𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎.

Familiarity was a curse you couldn’t quite grasp.

Being trapped into a series of situations where non-familiar grounds made you feel more at ease than the comfort of your home messed you up more than you’d like to admit, granted, you wanted to label it as the worst experience of your life. Was it because it made you miserable for three years of your life—the life where you were supposed to be enjoying your Uni like a normal young adult? 

Or because your family sent you away with simply one thing in mind—your uncanny behaviour, which only stemmed with neglect they provided you with, so, who was to blame for this?

The answer was clear in their faces, filled with tremendous guilt of not being able to take the right decision. Three years had passed by, and it was time for you to be home. It was faintly surprising when you found your favourite childhood dishes ready on the table—your brother pulling you into a hug that you couldn’t quite accept without feeling awkward. Sunghoon despised what the situation had come down to, but he was ready to give you the time to adjust. 

Your parents were the next to engulf you in a bigger embrace, “we missed you,” your dad mumbled, making you chuckle at the fact that it was indeed too late to say it. 

“Have you not been eating well?” Your mother asked, scanning your face with such delicacy—reminding you of your childhood. 

“I have,” you replied simply, trying to get out of the situation without causing more drama, “I’ll go freshen up first.”

You moved past them swiftly, grabbing your luggage, but your brother was quicker to carry it to your room, oh wow, now everyone wished to be nice to you? You bit the inside of your cheek, walking up to your room, completely missing the presence of another person in the house as he chose to stare at you from the sidelines.  

The place was different now, having undergone a few renovations here and there, but your room remained untouched to maintain the sanctity of it. Nothing had really changed per se, but everything had. Yet, you had the luxury to find humour in it, in privacy at least, because your mouth worked faster than your brain in public. Which is exactly why you took your sweet time to rest in your room, till a solid knock on your door took away that peace. 

You were pissed, reading the well decorated journal you’d somehow managed to keep when you still had the gentle thoughts within you. Now? Not so much. Each turn of the page had you laughing—mourning the person you used to be and what you got roped into, finger caressing every word of that one page which you wanted to rip apart, but also shove it deep into your memory, not wanting to face the consequences of relieving it. 

Regardless, you stood up with a groan, expecting it to be your brother calling you for dinner simply because you had lost the track of your time wrapped up in the blue coloured bubble. You didn’t even realize you had a nasty frown on your face as you managed to open the door with too much force. 

“Welcome back.” 

The scoff that left your mouth was loud, coming across the man, the voice you didn’t wish to hear again. Of course he was here, why were you even surprised when this man was more a part of your family than you were? He fit in perfectly, as if he was the child your parents had wanted all along. 

He leaned against the door with ease, running a hand through his hair, feigning boredom at your reaction of absolute disbelief, the cockiness surrounded him like spikes, reaching close enough to pop that very bubble you’d been resting in, and you hated it, you hated him for taking away everything you’d never gotten a chance to explore. 

Jay stared at you without any shame, as if you’d been the one intruding his me time, making you shake your head, tongue poking your cheek with annoyance bubbling through. It was the same look he had a few years back, when you’d try to act tough in front of him and he’d see straight through it in seconds, and the worst part was that he still looked just as sure of himself now, like three years hadn’t done a thing to shake his confidence in knowing you, if he knew you at all, that is. 

“Your parents must’ve kicked you out of your place, granted you still spend all your time here, like a dog we didn’t ask for,” you crossed your arms, watching him sucking on a lollipop with amusement, as if he knew you’d snap the second you’d see him. 

“You sure about that?” He whispered, stepping in as you stood in your place, not wanting to provide him with the satisfaction of getting to you, “y’know, this dog knows this house better than you do.”

It was to provoke you, yes, but that was enough to make you laugh in his face, unimpressed at the new low he’d sunk to. 

“Yeah, so fucking move, or did you forget how the doors work while I was gone?” You deadpan. 

“No, but I did forget how bad your attitude issues are,” he raised his brows, “thought you’d come back more gentle, dainty even.”

“Aw? Sorry Mr. Park I’m not altering my personality to fit yours, go find someone else to bother.” You provided him with a clipped smile that held no respect whatsoever, not that he deserved it anyway. 

He lets go of the lollipop with a smack, wetting his bottom lip as he stared at you yet again, as if pondering on whether he should push more or just see you break without saying anything, because gosh—you hadn’t changed at all, those years away meant absolutely nothing, if anything, you’d gotten worse with your walls up high, having no space to break in, no, now you talked back freely, effectively pushing him out physically and emotionally.

It was a given that he wasn’t going to move, and you rolled your eyes at the audacity of this man who just happened to be your brother’s best friend. With how close they were, anyone could’ve mistaken them for being boyfriends. When he still didn’t move, didn’t speak, you started pushing the door shut in his face. 

You barely register his arm coming full force to hold the door open, not budging, making you realize that he had indeed changed, that once lanky nerd now stood up straight and strong, veins prominent on his pathetically big arms. You try again, and he laughs, he actually fucking laughs out loud at the poor attempt, vaguely surprised at how you’re not holding back, you genuinely want him gone. 

“Y/N! Jay!” You mom calls out from the kitchen, and your hold falters at how she took your name first—a thing that you did not expect. 

It’s stupid, really, the way your grip loosens like that, like your body reacted before your pride could catch up, and you hate that he notices it, because of course he does, of course his eyes drop for half a second to your hand on the door and then back to your face as he stood right in front of you, stopping the door before it hits you. 

“Fucking leave already,” you muttered, head hurting now as you turned around. 

He chuckled, “what? Gave up already?”

“You can’t be that bored, Jay,” you sighed, “go bother your boyfriend instead.”

Just as you walked outside, you felt his hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back against his chest—something you did not expect, a groan leaving your mouth at the impact, barely registering the movement at first, “the fuck?” 

“Are you gonna leave again?” He murmured, breathing against the shell of your ear. 

You thrashed in his hold, “let me go before I call Hoon,” you clenched your jaw, warning him but he found it amusing. 

“C’mon, I mean no harm here, yeah? Just answer my question and you get to go, baby,” he whispered, you could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You managed to push him off, chest heaving. 

“Park Jongseong,” he shrugged, and you were annoyed at how he didn’t lose composure no matter what he did. 

“Yeah no fucking shit idiot,” you sneered, “and you have no right to ask me that when you were the damn reason why I had to leave in the first place.”

That was the first time he diverted his gaze, that being enough of a reaction for you cause god, you did hate him and had no intentions of letting him get in your way again. If you could, you’d just slap him off his high horse and watch him fall with nothing but pure satisfaction on your face, and just like him, you wouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt within you. 

“Dinner’s getting cold!” Your mother called again, the clatter of cutlery following, making your head hurt even further. 

Jay cleared his throat first, stepping back as if nothing had just happened, running a hand through his hair, staring at you with the same infuriating ease that got you worked up—not in a good way, never in a good way, and you simply scoffed at the lack of reply, as if he didn’t admit to your accusation by any means. 

But his eyes said it all. 

“After you,” he gestured toward the stairs, jaw tight. 

You stared at him for a second too long, clicking your tongue before brushing past him without another word, making sure to bump into him hard enough he stumbles back, eyes still on your figure heading downstairs, “ah—fuck,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Things weren’t any better at the dining table with Jay sitting right in front of you, grinning at the joke your father made. It was endearing how your family tried to make everything seem okay, but it wasn’t a one day process and they seemed to realize it too.

“There you are,” Sunghoon had said, smiling, standing up slightly as if he might hug you again before thinking better of it, ruffling your hair as if that was any better, earning a punch on his arm for messing up your hair, still happy to have you around finally, initiating small talk. 

“How was the Uni?” You father asked, granted you had stopped contacting them after a while.

“It was busy,” you replied, and technically you weren’t lying, the classes did keep you busy, amongst the other activities you took part in. 

You stiffened the second you felt a feeling creep up your leg, a slow brush against your ankle. It happened again, more deliberate this time, his shoe nudging lightly against your calf before retreating as though he were gauging your reaction. You kept your expression blank, lifting your glass calmly, eyes fixed ahead at the man who made your blood boil. 

Across from you, Jay looked perfectly composed, nodding at something your father had said, offering a quiet laugh to humour everyone. If anyone looked at him, they would see nothing unusual, of course, they trusted him too much anyway. 

“Don’t,” you mouthed, jerking your chin forward to the food so that he focused on eating. 

His grin widened, and you swore you were one touch away from kicking him, which surprise surprise, is exactly what you did when his leg started trailing up, and you fucking hated how a shiver went up your spine at that measly touch, a choked laugh leaving your mouth as he grimaced.

Sunghoon paused mid sentence at the sound that slipped out of you, brows lifting. “What?”

You cleared your throat quickly, lifting your glass to drink some juice, “nothing.”

Jay had already withdrawn his leg, adjusting in his seat as if nothing had happened, glaring at you right after and didn’t bother sparing him a glance.

“How were your grades?” Your father asked.

“Good,” you replied, even though they had seen your grades already. 

“We’re proud of you,” your mother said softly.

The words sat strangely in your chest. You nodded once, not trusting yourself to elaborate further, and fuck, why were you so emotional today? All over the place and it was just your first day back.

Under the table, Jay’s foot nudged yours again, not teasing this time, just a brief press before he pulled away. You looked up sharply, but he was already listening to Sunghoon, expression composed, as though he hadn’t done anything at all, asshole. 

You set your fork down soon after, “I’m tired.”

“You barely ate,” your mother frowned.

“I’m fine, mum, the food was amazing, thank you.”

You stood before anyone could insist otherwise. Sunghoon looked like he wanted to follow, but he stayed seated when you shook your head lightly. As you stepped into the hallway, you heard the scrape of a chair a moment later.

Jay’s voice came quietly from behind you, “that kick hurt y’know?”

You didn’t turn around, “you should’ve learned by now.”

After getting no reply, you started walking again, ready to sleep, mull over your day and frost into dreamland, shaking Jay’s scent off your mind and body, but he didn’t want that. 

“Stay,” he said finally, softer than before, “at least this time.”

Your fingers tightened around the railing as you climbed the stairs, eyes closing at the tone, “that depends on me, not you,” you replied without looking back.

And you left him standing there, jaw clenched at how ignorant and distant you’d been, and he knew that he deserved it. 

Two days had went by and you were frustrated being confined in your room, it was your own decision yes, however it was better than going down and interacting with the man who had forgotten he had his own home to go back to. It did get better when your mother had come up to check up on you—and fuck, you missed being taken care of, missed being the daughter who was loved unconditionally each passing day. 

However, Jay was adamant about bothering you, the lunch being full of him reminiscing about the old days, to the point he made your father bring out old albums just so he could see how you were as a kid. It was odd how he smiled at a certain picture of you and Sunghoon playing in the tent house you owned, but you knew better to mistake it for fondness, he was too good at acting anyway. 

He was simply there to bother you. 

Sunghoon was leaving for a competition, and you did your best to wish him luck, the happiness clear on his face at the statement. 

Which brings you back to now—the dinner was done, and Jay had left somewhere, thank fucking god. But now, you were bored. It was that familiar itch you had, your fingers tightening around your phone as you scrolled through your contacts that you’d never bothered to delete all this while. It was valid, right? To let loose every few days, to meet up with old friends. 

Nipping at your bottom lip, you pulled up the chat, not expecting the reply to come as fast as it did. 

You: alive?  Jake: who’s this

You rolled your eyes, as if this man would ever delete your number. 

You: you’re so fucking annoying jake Jake: that’s what you get for leaving me  You: so dramatic, i’m back Jake: as in, back in the town? You: yes obvi Jake: yeah? and you didn’t bother telling me?

You could picture it clearly, him smirking at the phone, leaning back with a chuckle. It was easier for you to smile at it too. 

You: now i did Jake: where are you? be ready in ten  You: home, be quick 

So, you were actually doing it again, and you didn’t care, a smirk pulling at your lips, grabbing your leather jacket as you changed into something that fit your image better, applying a layer of makeup, knowing it would Jake fifteen minutes to reach, having done it before, way too many times that your body remembered the thrill of it all. Without bothering to turn on the lights, you slipped outside into the cold air, thankful for the absence of Jay who usually sat around the living room at this hour. 

The low rumble of  a bike cut through the quiet before you even saw the headlights, that familiar sound rolling down the street, Jake slowed near the curb, one foot dropping to the ground as he pushed his visor up, eyes landing on you without surprise, and you knew he sported that lazy smile under the helmet. 

He let out a short breath through his nose, “so it’s true, you’re back.”

“Unfortunately,” you replied, stepping closer, “you came quick.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your jacket, your makeup, then back to your face, something unreadable flickering there before he handed you the spare helmet, which you wore without thinking twice. 

“I was nearby,” he answered, which was an absolute lie and both of you knew it.

You climbed on behind him without another word, hands settling at his waist as he pulled away from the curb, the ride swallowed conversation whole, wind cutting through the quiet yet familiar streets slipping into darker roads until the city was distant. And god you smiled, living in the present and radiating happiness that even Jake could feel. 

He slowed near the warehouse, parking off to the side where the line of cars broke unevenly along the road. The building looked dead from the outside, but the bass leaked through the walls, the ground faintly trembling under your boots when you stepped off, going inside while he stayed close, watching you take a drink from someone without even asking what it was.

A lot of people were pleasantly surprised seeing you back, pulling you into hugs, inquiring about the shit that went down. 

“You haven’t changed,” he murmured, and you shook your head, taking a big sip to feel that warmth around your throat.

“Neither have you,” you replied, though you didn’t look back when you said it, because you found something far more interesting barely hidden behind all those intoxicated bodies. 

Of fucking course—the man you’d been trying to escape was already here, a hypocrite through and through. He gave you so much shit for surrounding yourself with this crowd as if he wasn’t still an active part of it too. To no one’s surprise, he was staring at you, a scoff leaving your mouth as you focused back on Jake. 

“Will he ever leave you alone? He even joined racing because of you back then.” He asked, leaning in. 

“I fucking hope he does. I swear, out of all places, he just had to be here? Two minutes and he’s gonna come pick a fight with you,” you sighed. 

“Two minutes? He’s already walking over,” Jake smirked, straightening his jacket at the new arrival, and god you did feel the warmth of him approaching, standing right beside you. 

“You didn’t even last a week,” Jay said smoothly, and you gripped the glass tighter, biting the inside of your cheek. Who was he to even keep tabs on you? 

“Yeah, so? Gonna go and snitch again?” You turned to look at him, taking another sip of the awfully strong drink. 

He chuckled but there was no humour behind it, “you’re coming home with me,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Says who?” You asked, incredulous at his ability to never shut up, especially when he made decisions for you as if he had any right to do so. 

Jay didn’t answer immediately, which was rare for him, his gaze lingering on your face like he was trying to find something familiar there and coming up short every time, because as familiar as the setting was, you had changed. The music boomed around you, people brushing past without noticing the tension sitting between the three of you.

“You don’t belong here,” he said quietly, sighing finally in hopes that you’ll listen for once. 

You let out a dry laugh, tilting your head slightly as you looked at him. “And you do?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s exactly what you meant, that’s how you’ve always been.”

Jake shifted beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours, presence warm as always, him being someone you could truly trust. You didn’t miss the way Jay noticed it, the subtle tightening of his jaw, the brief flicker in his eyes that disappeared almost instantly, well, this was the only place where he lost composure. 

“She’s not going anywhere,” Jake said lightly, just stating it with a shrug. 

Jay finally looked at him properly then, “I wasn’t talking to you,” he replied.

Jake gave him yet another shrug with an amused smile, unfazed by his hostility, and you could feel the irritation building in Jay in quiet layers. He exhaled slowly through his nose, attention returning to you. 

“You’ll regret this,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You smiled without warmth, “then I’ll deal with it, not you.”

That seemed to be the point where something in him gave up trying to reason, his expression settling back into something distant in a way that felt worse than anger. He held your gaze for one last second before stepping back, making it clear he was done trying, watching Jake’s arm on your waist as his tongue poked his cheek, walking away. 

He wasn’t even putting up a fight, and somehow managed to sour your mood further, but you let Jake take over and dance with you, taking your mind off of the man who had left a few minutes back. Time moved strangely after it, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been there, catching up with your friend, but you realized it was late when you took another puff of the joint you and Jake shared, only to hear sirens blazing outside. 

“Oh fuck,” you muttered. 

Someone had warned the police, making people surge towards the exit without much care about shoving each other. Jake’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, “come on,” he nodded, and you just followed him, but it was useless with how everyone had jammed the exit. 

A hand shoved into your shoulder from behind and you stumbled forward, catching yourself against Jake’s arm, the movement twisting your ankle at a strange angle when you tried to steady your weight. Pain shot up fast and sharp, stealing your breath. 

Jake felt you tense up immediately. “Hey.”

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, but your step faltered again when he tried to move you forward. You were, in fact, not fine by any means. 

Which is why you found yourself at the police station alongside Jake, who’d refused to leave you behind. It was rather funny if you took your mind off what would happen if your family came to know about this ordeal. You’d chosen to call Sunghoon despite knowing he wasn’t in the city, and it did not end well—not because he was angry, but he was scared, and that was worse. 

You ended the call before he could ask anything else, before the concern in his voice could turn into questions you didn’t want to answer, especially when he knew exactly what was going on, staring at the dark screen for a moment longer than necessary. 

“He’s worried, y’know? I’m not close with him, but he did shut everyone out after you left,” Jake broke the silence as you both curled up in the corner of the cell. 

“Didn’t bother reaching out regardless, I was waiting,” you chuckled, and Jake pulled you into a half hug with a dull ache in your ankle, talking about everything and he was probably the only person you could truly confide in. 

Which is why you didn’t notice someone staring at you with the intensity that could burn holes. He looked disappointed, especially with how you had a smile on your face even after this—especially curling up around Jake as if you were sitting on your bed and not in the police station. He knew this would happen. 

You only noticed Jay when Jake’s voice faltered mid-sentence, eyes on him now, jaw clenching as to build the walls around you yet again. He simply waited for the officer to open the door. 

“Here he comes playing your knight in shining armour again,” Jake mumbled, pulling you closer under his gaze. 

“I’m fucking screwed, he’s gonna tell everyone,” you sighed, body heating up as you remembered how it went the last time. 

“Not this time, trust me,” Jake muttered into your ear.

The officer was quick to tell how Jay had been gracious enough to bail out you and Jake? You stood carefully, the pressure on your ankle sending a sharp protest upward before dulling into something manageable. Jake’s hand hovered at your back for balance, but Jay was already there, fingers closing lightly around your forearm firmly, preventing the stumble you would never admit might happen.

“Weight off it,” he said quietly, making Jake roll his eyes and honestly, you didn’t have it in you to argue any further, signing the paperwork without much chatter, stepping outside finally which had you realizing just how suffocating it was to be inside. 

“Get home yourself,” Jay nodded towards Jake, grabbing your hand, pulling you towards his car. 

“For fucks sake, she’s hurt,” Jake groaned, having had enough of this attitude, taking you to the car instead, “be careful.” 

This couldn’t be happening at four in the morning, you didn’t wish to think about it, and you certainly didn’t wish to see the look on Jay’s face, who only opened the door and waited, eyes lowering down to your ankle which seemed to be swollen—and he cussed cause fuck he shouldn’t have left you alone. What would Sunghoon say? 

“Text me, okay?” Jake asked and you nodded, squeezing his hand and thanking him. 

You chose to look out the window, “Hoon called you then?” You asked, a few minutes after he started driving, nearing home. 

“Yeah,” he replied, eyes on the road. 

It was clear he didn’t wish to speak further, and you shook your head, “you didn’t have to come anyway,” you seethed out.

“You’re unbelievable—getting into trouble and what do I get? Not even a thank you?” 

“Oh i’m sorry, you wanna be thanked? I didn’t ask you to come here, Jay,” you replied, nails digging into your palm. 

“Well, I still fucking did.” He was frustrated, steering the car into the parking, stopping now, staring at you, “I always will.”

“What—” 

He got out before you could even ask what he meant by it. Well, that was intense, your eyes closing as you leaned against the seat. The door on his side shut harder than necessary, the sound echoing through the quiet street, and you stayed exactly where you were, fingers still curled against your palm. He came around to your side a moment later, opening the door. 

“I can get myself out,” you muttered, shifting forward. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he replied, stepping closer when you limped, and it was humiliating the way his warm arm closed around you, “stop fighting everything.” 

“I’m not—” 

You were braced up against the car for the second before Jay decided that he’d had enough, he was tired. His arm slid behind your back, and under your knees in one swift movement that left you breathless more from shock than anything else. He lifted you like it was nothing, walking ahead. 

“Put me down,” you snapped immediately, fingers gripping the front of his jacket with a fear of falling down. 

“Walk then,” he said flatly, not slowing.

“You’re so—” you cut yourself off, jaw tightening, because struggling would only make you look worse and you already hated the position you were in. His hold was firm, and fuck, it was so annoyingly careful, and you could feel the tension in him, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he refused to look at you as he carried you up the steps.

The front door opened with a quiet click and he stepped inside, nudging it shut behind him with his foot. The house was dark and silent, your parents were asleep. He didn’t really speak as he carried you through the hallway, and you just hoped he didn’t feel how your heart was beating out of your chest. 

He didn’t slow down until he reached your door, shoulder nudging it open because his hands were still holding you, and the quiet inside your room felt too normal for how loud your pulse still was. He lowered you onto the edge of the bed without a word. 

The second your balance settled, he stepped back enough to put space between you and whatever had passed in the car earlier.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, fingers braced against the mattress, ankle throbbing and you wondered how it all went so fucking wrong. His attention dropped straight to your feet, to the heels still strapped on despite the pain. 

You moved first, reaching down when you saw him doing it, you have had enough for the night, “I can take them off.”

His hand closed lightly around your wrist before you could touch the buckle, “don’t,” he said quietly. 

You stared at him for a second, irritation flaring again but you didn’t pull away, watching how different he looked with shorter hair, jawline sharper now. He crouched in front of you, fingers moving to the strap, undoing it as his fingers caressed the skin over the swell gently, a focused pout on his face which looked cute, juxtaposing the feeling within him—and gosh you could never call him that to his face. The clasp clicked open finally, and he slid the heels off slowly, one at a time, setting them aside near the wall instead of dropping them where he was.

It was such a small, stupid detail and it made your throat feel tight for no reason you wanted to examine.

“Happy?” You muttered, leaning back slightly, watching him instead of the ceiling.

“No,” he replied, already standing again, turning and leaving because he knew if he stayed a second longer, he’d overstep the boundaries. 

You took in a deep breath once he was gone, “he’s crazy,” you mumbled to yourself, “crazy, crazy, crazy.” 

For a moment you just breathed and wondered why he was always around, why didn’t he let you forget about his existence, why did he have to be so awful about his presence, and act so fucking nice when you were vulnerable, actions never matching his words. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at nothing until the door opened again, softer this time, like he was making sure not to wake anyone.

He didn’t turn the light on. The faint spill of dim lights from the hallway followed him in, enough to see the towel in his hand, already damp around the edges where the ice pressed through the fabric. You pushed yourself upright a little before he even said anything, because of course he would come back, because of course he wouldn’t just leave it alone.

He set the ice on the bedside table first, then looked at you properly for the first time since the car, “move,” he said quietly.

“Jay, why are you doing this?” You asked, shifting your leg toward him without arguing this time, too tired to fight something that would happen anyway. His hand slid under your ankle just long enough to lift it, settling the cold against the swelling with careful pressure. The chill made you inhale sharply.

He didn’t comment on it, or on the question you asked, he just adjusted the towel once, making sure it stayed in place before letting go.

“You didn’t have to come back,” you said after a moment, voice lower now. 

“I know.”

You almost laughed, because he kept saying that like it explained anything, typical Jay—him and his two word replies.

He stayed where he was for a few seconds longer than necessary, caressing the softness of your skin, then straightened, hands falling uselessly at his sides before he shoved them into his pockets like he needed somewhere to put them to ground himself, because whatever was happening felt way too serious, too intimate. 

“You should sleep,” he said.

“You should go home,” you replied automatically.

His jaw shifted slightly, like he almost said something else, then decided against it, “yeah,” he said finally.

He moved to the door, paused with his hand resting against the frame, and for a second you thought he might turn around, might finish whatever sentence he’d left hanging downstairs, but just as usual, he didn’t. 

“Jay,” you called out before you could stop yourself, making him stop and turn around, “will you tell my—my parents?”

He chuckled, cause why did he even bother to expect you saying any other thing, “I won’t.”

“Thank you,” you replied, looking elsewhere, “for everything, for the night.”

Turns out, you still could surprise him with nice words. 

You missed the way the corner of his lip twitched before he nodded, leaving yet again. The hallway light disappeared when he closed the door behind him, leaving only the faint cold against your ankle and the quiet hum of the house settling back into place.

You lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling again, body finally heavy enough to believe the night was over. The space he’d left behind didn’t feel empty, yet it was unfinished in a way that indicated how it wasn’t the end, just the start. 

You woke up to a very concerned Sunghoon, barely realizing it was nearing evening and you’d so easily slept through the day. What you didn’t expect was to see Sunghoon rushing back home, nearly in tears at the thought of you being in trouble. 

“Are you okay? Hurt anywhere? Fuck—”

“Sunghoon—I’m okay,” you gulped, sitting up straight, gasping when he pulled you into a warm hug. 

“I’m sorry, won’t leave you alone again,” Sunghoon mumbled, all his brotherly instincts coming back. 

He remembered that day when he was seven and you’d thrown a tantrum, wanting to visit the park and feed the ducks. He had taken the responsibility to take you out without informing your parents about it, and he felt the most guilty little kid alive when you fell down and scraped your knee—he was scared. It didn’t compare to the day when your parents found out about your drug usage and illegal racings, even though he was just as clueless, he hated himself for not convincing your parents enough to let you stay. 

He called you each day for the first month, but once he started with his own uni lectures, it was hard to do so—and when he tried again, you’d given up, feeling abandoned. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, clearly regretting a lot. 

Your bottom lip quivered, and at that point, it was you coddling Sunghoon as he went on describing how much he’d tried to stop your parents, how he missed his sister, each word making your chest tighten with sadness. That conversation was really important, especially with Sunghoon practically begging for forgiveness and you accepting his apology, trying to turn a new leaf. However, him saying he wouldn’t let you go out alone made you groan before you both started chuckling. 

Jay watched it all happen, the door being slightly ajar, smiling without even processing any bit of it. This was the second time he’d seen you truly smile after coming back, he didn’t like that the first one was with Jake of all people. Jay rushed to leave the second he saw Sunghoon standing up, almost tripping in the process, but he somehow managed. 

It was easier to lie to the family after having Sunghoon onboard with you, as he’d promised to not tell anyone. Your excuse? You tripped in the bathroom. As horrendous it sounds, it was plausible, and well, you got extra chicken nuggets for dinner! Alongside the absence of Jay, who had apparently gone back home to get some work done, which is why the house was more silent than you’d like to admit. 

The extra nuggets didn’t do much cause by the time the house settled, the ache in your leg had deepened into a heavy pressure that made sleep feel irritating. You tried to sleep an hour before giving up, and gosh—even standing up took effort because of your ankle. You waited until the dizziness passed, then eased your weight onto your good leg and moved toward the door, keeping one hand along the wall for balance.

The hallway was dark, the kitchen darker. You were a few steps from the counter when your foot slid slightly on the tile, just enough for your balance to be tipped forward, and you could barely make out what to reach out for in the darkness.

Then a warm hand caught your arm, another steadying your waist, holding you steady, and a bit too close for your liking—making you yelp in surprise. 

“Shh, calm the fuck down,” Jay muttered as you breathed hard, pushing him off of you, which did not work out. 

“The fuck are you doing here? Mum said you went back home,” you huffed.

“Plans change,” he hummed, the vibration of his chest rumbling against your side because god, he was still holding you that close. He didn’t even sound apologetic, just bored as usual, “and lucky for you I did, or you’d be face-planting into the linoleum right now.”

You tried to wrench your arm out of his grip, but his fingers only tightened—reminding you of that irritating strength he’d developed while you were gone. “I didn’t ask for your help. I was fine.” 

“Sure. So you asked your mum where I went?” He smirked, catching on to what you’d mentioned. 

“Oh fuck no, they just told me without having to ask,” you muttered, lying because, you did in fact as them about it. You started moving, trying to get out of his grip.  

“Stop squirming, Y/N. You’re going to hurt yourself more, and I’m not explaining to Sunghoon why his sister is crying on the floor at three in the morning.”

“I’m not crying,” you hissed, though the throb in your ankle was making your eyes water. You pushed at his chest again, palms flat against the hard muscle that shouldn't have felt so warm through his shirt. “Let go, Jay. Seriously.”

“Fine.”

He didn’t step back. Instead, his hands slid from your waist to your hips, and before you could even process the indignity of it, he hoisted you up. You gasped, hands instinctively clutching his shoulders for purchase as he made you sit on the kitchen counter with effortless ease.

“You’re such a dick,” you whispered, though the bite was lacking because your heart was hammering against your ribs—from the scare, you told yourself. Definitely just the scare.

“And you’re welcome,” he countered smoothly, stepping into the space between your knees before you could close them. It was a rather possessive move, trapping you against the granite. He leaned in, one hand resting on the counter beside your thigh, trapping you in. “Now, are you down here for water, or were you planning to escape again?”

You couldn’t see him, but your eyes had adjusted enough to gather his silhouette, the sharpness of his jawline. He smelled like mint and that faint, expensive tobacco scent he seemed to carry now, intoxicating in the small space.

Without having to answer, Jay gathered that you were hungry when he heard that small rumble from your stomach, and he found it funny when you moved in embarrassment, but he didn’t let you move. 

“Classy,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the side of your hip, a ghost of a touch, “I take it the dinner wasn’t enough.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, face burning. You tried to shove at his chest again, but it was like pushing a brick wall, “I swear I’ll scream and Sunghoon will kill you if he sees us like this.”

“Like what? Like you’re enjoying spending time with his best friend?” The words were a whisper, dangerously close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold kitchen tiles. He didn’t wait for you to answer—didn’t give you the satisfaction of stuttering out a denial. Instead, he finally pulled back, the loss of his body heat leaving you feeling strangely exposed in the dark.

Jay had already grabbed two packs of ramen, and you wondered just how well versed he was with the kitchen to be doing all this in darkness. 

“I’m going back to bed.”

“Try it,” he challenged, not even looking at you. “You hop one step on that ankle and I’ll tie you to the counter. Don’t test me, Y/N. I’m fucking tired.”

You stayed put, seething, watching the way his shirt pulled taut across his shoulders as he cracked an egg into the boiling water with one hand. It was annoying how competent he was. How very steady.

A few minutes later, he was done. He didn’t bother with bowls. He grabbed the pot handle and two pairs of chopsticks, balancing a water bottle under his arm, leaving you in the dark, asking you to stay put as he went upstairs to keep the food in—your room?

“We’re moving,” he stated, walking back toward you now. 

“I can eat here. It’s a fucking kitchen.”

“And your parents’ bedroom is directly above us. Unless you want to explain why we’re having a midnight feast together, we’re going to your room.” He said, stepping into your personal space again. 

“I can walk,” you insisted, sliding your good leg off the counter, “I don’t need you to—”

“You can limp,” he corrected, cutting you off. “And I’m not waiting for you to drag yourself down the hallway.”

Before you could even plant your feet, he moved. One arm hooked behind your knees, the other around your waist, and he swept you up against his chest like you weighed absolutely nothing. You gasped, hands instinctively clutching his shirt, your face buried in the crook of his neck. That scent flooded your senses, and you hated it, hated him.

“Put me down, you jerk,” you whispered harshly, though you didn’t struggle. You couldn’t when his grip was practically iron. 

“Shut up,” he grunted, kicking the kitchen door open. He carried you down the dark hallway with ease, he went straight to your room, maneuvering you through the door before kicking it shut with his heel.

The way he dropped you on the bed was gentle, keeping in mind your bruised ankle, grabbing the pot he kept on the table.

“Eat,” he ordered, placing the steaming pot on a magazine in the center of your duvet.

“I’m not eating out of the pot with you,” you glared, though the spicy steam was making your mouth water.

“Suit yourself.” Jay climbed onto the bed opposite you, sitting cross-legged. He claimed his side of the mattress with an arrogance that made your blood boil, his knee knocking against yours, he didn’t pull back.

He took a bite, chewing slowly, eyes locked on yours. “More for me.” He shrugged. 

Your stomach growled again, louder this time. Jay smirked around his chopsticks, and gosh, was it embarrassing. 

“Fine,” you snapped, snatching the other pair from the tray. You leaned in, fighting for space over the small pot. “Move your big head.”

“Watch your elbows,” he muttered, but he shifted slightly, just enough to let you in.

“You’re hogging the egg,” you accused, eyeing the single poached egg floating in the chili oil. You reached for it, Jay’s chopsticks clattered against yours instantly.

“I cooked, I eat,” he murmured, not even looking up.

“I’m the injured party here—I need protein for healing!” You shoved his hand aside, or tried to, leaning in further, “give it up, Jay.”

“Make me,” he challenged, his voice dropping an octave, slipping from annoyed to amused.

You huffed, abandoning strategy for speed, and lunged. You managed to snag the yolk, but before you could pull back, Jay’s hand shot out. He didn’t grab the chopsticks—he grabbed your wrist.

The contact was electric. His fingers wrapped around your pulse point, halting you mid-air. The sudden stop made you gasp, and you looked up, ready to snap at him—but the words died in your throat. He wasn't looking at the food, he was looking at you. He had leaned in to block you, and now his face was terrifyingly close, eyes dark, dilated in the dim light, tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. The playful arrogance was gone, replaced by that heavy, suffocating intensity that gave you goosebumps.

“You are,” he whispered, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, “such a brat.”

“And you’re a fucking bully,” you breathed back, but you didn’t pull your hand away. Your heart was thudding so hard against your ribs you were sure he could hear it in the silence.

Jay’s gaze dropped to your lips, the air between you thickened, charged with three years of resentment and something else you couldn’t quite name. He leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch, and your breath hitched.

“Jay,” you exhaled, a warning or an invitation? You weren’t sure which at this point. 

He tilted his head, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as if he was fighting for control, or maybe losing it. His face was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against the corner of your mouth, his voice rough, “tell me to get out.”

You stared at him, lips parted, your brain screaming at you to push him away, to dump the noodles on his lap, to do something. But your body was frozen, leaning into his gravity. You stayed silent as his lips brushed against yours, just barely, but enough to make you gasp, the silence only making it worse. 

Just then, the sudden vibration of your phone against your thigh brought you back to reality, as you both froze, especially Jay who stared at the lit up screen displaying Jake’s name, making him pull back in annoyance. He didn’t say a word as he slid off the bed, standing up and smoothing his shirt down with a jerky motion, his face twisting into that cold, unreadable mask you hated.

“Jay, wait—”

“Answer it,” he cut you off, his voice flat. He didn’t look at you. He was already retreating, putting distance between you like the last five minutes hadn’t happened, “don’t let me keep you.”

You blinked, the whiplash of his mood making your head spin. You grabbed the phone just to stop the buzzing, silencing it, but your eyes were glued to his back. He stopped at the door, one hand gripping the frame, knuckles white.

A sudden, stupid urge to provoke him bubbled up—maybe to get a reaction.

“You know,” you started, forcing a breathless laugh as you leaned back against the headboard, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

You waited for the retort, the scoff, the keep dreaming, princess.

But Jay didn’t say anything. He didn’t even turn around, just stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him with a soft, final click, leaving you alone in the dark with a silenced phone and a heart that was beating way too fast.

The door clicked shut behind Jay, yet he didn’t have it in him to walk away just yet. His hand hovered over the cold brass handle, knuckles white, as he stood frozen in the hallway, listening to the silence on the other side. He half-expected—maybe half-hoped—that you would chase after him, fling the door open, and yell something bratty that would give him an excuse to turn around and finish what he started.

But of course, you didn’t. 

Instead, he heard the faint thud of your phone hitting the mattress, followed by a heavy, frustrated sigh. Jake.

The name twisted in his gut like a knife, and it was ugly. It wasn’t jealousy—he told himself, forcing his feet to move, forcing his breath to even out. He wasn’t jealous of a guy who looked like he peaked in high school. It was just annoyance. By the time he reached his own room (well, guest room), slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame, he had convinced himself that the heat pooling low in his stomach was nothing but anger. You were a problem to be managed, not a temptation to be indulged, and gosh, he was done slipping.

It was when you entered the kitchen the next morning, things began to get worse. Jay didn’t even look at you, didn’t pass a snarky comment, nor did he bother bringing up what had almost happened last night. In fact, Jay didn’t even look up from his coffee. Apparently he thought silent treatment would help, and boy did he stretch it—for four whole days. 

He became a ghost in your own fucking house. If you walked into a room, he walked out. When your mother asked him to help you change the ice pack because you were struggling to balance, he did it without a word. He knelt at your feet, his hands warm and efficient on your skin, but he stared at the wall the entire time. He didn’t tease you about your swollen foot. He didn’t thumb the sensitive skin of your arch like he had in your bedroom. He simply acted like he was doing his job, which he didn’t even need to do actually. 

It effectively drove you insane. 

You tried to provoke him. You played music too loud, you wore the short shorts he hated, you even talked loudly on the phone to Jake in the living room, laughing at jokes that werent exactly funny, just to see if his jaw would tick.

Jay just turned the volume up on the TV, his expression bored, completely unmoved, so unbothered. 

He was denying you the one thing you craved more than his kindness—his attention. He was starving you out, weaponizing his indifference to put you back in your place, and the worst part was, it was working. The silence made the memory of his breath on your lips feel like a hallucination, making you question if he had ever looked at you with anything other than annoyance.

By the fifth night, the itch under your skin was unbearable. Your ankle could finally hold weight. The swelling was gone, leaving only a stiff ache when you turned too fast, but you were done being the invalid, and you were absolutely done being ignored.

If Jay wanted to pretend you were invisible after the shit he pulled then you were going to make sure you were the only thing he could see, ditching the sweatpants for a pair of shorts and a cute tank top, just casual enough for dinner. The roasted chicken smelled amazing for sure, the light conversation going on as Sunghoon urged you to sit next to him. 

And then there was Jay, looking infuriatingly at ease with his hair styled back, specs on, clad in a black button up with sleeves rolled up for the Uni presentation he had for some module earlier today. He didn’t bother looking up when you entered—of fucking course. 

“Finally,” your mother smiled, gesturing to the empty chair across from Jay. “We were waiting for you. Leg feeling better?”

“Much better,” you said, your voice clear and bright. You pulled the chair out—the wood scraping loudly against the floorboards, a jarring sound that made Sunghoon wince—and sat down, “I think I’m fully healed, actually.”

Jay’s gaze remained fixed on the water jug in the center of the table. He reached out and poured himself a glass.

“That’s great news,” your father beamed, passing you a plate.

“It means I can finally go out again,” you replied, locking your eyes on Jay’s profile. “Catch up on everything I missed.”

Jay took a sip of his water, not reacting as he placed the glass down with a soft clink and turned to your mother. “The chicken tastes excellent, Mrs. Park.”

Oh the fucking audacity.

You stabbed a piece of potato with your fork. He was really going to do this? He was really going to sit three feet away from you, in your house, eating your food, and act like you were a ghost? Two could play a game. And you remembered exactly how he played it. 

You pressed your toes against the side of his calf, just above his sock line, making him freeze mid bite, jaw tightening but you didn’t stop, dragging your foot up slowly, mimicking the exact move he had pulled on you the night you returned. 

“So, Jay,” you said, your voice dripping with innocent sweetness, “You’ve been quite busy working on the presentation, how’d it go?” 

Jay set his fork down, clearing his throat, reaching for his water again, but his eyes stayed glued to your father, “uh—yeah. It went pretty well.” 

You hummed, nodding as you pressed harder, digging your arch into the muscle of his calf. He flinched—a tiny jerk of his leg that rattled the table.  

“Everything okay, Jay?” Sunghoon asked, mouth full of potatoes.  

“Fine,” Jay gritted out, his voice tight. 

You almost laughed, letting your foot slide higher, hooking your toes behind his knee. Jay choked on his water. He coughed, slamming the glass down a little too hard, water sloshing over the rim. Your mother looked concerned, reaching over to pat his back, but Jay waved her off, his face flushing and god it was amusing. 

He shot a glare across the table—finally. It was brief and filled with a warning that made you shiver. Stop it.

You smiled back, taking a calm sip of your juice. Make me.

He tried to shift his leg away, but the table legs boxed him in. He tried to trap your foot between his ankles, clamping down hard, but you were quicker. You slipped free, grazing the inside of his thigh—dangerously high—before retreating to his shin. His composure was cracking. You could see the strain in his shoulders, the way his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the table.

He stood up abruptly, “I’m done,” he mumbled, “I forgot I have a deadline for an assignment.”

Everyone sat there all confused, especially Sunghoon with a comical expression on his face, “what is his problem?” He asked. 

“I’ll go check on him,” you rolled your eyes, knowing that Sunghoon won’t get up mid dinner, he liked food way too much to abandon it midway. 

You followed him upstairs, knowing he’d be in the guest bathroom, opening the door without knocking. Jay was standing at the sink, gripping the marble edge so hard the veins on his pathetically big arms popped out. His head was hung low, shoulders bunched, his breathing heavy and ragged in the small, tiled space.

“That was a fast exit, Jongseong,” you smirked, leaning against the doorframe before closing the door behind you with a small click. 

Jay looked at you, his bored, indifferent mask now gone, replaced with this dark look you knew so well. He took two long strides, invading your space until your back hit the cold tiles of the wall. 

“You think you’re so brave when there’s a tablecloth to hide behind, huh?” He hissed, his voice dropping, sending a shiver straight up your spine. He slammed his hand against the wall next to your head, trapping you, “you spent all of dinner trying to get a rise out of me. Well, here I am. What now, Y/N?”

“Was just asking about your presentation,” you shrugged even though your heart was hammering against your ribs, “or were you too distracted by my foot to remember that?” 

Jay let out a dry, humorless laugh, his face inches from yours, “ah—you want to play games, baby? Fine. But you’re all talk, y’know?”

He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his thumb grazing your chin to tilt your face up harshly. “Touch me right now. No table, no parents, no Sunghoon to distract you. Prove you aren’t just a brat looking for something you can’t even handle.”

He expected you to chicken out, but instead, you reached out—hand flattening against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his black button-up. You could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart beneath your palm—matching yours beat for beat. You didn’t stop there, sliding your hand upward, your thumb brushing over his pulse point at the base of his throat before gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down just that extra inch. 

“I’m not scared, Jay,” you whispered against his lips, and for a second you even forgot what was the purpose behind this, just what exactly did you wish to achieve here? But that didn’t stop you, “are you?”

“You have no fucking idea,” he rasped out, voice breaking as he leaned his forehead against yours, “how much I wanna ruin you right now.”

Jay swore he heard you whimper, something you stopped before it could get out, but the way your thighs pressed together was a dead giveaway. 

“Then do it,” you challenged, trying to sound normal, “if you’re not scared, then fucking do it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, the last syllable barely left your lips before his restraint shattered. He didn’t lean in, he came full force, one hand tangling into your hair to yank your head back, exposing the expanse of your throat, while the other arm slammed against the door behind you, muttering something like fuck it. 

His mouth crashing onto yours, a gasp leaving your mouth at the taste of him, the sound swallowed by his mouth as his tongue swept inside, deepening the kiss with a starving rhythm that made your knees buckle instantly, gripping your waist harder, fingers digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. 

“This what you want?” He groaned against your lips, biting down on the bottom one before soothing it with a gentle swipe of his tongue, “want me to kiss you? Teach you some manners? Do more, hm?” 

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t think past the friction of his thigh slotting between yours with a pressure that made you whimper for real this time. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down, needing to be closer, needing to erase the distance he’d kept between you with nothing but heat, because this didn’t mean anything. 

“You’re shaking,” Jay mumbled, tilting your head before slotting his lips onto yours again, “because you know you want me.”

“I don’t,” you lied, the denial breathless and weak against his mouth, but your body betrayed you instantly. You arched into him, a desperate move that brought your hips flush against his, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

“Liar,” Jay hissed, his hand leaving your waist to slide down the curve of your spine, gripping your ass. He hauled you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist, pinning you against the door so that every inch of you was at his mercy, “you’re dripping for it. I can feel it.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that would scream his name to anyone who looked. One hand kept you anchored to him, fingers digging into your flesh, while the other slid under the hem of your tank top. 

“Is this better?” He rasped, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast, teasing just barely, enough to make you whimper his name, “Is this the attention you were begging for at dinner? Being pinned up in a bathroom like a desperate little thing?”

“Jay, please,” you moaned, your head falling back against the wood, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him harder against you. You didn’t know if you were begging him to stop or to never let go.

“Please what?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes blown wide and dark with a hunger that looked terrifyingly like—love? His hand moved higher, cupping you through the thin fabric of your bra, his thumb flicking over the hardened peak, “please stop? Or please ruin you?”

He didnt bother waiting for an answer, kissing you again, messy and wet, swallowing your cries as he ground his hips against yours, the hard ridge of him pressing against your cunt. It was too much—the sensation of his hands on your skin, the taste of him, the overwhelming, suffocating reality that you belonged to him completely in this moment.

The pleasure was a sharp, blinding spike that cut through the anger, but right behind it was the terror. He was consuming you. He was taking everything you had to give and breaking you down until you were nothing but a trembling mess in his arms, and the worst part was, he knew it. He was in control, and you were unraveling. The realization hit you like a fucking slap.

You shoved at his shoulders, a frantic, jerky movement born of sudden panic.

“Stop,” you choked out, breaking the kiss with a ragged gasp.

Jay froze, his chest heaving against yours, his lips red and swollen, glossy with your spit. He looked dazed, like a man waking up from a fever dream, his hand still possessively claiming the curve of your breast under your shirt.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, scrambling down from his hold, your legs shaking.

“Y/N—”

You pulled the door open and fled into the hallway, running for your room, leaving him standing alone in the clinical white light, the wreckage of his composure—and yours, scattered all over the floor.

You weren’t sure if you even got a wink of sleep last night, especially when you were sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was a stupid decision to push him, because now you could only think about the kiss—which was weird granted it wasn’t your first, yet it felt like one. You groaned, throwing the duvet off your overheated body and dragging yourself to the vanity mirror.

The reflection that stared back was a mess—hair tangled, lips still swollen and bitten red, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, but your gaze dropped lower, and your breath hitched. 

It was a bruise, actually, it was a possessive stamp that screamed Park Jongseong. You traced it with a trembling finger, flinching slightly at the tenderness, oh this fucking man had given you a hickey. With a deep sigh, you grabbed your old journal from the nightstand, scribbling down every bit of your dilemma, right after the page where you’d written out your past feelings for your brother’s best friend—something you felt before he snitched on you.  

You slammed the notebook shut, shoving it deep into the drawer as if the leather cover could contain the messy, bleeding ink of your confession. You barely had time to splash cold water on your face and throw on an oversized hoodie—hoping the fabric was thick enough to hide the evidence—before the chaos of your parents leaving filtered up the stairs.

“Y/N! We’re heading out!” Your mother called from the foyer. 

You dragged yourself downstairs, watching your parents taking their suitcase out, now standing by the open door with Sunghoon, who looked only half-awake in his sweatpants.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Your father asked, adjusting his cufflinks. “The Kims would love to see you. It’s been years.” He continues, but you genuinely didn’t wish to attend any wedding full of relatives who’d love to dissect your life. 

“I’m sure,” you lied smoothly, “i’ll just spend time with Hoon.”

“Alright, sweetie. There’s food in the fridge. Be good,” your mother kissed your cheek, oblivious to the fact that being good was the last thing on your mind after last night, but it felt nice, being taken care of and not abandoned again. 

Your parents finally left, warning Sunghoon to take care of you and the house. “Finally,” he mumbled, yawning. “I thought they’d never leave. Do we have any—woah.” He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as they locked onto your neck.

You froze. You had forgotten to pull the hood up. The hoodie had slipped, just enough to show the bruise on your neck. 

“What is that?” Sunghoon asked, his voice dropping an octave, the sleepy brother persona vanishing instantly, “is that a hickey?”

“It’s nothing,” you snapped, pulling the fabric up frantically, “I burned myself with the curling iron.”

“That is not a burn, Y/N,” Sunghoon scoffed, looking at you with a mix of disbelief and protective annoyance. Then, his expression darkened. “Did Jake do that? When did you even meet him? Did you sneak out again?”

“Oh my gosh—no! Just shut up, shush.” You put your hand on his mouth but he didn’t stop. 

“I knew it,” he muttered, pacing away from you, running a hand through his hair. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go out with him. That prick. I’m going to kill him.”

“Kill who?”

Jay stood there. He looked wrecked as if he hadn’t slept much either. He looked at Sunghoon pacing, gaze flickering to you right after, then to the hand you still had clamped over your neck.

“Jake,” Sunghoon spat out, gesturing vaguely at you, “he gave her a hickey. Can you believe the audacity?”

Jay’s eyes snapped to you, “Is that so?” He asked, stepping fully into the room. He didn’t look at Sunghoon. He stared straight at you, challenging you to lie, “Jake gave you that?”

“Y’know, it doesn’t even matter,” you hissed. 

“It does, I need to meet him,” Sunghoon still paced around, now with a toast in his mouth, “and knock some sense into him—when did you even meet him again? Call him right now.”

That is exactly how you found yourself calling Jake, ignoring sharp glares coming from Jay who was leaning against the kitchen island with his arms crossed, looking like he wanted to snap the phone in half with his mind.

“Hey, baby,” Jake picked up on the second ring, his voice raspy, likely just waking up. “Everything okay? Miss me?”

“Not really,” you muttered with a small smile, turning your back on Jay’s burning gaze to whisper into the receiver. “Sunghoon saw the burn mark on my neck, and uh—he thinks it’s you. He wants to talk, just tell him the truth.”

“Oh,” Jake paused, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, “so I’m taking the fall for your secret boyfriend? Jay perhaps? Damn, you’re cheating on me already?”

“Never say that again, okay? Now please get your ass here,” you mumbled. 

“I’ll come by the evening, hm? I have some errands to run,” Jake replied, unbothered by the fact that Sunghoon wanted to kill him. 

And so, you said your goodbyes and announced how Jake will come by the evening, much to Jay’s dismay as he walked closer before you could run again. 

“This is fucking ridiculous, you’re gonna let him take the credit for my work?” 

“It’s not credit dumbass,” you whispered back, leaning away from him as Sunghoon finally stopped pacing to glare at the both of you, “It’s a cover story. Unless you want to explain to my brother why his best friend had his tongue down my throat in the bathroom last night?”

“What are you two whispering about?” Sunghoon demanded, narrowing his eyes, and you rolled yours, going back to your room to, well, dissociate until it was evening and Jake was about to come.

Sunghoon marched to the door, pulling it open before Jake could even knock. You followed nervously, with Jay trailing behind, leaning against the archway with dark eyes. Jake stood on the porch, helmet under his arm, looking effortlessly cool in his leather jacket. He blinked at Sunghoon’s aggressive stance, then offered a lazy, charming grin that made your stomach flip—mostly because you knew Jay was watching it.

“Where is it?” Sunghoon demanded immediately, pointing at your neck where your hoodie was pulled up tight, “did you do that?”

Jake looked from Sunghoon’s furious face to your terrified one, and finally to Jay. Jay’s expression was terrifying, as if he was daring Jake to say yes. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Jake said smoothly, stepping inside, completely ignoring the death glare from the corner, “but I come bearing gifts.” He held up a plastic bag. “And the new Mario Tennis Fever, if you’re not scared of losing, that is.”

Sunghoon faltered, his eyes darting from the plastic bag to Jake’s face. The protective brother act cracked down the middle, revealing the competitive gamer underneath who had been complaining about that specific game being sold out for weeks.

Just like that, the trial was over.

You stood in the hallway, blinking at the sudden shift in energy, while Jay let out a dark, disbelief-filled exhale from the corner. He looked like he wanted to murder someone, and since Sunghoon was currently plugging in the console, his eyes landed on you. 

“You’re sitting with me,” Jay muttered, grabbing you along with him. He steered you toward the plush leather sofa in the back of the room, shoving you into the corner cushion before dropping down right next to you. And he meant right next to you.

The sofa was huge, big enough for four people, but Jay sat so close that his thigh pressed heavily against yours, he spread his legs, claiming the space with an arrogant entitlement that forced you to shrink back, effectively boxing you in between the armrest and his hard, imposing frame. Sunghoon and Jake were already lost to the world, sitting cross-legged on the rug three feet away, screaming as the game menu music blasted through the speakers.

“I’m serving first!” Sunghoon yelled, aggressive competitive mode fully activated.

“In your dreams, Park!” Jake shot back, laughing.

Jay let out a sharp, derisive exhale through his nose, slumping back against the cushions. He crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes boring into the back of Jake’s head with enough intensity to burn a hole through his skull.

“This is my hell,” he deadpanned, “stuck in a room with two idiots fighting over a virtual tennis ball.”

“They’re having fun,” you whispered back, keeping your eyes glued to the screen, terrified that if you looked at him, you’d do something stupid like lean in. “You should try it sometime.”

“I am having fun,” Jay murmured, and the tone of his voice sent a shiver straight down your spine.

He uncrossed his arms, draping along the back of the sofa behind your head—casual to anyone watching, but to you, it felt like a cage closing shut. His fingers began to toy with the fabric of your hoodie near your shoulder, an idle motion that was maddeningly distracting.

“Nice shot, Jake!” You blurted out as Jake’s character scored, desperate to break the suffocating tension Jay was building.

The hand on your shoulder tightened instantly.

“Don’t,” Jay warned, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in. 

“Don’t what?” you hissed, glancing nervously at Sunghoon’s back.

“Don’t cheer for him,” he whispered, his hand sliding up from your shoulder to the nape of your neck. His thumb slipped under the heavy cotton of your hood, finding the warm skin there, pressing directly against the sensitive spot right next to the bruise he’d left. “Don’t smile at him. And don’t act like you aren’t thinking about whose hand is on you right now.”

“Jay—”

His fingers stroked the bruise, a possessive, claiming touch that made your breath hitch in your throat. Sunghoon and Jake were screaming about a tie-breaker, completely oblivious to the fact that Jay was dismantling you inches away from them.

“Does he know?” Jay asked, his voice dropping, “does your little fake boyfriend know that the mark under this hoodie is shaped like my mouth? Or does he think you got it from a curling iron too?”

You turned your head to glare at him, but it was a mistake. He was too close. His eyes were dark, dilated, and focused entirely on your lips.

“He knows enough,” you lied, trying to sound brave.

“He knows nothing,” Jay corrected, his thumb digging in slightly, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your system.

“Jay!” Sunghoon shouted suddenly, making you jump. “Pizza’s here! Go get it, I’m in a match.”

He kept his gaze locked on you, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he saw the flush rising on your cheeks. He pulled his hand out from under your hood slowly, letting his knuckles drag against your spine one last time before standing up, “saved by the bell,” he murmured, walking past you to get the door.

The reprieve was short-lived. When the boxes were sprawled open on the coffee table, the dynamic shifted from the sofa to the floor. You tried to sit next to Jake, hoping for a buffer, but Jay was faster. He slid into the empty space between you and the wall, his long legs sprawling out to cage you in.

“Move over,” you muttered, nudging his knee.

“Make me,” Jay replied, taking a slice of pepperoni without looking at you.

Under the concealment of the low table, while Sunghoon and Jake argued about the merits of pineapple on pizza, Jay’s hand dropped to your thigh. It wasn’t a gentle touch. His palm was heavy and hot, gripping the flesh just above your knee with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch.

“So, Y/N,” Jake asked, leaning in, “the fuck is Jay up to?” He asked, staring at Jay’s hand. 

“Uh—I,” you stammered, your mind going blank as Jay’s thumb began to stroke the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, inching higher with every word you spoke.

“Need an escape? Or do you like it?” Jake asked with a smirk. 

You glared at him, but he just took a bite of his pizza, his eyes dancing with dark amusement. The friction of Jay’s hand against your jeans was becoming unbearable, a secret heat building low in your belly that had nothing to do with the food.

“I need some air,” you blurted out, scrambling up before his hand could go any higher.

You didn’t wait for a response. You grabbed your hidden pack of cigarettes from your pocket and bolted for the back patio, sliding the glass door shut behind you. The cool night air hit your flushed face, a welcome relief from the suffocating tension inside. You fumbled with the lighter, the flame illuminating your shaking hands as you took a drag, the nicotine hitting your system with a dizzying rush.

You barely got the second drag in before the door slid open again. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The scent of tobacco and expensive cologne washed over you before he even spoke.

“I thought we agreed on you stopping this,” Jay’s voice was low, coming from right behind you.

Before you could react, he reached over your shoulder and plucked the cigarette from your fingers. But instead of crushing it, he brought it to his own lips, taking a slow, deep drag while staring at your profile.

“I needed it,” you whispered, refusing to look at him.

“You didn’t need this,” Jay murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke, stepping closer, crowding you against the railing until your hips dug into the cold metal. “You needed to escape because you couldn’t handle me touching you while he was right there.”

“You’re delusional,” you snapped, turning to face him.

“Am I?” Jay challenged, flicking the cigarette into the garden below. He gripped the railing on either side of you, trapping you in the circle of his arms. “You were trembling at the table, Y/N. You think because he’s in the other room, you’re safe? I could bend you over this railing right now, and by the time he paused the game to look for you, you’d already be finished getting the best pleasure of your life.”

“You wouldn’t,” you challenged, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you instantly, “Sunghoon is ten feet away. The glass is right there.”

“And yet,” Jay murmured, stepping in until his body was flush against yours, pressing you so hard into the wrought iron that the metal bit into your lower back, “you’re not pushing me away, princess.”

He didn’t wait for a retort. His hand slid from the railing to your throat, his thumb pressing directly over the bruise he’d left, pulsing with a steady, heavy rhythm. The contact was electric, a live wire connecting his possession to your submission.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered softly, his eyes dropping to your lips.

When you hesitated, he used his grip on your jaw to tilt your head back, his other hand sliding down your spine to grip your hip, fingers digging into the denim. He crashed his mouth onto yours, and this time, it tasted of the smoke he’d stolen from you and the dark, bitter desire he’d been marinating in all evening. 

He kissed you like he was trying to erase the very idea of Jake from your mind, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a possessive, rhythmic cadence that made your knees buckle. You gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth, and he took advantage of it, grinding his hips against yours in a slow, deliberate friction that made a jolt of pure heat shoot straight to your core.

“Tell me who you belong to," he groaned against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to sting, “say it.”

“Not you,” you whimpered, your hands clutching the lapels of his jacket, “never you.” 

“So pretty when you’re in denial,” he spat against your mouth, his hand sliding aggressively between your thighs, the denim of your jeans the only thing saving you from his fingers as he grounded the heel of his palm against your center with a pressure that made your vision white out, “If I don’t own you, why are you trembling? Why are you so wet you’re ruining these shorts?”

You choked on a sob, your head falling back, exposing your throat to him. He took it, burying his face in the crook of your neck, sucking a fresh mark right over the old one, claiming you all over again while his hand worked a rhythm against your seam that made your knees give out completely.

“Tell Sunghoon, tell Jake. Scream for them right now, Y/N. Let them see you like this, hm? Desperate and dripping for the man you claim you hate.”

He waited, his hand still applying that maddening friction, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He gave you the chance, he gave you the out, and you didn’t take it, you couldn’t. You just gripped his jacket tighter, your nails digging into his shoulders, surrendering to the humiliating truth that your body had chosen him long before your mind ever would.

“That’s what I thought,” Jay whispered, the cruelty in his voice mixed with a terrifying tenderness.

He pulled away abruptly, the loss of his heat leaving you gasping and cold in the night air. He didn’t look back at the mess he’d made of you, didn’t offer a hand to steady you as you slumped against the railing. He just smoothed down his jacket, fixed his hair in the reflection of the glass door, and slid it open.

“Better hurry up,” he called over his shoulder, his voice terrifyingly normal as the sound of the game flooded back out. “Pizza’s getting cold.”

“I actually like your boyfriend, I approve,” Sunghoon nodded once you composed yourself and sat down yet again. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you blurted out.

Sunghoon paused, a slice of pepperoni halfway to his mouth, blinking in confusion. “What? But the neck thing—the hickey?”

“He’s just—ugh, I told you that’s from the curling iron,” you muttered, refusing to look at Jake, who was currently grinning like the cat who got the canary. You focused intently on the grain of the coffee table, anything to avoid the eyes, “and he’s just flirty. I haven’t seen him in three years, Sunghoon. We aren’t dating.”

Jake clutched his chest, feigning a dramatic heart attack, slumping slightly against the sofa. “Wounded, truly. And here I thought we had something special. I brought you video games and everything.”

You risked a glance at Jay. He wasn’t looking at Sunghoon or Jake, he was looking right at you. He sat back against the sofa, legs spread with that infuriating arrogance, slowly chewing his pizza. He didn’t look angry anymore, he looked—satisfied? He knew. He knew exactly why you were denying it. It wasn’t for Sunghoon’s benefit, It was submission, a direct answer to the question he’d forced out of you against the railing. Not him. You were denying Jake because Jay’s touch was still burning on your skin, because five minutes ago you were begging him not to stop.

“Well,” Sunghoon shrugged, chewing thoughtfully, completely oblivious to basically everything, “he’s cool anyway! You should date him, just keep the circle small. Plus, he’s better than those other guys you used to hang out with.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” you snapped, grabbing a slice of cold pizza just to have something to do with your trembling hands. 

“Suit yourself,” Jake hummed, leaning in closer, his arm brushing yours just to test your reaction, and well, Jay’s reaction, “but I’m still the favourite.”

He reached out, his thumb grazing your cheekbone, “you’ve got a little smudge right—”

Jay dropped his glass onto the table forcefully, the sound was sharp, silencing the room instantly.

“You’re practically crowding her,” Jay said, “back off, Jake. She needs to eat.”

Jake froze, his smile stiffening at the edges. Sunghoon looked between them, brow furrowed, sensing the sudden spike in temperature but misinterpreting the source.

“Relax, Jay,” Jake laughed, though it sounded hollow. He pulled his hand back, surrendering the space, holding his palms up in mock surrender, “just trying to help.”

“Just saying,” Jay murmured, picking up his glass again.

He took a slow sip, his gaze sliding over the rim of the glass to lock onto yours, looking at your swollen lips, then down to your hands shaking around the pizza crust, and a ghost of a smirk touched his lips.

“She looks exhausted,” Jay finished smoothly, his voice dropping an octave, “let her breathe.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. He was protecting you. Wait, was he actually? Oh no—he was claiming you right in front of them. 

And God help you, you liked it.

The rain had been hammering against the floor-to-ceiling windows for six hours straight now, which was honestly horrible since you were stuck dreading the fact that you couldn’t go out, it was kind of a relentless, suffocating downpour that made the house feel less like a home and more like a cage. 

It was just past 1:00 AM on Friday.

Sunghoon had gone up hours ago, mumbling something about his class tomorrow, which was odd because why does he have classes on Saturday? But that left you alone in the sprawling, dim living room. You were sitting on the plush rug, your back pressed against the base of the sofa, knees pulled up to your chest. The only light came from the faint, ambient glow of the garden lights filtering through the rain, casting long, distorted shadows across the hardwood floor.

In your hand, a heavy crystal glass rested against your knee. You took a slow sip, letting the amber liquid coat your tongue before swallowing. It helped unclasp the knot of anxiety that had been tightening there all day. It was the good stuff, the twenty-year-old single malt your father kept hidden in the back of the mahogany cabinet, reserved for, well, business deals and celebrations. You weren’t really celebrating, just trying to numb the static in your head.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it—the flash of Jay’s eyes on the balcony, the way his hand had looked wrapped around your throat—large, veined, and god terrifyingly possessive. The way he had looked at you when you denied Jake, as if he had reached into your chest and pulled the truth out of your beating heart.

Not him.

You hated that you had said it, you hated that you had given him that satisfaction. But mostly, you hated that sitting here, in the dark, with the taste of expensive whiskey on your lips, you were waiting for him.

“That’s a waste of a good vintage.”

The voice was low, wrapping around you in the darkness, and you didn’t react, just tipping the glass back, finishing the swallow before lowering it to your knee, staring steadfastly at the rain-streaked glass.

“I’m not wasting it,” you muttered, “I’m appreciating it. Go away, Jay.”

You expected him to lecture you saying put the glass down, Y/N. Instead, you heard the soft clink of crystal against crystal.

Jay walked around the sofa, coming into your peripheral vision, and for a change, he wasn’t wearing his stiff button-down, no styled hair, no watch. He was in a loose gray t-shirt that hung off his broad shoulders and black sweatpants that sat low on his hips. His hair was damp, falling into his eyes, messy and unkempt in a way that made him look somehow prettier. 

He sank down onto the floor next to you, leaving barely a foot of space between your arms—but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. He held up his own glass next to yours. 

“I didn’t ask you to stop,” he murmured, taking a slow sip, his eyes fixed on the window, “just said don’t waste it. Sip it, hm?”

You turned your head to look at him, suspicion narrowing your eyes, “since when do you encourage my so called bad habits? I thought your job was to police me or whatever.”

“My job is to keep you safe,” he corrected calmly, resting his head back against the sofa cushion and closing his eyes, “If a drink keeps you from climbing out the window and breaking your other ankle, then I’ll pour it for you myself.”

“I’m not going to climb out the window,” you huffed, turning back to the view, though your grip on the glass tightened, “it’s raining anyway.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not a child.”

“Debatable.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled, and you sat in silence for a long time, just the relentless drumming of the rain and the occasional rhythmic clink of ice shifting in the glasses, but your heart felt warm. It was terrifyingly domestic. This was your enemy, this man was your snitch, this was the man who had ruined your life three years ago. And yet, sitting here in the dark, stripped of the audience and the expectations, the hatred felt rather heavy. You were so tired of carrying it.

“You’re shaking,” Jay said.

He hadn’t even opened his eyes, but somehow he knew—he always knew.

“I’m cold,” you lied, taking another sip.

“Yeah sure. You’re a liar,” he countered softly.

He opened his eyes then, turning his head on the cushion to look at you, watching you for a moment, tracing the line of your profile, the curve of your neck, the way your fingers curled around the glass.

“Why are you down here, Jay?” You whispered, “you have a whole house to avoid me in.”

“Maybe I’m tired of avoiding you,’ he said simply.

The honesty knocked the wind out of you, making you gulp. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking away, heart hammering. 

“You’re just bored—you like having a punching bag. You like proving that you’re better than me.”

“Is that what you think this is?” Jay shifted, turning his body fully toward you, “you think I enjoy fighting with you?”

“Oh please, you seem to love it,” you muttered into your glass, “you practically vibrate with joy every time you get to tell me what a disappointment I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a disappointment, Y/N.”

You looked up, eyes wide, searching his face for the lie, for the sarcasm, only to find that he wasn’t really joking about it, not this time. 

“Don’t,” you warned, your voice trembling, “don’t do that, don’t pretend like you care.”

“I’m not pretending.”

He reached out for you, and you flinched instinctively, making him pause, his hand hovering in the air between you. A flicker of something pained crossed his face, there and gone in a second. He waited, giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t move, he continued the movement, but slower this time. His fingers brushed against your temple, tucking that same loose strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheekbone—a touch so agonizingly gentle it made your breath hitch in your throat.

His hand didn’t pull away. His thumb rested on your jaw, the calloused pad of his finger ghosting over the corner of your mouth.

“You’re still swollen,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a rough timbre that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“And whose fault is that?” You breathed, turning your face slightly into his palm without meaning to. You were starving for this, you hated him, but god, you were starving for him to touch you like you weren’t a mistake.

“Yours,” he replied, but the word was a caress, “for making me go crazy.”

The air between you thickened, the whiskey making you brave, making you soft. You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the way his eyes dropped to your lips, the way his pupils blew wide, swallowing the iris.

“I hate you,” you whispered, but it lacked its usual bite, sounding more like a plea.

“I know,” Jay whispered back, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip, tugging it slightly, “tell me again.”

“I hate you.”

“Good.”

He leaned in, just an inch. The scent of him filled your senses, drowning out the logic that screamed at you to run. You found yourself leaning forward too, the magnetic pull of three years of obsession dragging you in. You wanted him to kiss you. You wanted him to erase the last three years with his mouth.

Thump.

A heavy footstep creaked on the floorboards directly above you. Sunghoon rolling over in bed.

The sound shattered the world like glass.

Jay pulled back instantly, the loss of his touch physical, leaving your skin cold and aching. He cleared his throat, the sound harsh in the quiet room, and grabbed his glass, downing the rest of the liquid in one swallow.

The mask slammed back into place. The vulnerability vanished behind a wall of composed indifference, though you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles were white around the glass.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he said, his voice tight, rough with regret. He stood up, towering over you again, putting miles of distance between you in a single second, “Sunghoon has an early lecture tomorrow. He insists on taking you with him.”

“Jay—” you started, reaching out, your hand trembling.

“Go to sleep, Y/N,” he cut you off, refusing to look at you, “before one of us does something stupid, again.”

He turned and walked away toward the guest room, the darkness swallowing him up, leaving you sitting on the floor with a half-empty glass of whiskey and a heart that was beating fast enough to bruise.

The morning light was harsh, unfiltered, and utterly unforgiving as it streamed through the kitchen windows, burning your retinas. You sat at the kitchen island, nursing a black coffee that tasted horrendous, wearing oversized sunglasses to hide the fact that you had stared at the ceiling till 4 AM, replaying the way Jay’s thumb had felt on your lip.

Sunghoon was bustling around the kitchen, shoving textbooks into his bag, looking annoyingly fresh-faced and energetic.

“Come on, let’s go,” Sunghoon said, tapping the counter with a spoon, “I have a lecture in twenty minutes and if I’m late, Professor Kim will burn me alive. And you—” he pointed the spoon at you, “—are not leaving my sight.”

“I am not a child, Hoon,” you groaned, dropping your head onto your folded arms, “I can stay home, I won’t burn it down. I promise not to let any boys in.”

“Last time I left you alone, you ended up in a police station,” Sunghoon countered cheerfully, tossing an apple at you, you caught it blindly, “get in the car.”

You looked up, ready to argue, but your eyes landed on the doorway.

Jay was leaning against the frame, keys in hand.

He was back in his armor, a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows to reveal the veins in his forearms, black slacks, hair styled to perfection. He looked immaculate, he looked like he hadn’t spent the night drinking whiskey on the floor with you, he almost looked like a stranger.

He caught your eye, his expression being blank, bored even.

“Let’s go," Jay said coolly, spinning the keys on his finger, “traffic is going to be hell.”

You grabbed your bag, scowling as you walked past him, making sure to bump his shoulder hard enough to be annoying but not hard enough to start a fight.

“You’re in my way,” you muttered.

“As I’ll always be,” he murmured instantly, low enough that only you could hear.

You suppressed a shiver and marched to the car.

The ride was suffocating, Sunghoon sat in the front passenger seat, talking about his lectures for the day while you sat in the back, staring at the back of Jay’s head. You watched his eyes in the rearview mirror and he was watching you back. Every time you looked up, he was there, checking on you, his gaze heavy and unreadable.

When you finally pulled up to the University, the campus was a chaotic sea of students. It was loud, crowded, and overwhelming. You stepped out of the car, adjusting your bag, feeling small and out of place in your leather jacket and boots among the sea of polished students.

“Okay,” Sunghoon said, checking his watch as he slammed the door, “I have to go to the biochem lab. Guests aren’t allowed inside, please stay safe here.”

“So I can wait in the car?” You asked hopefully.

“No,” Jay answered before Sunghoon could. He locked the car, pocketing the keys, “it’s too hot inside. Just wait on the bench near the quad. It’s right in front of the building. We’ll be sixty minutes.”

“Sixty minutes?” You groaned, leaning against the car, “I’ll die of boredom.”

“Stay put,” Jay ordered, stepping into your personal space. He reached out and fixed the collar of your jacket, a gesture that looked brotherly to anyone watching but felt possessive to you, “don’t wander off, don’t talk to strangers, and don’t make me come find you.”

“Yes, dad,” you rolled your eyes, slapping his hand away.

Jay’s lip twitched, but he didn’t smile, “be good.”

He turned and walked away with Sunghoon, the two of them disappearing into the crowd of students.

You sat on the bench, sighing, pulling your phone out to doom-scroll. You lasted about ten minutes before the boredom became unbearable. You stood up to stretch your legs, pacing a small circle around the bench, kicking at a loose stone, then a guy approached you when you least expected it. 

“Excuse me?”

You stopped kicking the loose gravel, looking up to find a guy in a navy windbreaker standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he was debating whether to run or stay.

“I know this is random,” he started, offering a lopsided, dimpled grin that was charming, “but I saw you waiting and I just thought—are you a student here? Or maybe waiting for somebody?”

You let out a breath, offering him a polite smile, the kind you used to let people down gently, “I’m just waiting for my brother, he has a terrible concept of time.”

“Ah—I’m Jungwon by the way,” he offered, stepping a little closer, confident but not aggressive, “if your brother doesn’t show up, or if you get tired of waiting, maybe I could get your number? There’s a decent coffee spot around the corner, way comfy than this curb.”

You blinked, realizing he was harmless, just a guy shooting his shot, so you softened your expression slightly, “I’m not interested, sorry, but thanks for the offer, Jungwon.”

“Ah, worth a try,” he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, seemingly unbothered. “Have a good day, then.”

“You too,” you replied, keeping the small, friendly smile on your face as he turned to walk away. 

Then the air pressure dropped, a sudden shift in the atmosphere that made the hair on your arms stand up, and you turned your head toward the main building to see Jay standing at the top of the concrete stairs. He was about forty yards away, with Sunghoon next to him checking his watch, completely oblivious, but Jay was motionless, one hand jammed deep into his pocket and the other gripping his phone so hard his knuckles were bleached white.

He wasn’t looking at Jungwon, he was looking at you. He had seen the exchange, the lean in, the easy body language, but mostly he had seen the smile, that soft, unguarded expression you had offered a total stranger, a look you hadn’t given Jay in three years.

“Finally,” you muttered as they reached the car, trying to ignore the knot forming in your stomach.

Jay didn’t even look at you, walking past you like you were invisible, unlocking the car with a sharp chirp and sliding into the driver’s seat without a word. The drive home was a masterclass in suffocation, Sunghoon chattering about his lab partner and filling the void while Jay drove with a dangerous focus, refusing to turn on the radio or check the rearview mirror, just staring at the asphalt while radiating a cold, dark silence. 

The atmosphere in the house was no better, it was worse.

For hours, Jay orchestrated a silence so loud it rattled the windows, existing as a ghost in your periphery. If you entered the kitchen to grab water, he would immediately set his glass down and walk out without a word. If you sat on the couch, he would stand up and move to the armchair, angling his body away from you as if your very existence offended him. It was a stark, violent contrast to the blurred lines of last night.

Last night, the air between you had been thick with whiskey and reckless candor, his knee knocking against yours under the table, his eyes tracking the movement of your throat when you laughed. Last night, he had poured your drink with this soft attentiveness, looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Tonight, he looked at you like he wanted to erase you.

By 9:00 PM, the toxicity was choking you, the whiplash of his mood swings making your skin crawl. You couldn’t breathe in the living room anymore, the air too thick with his unspoken judgment and the memory of how warm he had been only twenty-four hours ago. You stormed into the garage, the motion-sensor light flickering on to reveal the sleek, matte-black body of your motorcycle, and you were surprised to see how your parents hadn’t thrown it away. 

You yanked the tarp off, dust motes dancing in the harsh overhead light. You grabbed your helmet from the shelf, your hands shaking with a mix of adrenaline and fury, and zipped up your leather jacket, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet concrete space. You needed wind, you needed speed, you needed to outrun the headache Jay was giving you.

Straddling the bike, you kicked the stand up and turned the key. The dashboard lit up, and you hit the ignition, the engine roaring to life with a guttural growl. You walked the bike down the driveway, the heavy tires crunching over the gravel, the exhaust puffing white clouds into the cold night air. You were just about to kick it into gear when a shadow detached itself from the porch.

“Turn it off.” Jay stepped into the ring of amber light cast by the streetlamp. He was still in his clothes from earlier, looking pissed, his eyes fixed on the revving engine with cold disapproval.

“Oh now you’re talking to me? Move, Jay,” you snapped, flipping your visor up so he could see the glare in your eyes, your gloved hands gripping the clutch.

“It’s late,” he stated, his voice flat, “and you’re not riding alone. It’s not safe.”

“I didn’t ask for permission.” You revved the engine, “and I’m certainly not asking you. You’ve been treating me like a ghost for six hours, you don’t get to pretend you give a damn about my safety.”

“I’m not pretending,” he said, stepping right into your path. He reached out and grabbed the center of the handlebars, “I’m just not letting you run off just because you’re in a mood.”

“I’m in a mood?” You let out a sharp, disbelief-filled scoff, “I’m leaving because you’re impossible. Last night you were fine, and today you’re looking at me like I committed a felony. I don’t even know what I did, Jay.”

He didn’t answer immediately. His jaw locked tight, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He looked down at your hands on the grips, then back up to your face, his gaze darkening.

“You’re too loose,” he muttered, the criticism slipping out low, “you let people get too comfortable too fast.”

You froze, the engine purring beneath you. Too comfortable? You hadn’t seen a soul all evening except him and Sunghoon. Unless. The realization clicked into place. The wait at the university, Jungwon, the polite smile you gave him when you turned him down.

“Wait.” You leaned forward over the tank, searching his face, “Is that what this is? You saw that guy at the pickup spot?”

Jay didn’t say anything, but his eyes narrowed, giving him away completely.

“You’re kidding,” you scoffed, the absurdity of it hitting you, “you’ve been acting like a psycho all night because I didn’t tell a stranger to go to hell? You’re fucking jealous—oh my god.”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped, the denial coming too fast, “I just don’t like watching you be naive.”

“You are,” you challenged, pointing a gloved finger at his chest, “you’re jealous, Jay. And it’s pathetic.”

He stared at you, his chest heaving slightly, caught in the lie but refusing to fold. He didn’t move and didn’t bother defending himself further. He just tightened his grip on the bike, his knuckles turning white, staring at you with an intensity that said everything his pride wouldn’t let him speak.

“Get off the bike,” he warned. 

“No,” you retorted, done playing his games.

You shifted your weight, kicking the bike into neutral for a split second to stare him down. You looked back at the empty passenger seat behind you, then back to him with a dare carved into your expression.

“I’m leaving, Jay,” you warned, your voice steady over the purr of the engine, “so either hop on or fuck off.”

Jay scoffed, but did he have any choice? You were too stubborn for your own good and so, he snatched the helmet from the rack, shoving it over his head, not bothering with the clasp. He swung a leg over the seat behind you, the bike dipping aggressively under his sudden, heavy weight.

The suspension groaned, and suddenly the space was gone. His chest pressed flush against your back, a wall of solid, suffocating heat that cut right through your leather jacket. His thighs clamped against yours, locking you in, and his arms wound around your waist, his hands gripping your stomach not to hold on, but to restrain.

“Drive,” he commanded, his voice muffled by the helmet but vibrating directly against your spine, “before I drag you off this thing myself.” 

You didn’t hesitate, a scoff leaving your lips as you kicked the bike, the rear tire spinning on the gravel, spitting stones before biting into the asphalt. You launched forward, the G-force throwing Jay back against the sissy bar before his grip tightened, crushing the air out of your lungs.

You drove just how you felt, it was angry, tearing through the suburban streets, banking the bike so low on the turns that the footpegs scraped the pavement, sending showers of orange sparks dying in the wind. You pushed the RPMs into the red, the engine screaming, weaving through the late-night traffic with a recklessness that bordered on a death wish.

You wanted him to be scared. You wanted him to tap your shoulder, to beg you to slow down, but Jay didn’t flinch, he knew you liked speed, and how reckless you got with it. He just knew he had to be here, providing some kind of anchor to it.

Twenty minutes of adrenaline-fueled chaos later, you skidded into the empty lot of the old industrial park near the river—a wasteland of concrete and shipping containers. You killed the engine while the bike was still rolling, letting it jerk to a halt. Silence crashed down instantly, ringing in your ears.

You kicked the stand down and shoved his hands off your waist. You swung your leg over and ripped your helmet off, gasping for air, the cold night hitting your sweat-dampened skin. Jay was already off the bike, slamming his helmet onto the seat, his hair messy, his eyes wild.

“What the hell was that?” He snapped, voice rough as he stared at you being so normal about it.

“That’s called a bike ride, Jay,” you shot back, trying to appear calm, but you weren’t even close to it. 

“That was not riding, you have a fucking death wish,” he said, stepping closer and into your personal space before you could even process your bearings.

“Aw, you’re scared, hm? You wanted to come along, Jay, you knew very well what you were getting into.” 

“I knew you liked to speed, but fucking hell—i didn’t think you’d lose your mind like that,” he hissed, eyes dark and fixed on yours—he looked as if he wished to shake you and pull you into a hug at the same damn time, “all this cause what? You’re pissed at me.”

“I’m pissed because you’ve been a ghost all day!” You yelled, the frustration finally boiling over, stinging behind your eyes. You stepped closer, your boots scuffing against his, refusing to back down, “honestly, what even do you want Jay? You treat me like I’m some problem, yet you keep looking right through me for hours, and then you hop on my bike and act like you’re my shadow? Pick a side, Jay!”

He opened his mouth to bark back, his jaw locked so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek, but then he just—stopped. He saw the way your hands were shaking against the side of your legs, the way your chest was heaving not just from anger, but from the adrenaline crash that was about to hit you like a freight train. The fire in his eyes changed—shifting from pure rage to a heavy, exhausted sort of focus.

“Shh,” he muttered, the sound rough and low.

“Don’t shh me, I’m not done—”

“I said shh.” He didn’t give you a choice. He reached out, his fingers locking around your wrist with a grip that was absolute. He simply ended up pulling you toward the low concrete barrier that lined the river’s edge.

He sat down first, the heavy fabric of his jeans brushing against the stone, and before you could even think about sitting next to him, he tugged you forward by the waist, pulling you directly down onto his lap.

“Jay, let go, I’m not doing this,” you grumbled, trying to twist away, but his arms wound around you like iron bands, locking you against his chest.

“Just stay put,” he commanded, his voice muffled against the shoulder of your leather jacket. He sounded wrecked. He didn’t let go of your hand, either; he caught it, interlacing his fingers with yours and pinning them against his thigh.

You tried to yank your hand back once, then twice, “I’m serious, Jay. Let go.” You weren’t sure if you even wanted that, especially when this moment felt too intimate for two people who claimed to hate each other.

“No.” He squeezed tighter. “You’re still shaking, just stay still.”

You let out a sharp, frustrated breath, rigid against him, but the cold wind off the river was starting to bite, and his body was radiating a heat that soaked right through your jacket. You eventually slumped against him, the fight draining out of you as you rested your head near his neck, surrounded by the scent of his cologne and the lingering smell of exhaust.

For a long time, the only sound was the wind coming off the black water and the faint, metallic tick-tick-tick of the bike cooling down behind you. The adrenaline had completely burned out of your system, leaving you feeling hollowed out and heavy. Jay didn’t move, his thumb just kept tracing a slow, repetitive line over the knuckles of your gloved hand, a steady rhythm that matched the heartbeat thudding against your spine.

“I wasn’t going to crash, you know,” you murmured, hating how small your voice sounded.

You felt him let out a slow, jagged breath, “could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, his voice rough.

“I’m not stupid, Jay. I wouldn’t do that shit with you sitting at the back, and you know it.”

The rhythmic movement of his thumb paused, “so you’d do it without me? Are you hearing yourself right now?” His voice held anger but it came out rather quiet, which was scary, “is it because you are pissed, huh? Because of what happened earlier.”

You pulled back just a fraction, frowning at the side of his neck, “what happened earlier? You mean you acting like I didn’t exist for six straight hours?”

“You know what I mean,” he finally turned his head, his eyes were dark in the dim light of the lot, searching your face, “the guy at the coffee cart.”

You let out a dry, tired scoff, shaking your head slightly, this was incredulous, “are we really doing this? He just asked for my number, Jay. I didn’t even give it to him.”

“But you smiled at him,” he said it like an accusation, but it lacked the vicious bite from your argument, It just sounded heavy. 

You stared at him, the realization slowly washing over the lingering anger in your chest. The brooding, the silent treatment, the way he’d gripped you on the bike like he was terrified of letting go, “you were jealous of a smile? Jay, what’s wrong with you?”

Jay swallowed hard, his jaw clenching, not bothering to lie this time, “I hated it,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a rasp, “seeing him get to talk to you like it was nothing—like he didn’t have to wade through three years of absolute hell just to get you to look at him, you don’t even look at me unless it’s to fight back.”

You stared at him, pulling your hand free from his, but instead of pulling away, you rested your palm against his chest, pissed still because he was the one who riled you up each time, calm because communication was a foreign concept when it concerned you both.

“Jay,” you said softly, “you irritate me so fucking much, then you want me to smile at you when you ignore me?” Jay groaned at this, yet you continued, “and yes I tried to run cause i was tired of this back and forth, but you won’t even let me drive, you piss me off I swear.”

He leaned forward, shifting your position now, resting his forehead heavily against yours. His eyes fluttered shut as he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since the university, “don’t do it again,” he breathed against your skin, not even sure if it was about the guy or the speeding, or well, both, “don’t drive like that when I’m right here.”

“Then don’t freeze me out,” you countered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer with words. He just shifted his grip, one hand sliding up your back to press you a fraction closer, holding you there until the last of the tremors finally left your hands, staring at you as you rested against his chest, looking so pretty, so peaceful, and Jay swears he’d have done anything to have you back like this.

His eyes drifted back to your lips, gulping before he looked elsewhere.

Eventually, he pulled back, the cold air rushing in to fill the space between you. He looked exhausted. He reached out, his fingers brushing the zipper of your jacket before dropping to your hip, where your keys were clipped.

“Give me the keys,” he said quietly.

You didn’t argue, you unclipped them and dropped them into his waiting palm. Jay stood up, bringing you with him. He swung his leg over the front of the bike, taking the driver’s seat. You climbed on behind him, the dynamic instantly shifting. You wrapped your arms around his waist, sliding your hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, and pressed your cheek flat against his back, and Jay was just glad you couldn’t see his face at the moment.

He kicked the engine to life, and the ride home was entirely different. He drove with a smooth, protective precision, his body naturally leaning to shield you from the worst of the wind. By the time he pulled into the garage and killed the engine, sealing you both in the warm, amber light, the hostility was gone. He stayed seated, resting his hands on his thighs, and covered your hands with his own.

“We’re home,” he whispered into the quiet.

“Yeah,” you murmured back, squeezing his waist. And for the first time all day, it actually felt like it.

The heavy, amber light of the garage clicked off, plunging the space into darkness, but the warmth between you didn’t fade as you both finally stepped off the bike and walked inside. The mudroom was quiet, the sleeping house wrapping around you, but the suffocating hostility that had choked you for the past three years was completely gone.

Jay stopped at the base of the stairs. He didn’t walk past you. He turned, his dark eyes searching your face in the shadows. Before you could even think to put your walls back up, he stepped into your space and wrapped his arms around you.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands hesitantly coming up to grip the soft cotton of his hoodie as you buried your face in his chest. Your heart did a violent, frantic stutter against your ribs, a sudden swarm of butterflies erupting in your stomach. It felt painfully nostalgic and terrifyingly real.

He pressed his cheek to the top of your head, holding you tight enough that you could feel the steady, heavy thud of his own heartbeat mirroring yours, “I’m tired of fighting you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice stripped of all its armor.

“I’m tired too,” you whispered into his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand slid up to cup your face, his thumb brushing along your jawline—agonizingly soft, before he leaned down. The kiss was slow, barely a press of his lips against yours, sweet and hesitant. It wasn’t fueled by anger or jealousy really, it was a quiet apology for the last six hours, and maybe the last three years.

When he pulled away, he kept his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet hallway, “tomorrow,” he promised, “no more running, princess,  we’ll figure this out, yeah? We’ll talk.”

“Tomorrow,” you agreed softly, leaning into his touch for one last heartbeat before he finally let you go upstairs, eyes not leaving you till the door of your room closed with a soft thud, him trying his best to bite his lip, not letting the goofy smile spread on his face.

The next morning felt entirely different. You woke up without that familiar dread sitting on your chest, instead, the butterflies were back, fluttering wildly at the thought of facing him. You actually took your time getting dressed, catching yourself smiling at the mirror as you replayed the soft press of his lips and the absolute certainty in his voice. You were ready for that talk, you were ready to finally put the bitterness away.

When you walked downstairs, however, Jay was already gone. Sunghoon was in a complete panic, tearing through the kitchen looking for his notes for a weekend seminar. Before you could even ask where Jay had gone, Sunghoon had practically dragged you into the passenger seat of his car, on a fucking Sunday, insisting he couldn’t leave you home alone and that dropping off his project would only take twenty minutes.

You didn’t mind the detour honestly, leaning against a concrete planter in the campus quad while Sunghoon ran inside, letting the crisp morning air wash over you. You were mindlessly looking around, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the hallway. To the way your heart had hammered when he kissed you. To the undeniable feeling that after three years of hell, you were finally on the verge of something beautiful.

You allowed yourself a small, secret smile, fingertips absently tracing the faint bruise still hidden beneath the collar of your hoodie. Then your gaze caught on a familiar silhouette across the quad.

Jay stood near the library steps, sleeves of his black button-up rolled to the elbows, the morning light catching the sharp line of his jaw. He was not alone. A girl lingered close beside him—long dark hair swaying as she laughed at something he said, her hand resting lightly on his forearm in a gesture that spoke of easy familiarity. She leaned in as she spoke, the kind of effortless closeness that made something sharp and unwelcome twist deep in your gut.

Moments later Sunghoon reappeared, project folder tucked securely under his arm, his expression already easing into its usual relaxed state, “all done,” he said, nodding toward the car, “let’s head back before I remember I have another deadline breathing down my neck.”

You swallowed, keeping your voice deliberately light and casual as you gestured with your chin, “who’s that with Jay?”

Sunghoon followed your gaze and let out a low, knowing chuckle, shaking his head as if the sight were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, “that’s his girlfriend, Professor Kim’s daughter, Mina. Jay’s been stuck tutoring her for weeks now. You know how it is with him and these academic obligations.” He ruffled your hair in that familiar, protective way, already steering you back toward the car, “c’mon, let’s get you home.”

Girlfriend, tutor, Professor’s daughter. The words blurred together into the same bitter refrain—he had already moved on. Then why was he even actively chasing you? Why did he kiss you? None of it made any sense. 

You offered Sunghoon a tight, reassuring smile and slid back into the passenger seat, the morning air suddenly too sharp against your skin. The entire drive home passed in silence on your end while he rambled about his seminar. Your mind had already raced far ahead, heart pounding harder than the engine.

The house had fallen into the deep, heavy silence of true night by the time the waiting finally broke you.

You had spent the hours after returning home drifting through the rooms like a ghost, ears tuned to every distant engine hum on the street, every faint creak of the front door. Jay never came back even when the clock ticked past midnight, the lights in Sunghoon’s room eventually went out. The whole house grew still, leaving only the low tick of the clock and the unbearable weight in your chest.

Girlfriend. 

The word wouldn’t leave you, it wrapped around the memory of his desperate kiss until the contradiction felt like it would split you open. Why chase you so fiercely if he already had someone else? Why kiss you like you were air and he was drowning, only to vanish the very next day?

You were exhausted by the hope, exhausted by letting him unravel everything you had spent three years rebuilding.

At half past three you stood up in the dark, pulled on your leather jacket, and slipped downstairs without a sound. The back door clicked shut behind you like a quiet goodbye, right now you only needed your bike. You swung a leg over, kicked the engine to life, and twisted the throttle hard.

The wind slammed into your face, cold and merciless, ripping the tears from your eyes before they could fall. You leaned forward and let the road swallow you whole, chasing the only thing that had ever made the ache feel smaller.

You didn’t look back at the house, not even once.

The city thinned out behind you, streetlights stretching into long ribbons of gold as the road opened up. Every mile felt like another promise you were breaking—to yourself, to the fragile peace you had tried to rebuild. But peace had never felt like enough when Jay was involved, it never had.

Headlights flared in your mirror, bright and unrelenting. At first you thought it was just another late-night driver, then the black car surged forward, pulling level with you on the empty stretch of road—Jay’s car.

Your stomach dropped, he leaned across the console, window down, hair wild from the wind rushing through the cabin. His face was tight with panic and something darker, something that looked too much like fear.

“Y/N!” His shout cut through the combined thunder of engines, “slow the fuck down! Pull over!”

You clenched your jaw and twisted the throttle harder, the bike surging forward. The wind whipped his voice away, but you heard the raw edge in it. He matched your speed effortlessly, one hand white-knuckled on the wheel. “Stop the bike—you’re going to get yourself killed!”

The accusation in your chest finally tore free, “go home to her!” You screamed back, voice cracking against the night, “your girlfriend, your student, whatever the hell she is! I’m done being the one you chase when it’s convenient!”

Jay’s expression shattered, “what? Who?”

“I saw you at the uni!”

It took a few seconds, but Jay eventually realized, “she’s not my girlfriend! Mina is Professor Kim’s daughter—I’m only tutoring her because he’s writing my recommendation letter. That’s fucking it. I was driving home from her place when I saw you fly past, pull over, damn it!”

The words should have softened something inside you, but they only fed the storm. You were too raw, too tired of half-truths and disappearing acts. “Liar!” You shouted, the wind snatching the sound. 

“Fine—whoever wins the next mile decides. If I win, you’ll talk to me, If you win—leave me alone forever. Deal?”

You didn’t even hesitate, “deal.”

The road became nothing but speed and fury. Your bike screamed beneath you, tires eating asphalt, the world narrowing to the white lines blurring past. Jay’s car roared beside you, dangerously close, his engine fighting for every inch. You leaned lower, pushing harder than you ever had, tiredness creeping up, but also reckless that matched Jay’s desperation—which made him faster. His car shot ahead, cutting sharply in front of you and slamming on the brakes.

Tires shrieked, as your bike fishtailed wildly. You fought the handlebars, skidding to a stop inches from his rear bumper, the sudden silence ringing in your ears like a gunshot.

You ripped the helmet off and hurled it to the ground, legs shaking as you dismounted. Jay was already out of the car, door hanging open, chest heaving.

“You almost got us both killed,” he yelled, stalking toward you across the empty road.

“Good!” Your voice cracked, raw and trembling with everything you’d held back for years, “maybe if I’d actually crashed you’d finally feel it—what it’s like to be left standing there wondering why the hell you even mattered to someone.”

Jay’s steps faltered for half a second, rain already starting to fall in fat, cold drops that darkened his shirt. He kept coming anyway, stopping so close you could see the way his jaw worked, the frantic rise and fall of his chest. “You think I don’t feel that every single day?” His voice was hoarse, cracking, “you think I haven’t spent the last three years replaying that night I told your parents everything, wondering how the fuck it all went so wrong?”

You shoved at his chest, hard enough that he rocked back on his heels, but he didn’t step away, “then why disappear again? Why kiss me like I’m the only person you’ve ever wanted and then spend the whole next day with somebody else? I waited for you, Jay. I sat in that dark house like an idiot while you were off doing whatever the hell you do with Professor’s perfect daughter.”

“I wasn’t with her like that!” The words tore out of him, loud and desperate, rain now pouring steadily between you, “Mina is just some girl whose dad is holding my entire future in his hands. He asked me to tutor her because she’s failing and he knows I need that recommendation letter. That’s all it is. I was driving home from her place when I saw you fly past on that damn bike. I wasn’t choosing her. I was literally coming back to you.”

You laughed, but it sounded more like a sob, “coming back to me? You always say that. You always make it sound like I’m the one running when you’re the one who—”

“I never meant for you to leave!” Jay shouted, voice breaking completely. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, water streaming down his face, but he didn’t blink. “I told your parents about the races because I was terrified, Y/N. You were getting in too deep and I panicked. I thought they’d ground you, talk to you, anything but send you away for three fucking years. I begged them. I told them it was my fault too, that I should’ve stopped you sooner, that’s literally fucking why I joined in too, you know it—you literally fucking know it. I sat in your living room and cried like a fucking kid while they packed your bags. And every single day since you left I’ve hated myself for it.”

His hands came up to grip your shoulders, not hard, but like he needed to hold onto something real, “I’ve only ever liked you. Always. Even when you hated me, even when you looked at me like I was the reason your whole life fell apart. It’s been you—only you.”

You opened your mouth to throw it all back at him, the years, the silence, the way he still made you feel small—but Jay didn’t give you the chance. The second your lips parted he surged forward, crashing his mouth against yours mid-retort.

The kiss was messy and frantic, all teeth and desperation and three years of everything you’d both swallowed down. Rain poured over you both, soaking your clothes, making his shirt cling to the hard lines of his chest as he backed you against the car. One of his hands slid into your wet hair, gripping tight, the other pressed flat against your lower back, pulling you flush against him until you could feel every shaky breath he took. You kissed him back just as wildly, nails digging into his shoulders, tasting rain and salt and the raw edge of his apology.

He groaned into your mouth when you bit his lip, the sound low and broken, and the tension between you snapped into something hotter, heavier. Your soaked bodies slid together, hips pressing instinctively, his thigh nudging between yours as the rain hammered down around you like it was trying to wash everything away.

When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours, his voice was wrecked and trembling.

“Don’t run from me again,” he whispered, thumb brushing a raindrop from your  cheek with a gentleness that made your chest hurt. “Please, baby—just stay.”

You opened your mouth to throw it back at him, but Jay kept going, voice cracking louder over the downpour, “and that night, years ago, when the cops came—I got on a bike too. I raced straight into their path, drew every single one of them after me so you could get out clean. I risked everything because I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting caught.”

Your breath caught hard, eyes widening in genuine shock, “you what?”

Jay’s hands came up to grip your arms, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d vanish, “I never meant for you to leave,” he said, voice raw and desperate, almost pleading, “I thought they’d just ground you, talk some sense into you. I begged them not to send you away, I told them it was my fault, that I should’ve protected you better. I’ve only ever liked you, Y/N. Only you. Even when you looked at me like I was the enemy, even when I hated myself for what I did.”

You tried to speak, tried to tell him it still hurt, that it didn’t erase the years, but the words barely formed before Jay surged forward and slotted his lips against yours—hard, cutting off whatever you were about to say.

The kiss was messy and urgent, rain pouring between your mouths as his lips moved against yours like he was trying to pour every regret straight into you. You gasped into it, and he swallowed each fucking sound, one hand sliding into your soaked hair, the other gripping your waist hard enough to pull your body flush against his. His soaked shirt clung to his chest, the heat of his skin burning through the cold fabric as he pressed you back against the car.

“I’ve only ever wanted you,” he mumbled against your lips, voice wrecked, before kissing you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your knees weak, “every fucking day.”

You tried to pull back to breathe, to argue, but he chased your mouth instantly, kissing you again, slower this time but no less desperate, hips rolling into yours with a slow, deliberate grind that made heat flare low in your belly despite the freezing rain.

“Jay—” you managed between kisses, voice shaky, but he cut you off again, teeth grazing your bottom lip as his hand slipped under the hem of your jacket, palm hot against the bare skin of your lower back.

“Don’t,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, rain dripping from his lashes, “don’t push me away right now, I can’t take it.”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. The rain hammered down around you, soaking every inch of you both, but all you could feel was the frantic thud of his heart against yours, the way his thigh pressed between your legs, the desperate way his mouth kept finding yours like he was scared this moment would disappear.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he whispered between kisses, “not for one second.”

The words cracked something deep inside your chest, a raw, aching fracture that had been waiting three long years to split open. You kissed him back harder, teeth nipping at his bottom lip, tasting rain and the faint salt of everything you’d both buried for so long. Jay’s hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into the heavy, rain-soaked leather of your jacket as if he needed to hold onto something solid before he lost his mind. The denim of your jeans was plastered to your thighs, cold and heavy, clinging uncomfortably, but the heat radiating from his body burned straight through the wet fabric. 

You grind against his thigh without thinking, a needy little sound escaping your throat. Jay groaned, low and rough, and pressed his leg firmer between your legs, giving you something solid to ride as the rain poured harder. His hands slipped under the hem of your jacket, palms hot against the rain-chilled skin of your waist, then higher, cupping your tits through your soaked shirt. Your nipples were already tight from the cold and the adrenaline, and when his thumbs circled them slowly, you moaned into his mouth, hips rolling harder, chasing the friction he was offering.

“Jay—” you gasped, voice shaky and raw, barely audible over the roar of the rain, “I was so fucking angry at you, I still am, but I—”

He cut you off with another deep kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a slow, filthy drag that made heat pool low in your belly despite the freezing rain, “I know,” he murmured against your lips, breath hot and ragged, “I know I hurt you, I know I fucked everything up. But right now—let me fix it. Let me make you feel good. Please, baby, I need to taste you.”

You nodded, barely able to speak, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. Jay dropped to his knees right there on the wet road. Puddles splashed around him, soaking his jeans instantly, but he didn’t care. Rain streamed down his sharp features—dark eyes locked on you with raw hunger, water tracing the sharp line of his jaw, strands of wet hair plastered to his forehead. He looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, and for him, that was true.

His fingers worked the button of your jeans open with shaking hands, then dragged the heavy, rain-soaked denim down your thighs along with your panties. The cold night air hit your bare skin, making you shiver violently, but Jay’s warm palms steadied your hips as he peeled the clinging fabric away, taking his time, kissing every new inch of skin he revealed. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, leather jacket creaking with the movement, and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, then higher, breath ghosting hot over your core.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice hoarse with need, “been thinking about this—dreaming about it every single night.”

The first slow drag of his tongue up your slit pulled a broken moan from deep in your throat. He licked you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every inch, groaning against your folds as if the taste of you was better than anything he’d ever had. Rain dripped from his lashes onto your skin, cold little shocks that only made the heat of his tongue feel sharper, more overwhelming. He circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, then sucked it into his mouth, gentle at first, then with more pressure, more hunger.

“Jay—oh god—” your hand flew to his wet hair, fingers twisting tight as your other palm slapped against the car roof for balance. The rain kept pouring, running in rivulets down your stomach and mixing with the slick heat between your legs. Your leather jacket felt heavier with every second, water streaming off the shoulders and down your back, but all you could focus on was the way Jay’s sharp jaw worked against your thigh as he devoured you, the way his tongue flicked and swirled and pressed.

He slid two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep while his tongue flicked faster. The stretch was perfect, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers mixing obscenely with the roar of the rain. He added a third finger, scissoring you open slowly, carefully, like he was learning every part of you for the first time, like he wanted to memorize how you felt around him.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned against you, voice vibrating through your core. “All for me. Fuck, I love how you taste. I could stay here all night, just like this, making you come over and over until you can’t even stand.”

You whimpered, hips jerking against his face. The rain made everything slicker, colder, more intense. Jay’s fingers pumped steadily, curling against that spot inside you that made sparks explode behind your eyes as he sucked your clit harder, moaning like he was the one falling apart, like tasting you was undoing him completely.

“I’m—Jay, I’m gonna—” your voice broke, thighs shaking around his head, leather jacket creaking as you tried to hold yourself upright.

“C’mon, let go for me,” he rasped, not stopping for a second, “let me feel it, baby. I want it all, right on my tongue.”

The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing hard and sudden and overwhelming. Your back arched against the car, a loud, broken moan tearing from your throat as you came on his tongue and fingers, thighs clamping around his head, body shaking violently. Jay kept licking you through it, gentler now, drawing it out, prolonging every aftershock until your legs were trembling so badly he had to stand and catch you, pressing you back against the car with his body.

He kissed you immediately, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was slower this time, deeper, his hands cupping your face like you were something precious.

“You okay?” He whispered against your lips, voice soft but still rough with need, “tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop if you need me to.”

You shook your head, breathing hard, fingers still tangled in his wet hair, “It’s not too much, I want more. Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.”

Jay’s eyes darkened, something almost feral flashing across his sharp features. He kissed you again, slower, like he was savouring every second, then dropped back down to his knees without another word. This time he was even more deliberate—tongue tracing lazy, teasing patterns over your clit while three fingers pumped deep and steady inside you. 

“Jay—fuck, that feels so good,” you gasped, voice cracking. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop, need it.”

He hummed against you, the vibration making you jolt, “I’m not stopping until you cum again. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

He curled his fingers just right, sucking your clit into his mouth at the same time, and the second orgasm built faster, sharper, coiling tight in your belly. Your hips rocked against his face, leather jacket creaking, rain pouring down your body as you chased the feeling, completely lost in the heat of his mouth and the cold rain and the way he was touching you like he never wanted to stop.

“I’m close—Jay, I’m so close—”

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, voice muffled against your pussy, “let go, I’ve got you, cum for me.”

You came again with a sharp cry, thighs shaking violently around his shoulders, the pleasure so intense it bordered on overwhelming, wave after wave crashing through you until you were trembling and oversensitive and barely able to stand. Jay worked you through it, tongue gentle now, fingers slowing until you were a shaking, gasping mess against the car.

When he finally stood, his sharp jaw was glistening with you and rain. He kissed you slow and deep, hands cupping your face like you were something precious.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your mouth, voice wrecked, “so fucking perfect.”

You were still catching your breath, legs weak, when he pulled you closer, forehead pressed to yours under the pouring rain. The rain kept falling, cold and steady, but the heat between you two felt like it could burn the whole world down.

Jay’s hands trembled as he helped you toward the open back door, “inside,” he rasped, voice wrecked, “now—I need you.”

You barely had time to nod before he guided you into the cramped backseat. The space was ridiculously tight—his broad shoulders brushed the roof, his knees dug into the leather, and there was almost no room to move. But the moment the door slammed shut behind you, the world narrowed to nothing but the two of you. The windows fogged instantly from the heat of your bodies, turning the glass opaque, the rain a constant heavy roar on the roof that sealed you both in your own private storm.

Jay settled between your spread thighs in missionary, his sharp jaw clenched tight, dark eyes locked on yours in the dim, foggy light. Rain still dripped from his hair onto your chest. Your jeans were tangled around one ankle, your leather jacket half-off and sticking to the seat, but none of it mattered. He braced one hand beside your head, the other gently cupping your face.

“We don’t have a condom,” he said again, voice low and serious even now, thumb stroking your cheek, “I can stop, I can pull out—whatever you want, baby. Just tell mw.”

You shook your head, pulling him down by the back of his neck, “I don’t care,” you whispered, honest and aching, “I don’t want anything between us, please, Jay—I need you inside me.”

Something in his expression shattered—raw hunger and relief and so much love it made your chest hurt. He kissed you deeply, then reached down to free himself. His cock was heavy and thick, flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. You swallowed hard at the sight.

Jay stroked himself once, eyes never leaving your face, “we’ll go slow,” he promised, voice strained, “tell me if it’s too much. I’ve got you, baby.”

He lined himself up and pressed the head against your entrance. The stretch was immediate and intense—he was big, thicker than you’d expected, and even after everything he’d done with his mouth and fingers the burn made you gasp. He pushed in just the tip, then stopped, letting you adjust, forehead pressed to yours.

“Breathe for me,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, “that’s it—you’re doing so good, so fucking good for me.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders through the wet shirt, “Jay—you’re so big. Fuck—”

“I know,” he murmured, voice shaking with restraint, “I’ve got you, just relax, hm? Let me in, baby.”

He eased in another inch, slow and careful, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The car was so cramped that every tiny movement made the leather creak beneath you as the rain hammered the roof. The fogged windows trapped the heat and the scent of rain-soaked leather and sex. Your soaked jeans were still tangled around one ankle, your leather jacket half-off and sticking to the seat, but none of it mattered. Another inch. You gasped, thighs trembling around his hips.

“Talk to me,” Jay breathed, pausing again, thumb stroking your cheek, “does it hurt?”

“A little,” you admitted, voice small and honest, “but don’t stop. I want it.”

He groaned softly and kissed you again, deep and slow, as he pushed in further. It took long, careful minutes — every inch earned with kisses and whispers and his thumb circling your clit to help you relax. When he finally bottomed out, buried to the hilt inside you, you both let out shaky, broken moans.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered against your neck, voice cracking, “you feel—perfect. So warm around me, I can’t believe this is real.”

He stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, forehead pressed to yours while the rain continued its endless rhythm on the roof. Then he started moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips that made the car rock gently beneath you. Every thrust dragged against that spot inside you that made sparks burst behind your eyes.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as best you could in the tight space, pulling him closer, “Jay—harder,” you gasped, “I can take it, please.”

He gave it to you, still careful at first, but deeper, faster, the wet slap of skin and the creak of leather mixing with your moans and the roar of the rain outside. His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together above your head as he fucked you.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice raw, “I need to see you.”

You did, and in that cramped, fogged-up car, with the rain pouring down around you, you reached your high again—hard, clenching around him, crying out his name like it was the only word you knew. Jay followed soon after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken groan, hips stuttering, face pressed into your neck like he never wanted to let go.

He stayed there, still inside you, breathing hard against your skin while the rain continued its endless rhythm on the roof. Neither of you moved for a long time.

He stayed there, still buried deep inside you, breathing hard against your neck while the rain hammered the roof like it was trying to drown out the world. The fogged windows had turned the car into a small, steamy cocoon, the leather seats slick beneath your bodies, the air thick with the scent of rain, leather, and sex. Jay’s sharp jaw rested against your collarbone, his breath hot and uneven, one hand still laced with yours above your head like he couldn’t bear to let go even for a second.

Eventually he lifted his head, dark eyes soft but still burning as they met yours in the dim light, “you okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse, “did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, a shaky, breathless laugh escaping you, “no—it was perfect. You were perfect, but I’m not done with you yet.”

Jay’s eyebrows lifted, that familiar cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth even now, “oh? Greedy tonight, are we?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, pushing at his chest until he sat back against the seat. The cramped space made it awkward, but you didn’t care. You swung one leg over him and straddled his lap, settling on top of him in the tight backseat. The position put you in control and you liked it. You reached between you, wrapping your hand around his thick, still-hard cock, stroking him slowly. Jay hissed, head falling back against the seat, sharp jaw tight as he watched you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Fuck, baby—you’re really gonna ride me like this?” He groaned, hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into the wet denim, “after everything, you still wanna be in charge?”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear, “you had your turn,” you whispered, voice bratty and breathless, “now it’s mine—unless you’re scared you can’t handle it.”

Jay laughed, low and rough, but his grip on your hips tightened, “scared? Of you? Never, but if you think you can take all of me again so soon, go ahead. Show me what you’ve got.”

You lined him up and sank down slowly, the stretch still intense even after everything. You gasped, thighs trembling as you took him inch by inch, the cramped space forcing you to stay close, chest to chest. Jay’s hands stayed on your hips, guiding you but not forcing, his breath hitching every time you sank lower.

“Easy, my love,” he murmured, voice strained, “don’t rush it. You’re so fucking tight around me—fuck, just like that.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, even as you moaned, sinking further. “You’re so big it’s ridiculous. How the hell do you fit?”

Jay’s sharp jaw clenched, a smirk flashing across his face, “you’re the one who wanted it raw, remember? No complaining now, princess. Take it.”

You bottomed out with a broken moan, both of you cursing under your breath. For a moment you just sat there, forehead pressed to his, breathing the same air, the rain still hammering the roof like white noise. Then you started moving slow, rolling your hips in teasing circles at first, testing the angle, feeling every thick inch of him inside you. Jay groaned, hands sliding under your jacket to grip your bare waist, thumbs digging in hard enough to leave marks.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed, eyes dark as he watched you ride him, “so pretty when you’re on top of me like this. Taking every inch like you were made for it.”

You picked up the pace, rising and sinking faster, the wet slap of skin mixing with the creak of leather and the roar of the rain, “don’t get cocky,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, “you’re the one who’s been chasing me for days. Who’s the desperate one now?”

Jay laughed, but it came out broken as you ground down hard, “me. I’m the desperate one. Always have been for you.” He thrust up to meet you, making you cry out, “but you’re the one who ran out here in the middle of the night just to get fucked by me, so who’s really desperate?”

“Asshole,” you moaned, but you rode him harder, bouncing properly now, the angle hitting that perfect spot with every drop. The car rocked noticeably, the fogged windows completely opaque, the confined space making every movement more intense.

Jay’s hands roamed, one sliding up to squeeze your breast, the other gripping your ass to help you move, “yeah? Call me an asshole when you cream all over my cock, hm? That’s my girl.”

You leaned forward, biting his neck, making him hiss, even though you fucking loved hearing that, “your girl? You wish. You don’t get to claim me after disappearing on me again.”

He groaned, hips snapping up harder, “too bad, baby—I’m claiming you right now. Every inch of this pussy is mine, say it.”

You laughed breathlessly, even as you clenched around him, “make me.”

Jay cursed, one hand tangling in your wet hair, tugging your head back so he could kiss you filthy and deep while you kept riding him. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, messy and angry and perfect. You kept moving, rolling and bouncing, the leather creaking beneath you, the rain a constant roar that made everything feel even more private.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned against your mouth, “so wet, I can feel you dripping down my balls, baby. You’re making such a mess.”

“Shut up,” you moaned, but your hips stuttered, the dirty words going straight to your core, “you talk too much.”

“And you love it,” he shot back, smirking, “you love when I tell you how good you’re taking me. How deep I am inside you. How no one else will ever feel this good to you again.”

You rode him harder, chasing the edge, thighs burning but refusing to slow down, “you’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“Yeah?” He thrust up sharply, making you cry out, “you’re the one who’s full of me right now, baby.”

You came with a loud, broken moan, nails raking down his chest, body shaking as the orgasm crashed through you. Jay followed right after, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside you again, hips stuttering, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with rain and sweat. The rain was still hammering the roof, the car still fogged up, the world outside completely forgotten.

After a long minute Jay kissed the top of your head, voice soft but still rough, “we should probably head home—but first, your bike.”

You lifted your head, still dazed, “shit—my bike.”

He smiled, small and tired, and kissed you gently, “It’ll be safe. No one uses this road at night. I’ll come back for it first thing in the morning myself, I promise. Right now I just need to get you home with me. Where you belong.”

You nodded, melting into him, “hmm—take me home.”

The drive was quiet and peaceful. The rain tapped softly against the windshield, the wipers moving in a gentle rhythm. Jay didn’t say much at first, just held you closer whenever the car turned a corner, like he was afraid the night might steal you away again. The warmth of his body seeped through your damp clothes, chasing away the last traces of the cold rain. Every so often his thumb would press a little firmer on your thigh, a silent reminder that he was really here, that this was real, that you were with him.

When he finally pulled into the driveway, the house was dark and still. He turned off the engine and turned to you, leaning in to kiss you slow and sweet, like he had all the time in the world now, smiling into the kiss.

Inside, you left a trail of wet clothes behind you as he led you to the bathroom. He turned the shower on hot, steam quickly filling the small space. He undressed you with gentle hands, peeling the soaked leather jacket from your shoulders, then your shirt, then the heavy jeans that had clung to your legs all night. Every touch was careful, reverent even. He stepped under the shower with you, pulling you against his chest, the hot water cascading over both of you like a fresh start.

His hands soaped your skin slowly, washing away the rain, the road, the fear. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, murmuring soft things between each touch. The water made everything feel warmer, safer, more intimate. He lifted you gently, your back against the tiled wall, legs wrapping around him, and slid into you slow and deep. There was no rush this time, just long, tender strokes, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked as he moved inside you. You moaned softly into his mouth, clinging to him, the steam and the heat and the love making everything feel safe and overwhelming all at once. You came with his name on your lips, soft and trembling, and he followed right after, spilling inside you with a quiet groan, holding you close like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

Afterwards he dried you with a warm towel, wrapped you in one of his big hoodies, and carried you to your bed. He tucked you under the blankets and climbed in beside you, pulling you into his arms. You curled against his chest, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing strokes. The room was quiet except for the distant sound of rain against the window. Jay’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his breath warm against your hair. After a long moment he spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you,” he said softly, the words slipping out like they’d been waiting years to be said, “I love you, Y/N—I’ve loved you for so long. Even when I thought I’d lost you forever, even when I thought you hated me. I love you.”

Your heart started beating out of your chest, heat creeping up your neck. You lifted your head to look at him, fingers tracing the line of his sharp jaw in the dark, “I love you too,” you whispered, the words coming out easy and true, “I love you, Jay. I never stopped, not even when it hurt.”

Jay’s breath caught. He searched your eyes for a second, almost disbelieving, “you don’t have to say it back just because I did, baby,” he said quietly, voice gentle, “I know I hurt you. I know it’s going to take time. You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.”

You smiled softly and cupped his cheek, “I’m ready,” you told him, voice steady and full of warmth, “I mean it, I love you.”

Jay’s eyes softened completely, and he leaned in to kissed you slow and deep, like he was pouring every feeling into it. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again, a small, grateful smile on his lips.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, but there was no sadness in it—only quiet wonder, “but I’m going to spend every day trying to.”

You smiled against his chest, already drifting off in the safety of his arms, “good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

With that softness surrounding your being, you both fell asleep in each other’s warmth, smiles never leaving your faces. Jay watched you sleep, planting a soft kiss on your forehead as he tightened his hold on you, drifting into the dreamland. 

So, when the next morning you woke up to an empty bed, you wondered if it was truly a dream, or a joke of some sort. The spot beside you was cold, panic hitting you instantly. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you sat up, clutching the sheet to your chest. Had he left? 

That’s when the door creaked open.

Jay stepped in, hair messy, wearing the same clothes from last night, now dry. He was holding a key in one hand and your helmet in the other, and when he saw your face all wide-eyed, worried, a little scared—his expression softened immediately.

“Hey, baby,” he said gently, setting the helmet down and crossing the room in two strides. He climbed onto the bed and pulled you into his arms, kissing you slow and deep, like he was trying to erase the fear, “I’m right here, I just went to get your bike before anyone else could. It’s safe in the garage now, yeah? I’m not going anywhere, my love, I promise.”

You melted into the kiss, fingers curling into his shirt, the panic fading under the warmth of his mouth as he got under the covers with you again.

Right then the door opened again.

“Y/N?” Sunghoon’s voice called out as he stepped inside, still half-asleep, rubbing his eyes, “what do you want for breakfast—”

He stopped dead when he took in the scene in front of him—you and Jay frozen, lips still inches apart, bodies tangled under the sheet, Jay’s hand still cupping your face. It would have been rather comical how Sunghoon’s eyes had widened, but nothing seemed funny at the given moment.

You and Jay looked at him, then at each other, the words leaving your mouth at the same time.

“Oh no.” 

PERM TAGLIST: @jaeminvore @hoondrop @ajayke-reads @lunalovesstories @deobitifull @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @woniebae @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @ma-riiii @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @mintchocoddeonut @s0shroe @onlyticket-home @meowieshibal@ikeukiss @in-somnias-world @tokkisluv @choicila @bambiihee @taesnumber1 @yenienha @angelhyuka @heesmiles @enhypens-hoe @loverofmusic0027 @strawberrykkk1 @raikea10 @criceofpain @dollhoonki

perm taglist open! send an ask or comment to be added!