𝔥𝔞𝔨𝔨𝔲

You’re on the public forest trail, late afternoon, golden light slanting through the trees. The path is quiet except for birds and your own footsteps on the gravel. You’re wearing a thin sundress, earbuds in, trying to clear your head.

Three male voices drift from behind.

“Yo, shorty in the dress, nice ass” Sungchan laughs, loud enough for you to hear even through your music.

“Look at her pretending she doesn’t hear us” Anton laughs. "Go say hi to her" Eunseok tells Anton.

Your stomach drops. You pull one earbud out and walk faster.

“Hey we're talking to you” Sungchan again, closer now. Footsteps crunch right on your heels.

You glance back. Three tall guys, hoodies, caps pulled low, all staring at you like prey. You force a tight smile and speed up.

“Don’t be rude, baby” Anton calls, voice softer but somehow worse. “We just wanna walk with you.”

They match your pace easily. Then they’re beside you, then in front of you, boxing you in.

Sungchan leans in, too close. “You shouldn’t be out here alone looking that fuckable.”

You try to walk away but Eunseok blocks you with one arm, fingers brushing your waist on purpose. “Where you going so fast?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Please just leave me alone.” Your voice small and quiet.

Sungchan grins. “We’ll walk with you.”

They fall in behind you again. You feel their eyes burning holes in your back. Every step you take, they take one louder, closer. You hear a low whistle, then Sungchan again, “Bet she’s not wearing anything under that dress.”

A hand skims the back of your thigh. You jerk away, but Anton’s fingers close around your wrist. “relax oh my god”

You yank free and half-run. They laugh and jog after you like it’s a game. The path curves. No one else in sight. Eunseok’s hand clamps on your upper arm, nails digging in. “Off the trail. Now.”

You open your mouth to scream but Sungchan’s palm slams over it instantly, fingers pinching your nose shut for a second so you panic for air. Anton grabs your other arm and together they drag you sideways into the trees.

Branches whip your face and legs. You kick, twist, try to bite Sungchan’s hand. He just squeezes harder until tears spring to your eyes. Twenty meters in, the forest swallows the path. No one will hear anything here.

You scramble to your feet. Anton catches your hair, yanks you back so hard your scalp screams. “Stay down” Sungchan rips the front of your dress open in one violent pull. Buttons scatter. The fabric tears to your waist. Eunseok grabs the hem and shreds the rest off your body, leaving you in only panties and bra.

You scream, or at least you try. Anton backhands you so hard your forgot where you are for a second. “Scream again and I break your fucking jaw.”

They force you face-down over a wide fallen log. Anton plants his knee between your shoulder blades and wrenches both your arms behind your back, pinning your wrists in one huge hand so high your shoulders feel like they’ll dislocate.

Sungchan spits on your exposed pussy, once, twice, then lines his dick up and slams into your dry pussy. The stretch is instant, searing pain. You sob into the dirt.

He doesn’t wait. He fucks you with full-body thrusts, hips crashing into your ass so hard the log shifts under you. Every stroke punches a broken scream out of your throat.

Eunseok fists your hair, jerks your head sideways, and shoves his leaking cock past your lips. No warning, no mercy. He drives straight into your throat until your nose is buried in his pubes and you gag helplessly around him. He holds there, counting silently while your vision tunnels, then pulls back just enough for one desperate breath before plunging again, all while Sungchan is still enjoying your pussy.

Anton keeps your arms locked. He leans down and spits on the side of your face while you're swallowing Eunseok's cock. “You’re taking us suspiciously well" Sungchan chuckle. He starts slapping your ass so hard, till your skin is on fire.

When he cum, it’s with a guttural groan - he buries himself deep and floods your pussy, so much it immediately leaks out around his cock and runs down your thighs in thick streams.

He pulls out. Before you can even gasp, Anton takes his place. He’s thicker - the stretch makes you shriek around Eunseok’s dick. Anton fucks the cum deeper, sloppy wet sounds filling the clearing. He cums fast and hard, adding his own load until you feel it slosh inside you. All you can do is cry and take it like you're their personal flashlight.

Eunseok is having a solo. He keeps changing the rhythm, his moans are pretty loud, groans here and there and then he yanks out of your mouth, strings of spit and precum stretching from your swollen lips. He slaps you twice, open-palmed, then spits in your open mouth. “Swallow.”

And of course you do, choking. You had to. Like a cum whore.

All three of them are finished, you think. Finally it's over.

They flip you onto your back in the dirt. Leaves and twigs stick to the cum already drying on your skin. Sungchan straddles your chest, forces your jaw open again, and starts fucking your throat in long, punishing strokes since he didn't try your throat hole yet. No breaks. When you gag he just pushes deeper, nose to his pelvis until you’re thrashing for air.

Anton and Eunseok spread your legs impossibly wide, like you're a doll. Anton goes for your ass this time, no spit, just leftover cum as lube, and shoves in. The pain is blinding. You genuinely feel like the pain could kill you any moment while they're just pleasuring themselves.

You try to scream, you really do, but Sungchan’s cock muffles it into wet gurgles that gets him even harder.

Eunseok waits his turn, stroking himself, then spits on your clit and slaps it. When Anton finishes deep in your ass, and Sungchan finally cums down your throat, absolutely choking you on it, Eunseok takes over, pounding your pussy while Anton moves to your mouth.

They rotate like machines.

He fucks you slow and brutally deep, slapping your bruised tits every few thrusts to keep you conscious. When he comes he stays buried, grinding, making sure every spurt stays inside. You feel the warmth spread, mixing with the others, until your lower belly feels bloated and heavy.

They pull out one by one. Cum pours from your gaping pussy, ass and mouth, pooling beneath you, soaking the leaves. Your face and chest are drenched; it’s in your hair, drying sticky across your lips, dripping off your chin.

Eunseok crouches, smears his fingers through the cum pool on your stomach, and forces them into your mouth again. “Taste us.”

You’re too broken to fight.

Sungchan spits on your swollen face one final time. “Keep the cum in when you crawl home. It's your reward” he smiles, standing over you.

They zip up, praise each other for their "performance", laugh, and walk away, leaving you shaking, overflowing, covered head to toe in their cum, dress in tatters beside you in the dirt and the forest stays silent around your wrecked body.

Anton is standing against the wall a few feet away, fingers struggling with the mic pack clipped behind him. His members are farther down the hall, but he’s alone, brows slightly furrowed as he fumbles with a wire that refuses to stay tucked.

You walk past, careful with the way your dress trails behind you. He looks up.

His breath catches—audibly. He bows quickly, too quickly, almost tripping over his shoes. “H-hello.”

You bow back, smiling politely. “Hello.”

You’re about to continue down the hall when he blurts, softly but clearly, “You look… really beautiful.”

You stop.

Slowly, you turn your head back toward him. His ears are immediately red, and he stares down at the mic pack like it suddenly became the most fascinating object in the world.

Your smile grows without permission. “Thank you,” you say gently.

He finally lifts his eyes, just for half a second, and it’s enough to see how nervous he is—how sincere. “Good luck on your stage,” he mumbles.

“You too,” you reply, giving him a quick smile before heading off.

When you get a few steps away, you glance back. He’s still standing there, touching the same mic wire… except he hasn’t fixed anything. He’s just frozen, replaying that moment in his head already.

Later that night, one of his members teases him about zoning out entirely right before their stage.

He doesn’t admit it out loud, but he knows exactly why.

You run into him again a few weeks later during a lineup rehearsal at another event. You’re adjusting your earpiece backstage when someone stops beside you. You glance over—it’s him again.

He looks startled that you noticed him. “Oh—hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you reply, smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

He brightens at that, eyes flicking briefly over your outfit before he forces himself to focus. “Congrats on your comeback. I watched the stage.”

"is that so?” you tease. “Was it any good?”

He nods immediately, sincerely. “Really good. You were… really good.”

You feel a warm flutter in your chest. You open your mouth to respond, but staff calls you. His members call him too. You part reluctantly, both pretending it isn’t disappointing.

The feeling lingers though—light but real.

Your third meeting is beside a vending machine backstage. He stands there holding coins like he’s in the middle of a life-or-death decision. You step next to him.

“Can’t decide?” you ask.

He looks like he might jump out of his skin. “Oh—uh—I just don’t know what I want.”

“You should try this one.” You tap a button.

He buys it without hesitation.

Later, when he takes a sip, you catch his small, pleased smile. “It’s good,” he says shyly.

“Of course it is,” you tease. “I recommended it.”

He laughs under his breath, eyes softening the way they always do when he talks to you.

These moments aren’t long, but they’re enough. Enough for something gentle to grow.

Enough for your stomach to flip when you see his name on your phone.

So when you wake up on the first snow day and find messages lighting up your screen, none of it feels unexpected—but it still makes your heart skip.

Anton: Did you see the snow?

Anton: Are you free today?

Anton: I don’t have schedules… maybe we could go out? If you want.

You grin into your pillow.

“I’m free. where?”

Anton: Anywhere. Just… later? When it’s dark?

You can almost hear the hesitation in his typing. It makes your cheeks warm.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

When you meet him outside the restaurant, the snow is falling thicker, drifting slow and soft under the streetlights. Anton stands there with his hood up, brushing snowflakes off his sleeves as if that’ll do anything.

But the second he sees you, he stops.

Completely.

“You look…” He swallows, then gives up finishing the sentence. “Cold. But also… really pretty.”

You smile. “Thank you. You look cute.”

He turns so pink you swear you can see it even through the snow.

You both start walking—no destination discussed, but you naturally fall into step toward the river. You walk close—it happens slowly at first, then naturally, like the space between you was always meant to be small.

Your shoulders brush. His hand shifts in his pocket as if he’s restraining himself from swinging into you.

“This is… nice,” you say.

He glances at you, eyes soft. “I wanted it to be.”

You catch his gaze for a moment too long, and you both look away, smiling like you’ve been caught doing something intimate.

You talk about simple topics—movies, music, food. Nothing too deep. Nothing too revealing. But every time he laughs, it’s shy and genuine, and every time your eyes meet, sparks linger in the cold air.

At one point, the wind sharpens, and you shiver. He notices instantly.

“You’re cold,” he says softly.

“A bit.”

He steps closer, close enough that your arm presses fully into his.

“Better?” he asks, voice a little shaky.

You nod. “Much.”

He exhales in relief.

You walk like that for a long time—too close to be platonic, too shy to call it what it is. Snowflakes cling to his hair, and he keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

At one point, you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask.

His lips curl into a tiny, embarrassed smile. “Nothing. Just… you’re pretty,” he says quietly. “Still… even in the cold.”

You look away, heart racing.

By the time you realize how late it is, it’s nearly 2am. He insists on walking you to your dorm. The quiet city looks dreamlike under the snow, and neither of you wants the night to end.

When you reach the building, the air feels still.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say softly. “I had a really nice time.”

He smiles shyly. “I’m glad you came.”

You take a small step closer, close enough that he stiffens in surprise.

“I really enjoyed this date,” you say.

He freezes.

His eyes widen, then soften, then widen again—like he’s experiencing five emotions all in one second. “D-date?”

You bite your lip. “Unless you didn’t want it to be.”

“No!” he blurts instantly. Then clears his throat. “I mean… yes. I did. I really… really did.”

You grin. “Me too.”

He exhales, relieved. Snow falls against his hood, his lashes. He looks at you like you’re something he’s afraid to touch but wants to.

“Can we…have another one?” he asks quietly. “Soon?”

“Definitely,” you whisper.

He nods, smiling so softly it melts you. You turn to go inside, but he calls your name, voice gentle.

“You looked beautiful that first day,” he admits, cheeks pink. “With the red dress. I kept thinking about it. For… days.”

You feel heat spread across your chest.

“Good,” you say softly. “I thought you looked cute that day too.”

He hides his face for a second before waving shyly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Anton.”

And as he walks away in the falling snow, you realize something simple and unmistakable:

Something started long before tonight.

You shouldn’t have typed it.

You know that.

And yet, your fingers moved like they had a mind of their own, trembling, hesitant, desperate.

"I’m getting married in a few hours. If you want to change something, come."

The message glows on your screen, an unspoken heartbeat. You stare at it until the words bleed, until they are no longer letters, only ache.

Wonbin is in the next room, humming softly as he buttons his cufflinks. The sound is steady, calm — everything you should have wanted, everything you love in him. And yet…it’s not him.

You wait.

3:27

3:58

4:16

Each passing minute drags like a weight. Each tick of the clock is a heartbeat borrowed by someone who no longer calls you his.

And he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t come.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself it’s better this way. But even as you smile at Wonbin when he finds you ready for the ceremony, the lie tastes metallic on your tongue.

Five years ago, you and Sungchan promised forever.

High school lovers, foolishly sure that love could survive distance, silence, anything.

But distance taught you that silence is deafening, that words left unsaid grow heavy, almost unbearable.

The breakup was quiet, a hollow nothingness.

Not anger, not tears, just the slow realization that the other had gone and you had done nothing to hold on.

And yet…you never stopped loving him.

Even now, standing beside Wonbin, hands trembling slightly as you slide the ring onto his finger, your mind whispers his name in every quiet breath.

Sungchan. The one wound that never heals.

Wonbin notices nothing. He never could. His love is steady, kind, grounding. But some love…some loves leave scars too deep for anyone else to touch.

A year passes.

Your life with Wonbin is calm. Predictable. Warm.

But even in comfort, there are nights you can’t sleep, when you hear his laugh in your memory, when the world tilts just slightly, revealing the ghost of what you lost.

And then, one day, you see it.

The cemetery is quiet, the air heavy with rain that doesn’t fall but hovers, soft and oppressive.

You’re visiting a distant relative with Wonbin’s family, clutching a bouquet of white chrysanthemums. Polite smiles, careful conversations, the world moving as if grief had no place here.

And then, the grave.

The name.

His name.

Jung Sungchan.

Your knees threaten to give out, but you hold yourself upright.

Beneath the name, a single line

Motorcycle accident.

And the date.

Your wedding day.

The world tilts. Rain begins in earnest now, cold against your cheeks. Wonbin calls your name. Concern laces his tone, but you don’t hear him. You can only hear the heartbeat that waits in vain for a reply you never sent.

Later, when the ceremony ends and laughter fills the air, it all feels like a lie. The flowers, the vows, the gentle hand of a man who loves you — none of it touches the raw, bleeding truth beneath your ribs. You try to smile at Wonbin, but even your reflection betrays you, showing only shadows of someone already lost.

The months that follow are long.

You love Wonbin. You truly do. He is warmth, gentleness, steadiness. He is the life you should have wanted. And yet, when you close your eyes at night, you see Sungchan. Hear him. The boy who looked at you like you were the only secret in the world, the only story he wanted to read.

Sometimes, when Wonbin’s hand brushes yours, you feel a pang that is half guilt, half memory. You want to pull him close, to anchor yourself, but part of you is always reaching for something gone.

You visit Sungchan’s grave sometimes. You bring lilies and whispers, half conversations, questions that will never be answered.

One evening, months later, the sky is grey and low. The rain doesn’t stop.

Wonbin comes home, calls your name. The apartment is quiet, the lights dim, the air thick with the faint scent of your perfume and something sharper, almost sterile.

You’re on the couch, slumped motionless, eyes staring blankly at nothing. Your fingers are loosely curled around an empty pill bottle on the table, the scattered remnants of white tablets like fallen snow beside a half-finished note.

"I’m sorry. I was never really yours. It's not your fault Wonbin. I love you"

He freezes. His voice is gone before it leaves his throat, swallowed by the weight of everything he doesn’t understand.

He rushes to you, shakes your shoulder, calls your name again and again, but your body is already cooling, the pills having done their quiet work hours ago. The note is the only bridge between you and him now.

He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t understand.

You were gone, forever. But why?

Five months later, the apartment hasn’t changed.

The curtains still ripple in the wind, white and ghostlike.

The couch — the same one where he found you lifeless — holds a quiet, haunted emptiness.

Wonbin sits there now. The pill bottle is in his hand, refilled with the same white tablets that ended your life. The note is clutched tightly in his other fist, your words crumpled from endless rereading.

He doesn’t know what you meant, still.

He doesn’t know why you left, or if you ever really belonged to a boy he never met nor heard of. Did the boy made you do it?

The rain begins again. Gentle at first, then steady. The same sound as that night — soft, endless, hollow.

He tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, at the pale light that filters through the white curtains.

He uncaps the bottle with trembling fingers, pours the pills into his palm, and swallows them one by one, dry and bitter against his tongue.

He holds the note to his chest, crumpling it further as his vision blurs, the world fading into the same silence that claimed you.

The clock ticks once.

Twice.

And the world holds its breath.

shotaro — college friend

you’ve always said that being friends with shotaro feels like standing in sunlight.

he’s everywhere — loud in the library, waving across the courtyard, greeting every passing classmate with that grin that could start a summer.

and somehow, he’s always next to you.

you tell yourself it’s just friendship. it’s always been easy with him.

the kind of easy where you share earbuds during study breaks, steal sips of his coffee, and laugh until you forget why.

he’s the one who remembers your schedule better than you do, who sends you random photos of dogs because he knows they’ll make you smile.

but lately, it feels different.

when he leans across the table to look at your notes, your heart trips over itself.

when he says your name, it sounds softer than it should.

he doesn’t notice — or maybe he does, and he’s pretending not to.

that’s the thing about shotaro: he’s all light and noise, but his heart feels everything.

you’re sitting in the campus café one evening, both half-asleep over your laptops.

the golden light hits his face just right, catching on the curve of his cheek and the tiny crinkle by his eyes when he smiles.

you’re staring before you even realize it.

“what?” he asks, voice quiet but teasing.

“nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “you just look… happy.”

he grins, turning his straw in his drink.

“that’s ‘cause i’m with you.”

you laugh it off, but your pulse gives you away.

he watches you for a second longer, and something unspoken sits in the space between you

familiar, but new.

he reaches across the table, tapping your hand lightly.

“you always make me feel calm,” he says, almost to himself.

and you realize then — you’ve been falling for him all along.

eunseok — coworker

working with eunseok was supposed to be simple.

he’s polite, calm, the kind of person who always keeps his sleeves perfectly rolled and his voice even.

you liked that about him — how he seemed to float through the chaos of the office without ever breaking a sweat.

you didn’t expect him to start waiting for you by the elevator every morning.

or how he’d start bringing an extra cup of coffee, placed wordlessly on your desk.

he never said why, and you never asked.

he’s always pretending he doesn’t care, but you notice the small things

the way his eyes flicker toward you when someone else makes you laugh,

the way he straightens up just a little whenever you walk by.

today, you’re both staying late. the office is quiet, only the hum of computers filling the air.

you glance over and find him already watching you, pretending to focus on his screen.

“you don’t have to stay just because i’m here,” you say, smiling.

he shrugs, leaning back in his chair.

“i’m not. i just… didn’t feel like going home yet.”

he’s lying — you both know it.

his cheeks are faintly pink under the low light, and he turns away before you can tease him about it.

“you’re always so composed,” you murmur. “don’t you ever get nervous?”

“around you?” he asks before he can stop himself.

the air stills.

his hand tightens around his pen, and he gives a tiny, breathless laugh — like he’s trying to pretend he didn’t mean it.

you don’t say anything. you just smile, soft and knowing.

and when you gather your things to leave, his voice catches you by the door.

“hey,” he says quietly. “can i… walk you out?”

you nod.

outside, he keeps his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, trying to act casual — but his heart’s already a mess,

and he’s never been more obvious in his life.

sungchan — best friend’s brother

you’ve known sungchan for years — always the boy laughing too loud in your living room, stealing snacks from your kitchen, teasing you just to see you roll your eyes.

he’s practically family.

and that’s the problem.

he’s your brother’s best friend.

the rule has always been unspoken, but clear: don’t even think about it.

and you didn’t. not at first.

but somewhere between late-night movie marathons and shared rides home, something started to shift.

he’s all smiles — tall, golden, easy to love without even trying.

he leans against your doorframe one afternoon, arms crossed, grin wide.

“your brother said you’d be here. i was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“maybe i was,” you say, trying to sound bored.

“ouch.” he presses a hand to his chest, laughing. “and here i thought we were getting close.”

you roll your eyes, but your face feels too warm.

he always does this — teases until you can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

later, when everyone’s asleep, you find him in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

you catch him off guard, and for once, he doesn’t smile right away.

“couldn’t sleep?” you ask.

“nah,” he says, voice low. “just… thinking.”

he looks at you then, really looks — none of the usual jokes or smirks, just something quiet and searching.

the silence stretches.

“you shouldn’t look at me like that,” he finally says.

“like what?”

his lips twitch into a small, crooked smile.

“like you’re about to break the rules.”

your heart stumbles in your chest.

you don’t say anything, and neither does he — but the air between you is charged, humming, dangerous.

and even though you know you shouldn’t,

you think maybe he’s worth the trouble.

wonbin — neighbours

you’ve known wonbin for as long as you can remember.

your houses sit right next to each other, old fences separating backyards that never really kept you apart.

your parents have been friends forever — which meant you and wonbin were, too, whether you liked it or not.

you spent your childhood being dragged to his house for dinners, bored out of your mind while the adults talked.

he was quieter back then, always tucked away in his room with his guitar or a book, barely saying a word.

you used to tease him for it, calling him mysterious, even though he’d just roll his eyes and mutter something you couldn’t hear.

but as you both got older, the silence between you started to feel different — less awkward, more comfortable.

he began to linger when you came over, sitting with you on the porch while your parents chatted inside.

sometimes you’d talk about school, sometimes you wouldn’t talk at all.

it didn’t matter. you just liked being there.

he still wasn’t great with words, but he started showing up in other ways — fixing the squeaky gate at your house without being asked

handing you his jacket when the wind picked up,

waiting for you after class when you walked home alone.

one evening, the sunset paints the sky gold as you find him sitting on his front steps, guitar resting beside him.

he looks up when he hears you approach, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips.

“you’re here,” he says quietly.

“i live here,” you tease.

“yeah, but… you’re here.”

it’s a simple thing to say, but the way he says it makes your chest ache.

he’s still reserved, still careful with his words, but you can feel it — the warmth, the affection, the years of quiet growing between you.

you sit beside him, shoulders brushing, and he laughs softly under his breath.

“you know,” he says, glancing at you,

“i used to hate when our parents made us hang out.”

“and now?”

he smirks, eyes glinting, voice light with teasing warmth.

“still do,” he says, trying to hide his grin.

you shove his shoulder, pretending to be offended, and he laughs — the quiet, genuine kind that makes your heart feel full.

and for the first time,

the silence feels like something you never want to end.

sohee — waiting room stranger

you didn’t plan on spending your saturday morning in a vet waiting room — hair messy, hoodie on, clutching your nervous cat in its carrier while scrolling aimlessly through your phone.

the room is quiet except for the soft buzz of fluorescent lights… and the guy sitting a few seats away.

he’s got earbuds hanging around his neck, phone in hand, and a puppy asleep beside him, head resting on his sneaker.

he catches your glance and smiles — casual, bright, completely unbothered by the silence.

“your cat doesn’t like car rides, huh?” he says, voice warm with amusement.

“she hates everything,” you reply, smiling despite yourself.

he laughs, the sound soft and easy, filling the small room.

“relatable. mine cried the whole way here last time.”

you glance down at his puppy, now softly snoring.

“yeah, he seems real traumatized.”

he grins, leaning back in his chair.

“he’s pretending. he likes attention.”

it’s light, effortless — the kind of conversation that happens when you least expect it.

you tell him about your cat’s bad habits, and he tells you how his dog eats socks.

he jokes like you’ve known each other forever, and you find yourself laughing more than you have all week.

the vet’s door finally opens, calling your name.

you start to stand, fumbling with the carrier, and he’s already reaching out — steady hands, quick smile.

“here, i got it.”

you thank him, cheeks warm, and he shrugs like it’s nothing.

“guess i’ll see you around,” he says, though you both know you probably won’t.

but as you walk inside, you glance back —

and he’s still looking, smile soft and just a little shy.

later, when you leave, he’s gone.

but on the little corkboard by the door, there’s a scribbled note on a vet appointment card.

*phone number* - sohee :)

and just like that, he’s the easiest thing to think about all day.

anton — first meeting

you weren’t really planning on saying yes.

your friend had been trying to set you up for weeks — “he’s really sweet,” she kept saying, “you’ll like him, i promise.”

and somehow, against your better judgment, you agreed.

the plan was simple: a casual meet-up in the park.

nothing fancy, just coffee, sunshine, and a maybe-kind-of-awkward first conversation.

you spot him before he sees you.

tall, hoodie sleeves pushed up, fingers fidgeting with the lid of his drink.

he’s scanning the crowd like he’s not sure what to do with himself.

and when your eyes finally meet, he looks like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t — startled, soft, a little shy.

“hi,” you say, smiling.

“oh— hi,” he replies quickly, voice quiet but warm.

he stands a little straighter, brushing imaginary dust from his hoodie, and you notice how he can’t quite hold eye contact for long.

the two of you start walking, the path winding between trees glowing gold in the late afternoon sun.

he’s gentle in the way he talks — never too loud, never too much.

every now and then he glances at you, then immediately looks away, cheeks tinted pink.

“so… our friend kind of forced you into this too?” you tease lightly.

he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“a little,” he admits. “she said you’re really nice. and that i need to ‘get out more.’

you grin.

“sounds familiar.”

the tension fades slowly, replaced by something softer — a rhythm that feels easy.

he starts opening up in small ways: a quiet joke, a shy smile, stories about his dog, about the songs he listens to when he can’t sleep.

by the time you finish your walk, the sun’s already dipping below the trees.

he hesitates, then turns to you, voice barely above a whisper.

“can i… maybe see you again?”

and for a second, he looks like he doesn’t quite believe you’ll say yes.

but you do.

and the way he smiles — wide, nervous, full of something genuine —

makes you think your friend was right.

Shotaro ❀ guilt-trapping

you hate the way he makes it sound so small.

the way he shrugs, voice soft, eyes glossy, like he’s the one being hurt.

“i didn’t think it’d be such a big deal, baby. i just wanted to see my friends.”

his tone is gentle, almost apologetic — but it’s the kind of apology that turns back on you.

you hear what he’s really saying: you’re overreacting again.

you cross your arms, try to hold your ground, but he’s already sighing, already looking at you like you’ve disappointed him.

“i just feel like…no matter what i do, you’ll always find something wrong with it.”

your stomach twists. he says it so quietly, like a confession. like you’ve broken his heart.

and maybe you have, because suddenly you’re the one reaching out, saying,

“no, that’s not what i meant. i just— i felt left out, that’s all.”

his hand finds yours immediately, warm and forgiving.

“you know i’d never make you feel that way on purpose, right?”

and there it is — that small, practiced smile that makes you crumble every time.

he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t have to.

by the time you’re both lying in bed, his arm around your waist, you can’t even remember what the fight was about.

he kisses the back of your neck and murmurs,

“i hate fighting with you. i just want us to be okay.”

and god, you want that too.

so you whisper sorry, even though you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

he hums, content. the room goes still again.

and as your eyes close, a thought flickers through your head — small, unwanted, but sharp:

maybe he never has to say sorry,

because it's always your fault.

Eunseok ❀ silent treatment

the fight ends hours ago.

at least, you think it did.

the room is quiet now — the kind of quiet that hums, heavy and cruel.

he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone like you aren’t even there.

no sighs, no glances, no words.

just silence.

you try once, softly.

“eunseok?”

he doesn’t look up.

you hear the faint tap of his thumb against the screen — steady, rhythmic, deliberate.

you say his name again.

nothing.

your throat tightens. you know this pattern; you’ve lived it too many times.

the silence always starts as punishment, but somewhere along the way, it turns into a test.

how long until you break first?

you sit beside him, close enough that your knees touch.

he shifts away, just slightly — enough for you to feel it.

“can we talk about it?” you whisper.

you sound small, even to yourself.

he exhales through his nose. a quiet laugh.

“there’s nothing to talk about.”

four words.

that’s all he gives you.

you nod, pretending it doesn’t sting.

he’ll talk to you later — he always does — after he’s sure you’ve learned how it feels to lose him, even for a few hours.

by the time he finally pulls you in, it’s dark outside.

his arm snakes around your shoulders; he presses a kiss to your hair like nothing ever happened.

“see? we’re fine.”

and just like that, you are. or you have to be.

because if you stay upset, he’ll go quiet again.

you tell yourself it’s love — that he’s just not good with words, that maybe you deserve his silence.

but deep down, somewhere quiet and trembling,

you know he’s never been bad with words.

he just saves them for when he wants to win.

Sungchan ❀ double standards

you flirt because it’s fun.

because the room lights up when you smile, and you like the way people look when they want you.

sungchan never says anything.

he just sits there, hands folded in his lap, watching you laugh at another man’s joke — a joke that wasn’t even that funny.

his jaw tightens, barely.

you catch it, and it thrills you a little.

“don’t look at me like that,” you tease, brushing his arm.

“it was just a joke.”

he nods, forces a smile.

“yeah. i know.”

but later, when you’re walking together and a girl bumps into him, murmuring a quick sorry,

your smile disappears.

“what was that?” you ask.

“what?” he blinks, genuinely confused.

“that girl. you didn’t have to smile back.”

“she just said sorry—”

“yeah, well, you didn’t have to make it weird.”

he stares at you for a moment too long — hurt, disbelief, that quiet heartbreak that never makes a sound.

and then, like always, he folds.

“you’re right,” he says softly. “i didn’t mean anything by it.”

the rest of the walk is silent.

he keeps his hands in his pockets, careful not to brush against anyone else, careful not to breathe the wrong way.

you don’t apologize.

you never do.

by the time you’re home, he’s the one hugging you, whispering,

“i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable.”

his voice shakes, and it hits you somewhere deep — but not enough to change.

you just hum, resting your head on his chest, pretending you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating.

he thinks it’s because of you.

he doesn’t realize it’s from trying not to break.

Wonbin ❀ possessiveness

he says it like it’s a compliment.

like it’s something you should feel lucky for.

“i just care too much, that’s all.”

he checks your phone when you’re in the shower,

asks where you’re going before you even step outside,

and notices every glance you give someone else.

he never raises his voice.

he doesn’t need to.

you feel the weight of his gaze, like a leash you can’t see.

tonight, you tell him you’re meeting friends.

“who?” he asks.

“you’ve met them.”

“guys or girls?”

you laugh nervously.

he doesn’t.

“you know how they look at you. i just don’t want anyone thinking they have a chance.”

you want to argue, but the way his jaw tightens, the small crease in his brow, makes your words vanish.

he’s not yelling.

he’s not forcing you.

he’s just… watching,

like he’s testing how far he can push before you break.

later, when you come home, he doesn’t ask about your night.

he just folds you into his arms, grip firm, possessive.

“missed me?” he murmurs.

you nod.

he smiles — small, satisfied.

“see? i can’t let anyone get too close. not even you.”

you want to scream, to tell him that love isn’t supposed to feel like this,

like your freedom belongs to someone else,

like every move you make is under inspection.

but you don’t.

instead, you melt into his hold.

because his voice is soft.

because his eyes are warm.

because he says it’s love.

and maybe it is.

but the kind that leaves you gasping,

Sohee ❀ gas-lighting

you don’t mean to bring her up.

she just keeps showing up — in old playlists, in the stories his friends tell, in the way he still follows her on everything.

you’re lying next to him when her name flashes on his screen.

a notification.

a heart under one of his posts.

you don’t even say anything at first.

he notices anyway.

“don’t start,” he says quietly.

“i didn’t,” you reply.

he turns his head toward you, eyes soft, smile softer.

“you get this look every time. you don’t even realize it.”

you bite the inside of your cheek.

“it’s not about a look. it’s just weird, that’s all. you said you don’t talk to her.”

“and i don’t,” he answers, immediate, confident. “a like isn’t talking.”

you stay quiet.

he exhales, sitting up.

“you really think i’d go back to someone who hurt me?”

you shake your head, but he keeps going — voice low, almost hurt.

“you always do this, you know that? the second you feel a little insecure, you twist things. i hate when you make me feel like i’m doing something wrong.”

the words hit deeper than you expect.

you start to wonder if maybe you are overreacting.

maybe it is your fault — for not trusting enough, for reading too much into things that don’t matter anymore.

he reaches out, brushing his thumb over your lip like he’s forgiving you for something.

“i love you,” he says softly. “she’s nothing. don’t ruin what we have by imagining ghosts.”

you nod, eyes stinging.

you tell him you’re sorry, even though you don’t know what for.

he smiles, kisses you once — slow, reassuring, final.

and when he turns over to sleep, you catch the faint glow of his phone screen,

her name still at the top of his notifications.

but you close your eyes anyway.

because if he says it’s nothing,

you have to believe him.

Anton ❀ love-bombing

he remembers the beginning.

the way you laughed at everything he said, the way your fingers lingered in his, the way your eyes lit up when you looked at him.

he remembers thinking he had never loved anyone this much.

the world shrank to just the two of you, and it felt infinite.

“i’ve never felt like this before,” he had whispered one night, voice soft, trembling with awe.

“me neither,” you said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and he had floated home with your warmth wrapped around him.

but now…

now, it feels different.

your smiles are rarer, your touches lighter, your laughter directed everywhere but at him.

the texts that used to arrive like little sparks of sunlight now come as afterthoughts.

you’re never in the mood for him anymore.

your hand slides away when he reaches for it.

you avoid time together, even the simplest moments — movies, walks, quiet talks — even sex with him is a chore.

“anton, i’m busy,” you mutter, barely looking up.

he nods, forcing a small smile.

“okay…”

he can feel the shift — the weight of indifference, the quiet distance that wasn’t there before.

he tries not to notice, tries not to let it hurt,

but every time you glance at your phone, every time you laugh at someone else’s joke, every time your hand doesn’t brush his in passing, it pierces him.

“what happened to us?” he whispers into the night, sitting on the edge of the bed after you’ve gone to sleep.

there’s no answer.

he knows there won’t be.

he still loves you the same way he did in the beginning,

with every careful, gentle beat of his heart,

but the person he loves has changed.

or maybe you never changed at all — maybe he just saw you differently then.

and it hurts.

hurts more than he can say, sitting there in the quiet, wishing he could go back to the way things were, wishing you would look at him the way you once did.

he closes his eyes and breathes in the memory of your warmth,

holding on to the love he still feels,

even if you no longer care enough to feel the same.

Shotaro ★ he teases you

You’ve known Shotaro for as long as you can remember — the kid who used to steal your snacks in elementary school, the one who still laughs the same way when you pretend to be mad about it.

Now, sitting together at a small café near campus, it feels both familiar and…not.

He leans across the table, eyes glinting. “You always order the same drink. You’re so predictable.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called having taste.”

“Sure,” he says, sipping his iced coffee. “Or maybe you just like when I remember your order for you.”

You choke on a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet you keep hanging out with me. Suspicious, don’t you think?”

It’s always been like this — the teasing, the banter, the way he makes everything sound like a joke. But lately, there’s something different under his tone. Something that lingers.

When you reach across the table to grab a napkin, his fingers brush yours. You pull back too fast, but he catches the movement, smile turning softer.

“What, scared I’ll tease you for that too?”

You narrow your eyes. “You would.”

“Only because it’s cute,” he says, so casually you almost miss it.

The air stills. You stare, and he just shrugs, biting back another smile.

“Relax,” he adds, leaning back in his chair. “I’m joking.”

Except his gaze doesn’t look like a joke. It lingers — warm, teasing, and something else entirely.

And you realize that with Shotaro, the line between teasing and flirting has quietly disappeared…and maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind at all.

Eunseok ★ he always notices something new about you

You’re standing by the office printer when you hear his voice behind you — low, casual.

“New earrings?”

You blink, fingers freezing mid-motion as you turn. Eunseok’s leaning against the filing cabinet, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy like he didn’t bother fixing it after running his hands through it. You didn’t think anyone would notice the tiny gold hoops you’d swapped in this morning.

“Yeah” you say, smiling shyly. “They’re nothing special.”

He smiles, slow and knowing. “They suit you.”

The printer whirs, and suddenly the air feels too thick. You grab your papers, mumbling a thank you, but his gaze lingers — not heavy, just…curious. Like he’s filing away another detail.

It’s always like this with him. He’s the guy who notices when you change your pen color, when you start bringing green tea instead of coffee, when you wear your hair differently. He never makes it obvious — just small comments that catch you off guard.

By the time you’re both walking out of a late meeting, the city lights spilling through the glass, you think maybe you’ve imagined it all. Then he says, “You switched perfumes, right?”

Your breath catches. “You have a good memory.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours, a hint of something unspoken there. “Guess I just pay attention.”

And in that quiet moment — the hum of the office fading behind you — you realize he always does.

Sungchan ★ you can feel the chemistry between you

The first time you meet Sungchan, a mutual friend, it’s in front of the ticket booth — he’s late, breathless, with that kind of grin that makes you forget what you were about to say. He apologizes to everyone, but his gaze lands on you for just a second too long.

You’re not supposed to notice, but you do.

“Don’t crash, alright?” His voice is low, playful, but the way he lingers, watching you with that half-smile, makes your cheeks warm. You’ve known him forever, but when he nudges you again, grinning like he’s hiding a secret, your heart stumbles. Maybe it’s always been like this, tucked away in his teasing.

Your friend group moves from ride to ride, laughter spilling everywhere, and somehow he’s always there — next to you when you’re choosing snacks, behind you when the roller coaster dips, beside you when the wind messes up your hair and he chuckles softly.

“You’re braver than I thought” he says after the drop tower, brushing a strand of his hair from his face.

“You thought I’d scream?”

He laughs, that easy, melodic sound. “You looked like you would.”

“And you looked too confident,” you shoot back.

“So you were watching me?”

You blink, caught. He smirks, eyes bright with teasing. “It’s okay. I was watching you too.”

Hours blur, the day stretching into something soft and electric. When everyone decides to rest near the fountain, you sit side by side, sharing a drink because you “accidentally” forgot yours. His knee brushes yours — once, twice — and neither of you moves away.

Later, under the fireworks, you both go quiet. The world glows red and gold, and his voice drops low beside you.

“Crazy how we just met today,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling without meaning to. “Feels like longer.”

He turns, eyes catching the reflection of the lights. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

And for a heartbeat, everything stills — the fireworks, the laughter, the noise — until it’s just the two of you, caught in something unspoken and impossibly new.

Wonbin ★ he looks for excuses to be with you

It starts small.

You’re over at your best friend’s house — again — sprawled on her bed, scrolling through your phones when you hear a knock. The door cracks open just enough for Wonbin to lean in.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking to you before his sister. “Mom said to ask if you want snacks.”

You glance up, smiling. “I’m good, thanks.”

He nods, too casual. “Sure. But I’ll bring some anyway.”

Your best friend groans. “He’s so annoying.”

You laugh, pretending not to notice the way he looks back at you before closing the door.

Later that night, your phone buzzes. Unknown number.

wonbin: “did you like the chips or should I bring something else next time?”

You: “you stole my number from your sister’s phone, didn’t you?”

wonbin: “maybe. you didn’t answer my question though ;)”

It becomes a thing — late-night texts about nothing and everything. Memes. Song links. Little jokes that somehow always turn personal.

And when you’re over at their house again, he’s always around. Passing through the kitchen just when you’re getting water. Sitting at the edge of the couch while you and his sister watch a movie.

“Didn’t know you liked this movie,” you tease.

He smirks. “Didn’t. Until now.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse betrays you.

When his sister steps out to take a call, the room goes quiet. He leans closer, voice low.

“She’s gonna think I’m annoying, huh?”

You smile. “You are.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Then why do you keep smiling at me?”

You don’t answer — and he doesn’t need you to. The silence says everything.

Sohee ★ he “accidentally” touches you

The music’s loud enough to feel in your chest, lights flickering in gold and violet. You’re half-shouting over the noise when you spot Sohee across the room — red cup in hand, laughing with someone you vaguely know. He sees you, too, and that easy, familiar smile spreads across his face.

You’ve known him for years — study sessions, late-night phone talks, inside jokes that only make sense to the two of you. But tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the party haze, or maybe it’s the way his eyes linger just a little too long when you walk over.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you tease, nudging his arm.

He grins. “Didn’t think you’d be the one dragging me onto the dance floor either.”

“I didn’t—” you start, but he’s already pulling you closer, the crowd swallowing you both.

It’s easy at first — just laughter, moving to the rhythm, pretending it’s all casual. Then his hand finds your waist, almost by accident. Or maybe not. Your breath hitches, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

For a second, the noise fades. His thumb brushes your side, light as a whisper, and neither of you steps back. His gaze drops — your lips, your eyes — then back again.

Someone bumps into you, breaking the moment, but the spell doesn’t fade. He leans closer, voice low near your ear.

“You okay?”

You nod, pulse racing. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”

He smiles, slow and knowing. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for the rest of the night, no matter how many people fill the room, it feels like it’s just the two of you — orbiting something neither of you dares to name.

Anton ★ he wants to be alone with you

You’ve known Anton for a while — two years of shared classes, group hangouts, and random late-night talks that somehow always stretch longer than either of you plan. He’s quiet, soft-spoken, the kind of person who blushes when someone compliments him and laughs under his breath instead of out loud.

You’ve always teased him for it. Called him shy. Treated him like the sweet, awkward friend everyone wants to protect.

But lately…he’s been harder to read.

It starts when you’re all hanging out at a café with friends, conversation buzzing around you. You barely notice when Anton leans in and murmurs, “Hey, wanna go for a walk after this? Just us?”

You glance at him. “What, tired of everyone already?”

He smiles, a little nervous. “No. Just… I like talking when it’s quieter.”

Later, it’s the two of you strolling down empty streets, the air cool, soft city lights catching in his hair. He talks more than usual — small things, easy things. But then he says, almost shyly, “You make it easy to talk, you know that?”

You laugh. “That’s because I’m basically your therapist.”

He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “No… it’s different.”

Something warm curls in your chest. You’ve never seen him like this — open, a little bolder in the quiet.

When you stop at a crosswalk, he glances at you again, voice soft.

“I think I only act like myself when it’s just us.”