense, keeping your demeanour at a 'casual' level. you end up ultimately choosing to leave as jake's body refuses to move. you wonder why, but shake it off as you finally rise from your table. you feel a chill down your spine- something you feel uncommonly as you're getting up and swishing your bags between the narrow desks. you tilt your lips upward and wave to him before the frosted glass hides you; and your smile drops- something dark within you coiling as you pace down the stairs.

jake cares about his grades.

jake's a smooth talker.

jake blinks slowly when he doesn't understand a concept.

jake uses the smile emoticon- especially to women - and you gag at the thought of him flirting with that fling of a girl in physics 119.

and he's more.. secretive than i thought. charming.

you like him even more. exiting the building, you find yourself smiling, unbeknownst to the figure that watches you from the classroom- smiling back.

you made sure you'd be there at 10am, whether or not you were losing sleep to the thought of him waiting for you. you chose to skip your usual routine of buying vending machine tea, to rather fix your hair and choose perfume- all nothing but a calculated thought to present yourself well before he arrives- but to your dismay, you find his dark chocolate hair, glistening under the soft morning sunlight, his head resting on his palm as he scrolls through his phone, bag under his chin on the desk. your favourite spot. window table, the one that's quieter from the rest- booked under his name, vacant for you to sit at; and worse? two drinks on the table.

your heart pounds. no woman is ever allowed to deserve this. you believe. the way he doesn't know you- and yet..

jake is a kind and hardworking man. and you smile of the thought of him getting ready for you. only you.

"h-hi." you open the glass door and he shoots up. "morning!" he smiles, pushing you a drink. you can't tell what it is by its paper silhouette. you stare at it. i can't accept this- you think. "i-i don't drink coffee at this time, sorry- i-i prefer te-" "it's tea." he cuts you off, turning it around so the label faces you. "green tea." he says, to be exact. "oh!" you genuinely become surprised. your favourite brand, smiling back at you- internally bringing you joy. "glad you like it. it was my lucky guess." he comments, before opening his laptop, bouncing his knee. "thank you." you mumble, opening your contents before turning to him. "shall we get started?"

studying and relearning content was a breeze to you- and it felt even easier when jake nods to your voice- utterly submissioned to your delegated tasks you asked for him to do- all while you secretly watched in the corner of your eye the way he grips his pen with his fingers, and his palm grazing his keyboard. the way he only ever uses those glasses around you and his lip bites when he's puzzled- all you could do was imagine those fingers splayed across your body while you bit the inside of your cheek and smiled the pain away.

pull yourself together.

"is this right?" he leans in, chain swishing against his hoodie before he swivels his chair closer to you. you don't even pay attention to his damn formula (which you know is wrong) and his morning rasp seeping out of the tiny vocal cracks in his voice; while his beady eyes look for a steady nod of validation. "it's okay." you assure him. you look at the time. 11:42am. another class waiting for you under the sea of schedules you were entitled to today.

"is it time already?" he brings up the time after watching you fondle with your watch. "soon, yeah. let's smash this practice investigation out- okay?" you politely exhale, averting your eyes away from his hardened ones staring back at you. intense. you feel again. the same weight of staring like the first time he saw you- but this time, you're afraid to face it. 8 minutes pass and you try to wrap things up. he doesn't seem to say anything besides looking at your bunny keychain and fondling with his notepad. "same time next week?" you try to casually initate another time- this time you want to savour his presence more.

"sure!" he smiles up at you again. "what class do you have next?"

"physics. 119." you flatten your lips. straightening your books before placing them neatly into your bag. he hums, nodding away. "in the same class as her. right." he mumbles but you catch it. your eyes can't help but slightly squint at the thought of him thinking about her. so you leave, muttering a quick goodbye while you push away the doors.

"fucking hell." you grumble. you stay apparent, on the lines, respectable- and yet someone who's completely nowhere on his radar gets to just have his attention just like that? unfair. unfair. unfair. you repeat those words until you reach the doors of your next tutorial. blanking out to the words and equations mashing together.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you flinch at jake's notification at night. you remember how often his dim dorm lights were always on- but you never imagined he'd be studying past practice hours- for all you remember, he only stayed up late like that twice the past year, but nonetheless, your sources cannot just be trusted from someone who observes from the peripheral distance. maybe this was a sign for you to step further. you pocket sunoo's message into the back of your mind, insisting on helping jake in the back of the class while he messages back his dumb keyboard emojis and thank yous.

you feel.. loved.

though you know this isn't what it is- you feel like an ounce of your hardwork is being paid by incriments, and you hate to think that maybe you could end up being close to him. you love it. you love his messages- the way you could picture his heavy lidded eyes lifting just to think of messaging you late at night- it makes you so fucking heated.

he thinks of me.

but this level of seeking is probably never gonna end in the way that you want.

after sunoo’s offhand comment that jake never lets anyone in his room and barely lets people get close, something inside you twists, not in fear but in fascination. the idea that jake, who is warm and casual and almost flirty with you during your project sessions, is cold and distant with everyone else makes every moment with him feel rare and deliberate.

instead of scaring you, it settles into your chest like a quiet privilege. you start watching him more closely during your meet-ups, noticing how his posture loosens when he sits beside you, how his voice softens when he asks a question, how he looks at you like you are familiar rather than temporary. you find yourself in the same laundry aisle three minutes after him, buying the same softener he uses. you smile more when he notices the similarities you seem to fabricate.

he does not resemble the closed-off version sunoo described, and the contrast sends a new kind of confidence blooming through you. you stop rehearsing everything you plan to say. you tease him lightly when he misreads a formula. you hold his gaze a little longer just to test him, to see what he will do. he notices every time. he always meets your eyes, always gives a small amused smile, always reacts in a way that feels intentional, like he is matching your energy by choice and not by accident. with each meeting, he lets you a little further in; and you start to feel chosen, special, almost intoxicated on the version of him that exists only when you are near. it does not matter that what you have learned about him should make you cautious. if anything, you are the binding evidence that defends his whole being. instead, it makes you more curious. instead it makes you want to see what else he hides behind those closed doors. it makes you want to be the person he breaks his rules for.

days slip by in a way that feels almost curated; jake drifts closer without ever making it obvious, brushing your hand when he passes something to you, leaning in too close when he laughs, his breath warm against your cheek in a way that sunoo immediately narrows his eyes at. “he’s weird. not like 'quirky weird', like, somethings up with him.” sunoo mutters one afternoon after jake murmurs something low and suggestive into your ear- something harmless on the surface, something about how “you look better when you’re focused on me instead of the notes,” but his tone leaves your knees weak. you pretend not to care, pretend not to replay the moment in your head hours later, but when you get home that night the memory crawls under your skin, settling exactly where your fingers start to slip beneath your waistband. you’re just starting to let yourself sink into the thought of him- the way he looks at you, the way he stands too close, the sound of his voice when he says your name.

fuck. you're wet at the thought of his honey voice and supple lips. the image of his fingers reaching for your hand and your work- fuck.

"you look better when you're focused on me instead of the notes." you imagine his voice, moaning against your core- or worse, looking down at you when you sink into his cock. you palm your core, fingers pressed against your clit as they tent up under your waist band, and you circle slow. you haven't had time to touch yourself- especially recently when every time given the opportunity, notifs pop up, or lights tend to flicker past your window. and even, on some occasions, he messages you while you rub to the thought of him. you can't afford to lose a quick release of your inner stress and fixations- especially after what he said to you. "focus on me-" fuck. you groan at the feeling of finally being able to reward yourself.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

fuck!

when your phone buzzes violently against your sheets, you instantly let go of your core. jake. calling. it’s past midnight. your breath catches, embarrassment lightning-hot across your face, because how does he always do this? how does he always interrupt you at the exact second you’re thinking about him, wanting him? you'd never. never. complain about this but, you were so close to cumming it hurts. you debate letting it ring, but curiosity wins, and when you pick up, he’s already breathing hard on the other end like he’s been running or pacing. “h-hey,” he whispers, voice strained, intimate in a way that shoots straight to your gut. you sit up quickly, heart pounding. “jake? are you okay?” he laughs softly, breath shuddering through the speaker, low and knowing. “i don’t know,” he murmurs, “sorry- i don't kn.. you were bus- i mean, were you busy?” your whole body freezes. you look frantically at your phone, hearing his shallow breathing. you swallow, suddenly aware of your shaking fingers, that same rhythm and tone you feel yourself to. fuck. it's too perfect- the way he slips into your night at the exact moment your guard falls. “no,” you lie, voice barely steady. his exhale deepens, satisfied. “good,” he says, like he already knew the answer anyway. “i just… needed to hear you.”

"hear me?" "i-i'm stressed. about tomorrow. our review. and the away game i have later that night... f-fuck." his breath is shaky. and you genuinely believe it may be anxiety rushing to his throat. but fuck, the way he swore under his breath against your phone? the way he's breathing like.. no. you can't think like this. you're slipping. slipping control. slipping the devotion of staying borderline on the edges of obsession. but your fingers slowly sink back down, rimming the edge of your panties.

perfect sunshine, stressed enough to call you. hm, if you would, you'd fuck that stress out of him.

"it's gonna be okay, jake.." you whisper, and you feel a shift, like linen shuffling over his mic. is he in bed? you wonder. he should be. he's got practice early in the morning, and sooner he'll be in class with you. "it's late. we should just end-"

"no!" he shudders. "i mean, no," he inhales, voice vibrating like he's holding back a groan. it makes you wetter by the milisecond. this feels right. you lie to yourself, pathetic, the way you're running your fingers down your folds while you hear his breath stutter over his silly thoughts. but it's perfect. stars aligning- just for you.

jake wants to stay in call with me. is all the news you can muster from his response. and you can't help but get off to it.

"you there? y/n?" jake calls out to you, "please.. say something." "hn-" you bite back a moan. "j-jake," you mildly whisper. and you hear the shifting of his sheets on the others side. "why.. are you calling me?" you ask quietly. then, softer, "of all people?"

"what do you mean, of all people?" he holds his breath, you can feel it through the phone. "you have friends- teammates.. girls." you stop, "i'm not exactly your first point of contact."

"f-fuck." you hear faintly. muffled like he covered his mouth. was that a whimper? "'cos you always seem to answer," he inhales. "everything. you always answer everything. even to others."

even to others? like your friends? and classmates..? now that you think about it, what does he know of you? "oh." you reply, trying to shift the awkward tension. "you seem to be out of breath." you whisper-talk, "did you.. run?" jake never goes on runs, even when advised to. he hates cardio. "...yes." he confidently says, but part of you, feels like he's lying. the same gut feeling you get when he loses composure, even for half a second. there's a silence that hangs for a few.

"about chem.. you'll be okay. trust me. we'll pull through." you reassure him, fingers still resting ontop of your core. "a-and my game..?" he asks. there it is, his breath holding back again. "if it helps, i'll be there to support you." if only he knew how much you already do that.

"really?" he exhales. "yes, jake. i'll watch you. i-if i have tim-." "say you wanna see me." bold. jake said it with no hesitation. like he shot up from his bed. "say that if you have time, you'll come see me." he softens his tone, quieter. raggedy.

"i really wanna see you play, jake. if- i.. have time." he huffs through the phone hearing your words whistle back. 'if i have time.' you replay, cautious of your reply.

because you always have time. for him. "jake?" you hasten your fingers, only hearing muffling groans and the shuffling of linen from his end. "f-fuck. hello?" you're desperate to cum to his voice, hardened by his odd nature to desperately want you. filthy. messy. you find yourself, sweat clinging to your forehead and your panties carrying the slick you keep sticking to.

"good. so f'good." you hear. your mind registers that jake is murmuring things, maybe half asleep on call with you. but your body responds to his half strong response, his voice croaking, higher, whiny at the ends of his syllables. you cum. quietly. you try to hold back a moan, but it ends up catching slightly on the mic.

shuffling, breathing. ragged breathing. "jake?" you call, pretending not to be breathless. pretending that you didn't just cum to your classmate. your new friend. your jake.

"s-sorry y/n, sweets. i fell asleep, or something." he mumbles the rest. "see you later today?"

"yes." you clear your throat. "goodnight. jake." you try to sound cold. "goodnight, y/n. thank you." guilt washes over you, and you clean and scrub until you feel pure- less creepy- less- obsessive. you don't sleep that night. i mean, who are you to blame, you practically came over and over to the sound of his panting words.

a smile creeps up. so painfully tight it cracks the corner of his lips.

3:32am.

she always has time. even if the bleachers are stained by the rain.

y/n has free time on thursdays. after physics 119. she sits nexts to jina. that stupid girl that won't let me know y/n's laptop password.

y/n always goes home. unless sunoo asks her out for hotpot.

polkadot panties on thursdays. my favourite.

sunoo is getting onto me. nuisance.

she breathes heavier when she lies. lowers her voice when embarassed.

jake smiles into his pillow, cum stained briefs sticking against his abs. "and she sounds beautiful when she tries to hide it." he whispers, staring at the dark ceiling. the array of monitors stacked like cctv brims the room with blue. pictures of you. videos. notes. your printed grades. your number written on wherever it could be read- and a stack of perfumes- ones you prefer for men, clothes bought still in their packages that suit your style for sporty guys; and stacks of glasses and accessories- just like what you stop and pause to stare at in a man; everything catered for you. everything to do with you. codes run like stopmotion in one of his monitors- and it whirs to the sound of his nails digging into his cuticles. "she picked up." he whispers, "she always picks up. good to know." he laughs. he stairs at the bottom side monitor to the left of his bed. a site pinging a glowing red dot to know that you're safely sleeping in your bed- now glowing yellow to notify low battery.

"fuck." he knits his brows. "now what?"

the morning seeps into your blinds and you're already behind. you swiftly get up- late. you don't even know how the alarm failed to go off, but you scramble, lips glossy and swiped over your lips, hair a little domesticated than your normal perfect class president appeal everyone expects from you. rushed. vulnerable. exposed. messy. messy. messy.

when you swing your bag out onto the nearest full campus bus, you squeeze between others to sit near the middle. you sit on the edge of the seat, surrounded by strangers, uneven pulse carrying you from last night. your bag strap yanks back when you feel a tug at the zip. you think it's fabric catching onto someone, or someone trying to latch on to the jerking vehicle. and because of the time, you failed to notice a familiar piece of you snapping off, tagging off and hurrying to class to find jake not even there. you didn't notice the hand that was quicker than your legs.

you sit, silently huffing. mind worrying where he might be. irritation replaces anxiety. stressed for your project review, waking up late from his call- what if it wasn't real? what if all your hard work of knowing him gone to waste after being exposed? you huff your hair out of place, straightening your pens to keep calm. five minutes pass.

then the door opens.

he steps in like he owns the room. hair slightly damp like the gym showers soaked him. hoodie half zipped. lips parted like he hurried. his eyes find you immediately.

immediately.

his apology to the professor is soft, casual. he doesn't look embarassed, he doesn't look pressured. he seems as if the call that happened last night was your imagination, that his stress- his vulnerability-was a fallacy.

he sits nexts to you like always now. regardless of the project review. you feel guilty, taking people's chances sitting next to him- but you feel the genuine urgency in him wanting to secure the spot next to you. "overslept." he mutters, voice low. croaky. just for you to hear.

your facade builds up again. yes, despite the lack in keeping appearances today, you still flatten your pink tinted lips together, rolling your eyes as your sweater bunches at your sleeves. "that's new."

he slowly grins, "i was up late." as a proof that last night was real. your throat tightens. "studying?" you ask lightly, "yeah. something like that." he adds on to your joke.

while the professor continues to meet each pair, you two sit at the back, fondling with both of your paperwork. his knee brushes yours under the desk- not moving away. he leans closer than necessary to open his notebook for the umpteenth time. his perfume wades into your air while he chuckles about your messy hair. he asks again about the examples you solved. about things he already knows.

he's performing.

for you.

and you feed into it so easily.

you correct his formula, taking the pencil from his hand. he lets you. you laugh quietly at something small. he watches your mouth when you do. he taps his pen against your notebook like he's restless, like he needs your attention anchored back at him at all times- and you gladly do. you've always, always- always, have.

you don't realise you're glowing- nor do you realise your bag feeling lighter. the professor is still occupied. still working on a few pairs a couple of rows in front of you. he tilts his head, pretending to notice something. "oh," he says casually, reaching into his hoodie pocket before you could turn around. he pulls it out. "you dropped this."

your pink bunny keychain, dangling from his slender fingers. the stitching a little tattered, but nonetheless, alive and now in the palm of your hand. your heart stutters, "i-what? when?" you mutter your thank yous. "found it on the way here." he shrugs.

you frown faintly, thumb brushing its ears. you look at it's buttoned eyes, something different points out to you. the buttoms are aligned neater, symmetrically. your eyebrows knit and your eyes stutter, convinced it was just only recently you observed. "thanks," you say again, cheeks flushed. "i didn't notice." he smiles.

of course you didn't.

he felt the old battery's weight in his hand earlier, and had pressed his thumb against the tiny seam he stitched himself weeks ago. had replaced the beeping tracker's battery with an identical plush, same thread, pink and cute just how you like it- before you even reached the bus stop. he was on campus two whole hours before you. not including practice.

you always rush when you're flustered, don't you?

you don't double check your bag around me, do you?

you trust me, don't you?

jake watches your fingers brush the bunny absentmindedly as you tuck it back into your zipper. "what would i do without you?" you say outloud, watching him chuckle, pushing his glasses back to look at you properly.

then there's that look he gives you. one you can't seem to find on others- or even from him to others; only you. the one that makes you feel visible, seen. his jaw tightens for a second. "you don't have to find out."

what does that mean? you wonder, but you shake it off. you're getting somewhere.

later down the hour, the professor ends up dismissing you and jake's investigation, saying it was unnecessary to check on high achievers. "you both know what you're doing. no need to stress. jake- your report is very good. keep it up."

you look at jake. raising a brow. there was really no need for a call last night.

you wonder, if the shaking breath and the late hour meant something real.

or maybe he wanted me on the line.

class resumes as normal- this time you leave earlier, you feel grimy, the feeling of sin still washing over you from last night. you shuffle your bag, your books, your bunny plush dangling from your shoulder. you check the time, mentally checking that jake would probably leave to go to his dorm soon. as you get up, you feel a tug at your sweater.

you turn, seeing jake, eyes crossed and wide, surprised you're leaving early. "see you at the game? tonight?" voice raspy at the ends, in the way that you know (but you can't accept) is desperation. why does he want to see you out of all people?

right. his game he practically begged tor you to watch. you can't escape it now. "o-of course. see you." you press your lips together, smiling as you casually can.

later that day, you sit in the bleachers, bag tucked between your legs, a whiny sunoo attached to your hip- teasing you for promising jake. what he doesn't know is that you've watched him several times. but you feel as if it's your first with the way you're in jake's line of sight- visible now- like you always fantasized even when you preferred being unseen. but visible now means visible forever- and visible now means- in your eyes- that jake likes you.

you watch his habits, his form, the way he squints and pants when idle, the way he laughs when his teammates slap his back. he checks his phone mid-game. smirking to himself.

what was that? you feel your stomach coil. what could possibly be more interesting for him to smirk at his phone for? was it a text?

you check social media, you snatch sunoo's phone to look at anything to do with him in any of the circles he's around. when sunoo raises a brow, he shrugs it off when he gets his phone back. what could he possibly smirk at? and why can't it be toward me.

it was obvious his team would win, and when he did, he scans the bleachers. finds you- holds eye contact for half a second too long before finally letting his teammates drag him into noise. sunoo squeezes your arm, tearing away your eye contact. "your boyfriend's starting to like you back." he jokes- half true. you blush immensely at sunoo's comment. punching his shoulder softly. jake goes back to looking at you- eyebrows furrowed at the way you look at sunoo. the way you touch him so casually. you're literally only here for his game, and jake has counted that you've given too much attention towards sunoo for more than a minute too long, while he counted in his mind that you've watched for approximately nine. sunoo's is one too many.

what could you possibly be smirking at?

the team drags him away, and you end up walking home with sunoo- texting him before the night could end.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

the house is already loud before you even reach the door. bass leaking through the walls like a heartbeat, front porch crowded with bodies, laughing too hard, drinks sloshing in red cups- bodies swaying to incoherent music nobody can really hear. you shudder. sunoo drags you inside by the wrist, beaming with excitement, already greeting three people you've seen twice- passing you drinks like it was waiting for you. you down it of course, matching their vibe. the air inside was warm. thick, heavy. soiled with perfume and sweat, and the sweet burn of cheap alcohol. feeling slightly out of place, you clutch your drink, scanning the rooms instinctively even though you told yourself you wouldn't come here looking for him.

and then you see him. not directly. first you see jay- leaning near the staircase talking to jungwon, their heads close together like they're trying to hear eachother over the loud music. he catches the inkling that someone's staring, and his expression shifts when he sees the room and finds your eyes staring back. you see the way his face subtly tenses, nudging jungwon with his elbow, murmuring something you wish you could hear. now both are glancing your way; not long enough to be obvious, but long enough to make your stomach churn. and so you look away quickly, pretending you didn't notice.

sunoo has already disappeared toward the kitchen, with yunah kissing your cheek, introducing you to two girls you remember her fawning about. they pull you along easily, and soon the awkward wall crumbles. you and your girls are loud in the friendly way that makes everything feel lighter. a vision you've never dreamt about, and a colour you've newly discovered, you drink questionable things in one hand, smoke wonders with the other- and you giggle at the thought of releasing a carefree, non-pyschotic self to the world. you hug girls and clink drinks with guys, you get recognised for your quiet demeanour, high grades and pretty face. you believed you were outcasted- when all in reality, it was the sin of loving jake that held you down. someone compliments your skirt, and a few others take you with them to the living room to reside by the louder music and bad dancers.

for a little while you forget about watching- you forget about being careful. you just exist in the noise- feeling, being, existing- seen; without a prompt or person.

still, every once in a while, you feel it. that prickle at the back of your neck. the strange sensation of being looked at for longer than necessary. every now and then you catch pieces of him instead of the whole- his shoulder disappearing through the hallway, his laugh near the kitchen doorway, a flash of his hoodie- a hand reaching for a cup.

it feels like orbiting. like both of you are circling the same centre, gradually closing, without yet colliding.

at one point, a guy approaches you while you're near the couch. typical questions like the others, this time, you're more sober. asking what year you are, where abouts you live- leaning too close to your ear like they always excuse themselves to do at parties. you answer politely, smiling, lazy, skirt riding up, baby hair sticking to your neck. hair blown out and your lips pink. he says a joke that actually prompts you. you laugh, head leaning forward, engaged in the conversation while your eyes wander over his shoulder.

and that's when you see him. again.

not jake, jay.

he's back near the staircase, but this time he's not laughing. he's watching. when your eyes meet, he lifts his hand slightly like he wants you to come over- quickly, urgently. like he wants to say something to you.

and then someone bumps into you, the conversation shifts, and when you look back he's gone. you shrug it off. the party goes on for another hour, maybe more- maybe a few.

yunah is no longer to be seen after disappearing with a group upstairs. sunoo drifts toward the back patio with people you don't remember hugging. you stay near the living room with a couple of girls who start telling you stories about some professor everyone hates, and you're laughing again, warmer now, more.. relaxed.

your phone buzzes in your hand.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you blink. you swear he was just here. and no, you're way sober than you think. you glance upstairs, and you don't find him. you glance toward the patio doors, expecting to spot his blonde hair- but the crowd shifts and the face sblur together, maybe he really did leave- maybe you just didn't notice.

you start typing a reply when you hear someone call your name. you look up. "y/n!" jay is pushing through the crowd toward you. not hurried exacty- but purposeful. his expression rests different up close. less amused, more- uncertain.

"hey," he calls, leaning in so you can hear him over the music. "i just wanted to t-"

his hand lifts like he's about to guide you somewhere quieter- but suddenly he's not the closest person to you anymore. a body slides between you before you even realise what had happened.

jake.

it's smooth enough that anyone else might miss it. the way his shoulder nudges jay aside- hand settling at the back of your wait like it's always been there. the movement isn't aggressive- rather, final. jay pauses, brows furrowing, softening at yours who squints in confusion. "she good?" jake smiles at jay slighty. like the interruption meant nothing. jay's jaw tightens, eyes flickering it could almost count like an eyeroll. "yeah," he mutters, glancing between you both before stepping back into the crowd. you rarely register the exchange. your attention is already caught by the warmth of jake's hand at your side. "hey," he calls, voice quieter now that he's closer. "hey.." you reply, surprised to see him pop up after all this time.

"you still here alone?"

"sunoo left apparently," you say, showing him the texts. his breath hitches when you lean in, unlocking your phone through your passcode. jake watches you press the numbers in, mumbling the numbers as you follow. he nods slowly to your complaint, like that make sense. "i did get to see him, he mentioned he might." he sheepishly replies. you frown, pouting at the ends. "to you?"

"earlier," he answers easily, "he didn't want to drag you out, especially if you're having fun." the crowd feels bigger, the bodies feel closer, and all of a sudden jakes looking down at you, his chest inches away from yours. his varsity jacket shaped his shoulders to tower yours, and his chain clinks as other people bump into him. his canines show when he turns to say hey to others- yet, his eyes still cling onto yours.

"you wanna stay?"

you hesitate. hazy. no alcohol needed when his voice dips like honey into your throat. his thumb comes up to brush a bit of hair on your face. "or," he leands down, "i can take you home." soft, croaking whisper that you swear was louder than any other music in the room.

your heart stutters, a lot.

you look at him properly, facing up where the party lights glimmer on his face for a fraction before its lost in the darkness- and then again when the light manages to catch him. the way he's watching you carefully, like your answer matters more than anything happening in the rest of the house. the party keeps moving, people enjoying their time while others don't. did i enjoy my time here? you think to yourself- but do i prefer jake to take me home?

"y-yeah.. if that's okay." you mumble into his ear, going on your tippy toes for him to shudder when he feels your hot breath and hands on him. his smile deepens, satisfied in a way you can't quite place. "perfect." he murmurs. as he guides you toward the door, his hand rests on your lower back, circling around the straps.

you don't notice jay watching from across the room.

you don't notice the way he shakes his head, walking away.

and you don't notice that sunoo never actually left the party. at all.

you try to look back once more at the front porch, but jake tugs you- clumsily. "let's get you home, missy."

the ride back is quieter than the party.

the streets are mostly empty now, campus lights stretching long across the windshield as jake drives with one hand on the wheel. the music in the car is low enough that it barely fills the silence. you’re still warm from the hovering noise of the house, from the drinks, from the way everyone had been looking at him all night and yet he circled back to you.

you sit angled slightly toward him, knees turned his way without thinking. for a while, neither of you say anything. then he glances at you briefly. hands tightening at the wheel, eyes flickering to your hand scrunched at your thighs.

“you were having fun back there,” he says. so he's been watching?

“it was loud, haven't seen others in so long,” you reply, smiling faintly. he hums like he doesn’t believe that. fingers tapping on his lap as the traffic light stays red. this is it now, you think. he ditched his practice run for my tea run. he takes me home. we barely talk about the project anymore. we talk about things he enjoys, and things i like. he's perfect.

“jay tried to talk to you earlier.”

right. your stomach flips. “yeah,” you say carefully. “he said hi- seemed like he wanted to talk to me.” "about what?" his response was almost instant. you fumble, shrugging- "i don't know.. you? maybe?" you were genuinly unsure, blinking rapidly.

jake’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. looking at the window as the gear changes quickly, jerking you forward fast. you huff at the change of velocity. “he does that,” he says after a second. “gets in people’s heads.”

you watch his profile while he drives. the way his fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel. the way his shoulders are slightly tense even though the road is empty.

“why?” you ask softly. jake glances over. “why what? sweet?”

you hesitate.

“does.. jay like," breathe, "d-do you worry about what he's going to say?” the car goes quiet again. he exhales slowly through his nose, looking at your silhouette reflecting off his window. “that depends on what he's gonna say.” you shrug like it doesn’t matter. “nothing important, i bet.”

his eyes linger on you for a second longer than they should before returning to the road. “good,” he murmurs. the word settles strangely in the car- silence hanging off the last word. good?

a few minutes pass.

you reach the stoplight near your dorm, and that’s when you feel it. his hand. it settles on your thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

warm. steady. your breath catches. you don’t move away. instead you look down at his hand, then back at his face. “jake,” you say quietly.

“yeah?”

his thumb shifts slightly against your leg. your heart is racing now. your thighs heat up, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. this is it. your heart races. your keep your appearances, despite the fever rising between your legs. “do you do this to everyone you drive home?”

he lets out a soft laugh. “no.” touch me more. “why me?”

he doesn’t answer immediately. the light turns green but he doesn’t move for a second. then he drives again. “you already know why,” he says finally. your pulse jumps, yet you don’t push further. by the time he pulls up outside your dorm, the tension in the car is thick enough to feel. neither of you move right away. the buzz of alcoholy bubbles within your chest, you're horny, still confident from the party- and the one you've had your eye on since ever is driving you home. and just like that, years worth of staying near his orbit led you to say this final.

“you can come up,” you hear yourself say. you didn't expect to say this sooner, but fuck, everything just turned right the moment that damn excel spreadsheet updated. you thank fate- but all in all, you smile to yourself, guilt-free of obsession.

he looks at you for a second like he’s deciding something. hiding the way he picks at his thumb cuticle, skin pale after pressing into his own fingers. it's all going to plan.

then he nods.

“okay.”

for someone that's smart- being in love makes you forget things. like how you forgot to even mention where you live despite him driving you, and how you forget to cover your phone passcode the first time he asked for your number, not to mention, the passcode to your dorm room.

you're biting your lip climbing up the stairs to your own place, heart speeding as you hold your heels. jake's trailing behind you- unbeknownst that he's filming. biting his lips to the inprint of your panties against your tight skirt, the way your huffing and arching after each step, and the way he swore he saw dampness right on your sweet spot. he waits, watching you unlock it as he memorises everything. he opens the door quickly for you after unlocking it in desperation.

inside your room, the air feels smaller somehow. more private. you toss your heels onto your chair, ruffling your hair as you move toward the small kitchenette. “you want water or something?” you ask.

“i’m good.” his voice is quieter in here. almost a whisper. he takes in your interior. exactly how he imagined. a few cabinets moved or rearranged from the last time that he took photos- but nonetheless, just like he envisioned. cute. pink. pretty. soft. smart- just like you.

you turn away for a moment, reaching into the cabinet. and in that moment, jake moves. his eyes scan the room quickly. the desk. the shelf. the window. small, precise movements. something small slips from his pocket, fingers quick and practiced as he sets it behind a stack of books on the shelf.

another near the edge of your desk lamp. tiny. silent. gone before you turn back around. and of course,

you don’t notice anything. you only notice how close he is now.

“thanks for the ride,” you say, softer.

he steps closer. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him again, the same way you did in class, the same way you did in the hallway at the party. his hand lifts. for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you. you slowly blink- heart exploding; but instead his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

slow, deliberate. his lips follow, grazing your cheek first. then the corner of your jaw. near your earlobe, down to your neck. your breath stutters, hitching at the feeling you've been wanting for so long- no, needing. you moan silently. he almost loses composure, body tensing at the blood rushing to his crotch.

he lingers there just long enough to make your skin burn, and fuck, it's so embarassing how much you're dripping. then he pulls back. “goodnight,” he says quietly. eyes trailing down to your lips again, biting his own, knotting his brows.

you blink. “you’re leaving?”

a faint smile touches his mouth. “for now.” he steps away before you can stop him, heading for the door like he didn’t just leave your entire body buzzing- like he didn’t just light something under your skin. you watch him go, heart pounding. and when the door closes behind him, you press your hand against your jaw where his lips were. wondering why he would start something like that only to leave. wondering if he knows what he’s doing to you. across the room, the tiny camera behind your books watches you pace slowly across the floor. jake walks down the dorm hallway already smiling- because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you think you’re going crazy, pushing you to go over your limits, wanting, shamelessly wanting him. what you don’t realize he’s been making sure you do; and the funniest part is you think you might be the messy one, the obsessed one. you have no idea he’s already ten steps further gone than you are.

too quiet, too empty. you stand there for a moment, staring at the door like it might open again if you just wait long enough. your jaw still tingles where his lips brushed it. your chest still feels tight from how close he was touching you. the breeze feels cool against your heat. you continue to replay it. his hand on your cheek, mouth at your jaw. 'goodnight.' goodnight? you laugh under your breath, pacing once across the room. the heated, slicky energy in your body has nowhere to go. it's worse now than before he came over. worse than when he had his hand on your thigh in the car.

you press your palm to your face- he knew what he was doing.

and so when you text him that night? begging for him to come back?

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

in truth, jake never left. he drove, slowly. just far enough that the glow of your dorm windows disappeared from his rearview mirror. just far enough that anyone watching from inside would think he was gone. the car rolled past the corner of your dorm building before he turned the wheel, circling the block once like a habit- like muscle memory. then he parked, not far. just out of sight. his phone was already in his hand before the engine even stopped. the second screen flickered on quietly, the small camera feeds activating one by one. the tiny lenses he had pressed into your room earlier caught the dim glow of your lamp, the edge of your desk, the soft blur of your bed. pacing. like how you normally do when you want something you can't have. running your hands through your hair. checking your phone again and again.

jake leans back in the driver's seat, slowly. the corner of his mouth lifting as he watches the exact moment you break. he had measured this almost perfectly. the kiss on your jaw. the pause before leaving. the silence after. he knew you wouldn't sleep. tension would bloom. knew you'd text like a desperate slut.

his thumb traces the edge of the screen where your mesaages keep appearing.

jakey please

his jaw tightens slightly. he watches you read his reply. you type without hesitation. biting your lip. bra slipping when you collapse onto your bed. good. good girl. so needy. he mutters to himself, salivating to you.

he then turns the car off, because you asked. one thing you truly got correct about him- is that he has never been good at denying himself things he wants. especially when the thing begging for him is you.

soft. the knock at your door came softer than you expected. two quick taps that almost blended into the quiet hallway noise. you were already standing by the time you realized what you were doing. your hand hovered over the handle for a split second before you opened it.

jake stood there like he had never left.

his hair was slightly more disheveled (deliberately) now, hoodie thrown back on carelessly, eyes darker and blown out than they had been earlier. for a moment neither of you spoke. the air between you felt heavier than it had in the car, heavier even than the moment he kissed your jaw before leaving. he watches the way he looks at you. brows furrowing at his sudden arrival and eyes. he walks in.

the door shuts behind him with a quiet click. “thought you just wanted to talk,” he murmurs, voice low. your throat tightens. “i did.” but you were already standing too close to him for that to be convincing.

jake studies your face slowly, the way your breathing hadn’t quite settled yet, the way your hands kept fidgeting near your sides like you didn’t know where to put them. his gaze flicks briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“you texted me like you were losing your mind,” his voice fries as it drags out.

heat rushes up your neck. “i wasn’t-" "you were."

you step back instinctively, but the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. jake closes the gap by following without hesitation, slow enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to. but you didn’t. “say it properly,” he whispers.

you blinked at him. “what?”

“why you wanted me here.”

your heart hammered against your ribs. every instinct in you told you to pull back, to recover the careful composure you had always kept around him. but standing this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his hoodie, the memory of his mouth against your jaw still burning on your skin, it was impossible to pretend.

“i wanted you,” you said quietly. "f-for a while now."

jake’s expression shifted. not surprise you were expecting. but satisfaction.

his hand comes up slowly, fingers brushing along your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your face slightly toward him. “i know,” he murmured. it's the tone where it clicks. where his 'i know' meant depth, like, really meant it.

then he kisses you.

this time there was nothing hesitant about it. the tension that had been building for weeks snapped between you both at once. your hands grabbed the front of his hoodie instinctively, pulling him closer while his grip tightened slightly in your hair, steady but firm. the kiss deepened quickly, breathless and hungry in a way that made your head spin. he bites your lip as he piercing his tongue to pry open that sweet mouth of yours. he growns as he pushes you into the bed. smiling. smirking as your close your eyes, spreading your legs while he leans into you, hands now pressed to the sides of your body, caging you in on your own bed.

jake pulls back first, just barely, saliva still catching between you. “you’ve been watching me for months,” he said softly. your stomach drops.

“don’t pretend you haven’t,” he added.

you stared at him, stunned, but his mouth brushes your cheek again before you could respond, trailing slowly down the line of your jaw the same way he had earlier. the difference now was that he didn’t stop immediately.

your hands tightened in his hoodie again. jake notices, of course he does.

a quiet laugh left him, low in his throat. “look at you,” he murmured. “you act so put together all the time.” your breath caught as he kissed your jaw again. teeth grazing it. “but the second i walk away,”

his hand slide along your waist, steadying you as you leaned slightly into him without meaning to.

"..you lose it."

you should have been embarrassed. but all you felt was heat.

and the strange, dangerous relief of being seen exactly the way you were. though, you have no idea he is even worse.

months, no- years. of pent-up tension. obsession, pining, and frustration of the thought of not having you until you finally gained interest in him crashes into him as he forcefully pushes his teeth onto yours, bringing a had up to ride up your torse and press into your neck to make you squeal like you always do.

"hardest part was getting you to like me," he breathes, panting into your neck, gnawing at your neck, "fuck! you smell so good." he growls, "second part?" his hands ghost over your breasts. "sweet. easy, fucking--" he gropes you with no hesitation, "fucking perfect. stars aligned. all thanks to me."

this is not the jake you imagined. his demeanour is darker, hungrier, cockier. whispering and growling incoherent things. you begin to realise if your yearning for him was already heavy- what could he have been looking for in you this whole time?

nonethless, you are breathless against him. hands gripping his hoodie like you don't know where else to put them. the moment he palms your breasts you swore you could've came right there. every touch he sends to feel your tits move under his palm sends you to orbit, and he loves every reaction out of you- you can feel it in the way he groans at your breathy and shakey moans. "j-jake!" you squeal as he shoves your knees open for his legs to pin you. "i know you like this." he pinches your nipples through the fabric, slapping them like he's been familiar to your body before.

has he been thinking about my body?

you squirm, trying to pry away from the sensitive slaps when he squeezes your nipples. you break a moan loud, slick gushing out your panties even when he hasn't touched your folds. he watches your face carefully. "you told me you're going to behave." he mutters, watchinig you squirm and attempt to cover your panties. "behave."

he clicks his tongue, hearing your phone going off in the background, you whip your head, knowing it's sunoo. "lemme-"

"behave." he reaches for your phone, reading the message, chuckling to himself before chucking it aside to your dresser- looking down at you. moonlight cascades down his nose and wet lips, and his eyes darken when he finds the sight of you erotic. "jay can't keep his mouth shut. can he." he mutters, before putting a thumb on your lip, swirling it in your saliva. you open your pretty lips before him and maintain eye contact while he watches you suck his thumb. "f-fuck." he groans, letting go of your lips, gripping onto your thighs while he strips his shirt, chain swishing like a hypnotic charm above you.

"you're so.." you pant, "this isn't real.." your heavy lidded, watching him go down to kiss you, leaving a hickey on your neck before kissing downwards, ripping off your top and unbuckling your bra with one hand. "yeah, sure baby.. this isn't real."

he sinks down to lick your nipple before sucking on them, hands trailing to hold the line of your back upward to his mouth, pulling you up to him while he looks you into the eyes, moaning. "fuck.. you love it don't you.." giving love to both of your breasts, rubbing intimate circles on the small of your back while you thighs quiver. "jakey.. please?"

"jakey?" he mocks, letting go of your breasts. "f-fuck." he looks up into the ceiling, like groping and touching and licking you was a portion of himself holding back. he's so hard and tense he exhales so loud before looking down at you. splayed out on your cute small bed, some hairs stuck on your cheek while your lips stay open and plump, perky tits out and pink while your skirt thats rode up to your hips show your cute panties soaked in sin. the way his breaths slow and speed up, was a curiosity you know you've encountered before. in the back of your mind, his voice replays, matching the sound of that one phone call in the middle of the night- where he claimed he was stressed.

he wasn't stressed. you learnt, he was..

he continues on his way down, exploring your body like a map he's already uncovered in his mind, smile so tight you can't help but moan his name when his lips graze your lower tummy; quietly resting at your waistband.

"pretty.. smells good. i know it tastes so fucking good.." he hooks his finger through the thin band, lifting it up just to see your folds glisten in the dim light. translucent thick sticky strings cling onto the fabric and web between your folds like bridges waiting to be broken.

you whimper at the way he blows cool air to see your thighs tense and shake, slick oozing out from the tight folds while his cock rubs against his denim, hurting under his fly. "all this for me?" he cooes, going down to kiss your needy lips again. and you nod furiously, begging, shameless, messy. "please.. please." you beg, salivating at the thought of him going down on you.

he uses his fingers to spread your cute pussy lips open, splitting them to see your throbbing clit hide behind the slicky foam. he licks his lips before going straight for your core, sliding off your panties and shoving them into his pocket. too hazy to notice, you moan so loud it makes him shudder at the power he has over you. he's lapping at your clit like he was born to do this, tongue circling and softly flicking while his nose occasionally bumps upward, nestling in between the top of your folds, bubbling the slick and saliva he's combined. his eyelids are resting heavy, looking at your parted mouth and red cheeks, tits bouncing when you grind against his mouth when he purposely goes slow.

he then sinks a finger or two while he makes out with your pussy. you yelp, begging him to be slow while sloshy sounds and wet slapping makes him moan against your core. "sorry baby, but you begged for this." he groans, gripping your thighs while he pushes up into your heat. his fingers slip out, making you feel empty. he then grabs your waist, making you prop yourself ontop of him while his lips act like your personal chair.

"fucking sit and grind on me." he begs, pressing your thighs flush against his lips to let you know it's safe to press onto him. in the meantime, he unzips his pants, cock springing free and leaking. you can't see it, but you can hear it. the fapping of his hand lapping against his cock, masturbating to the feeling of your sweet, sweet pussy against your lips. he can't even speak, just moaning, neck glazed with glistening sweat and liquids while he knits his brows, matching your pace with his cock. "'m gonna cum! jakey!" you cry, tears spilling at how sensitive you feel, being touched for the first time in so long, and it being like this? like a dream so out of reach you've never believed you could touch and fuck?

he nods under you, tongue pressing into your hole as you continue to clench your thighs around his pretty face. his hand strokes his cock faster while you stutter, and you feel it. "fuck! f-fuck fuck!" you cry, breaking down in stuttering moans while his gutteral voice vibrates against your swollen clit. the climax shot signals to both of your spines, thumping your hearts. jake hasn't come yet, he's been edging himself so in the final moment of your climax, he flips you over. you're flipped onto your back, and he presses your cock against your sticky skirt kneeling over you with his hard abs and wet face. "gonna cum all over you. yeah?" he bites his lip as you chase your high. you look down and see his cock. big. girthy, slightly veiny compared to his hands and swollen, hardening with every stroke until he uses his other hand to open your jaw.

"y/n. fuck, baby-" his breath hitches and you see his tip paint your body. your lips part, tongue out to catch the first few spurts while your tits and pussy catch the rest. he heaves, panting, cock spazzing while it milks the rest of your thighs, dripping while hard- still.

"beautiful." he breathes, tears brimming in his eyes from the taste and feel of you numbing into his skin like pins and needles. "fuck.."

you're sensitive and hot, sweat clinging onto your linen sheets while jake wets a cloth to clean you. he first watches you taste his cum- shivering at the sight, cock aching and hard again. you beg for a second time-

╭──────────.★..─╮. ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping! ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯ ╰─..★.──────────╯

round two never happens.

you're half underneath hims, his breath already unsteady from his phone calling. yours too under the pile of things cluttered when he threw it across the room. his mouth goes down onto your jaw, again, slow- like he's deliberatley ignoring the world outside your room. you try to get up but jake catches your wrist easily, pinning it above your head with one hand. "leave it," he murmurs against your skin. you swallow hard. "it's sunoo-" "i know," jake whispers, and something in his tone makes your stomach flip. when jay calls twice, you feel the shift in his body immediately. tensions, annoyance, restraint pulling tight under your skin. his eyes flick to the screen on your bedside table, then back to you.

you're both breathless, eyes glued to each other, magnetised- deaf, not hearing the messages you both were relaying to eachother while rubbing your erotic skin together. jake slides off the bed, kissing your wrist. "we'll finish this later." the promise is so certain, so solid, that your entire body answers to it. he clenches his fist, picking up his shirt. you scoot up but he stops you. dropping his shirt. he's carefully cleaning the rest of you, kissing and inhaling your scent and skin while he opens your drawer to place you in an oversized shirt- which is weird, you didn't even know how he managed to find it.

you kiss him, and he lets you, shoulders relaxing the moment you help him put his shirt back on. the look of regret pools in his stomach when he stands to leave, pocket still bulging with your forgotten lingerie.

you lie back onto your bed, dazed. adrenaline humming under your skin. trying to breathe normally as your phone vibrates again and again in your hand.

the next day is worse.

you barely make it class without thinking about his hands, his breath, his words, the look in his eyes when everything was cut short. you sit down at your desk before he arrives, hair neat, jeans clean, hoodie folded on your lap. you try to get your face under control, trying not to look obvious. he walks in- and your composure comes crashing down, pulse spiking.

but he doesn't look at you right away, and that's somehow even worse. he doesn't even sit next to you.

that makes things last night hang off the cliff. your heart races, messages left on read. your eyes pretending to be glossy from yawning. you want to cry. disappear. you risked it all to get where you're at. was it really.. all a fucking lie?

i want him.

a whole half hour into class, you're gathering your notes. you decide to leave early, not seeing the way jake slows down his writting, glasses lowering down, piercing his eyes into your back when you abruptly leave the lab. he grips the edge of his table, biting the insides of his cheek when he makes eye contact with you through the lab's window before you're gone. he then darkly smiles.

you pace down the hallway, until someone grazes your elbow, pulling you back into a segregated corridor. jay.

he looks tired, tense. like he didn't sleep either.

"y/n," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder like he's making sure no one's watching. "come here, please..just-" he clears his throat, softer. "just two seconds please."

you hesitate before following him into a small side hallway. he's running a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning to face you.

"you don't know him." jay states, quietly. eyes shaking. you blink. "i do-"

"no," he snaps, lowering his voice. "you don't."

you stare at him, unsettled. bag clinking against the empty corridor. "jay.. what-" "he's not what he pretends to be," he adds.

"jake's... he's.. obsessive. paranoid," he grabs your wrist to go inwards into the depth of the corridor, bringing you to the window that over looks the campus grounds. you two spot his jacket from afar. his glasses off, bag on his shoulder, eyes darting across the crowd around him in hopes he can see you by referencing your location from the bunny keychain.

jay clicks his tongue looking at him, jaw tightening. "that whole, golden-boy, friendly sweet image?" he looks back at you, staring back down at jake standing in the crowd. "what about it?"

"he bought it," he grabs your shoulders. "literally. bought it."

"the tutors. the scouts. the coach. the parties. the friends. the dorm. the prescription. the market. the image. his family- fuck," he stammers, "you don't know how far he's gone to-"

"jay, stop." you push his hand away, "no y/n, think about this." he gets louder.

"what kind of sophomore shows up into the term unannounced? and suddenly he just fits in? schedules perfectly aligned, my roommate kicked out for no reason. jake wasn't even like this when he moved in! a-and don't get me started on his room-" his head jerks suddenly, and your breath hitches when you follow his gaze.

jake. staring back up at you from the ground, through the tinted glass. expression unreadable.

"shit." he mutters, "seriously, y/n.. he's some.. sort of creep. and i know you like him but -just seriously stay away. please."

you gulp, taking in everything jay has just said to you. flashing back to the car ride where jake felt uneasy by the way jay approached you.

"sorry.. jay," you pause.

"but am i.. supposed to be scared..?" you smile, laughing.

he stares at you like the hallway suddenly tilted sideways. “what?” you laugh again. not loudly. not hysterically. just a soft, breathy laugh that makes his blood run cold, because it isn’t nervous.

it’s aware.

you lean back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the window where jake is no longer to be seen. you inhale, before meeting jay’s again.

“you think you’re warning me,” you murmur, smiling faintly. “but you don’t understand.”

jay steps back instinctively.

“understand what?” you shrug lightly, like you’re commenting on the weather. "i don't.. care." jay’s voice shakes. “y/n… please don’t tell me you like this.”

you glance at your bunny keychain, the memory of last night burning behind your eyes, the slick, the confessions, the way he said your name when you finally gave into him. you look at jay again.

“i don’t like it,” you correct him softly. you push past him, your fingers brushing his shoulder. “i love it.”

jay goes completely still. watching you walk away, down the corridor and out of his sight. he turns back around and sees him of course. his pulse deadly calm, expression unreadable like it always turned out to be. fake.

jake. he doesn't say a word. he just walks forward, quiet, composed, terrifyingly controlled. he grabs jay by the front of his shirt and shoves him into the nearest storage closet so fast. the door slams.

"told you to keep your mouth shut."

jay's voice cracks. "she deserves to know-" "say one more word," jake murmurs.

"and there won't be a next semester for you. do you understand me?"

silence. thick. dangerous. jay nods.

jake lets go of jay's jacket. walking back out the hallway, smoothing his hoodie like nothing happened. his smile turns soft, leaving jay to fend for himself, while he checks your location.

it’s not silence exactly. it’s something more deliberate. controlled. like he’s letting the absence do the talking for him. after last nigh- after being interrupted. after the way he left you wanting, shaking, thinking about him even when you tried not to- the quiet almost feels like a punishment.

you check your phone between classes. between conversations. between breaths.

nothing.

the longer it goes on, the more your mind spirals. maybe he regretted it. maybe it really was just the heat of the moment. maybe jay was right. maybe you should never-

your phone vibrates.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

his dorm is spotless when you enter.

too spotless.

like someone with money and secrets cleaned it all in a panic. his textbooks are neatly arranged, clothes hidden, every incriminating trace of his obsession tucked out of sight. for the first time, his room looks normal. boring, even. but you’re too distracted by him to question it.

he kisses you before the door even clicks shut. his hands find your waist, your neck, your hips, guiding you backward toward the bed like he’s been replaying this moment since last night- because he has. you climb onto his lap without thinking. chair smacking against his desk in a hurry. he smiles, leaning his head back when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you closer. “god,” he breathes against your mouth, “you really couldn’t wait, could you?”

you want to deny it. you can’t.

his laptop is open behind him on his desk, screen dimmed but not closed. something flickers in the corner of your eye as you move, but your breath stutters too hard to look properly. you grind on him, tits perked up, pussy salivating and drooling on his sweatpants. he's feeling you up like there's no tomorow.

you start moving against him slower, steadier, matching the rhythm he sets with his hands on your hips. jake’s head tilts back for a moment, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he watches you. then your gaze drifts behind him. to the laptop that bumps awake after the chair had knocked into it.

the screen wakes. and you freeze. because staring back at you,

is your room. your bed. your desk. from an angle you’ve never seen.

your breath breaks.

jake notices instantly, his hand slides up your spine, pulling you closer, eyes blown, forcing yours to look back at his. "don't stop." he murmurs, hands gripping your waist. you can't speak, feeling his cock tent up under you. "wha- what is that?" he groans, slamming the laptop shut while he carries you to his bed. "sorry baby, y'weren't suppose"d to see that yet." he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. "yet?"

jake smiles, slow, dangerous. you bite your lip. "keep going and i'll tell you everything."

your cheeks burn, grinding on his briefs against the headboard. but you don't ever plan on stopping- not now that he’s unraveling in a way you’ve only imagined in your most unhinged moments. his hand slides into your hair, not forcing, not guiding. just holding. "you'd suck my cock, right baby?" he pleas, without a second thought you move.

your knees hit the mattress before you even realize you’ve sunk down, your breath warm against his skin, your hands pushing his hoodie up, your mouth and blushed cheeks brushing him through the fabric just enough to make his entire spine pull taut. jake’s head drops back with a sound you’ve never heard from him before- not a groan, not a sigh, something deeper, cracked open from morning he held himself together around you. he looks down at you like he’s seeing a prayer answered. and you softly pull down his briefs to free his length, slapping back at you. "fuck.." you swear, hands reaching out to stroke his cock with two hands, kitten licking his tip where the precum stains your chin. his hands cuff your soft hair, massagine your scalp while you gradually warm your mouth by sucking lower and lower. he groans, moaning at the sight of you. "deeper, sweetheart. i know you can take me."

he encourages by pushing you down, and eventually he gives up and making you gag on his shaft. he keeps you there despite your throat constricting and your whines escaping. your knees buckle and feet curl feeling his tip tickle the back of your throat, restricing your airways in a way that produces more saliva at the base of his dick, foaming at his balls. he bites his lip, jerking up to hear you gag while tears form at the outer corner of your eyes, bringing the prettiest shade of pink to your cheeks. he yanks your hair up, pulling you off his dick thats raining saliva, spluttering across his thighs and down your pretty dress. "you did so fucking good, sweetheart.." he praises you, "think you could suck me some more?"

you take him in again, this time, his hands interlocked with yours while he watches you in psychotic obsession, smiling at you bobbing up and down so messily. "of all the things i pictured.. you like this is always the clearest. my beautiful y/n." he lolls back, hips stuttering while he pumps up into you- unable to resist the feeling of fucking your mouth. then he feels it, the difference in grip, your hand twists the base while your mouth sucks the tip, tongue swirling around while precum leaks and leaks down your fingers. jake's eyebrows twist upwards. "f-fuck!" he groans, "fuck sweet- i'm gonna cum!" he pushes you down even more, and you let him, feeling his hot thick cum water your throat. "s-shit.." he moans, "say ahh." he pulls you up gently, making you sit on his cock with your dress still on, your pussy rubbing against his length. you open your mouth and he grabs your jaw with force to examine it. he hums in satisfaction.

"good girl."

he mouth crashes back into you, all heat and teeth and the kind of hunger that makes thought impossible. your thighs tighten around him instinctively and the sound he makes against your lips breaks something within you. "fuck! jakey."

the call of his name makes his cock twitch, and he kisses as a reply. your hands trail down, lifting off your dress to reveal the marks he left last night. jake traces over them, shuddering. "fuck.. i've prayed for days like this."

"jakey.. please fuck me.." you whimper against his chest. he lets out a laugh. deep, gutteral, manic. you watch his face shift. dark. it makes sense as to why jay warned you. but piecing the fact that you've been seen this entire time? only you? only.. just for you?

"fuck me!" you beg, moaning into his ear until he nods frantically.

he lines you up with a slowness that is almost cruel, his forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like he’s steadying himself.

“the moment this cock goes into you, you will never get off of it.” he murmurs. not a question, a confirmation of something he already knows. you nod, barely, but it’s enough.

the moment he pushes into you, everything stops.

your breath, his breath, the air between you, it all folds in on itself. your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging along the tense lines of muscle as your mouth parts in a sound you didn’t mean to let out. jake curses under his breath, low and bitten-off, his grip on your hips tightening like he’s fighting the instinct to pull you down all at once. “god,” he breathes, voice shaking. “made for me. fucking made for me."

"tight ass fuckin' pussy. i knew you're only good for me." he laughs, smacking your clit while you moan in desperation.

you cling to him, dizzy, nails curling at the back of his neck. he kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, everywhere but your lips like he wants to take his time now that he finally has you exactly where he wanted. you shift, wincing at his bulging cock outline itself on the outside, and you whimper, the ecstasy of his tip rubbing against that gummy spot like it belonged. "so big-" you whimper, "s-so good.. fuck! baby-"

baby? he grins.

“look at me,” he orders you, and when you do, the expression on his face nearly undoes you. raw. unfiltered. obsessed.

“do you know,” he says, barely above a whisper- thrusting slow deep and rough strokes that make your slick fly across the wall- “how long i’ve been waiting to be inside you?” your breath catches hard, your body instinctively tightening around him. his pupils blow wide. "don't kn-ow jake-" "use your words, baby. use your brain. when did you meet me? c'mon i know you know baby." he's mocking your cute mewls and tones while he turns you to your back and fucks you relentlessly

“months?” he smiles, voice breaking on the word, not even breaking a sweat while his cock rams deep into you. "s-slow down!" you plead as his thick vein rubs against your clit. "no, you fucking slut." he spits, spitting onto your tits and mouth, fucking you louder that all the monitors wake despite being metres away from the bed. the bed is creaking hard, and with every thrust your moans multiply. he slaps your cute face, groping your tits like he needs to. “no baby i’ve been losing my mind over you for years.”

"and then opportunity presents itself to me. yes- making you mine." his hips move just slightly to snap rough flicks into your spot, enough to make you whine incoherent sounds and roll your eyes back "haah!" you pant. "professors don't fucking work overtime. i do." he refers back to the excel, then to your bunny keychain, reminded you of your habits with the way he presses his thumb into your thighs while all you have to do is spread your legs and take it. you try to hide, he doesn’t let you.

he grips your chin, tilting your face back to him.

“don’t hide,” he murmurs. “you wanted this. you begged for me last night. begged again today like my girl, and now that i finally have you?”

his mouth brushes yours, soft, reverent. biting it as he smacks your ass, speeding up.

“i’m not letting you look away.”

your breath trembles. you feel too full, too seen, too wanted in a way that teeters between intoxicating and terrifying. "s-full!" you whine, and he turns you around to be on your knees, facing you towards the array of his monitors, each with a cam that's got your wardrobe, and videos of last night repeated over and over. he pulls you closer, chest pressed to yours so tightly you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

"you like it when i overstimulate you, don't you?"

"you love it when guys grope you when you're acting dumb, don't you?"

"you came to my voice on the phone, you love that shit hm? don't you?"

“you have no idea,” he whispers, lips dragging along from your neck to the shell of your ear, “how long i’ve been imagining this. how much i've spent. getting you.

and the truth is:

neither of you are pretending anymore.

"look at yourself." then he faces you towards the mirror hanging off his closet. "look how good you look when you're fucked by me." he then leans down mid thrust, throbbing inside of you. "if i see you near another man again i will fuck you so hard you won't be able to see anyone."

the sloshing of his dick against your pussy is becoming a constant sound. you can tell his roommates were finally home- meaning jay too. it's probably why he's fucking you meaner, pushing you against the doorframe as you poke your tongue out for his camera. you're feeding into his obsession- all knowing because you're also into it. disgusting. messy. nothing like how you are perceived. but in jake's room where his sinful flaw is power? you both fuck eachother like rabbits. making sure every imprint of your slick and come has touched his setup and sheets.

"stay with me, sweetheart." he groans into your ears and you slowly go in and out, dummified by his cock squelching sounds inside of you. you can't help but get wetter when he changes positions, picking you up easily and freely as he wants- fucking you over his desk, sucking your clit and then raising your legs to fuck you over his vanity. hell, he even pushed you outside in the night and fucked you over his balcony railing while he had his hand over your neck so you wouldn't make a sound.

he made sure jungwon could hear. he made sure jay knew. he made sure that you knew it the most;

how in love he is with you. ever since you walked past him one night at a club, hips swaying like it foretold his future.

"jakey.. 'mm love you!" you cry out, dry tears making your hair cling onto your face like sweat, tits all red while your ass is plumply spanked, red and captured by his cameras.

he swears under his breath, forehead pressing to yours, muscles tightening beneath your hands. the way he holds you suddenly shifts — not rougher, but deeper, his body curling around yours like instinct, like he’s trying to fuse himself into you.

“fuck! y/n-” his voice cracks, low and raw, “i’m right there, i'm gonna cum! don’t move, don’t-”

your fingers dig into his shoulders and that’s when he completely unravels. "i fucking love you." he grows, gutteral and mean. your hips shake and your pussy to lets go, squirting down his abs while he yells. praising you and slapping his fingers down your tongue while you cum on his cock.

his breath leaves him in a shaky rush, his entire body pulling tight, burying his face in your neck like he can’t bear to be anywhere else in the world but inside this moment with you. the sound he makes; muffled, broken, helpless- whimpering, is something you’ll never forget.

he holds you through all of it. tight. like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip even for a heartbeat. "no one can do this to you but me baby, you hear me?" he gropes your sides to hard it bruises. you yelp and moan in reply.

cooling off, he stays inside your pussy, throbbing and slowly pushing in and out while , breathing hard, refusing to pull away. one of his hands slides up your back, almost trembling, and you feel his lips brush your shoulder in something close to reverence.

“did so well baby, i fucking love you." he bites your ear, hands reaching up to cover your body with his wet blanket.

you open your mouth but he cuts you off with a kiss- slow, deep, completely different from the frenzy before. cum leaks out for the second time. "baby, the only thing i don't know about you is your stamina." he deeply mutters into your ear.

"i don't know that one either." you pout, he licks his lips. "yeah?"

"let's test how much cum my sweetheart's pussy can take." he spits on you. the night drags into your body being squeezed and used, just like how you wanted it to be.

the room is unbelievably quiet after.

not empty, just quiet in the way the world gets right after something breaks open. the air feels warm and heavy against your skin, your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. you are still in his lap, still holding on to him, still trying to breathe through the aftershocks running through your body. his chest rises and falls under your palms, steadying itself slowly, and the warmth of him seeps into you until it is the only thing you can feel.

jake does not let go of you. one of his hands stays in your hair, gentle now, almost tender. the other rubs your back in slow circles that make your eyes flutter shut. his forehead rests against your cheek and his breath hits your skin in soft, uneven waves. he tries to speak but stops once, gathering himself, grounding himself in the weight of your body pressed to his.

then quietly, he asks, “you okay?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question. you feel more than okay. you feel like you have been taken apart and put back together in a way that makes too much sense. but you only nod, fingers curling against the back of his neck as if to confirm it for both of you.

he exhales with something that sounds like relief. real relief. the kind he has never shown anyone else.

for a long moment neither of you move. you stay chest to chest, breathing each other in, letting the room settle around you. you can feel his pulse in his throat. you can feel his hands loosen just slightly as his body relaxes for the first time since you stepped through his door. he looks like someone who finally got what he has been starving for.

eventually he lifts his head enough to look at you. the expression on his face is raw and unguarded. it is not the version of jake everyone else knows, the calm golden boy persona, the soft smiles, the easy charm. this is the real version. the one who wanted you long before he said a word about it. the one who let his obsession run until it turned into action.

“you are not going anywhere tonight,” he says quietly.

it is not a command. it is simply a truth.

you look at him and feel something inside you tighten. “i was not planning to.”

slowly, his mouth curves. the satisfaction hits his eyes before it hits his smile. he cups your jaw with both hands and pulls you into a kiss that is slow and deep and full of possession without force. it is a kiss that feels final. like a seal.

“good,” he whispers against your lips.

he pulls you even closer, tucking your body fully against his. the warmth of him wraps around you and you sink into it like it is the first safe place you have ever known. he kisses your shoulder once, then your cheek, then rests his head at the crook of your neck.

“i am done pretending,” he says softly. “you are mine.”

your breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair. there is no fear in your chest. only, devotion.

“i've been yours.” you whisper back.

his entire body reacts. he closes his eyes like the words strike something deep and final inside him. when he opens them again, all you see is certainty. he hooks an arm under your thighs and pulls the blanket over both of you without breaking the hold he has on your waist. you settle against him easily, naturally, like you have been fitting into this space for longer than you realized.

the laptop screen behind him dims at last. the camera feeds fade away. jake does not turn around to check them again. he does not need to.

you are already here. engulfing in his sin while your pussy burries the last bit of his cum inside.

your breathing steadies against his chest, your fingers still tangled in his hoodie, and his arm tightens around you one last time before he finally lets himself relax. this is exactly where he wanted you. and the quiet that settles over the room is not the aftermath of chaos.

it is the beginning of something that feels disturbingly safe for both of you.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

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h64<3 | always down for your constrcoskdtkove criticism on this one, it helped me take a lot of stress out writing this in my down time- so really appreciate if you say things that could help me be a better writer <3 fart

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permies:

@nikiswifiee @ancnymcnzjy @ja4hyvn @17ericas @hoonieyun @jellyluv4eva @wheretheheckis-ssaki @hyukabeanie @gxwesn @tojiworshipper @wonuziex @jaerisdiction @luhvletters @hoon2f4ded @enhanoa @ikeu05 @tokkisluv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @p--j--s--j @ilovhoonie @laylasbunbunny @fairystudio @mxxrtality

tags:

He hums in response back to you.

You thought he would just sit down next to you, maybe take his phone out to doom scroll or say something to you, but instead, he drops into your lap without any warning.

His head lands on your lap, arms loosely wrapping around your waist like it's an instinct and had done it a million times.

You look down at him, and blink.

"Heeseung?"

"You're comfy," he mumbles, as his voice is muffled into you and starts to sink into you.

You let out a little laugh, as you put your phone down. "That's not really a valid reason."

"I don't care," he murmured.

He tightens his grip slightly more, like he was really settling into you now. There's no tension in him anymore, no effort to act like anything. Just feeling your warmth that drives him into a even drowsy state.

Your fingers run through his hair absentmindedly, brushing his hair slowly through your fingers. He exhales, shifting closer with his cheek pressing more firmly against your lap.

"Long day?" you ask quietly.

He answers you with a slight nod, "Mhm." The room has eventually fallen into a quiet peace, where all that can be heard is your fingers moving through his hair and his breathing slowly becoming more even.

Then you heard a soft sound of pattering paws.

Your little white puppy comes trotting into the room, slightly wagging its tail, as though it knows where its home is. It circles around once, twice and then decides the perfect place in the whole room is right next to Heeseung's side.

"Of course," you whisper, smiling. "You're just like him." The puppy gives a tiny huff before curling up between you two. Heeseung shifts slightly then reaches out lazily to scratch him, his eyes still closed.

"Traitor," he mumbles.

You giggle and lean down to kiss him softly on the cheek.

He hums, eyes barely opening as he looks at you with a sleepy and expectant look.

"That's it?" he murmurs.

You raise a brow. "What?"

He tilts his head just enough, lips subtly—very obviously—pouting.

"You missed," he says quietly.

You stare at him for a bit then chuckle to yourself. "You've got to be kidding me." He doesn't argue, just stares at you, waiting like a puppy. Tired, clingy, and completely shameless about it. You shake your head but still lean down and kiss him with your lips properly this time—a nice, soft, slow, warm kiss that makes him immediately relax again.

He lets out a soft breath against you and closes his eyes like that's all he needed.

A laughter erupted from the living room, Stella’s laugh, bright and piercing, followed by Sakuya’s deeper rumble. The door to your room swung inward, revealing Stella, a whirlwind of glitter and enthusiasm, her bright blonde hair a beacon in the dim light. Jiwoo, the stoic fellow, leaned against the doorframe, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. Sakuya, taller than he had any right to be at his age, peered over Stella’s shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Still in your pajamas?" Stella’s voice, a melodic chime, cut through the quiet. She strode in, surveying the chaos of your room with a theatrical gasp. "Darling, we simply cannot have this. It's Friday night!"

You frowned, pulling your robe tighter. "I was thinking of, you know, actually packing. Semester starts Monday."

"Packing?" Sakuya scoffed, stepping into the room. He snagged a discarded t-shirt from your floor, sniffing it dramatically. "You can pack all day Sunday. Tonight, we celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" You raised an eyebrow. "The end of my peace and quiet?"

Jiwoo pushed off the doorframe, her dark eyes finally meeting yours. "Stella found this new club. Supposedly, it's 'the place to be'." Her tone held a hint of sarcasm, but her gaze lingered on Stella, a fondness there you rarely saw.

"It's going to be epic!" Stella clapped her hands together, a shower of glitter raining from her palms. "Live dj, amazing drinks, and apparently, a killer dance floor. You need this, y/n. A last hurrah before the academic grind swallows us whole."

"I don't know, guys. I'm really not in the mood." You gestured vaguely at the suitcase. "Plus, I have zero energy for clubbing."

"Nonsense!" Stella waved her hand, dismissing your protest. She marched straight to your closet, already pulling out hangers. "We’ve got just the thing. Jiwoo, help me out here."

Jiwoo, with an almost imperceptible roll of her eyes, joined Stella. They rummaged through your clothes, a flurry of fabric and hangers, while Sakuya plopped down on your bed, pulling out his phone.

"Seriously, I just want to relax tonight," you tried again, but your voice was already losing conviction against their combined assault.

"Relaxing is for grandmas," Sakuya mumbled, his thumbs flying across the screen. "You're young! Live a little!"

"Oh, this one!" Stella shrieked, holding up a shimmering, impossibly tiny dress. It was a slip of emerald green silk, barely more than a few strategically placed threads. It looked like it belonged on a runway, not in your rather conservative wardrobe.

Your eyes widened. "Stella, where did you even get that? I've never seen it before."

"A little gift from your fairy godmother," she winked, thrusting it into your hands. "Now, put it on. We're leaving in twenty."

You stared at the dress, then at your friends. Jiwoo just watched, a knowing glint in her eyes, while Sakuya looked up from his phone, a grin spreading across his face. You knew then, resistance was futile.

These brats.

"Fine," you grumbled, heading towards the bathroom. "But if I freeze to death, it's on you."

"You'll be too busy dancing to notice the cold!" Stella called after you, her voice brimming with triumph.

Emerging from the bathroom, you felt a chill despite the warm air in your apartment. The emerald silk clung to your curves, the fabric so minimal it felt like a second skin. It plunged daringly at the neckline, revealing a generous expanse of cleavage, and rode high on your thighs, leaving little to the imagination. You tugged self-consciously at the hem, feeling exposed. This was definitely not you.

"Whoa." Sakuya's voice, usually full of playful sarcasm, was now a low, awestruck whisper. His eyes, usually fixed on a screen, were wide, scanning you from head to toe. He had been engrossed in a game on your Oculus, but the headset now lay abandoned on the floor. Stella and Jiwoo, who had been patiently waiting, exchanged a triumphant glance.

"Told you it would look amazing," Stella purred, adjusting a stray strap on your shoulder. "You're a vision, my dear."

Jiwoo simply nodded, a rare, genuine smile gracing her lips. "she's right. You look... stunning."

Sakuya swallowed, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. "I, uh, I didn't realize you had that in you."

You rolled your eyes, a smirk forming despite your discomfort. "You're going to be the first one I kick out when I get my own place, you know that?"

He just laughed, still a little flustered. "Worth it."

The club pulsed with a rhythm that vibrated through the floorboards and up into your bones. Neon lights painted the crowd in electric blues and vibrant purples, bodies a swirling mass on the dance floor. The air, thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and something vaguely fruity, hummed with energy. You had to admit, Stella and Jiwoo had chosen well. This place was lit.

You found a quiet corner near the bar, the thumping bass a manageable thrum here, and ordered a gin and tonic. Stella quickly spotted some of her other friends across the room, disappearing into the throng with a wave. Jiwoo, the loyal girlfriend, was already engrossed in conversation with her boyfriend, who had met them at the door.

Sakuya, however, was in a different predicament. From your point, you watched as a trio of impeccably dressed women descended upon him, their smiles predatory. His face, usually pale, bloomed into a deep, mortified crimson. He stammered, gestured awkwardly, and then, with a panicked look over his shoulder, practically sprinted towards the washrooms, leaving the women bewildered. You laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound, shaking your head. Poor kid.

You nursed your drink, the cool glass a pleasant contrast against your fingertips, and struck up a casual conversation with the bartender, an old man with a kind smile and an impressive array of tattoos. You chatted about the club, the crowd, and the surprisingly potent concoctions he was mixing. After a while, another bartender, a burly man with a neatly trimmed beard, approached you, holding out a fresh drink.

"This is for you," he said, his voice gruff but polite.

You blinked, surprised. "Oh, I didn't order another one."

He gestured with his chin towards a figure seated at the corner of the island bar. "He sent it."

You followed his gaze. There, perched on a high stool, was a man holding an identical drink. His dirty blonde hair hitting the light, having an fair share of a sharp, chiseled jawline. He wore a fitted black shirt that stretched taut across broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. He exuded an effortless cool, a quiet confidence that drew your eye like a moth to a flame. God really had taken his sweet time crafting this one. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your gaze boring into him, tracing the elegant line of his neck, the subtle curve of his plump lips. He was devastatingly handsome.

Just as you were about to convince yourself to look away, to regain some semblance of composure, his eyes met yours. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face, sending a jolt through you. Was the room suddenly hotter, or was that just you?

He rose from his stool, moving with an easy grace, and walked towards you. He took the empty seat beside you, his presence instantly amplifying the warmth you felt. His scent, a subtle mix of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine, filled your senses.

"How's your drink?" His voice was a low rumble, smooth as aged whiskey.

All you could hear was the sexyback song playing in the back of your head, a ridiculous, involuntary soundtrack to the moment. You stared at him, utterly captivated, words failing you. Your mind, usually so quick, had completely deserted you.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound, noticing your glazed expression.

"Zoned out, huh?"

A blush crept up your neck. Great. You just made a complete fool of yourself.

"I, uh, it's good," you finally managed, your voice a little breathy.

"Thanks."

For the next two hours, you lost yourself in conversation with him. You talked about everything and nothing, the club's music a distant hum, the crowd a blur around you. You laughed, you flirted, you felt a connection spark that was both immediate and exhilarating. You still didn't know his name, and he didn't know yours, but it didn't matter.

The anonymity was part of the thrill. You ordered more drinks, the gin and tonics replaced by something sweeter, more exotic, each sip fueling the growing excitement.

Eventually, the urge to move, to surrender to the insistent beat of the music, became irresistible. You pushed off the bar stool, a playful glint in your eye. "Dance floor?"

He smiled, a genuine, dazzling smile that reached his eyes. "Lead the way."

You weaved through the throng, the music enveloping you, pulling you into its rhythm. You glanced back, and sure enough, he was right behind you, his gaze fixed on your back. As you reached a slightly less crowded spot, you turned, a mischievous grin on your face, and wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn't hesitate, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against his body.

The slow, sensual beat of the music moved through you both, a shared pulse. Time seemed to stretch and contract, minutes feeling like hours as you swayed together, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Your eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between you, an unspoken understanding. The air crackled with anticipation, a delicious tension building with every shared breath.

You leaned in, your lips parting slightly, and his followed, meeting yours in a soft, searching kiss.

The world outside your apartment door faded into a blurry backdrop of neon streetlights and distant city sounds as you tumbled inside, his mouth still fused to yours. Your purse, forgotten in the heat of the moment, clattered to the floor somewhere near the entryway. His jacket, a dark shadow, landed in a heap by the coat rack. You didn't care. All that mattered was the electric current arcing between your bodies, the desperate need for more.

You stumbled into your bedroom, the faint glow of the city filtering through the blinds painting the room in shades of grey and silver. You pushed him back onto your bed, his weight sinking into the mattress. Without breaking the kiss, your hands fumbled with the button of his jeans, then the zipper. The denim gave way, and you slid your hands inside, encountering the warm, soft cotton of his boxers. You pulled them down, freeing his cock, which sprang out, already thick and rigid, slick with pre-cum. It was a beautiful thing, crowned with a swollen, glistening head.

You lowered yourself, taking him into your mouth, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest. Your lips closed around him, drawing him in, tasting the salty, musky scent of his desire. You worked your tongue along the shaft, licking, suckling, teasing the sensitive tip. You felt him twitch and throb against your tongue, a deep, guttural moan escaping his throat. You took him deeper, until your throat ached, your jaw protesting, but the look on his face, the way his fingers tangled in your hair, urging you on, made it all worth it. You moved your head, a steady rhythm, drawing him in, releasing him, the wet slick sound echoing in the quiet room.

You felt the muscles in his ass clench, heard his breathing grow ragged, and knew he was close. You swallowed, taking him even further, milking him with your mouth, until a final, explosive groan ripped from him, and he pulsed, hot and thick, into your mouth. You swallowed it all, a primal satisfaction blooming in your core.

He pulled you up, his eyes dark with desire, and kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting himself on your lips. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you as if you weighed nothing, and laid you gently on the bed. His lips, still wet from your mouth, trailed down your jawline, along the delicate curve of your neck, down to the valley between your breasts. You arched into his touch, practically vibrating with the intensity of his kisses.

He pushed the emerald silk dress up, over your hips, until it was a tangled mess around your waist. His fingers found the lace of your panties, sliding them down your thighs, freeing your pussy. It was already wet, throbbing with anticipation. He dipped his head, his tongue flicking out, tasting you. A gasp escaped your lips as his mouth enveloped your clit, his tongue a masterful instrument, licking, sucking, swirling. You cried out, your fingers digging into the sheets, your hips bucking instinctively.

He ate you out with a hunger that bordered on savage, his lips pulling, his tongue plunging deep into your folds, teasing your clit with expert precision. The sensation was overwhelming, a fire building rapidly within you. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, a delicious, unbearable pressure building, until your entire body convulsed, a wave of pure pleasure washing over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

He lifted his head, a triumphant smirk on his face, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. He fumbled in his pocket, producing a condom, and with practiced ease, rolled it onto his still-hard cock. He positioned himself between your legs, his erection hot and heavy against your wet folds. He nudged against your entrance, slowly pushing in, stretching you, filling you. You gasped, the sudden fullness both intense and incredibly arousing. He paused, letting you adjust, then began to thrust, slowly at first, then with increasing speed and power.

He gripped your hips, lifting them slightly, pushing deeper, his balls slapping softly against your ass with each powerful stroke. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting him to fill every inch of you. He fucked you hard, his rhythm relentless, taking you to the brink again and again.

You cried out, your voice hoarse, as he found a spot deep inside that made your toes curl. He pulled out almost completely, then plunged back in with a groan, the air escaping your lungs in a rush. The bedsprings creaked a protest, but neither of you cared. He slid a finger between your legs, finding your still-sensitive clit, and began to rub, circling, pressing.

The combined sensations were too much, a wild, untamed pleasure that consumed you. You felt yourself spiraling, another orgasm building, hotter and faster than the last. You screamed his unknown name as your body spasmed around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from his deep, insistent thrusts.

He didn't stop, pushing into your climax, his own groans mingling with your cries. He fucked you even harder, deeper, until he let out a final, shuddering roar, emptying himself inside the condom, his body collapsing onto yours, heavy and spent.

The morning light, sharp and unforgiving, stabbed at your eyelids. A persistent, jarring ding-dong echoed through your apartment, each chime adding a fresh spike to the already monumental headache throbbing behind your eyes. You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow, trying to escape the insistent summons.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright, your body a symphony of aches and unfamiliar stiffness. Your eyes, still gritty, scanned the room. The emerald dress lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, a splash of color against the muted carpet. His jacket was still by the door. A hazy memory of last night, fragmented and exhilarating, began to surface. Your gaze drifted to the bedside lamp. A small, square sticky note, bright yellow, clung to its base. You peeled it off, your fingers fumbling slightly. The handwriting was bold, masculine: "Had a great time. Hope you did too. - S."

S. Just S. You snorted, a dry, humorless sound. You had just had the most mind-blowing sex of your life with a man whose name you didn't even know.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. You dragged yourself out of bed, pulling on a discarded t-shirt that was definitely not yours, it smelled faintly of sandalwood and something distinctly him.

Opening the door, you were met with the sight of your three friends, beaming, each holding a greasy paper bag. Stella held a stack of pancakes, Jiwoo a box of donuts, and Sakuya, the practical one, a large coffee.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Stella chirped, her voice far too loud for your pounding head. "Breakfast delivery!"

"You look like death warmed over," Sakuya observed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Rough night?"

You glared at him, then at the bags of food. "Oh, thank god. Get in." You stepped aside, letting them flood into your apartment.

"Go shower, you smell like sex and regret," Jiwoo stated, her expression flat, but her eyes held a hint of amusement.

You didn't argue. The hot water felt like a balm against your aching muscles and throbbing head. You scrubbed yourself clean, trying to wash away the lingering haze of last night, though a part of you didn't want to forget a single detail.

When you emerged, wrapped in a fluffy towel, your friends were already settled at your kitchen table, devouring the greasy feast. You poured yourself a much-needed cup of coffee, the bitter warmth a welcome shock to your system.

"So," Stella began, her mouth full of pancake, "spill. What happened after we left?"

You took a long sip of coffee, stalling. How much did you want to share? "I, uh, I met someone."

Sakuya choked on his donut, coughing dramatically. "You met someone? You looked like you were going to devour him whole on the dance floor!"

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. "Actually, you told him quite explicitly that you wanted to have sex with him."

Your jaw dropped. "I did what?"

"Oh yeah," Stella confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. "You were very direct. He looked quite pleased, actually. Then he just scooped you up and carried you out of the club."

"Carried me?" You stared at them, horrified. "Like, bridal style?"

"Pretty much," Sakuya said, wiping crumbs from his chin. "We were all a little shocked, but you looked so happy, so we just let you go. We figured you had it handled."

You blinked, processing this information. You had been so drunk, so uninhibited. And your friends, bless their hearts, had just let you go, assuming you were fine. "May God never give anyone friends like yours," you mumbled, shaking your head in disbelief.

They all laughed, unrepentant.

"So, what's his name?" Stella pressed, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You hesitated. "I... I don't actually know."

Silence descended upon the table, quickly followed by a chorus of gasps and incredulous stares.

"You had a one-night stand with a nameless stranger?" Sakuya exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch. "That's wild, y/n!"

Jiwoo just shook her head, a small, knowing smile on her face. "Well, at least you had fun."

You just took another long gulp of coffee, a mix of embarrassment and a strange, thrilling satisfaction washing over you.

Six days later, the memory of the nameless stranger was still a vivid, slightly embarrassing, but undeniably exhilarating one. Today was the first day of your new semester. You felt a familiar mix of dread and anticipation as you dressed, pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft sweater. You were ready to face the academic grind, to see your old classmates, to fall back into the familiar rhythm of university life.

Your first class was Business Strategy. You settled into your usual seat, pulling out your notebook, when Professor Davies, a perpetually cheerful man with a penchant for tweed jackets, cleared his throat.

"Alright class, settle down, settle down. Before we dive into market segmentation, I have a little announcement. We have a new student joining us today." He paused, looking over the rim of his glasses. "It's not often we get someone new joining mid-year, but he's part of our foreign exchange program."

A ripple of murmurs went through the lecture hall. Foreign exchange students were always interesting, bringing a fresh perspective. You barely registered it, already flipping to a clean page in your notebook.

"Come on in, Sion!" Professor Davies gestured towards the door. Your head snapped up. Your breath hitched.

He walked in, a quiet confidence in his stride. The same dirty blonde hair. The same sharp, chiseled jawline. The same effortless cool. It was him. The nameless stranger from the club. The man you had, apparently, propositioned for sex. The man who had given you the most incredible night of your life.

Your mind reeled. Sion. So that was his name. A wave of heat rushed through you, a potent mix of mortification and a strange, undeniable excitement. You had had sex with him. You had not known his name. And now, he was standing in your Business Strategy class, looking impossibly handsome in a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans.

He introduced himself, his voice that same smooth, low rumble. "Hello, everyone. My name is Oh Sion. I'm from Seoul, South Korea, and I'm looking forward to learning with you all."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was going to be awkward. The universe, it seemed, had a rather twisted sense of humor. He scanned the room, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on you, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. Then, to your utter disbelief, he walked directly towards the empty seat beside you.

He settled in, pulling out a sleek laptop, his elbow brushing yours. You stiffened, trying to appear nonchalant, your gaze fixed resolutely on Professor Davies. You tried to concentrate, to absorb the lecture on swot analysis, but every fiber of your being was acutely aware of his presence beside you. The faint scent of sandalwood, now familiar, teased your senses.

The lecture felt interminable. You scribbled notes, your hand trembling slightly, acutely aware of the warmth emanating from his side. When Professor Davies finally dismissed the class, you practically leaped out of your seat, desperate to escape.

But a hand gently touched your arm. His touch.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, sending shivers down your spine.

You turned, your heart doing a frantic dance. You tried to meet his gaze, but your eyes kept darting away. "Hi."

"So," he began, his eyes sparkling with amusement, "fancy meeting you here."

You managed a weak laugh. "Yeah. Small world."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping even lower. "Look, I know this is probably a little... unexpected. But you're clearly smart." His eyes flickered to your meticulously organized notebook. "And I'm, well, a little behind. New country, new system, you know?"

You nodded, clutching your books tighter.

"I was thinking," he continued, a suggestive glint in his eyes, "maybe you could, you know, tutor me. Show me around. And in exchange..." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, his gaze dropping to your lips. "We could continue where we left off. Friends with benefits, perhaps?"

You stared at him, flabbergasted. The sheer audacity. The bluntness. Yet, a thrill shot through you. It was a surprising offer, bold and direct. And honestly, you didn't have a single good reason to decline. The sex had been incredible. And he was undeniably attractive.

A slow smile spread across your face. "Friends with benefits, huh?" He returned your smile, a confident, knowing grin. "Something like that."

"Okay," you said, the word coming out a little breathy. "Okay, Sion. Deal."

The "deal" started the very next day. Sion, as a new student, truly did need a lot of help. Your apartment quickly became your shared study zone, textbooks and coffee cups replacing the scattered clothes from your packing procrastination. You went over lecture notes, explained complex business theories, and walked him through the intricacies of the American university system. He was a quick study, attentive and intelligent, absorbing everything you taught him with an impressive focus.

But sometimes, one thing led to another.

One afternoon, you were explaining the nuances of supply chain management, perched on the edge of your couch, a textbook open on your lap. Sion sat beside you, his arm casually draped along the backrest. You gestured animatedly, your knee occasionally brushing his. The air grew thick with unspoken tension, the academic discourse slowly dissolving into a more primal current.

His fingers, warm and calloused, brushed against your bare arm, sending a jolt through you. You paused mid-sentence, your gaze meeting his. His eyes, dark and intense, held a question. You didn't need words.

He leaned in, his lips finding yours, soft and slow at first, then deepening with a hungry urgency. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, the textbook sliding forgotten to the floor. The kiss grew more desperate, tongues dancing, teeth gently nipping. He tasted of coffee and something uniquely his, a scent that was quickly becoming intoxicating.

His hand slipped under your shirt, his palm warm against your skin, tracing the curve of your waist. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your throat. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire. You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation, your body already humming with anticipation.

"Bedroom?" you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He chuckled, a low, husky sound, and scooped you into his arms, carrying you through the apartment as if you weighed nothing. He deposited you gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

He stripped off your clothes with a practiced ease, his gaze devouring your body, making you feel both vulnerable and incredibly desired. You returned the favor, peeling off his shirt, revealing the sculpted expanse of his chest, his lean, muscular torso. You ran your hands over his warm skin, feeling the subtle ripple of muscle beneath your fingertips.

He kissed you again, deeply, passionately, his tongue delving into your mouth, exploring every curve. You sucked on his tongue, a soft, wet sound filling the air, pulling him closer. His hand found your pussy, already slick and aching for him. He teased your clit with a gentle thumb, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. His fingers then slid lower, finding your asshole, and he began to gently circle the delicate skin.

"Rough?" he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. You nodded, a thrill shooting through you. "Yes. Please."

He chuckled, then pushed a finger inside your ass, slowly, carefully stretching you. You cried out, a mix of pain and exquisite pleasure. He waited for you to adjust, then added a second finger, slowly working them in and out, preparing you. Your body tensed, then relaxed, accepting the invasion.

He pulled a condom from his wallet, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. As he rolled it onto his thick, heavy cock, he looked at you, his eyes dark with a primal hunger. "Ready?"

You nodded, your legs already spread wide, inviting him in. He positioned himself, pushing his cock against your wet folds, his fingers still teasing your ass. He entered you slowly, stretching you, filling you, his shaft brushing against your cervix. You gasped, your hips arching up to meet him. He pulled out slightly, then plunged back in, his thrusts powerful and deep.

The bed began to rock with the force of his movements. He fucked you hard, his hips slamming against yours, the rhythmic sound of skin on skin filling the room. He leaned down, his mouth devouring your neck, biting gently, marking you. You wrapped your legs high around his waist, digging your heels into his non existent ass, urging him deeper. His fingers continued to work your asshole, adding another layer of intense pleasure, making you writhe and moan beneath him.

He picked up the pace, each thrust a declaration of dominance, of raw, unbridled passion. You felt yourself spiraling, the pressure building, your entire body trembling on the precipice of orgasm. He leaned back, his eyes locked on yours, watching your face as you climaxed, your body convulsing around his hard cock, screaming his name.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and thrust a few more times, emptying himself inside you, his body collapsing onto yours, heavy and spent. You lay there, breathless and sated, the scent of sex and sweat filling the air.

These study sessions, both in the bedroom and out, continued, blurring the lines between tutor and tutee, and fwb. You found yourselves casually chatting between breaks, learning about each other.

You discovered he was from Mokpo. Your eyes widened. "Mokpo? I'm from Ulsan!" You exclaimed, a strange sense of kinship blooming. Both born in the same country, though your family had relocated to nyc when you were young, and you had moved to California for university.

He was the only one selected for the exchange program from his university in Seoul, arriving a week before the semester to explore the unfamiliar city. That week, he had met you. And things, as they say, happened.

He was at your place so often that he naturally became friends with your friends. Stella and Jiwoo quickly warmed up to him, a shared cultural background making conversation easy. They often spoke in Korean, a language you only partially understood, but their laughter was universal.

Sion, however, developed a playful, almost non-existent beef with Sakuya. It started with a minor disagreement over a video game, escalating into a running gag. Sion, with a mischievous glint in his eye, loved to "ragebait" Sakuya, making subtle, teasing comments that would send your younger friend into a theatrical fit of indignation. Sakuya, bless his easily provoked heart, fell for it every single time. It was endlessly entertaining to watch.

One afternoon, you were back to actual studying, going over market values, the complexities of supply and demand. Sion sat across from you at your kitchen table, his brow furrowed in concentration, diligently taking notes. You paused, watching him, a new awareness dawning.

The way he focused, his intense dedication to understanding. He worked hard, truly attentive. His dynamics with your friends, the easy camaraderie he had built, the way he could make Jiwoo genuinely smile, and Stella burst into peals of laughter. He was sweet, kind, and surprisingly patient, even with Sakuya's antics.

You realized you weren't just admiring his intelligence or his looks anymore. You were admiring him. His qualities, his character.

Somewhere along the way, amidst the late-night study sessions and the exhilarating nights between the sheets, you had caught feelings for Sion.

Sion, on the other hand, had experienced something akin to love at first sight. When he first came to the club, he had no intention of anything more than chilling out. Girls had eyed him, yes, but he had brushed them off. Until you.

He remembered seeing you from across the room, two girls and a guy who looked far too young to be in a club but was somehow taller than you, hovering nearby. You sat in the middle of the island bar, chatting with the old bartender, your emerald dress a beacon in the dim light. He couldn't stop staring. You were beautiful, almost like a gold coin found unexpectedly in the deepest part of the ocean.

He had sent you his favorite drink, a silent invitation. One thing had led to another, and he found himself in your class, an internal rush of happiness flooding him when he saw you there. Maybe, just maybe, he could use tutoring as an excuse to be closer to you.

Weeks turned into months, the fwb arrangement evolving into something deeper, unspoken but palpable. You were having coffee at a small cafe near the university, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, when Sion cleared his throat.

"You know," he began, swirling the foam in his latte, "I was thinking... this weekend, maybe we could go for a picnic? Just the two of us."

Your heart fluttered, a delicate bird taking flight in your chest. A picnic. It sounded so romantic, so sweet, so far removed from the casual nature of your arrangement. "A picnic?" you repeated, a soft smile gracing your lips. "I'd love that, Sion."

That Saturday, he picked you up, a wicker basket in hand, and drove you to a secluded spot overlooking the ocean. The air was crisp, carrying the salty tang of the sea, and a gentle breeze rustled through the tall grass. You spread a blanket, unpacking an array of sandwiches, fruit, and sparkling cider.

As you munched on a cucumber sandwich, Sion turned to you, his eyes serious, yet tender. "Remember that night at the club?" You nodded, a blush rising on your cheeks.

"I couldn't stop staring at you," he confessed, his gaze unwavering. "You were just... captivating. And then, seeing you in class, it felt like fate. I came here for an exchange program, but I think I found something more." He reached across the blanket, taking your hand in his, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles. "I've tried to deny it, to keep things casual, but I can't anymore. I've fallen for you, y/n." He looked you directly in the eye, his voice soft but firm.

"I love you."

You froze, the half-eaten sandwich forgotten in your hand. Your mind raced, a whirlwind of emotions. Was this a prank? Was he serious? But the sincerity in his eyes, the slight tremble in his voice, told you he was. A warmth spread through your chest, a feeling so profound it almost hurt. You squeezed his hand, your own voice barely a whisper.

"I... I love you too, Sion."

A wide, relieved smile bloomed on his face. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, slow kiss, a promise of something new and beautiful. It wasn't the passionate, hungry kisses of your fwb days, but something deeper, more meaningful.

He pulled back, his eyes shining, and then, with a flourish, handed you a sandwich he had been holding. Your fingers brushed against the soft bread, and you noticed something written on the inside of the top slice, in bright red ketchup:

"Can I be your boyfriend?"

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring his handsome face. You let out a choked laugh, a sob escaping your throat, and immediately threw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. "Yes," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Yes, a thousand times yes."

Your friends weren't that shocked when you and Sion told them you were official. You had gathered them at your apartment, a nervous excitement bubbling between you and Sion.

"Finally!" Stella shrieked, jumping up and down, clapping her hands. "It was about time! You two have been practically glowing around each other for weeks!"

Jiwoo, ever understated, simply offered a rare, genuine smile. "I'm happy for you both."

Sakuya, however, threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "Oh, thank god. It was painfully evident in both your eyes! I swear, I had to bleach my eyes every time you two looked at each other. The longing! The unspoken desire! It was too much for my innocent young soul!" He made a gagging sound, but his eyes twinkled with genuine affection.

Stella and Jiwoo then turned their attention to Sion, their expressions suddenly serious.

"Listen here, Sion," Stella began, her voice taking on a surprisingly stern tone. "She's our best friend. You hurt her, and we will find you."

Jiwoo nodded, her dark eyes narrowing. "We'll leave you on a deserted island. With no Wi-Fi."

Sion held up his hands in surrender, a charming smile on his face.

"Understood. I promise, I'll take good care of her."

You laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. It was funny, their overprotective threats, but it warmed your heart. And you had truly good friends, who, despite their questionable judgment on club nights, always had your back.