heestruck

The plane touches down with a soft jolt, and suddenly it’s real. You’re back. You turn to Jake, and he’s already smiling at you, the same reassuring smile he gave you when you quit your job and packed your life into suitcases for this. His fingers brush over yours as the seatbelt sign dings off. “Ready?” he murmurs. You nod. You’ve been gone for three years, but the nerves don’t hit until you’re rolling your suitcase through the arrival doors of Incheon Airport. 

You spot them before they see you, the same mismatched group that had made Seoul feel like home once. Jay with his hair grown out and tousled under a hoodie, Mina and Wren leaning into each other mid-laugh. Sunghoon in all black like it’s a uniform, Koda bouncing on his heels. And Kira, right in the center, holding a cardboard sign that reads Welcome Home, Losers in sharpie and glitter.

When they finally see you, the whole group erupts. Kira’s the first to reach you, arms outstretched, nearly tackling you in the tightest hug imaginable. “Took you long enough, bitch,” she mumbles into your shoulder. Mina’s behind her, squealing, “You cut your hair! Oh my god, you look so good, doesn’t she look good?” Wren nods emphatically as she wraps you up in a hug of her own.

“Okay, okay, my turn,” Jay cuts in with a grin, pulling you into a hug that lingers for a second too long, familiar in all the right ways. You exhale into his shoulder, before pulling back, giving him a small smile. Sunghoon pats Jake on the back. “Welcome to Seoul, man.” Jake returns the gesture with a warm smile, shifting his arm around your waist like it’s second nature. “Thanks, it’s good to be here.” The others greet Jake too, Koda ruffling his hair, Wren teasing him about surviving Australia with you, Jay offering a fist bump like it’s always been this way. It’s seamless, how they fold the two of you into the group like nothing’s changed. 

You don’t say much in those first few moments. You just take it all in, the familiar faces, the laughter, the energy buzzing around you like electricity. It’s warmth, It’s belonging, It’s the kind of joy that settles in your chest and stays there.

This is what home feels like.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The apartment smells like fresh paint and cardboard. Half-open boxes are scattered across the hardwood floor, your suitcase is still zipped in the corner, and your couch hasn't even arrived yet, but it already feels like home. Jake’s unpacking dishes with an unnecessary amount of excitement, unwrapping each plate like it’s a birthday present. “I know it’s not much now,” he says, placing the second of four mismatched mugs into the cupboard, “but we’re gonna make this place feel like us.”

You smile from where you’re perched on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs lightly. “It already does,” you say, and you mean it. He turns to look at you, and for a second, he just... beams. Like seeing you sitting there is enough to make this whole life worth it. Jake crosses the small kitchen and settles between your legs, hands resting on your thighs. “You sure you’re okay being back here?” he asks softly, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for cracks you’ve maybe missed yourself. You know what he’s asking. He doesn’t say Heeseung’s name, he doesn’t need to. The weight of your history with him doesn’t vanish just because it’s unspoken.

“I’m okay,” you say, because you are. You feel steadier than you’ve felt in a long time. “It’s been three years, Jake. I’m not the girl I was back then. Heeseung…” You trail off, searching for the right way to phrase it. “He’s part of my past. A chapter I closed a long time ago.” Jake just nods, his thumb brushing along the hem of your hoodie. “I just know this place carries a lot for you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend it doesn’t.”

“I’m not pretending.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, then another to the corner of his mouth. “I’m here with you. That’s all I care about.” He grins, smile basically reaching ear to ear. “Good. ‘Cause I was just thinking we should turn this place into a Pinterest board.” You laugh, pushing at his chest. “Absolutely not. You are not hanging fairy lights over our bed again.”

“Oh come on,” he pouts, stepping back. “They’re romantic!”

“They’re a fire hazard,” you deadpan, and Jake only grins wider as he tackles the next moving box. You slide off the counter, padding over to help him as you both begin to make this new life together, shelving books, unpacking memories, and planting new ones as if they’d always belonged here. As far as you’re concerned, the past is behind you. And as for Heeseung? You doubt you'll ever cross paths again.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The restaurant buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, but your table is its own little world, a warm, glowing bubble of inside jokes and overlapping conversations. You’re squeezed between Jake and Kira in a cozy corner booth, your thigh pressed against his under the table. He’s in the middle of a story, something about him mistaking a pigeon for a drone in Sydney, which has Wren practically crying with laughter and Mina hiding her face in her hands.

“I swear it flapped like twice… a real pigeon would flap way more than twice,” Jake says, wide-eyed and gesturing like he’s reenacting a near-death experience. “What kind of drone flaps?” “One that’s about to shit on your head,” Sunghoon quips, grinning around the rim of his beer. Jake leans in close to you and mutters just loud enough for the table to hear, “I think Sunghoon’s bullying me.” Jay cuts in from across the table, arm thrown over the back of his chair, “That’s not bullying, that’s affection.”

“It is,” Koda confirms, bumping Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Trust me. If he didn’t make fun of you, that’s when you’d have to worry.” Jake gasps dramatically. “Wait. So you like me?” Sunghoon rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Don’t push it.”

You rest your head briefly on Jake’s shoulder, cheeks sore from smiling. It’s been like this all night, familiar and easy, like nothing’s changed. Like you’d never left. Jay catches your eye from across the table, his smile softening for a moment. You can tell he’s happy you’re back, and maybe a little relieved too. He and Jake had been deep in conversation earlier, trading playlist recs and bickering over their favorite soccer teams like they'd known each other their whole lives instead of a few years over video calls and group chats.

It’s when the server brings out the last round of soju that the vibe shifts just a little. “To Y/N,” Mina says, raising her glass. “For surviving Australia, and for finally coming home.” Everyone clinks glasses, and Jake leans over to kiss your cheek with a quiet, “I love your friends.”

“You mean our friends,” you correct, nudging his side. “You’re stuck with them now.” His smile was genuine as he grabbed ahold of your hand. “I’m counting on it.”

The rest of the night is full of teasing and toast after toast, the kind that turn into speeches and spiral into laughter. It’s not the life you imagined three years ago. But sitting here, surrounded by the people who feel like home, with Jake’s hand wrapped gently around yours under the table, it’s a version of happiness you hadn’t known to hope for. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The morning light filters through gauzy curtains, painting your new apartment in sleepy gold. You stir under the sheets, the faint rustle of fabric and the smell of fresh laundry greeting you before the warm scent of Jake’s cologne registers. You blink your eyes open slowly, stretching into the quiet hush of the morning.

You hear him before you see him, footsteps across the hardwood, the soft clang of a belt buckle. He’s already up, already halfway dressed, humming something low under his breath as he adjusts his tie in the mirror. A gentle calm settles over you as you sit up and run your fingers through your hair, the haze of sleep still draped over your shoulders.

You slip out of bed and pad barefoot into the kitchen. The space still feels unfamiliar, boxes stacked in the corners, shelves mostly empty, but the coffee machine is exactly where it should be. You start it up, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard and pouring just the right amount of cream in his. It’s domestic, natural. A kind of quiet intimacy that's bound to feel like muscle memory one day.

Jake walks in just as you’re plating some eggs and toast. He’s wearing one of his navy suits, the jacket draped over his arm, hair freshly styled, tie slightly askew. You hand him the coffee with a soft smile, “God, I don’t deserve you,” he says with a grin, accepting it with both hands like it’s sacred. “You say that every time I make breakfast.”

“Because it’s true every time.” You both laugh, easy, and familiar. He sets the mug down and leans across the counter to press a kiss to your cheek, then one to your lips. It’s soft and sleepy and slow, the kind of kiss that leaves you smiling afterward even when it’s gone. “So, what’s on the agenda for you today?” he asks between bites. You shrug, stealing a corner of his toast. “Not sure yet. Maybe find a cute café and journal for a bit. Wander around. Pretend I’m the main character in a movie.” He chuckles. “You are the main character.” You roll your eyes, but the way he says it makes your chest warm.

“Text me if you get bored,” he adds, checking his phone and tossing on his jacket. “Or if you just want to tell me I’m handsome.”

“Only if you send a selfie first.” Jake kisses you one more time at the door, a longer kiss this time, with the faintest hesitation, like he doesn’t really want to leave yet. Then he tugs the door open, throws you a wink over his shoulder, and disappears down the hall with the soft click of the door behind him. You’re alone now, and the silence settles in. 

You finish your coffee slowly, staring out the window at a city that used to be home, wondering what exactly today will bring.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The city feels different now, older, a little shinier, but still stitched with familiar corners and turns that tug at some tender parts of your memory. You spend the afternoon wandering. It starts with the corner convenience store where you grab a bottled drink and a steaming cup of instant ramen, the same kind you used to eat on study breaks when the university library closed early. The tangy broth and chewy noodles warm you from the inside out as you perch on a bench outside, headphones in, watching the blur of people pass.

You wander the streets aimlessly afterward, peeking into store windows, brushing fingertips across hanging racks in boutiques you don’t remember but feel like you should. You take your time. This part of Seoul feels like a half-remembered dream. Some stores are new, some long gone, but the bones of the neighborhood hasn’t changed, and you can’t help but feel like you’re walking through a version of your past.

Eventually, you stop in front of a small café with ivy crawling up the brick walls and a painted sign that hasn’t aged a day. Your heart stutters, this place. It’s quiet inside. The scent of espresso and honeyed pastries wraps around you like a blanket. The café looks exactly as it used to, cozy lighting, mismatched chairs, walls lined with faded books and Polaroids. Behind the counter, the same elderly woman you remember beams at you like time hasn’t passed at all.

“Ah! You’ve come back,” she says, recognizing you instantly. “You were always with the girl with the loud laugh.” You laugh with her, softly. “Mina.”

“She still laughs like that?” You nod, and it feels like returning to something you didn’t realize you missed. You order your drink, a vanilla latte, just like you always used to, and when it’s ready you take it to a table by the window. The seat you and Mina used to race to claim. You open your laptop, fingers tapping softly against the keyboard as you scroll through job boards and workshop listings. A writing class catches your eye. Then a nonprofit with a bio researcher posting. You bookmark a few things, answer a couple of emails, and add to your journal doc.

The hours pass quickly, the latte slowly emptying. You stretch your arms above your head, craning your neck from side to side, and that’s when you see a boy just a few tables away. His head down, scribbling furiously into the margins of a thick textbook. Hair mid length, a little messy, and he’s dressed in a plain hoodie and jeans. Nothing striking, not at first glance. But something about the shape of him, the way he’s hunched over his notes like the world doesn’t exist outside the page, it tugs at you. He’s familiar.

You tilt your head, trying not to stare. You can’t see his face. And besides, your mind is playing tricks on you, right? You shake it off and return to your laptop. You spend another half hour reading articles, typing out a few scattered thoughts into your journal, then start packing up your things. You toss your cup in the bin and sling your bag over your shoulder, heading toward the door, That’s when he looks up.

You freeze mid-step, eyes locking. Your breath catches.

Lee Heeseung.

You don’t stop walking. Your legs carry you out the door, the bell above it jingling faintly in your wake. You don’t look back. It’s only once you’re outside, surrounded by the noise of the city and the hum of your own pulse, that the realization truly hits.

You just saw Lee Heeseung.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The sun’s just beginning to dip behind the skyline as you, Koda, Sunghoon, and Jay tuck into a booth at one of your old favorite restaurants, the kind of cozy spot that always smelled like sizzling meat and nostalgia. It’s one of those nights that feels warm around the edges, like a soft sweater pulled over your shoulders. Koda is animated beside Sunghoon, their hands brushing constantly as they flip through the menu, debating whether to order two or three platters.

You try to match their energy, smiling when they ask for your opinion, pretending your heart isn’t doing somersaults in your chest. Jake had texted earlier, he had a late meeting, but he promised to join soon. So for now, it’s just the three of you… and Jay. He sits across from you, brows relaxed for once, scrolling through his phone idly as the waiter comes by and drops off a round of soju shots you don’t remember ordering.

It should feel like an easy night, but your thoughts are far from the table. You wait until Koda and Sunghoon are deep into another back-and-forth about grilled pork versus brisket, then turn to Jay, keeping your voice low. “I saw Heeseung.” Jay’s thumb stops mid-scroll, you watch the tension ripple across his face before he looks up at you. Not shocked exactly, but not calm either. “When?”

“This afternoon.” You take a slow breath. “At that café Mina and I used to study at all the time. I didn’t even recognize him at first. He was just…” You shake your head, the image flashing behind your eyelids again. “He looked so… focused. Like he was studying.” Jay’s eyes soften, his posture shifting forward. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You pause, fingers curling around the edge of your napkin. “I mean, I didn’t talk to him. I don’t even know if he saw me. I just left.” He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think it would be that fast before you ran into him.”

“I didn’t either. I was just wandering. I didn’t think..” You cut yourself off and laugh dryly. “Well, I didn’t think I’d walk straight into the ghost of my past.” Jay’s lips twitch, but there’s no amusement behind it, just concern. “You could’ve texted me.” You nod. “I know. But I didn’t know what to say.” For a beat, you both sit in silence. The kind that isn’t uncomfortable, just weighted. “I guess I just wanted to know…” You hesitate, the words sitting heavy in your mouth. “What’s he been doing? I mean, you’re still close, right?”

Jay studies you. And this time, when he speaks, his voice is gentle. “Y/N, I get it. I do. But… are you sure you want to start digging that up again?” A soft sigh leaves your lips, “I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I’m just curious. Maybe I’m just…” You sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Jay gives you a look, he can see right through you, especially when you wished he couldn’t. “He’s around,” Jay says finally. “Still here. Still figuring shit out.” You nod again, eyes falling to the table.

Jay leans forward. “You sure you’re okay seeing him again?” You shrug. “It was like looking at a version of him that doesn’t exist anymore. He looked the same. But not. I don’t even know if I saw the real him or just… who I used to love.” Jay’s expression is unreadable, but his hand settles on top of yours, reassuring. “You’re not alone in this, you can always talk to me.”

Before you can answer, the door swings open and there’s Jake, stepping inside with that easy smile and wind-blown hair, scanning the restaurant until he finds you. The moment his eyes land on yours, something in your chest relaxes. He weaves through the tables and drops into the booth beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple before slinging an arm across your shoulder. “Hope I didn’t miss anything important.” You blink, pulling yourself back into the moment. “Nothing at all.” Jake starts chatting with Sunghoon and Koda about a new K-drama, Jay excuses himself to grab another round, and you lean into Jake’s warmth, nodding along.

You’re here, surrounded by people who you love and care for. Yet you can’t place why, or how, but your mind hasn’t quite left the café.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

That it’s just a café, a quiet one, with good lighting and decent coffee and memories that smell like steamed milk and the days of your university years. But your feet move without much thought, and you’re standing in front of that familiar doorway again, fingers hesitating on the glass like you’re not sure whether you’re about to walk into your past or just a fabricated coincidence pretending to be fate.

Inside, the air is warm. The same old radio station hums quietly beneath the soft clinking of cups. The sweet older woman at the counter offers you a smile and a little wave, still remembering your order from the previous day.

You get your drink, settle into a corner seat by the window. Pull out your laptop, open tabs, close them again. Type a few lines in a blank document, delete them. Click on job postings you’ve already read twice.

You’re not really here to work, and you hate that you know that.

Minutes pass. Then hours. The sun begins to shift through the windowpane, casting golden stripes across the wooden floor. You sip at your now-cold latte and glance toward the door every time it opens, hopeful, nervous, irritated at yourself more than anything. 

What are you even doing?

You drag your fingers through your hair and exhale, quiet and sharp. What are you trying to accomplish here? What are you hoping to feel? Closure? Resolution? Another rupture? What would you even say if he walked in?

He ruined you. And yet here you are, lingering in a place you’d hope he’d be, scanning the door like your heart’s tethered to it. You feel pathetic.

And that feeling clings like smoke as you finally shut your laptop and slip it into your tote bag. You sling it over your shoulder, tossing your empty cup in the bin before heading for the exit.

You don’t see him until you’ve already pushed the door open, and your heart stops.

He’s walking in, hoodie pulled over his head, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands shoved into the pocket of his jeans. His face is angled down at first, like he’s lost in a thought, or a song, or the ache of some sleepless night. But then his eyes lift, and you both freeze. It’s like time stops.

Just like yesterday, the moment hangs suspended. Except this time, it’s not across a room, it’s face to face. Close enough to touch, close enough that you can see the flecks of warmth in his dark brown eyes, the ones that used to memorize every curve of your smile. His mouth parts slightly, and for a second, you think he might say nothing at all.

Then he actually does, “Hey,” Heeseung says, his voice soft, almost confused to see you again. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not a greeting, not even a breath. You nod instead, barely, then you bolt.

You’re walking down the street, around the corner, walking like your bones are on fire and your heart is somewhere between your throat and your knees. You don’t look back. You can still hear the door chime echoing in your head. Still feel his eyes on you like gravity.

And you don’t know what the hell you’re doing anymore.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

By the time you get home, the sun has sunk low, painting the sky in hues of lavender and gold. You can hear music playing faintly through the door as you unlock it, something soft and upbeat, Jake’s “cooking” playlist, the one he curated specifically to dance around the kitchen like he’s on a cooking show. You step inside and there he is, still in his slacks from work but the tie is gone, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy like he’s run his hand through it one too many times. The kitchen smells like garlic and herbs and something just slightly burnt.

“Hey, baby,” Jake calls out, flashing you that puppy-dog grin as he stirs something in a pan. “Perfect timing. Dinner’s almost ready.” You smile. “Something smells amazing.”

“Probably the garlic bread I forgot in the oven,” he laughs, and you roll your eyes as you set your bag down. “How was your day?” There’s a pause, just a beat too long, but you nod and say, “It was good. Quiet. I wandered around the city a little.”

Jake walks over, kisses your forehead. “Did you eat anything while you were out?”

“I had a bagel at a cafe,” you say, moving to lean against the counter as he returns to the stove. “Nothing fancy.” He shoots you a dramatic look. “Bagel? The disrespect. I’m making you proper food. You deserve proper food.” You laugh, and it’s genuine. Being with Jake is easy, and warm. Like a well-worn sweatshirt or your favorite late-night show. He’s thoughtful and kind and constantly trying to make sure you’re okay. And in this moment, as he spins back around with two plates in hand and sets them at the table, it’s hard not to wonder what your life would look like if you could just shut the door on your past completely.

But you can’t.

Because somewhere in the back of your mind, tucked away in your heart are those same eyes, just as you left them, meeting yours in a doorway you wish you hadn’t walked through. Jake pours you a glass of wine, nudging your plate closer. “To finally having a night to ourselves,” he says, lifting his glass. You clink yours against his and force your smile to reach your eyes.

He keeps the conversation light, funny stories from work, gentle teasing, asking what cafes you liked and if you found any cute shops. You tell him about a few stores you encountered, but you didn’t dare mention the cafe, and certainly didn’t mention your encounter with Heeseung. Or the way your pulse betrayed you when your eyes finally met.  Jake doesn't notice. He wouldn’t, you were doing a good job, laughing at the right moments, brushing your foot against his under the table, leaning into him when he presses a kiss to your temple. But you’re not fully there.

You’re still standing across from him. Still standing in a doorway with your heart lodged in your throat. And even though you’re having dinner with the perfect man for you…

You can’t stop thinking about Lee Heeseung.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The restaurant is tucked into a narrow side street, one you wouldn’t have remembered if Mina hadn’t texted the exact address. But as soon as you step inside, the cozy wooden interior, the clinking of cutlery against porcelain, and the smell of something sweet baking behind the counter all feel achingly familiar.

“Y/N!” Kira’s voice cuts through the gentle hum of lunchtime conversation, and you spot her waving you over from a corner booth near the window. Mina’s already seated, sipping on an iced Americano with her phone face-down on the table, a smug little grin tugging at her lips. Kira slides over so you can join them, and you laugh as you shrug off your coat and take a seat.

“You look so domestic now,” Mina teases, eyeing your beige knit sweater and low bun. “Living with Jake has changed you.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, stealing one of her fries. “You look like you’re about to pitch a business plan.”

“That’s because we literally work in an office now,” Kira says, adjusting her blouse with exaggerated flair. “We’re corporate girlies.”

You smile, letting the easy rhythm of the conversation wash over you. It feels good to laugh with them, a lot better than spending the entire day haunted by Heeseung. “So what are you doing these days?” Kira asks, flicking her straw wrapper at you. “You’re just in your mysterious in-between era?”

“Basically,” you admit, leaning back in your seat. “I’m figuring it out. Kind of wandering, kind of procrastinating. Jake says it’s fine to take a beat, but I don’t know. I don’t really want to sit around doing nothing forever.”  Mina chimes in now, “You should do something, even if it’s just part-time. Actually that reminds me…” She sets her drink down and sits up straighter, clearly remembering something. “I ran into Professor Bae the other day.”

You blink. “Business psychology Professor Bae?”

“Yes,” she says, eyes lighting up. “She’s looking for a TA. Said she needs someone responsible and well-organized, which I mean, screams you.” Kira snorts. “She once made us write a six-page essay about our biggest regrets just so she could ‘learn our cognitive defense mechanisms.’” Your smile starts to grow as the memories of that class start flooding in, “Oh my god,” you say with a laugh. “I remember that. I actually kind of liked her, though.”

“You would,” Mina says, pointing at you with her straw. “You were her favorite.”

“She did give you that recommendation letter faster than the rest of us,” Kira adds with a grin. You pause, the laughter fading into a thoughtful silence. The idea sticks in your mind, gentle but persistent. Being back in an academic setting, even in a small role feels like it could be good for you. “Maybe I’ll apply,” you say, slowly. “Just to have something to do. It might be nice.”

“You totally should,” Mina says, nudging you. “Better than sitting around doing nothing.” It's time to start putting roots down again. Maybe a TA gig would be a good distraction.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

You never expected to feel so at home standing in front of a chalkboard again. The empty lecture hall buzzes faintly with fluorescent lights, the air a little too cold, the projector humming softly behind you. But it feels nostalgic in a way you didn’t realize you’d missed.

Professor Bae stands beside you, still dressed in the same structured blazers and sleek heels you remember from your undergrad days. She hasn’t changed a bit, sharp-eyed and soft-voiced, someone who can dissect your subconscious in three sentences or less and still make you feel like she’s rooting for you. “You were always one of my sharpest students,” she says, clicking through her slides. “I knew you’d come back to me someday.” You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder. “Apparently I can’t stay away.” She smiles. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

Students begin trickling in, backpacks slung over shoulders, conversations buzzing around you as bodies fill the room. You take a seat near the front, just off to the side, and flip open your laptop. Everything’s prepped, the lesson plan, the rubric, the handout you carefully retyped last night for the infamous essay assignment. You’re in the middle of updating the attendance sheet when the door clicks open again.

“I was beginning to think you'd overslept again, Mr. Lee,” Professor Bae says aloud, not looking up from her tablet. “Thank you for joining us.” You didn’t think much of it, you went to the attendance list looking for the surname ‘Lee’ . That's when your eyes caught the name. You glance up, heart in your throat, and there he is.

Lee Heeseung.

He walks into the room like a ghost, like a slow-motion scene in a film where time folds in on itself. He doesn’t notice you. Just slips into an empty seat near the back and leans over his desk, pulling out a notebook, one earbud still tucked in. Your blood feels cold. How the hell is he here? How is he everywhere? You stare for a second too long before forcing your attention back to your screen, trying not to think about how the universe has clearly declared war on your peace of mind. 

Halfway through the lesson, Professor Bae nods to you, and you stand to distribute the first assignment: a self-reflective essay on personal regrets. You pass out the instruction sheets row by row, silent as Professor Bae explained the assignments expectations. Then you reach the back row, Heeseung is slouched in his seat, fingers idly tapping his pen on the surface of the desk. He doesn’t look up at first. But the moment you place the sheet in front of him, his head lifts.

The air between you shifts as your eyes meet. Neither of you says anything, you just hold his stare for a second too long. But, you walk away before anything else can happen between you. Back at the front of the class, Professor Bae addresses the room again. “Before we continue, I’d like to formally introduce my new teaching assistant. Some of you might know her name from the alumni forums, Y/N will be supporting this class moving forward. She’ll be holding office hours on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and will assist with grading and support. Please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

You smile politely, folding your hands in your lap as every eye turns toward you. “Looking forward to working with you all,” you manage. You sit down and take a breath, trying to force yourself not to glance back to the eyes you can feel burning into your head.

But you fail again and again, and so does he. You don’t know what Heeseung’s doing in this class, or why fate keeps playing this cruel little game with you, but all you can do now is watch and wonder. The universe keeps pushing you two together, like it’s having fun tormenting you. Heeseung was a part of the past you planned to keep buried away forever, but now he's sitting a few rows back from you staring at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And at this point, you’re starting to wish you weren’t. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Class ends with the usual rustle of notebooks closing and chairs scraping against the floor. Professor Bae gives you a soft smile and a wave on her way out, the last of the students trailing after her with assignment sheets in hand and earbuds already in. You stay seated, carefully organizing your things, partly because you want to look busy, and partly because you wanted the room to completely clear before you got up to leave. But to your dismay, you don’t even have to look up to know he’s still here. The moment the weight of footsteps slows, the air subtly shifts again, like your body is attuned to his even now. “Hey.”

The voice is unmistakable. Low. Rough in the way that feels like it always carries unsaid things. You look up slowly, Heeseung stands a few feet from you, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, hair falling into his eyes. His expression is guarded but soft. There’s an edge of nervousness behind it, like he’s not sure if you’re going to ignore him or slap him.

“You left the café the other day,” he says. “Didn’t give me a chance to ask how you’ve been.” You merely blink, you weren’t expecting him to bring it up so casually. Still, you nod slightly. “I, um… yeah. I guess I wasn’t expecting to see you.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Same.”

A pause lies between the two of you, then he tries again, voice quieter. “It’s been a long time.” You nod, lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. It has.” Heeseung shifts his weight from one foot to the other, still not taking his hands out of his pockets. “So… what’ve you been up to?” You glance back at your half-zipped bag, pretending to think even though the answer comes easily. “I moved back,” you say, then hesitate before adding, “with my boyfriend. Jake.” There’s a moment, it’s not long. Barely a second. But something flickers in his expression. A quiet drop of something into still water. Then it’s gone. He covers it quickly with a tight-lipped nod, his eyes darting to the floor for just a second.

“Cool,” he says. “That’s… cool.” You hate how awkward it feels. How stiff. But you also hate how easy it still is to look at him. Like no time has passed at all. You zip the rest of your bag, shifting the conversation before you can overanalyze it. “What about you? What’re you doing here? I thought you said school was a waste of time.” He huffs a soft laugh at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. People change.”

You tilt your head, curious. “I kicked coke,” he says plainly. “Still smoke sometimes, but… y’know. Progress.” His tone is light, like he’s making a joke out of it, but his eyes betray him. Your smile is small, but polite, “That’s… good. I’m glad.” He nods again, looking around the empty room like he’s trying to figure out how much more he can say before overstaying his welcome. “It’s good to see you,” he says at last. “Really.” Your eyes meet his, in a glance that felt too deep for the two of you to share, “You too.”

He lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, but instead he just nods once more and turns toward the door. You watch him walk out. Only when the door swings shut behind him do you exhale. You finish packing your things, the silence of the room settling like dust over your shoulders. And even as you make your way out, feet heavy, heart heavier, you can still feel the weight of his gaze, the weight of every memory flooding in, and you had no idea how you were going to re-seal the scars you worked so hard closing in the first place.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The week comes and goes fairly quickly, and next thing you know it’s Saturday. You and Jake spend the morning doing what couples do, grocery shopping, picking out which brand of oat milk is less terrible, arguing (lightheartedly) over whether or not it’s normal to buy six different types of instant ramen. He’s got a cart, and you’ve got the list. But your head isn’t really in it.

Even as Jake holds up a bundle of parsley and asks if that’s what you meant by “a cute herb for the kitchen,” your mind is elsewhere, thoughts revolving around Heeseung. You barely register Jake grabbing the last of the groceries or driving the two of you home. You help carry the bags in, start unpacking them into the fridge, but your hands move on autopilot. You’re discarding bags and sorting snacks like your brain’s still sitting in that lecture hall. “Babe?” Jake’s voice is soft behind you as it cuts through your thoughts. You pause, hand hovering over a carton of eggs. “Hmm?”

“Everything okay?” You glance at him over your shoulder. His hair’s a little tousled, his white tee slightly wrinkled from earlier when he insisted on carrying all the heavy bags by himself. His face is all concern, and only then you realize how off you’ve been acting. “Yeah,” you lie. “Just tired.” He tilts his head like he’s trying to read the truth written in the lines of your face. “You sure?” he asks again. “You’ve seemed… off all week.”

You close the fridge slowly. “I’m fine, I think I'm just adjusting to being back in Korea.” Jake steps closer, not pressing, but his presence is warm, grounding. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says gently. “But if something happened… whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here.” You hate how good he is. How kind. How easy it is to love him. He leans in and kisses your forehead, lingering there for a beat, and when he pulls back you’re smiling in spite of yourself. “I know,” you whisper.

The rest of the afternoon moves along easily, quiet music plays while you finish unpacking the last few boxes, Jake making jokes here and there, even as the two of you stopped to reminisce over a photo album you found of your adventures in Sydney.

Amongst the chaos of unpacking, your group of friends insisted you can’t let the good weather go to waste, and it’s how the two of you got roped into a beach day. When you arrive, Jake’s already tugging off his shirt and running toward the water with Sunghoon, their laughter echoing across the sand. Wren, Kira, Mina, and Koda are farther down the shoreline, digging their hands into the sand to build… something vaguely resembling a castle with far too much competitive energy.

You choose to spread your towel out next to Jay, who’s already lying on his back, arms folded under his head, sunglasses reflecting the soft clouds overhead. The two of you say nothing for a long moment. The sound of the waves fills the silence, along with Jake yelling something at Sunghoon about being a “cheater” and getting splashed in return.

Then Jay breaks the silence. “Heeseung told me you’re his new TA.” You groan immediately, laying back onto your towel with a dramatic sigh. “I swear to God, I can’t escape him.” Jay turns his head toward you, a laugh managing to escape his lips, “Damn.”

“He talked to me after too,” you add. “Nothing weird. Just… normal stuff. It was fine. But it’s weird, right? He’s just… around.”

“There’s no avoiding him now,” Jay agrees, sitting up and brushing the sand off his arms. “I mean, not unless you quit, and I know you won’t.” You look over at him. “Can we… not tell Jake?” Jay raises a brow, not in a judgemental way, but almost like he’s curious as to why this needs to be kept a secret. “Please,” you add. “It’s nothing. I just don’t even want it to be anything. But I know how he is… he’ll start worrying, and I just don’t want that.” Jay sighs, nods. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”

You’re quiet for another moment before you ask, “Why didn’t you tell me he quit?” Jay leans back on his elbows. “I didn’t think it would help. You were doing good. I didn’t wanna give you something to second-guess.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. You get it, and if anything Jay was probably right.

Before you can respond, Koda and Kira come skipping across the sand, each holding two dripping cones of ice cream. “Don’t say we never do anything for you!” Koda grins as she passes you one.

Kira hands one to Jay with a wink. “You looked parched.” You all laugh as Jay yells back that ice cream won’t help with him being parched, and just like that the conversation is over. Even as Jake returns to your side, hair wet and hand brushing yours, you know you have to forget all about Heeseung, all about what you two once were.

Because that’s simply what it was. You and Heeseung were then. Jake is now. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Monday’s sun filters in through the windows of the lecture hall, hazy and pale, like it knows you didn’t sleep well last night. You sit in your usual spot at the front, following along with Professor Bae’s slides, jotting mental notes on where the pacing might drag and which questions you’ll inevitably get during office hours. But your concentration is splintered, every time she turns her back to write something on the board, your eyes betray you. They drift to the third row, end seat. Heeseung’s seat.

He's there, like always lately, leaned back in his chair, notebook half-heartedly open, chewing on the end of a pen like he’s pretending to pay attention. Like he isn’t fully aware you’ve looked his way. You snap your gaze back to your laptop. Focus, you tell yourself. Jake. Your job. Your life. Not him, not anymore.

Class ends without incident. You and Professor Bae walk together to the office, her talking animatedly about a potential guest lecturer she wants to bring in, and you nod along, grateful for something else to think about. She heads out for a meeting, leaving you to your usual office hours, and for the first time all day you manage to breathe. It’s quiet at first. A couple of students trickle in, asking for clarification on slides, due dates, rubric points. You answer every question with a smile and a practiced ease. You’re good at this. This is what you came here for. It feels like a piece of your old self, one that doesn’t orbit around the memory of a boy who once shattered your entire world.

You're halfway through responding to an email when you hear footsteps outside your door. You don’t look up at first, “Hi, come in,” you call absently, eyes still scanning the screen. “What can I help you with?” But then silence follows your words, so you glance up.

Heeseung.

He’s standing in your doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair falling in his eyes, lips parted like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d make it here. Your breath catches. You swallow and glance at the clock. Five minutes until office hours end. “What can I assist you with, Mr. Lee?” you ask, voice a little too high, too clipped, formal like a shield. Then you wince. “Sorry. That was… weird.”

He walks in slowly, closing the door behind him. “Can we talk?” You don’t answer immediately. You grip your pen tighter, stare down at the paper in front of you like it holds the answer. “You know that’s not a good idea.” Heeseung leans against the desk across from yours, arms folded. “I know. But I can’t just sit in class three times a week pretending like you’re not there.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say, more forcefully than you mean to. “It was a long time ago, Heeseung. I’ve moved on.” He raises a brow. “Really?” You shoot him a look. “Yes. I have a boyfriend. A life.” He’s quiet for a second, but it only lasts for a moment before the sharp words leave his lips, “Then why do you keep staring at me like that?” You open your mouth to respond, but the door opens instead.

“Babe?”

Your stomach drops.

Jake.

He’s standing in the doorway, all radiant smiles and messy post-work hair, holding a coffee he probably bought for you on the way over. Your heart lurches. “Jake,” you say quickly, standing up. “What are you doing here?”

“I got off early,” he says, eyes bright. “Thought I’d surprise my girlfriend. Didn’t know you were still with a student.” He looks to Heeseung, and Heeseung turns, meeting Jake’s gaze directly. Heeseung looks like he’s about to speak, so you act on instinct. “This is Beomgyu,” you blurt out, your voice a little too loud. Heeseung’s eyes narrow at you, and Jake smiles warmly, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you, man.” Heeseung stares at the outstretched hand, then takes it. “You too.”

You force a laugh. “Jake, do you mind just stepping out for a second? I just have to wrap this up.” “Yeah, of course,” Jake says easily, kissing your cheek. “I’ll wait out front.” As soon as the door shuts behind him, you whirl around. “What the hell was that?” Heeseung asks, incredulous. “I panicked.”

“You called me Beomgyu!” You feel your cheeks flush red, “You didn’t say your name, I had to think fast.” He steps toward you. “Why lie to him?” You know you shouldn’t have, but you can’t imagine how Jake would feel if he knew that Heeseung was really him. “Because this isn’t something I want to explain!” you hiss. “Because he doesn’t need to know you’re in the class I TA for.” He stares at you, visibly stung. “Right,” he mutters. “Why are you so afraid of him knowing we talked?”

You don’t answer, so Heeseung takes the opportunity to speak again, “I need to see you,” he says. “Just once. One real conversation. Then you can go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

“We can’t.” You say, voice strained. It’s the first time in this conversation that your tone has betrayed you. You want to talk to him, but you know how the two of you are. “Why?” He was practically pleading, his voice just as raw as yours. “Because we don’t know how to be acquaintances,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Because there’s too much history. You hurt me, Heeseung. I can't just forget that.”

Heeseung takes a shaky breath, like he might argue again, but then something shifts in his expression. He steps back, head nodding slowly. “Right,” he says. “Thanks for the clarification, Ms. L/N.” He walks out before you can say anything else, letting the door shut behind him.

You’re still staring at the spot he just stood in when Jake comes back in, coffee still in hand, eyes full of something softer. “Beomgyu seemed intense,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. You laugh weakly. “You have no idea.”

Jake leans in and starts peppering kisses across your face, forehead, cheek, jaw, until you’re finally smiling again. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s go home. Get changed. Eat ramen, and watch the next episode of Business Proposal.” You melt into him, into that warmth and simplicity. “Okay,” you whisper. And as you gather your things, you try to remind yourself Jake is here. He’s real. He’s safe. But it doesn’t stop the echo of Heeseung’s voice from following you all the way home.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

“Then say it,” you whisper. “Say you don’t want this. Say you don’t want me.” He turns slowly, and something in his face softens. It almost breaks you. “I do want you,” he admits. “But I want this too.” He gestures vaguely to the room, the remnants of his high, the destruction he clings to like a security blanket. “And that makes me a monster.”

You step back like the words physically hurt. “You said I was your angel.”

“You are.” His voice cracks. “Which is why I need you to go.” You shake your head. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do,” he breathes. “God, I do. But I’ll ruin you.”

You wake up with a gasp, the air in your lungs sharp and cold like the moment had been stolen from you. Your body jolts upright, heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. It takes a second to remember where you are, warm sheets, the dim blue glow from the window, and the slow, steady breathing beside you.

Jake stirs instantly. “Baby?” he mumbles, voice raspy with sleep. His arm reaches out to feel for you. “You okay?” You try to calm your breathing as you clutch the blanket against your chest. “Yeah,” you whisper, voice too soft to sound convincing. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep.” He shifts, eyes barely open, not quite awake enough to question you further. His hand briefly finds yours, gives it a small squeeze, and then he’s gone again, drifting back into the comfort of sleep.

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him. The apartment is still and dark as you move through the living room, your bare feet silent against the wood floor. You flick on the kitchen light, and grab a water bottle from the fridge. You twist the cap off and take a long sip, grounding yourself in the silence, in the ordinary act of existing. But your mind is still spinning.

It wasn’t just a dream.

It was a memory that burned into your chest like a brand. That look in his eyes when he told you to go. The way you begged him to try, the way you begged him to love you. God, it had been so real. You walk into the living room and curl up on the couch, legs tucked under you, water bottle clutched in your hands. The dream lingers like fog, sticking to your skin. You need to clear your mind.

You unlock your phone without thinking. At first, it’s pictures of Jake. You and him at the beach, him cooking dinner with a ridiculous apron on, that one photo he insisted on taking with you in front of the Sydney Opera House. You let out a quiet breath through your nose, trying to smile. Jake is good. Kind. Golden. You have something so beautiful with him, something healthy and stable.

And yet you swipe higher, up past the glow of your current life, until you hit a different kind of light, one that burned too hot, too fast. Photos you haven’t dared to look at in years. You and him lying on his floor, laughing so hard your faces were red. A selfie he took where he looked like he was in love and didn’t care who knew. 

Your throat tightens. You shouldn’t still feel this way. Not after everything he did. Not after everything you’ve built with Jake. But part of you still reaches for him in the dark. Even when you push away how you clearly still feel about him. Even when you promise yourself you’re done. The guilt starts to bloom, sharp and heavy. It isn’t fair to Jake, to yourself. Heeseung hurt you. Over and over again. You should hate him, but you can't.

Eventually, you slip back into the bedroom, the weight of your thoughts following you like a shadow. Jake’s turned onto his side now, his arm reaching unconsciously toward your empty spot. You ease back under the covers and let his arm drape over you again. He stirs just enough to press his face into your shoulder. “Love you,” he murmurs, barely audible. Your heart aches, or swells, at this point you’re not too sure. You press a soft kiss to his shoulder,  “I love you too,” you whisper. But even as you lay next to everything you wanted Heeseung to be, the ache doesn’t quite disappear.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The next week breezes by in a flurry of soft mornings, quiet evenings, and carefully constructed avoidance. You ignore every glance, every hesitation, every attempt Heeseung makes to close the growing distance between you. You don’t look at him in class. You don’t wait to see if he’ll try to talk to you after. You bury yourself in the life you’ve built with Jake like it’s your sanctuary.

You bring him lunch on your days off, showing up to his office with a smile and homemade kimbap in a little bento box. He kisses you like you’re the center of his universe, and you pretend it’s enough to keep you grounded. You cook dinner most nights too, miso salmon with sticky rice, spicy pork bulgogi that makes him groan in appreciation and call you wife material in a way that makes your stomach flutter. You even plan at-home date nights. Movie marathons. Matching pajamas. Painting canvases you’ll never hang up. And every time Jake smiles at you, it’s genuine. It's warm and golden and safe.

But that doesn’t stop the storm inside your chest from brewing every time you walk into lecture and feel Heeseung's presence like static in the air. Today is no different. You’re seated beside Professor Bae, her tablet propped up as you go over assignment tracking and grading notes together. Your outfit is sleek and professional, fitted dress, and a cream cardigan. You look good. The class is humming in the background with soft chatter and rustling notebooks. 

“Say that again, you fucking piece of shit. I dare you.” The voice cracks through the air like a whip. You flinch and recognize it instantly. Heeseung.

Your eyes snap up. Chairs scrape back. Everyone turns. And there he is, shoving a guy hard against the desk, fist curled in the front of his shirt, his jaw clenched like he’s barely holding it together. The kid coughs, caught off guard. “Dude, chill!”

“What the hell is going on?” Professor Bae demands, already on her feet. You rise too, frozen, breath caught in your chest. Heeseung’s voice is a low snarl, fury vibrating beneath every word. “He said he was going to fuck Y/N against her desk next time he went to office hours, whether she wanted it or not.” Your heart drops and the room goes completely silent. Professor Bae’s face twists in pure disgust. “Is that true?” she asks the boy next to the one Heeseung still has by the collar. The poor kid looks terrified. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, ma’am. He said it.”

Professor Bae doesn’t hesitate. “You’re coming with me. Now. To the Dean’s office.” She levels her glare at the boy. “And pray this doesn’t escalate to a disciplinary board.” She turns to the rest of the room. “Class dismissed.” There’s a flurry of motion. Students collecting their bags, whispering in shock. You stand still, every nerve in your body ringing. It takes a moment to realize the room’s nearly empty now, except for you and Heeseung.

He’s breathing hard, his knuckles still tight from where they curled into the guy’s shirt. His eyes finally meet yours. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, rough, like it’s clawing out of his throat. “But I couldn’t let him talk about you like that. I couldn’t fucking stand it.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Your voice shakes as you stalk toward him. “You can’t just start fights in the middle of a classroom… Jesus, Heeseung.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he admits. “I just heard him say that shit and my brain flipped.” Heat rises to your cheeks as the anger in your heart burns, “You could’ve gotten expelled!” There’s a scoff that leaves his lips, “You think I care?” he bites back. “You think I give a fuck about that when someone talks about you like that?” Now it’s your turn to snap, “Yeah, I do!” You yell, shoving a hand through your hair. “Because you don’t just get to act like some protector and get yourself kicked out of university!”

He falters for a second. You keep going, chest heaving. “If that guy’s friend hadn’t backed you up, you’d be under investigation! You’d be out of school, no credits, no diploma and for what? To defend me?” The words hang in the air like smoke. Heeseung’s eyes darken and he takes a step closer. “Why do you care?” he asks, voice low, dangerous, barely a whisper between your faces. You stare at him. You can smell him again. His cologne, the one he always wore without fail. Your breath catches, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“Why do you care what happens to me, Y/N?” he murmurs. “You got the dream. You’ve got the job, the sweet boyfriend, the pretty little life. Why does it matter if I crash and burn?” You don’t answer, you can’t.

Because he’s right, and he’s wrong, but the ache in your chest won’t tell you which is which. You inhale like you're about to say something but then you break. You take a step back, walk to your desk and grab your bag. Heeseung doesn’t stop you as you turn to leave. He doesn’t say a thing as you disappear through the door and leave him behind in the empty classroom.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

You barely remember walking through the door. Your brain is still back in that lecture hall with the sound of Heeseung’s voice, gravel-deep and furious, snapping “Don’t you ever fucking talk about her like that again.” Still caught in the way his eyes searched yours. Still stuck in the way he asked, “Why do you care?” God, Why do you care?

Now you’re standing in the doorway of your apartment, chest heaving, skin hot under your clothes. And Jake is there. He’s in the kitchen, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, humming something under his breath as he stirs dinner. There’s a soft glow from the stove, something fragrant in the air, and the second he hears the door close, he turns around with that smile, that warm, golden, Jake smile and says, “Hey, baby-”

You don’t even let him finish. You drop your bag, cross the room in a few fast strides, and kiss him like he’s the only thing tethering you to earth. It’s messy, urgent. All teeth and heat and hands. Your fingers fist into the collar of his t-shirt and you press your body flush against his, chasing anything to quiet the ache clawing through your chest. Jake freezes for half a second, lips parting in shock before his hands settle instinctively on your waist. He grins against your mouth, a little breathless. “Whoa… did someone miss me or something?” You nod your head, eyes already hazy, and kiss him again, deeper this time, more demanding. Like you need him to burn the memory out of your head. You tug at the hem of his shirt, nails grazing the skin beneath, and whisper against his lips, “I need you.”

Jake’s hands tighten on your hips. “Yeah?” he murmurs, voice already low. “Here I thought I was the one who had a long day.” You don’t respond with words. You just slide your hands under his shirt, your lips skimming the corner of his jaw, and Jake lets out a soft curse before lifting you by the thighs and setting you down on the kitchen counter. You spread your legs to make space for him, and he steps in close, standing between your knees as he presses his forehead to yours. “You okay?” he asks, softer this time. You nod too quickly. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t call you on it. He studies you for a second longer, like he knows there’s something lurking just beneath the surface and then just leans in to kiss you again. This time slower, and sweeter. But it doesn’t stay that way.

Because you’re not kissing him to be sweet. You’re kissing him to forget. His lips move hungrily over yours, hands pushing under your shirt, trailing fire along your sides. He’s warm, steady, grounding, everything Heeseung isn’t. You curl your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, like if you press yourself into him hard enough, it’ll erase every single trace of the storm you left behind.

Your lips move with his in practiced rhythm, like you’ve kissed him a hundred times, because you have. Jake’s hands are warm against your skin, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt as he deepens the kiss, and before you even realize it, the fabric is lifted over your head in one fluid motion. His fingers make quick work of your bra clasp, the straps slipping from your shoulders like silk. He scoops you up again, his grip secure under your thighs, and carries you across the room like you weigh nothing. You melt into him as he lays you down on the couch, the world quieting around the sound of his soft, loving sighs.

Jake crawls over you, lips trailing a hot path from your collarbone to the swell of your chest. He doesn’t hesitate, he never does. His mouth finds your nipple, tongue circling before sucking gently, hands smoothing up your sides to cup and massage the soft flesh of your breasts. The wet heat of his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud again and again, slow and attentive, like he’s memorizing you. A soft whimper escapes you. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he moves to the other breast, repeating the same tender worship that makes your head fog. His lips eventually climb back up your neck, kissing gently until he finds your mouth again, swallowing the sounds you make as he grinds down onto you.

You feel him, hard and needy through the layers of clothing and your hips arch instinctively to meet his. “Jake…” you whisper against his lips, breathless. “Please. Just fuck me.” He pauses, pulling back just enough to search your face. His brows furrow for a brief second, like he’s making sure you really want this. Then he nods, eyes soft, and moves quickly, tugging off both your pants and his own. You watch him disappear down the hall to grab a condom, and for a moment, you're left there in the stillness. That’s when the thoughts start.

Jake. Heeseung. Jake. Heeseung. What the fuck are you doing?

You shut your eyes tight, fists clenched in the cushions, trying to silence the ache in your chest. But it’s louder than ever. The memory of his chain necklace glinting in soft light. His voice whispering your name like a curse. His hands that made you feel ruined and worshipped all at once. Jake returned, a condom already rolled on, and a smile on his lips meant only for you. You force yourself to smile back as he lowers his body over yours, his cock sliding through your folds, teasing. “I love you,” he murmurs, so sincerely it makes your heart lurch. You nod, voice quiet. “I love you too, baby.”

Another tender kiss was placed to your lips. Jake’s everything you’re supposed to want. He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, and you gasp, not from the stretch, but from how fast your mind leaves the room. Because all you can see is another face. His eyes locked on yours as he bottomed out inside you for the first time, Chain swinging as he fucked you slow, deep, and deliberate. That cocky little smirk every time you whimpered. The growl in his throat when he moaned your name like he needed it to breathe.

Jake is above you, making love to you, the man who deserves you. But in the shadows of your mind, you’re clinging to the vision of Heeseung.

Your breath hitches. Your nails dig into Jake’s back. And you whisper in your head, like a silent prayer, God, Y/N. Please Stop this.

Jake’s rhythm was steady and strong, each thrust coaxing soft, breathy moans from your lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively, pulling him closer, as if maybe proximity could help you stay present. You locked your legs around his waist, the shift in angle pulling a satisfied grunt from his chest. His head dipped, messy strands of hair falling across his forehead, and his lips parted into a sweet, breathless smile. “There’s my girl,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded, voice warm like honey. His words should’ve made your heart flutter, they always did. But tonight… they barely registered.

Your body responded, sure. You moaned louder, gasped when he snapped his hips a little harder, cried out softly as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and showered your skin in kisses. Each thrust was laced with whispered praises. “You feel so good… fuck, I love you… always so good for me.” But the ache in your chest only grew.

You were trying, really you were truly trying to be here with him, to feel this the way you were supposed to. But the harder you fought it, the louder the other voice got. Jake’s pace grew erratic, your moans syncing with the slap of skin on skin. You clung tighter, letting your nails dig into his back, desperate to lose yourself, but it wasn’t working. Your heart was screaming, and guilt churned low in your gut.

You wanted to cry. You could feel it welling in your throat, stinging behind your eyes. In your desperation, and in your shame you did the only thing your fucked-up mind could do. You imagined it was Heeseung.

That it was his lips on your neck, his cock buried inside you, his breath fanning against your ear as he told you how tight you were, how much he missed you, how he was never going to let you go again. “I’m close,” you gasped out, voice cracking from the pressure, physical and emotional. You tried to ground yourself in Jake. You made sure to moan his name. You kissed his cheek, his jaw, his temple. But the image of Heeseung, sweat-slicked, mouth parted, eyes dark with desire refused to fade.

Jake’s own moans grew louder, his movements faltering as he felt your walls clench tight around him. He pulled back just enough to see your face, to watch you unravel underneath him and that was all it took. “Fuck, baby,” he choked out, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom. He let out a shaky breath and collapsed onto you, catching himself with a forearm before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “God… you’re everything.” You blinked up at the ceiling, lungs heaving, throat raw. Jake pulled out slowly, carefully, and you felt the emptiness in more ways than one.

He disappeared into the bathroom, disposing of the condom, and returned moments later with a pair of your shorts and one of his shirts. He helped you dress, brushing your hair away from your face, murmuring something sweet you couldn’t hear over the rush of your own thoughts. “That was so good,” Jake murmured against your lips, stealing one more slow, honeyed kiss as his hand gently rubbed up and down your back. “We haven’t had sex like that in a while… it was so spontaneous.”

You offered him a quiet smile, letting him help you sit up on the couch. You didn’t say anything, just leaned forward until your forehead was resting against his shoulder. Jake chuckled softly, his voice filled with affection. “Did I tire you out that much, baby?” You nodded, but it wasn’t the kind of tired he thought. It wasn’t your body that felt worn out, it was your mind. Your heart. Like something inside you had frayed at the edges and you were too afraid to look down and see how far it had unraveled.

In Australia, life was easy, steady, and happy. You and Jake thrived in that quiet simplicity. The memory of Heeseung had dulled into something forgettable. A past life sealed away. But the second you set foot back in Seoul, it was like that box cracked wide open and now he was everywhere. In your thoughts, your dreams, your past, at your goddamn job. You didn’t even know what you were doing anymore.

Jake’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly beneath your eye before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna go finish dinner for you,” he said sweetly. “Just sit here and relax, okay?” You nodded again, watching as he disappeared into the kitchen, humming to himself. He was so good, so kind. The kind of love you always thought you wanted. Marriage. Stability. A future you could count on.

But then there was Heeseung. Chaotic, unstable, and complicated. The kind of love that turned your stomach into knots and your brain to static. The kind that burned when it touched you and left fingerprints on your soul long after it was gone. You sank back into the couch, the ache in your chest hollow and gnawing. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep living in this constant warzone between logic and longing.

Your fingers itched. You reached for your bag, dug out your phone, and brought it into your lap. It unlocked to your home screen, and without fully realizing what you were doing, you found yourself in your blocked contacts.

seungie <3

The name still sat there like it never left. You stared at it. Heart pounding. Teeth sinking into your lower lip. Unblocking him was a terrible idea, you knew that. You should text Kira, or Mina, or literally anyone who could talk you down from this ledge. But deep down you already knew what they’d say. Hell, you already knew what you would say if you weren’t currently being haunted by the ghost of your first love in every memory, and every dream. Your thumb hovered over the button. 

“Dinner’s ready, babe!” Jake called from the kitchen, his voice warm and familiar. You heard plates being set on the island, the shuffle of utensils, the faint clink of glasses.

You blinked, throat tightening. “Coming!” you called back, quickly dropping your phone onto the cushion beside you as you stood up, trying to shake the fog from your mind.

But as you walked toward the kitchen, your phone screen lit up again.

Contact unblocked: seungie <3

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Jay doesn’t even ask if you want to hang out, he just tells you to be ready by seven. And you don’t argue. Dinner’s low-key. Some spot he used to love during college, tucked on a side street you wouldn’t have remembered without him. It’s easy with Jay. It always is. He keeps the conversation light, talking about work, teasing you about still not being able to eat anything too spicy. You smile, laugh even, and for a while you forget the heaviness you’ve been carrying around like a second skin. Until he takes a turn you weren’t expecting.

A long drive up the coast, the city lights behind you, the ocean ahead. You end up parked just off a quiet beach, headlights off, engine ticking as it cools. The sand glows silver under the moonlight. It smells like salt and memory. You both climb up onto the hood of his car without a word. The metal is still warm beneath you, and a soft breeze pushes at your hair. Jay glances over after a few minutes of silence. “You’ve been off lately.”

You hug your knees to your chest. “Have I?” He gives you a look. “Don’t play dumb. I know you too well.” You exhale. You don’t want to talk about it, not really. But you knew this was coming. Jay doesn’t take you out for spontaneous dinners and drives unless he’s worried. “I thought I had it all figured out,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the rolling tide in the distance. “Australia made sense. Everything with Jake… it just worked.” Jay waits. “But now I’m back here, and it’s like…” You stop, fingers curling in the hem of your hoodie. “It’s like I can’t get away from him.”

He doesn’t ask who you mean. You hear the shift of his weight beside you. “You talked to Heeseung.” You nod, slow. “Too many times. More than I ever planned to.” There’s another silence. The waves roll in, Jay leans back on his palms, looking up at the stars like he’s trying to read something between them. “Do you love Jake?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say, instantly. No hesitation. Because you do. You love his steady hands and his warmth and the way he always makes you feel safe. Jay doesn’t push, but his next question hits harder. “Do you still love Heeseung?” You blink. You almost say no. You want to. But it dies in your throat. “I don’t know,” you admit. Jay nods like he understands. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N.” Your eyes sting. You lean your head against his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you without thinking. “I don’t know what to do,” you whisper. “You don’t have to know yet,” he murmurs. “Just… don’t lie to yourself. And whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Class runs quietly today. Quieter than usual. Maybe it’s the weight of the assignment, “Your Biggest Regret”  or maybe it’s just him. Heeseung hasn’t looked at you once. You’ve been keeping track without meaning to. The way he walked in late, head ducked low. The way he sat in the back, arms crossed, eyes fixed anywhere but your direction. Even now, as the rest of the students shuffle forward one by one, handing in their printed essays onto the edge of your desk, he stays seated.

You don't even bother hiding the way you glance toward him. He’s the last to get up. And when he finally does, his steps are slow, almost reluctant. He drops the pages onto your desk, the soft slap of paper louder than it should be in the quiet room. For the first time in over a week, his eyes meet yours. There’s something in them, guilt, or sadness… Something else you can’t quite name. It flickers for a second, then it’s gone.

You blink, lips parting slightly, maybe to say something, maybe to question the look but he’s already turning away. He slips out the classroom without a word, and you stare down at the stack of essays like it holds answers instead of questions. “Rough crowd today,” Professor Bae murmurs as she walks past, holding a fresh cup of coffee. She offers a wry smile. “Must’ve been all the emotional labor I assigned them.” You huff softly. “You do love digging into trauma for academic purposes.” “It builds character,” she says with a wink. “You heading to your office?” You nod, “Yeah, just going to start on the first few now.” She gives you a playful salute as she heads out.

Back in your office, you set your laptop down, uncap a pen, and sit with the stack of essays in front of you. A few of them are lighthearted despite the theme, regrets about a failed prank, about switching majors too many times, one even about not confessing a crush in high school. But some are heavy. You pace yourself. Highlighting, writing notes in the margins, organizing them by score. You’re nearly through the entire stack when your eyes land on the final one.

Lee Heeseung.

Your fingers hesitate over the cover page. The same neat black print as the others. Nothing about the formatting or paperweight makes it feel any different. But you know it is. You exhale, steadying your breath, and slide it to the center of your desk, then you begin to read.

Title: A Study in Self-Sabotage By: Lee Heeseung

I spent the better part of my late teens and early twenties convinced that regret was something for people who had time to dwell on the past. People who hadn’t learned how to outrun it. For a long time, I was really good at running. I’m not proud of the person I used to be. I don’t write that for pity or redemption points. It’s just a fact, one I’ve spent the last few years trying to accept without letting it swallow me whole. At my worst, I was selfish, numb, high more often than I was sober, and completely convinced I was beyond saving. I wasn’t living. I was surviving. I was a hollow version of myself, floating through days with red eyes, cracked knuckles, and a heart I didn’t realize I’d already handed over to someone else. And then there was her.

I didn’t know love could look like that. Soft-spoken but stubborn as hell. She had this light in her, something untouchable, the kind of warmth that doesn’t just burn bright, it spreads. She knew what she wanted from life. She was brilliant and focused and… so, so kind to someone who didn’t deserve even half of that. She loved me. God, she loved me. Even when I couldn’t see a future, she saw one for both of us. Even when I disappeared for days or said things I couldn’t take back or came back with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, she stayed. She was patient. Gentle. She kept trying to help me find a way out of the darkness I never even told her I’d chosen. And what did I do? I pushed her away.

I made her think she wasn’t enough. I broke her heart and then made her feel like it was her fault for trying to fix me. I didn’t say goodbye the way she deserved. I didn’t beg her to stay when she left for Australia. I made her think I didn’t care, that I didn’t love her anymore. That she should forget me. That it would be better for both of us.

I lied. And I’ve regretted it every single day since.

She left. I watched her walk away from afar at the airport gate I never had the courage to go near. She boarded that plane thinking I didn’t love her, and I let her go. I told myself it was for her. That I was setting her free. But it was selfish. Because I wasn’t saving her, I was giving up. And after she left, I fell apart. Not in the dramatic, movie-scene kind of way. It was quieter, and a lot lonelier. I stopped partying, stopped pretending the drugs were fun. They weren’t. They never were. They were just easier than feeling. But now that the person who made me want to feel was gone, they stopped working. I hit rock bottom. And I sat there for a long time. And then, one morning, I woke up and realized she’d never see me like that again. She’d never see what I’d become. And for the first time, I didn’t want to get clean because I hated who I was, I wanted to get clean because she deserved to know that her love hadn’t been wasted.

So I got sober. Slowly, and painfully. I relapsed. I broke down. But I got back up. I found a program. I got a job at a bookstore. Enrolled in community college. Transferred. I studied harder than I ever had in my life because I kept imagining what she’d say if she saw my grades. I heard her voice in my head every time I wanted to quit, “you’re better than this, Hee.”

Everything I’ve done since she left has been, in some way, for her. And here’s the part I hate admitting most. I hoped she hadn’t moved on. I wanted her to. I told myself I did. But a small, selfish part of me held onto the idea that maybe, someday, she’d come back. That she’d see me again and I’d be someone she could be proud of.

She did come back. I saw her. And the minute I did, I knew the truth. I never stopped loving her. The kind of love I have for her is quiet now. It doesn’t beg or chase or demand anything in return. It just is. It sits in my chest like an old song I know by heart. It wakes me up when I think I’m fine. It shows up in the way I write essays like this, pretending I’m writing about regret in theory when really I’m writing about her.

I regret the way I hurt her. I regret that she’ll never know how much she changed me. I regret that I let her walk away believing I didn’t care. I regret not telling her she saved me before she ever knew I needed saving.

But if regret is the cost of loving someone like her and letting her go, then I’ll carry it for the rest of my life. Some people get their redemption. Some people just get the weight of knowing what they lost. I know which one I am.

You don’t even remember standing up. Don’t remember how your fingers started trembling as you reached the last paragraph. All you know is that somewhere between the sentence "But if regret is the cost of loving someone like her and letting her go, then I’ll carry it for the rest of my life.” and the moment you swiped a tear from your cheek, the dam broke completely. You’re crying hard. Your chest is heaving and your throat is tight and the only thing you can hear is the rapid thudding of your heartbeat in your ears. You don’t even think before you reach for your phone. It’s muscle memory, selecting the contact you never meant to unblock, thumb hovering for only a fraction of a second before pressing call.

“Hello?” Heeseung answers after a beat, voice laced with disbelief. “Y/N…?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe it’s you. You sniff, struggling to breathe through the overwhelming swirl of emotions in your chest. “Come to my office,” you choke. “Now.” He doesn’t even get the chance to respond as the line clicks dead. You sink back into your chair, hands shaking, breath ragged, heart racing. The faculty offices are quiet by now. It's late. The only sound is the muffled hum of a vacuum somewhere down the hall and the tick of the clock on the wall. It feels like forever until you hear the knock on your door. But then it opens before your eyes and Heeseung steps in, gently closing it behind him, his eyes instantly locking onto yours.

He drops his bag near the door, concern flashing across his face. “What happened? Are you okay?” You don’t answer. Instead, you grab his essay from your desk and hurl it at his chest. It hits him with a light thud, dropping to the floor between you. His brows knit together, caught between confusion and worry. “What the fuck is this, Heeseung?” His jaw tenses. “You read it.”

“Of course I read it!” you snap, voice breaking at the edges. “Do you seriously think you can just… pour your heart out like that and what? I’d forget everything you put me through? I’m just supposed to pretend none of it happened?” Heeseung bends to pick up the paper off the ground, not breaking eye contact. “It did happen. Every word of it. I wasn’t gonna lie.”

“You say you were at the fucking airport?” you spit, eyes wide and glistening. “You were there and you didn’t say anything? You just stood there and watched me leave?”

“What was I supposed to do?” His voice rises. “I was a mess, Y/N. I was a fucking mess back then. You deserved so much better than the wreck I was.” The anger boiled in your chest, “You should’ve tried!” you shout. “You should’ve fucking tried, Heeseung!” His fist clenched around the paper in his hand, “I didn’t want to ruin you,” he yells back. “I thought letting you go was the only good thing I’d ever done for you.”  You pace a step to the side, hands clenched at your sides. “Bullshit. You let me believe you didn’t love me anymore.”

“I thought it would make it easier!” he shouts, stepping toward you now, tone fraying. “I thought if you hated me it would hurt less.”

“Well, it didn’t!” Your voice cracks. “It fucking broke me.” He falls quiet at that. The air between you trembles with the weight of all the things left unsaid. Then he speaks again, softer, almost bitter. “Why do you even care, Y/N? You’ve got your perfect little life now. Jake, your boyfriend that clearly loves you. A good job. Everything you deserve.” Your laugh is humorless and sharp. “Don’t you dare throw Jake in my face. You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

“I’m not talking about him,” Heeseung snaps. “I’m talking about you. You moved on. So why the hell are you standing here looking at me like that?” Your frustration boiled over as you shout back at him, “Looking at you like what!”

Silence.

The only sound in the room now is your uneven breathing. You’re by your desk, and he’s still near the door. There’s at least eight feet between you, but the pull is unbearable. Your chests are rising and falling in sync. A thick, electric tension zips through the air between you. It’s too much. The air feels tight. The weight of years lost hangs in the room like fog.

And then, you both move at the same time. No hesitation. You crash into each other like magnets, like muscle memory, like something you both swore you were done with but never truly let go of. His hands are on your waist, your fingers twisted in the collar of his hoodie. Your lips slam into his like you’re starving, like nothing else in the world could possibly matter except the way he tastes, the way he feels, the way it’s him.

The kiss is wild, and messy. His tongue slides against yours with desperate hunger, a groan rumbling in his chest as your hands weave into his hair. You’re gasping against him, your back hitting the wall as he presses into you, your bodies flush and burning hot with everything that’s been building for years. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s everything.

Three years of missed chances. Three years of heartbreak. Three years of love that never truly died. When he pulls back, just for a second, both of you breathless and wrecked, his forehead rests against yours. “You shouldn’t have called me,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You close your eyes. “I know.”

The silence that settles between you isn’t peaceful. It’s heavy with all the unspoken truths neither of you want to say out loud. Because this? This is a line. A thick, bold line neither of you were supposed to cross. And now you’re both staring at it from the wrong side now.

It’s not that you don’t care about Jake, or about the mess this is going to leave behind. You shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have answered the phone. You should’ve hung up the second you heard his voice. But you didn’t. And now here you are, pressed against a wall, heart racing, the ghost of his kiss still clinging to your lips.

“This isn’t fair,” you whisper, barely audible. He nods. His eyes are closed too, like if he doesn’t look at you, he won’t crumble all the way. “To him. I know.” The guilt claws at you. You feel it buried deep in your ribs, beneath the ache, beneath the years of longing that never really faded. You’re not pretending this is okay. You’re not lying to yourselves about what this is.

It’s wrong. And you both know it. But somehow, the feelings between you two shouts louder than all of it. It always has. It’s too big to reason with. Too consuming to ignore.

His lips find yours again like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Slower this time, deeper. Less of a war, more of a surrender. Like he’s memorizing you all over again. Like he knows if he doesn’t kiss you right this second, he’ll lose his mind. You kiss him back with the same urgency. The same desperation. The same ache. Your fingers thread through his hair and he groans into your mouth, hands gripping your waist like he still can’t believe you’re real.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, your eyes meet. His gaze is molten. “I can’t stop myself when it comes to you,” he whispers, like a confession that’s been burning on the tip of his tongue since the moment you walked back into his life. Your throat tightens as you nod. “I can’t either.” It’s a quiet admission, but it sets off something electric in the room. The kisses start again, layered with years of longing and everything unspoken. Over and over, your lips chase his, his hands roam your body, and it’s like you’ve both forgotten what it’s like to breathe without each other.

In one fluid motion, Heeseung lifts you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist like muscle memory. He walks you both over to your desk chair and sinks into it, positioning you on his lap with ease. Your knees are bracketing his hips, your skirt riding dangerously high, his hands gripping your thighs as your mouths crash together again. The air is thick with want, but this time, it’s laced with something sweeter. Something that feels like home. Heeseung leans back for a second, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes. “Fuck,” he breathes out, “I want you so bad.”

“Then have me,” you whisper, hips shifting just slightly to remind him of how close you are. He grips your thighs harder and closes his eyes like he’s grounding himself. “I can’t fuck you here,” he finally says, voice low and strained. “You deserve more than that. Not in this office… not like this.” You blink, your head already fogged over with heat, but he presses a hand gently against your back and explains, “Jay’s out with Sunghoon tonight. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” You don’t hesitate. “Okay.” No questions. No second-guessing. Just him.

You climb off his lap, cheeks flushed and heart pounding as you grab your bag off the floor. Heeseung grabs his own bag, and leads the way out. Every step down the hallway feels like borrowed time, like you’re two kids sneaking away for something you both know is wrong but feels so painfully right. When you reach the parking lot, he opens the passenger door for you, but before you can even get in, he pauses.

He glances around, checking the quiet lot and then his hands are on your cheeks, thumbs brushing your skin, eyes locked on yours. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, voice husky and then he kisses you again. Soft, his smile pressed against yours. You laugh against his lips, so does he, and it’s like for just a second, nothing hurts.

You both climb into the car. The air feels warm, Heeseung drives in silence, but his hand never leaves your thigh. The city passes by in a blur, streetlights glowing against the windshield, your heart hammering beneath your ribs. When he pulls into the familiar apartment complex, a lump rises in your throat. It’s different than it used to be, not the same haze of empty bottles and bad decisions, but something about it still feels like a sweet memory.

He walks you up, his hand lingering at the small of your back as you climb the stairs. He unlocks the door, and you step inside. Same layout. Same scent. But the clutter’s different now. No trace of pills on the counter or rolled-up bills on the coffee table. Instead, textbooks. A mug half-full of cold coffee. His laptop open, tabs of lecture slides and research notes. Still Heeseung. Still his apartment. But not the boy who once shattered your heart on this very floor.

He watches you take it all in quietly, then he says softly, “Come on.” He leads you to his room. It’s cleaner, lived-in, comfortable. You stand in the doorway for a moment, heart pounding, breath shallow. You feel him behind you, hands slipping around your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You okay?” he murmurs. You nod. 

Heeseung led you into his room with quiet reverence, like the moment might shatter if either of you breathed too loud. The space had changed. The shadows that once lingered in every corner were gone, replaced by soft lighting and the faint scent of freshly washed sheets, cleaner, quieter, but still distinctly him. But it wasn’t the room that made your breath catch. It was him. The way his hand gripped yours, steady and warm, thumb grazing your skin like he couldn’t stop reminding himself you were really here.

He turned you gently, guiding you to stand in front of the tall mirror by the closet. It stretched from the floor to just above your heads, and as your reflection stared back at you, you felt your pulse begin to race. In it, you saw the outline of his body behind yours, taller, broader, still lingering near the nightstand, adjusting a few things like he needed the distraction, like even he couldn’t believe this was happening.

When he turned back, his gaze caught on yours in the mirror. He didn’t say anything at first, just drank you in, like you were the dream he was scared to wake up from. Then he stepped forward, closing the distance in two slow strides, his presence swallowing yours as his arms slid around your waist and pulled you flush against him. His lips ghosted over the curve of your shoulder before he pressed a soft kiss there, and then another, like punctuation marks in the silence. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he murmured, his voice low and careful, reverent. It rumbled against your back, the words curling like smoke through the tension between you.

There wasn’t even a flicker of doubt. “Yes,” you breathed, already leaning into him. Heeseung exhaled like he’d been holding that breath since the moment he walked into your office. With slow, deliberate movements, he reached for the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over his head, revealing the soft gray t-shirt underneath and the strong lines of his shoulders. The hoodie hit the floor in a heap, forgotten, but his eyes, those eyes that had haunted you never left yours in the mirror.

You mirrored him, fingers sliding under the edge of your own shirt and peeling it off, letting it fall to the ground beside his. His gaze dropped to your reflection, bare, open, vulnerable, and it made something flicker behind his eyes. Something primal, yet something so tender. Then came the second layer. He tugged his t-shirt off next, exposing the faint ridges of muscle. Your breath hitched, not from lust alone, but because this closeness, this peeling back of layers was everything you’d been starving for.

You moved to unclasp your bra, but his hands stopped yours. “Let me,” he said softly. You dropped your hands and let him take over, watching in the mirror as he reached behind you. His fingers deftly unhooked the clasp, then slowly, reverently slid the straps off your shoulders. The bra slipped down your arms and to the floor, but his hands didn’t leave your skin. Instead, they came around to your front, palms warm and firm as they cupped your breasts with a mixture of awe and possessiveness. You gasped softly, your head falling back against his shoulder. His touch wasn’t rushed, it was like he was rediscovering a part of himself he thought he’d lost. “You’re so beautiful…” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. “I never told you that enough.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, like he hated himself for all the times he didn’t say it, and all the times he left you wondering if he meant it at all. 

Your breath trembled, but your eyes never left the mirror. And neither did his. Because in that reflection, he saw everything he’d almost lost, and you saw everything you still wanted. The two of you tangled together in the golden haze of his bedroom, desire and love and years of pent-up ache coiling around your bodies like silk.

You turned around slowly, the warmth of his palms now resting against the smooth plane of your bare back. The room was quiet, lit only by the soft amber hue of the lamp on his desk, casting long shadows across the walls and for a moment, it was just the sound of your breathing and the echo of the past folding into the present. “I love you,” Heeseung whispered, his voice so soft, so broken, that it felt like a confession years in the making. He dipped his head, pressing a kiss against your cheek, then your jaw. Then the space just below your ear. You felt the way his lips trembled with every touch, like he didn’t believe he was allowed to be here again, touching you like this.

“I love you too…” you breathed, voice cracking as you threaded your arms around his neck and buried your fingers into his hair. It was instinctual, like your body had just been waiting for him as if no time had passed at all. And then finally, finally, his lips met yours again. But this kiss was nothing like the ones before, not like the desperate one in your office, not like the giggling one by the car. This was heavy. It was the kind of kiss that said everything words never could. His hands curled tighter around your waist as yours trembled against his jaw. You could feel the love, the heartbreak, the regret, the longing, all pressed between your mouths like a dam that had finally burst.

Heeseung scooped you into his arms as if you weighed nothing, holding you like something sacred. You were used to being tossed onto his bed with playful smirks and sinful promises back when this had all been simpler, back when lust had been loud and reckless. But now… he laid you down like you were something he wasn’t sure he deserved to hold again. You lay there beneath him, chest rising and falling with quiet anticipation, as he hovered above you, just staring for a moment. Like he couldn’t believe you were really here. “This feels like a dream,” he murmured, eyes dragging across your face, down your body, back to your eyes. “Tell me you’re really here.”

“I’m here,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.” And something shifted in him at that. His gaze darkened, not with danger, but devotion. He slowly moved down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, over your stomach, until he was kneeling at the foot of the bed. His hands found the waistband of your skirt, dragging it down with reverence. You lifted your hips for him, and the fabric slipped off easily, pooling on the floor with your underwear moments later.

He eased your thighs apart like he was parting the pages of his favorite story, one he’d read a thousand times but still wanted to memorize all over again. “I need to make you feel good,” he said, almost to himself, almost like an apology. Before you could even respond, his lips were on your inner thigh, peppering kisses that made your breath catch in your throat. Your hands slid into his hair, instinct again, anchoring yourself to him.

Then his mouth found you. He didn’t rush. He kissed you like he was savoring you, tasting the years he’d missed, the time he’d lost. His tongue moved in slow, sensual strokes, lapping at your clit with careful precision, like every sound you made was a melody he was chasing. “Heeseung…” you whispered, voice trembling with need. His name falling from your lips made his grip on your thighs tighten. His fingers joined in, sliding up your folds with unhurried grace, circling your clit in perfect sync with his tongue. Your body arched, your legs trembling on either side of his shoulders, and still he didn’t stop. He worshipped you. Like the taste of you was the only thing that could cleanse him of everything he’d done, the drugs, the distance, the lies, the pain.

He pulled back for only a moment, lips glistening, breath heavy, eyes flickering up to yours like he was checking, like he needed to see that you were real, that you still wanted him. Your eyes met, and whatever he saw there made him lean forward again with even more purpose. You gasped as his tongue found your clit again, this time with more hunger. He was making love to you with his mouth. Each stroke, each flick, each breath against your skin sent you spiraling. His fingers curled against your hip as his mouth moved with a rhythm only he knew could send you over the edge. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized this wasn’t about just pleasure. It was about redemption. It was about every “I’m sorry” he never got to say.

And as your fingers tangled deeper into his hair and your hips arched off the bed, you knew no matter how broken he was, no matter how much time had passed, this love was still alive “This pussy’s always tasted like heaven,” Heeseung murmured between kisses, voice husky and laced with that addictive edge of desire. “You missed this… didn’t you, princess?” You could barely manage to nod, your fingers curled tight in his hair as your thighs trembled around his shoulders. “So many nights after I left,” you whimpered, voice breaking as a moan clawed its way up your throat. “Thought of you… thought of this.”

Heeseung groaned softly, as if your words alone fed something primal in him. His grip tightened on your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer, burying himself between your legs again. His tongue moved with purpose, slow, then fast, then slow again, drawing delicate circles before flattening against your clit with maddening precision. You felt it coming fast, dizzying heat building in your core, your breath stuttering, body quaking. Your hips rolled against his mouth of their own accord, desperate and mindless, your fingers tangling deeper into his hair as your thighs clamped around his head. He didn’t let up. If anything, he devoured you harder, lips and tongue working in tandem.

Your vision blurred, a breathless cry of his name tearing from your lips as the climax hit, white-hot and overwhelming. Your entire body arched as the release rushed through you, leaving you gasping, flushed, wrecked. Heeseung stayed there through all of it, drinking you in like he was starved.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were glistening, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he looked up at you like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen. His cheeks were flushed, jaw damp, but his eyes never left yours, completely enamored, like watching you fall apart was some sacred act he’d been waiting to witness again.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, still breathless. “You’re unreal.” He stood, hands moving to the button of his jeans, and you watched as he shrugged them down along with his boxers, revealing himself, thick, hard, already leaking at the tip. Your gaze dropped, then rose again to meet his, and you were moving before he could stop you. You slid down the bed and dropped to your knees on the floor, looking up at him with wide eyes and swollen lips, chest still rising and falling from the high he had just pulled from your body.

“Baby…” Heeseung’s voice was rough with restraint. His hands hovered at his sides, uncertain. “You don’t have to-” You cut him off with a look. A soft, certain smile. “I want to,” you said simply. “I want to make you feel good too.” Before he could say another word, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, and your lips pressed to the tip, soft and slow. His breath caught immediately. You could feel the way his muscles tensed above you, his abdomen clenching as you began to take more of him in, slow, unhurried, and eyes never leaving his.

Heeseung’s head fell back with a soft, guttural groan, one hand rising to tangle in your hair, not guiding, just anchoring, just needing to touch you. “Shit,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me…” You started slow, lips plush, mouth warm, letting him feel every inch you took in. Your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking in perfect rhythm with the way your mouth moved, slick with spit and need. Heeseung’s head dropped back, a moan of your name tumbling from his throat, soaked in reverence and want. 

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, voice wrecked. His hand hovered at the back of your head, not pushing, just trembling with restraint. “You feel so good… so fucking good.” You kept your pace steady, your tongue tracing along the underside of his shaft, and every time your lips slid down around him, his hips twitched, trying not to move, but it was no use. His control was slipping. You felt it in the way his thighs tightened under your palms, the way his breath came harder, heavier.

Then he snapped. With a deep, guttural moan, his hips surged forward, driving deeper into your mouth, slow at first, then gradually quicker. His cock slid past your lips again and again, each thrust more precise, more desperate. You gagged around him, the stretch making your eyes water, but you didn’t stop, you took it. Let him use your mouth the way he needed to. And God, did he need to. His grip tightened on hair, fingers splaying over your scalp as he held you steady, eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t look away. His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his abdomen twitching as pleasure crashed through him in waves.

“Look at me,” he rasped. “Keep looking at me, baby.” You obeyed, eyes fluttering open, tears brimming as you blinked up at him. That look on his face, jaw slack, eyes wide with awe, it made your whole body thrum. You moaned around him, and that sound was his undoing. A strangled noise tore from his throat. “Fuck… don’t stop. I’m close, I’m- shit.”

The mix of your moan vibrating along his shaft, the way your lips fit around him, the sheer devotion in your eyes, it was everything. His hips stuttered, then stilled as he came hard, cock pulsing as he spilled down your throat. He held you in place with a trembling hand, riding out every last wave of his orgasm, your lips sealed tight around him until he had nothing left to give.

When you finally pulled off him, a string of spit still connecting your lips to the tip of his cock, you wiped your mouth slowly, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. You pushed yourself up to your feet, eyes searching his. Heeseung looked utterly ruined, hair messy, lips parted, pupils blown wide. You brushed a few strands out of his eyes, and the faintest, stunned smile tugged at your lips. 

“You did so good for me,” Heeseung murmured, voice thick with awe as his hands cradled your face like you were something fragile. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips that wasn’t rushed or greedy, but slow and burning with reverence. When he pulled back, his forehead stayed pressed against yours, eyes flickering down to where your bodies met, skin against skin, hearts pounding in sync. “I don’t have a condom…” he whispered, his voice barely audible, like even admitting it out loud was too loud for how close this moment felt.

But you only shook your head, the pads of your fingers brushing slowly up his bare chest, over the ridges of muscle and warmth of his skin. “It’s okay,” you whispered, breath catching in your throat. “I want you… please, Heeseung.” That was all it took. He groaned, low and hungry. His grip on your hips tightened, and in one fluid motion, he lowered you onto the bed, the backs of your thighs brushing the sheets. He climbed over you, his frame enveloping you as he pushed your knees up to your chest, slowly draping your legs over his shoulders.

He paused, just for a second, gaze tracing over you. Heeseung positioned himself at your entrance and began to ease in, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch burned, the girth of him splitting you open in a way you hadn’t felt in too long. Your hands fisted the sheets, tears instantly prickling your lashes, but you didn’t tell him to stop.

Heeseung leaned forward, brushing the tears from the corners of your eyes with his thumb, his other hand gripping your thigh, “We can stop… if it’s too much,” he whispered, concern flickering through his desire. But you shook your head again. “No… don’t stop. I want this. I want you.” The look he gave you then, it nearly shattered you. Like his whole world had just fallen back into place. 

He stayed still, buried inside you, until your soft nod gave him the go-ahead. Then he began to move, slow at first, careful. Each thrust deliberate, like he was savoring the feel of you wrapped around him again. Your breath hitched as the pleasure slowly bloomed, and your hands found their way to his arms, his shoulders, anywhere you could anchor yourself as he gradually picked up the pace.

“Fuck-” you moaned, nails grazing the slope of his back. His eyes never left yours, even as his thrusts grew harder, deeper, like he was trying to carve himself back into your body. “I love you,” Heeseung groaned, voice raw and wrecked. The words burst from his lips before he could stop them. Your heart clenched, lips trembling into a smile even as pleasure surged through you. You cupped his cheeks, fingers soft and tender. “I love you too, Seungie…”

The nickname made his hips stutter, and something inside him snapped. He dropped his forehead to yours, breathing hard, moaning your name into your lips like a prayer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as he began to truly fuck you, deep, relentless, and desperate. Like he was making up for every second you spent apart.

Each thrust made the chain around his neck bounce against your chest, his rhythm steady as he drove into you with pure need. “I should’ve gone after you,” he grunted, the words broken, guttural. “God- fuck… this pussy was made for me. This is my pussy. Say it.” You choked out a sob, back arching off the bed. “It’s yours.. fuck, Heeseung, it’s all yours.”

Your words undid him. His hand tightened on your hips as he fucked into you harder, deeper, chasing the high he’d only ever known with you. Sweat dripped down his temples, your slick sounds filling the room, the bed creaking beneath your bodies. You felt like you were floating, like everything outside this moment had faded away.

“I’m close,” you whimpered, voice barely coherent as the coil in your stomach wound impossibly tight. “Me too,” he gasped, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Come with me, baby. Let me feel you.” And you did. Your climax crashed through you like a tidal wave, your whole body trembling beneath him as your cries filled the room. You clenched around him so hard it knocked the breath from his lungs, and that was all it took. Heeseung spilled into you with a strangled groan, fucking you through it with a desperation that bordered on madness. He didn’t pull out, he wasn’t even thinking. All he could focus on was the way you felt around him, how your body welcomed him home like you’d been waiting all this time.

He finally collapsed, carefully shifting your legs off his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rolled to his side and tugged you flush against him. His face buried in your hair, breaths still ragged, bodies still trembling. “I love you,” he murmured again, over and over, like he couldn’t stop saying it. You curled into him, pressing your cheek to his chest, listening to the wild thrum of his heart. “I love you more,” you whispered back. “I don’t think I truly ever stopped.” 

The afterglow settled like a warm fog around you both, your tangled bodies draped in soft sheets and each other’s quiet breaths. Heeseung’s arm laid heavy around your waist, fingers splayed across your bare skin like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. His eyes stayed on you, quiet, studying, like he was memorizing the curve of your jaw, the flutter of your lashes, the way your lips parted in a small, sleepy sigh. You nestled your cheek into his chest, hearing the slow thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“You know I never… hooked up with anyone else,” he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “After you left. You were the last person I… well,” He paused, swallowing thickly. “You were it for me.” Your breath caught. For a second, you let yourself close your eyes and pretend the world outside that room didn’t exist. That there weren’t any decisions waiting to be made. That it was just this, just him. But then, like a cold slap, it hit you.

Jake.

You shifted slightly, brows furrowed as you reached blindly across the bed for your phone. It had fallen somewhere in the sheets, cold and forgotten. You finally found it wedged by the pillow, the screen lighting up at your touch. Your heart dropped.

8 missed calls. 14 messages. All from Jake.

Your stomach twisted as guilt surged through you, fast and unforgiving. You sat up, clutching the phone to your chest like it could somehow absorb the ache. You needed to go. You needed to think. You needed to figure out what the hell this all meant. But before you could even swing your legs off the bed, Heeseung’s hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned, breath catching in your throat. His eyes were wide, but unwavering as they searched yours. “What does this mean?” he asked softly, like he was scared to hear the answer. “We… just had sex, told each other we still loved each other...” You blinked, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know.” He nodded slowly, letting go of your wrist, but his eyes never left your face. “I get it. I do. You need time. You should think about it. But,” he reached for you, thumb grazing your cheek as he leaned in, “just so you know… I can’t pretend this meant nothing. Not when we’ve somehow been given a second chance.”

Then his lips were on yours again, warm and full of longing. A kiss that tasted like a promise and a plea all in one. When he pulled away, his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I’m not perfect. I never will be. But I want to try. For you.” Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. “I want the future,” he said. “I want the house with the creaky floorboards that we complain about and the coffee mugs we fight over. I want to call you Mrs. Lee one day and wake up next to you every damn morning. I want to make up for every single day I didn’t get to love you.” You felt your throat tighten, eyes stinging. “If Jake’s the one you want, I’ll respect that. I’ll let you go,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “But just know… I’ll never love anyone like I love you.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded, eyes wet and wide as you pressed your lips to his one final time, a kiss that trembled with all the things you couldn’t say yet. Then you stood up, slipping your clothes back on slowly, your back to him because looking at him any longer might’ve broken your resolve. You grabbed your phone, your bag, your heart. And you left.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

You shut the front door quietly behind you, the soft click echoing in the silence of the apartment like a gunshot. Your heart was still hammering like it didn’t know the night was over, like it couldn’t tell the difference between Heeseung’s mouth on yours and the icy guilt that had crept in the second you walked away.

Jake was on the couch, hunched forward, head cradled in his hands. He looked like he’d been sitting there for hours, still in his sweats, the TV on but muted, lights off except for the lamp near the window. The second the door shut, he looked up. And when his eyes landed on you, everything about him softened. He didn’t look mad. He didn’t look suspicious. Just… relieved. Visibly, painfully relieved.

“You’re here,” he breathed, already getting up, already coming toward you. You froze. You’d braced for questions, for accusations, for something. But all he did was pull you into his arms and wrap himself around you like that was the only thing he needed. “I was starting to worry something happened,” he said, voice low and tired. “You didn’t answer your phone. It was dead?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sorry, I...” You couldn’t finish your sentence. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” He still didn’t ask where you’d been. Not even a hint of suspicion in his voice. Instead, he reached for your hand, like it was second nature, and tugged you gently into the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll make you a tea.” Your body moved on autopilot, letting him lead you to a stool at the counter while he filled the kettle and opened the cupboard like he’d done it a thousand times. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You watched him in a daze, your mind still spinning, your lips still tingling with the memory of Heeseung’s kiss. Your body still thrumming with heat in all the wrong places. You could feel it in your thighs when you shifted, how raw your skin was from his touch, how much of him still clung to you. Jake placed a warm mug in front of you and smiled. “It’s chamomile. Thought it might help you sleep.” You wrapped your hands around the cup, trying to set your confusion aside, but you couldn’t. “You’re not even gonna ask where I was?” you whispered. “Do I need  to?” You stared at him. He shrugged a little. “Jay texted. Said your phone died. You were helping him with something. Figured it was important.” Your mouth opened, then closed again.

That… didn’t make sense.

You nodded slowly, unsure what else to do. “Right. Yeah. Jay.” Jake just smiled faintly and reached over to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to.” And god, that was what shattered you most. He meant it. He wasn’t trying to trap you, wasn’t passive-aggressively testing your answers. He just… trusted you. And you didn’t deserve it.

You finished the tea quietly, numb to the warmth of it, too focused on the ache hollowing out your chest. Jake wandered back to the living room, some game humming softly on the screen as he settled into the couch with a controller in hand like this was any other night. Like you hadn’t just betrayed him in the worst way possible. You set your empty mug in the sink, fingers trembling, and finally plugged in your phone. The screen lit up with message after message from earlier tonight, most from Jake, frantic and worried. But one caught your eye.

Jay: When I said think about it, I didn’t mean go and fuck Heeseung. I covered for you with Jake. Heeseung knows the sock policy. remind him to use it next time. And don’t think this gets you out of talking about what happened.

Your breath caught. Your stomach dropped. He’d heard. You texted back quickly, fingers clumsy over the screen:

You: Thank you. We’ll talk tomorrow.

You locked your phone and retreated to your bedroom in a haze, Jake’s calm voice drifting faintly from the living room. You changed into pyjamas, wiped your makeup off like it mattered, and crawled into bed feeling like a stranger in your own skin. As you stared at the ceiling, one thought looped over and over in your head, louder than everything else, what the hell did you just do?

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Jake was already dressed when you padded into the kitchen, still groggy from pretending you’d slept. He looked effortless in his usual work uniform, tailored slacks, collared shirt, watch already buckled to his wrist. He glanced over his shoulder as he poured two cups of coffee, offering you that soft, familiar smile. “You’re up early,” he said, handing you a mug.

You shrugged as you took it, trying not to overthink the way your fingers brushed. “Figured I’d go in and catch up on some grading.” It was a clean enough excuse. Being a TA meant long hours buried in labs and lecture notes and forgotten group assignments. He didn’t question it. Jake leaned back against the counter, sipping from his mug. “Did you see the news?” You blinked, trying to read his tone. “What news?”

“Koda and Sunghoon.” He smiled wider, like it was good news. “They’re engaged.” Your stomach twisted, “Oh,” you said softly. “Yeah. I saw Kira repost their photo.” He nodded, looking down into his coffee. “Their engagement party’s this Saturday. Can you believe it?” You gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “They’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But they made it through. I guess when it’s right… it’s right.” He looked up then, eyes locking on yours with a strange softness that made your breath hitch. “That’ll be us one day,” he said, like he knew. Like it was already written in some future timeline the two of you were steadily marching toward. You nodded, lips pulling into a tight smile. “Yeah,” you echoed, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be. He didn’t notice, or if he did, he let it slide. He was already grabbing his bag from the hook, shrugging into his coat. “Text me if you’re on campus late, I’ll come pick you up.”

“Okay,” you said, but you weren’t going to campus. You waited for the door to close behind him before you exhaled. The silence that followed felt deafening. You weren’t headed to a lecture hall or office hours or a stack of poorly written essays. You were going to Heeseung’s apartment. Your legs moved on autopilot as you got dressed, something simple. You avoided the mirror as you tied your hair up and slipped your feet into your sneakers. You couldn’t look yourself in the eye.

Not when the echo of last night still pulsed between your thighs. Not when Jake had said that’ll be us one day and all you could think about was Heeseung. By the time you were locking the apartment door behind you, the weight of everything you weren’t saying sat heavy on your chest. And still you went straight to Heeseung. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

You don’t know how many times you checked your reflection in your phone camera before knocking. The hallway outside Heeseung’s apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you second-guess everything. Your knuckles hover just a second longer than necessary, your chest tight with nerves. But you knock. Three soft raps against the door that hold more weight than any words could.

He opens it almost immediately, like he was waiting. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you for a long, silent beat. The last time you stood in front of him like this, you were storming out of his life. And now, somehow, you're walking back in. He exhales, a breath you swear he’s been holding since you left his bed the night before, and murmurs, “There’s my girl.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it hits like a thunderclap. Your body moves before your brain can catch up, and you're stepping into his arms like you never left them. His embrace is soft. Softer than you expected. So different from the way he kissed you last night, all tongue and desperation, like he was trying to make up for lost time. This… this is gentle. You stay like that for a minute. Breathing each other in. Your cheek pressed to his chest. The steady beat of his heart thudding against your skin.

When you finally pull back, neither of you speak right away. He takes your hand and leads you to his room, and it’s strange how natural it feels. You sit cross-legged on the bed, facing him, and he starts.

“I messed up in the past.” His voice is low, rough around the edges, like the words scrape his throat on the way out. “I didn’t just hurt you, I destroyed you. I know that.” You want to say something. You open your mouth, maybe to defend yourself, maybe to soften the blow but he holds up a hand. “Please. Let me get this out.” You nod and bite the inside of your cheek.  “I could say it was the drugs, or the stress, or my shitty-ass past. But the truth is… I made those choices. No one forced me. I lost myself. And I lost you because of it.” He pauses. His eyes glisten. “And you were the only good thing I had.” It’s hard to look at him when he’s like this, unguarded, vulnerable. But it’s even harder to look away. “I need to tell you something,” he says. “Something not even Jay knows.” You shift closer, folding your hands in your lap.

“When I was nine, my parents started fighting. At first it was small, yelling, breaking things, slamming doors. Then it turned into custody battles. Weekends with my mom, school nights with my dad. It got ugly. My dad started drinking. My mom… she got into pills. I’d come home and find her passed out on the kitchen floor. I’d make my own dinner. Put myself to bed. Eventually, she OD’d.” Your eyes sting with tears as he spoke. “And my dad?” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Haven’t heard from him since I was sixteen.” You reach for him without thinking. Just rest your hand over his. “I didn’t think love was real,” he continues. “Not the kind that lasts. My own parents didn’t even want to love me. So I figured… what’s the point? I started taking from my mom’s old stash. First to numb it, then just to feel anything.”

You can see it in his face, the shame, the hurt, the heaviness of remembering. But he never looks away from you. “You changed that,” he says quietly. “You made me want love. For the first time in my life. And I got scared. I ruined it. But… I’m not that guy anymore.” There’s a pause. And then you ask, voice barely above a whisper: “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I want you to believe in me,” he says. “I want you. Not just your body, or your time, or some halfway version of us. I want the real thing.” Your heart aches. Your entire body aches. There are so many reasons this shouldn’t be happening. So many signs and wounds and consequences. But still you believe him. “I want what I should’ve given you three years ago. And I know I don’t deserve it, but y/n I’d do anything to make up for all the pain I’ve caused you.”

Tears pool in your eyes. And before you can speak, before you can stop yourself, you're leaning in. The kiss is nothing like last night’s. This one is slow. Deep. Like a promise sealed between parted lips. His hand cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as you kiss him again and again. There’s no rush, no desperation. Just love. And the quiet, aching realization burns in your chest. It’s him. You have to choose him.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The hall is warm with bodies, laughter echoing off the cheap string lights and faux-wood floors. The music a little too loud, the decorations clearly picked out with love and a Pinterest board. It’s perfect, in the way real things are, messy, bright, full of emotion. You walk in with Jake’s hand resting at the small of your back, his presence steady, familiar. His touch doesn’t burn, it hasn’t in awhile. You smile as you grab drinks from the bar, his usual beer, your usual rum and coke, and you make small talk while watching your friends dance under fairy lights.

“They really did it,” Jake says, nudging you. “Sunghoon and Koda. Engaged. Crazy, huh?” You nod, eyes scanning the room. “Yeah. I’m happy for them.” It’s a good night to be happy. Which is exactly why you didn’t want to break up with him before this. You told yourself it could wait. That you wouldn’t ruin Koda’s night with your relationship implosion. One last evening of pretending. You could do that. You could fake a smile. You could lie through your teeth. But then Jake’s voice cuts through your carefully composed calm. “Wait- isn’t that your student? Beomgyu?”

Your stomach twists before you even turn. Something in his tone. Something sharp in the air. You follow his gaze and feel your chest seize. It’s Heeseung. He’s standing on the far side of the room, near the food table, half-turned like he’s debating leaving entirely. His eyes find yours instantly. You feel the breath knock from your lungs. He’s wearing a black button-up and slacks, not overly dressed but still clean enough to make your heart skip. Hair pushed back, lips parted slightly in surprise.

You laugh too quickly. “Oh… yeah. I think it is. I should probably go say hi. You should find Koda and Sunghoon, I think they’re on the dance floor.” Jake nods, distracted, already turning away. “Yeah, I’ll go congratulate them again.” You don’t wait for him to disappear. You head straight for Heeseung, pulse racing, panic rising in your throat like smoke. “What are you doing here?” you whisper-yell when you reach him, keeping your smile fake for anyone who might be watching. He lifts his hands slightly, eyes still locked on yours. “Sunghoon invited me.”

“I even realize the two of you would be here,” he says, voice lower now. “I wasn’t trying to ambush you, I just… Im still friends with Hoon.” You stare at him, heart thundering so hard it’s hard to breathe. “Seung, if Jake finds out who you are…”

“He won’t.” His tone is firmer now, but not unkind. “I’ll keep my distance. I swear.” You blink at him, torn between relief and something dangerously close to disappointment. “I’m here for Sunghoon. That’s it.” But his eyes, his eyes are saying something else entirely.  You swallow, glancing around the room. No one’s looking at you. No one’s listening. “You look beautiful,” he says suddenly, voice barely audible over the music. Your cheeks turn a bright red. You look down at your dress, like maybe that will help you process the moment. “You look… very handsome,” you mutter, your lips twitching into something shy. He grins, and god, you love that smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

While you’re locked in whispered words with Heeseung, Jake slips through the crowd, weaving past Kira and Mina laughing by the dessert table, past Jay trying to drag Wren to the dance floor, until he finds Sunghoon and Koda tucked into a corner near the bar, drinks in hand and flushed with the warmth of their celebration. “Hey,” Jake grins, pulling Sunghoon into a hug first, then Koda. “Engaged, huh? You guys actually pulled it off.” Koda beams, eyes glassy. “Believe it or not.” Sunghoon laughs and clinks his beer against Jake’s. “You know I had to lock her down before she changed her mind.”

Jake smiles politely, letting the moment settle. There’s love here, real, soft love, and he’s genuinely happy for them. He doesn’t even notice the way Sunghoon’s expression falters slightly until he leans in, voice quieter, almost apologetic. “By the way… sorry if it’s a little weird tonight. I probably should’ve asked you first, but I didn’t think… I mean, Heeseung’s still one of my best friends. It felt wrong not inviting him.” Jake blinks, confused. “What?” Sunghoon nods toward the far end of the room. “Heeseung. Over there with Y/N.” Jake follows his gaze, and sees you standing with Beomgyu. He squints slightly, his brow knitting. “That’s not… no, that’s Beomgyu.” Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Who the hell is Beomgyu?” Koda’s eyes widen in slow-motion horror, and she groans, dragging a hand down her face before smacking Sunghoon lightly in the arm. “Babe-” But it’s too late, Jake freezes.

Because he knows now.

That wasn’t Beomgyu in your office weeks ago. That wasn’t some innocent student you were mentoring. That was him. The same man you’re talking to now, tucked into a quiet corner of the celebration like he still has a claim on your time. On you. Jake’s jaw tightens as he looks back at you. The tension in your body. The way your shoulders curve slightly toward Heeseung. The way his eyes haven’t left your face once. He doesn’t need to hear the words to recognize what’s being said in the spaces between them.

Jake doesn’t say anything yet. He swallows it down, buries the storm behind his practiced smile. Because tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Koda and Sunghoon. He won’t make a scene and ruin it. But when you return to him, cheeks still flushed, your hand slipping into the crook of his arm like nothing’s changed, he knows better now.

He smiles back at you, but his mind is already spinning. Because once you’ve seen the truth, it’s impossible to unsee it. And he saw everything in the way you looked at Heeseung. And worse… he saw it in the way Heeseung looked at you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The apartment is quiet when you get home. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses on your chest. Jake doesn’t say much as you both move through the familiar motions, heels off at the door, hairpins tugged free and tossed onto the counter, jewelry slipped from wrists and fingers. You’re about to pull your dress over your head when he finally speaks.

“You lied to me.”

Your heart stops. The fabric catches against your ribs, and for a second you forget how to breathe. You stand there in silence, letting the fabric fall back against your frame like it can shield you from the truth unraveling in his voice. Jake doesn’t sound angry. He sounds tired. Crushed, maybe. But not angry. “I know Beomgyu’s not real,” he says quietly. “It was Heeseung. That day in your office. It was him.”

You can’t move, can’t run. The weight of your own heartbeat is too heavy. “I saw the way he looked at you tonight,” Jake continues, taking slow steps closer. “Like he still sees you as his.” Your throat is dry. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Jake stares at you, eyes glossy beneath the low lights in your shared room. “Did you cheat on me?”

The question is soft. And for a second, you think about lying again. You think about sparing him, about sparing yourself. But the damage is already done, so instead you nod.

Jake exhales like the wind’s been knocked out of him. His shoulders drop, and for a long, suffocating beat, he just stares at the floor. Then he says, “We can fix this.” Your eyes snap to his, wide, disbelieving. He steps closer, voice gentle. “We can move past it. Start over. If you promise me something.”

You don’t say anything, the tears are already slipping down your cheeks. “Promise me you’ll never see him again.” It’s like being told to cut off a limb. You’re crying harder now, chest heaving in silent sobs as you drop your dress to the floor, bare feet rooted to the tile like you’ll fall if you move. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Jake, I’m so sorry this happened..”

“I’m not even mad,” he says, almost to himself. “I’m not mad.” But that just makes it worse. The kindness in his voice. The hope. You sink to the floor, knees folding in on themselves as apology after apology pours from your lips. You can’t stop crying, can’t stop shaking your head, can’t look him in the eyes. Jake crouches down beside you, trying to reach you. “We can fix this. We can still fix it.” You shake your head again, harder this time. He’s quiet for a long moment.

Then, gently he asks the question he didn't want to know the answer to, “Do you still love him?” The truth tears from your throat before you can stop it. “Yes.” Jake flinches like you slapped him, but he doesn’t move away. “You don’t have to love me, like you love him.” he whispers. “I can fix you. Just… choose me.”

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The kettle whistles softly as you pour hot water into the French press, the rich aroma of fresh coffee blooming in the quiet morning air. Steam curls up from the mugs on the counter, three of them, just like every morning for the past two months. You hum under your breath as you shuffle around the kitchen, barefoot and wrapped in an oversized tee that definitely doesn’t belong to you. The sleeves fall past your elbows. The hem nearly hits your knees.

You move with ease, muscle memory guiding you. Two spoons of sugar in the first mug, just a splash of oat milk in the second, and the third left plain and black. Toast pops from the toaster. You toss scrambled eggs onto three plates, and bacon sizzles on the pan. The morning light pours through the windows, painting golden streaks across the counter and catching in your hair.

“God, I hope you never move out,” Jay groans dramatically as he walks into the kitchen, hair a tousled mess, still pulling his hoodie over his head. He snatches the coffee you made him with a grateful smile, grabbing a piece of bacon off your plate in the same motion. “You’re literally the reason I get out of bed.” You snort. “It’s the food. You don’t love me, you love my eggs.” He grins around a mouthful. “Same thing, really.” You’re about to respond when you hear it. That low, sleepy voice that still makes something flutter in your chest. “Good morning, baby.”

Heeseung appears in the doorway, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep, hoodie thrown on, with a pair of sweatpants. He looks every bit like someone who just rolled out of bed, because he did, and somehow he’s still the best thing you’ve ever seen. Jay groans dramatically again. “See? She makes breakfast, and she makes coffee. Your girlfriend is the best.”

“I know,” Heeseung says simply, crossing the room to press a lazy kiss to your lips. His hand slides up the small of your back as he leans in, lingering there for a few long, slow seconds before pulling away just enough to smile down at you. “She’s perfect.” You smile into his touch, nose crinkling. “Go brush your hair, it's exam day.” Heeseung sighs, snatching his coffee and toast. “Can’t I just skip and make out with you all day instead?”

Jay snorts into his cup. “You’d fail and then we’d all be stuck living together forever… which honestly I don’t know if I’d complain about that right now.”

“Exactly.” Heeseung smirks, clearly not seeing the downside. You roll your eyes fondly as you hand him the notes he left on the table the night before. “You’ll do amazing. Just don’t overthink the multiple choice.”

“And don’t fall asleep in the essay section,” Jay adds.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Heeseung groans, taking a few more bites of toast before tossing his now-empty mug in the sink. “I’m going.” Jay grabs his jacket and waves. “Y/N, you’re so hot, such an amazing cook, and if it doesn’t work out with Heeseung you know where to find me.” Heeseung pulls you in by the waist, smug grin still plastered across his face. “Back off. She’s mine.”

Jay laughs on his way out, door shutting behind him with a quiet click. You don’t even have time to say anything before Heeseung’s lips are back on yours. But this time it’s different, hungrier. His hands slide down your back, then back up again, tugging your oversized shirt higher as his tongue brushes your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth, already breathless as he walks you backward until your hips hit the counter. “Heeseung.. your exam…”

“In five minutes,” he murmurs against your neck, dragging his lips along your pulse point. “I need my good luck kiss.” You laugh, breath hitching slightly when he sucks a mark just below your jaw. “That’s not a kiss, that’s a hickey.”

“Same thing, really.” You grin, muttering something about how he sounds like Jay. Your heart raced as he tilts your chin up and kisses you again, slow and deep, like he’s trying to make the moment last. Like he still can’t believe you’re his again. Eventually, and reluctantly, he pulls away. “I’ll see you after?”

You nod, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I’ll be right here.” He smiles. And with one last soft kiss, lingering, full of all the love you never stopped feeling, he slips out the door, leaving you breathless in the kitchen.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The living room smells like popcorn and candles, warm vanilla humming beneath the sound of your shared playlist looping quietly from the Bluetooth speaker in the corner. Jay’s sprawled on the couch with a beer in hand, socked feet propped on the coffee table you told him not to put them on. You’re curled up on the floor with your laptop, finalizing your own work stuff, a “Congrats Hee!” banner barely taped above the TV, courtesy of Jay, who thought it’d be funny to make it lopsided on purpose.

Everything’s ready. You even baked brownies. And yet, there’s no celebration in the air when he walks through the door. The front door clicks open, and you glance up immediately. Heeseung steps inside, hood up, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, and something about the way he moves, shoulders tense, head low, makes your stomach twist. Jay notices it too. “Yo, dude,” he calls out, a grin already forming until it falters. “Everything okay?” Heeseung doesn’t answer. He just kicks his shoes off, closes the door with a heavy sigh, and trudges into the room like the weight of the world is still on his back.

Your heart sinks. No. No, no, no. You’re on your feet in an instant, laptop forgotten. “Heeseung?” His eyes flick to yours, and your breath catches. He looks… defeated. Like something cracked. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, reaching out to wrap your arms around him before he can even speak. He lets you, his arms coming up slowly to hug you back, face burying in the crook of your neck. Jay stands now too, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, man. That exam was brutal, huh?”

You nod against his chest, still holding him tightly. “It’s okay. There’s always next time. You worked so hard, baby, and I’m proud of you either way.” Heeseung’s silent for a second, then you feel him chuckle. You blink and pull back, confused, only to see the stupidest, most smug little grin spreading across his face. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to get another ninety-seven next time.”

Your eyes widen. “What?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out the paper like he’s revealing a magic trick. Bold red ink is circled at the top, 97%. Jay lets out a short, stunned laugh. “You asshole.” You don’t even think, you just jump into his arms. He catches you easily, arms sliding around your waist as you wrap yours around his neck, legs tightening around his hips as he lifts you right off the floor. “Heeseung!” you squeal, laughing breathlessly. “You scared me!” He spins you around in a full circle, burying his face in your shoulder, grinning like a kid. “I wanted to see your face when I told you.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you jerk!” He just laughs harder, finally setting you down but keeping you close, arms still around your waist. Jay steps forward with a lopsided grin and claps a hand on Heeseung’s back. “You did it, bro.” Heeseung nods, still breathless, eyes flicking between you and Jay like he’s trying to etch the moment into his memory. “Yeah. I really did.” 

And just like that, the room explodes into celebration. Jay pops open a second beer, tossing one to Heeseung. You grab the brownies and pass them out like you’re hosting a party for ten instead of three. The playlist gets turned up. Someone (probably Jay) tosses a handful of confetti you didn’t even know you had. And in the middle of it all, Heeseung pulls you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the noise fades into the background.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs. You tilt your chin up, nose brushing his. “You did it on your own. You earned this.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But you made me believe I could.” You smile, and the celebration continues, music and laughter spilling out into the hallway like the best kind of noise.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Eight Months Later

Sunlight cuts through the blinds in soft, golden stripes, pooling across the sheets tangled between your bare legs. Your head is pounding lightly, a dull, distant echo of last night’s champagne, but there’s no rush to get up. No reason to move, not when you're cocooned in warmth and skin and the faint smell of sex. You blink lazily, vision adjusting to the hazy morning light, and there he is.

Lying on his side beside you, brown hair tousled, cheek half-squished into the pillow, lips parted as he breathes, slow and deep. His  hand is resting on your waist, thumb brushing against your skin like his body knows you’re his even before his mind wakes up. You smile before you even mean to. God, you love him. You loved him before when he turned your life upside down. And you love him now that he’s grown into something steadier, still sharp around the edges. 

“Mm,” he hums, voice thick with sleep. His eyelids flutter, and then he’s looking at you, a slow smile creeping across his face like the morning is already perfect just because you’re in it. “You’re staring.”

“You’re hot,” you whisper. He huffs out a tired laugh, eyes scrunching as he shifts closer, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re hungover.”

“Still true.”

Heeseung leans in and kisses you, slow and sleepy and perfect. The kind of kiss that tastes like toothbrush mint and leftover vows. The kind of kiss that makes your heart ache because it's so simple now, so easy.  You melt into it, fingers threading through his hair, and for a minute, the world is nothing but him.

When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours. “You should probably put your ring back on,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. With a dramatic groan, you roll over and fumble around the nightstand. Your fingers close around the slim band of gold, cool from the marble dish it’s been resting in. You slip it back onto your finger like it belongs there, because it does. 

Heeseung’s watching you when you turn back around, hair messy, bedsheets barely covering his hips. His smile stretches wide and lazy. “Eloping was a great idea, wasn’t it… Mrs. Lee?”

Your heart swells. It still feels surreal, those whispered vows on a beach just before sunset, Jay standing beside you with a proud, stupid grin, tearing up halfway through the ceremony. Just you, him, and forever.

You bite your bottom lip, smile shaking slightly as you look down at the ring. “Best idea we ever had.” Heeseung reaches for your hand, pulling it to his chest like it’s something sacred. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, then your palm, then drags your fingers across his jaw like he needs to feel them everywhere. “You’re stuck with me now,” he whispers.

“Good,” you say, crawling into his arms again. “I was already stuck on you.”

He groans like you're too cheesy to live, but his arms tighten around you anyway, holding you close, holding you safe. Outside, the world is moving, Koda and Sunghoon are halfway through their honeymoon in the Maldives, Jay’s probably making coffee in the kitchen, and you’ve got a stack of Monday meetings waiting for you both, but right here, in this moment, there’s only peace.

There’s only Heeseung. Your husband.

Your beginning, your breaking point, your boy who didn’t believe he deserved love until you gave it to him anyway. And now, he’s yours forever.

Some loves come quietly. It arrives like the soft shift of seasons, gentle, unfolding, and easy to trust. But yours didn’t. Yours came like a storm.

A collision of bad timing and worse intentions. Something sharp-edged and impulsive. Something that hurt even as it healed. It wasn’t safe, or simple, or sweet in the beginning. You didn’t fall in love gently. You crashed into it hard. And maybe that’s what made it real.

Because the truth is, not all love stories are clean. Some are messy, twisted, tangled in the worst parts of who we are before they ever reach the best. Some require breaking first. Some are born in the chaos, in the ache, in the wild gravity of wanting someone you know you shouldn’t.

Some love stories begin with a bad desire and still find a way to become everything good.

a/n; AHHH I can't believe we're finally here. For those of you who wanted her to end up with Jake, I am writing an alternate ending that'll either come out later today or tomorrow. Thank you to everyone who supported Bad Desire, and I hope that part 2 didn't disappoint. I def like part 1 best, but I wanted to write something very emotional for yall... but I have another fic in mind now so I hope I'll see support from you guys when that comes out! thank you again!

The city feels different now, older, a little shinier, but still stitched with familiar corners and turns that tug at some tender parts of your memory. You spend the afternoon wandering. It starts with the corner convenience store where you grab a bottled drink and a steaming cup of instant ramen, the same kind you used to eat on study breaks when the university library closed early. The tangy broth and chewy noodles warm you from the inside out as you perch on a bench outside, headphones in, watching the blur of people pass.

You wander the streets aimlessly afterward, peeking into store windows, brushing fingertips across hanging racks in boutiques you don’t remember but feel like you should. You take your time. This part of Seoul feels like a half-remembered dream. Some stores are new, some long gone, but the bones of the neighborhood hasn’t changed, and you can’t help but feel like you’re walking through a version of your past.

Eventually, you stop in front of a small café with ivy crawling up the brick walls and a painted sign that hasn’t aged a day. Your heart stutters, this place. It’s quiet inside. The scent of espresso and honeyed pastries wraps around you like a blanket. The café looks exactly as it used to, cozy lighting, mismatched chairs, walls lined with faded books and Polaroids. Behind the counter, the same elderly woman you remember beams at you like time hasn’t passed at all.

“Ah! You’ve come back,” she says, recognizing you instantly. “You were always with the girl with the loud laugh.” You laugh with her, softly. “Mina.”

“She still laughs like that?” You nod, and it feels like returning to something you didn’t realize you missed. You order your drink, a vanilla latte, just like you always used to, and when it’s ready you take it to a table by the window. The seat you and Mina used to race to claim. You open your laptop, fingers tapping softly against the keyboard as you scroll through job boards and workshop listings. A writing class catches your eye. Then a nonprofit with a bio researcher posting. You bookmark a few things, answer a couple of emails, and add to your journal doc.

The hours pass quickly, the latte slowly emptying. You stretch your arms above your head, craning your neck from side to side, and that’s when you see a boy just a few tables away. His head down, scribbling furiously into the margins of a thick textbook. Hair mid length, a little messy, and he’s dressed in a plain hoodie and jeans. Nothing striking, not at first glance. But something about the shape of him, the way he’s hunched over his notes like the world doesn’t exist outside the page, it tugs at you. He’s familiar.

You tilt your head, trying not to stare. You can’t see his face. And besides, your mind is playing tricks on you, right? You shake it off and return to your laptop. You spend another half hour reading articles, typing out a few scattered thoughts into your journal, then start packing up your things. You toss your cup in the bin and sling your bag over your shoulder, heading toward the door, That’s when he looks up.

You freeze mid-step, eyes locking. Your breath catches.

Lee Heeseung.

You don’t stop walking. Your legs carry you out the door, the bell above it jingling faintly in your wake. You don’t look back. It’s only once you’re outside, surrounded by the noise of the city and the hum of your own pulse, that the realization truly hits.