im spider-man?

People act like sex is this universal language, like anybody can make you feel good if you just try hard enough, but it’s bullshit. Most of the time, it’s just awkward or boring, and you would personally rather go home alone than waste your time on a bad fuck, and you’re not even sorry about it. Sex is… its own separate language, and sometimes you just find the right translation. And “right” has nothing to do with fate or vows or grand cosmic poetry. When it’s right, it cracks you open and stitches you up in the same breath, numbing your mind until you forget about headlines, old wounds, whatever last name you’re supposed to have, hell—even your own name. You’re not anyone’s daughter or problem or the pretend fiancée of your lifelong best friend whom you so tragically fell out with. You’re just two pulses and a mess of teeth and hands coming gloriously undone until the way you tangle together becomes your religion. 

And it’s not like you’d go to bed with just anyone until you find the right person to make you feel that electricity. Seriously, you wouldn’t. Not because of some self-righteous, good-girl complex drilled into you—okay, well, maybe a little bit because of that, but mostly because it’s rare to find someone who actually gets it and who doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your own skin the second it’s over. You don’t want a million hands all over you. You want the right one. 

Maybe that’s the cruel joke of it all. That finding the person who actually knows how to read your skin like braille is just pure, dumb luck. You could go your whole life and never get that. But when it happens—when the universe finally lines up and hands you that impossible luck—everything else falls away. That’s what makes it magic. Not the person, not the act, but that feeling of being cracked open and made whole all at once by someone who knows exactly how to fuck you full until your oldest wounds finally feel filled. Someone who matches your every moan with another guttural moan, who is always crazed and ready, even when you should be thinking about literally anything else. Especially when you should be thinking about anything else.

And for you, ironically, that person just so happens to be Park Sunghoon.

It turns out that the only way out is, in fact, through. And under him, over him, pressed up against every goddamn wall, again and again and again. Really, who would have thought that after all these years, the best way to get over your first love — who quietly ripped your heart straight out and left you hollow and feeling like you were nothing — is to get under the man he is now and let him fuck every last bit of hurt out of you, over and over, until you’re empty or new or something in between? (Sunoo, probably.)

Five weeks ago, when you’d landed back in Seoul, Wonyoung and Sunoo had ambushed you with an intervention-slash-interrogation because you weren’t responding to their texts or calls. You could barely eat or sleep, let alone make up a decent lie about what had happened. Look… you’d never actually lie to them, but it’s not like it was exactly easy trying to find a way to explain to your best friends that you’d just had sex with Park fucking Sunghoon ten times on a two-day trip. 

Sunoo, for his part, was immediately supportive. Like, absurdly so. Which, honestly, should surprise absolutely no one since he’s had this suspicious, shit-eating, all-knowing look on his face for the past three years whenever Sunghoon came up. And yeah, you used to deflect and act like it was the most ridiculous and impossible thing in the world. But by now, you know you weren’t exactly winning any Oscars for subtlety. Your best friends saw right through it. They just love you enough to pretend they didn’t notice and let you have your space. But that never stopped Sunoo from poking the bear, anyway, seeing as he’d tease you about it at every chance, dropping little comments and innuendos like, literally, all the time. (“Just fuck and get it over with,” was basically his catchphrase, usually right before he got smacked upside the head or threatened to be blocked.) And yet, when you actually told them it finally happened, he looked like he genuinely could not believe it at first. For once, Park Sunghoon managed to shock even the unshakable Kim Sunoo to the point where he was rendered speechless. Miracles do happen. You had to hold his hand for a solid ten minutes just so he could process the whole headboard situation (and you hadn’t even gotten to anything else yet), and then try to convince Wonyoung (who only grew more concerned by the second) that, yes, you were dead serious about the role-playing bit. But honestly? You’re not even embarrassed about any of it. Not about crying during sex. Not about anything you said. You definitely felt a wide range of emotions, but maybe your one saving grace in all of this is that you’ve never felt shame about wanting what you want, saying what you say, or about being desperate or a mess or horny or too emotional or just… too much. 

The three of you had stayed up all night and eventually came to the agreement that whatever happened in Tokyo had to stay in Tokyo. That it was a disaster waiting to happen if it followed you home. Maybe it was easier for them to draw that neat little line in the sand because Wonyoung and Sunoo had spent two days watching you stare holes through that photo of him and Sooha, letting it burn itself into your brain while the two of them took turns yanking your phone out of your hands. You told them it wasn’t because you cared. That it wasn’t about who he was kissing, or even about the fact that you’d had sex with him for the first time that same night. It was the principle of it. The sheer, jaw-dropping audacity of that absolute, putrid bastard doing something that reckless when, to the rest of the world, he was still very publicly “promised” to you, and like your current reality wasn’t already a consequence of a photo and a headline in the first place. Especially when you were the one being packed up and hidden away in a luxury hotel you hadn’t chosen, paraded out only when necessary, smiling on cue, and holding still while everyone else decided what you were allowed to be. 

Wonyoung had rolled her eyes at least ten times, snatched your phone away, and said, “Honestly, you’re not built for this. You’re definitely a freak—but… Not some no-strings-attached hookup type. Like sure, feel good and all… but… With him? I know you. We know you. You’d probably write a love letter to a potted plant if you felt it leaned toward you at the right angle.”

In conclusion: What happened in Tokyo should stay in Tokyo. Sunghoon had given you exactly what you needed (And definitely some more.) So you, in a rare flash of clarity that felt almost noble, decided you’d put a stop to this… thing. And you did. And he’d agreed.

That lasted about two days.

Because then came Thursday morning. He had surprisingly showed up to Dr. Kim’s class that day, and you were hell-bent on ignoring him, determined to prove you could go a full hour without wanting to stab him with a pen or, god forbid, fantasizing about what his hands could do to you under the desk. (Obviously, that didn’t last, either.) Somewhere into the lecture, he made the tenth snide comment about your part of the in-class exercise, and of course, you bit back twice as hard, and Dr. Kim (ever the sadist) overheard and then decided you two needed to “work out your tension” by competing against each other in some other godforsaken exercise in front of the entire class, which should’ve been humiliating, right?

Only, it wasn’t. It was practically foreplay delivered to you on a silver platter.

You don’t even remember who ended up winning (It was you). You just know that it got so heated that by the time class was dismissed, you were so riled up that you couldn’t even see straight, so you decided to walk away before it could escalate into something else. Or at least you’d tried. You barely made it halfway out the door before Sunghoon’s hand closed tight around your wrist, and he didn’t even give you a second to argue or roll your eyes or do anything except let yourself be pulled along as he dragged you right out into the hallway like he’d finally just lost all restraint. He shoved you into the nearest empty classroom and kicked the door shut behind him, and before you could even catch your breath, your back was against the wall, his mouth was on yours, and his hands were everywhere at once—yanking your skirt up around your waist, palms bruising your thighs, hungry and rough and desperate and so, so wrong. His fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make your head spin, and before you could beg or bite or even think, he was on his knees with his face buried between your legs, eating you out with a kind of filthy desperation that made you forget every scrap of dignity you’d clung to. All that was left was the feel of his mouth, his hands, and the delicious, dizzying mess of him everywhere at once again. You remember standing there afterward with your skirt wrinkled and your breath still coming out shaky as you smoothed down your hair, the classroom spinning just a little as the high started wearing off and that stupid post-fuck annoyance started setting in with Wonyoung’s voice echoing somewhere in the back of your head. 

You’re not built for this. Not with him. 

Whatever. You ignored it. 

Meanwhile, Sunghoon was leaning against the door, looking all smug and unfairly composed. You wanted to smack the look off his face. 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” you snapped as you yanked your claw clip out of your bag like you were personally mad at it instead of him. “It wasn’t even that good.” (It was the best you’d ever had. Would you tell him that? No.)

He just ran his hands through his hair, all easy and relaxed. “Didn’t hear you complaining. Plus, you looked like you needed it more than I did.”

“God, I hate your face,” you said, glossing your lips because it was easier than looking at him. “This is just—” you waved a hand vaguely between the two of you, “—so fucking stupid. And it can’t happen again.”

“If you say so.”

But then, like absolute idiots, you both kept letting it happen again. 

At some point, between all the sneaking around and the fighting and the fucking, you both realized that something has to give. So, of course, you did the only thing two emotionally stunted, disaster-prone twenty-somethings could do: you sat down and drafted an actual set of rules. In writing. Like it’s a business contract or an arms treaty or something way more dignified than whatever this is. (The irony of this is not lost on you considering your aversion to rules is, at this point, a defining character trait. But for some reason, these are the ones you take painfully seriously.)

Your own homes? Off-limits. His frat house? Absolutely not. Any building where parents or staff might show up unannounced? You’d rather die. You’re not looking to traumatize the household staff or get blacklisted from polite society, thank you very much.

All declarations are null and void the minute you put your clothes back on. What happens in bed (or a classroom, or a car, or the bathroom at that one party) stays there. Period. 

No spending the night. No cuddling, no sleeping in, no waking up next to each other like some tragic soft couple who actually have feelings. God forbid. 

No talking about “what this means.” (It’s just sex.) 

No talking about the rules during sex. (Just shut up and fuck.)

No talking about Japan.

Tell absolutely no one.

So far, you’ve broken… what, two of these? Three, if you count the fact that you folded in on yourself and told Wonyoung and Sunoo because… well, they’re Wonyoung and Sunoo. Heeseung also knows, but that was an accident, and then Jay found out because Heeseung can’t keep his mouth shut. Ningning figured it out because she has eyes and basic pattern recognition. But really, that’s all. To the rest of the world? You and Sunghoon are the perfect “couple,” believing you to be engaged as some heirs to empires, the golden business pairing of the century type of way. So in the end, it’s obviously just a very mature, level-headed arrangement between two highly rational consenting adults wanting to feel good. Very civilized. Truly just a way to blow off some steam. (Which, as it turns out, you have… a lot of. Like, alot.)

TWO WEEKS AGO

There’s something about the way boredom hits you that makes you restless in your own skin, like you’d do anything just to feel… literally anything else. Not that you’re really bored—more like you’re numb, scrolling through the same press release, in which you look like a perfectly painted doll propped up by Sunghoon’s side, for the tenth time as you try to mentally brace yourself for another meeting you have absolutely no say in attending. Apparently, with Sunghoon’s father still holed up in New York, it’s now your job to play the supportive fiancée at his side just to make the stockholders feel better about whatever is blowing up this week. But all you’re actually doing right now is counting how many times you’ve read the same sentence on your phone and not taken in a single word, because you’re mostly trying not to think about how Sunghoon is so close next to you that you can smell the soap on his skin. 

But the problem with trying to focus on anything is that your brain will do absolutely anything except the thing you’re supposed to do. So you turn and glare at Sunghoon like he’s the one singlehandedly planting these thoughts in your head, not you. His leather jacket is slung over his shoulders in that perfect impossible composure of his as he sits there with his legs spread wide like he’s allergic to basic fucking human decency. You hate that you notice how the curve of his thigh presses into the seam of his pants. You hate that you’re thinking about his thighs at all. Seriously, focus. You try to. You really do. But your mind drifts further, and all you can think about is the last place his hands were and how easy it would be to— Fuck it.

You run your hand up his thigh until your pinky brushes the inseam of his pants, slowly trailing up and up, and Sunghoon catches your wrist without even bothering to look at you. “Behave,” he mutters.

You simply roll your eyes and dig your nails right into his thigh, just because you can. But he doesn’t even do anything. So be it, then. It always starts like this—like you’re the one setting the fuse, but you know damn well he’s sitting there just waiting for it to catch. He wants it as much as you do, but he just hides it better and lets you make the first move so he can pretend he has the upper hand. But you like to think that it’s about the destination, not the journey.

“I’m bored.” you shrug, and lean in even closer. “Fix it.”

He finally turns to look at you then with his brow arched and his mouth set in that signature scowl of his. “Not my problem.”

“Oh? That’s a shame,” you pout, and then ever so slowly slide your skirt up inch by inch until the lace tops of your stockings are on full display. “We could be having so much fun.”

He glances right down at how the lace garter kisses the tops of your thighs and takes in a deep breath—then he glances at the partition in front of you, then back at you.

“Not here,” he huffs, with his jaw clenched so tight you want to lick it loose. “You want something? Wait. If you’re good, maybe I’ll give it to you later.”

Unfortunately for Park Sunghoon—and very fortunately for you—you know how to push his buttons to get exactly what you want.

“Why not here?” you look around the backseat and hum playfully, and despite his grip on your wrist, you slightly reach down so you trace lazy circles with your fingers, right below where his cock is already painfully straining for you in his pants. “Don’t tell me you’re scared you won’t live up to a certain someone’s track record in car sex with me?” you add sweetly. “Wasn’t it a car just like this one—or wait—”

For half a second, Sunghoon actually looks shocked. It’s subtle, but you catch it just enough to laugh about it. Then he lets out a low, incredulous laugh that sounds more like a warning than amusement. He drops your wrist abruptly and turns his head back toward the window, tonguing the inside of his cheek as streetlights smear across his reflection. (Any minute now…)

You hum and lean back in your seat, highly satisfied with yourself. “Hmm. I mean, I knew you were a pussy—”

You don’t even finish whatever taunt you were throwing his way. In the next heartbeat, his hand clamps around your waist and he drags you into his lap so hard you gasp, your body pressed right against the length of him. 

“You really don’t know how to keep that mouth shut, do you?” There’s no hesitation, not a sliver of gentleness as he drags you closer by the hair, his other hand slipping under your dress with a practiced ease that leaves you breathless. “Maybe I need to shut it for you. Open your mouth.” 

You don’t — just to piss him off further — but it’s pointless. His hand is already at your panties, dragging them down in one rough motion, and before you can catch your breath, he’s stuffing the soaked lace straight past your lips.

“Keep it there,” he orders, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “And not a sound, you hear me?”

He shifts you in his lap, his grip controlling every part of your body until your head is nestled in the crook of his shoulder and your legs are spread wide. His hand is hot and heavy between your thighs, fingers grazing your swollen clit just enough to make you bite down harder on the panties in your mouth. Then he presses his middle finger right up against your clit and circles it devastatingly hard until your hips are trembling in his hold. With your mouth still stuffed full of your panties, you grab his face, and you kiss him. He deepens the kiss with a groan, then pulls away with your panties between his teeth—dragging them out slowly, letting a line of spit connect your lips to the fabric without ever breaking eye contact. You tilt your head down to mouth at his jaw and his throat, biting down just to hear him hiss, and the second you feel his cock twitch under you, your hips move of their own accord—grinding down against the thick outline of him through his pants to chase any friction you can get. But in the next instant, his fist is tangled in your hair as he yanks your head back to force you to look at him.

“Did I fucking say you could do that?” He takes your panties out of his mouth, then he cups your face in one hand and digs his thumb into your cheeks when you don’t respond. “Answer me. Did I?”

Your head shakes on instinct. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing, simply because there is a stupid, giddy spark buzzing in your chest because you like how angry he looks and how easily you get under his skin. 

His grip tightens on your cheeks. “Use. Your. Words.”

“No,” you manage.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers, and shoves the fabric back between your lips, palm flattening against your jaw like he’s sealing the answer in place. The car jolts over a bump and he sinks his middle finger deep inside you and starts working your cunt like he’s got all night to ruin you. He pumps his fingers in ruthless, obscene strokes until you’re shaking with the effort not to move or cry out. Both, actually. “Don’t you dare come. Not unless you can do it without making a single fucking sound. You make one noise, and I’ll leave you dripping for the rest of the day. And don’t even think about grinding down on me, either. Understood?”

You bite down harder on your panties and nuzzle your nose against his cheek as he slides another finger in. It genuinely takes every ounce of willpower you have not to scream at the way his massive fingers move inside you—the sensation is so overwhelming it feels like it could split you open.

“I said,” he murmurs again, slower this time, “understood?”

You nod quickly and squeeze your eyes shut like that alone might help you hold it together. 

“Good,” he whispers, satisfied, almost gentle in the way his thumb presses once into your cheek before his hand slides back down to keep your legs pinned. “That’s my girl.” 

You shoot him a warning nudge for calling you that, but he only hums and keeps his knuckles buried deep inside you—just holding you there and letting you feel every thick inch of his fingers stretching you open and filling you up. Instead of pumping, he curls and twists his fingers inside you, pressing against that sweet spot so expertly that it makes your vision go white. His fingers are so big, so deep, and so unyielding that you actually painfully dig your nails into the back of his neck like you’ll fly apart if you don’t hold on. 

“Always so fucking wet—Fuck, you run your mouth because you want to see what I’ll do about it, huh? You just love pushing your luck, don’t you?” He grunts when you grip his neck even harder. He presses down even harder inside you, and you so badly want to buck your hips and chase every filthy promise in his hands. But you keep it together. For now. “You’re taking it so, so well. You’re going to learn—tonight, tomorrow, every fucking time you act out—what happens when you brat out on me.”

And boy, did you fucking learn. 

By the time the car slowed down outside the hotel, your thighs were spent and you were a total fucking mess. He’d made you cum twice with nothing but his fingers, and each orgasm left you clinging to him until your whole body was twitchy and raw and you could barely remember where you were, let alone what you were supposed to say in a boardroom. Your panties were completely soaked and ruined. Not that it mattered, since Sunghoon had shoved them in his pocket with a cocky little grin plastered on his face, like he was planning to keep them as a souvenir. The bastard had the audacity to lick his fingers clean right in front of you with that same look on his face—a look that practically said he wanted you to sit through that entire meeting thinking about what his hands had just done to you, knowing you had nothing on under your dress, knowing you’d probably drip on the leather seat and have to pray nobody noticed. And while you sat there trying to keep a straight face and pretending to care about quarterly projections, your mind drifted to the one thing you can’t figure out about this whole… arrangement of yours: he still hasn’t let you go down on him. 

All these weeks, all these times, all these orgasms he rips out of you like it’s his goddamn destiny, and he never lets you get your mouth anywhere near him. Every time your hand slides down or your mouth gets anywhere near his dick, he just pulls you back up before you can get him going or buries his face between your thighs until you forget what you were doing in the first place. It’s not like you’re dying to suck his dick out of generosity or some saintly urge to give back. Puh-lease. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. Like what? He’s allowed to devour you whenever he wants, but you can’t even taste him for your own enjoyment? Maybe it’s just some classic Park Sunghoon control thing, which always tracks since he’s literally about as controlling as they come, or maybe it’s pride, or ego, or some weird, archaic “I don’t need anything from you” bullshit… Whatever it is, it’s really starting to piss you off, because you hate that he gets to decide who gets what every single fucking time. Be that as it may, you’re not about to sit here and psychoanalyze him or waste any more time playing detective just to crack whatever mess is going on in that stupid head of his, because if there’s anything you’ve learned lately, it’s that some things just aren’t worth unraveling. 

Take, for example, that picture of Sunghoon and Sooha kissing sent straight to your phone from an “unknown” number. (Like it isn’t painfully obvious who sent it. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that was all Sooha’s doing.) Maybe she thought you were still that seventeen-year-old girl who’d break apart at the sight of it, and sure, maybe you did give her a reason or two to believe that when you saw each other last. Unfortunately, you can admit you almost lost it for a second when you first opened it on the plane—maybe even wanted to rip off Sunghoon’s head, then all three of Sooha’s devilish heads, and then anyone else who looked at you the wrong way that day. 

But right now? You honestly just can’t find it in you to care anymore. Which is why you’ve never brought it up to him. At this point in time, Park Sunghoon is nothing to you outside of the contract that keeps you glued to his side for the press and the shareholders. And, well, your insatiable shared desire. That’s all it is and that is all you’re ever going to let it be.

You’ve got other things to think about anyway. Like how somewhere between one missed class and the next after your first week, you just stopped pretending you were ever going back at all. And honestly, you think that’s the craziest part of all this. Not your borderline sex addiction, not even the fact that it’s Park fucking Sunghoon you’re doing it with, but that you — the model student, your family’s “golden” girl — stopped showing up to class for the first time in your life and didn’t even care. You’ve really just stopped caring about a lot of things. 

You don’t let yourself think too long about the look on your parents’ faces when you finally made it home. Even now, the memory makes your jaw clench and your shoulders curl in, like if you grimace hard enough you just might blur it out. Your dad was ready to set anything Park Jaejoon had to his name on fire, to drag him through courtrooms and tabloids and anywhere else he could hurt him. Your mom, on the other hand, was one phone call away from sending you out of the country for good.

“It doesn’t matter what happens. At any point, if you want out, then just say the word, sweetheart. We’ll make it happen.”

But you told them not to do anything. You told them to leave it, even as something ugly twisted in your gut, because honestly, what would any of it even change? All of it has already been burned into the world. That’s the part that gets you the most. No lawsuit or headline or plane ticket could take that away or erase the fact that you had to live through it. 

Besides, it doesn’t matter because none of it is real anyway. 

Right now, the only thing that’s real is the burn of the cigarette between your fingers as you inhale the smoke deep into your lungs. You don’t even remember how you ended up here in the first place. But here you are with your elbows pressed into the railing of the frat house patio, trying to steady your thoughts after just spectacularly breaking rule number one of your very mature, totally foolproof arrangement with Sunghoon. You exhale and smoke curls out from your lips, and you try to focus on that and only that as you watch it swirling away into the night. 

You’re barely three drags in when a hand plucks the cigarette from your fingers and snaps you back into your present reality.

“What the—”

You whip your head back to find Sunghoon standing there fully dressed now with your cigarette in his hand. (Well, if you can call a shirt thrown on haphazardly and his ruined hair “dressed”.)

He doesn’t say anything at first, just meets your eyes with a look you can’t read as he lifts your cigarette to his mouth and slowly inhales a long puff. His brows slightly knit together and his lips curl around your lipstick stain on the filter sinfully, and it almost looks like he’s savoring it. Then he tilts his head slightly—the hickeys you left on his neck glinting under the warm overhead light—and blows the smoke out right past your face.

“Since when do you smoke?” Sunghoon huffs, sounding thoroughly uninterested.

Something about the way he’s standing there and about the way he says that makes your chest ache in that familiar way you hate. And for one miserable second, the answer faintly echoes in the back of your mind. Since you broke me in half three years ago. Since I had nothing left except my own teeth and bad habits to keep me company. But you don’t say any of that, of course. You just glare at him and reach for your cigarette.

“Since whenever. Mind your own business and fuck right off,” you snap with your hand outstretched, but he just tips the cigarette even more out of your reach, his height and stupidly long arms making it impossible. “Give it back.”

He clicks his tongue and sighs, widening his eyes in irritation. “You and your filthy mouth.” 

You roll your eyes and try to reach for it again, but he shifts his body so he’s in front of you. Then he takes another drag out of it, and he tips his head to the side to blow the smoke out. Christ, he’s got that half-lidded look on his face as he lazily takes you in.

“Are you deaf?” you step close enough to see all the flecks of brown in his irises, close enough that you could easily just bite his jaw if you wanted to in the next move. “I said give it back, you bastard.” 

His gaze flicks from your mouth to your eyes, and then he lowers the cigarette between two fingers. “You want a hit?” he teases, flicking ash off the end. “Go ahead.”

“Are you— It’s literally mine—”

He, once again, ignores what you’re saying and slowly brings the butt of the cigarette toward your mouth and hovers it right at your lips, jerking his chin forward once lightly, and you only glare harder—even as your mouth parts on instinct to take the cigarette in. But then, because he’s a fucking bastard, he pulls it away at the last second and brings it right back to his own mouth to take another drag out of it without breaking eye contact, and the look on his face makes you want to do a lot of things to him—and none of them are very nice. Your hands snap up before you can stop yourself, and you grab his face. He freezes and his brows knit together for half a second as he looks at you, clearly thrown off by how tight your grip is, but he doesn’t pull away. The two of you just stare at each other for a beat, and you feel like you’re burning under his gaze. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” 

He doesn’t. He holds the cigarette between his lips, and he just… keeps looking at you. Then he steps in even closer and closer—crowding into your space so that your back is fully pressed to the railing behind you. He plucks the cigarette from his lips then, but he doesn’t exhale. No, he cups your cheeks and tilts your face up. His gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes, then back to your mouth. And you swallow once because you know exactly what he’s thinking. Then he tilts your chin up and taps your lip once. You want to bite his fucking finger off, but the thing is, the invitation dancing in his eyes and in the way he’s guiding you is, unfortunately, making you horny again. So you slowly part your lips.

And then—oh fuck. He leans in, and his mouth brushes yours as he exhales the smoke straight into your mouth. 

It’s filthy, intoxicating, and hot in a way that has nothing to do with nicotine and everything to do with him, with the way his lips ghost over yours as you breathe him in and the burn hits the back of your throat. His hand slides into your hair, and suddenly, he’s pulling you in and kissing you, and his lips are swollen and so, so stupidly soft that it makes you sigh right into his mouth. 

It throws you for a second that you’re fully dressed and that this isn’t frantic or rushed or that you aren’t already somewhat in bed halfway to fucking. But that thought flickers for half a second before it disappears completely when he sucks gently on your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp. Then he does it again with a low sound vibrating in his chest like he’s pleased with himself. You push your tongue into his mouth without thinking, and he answers with a quiet grunt as his fingers tighten in your hair and pull you closer, closer, like even the smallest space between you is unbearable. 

Park Sunghoon kisses like he does everything else. Thoroughly. Possessively. Like he means to leave absolutely no part of you untouched by it, and it’s devastating how good he is at it. You moan into his mouth as his tongue curls around yours, and he answers with a deep, guttural groan, which instinctively makes you arch your leg up his side, chasing any sort of friction as you press yourself into the thick length of him through his shorts. Shit… He’s fucking hard again. The way you moan at the feel of him pressing into you makes it almost embarrassing how needy you sound, like you haven’t just spent the last hour fucking like animals. You break the kiss only to steal the cigarette from his hand—flicking the ash over the patio once—and then you take a deep, shaky inhale as you watch him through your lashes. He watches you with his jaw clenched and his nostrils flaring, and he looks like he’s barely holding it together. Then you pull the cigarette away without exhaling and tip your head up towards him, and he raises a brow. Before he can say anything or start with his usual controlling bullshit, you tug his hair and force his head down right to your mouth. He gives in and parts his lips for you. You exhale the smoke right into his mouth, and this time it’s so close to the point where there’s practically no space between the two of you. He inhales it with a low, filthy grunt and immediately crushes his mouth to yours again.

This kiss is slower. He slides between your legs and presses his thigh into your core and grinds it right up against you. You whimper into the kiss and hold him tighter, and it only makes him press his thigh into you even more. His hand slides under your shirt, and his thumb lazily brushes over your bare skin, so soft it almost tickles, and for a second, it doesn’t even feel sexual. It just feels like he’s holding onto the feeling of you, tracing your edges like he’s simply taking in the fact that you exist. It’s… This is… You bite down on his lip just to hear him curse, and then he reaches up and pinches your breast, then rolls your nipple between his fingers until you’re helpless and damn near out of your mind. Then you break for air, but he chases you and kisses your nose, your cheek, your jaw, and your throat—softly bites down on it until you gasp—and kisses damn near everything he can get his mouth on until his mouth is back on yours. This isn’t… fuck. It’s too much. This isn’t how the two of you do things. It’s too much kissing just for the sake of kissing.

You shove at his chest, and he actually lets you push him back, and when you finally pull away, a thin shining string of spit still stretches between your lips. For a beat, neither of you moves. Your mouth tingles, and you can’t help but swipe your tongue across your bottom lip. It feels obscene, somehow, the way you’re still connected by nothing but that glistening strand, like the kiss is still hanging between you and refusing to be over. You try to steady yourself because your heart is beating too fast, but there’s no use. Sunghoon watches you with heavy-lidded eyes as you brush your fingers over the wetness. Then, in that lazy, low voice that makes you want to claw your own skin off, he rasps,

“Stick out your tongue.”

Fuck. You shouldn’t be this turned on by three little words and the implication behind them, but you are. You really fucking are. And you hate the fact that you’ve already thought about it far too many times. Still, you refuse to just hand it over to him. He’s going to have to work for it.

“I don’t think so.” You can’t help the wicked little grin that slips onto your face as you tip your chin up just to push his buttons. “You’re going to have to ask nicely. Make it worthy of me.”

“Don’t get cute with me.” Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Open that pretty mouth and do as you’re told.” 

“Come on, pretty boy. If you want to use me, you'd better ask for it.” You lean in, letting your lips ghost over his, voice dropping to a whisper, “Say please. I want to hear you say it.”

You swear you see a vein jump in his neck. He’s silent for a beat or two, then, “Don’t get used to this.” He looks like he’d rather die than say it, but he grabs your chin in one strong hand. “Please,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Happy now? Open.”

“Very.” You definitely think you can get him to do better than that, but that’ll do for now. Your mouth falls open without a second thought, and your tongue slips out obediently like it has a mind of its own.

“Good girl,” He hums under his breath, almost amused, and slowly brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. “Wider.”

You roll your eyes, but you still open your mouth wider. He leans in agonizingly slowly and savors every millisecond he has you hanging, and when he finally slides his tongue out, he grabs your jaw tightly and tilts your face up right where he wants you and spits straight onto your tongue. It’s warm, thick, and somehow dirtier than anything else you’ve done. 

“Swallow.”

You hold his gaze boldly as you swallow it down, feeling it slide over your tongue and down your throat. He’s watching you so intensely that you feel stripped bare. His eyes are all dark and velvety and burning with hunger, but there’s nothing frantic in them. It’s that lazy, wolfish gaze you’ve come to know too well, the one that simmers with something greedy and possessive and almost cruel in its composure in the prettiest, most intoxicating way, and it’s only made worse by the way he towers over you. His lips are curling up into a half-smile just enough to show how amused he is by the effect he has on you. It’s the look you know he gets when he’s really turned on.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?” he drags his thumb over your wet bottom lip, “Want me to use your mouth, your throat, your pussy—every inch of you, just for me.” And before you can retort with a biting remark, he crashes his mouth back onto yours. “Dirty—” Kiss. “Little—” Kiss. “Slut.”

Your clit is throbbing, pulsing, and practically begging for attention, which is exactly why your hand slips down to touch yourself right over your skirt. You’re so needy for some friction that you don’t even care how shameless it is. You barely get two seconds in before Sunghoon bites your lower lip, pulls, then releases it with a wet, obscene pop. 

“Fuck—” he grunts, and his gaze instantly drops to the way you’re touching yourself, and something dark flashes in his eyes at the sight. His hand shoots down, and he grabs your wrist and stops you mid-movement. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Are you stupid? What the fuck does it look like?”

He laughs, but there’s nothing amused about it. “You’re so fucking greedy.” His voice is low and filthy and so full of threat it makes your clit throb harder. “You want something so bad you can’t even wait for me to give it to you, huh? Maybe I should just make you beg for touching yourself when you know better.”

“Jesus, you and your fucking begging kink. Why don’t you just do something about it instead of running your mouth?”

“Shut up,” he drags his free hand down slowly, fingers ghosting over your chest, your stomach, and then right over your clothed pussy. “What do you want? You’re a smart girl. You know how this works by now.”

You softly gasp when he slips his hand under the waistband of your skirt and rubs his fingers right over your clit. But you have other plans.

“Actually, I think I’ll show you what I want instead,” you purr, and you let your gaze drop to his thighs—the ones barely hidden by those slutty gray sweat shorts, the ones you know for a fact he never bothers to wear underwear under. “Move your hand. This—” you reach down and tap his bare thigh without breaking eye contact, “—is what I want.”

For a second, he just stares at you, and you know you’ve hit something deep because he looks at you like he could devour you right here. Then his mouth curves into that cocky little smirk of his. “My thigh, huh?” he breathes, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. “That’s what has got you so worked up? Think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been staring lately?”

Instead of answering, you just give him a look that practically says you dare him to tell you no or to make you wait. And to your surprise, he doesn’t bother fighting you for even a second. He grabs you and pulls you down with him as he sits on the bench by the patio railing, manhandling you until you’re straddling his lap, and nothing but the thin strip of your panties lies between you and the thickness of his bare thigh. 

“Go on, then,” he taunts, fingers digging into your hips as he rolls you forward once over the hard curve of his thigh. “Show me how fucking desperate you are. Rub yourself on me like the needy little thing you are.”

You rock forward on your own, and a broken sound spills out of you before you can stop it. The drag of your clit over his bare thigh is not nearly enough and yet too much, and the fact that anyone could walk outside and see you like this only makes heat rush up your throat even more.

“Quiet. Don’t make a sound,” he snaps under his breath when you let out a shaky moan. “Fuck, you’re actually doing it. Not even ten minutes ago, you were pissed at me. Now you’re humping my leg like a desperate fucking slut.”

“I’m still pissed at you,” You pant, tugging at his hair to make him meet your eyes so you can mock him. “And if I’m the slut, then what does that make you? You’re letting me use you. Is this what you wanted? You like being used? Like being my good boy?”

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses and grabs your chin in his hand. “You’re the one who—”

“Stop talking. Just. Stop. If you weren’t so fucking good at making me come, I wouldn’t need to—” You break off with another gasp, clinging to his shoulders as you ride his thigh even harder. “Fuck,”

He leans in and nips at your jaw. “Oh, so it’s my fault now? You just want to make a mess on anything I give you. Don’t you, huh? Gonna start getting off on my fucking arm next?”

You honestly don’t bother responding because you know you have it in you to go back and forth forever, so you just focus on chasing that high as you grind on his thigh again and again, harder each time. Then Sunghoon looks down, and you feel him flex his thigh under you harder, the thick muscle going rock solid right against your clit like he wants you to feel how strong he is and how easy it is for him to make you lose your mind with nothing but his fucking leg. His hands clamp down even harder in a bruising grip on your ass to rock you back and forth so the muscle works right up into your swollen cunt, and the bastard even bounces his knee once, just a little, to watch you jolt and gasp for him.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, jerking his knee again just to make you bounce on his lap. “That’s all for you, baby.”

Something tight coils in your chest at the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. Baby. You hate how your body responds anyway. “Don’t—” you hiss, shoving your fingers into his mouth just to shut him up. His lips are warm and wet around your fingers, his tongue pressing against them instinctively, and the sight of it makes your stomach flip in a way you absolutely do not have time to unpack. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

He bites down on your fingers hard enough to make you gasp and instinctively pull back, then he grips your wrist and drags your fingers out of his mouth. “Tsk,” he tightly squeezes your ass. “Go faster.”

You do. You start rutting against him—your panties soaked, the slick sound absolutely fucking foul in the quiet night air. “Gonna cream all over my leg like the perfect little slut you are? Gonna be a good girl and soak me?”

“God, you’re so fucking cocky. Fuck you,” You choke on a gasp and claw your fingers into his hair to yank him back so you can see his stupid, beautiful, infuriating face. His mouth crashes into yours—kissing you hard enough that your teeth click, both of you devouring and panting into the other as you’ll never get enough. He swallows your moans and rolls your hips even harder on his thigh, fondling your ass all the while. You tear away from his mouth and pant against his cheek. “Touch yourself. Wanna see. I’m so close, Sunghoon, show me, fuck—”

“Not happening. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Just—do it,” You’re already reaching for him, hand sliding down until your fingers wrap around the thick, rock-hard length straining against his shorts. You stroke him hard through the fabric, feeling every inch twitch hot and heavy in your grip. He sucks in a breath as you squeeze just a little harder. “You’re so fucking hard for me, you’d do anything I asked. You want to see me come so bad? Prove it. Come on, pretty boy. Show me,” Then you lean in, lips ghosting the shell of his ear, and purr, “Please, Sunghoon.”

But it’s not a plea. The word is honeyed poison, and you know he falls for it because something snaps in him. He brings his hand down and starts palming himself through his shorts, groaning as he drags his hand over the massive bulge, the head already wetting the fabric of his shorts with pre-cum.

“Fuck, you look so—” you pant breathlessly as you watch the way he strokes himself. The sight alone sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through you, and you feel your orgasm winding tight and hot in your gut as you rock on his thigh. “You gonna cum while watching me? Gonna make a mess in your shorts for me like a good boy?”

“Shut up—” Sunghoon growls with his teeth bared. But he doesn’t even stop. If anything, he starts palming himself harder. “Fuck. Keep talking like that and see what happens.” 

You drag your nails down the thick line of his arm, and his bicep tightens instantly, hard enough that you feel the muscle jump beneath your fingertips. Christ, he is flexing for you. It makes something snap loose inside you. “Sunghoon—fuck, I’m g—”

He clamps his huge hand over your mouth and cuts you off. “Don’t make a sound. Just fucking come for me.”

Your entire body shudders and your thighs shake as you ride out your orgasm—pussy clenching around absolutely nothing as you desperately hold onto his arms.

“Fuck—Holy shit, you’re so hot,” he groans and palms himself harder, and you muffle a moan so loud he properly shoves his fingers down your throat to shut you up as he glares at you. “Shh. Be quiet,” he bites out between pants. “You want everyone to know how fucking desperate you are? You want them to come outside and see you making a mess on my thigh? Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

You whimper around his fingers, and the whole world narrows to this backdoor patio hidden in plain sight where anyone could step out and see the way you’re using him and the way he’s falling apart for you. You look down at his lap, and the sight of his cock tenting his shorts as he strokes himself almost makes you come again right then and there. Then he practically growls and throws his head back, and you mindlessly lean in to kiss his jaw, his Adam's apple, his ear—his everything. 

“I’m—shit—I’m close,” he chokes out, almost in disbelief, hips stuttering under you. “Fuck, you’re really gonna make me—” 

Is he actually about to cum in his fucking shorts? As hot as that would be, you tear his hand away from your mouth, and you don’t even think twice before saying it.

“Wait—don’t,” you pant and grab his hand. “Don’t want you to waste a single drop. Put it in me.”

Sunghoon’s head snaps up, and you swear you see him unravel. He lets out the filthiest, most animalistic groan you’ve ever heard, and in a secon,d he yanks his shorts down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick and leaking and flushed so dark. It never fails to make you clench around nothing. Then he drags your panties to the side with his fingers, and right before he lines himself up, his fingers slip through your folds—and he pauses for just a second—like he needs to feel how drenched you are and how ready you are to take him again. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he hisses as he properly lines himself up. “You want every drop, baby? I’ll give it to you, fuck. Gonna fill you up again and again.”

He strokes the head through your slick folds, just barely pushing at your entrance, and you both just stare down at the sight with your mouths open. He grabs the base, holding himself steady, and you hook your arms around his shoulders and lift your hips just enough to help. “Look at me. Fuck, you’re so ready for me, aren’t you? You want it so bad.”

You nod, biting your lip, barely able to breathe as you feel him start to push in, stretching you once again inch by inch. Your jaw drops open, and Sunghoon’s mouth does too—he’s watching your face like he wants to memorize how you come apart for him as he presses his cock so deep inside you to the point where it feels like you can taste him at the back of your throat. There’s always this split second where your body struggles to take him, where everything just aches from being too tight and too full, like your pussy has to learn him all over again every single time. It doesn’t matter that you’ve done this for weeks or that he fucked you less than an hour ago. Obviously, you’re not some blushing virgin, but you can count the number of times you’d had sex before Sunghoon on one hand, and none of them ever came close to this. No one before him ever really stretched you out like this, made you dig your nails into their arms just to take it all, or made you want the pain as much as the pleasure. 

His fingers trace down your sides, ghosting over the red scratches he left on your hips earlier, and when he cups your boobs, he doesn’t even try to be gentle. His thumbs flick your nipples, and you jolt and arch your back. “Shit, do you feel that? You’re taking it so well. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” His hands knead your ass, urging you to go lower. “Go on, sit all the way down for me. Let me see how greedy you are.”

You drop your hips, quietly crying out as he sinks in all the way, so fucking deep you feel him everywhere. Your head falls onto his shoulder as he thrusts up into you once, and a broken moan escapes your lips before he slaps his hand over your mouth again to muffle it. You can’t help but roll your hips, feeling the ache and the stretch and the stupid, blinding pleasure that comes with it. He thrusts up and matches your rhythm, and you lose all sense of yourself for a second, just letting your body move the way it wants. Then, the hinges creak for a split second like someone might actually step outside, and Sunghoon freezes.

“It’s nothing. Don’t stop—” you muffle, or you try, because he shushes you and presses his hand down harder. You see his eyes flick around over your shoulder as he scans the door, calculating every possible angle someone could walk out and see the two of you like this, and he only relaxes when it’s clear nobody’s coming. “Relax. Shit, just fuck me—”

“Fucking hell,” he grits out as he tugs your skirt over your ass, angling his body so his wide shoulders shield you from view. He lets go of your mouth, but his other hand slides to your throat, and he holds you there. “Just be quiet.”

“Fuck off,” you whisper, rolling your hips on his cock. “Why aren’t you fucking moving?”

“Shh. Be patient.” He squeezes your throat. “Be good for me and keep still.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. You watch as he reaches for your pack of cigarettes beside you on the bench so fucking slowly—like he has all the time in the world while you’re splitting apart on his cock. He slips one between his lips, and for a second, you see his cheeks hollow as he draws the smoke in, his brows knit together in concentration, and the flame from the lighter painting his face gold. Smoke slightly blows out from his mouth, and he leans forward and nudges your chin up with his free hand.

“Open up,” he says around an exhale. His voice is raspy, and you’re so obedient you want to hate yourself for it. He inhales again, and your lips part, and he leans in until your mouths almost touch. He exhales a thin stream of smoke right into your mouth, and you suck it down all the way—choking a little on the burn and the taste of him. “That’s it. Take it. Fuck—So good for me. Taking all of me. So cockdrunk you’ll do anything I tell you.”

You can’t help it. Your hips twitch, and you roll up against his cock slowly. His hand clamps down on your ass to pin you still.

“I said don’t fucking move,” he bites out around the cigarette, but he grunts when you roll your hips again. “Shit—”

“I don’t care,” you hiss, and you fist your hand in his hair to yank his head back just enough so you can get at his throat. You mouth along his jaw and then down the line of his neck, and you feel the way his pulse hammers against your mouth. He groans and tries to hold you still with his hand at your throat, but you don’t stop. You start rolling your hips and grinding down on his cock. Not lifting, not bouncing—just rolling, like you’re trying to fuck yourself even deeper into him. Your clit drags right against the thick base of his cock, catching on the ridge of his pelvis, and it makes you feel absolutely insane. “Fuck—feels so good. You love it when I don’t listen. When I… use you like this, don’t you?”

“Fuck—such a fucking brat,” he groans, but he doesn’t stop you. His head tips back until his throat is bare and begging for your mouth, and his eyes flutter shut as you grind down harder. He takes a lazy drag from the cigarette, then breathes out the smoke all around. Just the sight of him like this nearly ruins you. His hair is a mess, damp at the temples, with strands falling into his eyes. Sweat glistens along his neck, catching on the low light, sliding down the sharp line of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs with every shaky breath, every curse he tries to swallow, and you’re obsessed with the way it jumps each time you move. You slowly lift off your hips, then gently drop back down. Feeling how he fills you. Feeling the way his breath stutters when you do it again, a little firmer this time. “Fuuuuuck.”

He tips his head back up and slides his hand from your throat to your jaw, then he brings the cigarette up and holds it between your lips. You immediately take it in your mouth and inhale without breaking eye contact. Sunghoon bites his lip and parts his mouth as he watches you—and your eyes sting and your pussy throbs around his cock. You lean in and blow the smoke right in his face, and Sunghoon huffs out a low laugh. 

“Shit,” his voice has gone rough, and then he snatches the cigarette from your mouth, inhales one last time, and crushes it out on the floor without looking away from you. “Fuck, that’s enough.”

Before you can even process it, he thrusts up into you so hard you actually scream, and his hand comes up fast to cover your mouth and swallow every desperate sound. He’s already buried inside you, but the way he moves makes everything flare all over again. Every thrust drags right through that spot that makes your chest tighten. It hurts in that unbearable, almost-too-much way as your muscles scramble to catch up and adjust to the way he thrusts into you. Sunghoon just holds you still with one arm iron-tight around your waist, and his other hand pressed firmly over your mouth. He rolls his hips up into you slowly and relentlessly, like he’s determined to fuck you open. You choke out another muffled cry, eyes rolling back as the feeling morphs from pain to this raw, pulsing pleasure that makes your toes curl, makes you feel impossibly full and open and completely at his mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants with his mouth right against your ear. “You feel that? How fucking deep I am? You gotta relax, come on, breathe for me—yeah, just like that. God, you’re squeezing me so fucking good.”

Your brain blanks out, and everything vaporizes into white noise as he keeps grinding up into that spot inside you over and over, every drag of his cock making your vision swim. You claw at his wrist until he finally lets go of your mouth, and then you crash your lips into his. The kiss is a mess, all tongue and spit and desperate, hungry panting. You’re both gasping, biting, and moaning into each other’s mouths like you can’t possibly get close enough, like you could eat each other alive and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“Sunghoon, I—” you gasp, and he groans right into your mouth, the sound shooting straight down your spine. He slips his hand between your bodies and starts rubbing tight circles over your clit. “I’m so close—fuck, don’t stop, fill me up, want you to give it to me, I need it—”

“Yeah? Gonna come for me? Cream my cock, baby. I want you to make a mess while I fill you up, fuck, I wanna feel you squeeze me dry,” he chokes out, his hips stuttering as you clamp down hard around him.

It’s ecstatic. Your orgasm tears through you so hard you actually see stars, your whole body locking up as your cunt milks him desperately for every drop he has. Your nails dig so hard into his shoulder to the point where you leave angry, blooming red lines as you clutch onto him for dear life just to keep from screaming. He keeps fucking you through every aftershock, rubbing your clit faster, making you sob into his mouth because it’s too much, but you never want it to stop. The pleasure is blinding and endless, and you know you could die right here and be satisfied, so long as you never have to let this feeling go. 

You can tell Sunghoon isn’t far behind by the way his cock throbs inside you and that frantic pace of his. His breath stutters against your neck, and he curses under his breath. “Fuck. Shit. I’m gonna come,” he groans, and you whine back something incoherent and squeeze around him harder. His hips jerk up hard, and he chokes out your name as it hurts him to say it out loud, cock pulsing deep inside you as he comes and spills so much hot, thick cum that you feel it flood you. “Fuck, fuck, take it,” he gasps, grinding up into you while your body keeps twitching around him, milking every last pulse out of him like you’re not done until he’s completely emptied. You’re still shaking when he finally stills, both of you breathing like you just ran for your lives with your bodies slick with sweat, and his cock softening slowly inside you like he’s reluctant to leave even then. 

You bury your face in the warm crook of his neck, and for a fleeting moment, there’s a quiet voice in your head. It’s the kind that likes to creep up in moments like these and whisper about consequences and regret. But it’s distant and drowned out by the way your heartbeats overlap and thunder so close together you can’t tell where his ends and yours begins.

The room is still spinning when you finally drag yourself off his lap and try to remember how to stand on your own two feet. There’s something almost funny about how businesslike you’ve both become—straightening your clothes out, smoothing your hair, collecting yourselves—like you’re two total strangers after a one-night stand each and every time. Except, well, it’s not a one-night stand, obviously. (And you’re not strangers at all.) He slips back inside with his eyes fixed on the floor, and you make a beeline for the nearest bathroom just past the patio door—the feeling of him still thrumming between your thighs.

A few minutes later, you’re back out on the patio, hunched over with a cigarette pinched between fingers that still haven’t stopped trembling. You light up and suck in a lungful, letting the smoke scorch its way down until it almost hurts. Boy, do you hate the fucking way it tastes. And more so the way it lingers afterwards, how the stink of it never washes off no matter how hard you scrub. But you take another drag anyway, because sometimes hating something is better than feeling nothing at all. You keep telling yourself that this will be the last one (liar, liar), but somehow you always end up right here again. Maybe you crave the burn, or maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you’re still capable of tasting anything at all—even if it’s just something that makes you sick.

You just don’t know how to stop. 

You tried to ignore Sunghoon when he slipped back outside, but you can feel him watching you, and you hate it. So you stand there for a beat longer, and then you stub out your cigarette on the railing and brush past him to grab your phone on the table.

“I’m calling my driver.”

“No, you’re not.” Sunghoon barely glances at you as he snatches your phone right out of your hand, faster than you can blink. “I’m taking you home.”

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already pocketing it. You glare at him. “Give it back. You’re not taking me home.”

Sunghoon looks terribly done. “Fuck, stop whining. It’s just a ride. I’m not about to tuck you in and spoon you all night,” he drawls, clearly mocking you, “Unless you’re dying for me to hold you after you cum again. In which case, remember rule number three.”

“Fuck you. You’re not funny. You’re not even remotely funny,” you snap and try to reach for your phone in his pocket, but he just shifts aside. “Stop taking my shit—give me my phone—”

He mimics your tone, voice utterly mocking as he repeats, “Stop taking my shit, Sunghoon. Give me my phone, Sunghoon,” and rolls his eyes, grinning wider when you glare harder. “It’s late. Don’t be a spoiled little brat.”

“I didn’t ask for a ride.” You hold your hand out. “Give it back.”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” He shrugs and opens the patio door. “Call your driver with your mind?” he raises a brow and pauses for a moment. “Come on. Or stay out here and freeze. Makes no difference to me.”

“You’re the fucking devil,” you mutter, flipping him off as you stomp past. Sunghoon just raises his brows and huffs, then he goes inside without another word. You grit your teeth and fight the urge to throw something at him. But you get your things and follow him anyway, mostly because the idea of facing your driver of nearly ten years sitting in the car with that polite, pained look on his face while you stumble in at some ungodly hour for the fourth time this week is… not appealing. The man deserves a break.

“Are you actually going to drive in silence the whole way, or…?”

Sunghoon doesn’t even bother to look at you, but you can practically see his eyebrows twitch from annoyance. “God, you really can’t go five minutes without complaining,” he grunts, then he suddenly puts on a dramatic, old-timey mocking accent. “Does the princess require royal tteok and sweet rice punch for her humble journey? Shall I serenade you, Your Highness?”

“You’re the fucking one who insisted—” You roll your eyes and spare yourself from spending any energy on entertaining his bullshit. “I can’t do this right now. Just put some music on, you absolute neanderthal. I feel like I’m in the seventh fucking circle of hell.”

He grunts again—honestly, you’re convinced half his vocabulary is just annoyed caveman noises—then he grabs his phone with one hand still locked on the wheel, and after a few seconds the car fills with the first track from his playlist. You look out the window and listen to it play out for about two minutes. Maybe three, if we’re being generous. It’s just that the song is so fucking depressing you can actually feel your soul wilting in the passenger seat. So without thinking, you reach over and skip the track.

His hand darts out to smack yours with his eyes still on the road. “Who said you could touch that?”

“I’ll touch whatever the hell I want,” you snap, smacking his hand back and skipping again. “Who said you could subject me to that? I’m not listening to songs with negative affirmations. I actually love myself and want to preserve my sanity.”

He gives you a sidelong glare with one eyebrow arched so high that it’s practically in his hairline, and the look on his face screams Really? You? without him needing to open his mouth. Then he keeps his eyes on the road as he grabs your hand and pins it between his fingers, his grip way too tight for someone driving with such ease. “My car, my songs.” 

You twist your hand out of his grip and use your other one to scratch at the back of his hand, nails dragging down his skin until he grunts. 

“Are you insane?” he hisses and glares at you, “I’m driving.”

“Yeah, and I’m literally about to jump out and throw myself into traffic if you make me listen to another—” You lunge for the screen again and skip the song, and Francesca by Hozier comes on. (Which is literally in your playlist? Why does he… Doesn’t matter. Anyways, you take it as a win.) “Oh. There. Much better.”

He grumbles something under his breath—something about “control freak” and “should’ve let you call your driver”—but you ignore him. He doesn’t move to change it or anything. The song plays out, and you let your mind slip out of your body and through the glass as you rest your head against the window and watch Seoul slide by in soft blurs of light and shadow. The city feels endless like this with cars passing by and disappearing just as fast, whole lives indifferently crossing yours for half a second before moving on, and there’s something comforting about how it doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done or who you’re sitting next to right now. It just keeps moving.

Then the song ends.

The opening chords of the next one crawl up your spine, familiar in the worst way, and your stomach drops like you missed a step you didn’t see coming. That’s… From the corner of your eye, you look at him.

Sunghoon’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel—one hand gripping it so hard the tendons in his forearm flex under the streetlights briefly flashing through his tinted windows. The other rests on his lap, and you see his finger twitch for a moment. You have half a mind to punch his ass in the face and swerve the car into a pole. But you don’t change the song, and neither does he.

Then it sneaks up on you even though you don’t want it to, because music is cruel in the way that it can lift you straight out of your body against your own will and set you back down in the past. Particularly, in a moment where you’re a fifteen-year-old girl in a too-big sweatshirt, tugging on your best friend’s wrist and forcing him to watch your favorite movie, because how the hell hasn’t he seen Notting Hill? 

He’d teased you when you cried, but then you had your revenge when you forced him to get up at the end, telling him it was practically the law. “You can’t hear She by Elvis Costello and just sit there.” And so you’d danced in clumsy, silly circles with your bare feet, half-laughing with your cheek pressed to his chest for a heartbeat too long. Sunghoon had his arms loose around your waist and his face pink in the light from the screen, and something else. 

She may be the love that cannot hope to last, May come to me from shadows of the past.

The song keeps playing, only you’re not fifteen anymore, and you’re not waiting for him to twirl you around the kitchen or watch your favorite movie just because it makes you happy. So you stare out the window and start counting the streetlights while wishing you could peel yourself out of your own skin and leave it behind. One, two, three, four… 

When he finally pulls up in front of your building, you don’t even look at him when you open the door and slam it shut, and he doesn’t say goodbye or anything at all.

Heeseung presses his mouth into a tight line as he takes Sunghoon’s appearance in. “Jesus, you look like… like… Wait. I’m trying to think of something…” he pauses and taps his chin once sarcastically, as if he’s deep in thought. “You look like you just—”

“Don’t start,” Sunghoon grumbles and cuts him off, then he tries to smooth his hair and only ends up making it worse. “Just… shut up, man.”

Heeseung does not shut up. He squints at him and just starts snickering. “Wait… No, hang on, I got it… Like you’ve been—actually, you know what? Forget it. The walls in this place are thin enough, man. Have some decency.”

Sunghoon glares at Heeseung and then immediately grimaces at the thought of anyone overhearing, but especially the thought of anyone hearing you. He tells himself he’s just glad most of them were gone tonight—glad you’re safe from anyone else’s curiosity, even if he can’t quite say why it matters so much. He shakes his head. “You’re one to talk. Last week, I heard you—”

“AYE! Bro! Bro, stop,” Heeseung flings a pillow at him. “Truce, truce, truce.”

Sunghoon dodges the pillow and glances around the empty room with a puzzled look. “We’re alone,” he says and jabs a finger at his best friend. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Nah, bro, I don’t need to know. I’m self-aware enough. Besides—” Heeseung glances upwards at the ceiling. “We’re never really alone,” then he folds his hands together in a prayer as he whispers, “Lord, forgive me for everything I’ve done in this house—especially last Tuesday.”

Sunghoon sighs and flops down next to Heeseung dramatically, and he stretches for one peaceful moment. 

“You’re gonna get us all evicted, you know that?” Heeseung groans, nudging Sunghoon’s knee with his own. “I swear, if the landlord knocks on our door again, I’m blaming you and your—” he waves his hand up and down, “—rampant dick this time.”

“I said shut up,” Sunghoon mutters.

Heeseung pouts. “Hoonhoon’s crankyyyyy,” he says in a sing-song voice, then after a beat, he lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “But seriously—how did we get here, man? I mean, look at you.” He pokes Sunghoon’s bicep, then shakes his head in exaggerated awe. “Whewww. You bastard. Maybe if I’d just deleted League back in freshman year, I’d be ripped and getting laid too.”

“You jealous?”

“Of your stamina?” Heeseung says. “Hell yeah. Bro, are you on steroids?”

“I’m not on steroids. Stop asking me that.”

“I’ll get you one day,” Heeseung squints at him as Sunghoon shakes his head. Then Heeseung drops his voice again and glances at the closed door as if it might have ears. “And FYI, you owe Jay and I for running cover for this secret… whatever affair between you and Y/N. You know how hard it is to make up excuses for why half the house is suddenly off-limits? Bro, I panicked and told Riki it was me in there with a girl. Me. I was standing right in front of him, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon yawns and makes an exaggerated noise. “Remind me to buy you guys a fruit basket or something.”

Heeseung gives him a look of utter offense and clutches his chest. “Fruit basket? What am I, your grandma? If you’re gonna bribe me, make it worth my suffering.”

“Name your price.”

Heeseung’s face lights up like a child on Christmas morning. “Yayyy. Evan’s being spoiled by Mr. Paaaark,” he croons in the whiniest, most obnoxious voice he can muster, batting his lashes for effect. Sunghoon’s hand immediately shoots out to smack him upside the head. “Ow!—Wait—I’m a simple man. Just set me up with your assistant.”

“This again? You know you’re a grown adult who can talk to people, right? You can literally do it yourself.”

Heeseung’s jaw drops like Sunghoon just suggested he fight a bear. “Do I look like a man who can just do that? Sunghoon, I physically lose the power of language around beautiful women. You want me to stutter and destroy three generations of Lee family dignity in one go? Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“No, as in you don’t want that, or no as in ‘Heeseung, I want you to suffer for eternity and die alone without love?” Because I can work with the first.” Heeseung lets out a suffering sigh, dramatically draping his arm over his face as Sunghoon shoves him sideways. “I cannot work with the second. Did I tell you what Jungwon and Jay were fighting about this morning? Get ready for this.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, resigned to his fate.

“So Jay, right? Spends two hours—two hours—assigning F1 drivers to everyone in the house. Then he and Jungwon got into this actual, serious argument over who gets to be Max Verstappen until Jay finally settled for Carlos Sainz Jr., but only after dropping, like, seven hints that he’s disturbingly attracted to the man. Ohhhhhhhh, man. I had to listen to this at breakfast, Hoon. At breakfast!”

Sunghoon snickers. “Who’d I get?”

Heeseung shoves Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Leclerc. Obviously. But that’s not the point.” Heeseung’s eyes widen comically in sudden realization, and he slaps his hand over his mouth. “The point is that it’s diabolically over for me. I’m going to die alone, surrounded by you freaks. And you? You’re not even helping your boy out.”

Sunghoon laughs and tips his head back on the couch to steady himself. And after a few moments of silence, he shuts his eyes, and inevitably, his mind drifts.

Straight to you.

Lately, Sunghoon keeps circling the same question, over and over. How did we get here? Not necessarily the sex—because, honestly, that part was probably always inevitable. He’s more so questioning how everything that led up to this point. Every day since you were assigned as his partner in that godawful class has felt like his own private hell, and he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that it’s you, out of every person on the planet, out of seven billion random collisions and impossible odds and all these years he's pulled away, it still ended up circling back to you. Sometimes he’s convinced the universe is just fucking with him to try and ruin every ounce of discipline he’s ever built.

Sunghoon likes to think—no, he knows—that he can starve himself out of anything. He’s made an art out of it: attention, affection, sleep, food, comfort, warmth, and the quiet little wants most people let themselves keep. He’s always prided himself on control, on the belief that he could cut off any part of himself if he decided it hurt too much, that he could choose when to feel and when to shut it all down. But with you—fuck, with you… The theory still stands. But in practice, it falters. You make it impossible for him to think about anything but getting his hands on you. It’s like the grip he’s spent his whole life white-knuckling just evaporated in that damn hotel room all those weeks ago. 

Even now, hours later, he’s replaying the way your thighs looked spread out for him, and the way your skirt bunched at your hips, and the way you bit your lip and stared up at him like you knew he’d cave every single time. He’s tried fucking his way out of his own head before. He’s tried drinking until he blacks out—Hell, you name it… He’s tried the whole damn litany of vices.

But this… this is annihilation.

He’s never come so hard, never come so much, and never actually thought he could get addicted to the sound someone makes when they come undone for him.

But that’s all it is. Just sex. 

He likes it compartmentalized and controlled. Those ridiculous rules were your idea, but he didn’t exactly argue against them or anything. He even threw in a few of his own. He simply doesn’t want you to be in his life beyond what’s been agreed upon. He doesn’t want to remember anything but the way you feel when he’s inside you and the way you look at him like you know exactly what you’re doing, like it’s wrong but you’re going to do it anyway. He doesn’t dwell on it past that. 

This is manageable.

It ends where it’s supposed to. 

“Man…” Heeseung's voice pulls him back out of his thoughts, and his eyebrows are etched together in a look of concern as if he can read Sunghoon’s thoughts. “You know this thing you have going on with Y/N won’t end well for either one of you, right?”

Sunghoon grunts and places a pillow over his lap. “It’s… It’s nothing. I just don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Heeseung sighs and waves a hand. “I’ll talk. I mean it, Hoon. Y/N’s tough—Hell, I’m scared of her sometimes. But she’s not indestructible. And I know you think you’re cold, but you’re not. You can lie to her, even yourself, but… You can’t lie to me.” 

Sunghoon lets out an annoyed sound, though it just comes out tired. “Drop it, Hee. Please.” 

“Nah, bro. I’m revoking your—” he jabs a finger at Sunghoon, “—Hee privileges for a moment. I’m in hyung mode. And, she’s—fuck, she’s like my little sister. You gotta take care of her.”

Sunghoon turns to look at him with his eyebrow arched, and Heeseung sighs. “What? I know you’d never actually… do anything to really hurt her. I just don’t want you to make it worse for her more than you already have. Or yourself, idiot. You’ve both been through enough, and—” He laughs under his breath. “God, I sound like my mom.”

Sunghoon leans forward and rubs his hands together without saying a word. He doesn’t even know what to say, but he thinks it’s fine because Heeseung never expects him to say anything when he gets like this, anyway. 

“Oh. I uh… Jake texted me earlier, by the way,” Heeseung says after a beat. “Pretty sure he was drunk, cause bro was going on about Sooha of all people.” 

“Christ. He’s hopeless,” Sunghoon mutters.

“I mean…” Heeseung says. “Do you really blame him? That’s his first love, man.” 

First love. The phrase lands bitterly in Sunghoon’s mind, and he wants to laugh at how stupidly soft people get over things like that. Then he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and suddenly, he’s not here at all. He’s back on the rink and hearing the echo of blades carving the ice and the way the world always seemed to narrow to that one spot up in the stands—just a few rows up on the far end. He always finds himself searching for that gentle outline nestled in an oversized coat, hands cupped around a carton of banana milk, always watching him like he was the only thing worth looking at in the whole world. 

But he doesn’t let the memory settle. He pushes it down before it lifts its head and becomes a face he can’t handle seeing. Not tonight. Not ever, if he can help it.

“It’ll pass.”

“I mean…” Heeseung pauses and shakes his head. Then when he speaks again, his tone is different. “He’ll be back soon, you know. You two ever gonna work things out?”

“Does it matter?” Sunghoon says and stares at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “You know how it went last time. And after that shit he pulled…” The words get stuck in his throat. He can’t stomach saying your name out loud right now. “You know what he did.”

“I told him I’d launch his little ass back to Australia on a slingshot if he so much as looked at Y/N the wrong way, by the way.” Heeseung huffs. “He said he really likes her, though. Swore up and down it wasn’t just to piss you off. Didn’t believe him for a second, but… I dunno. Man, he seems to… care about her.”

Sunghoon tongues his cheek and lets out a low laugh under his breath. But there’s nothing amused about it. If anything, his fists itch. “Like hell he does.”

“You know what I keep saying. Jake is… Jake, but he’s lonely, man. He misses you more than he lets on. Hell, I miss when it was all of us.”

“Whatever. He’s better off. All I ever do is fuck things up.”

A slow exhale leaves him, and he can feel a different memory start to claw its way up from where he’s tried to bury it, only there is nothing honey-sweet in it. It’s nothing like the rink or banana milk or anything gentle. It’s just a mess of too many nights ago at the tail end of summer, when he was drunk enough to lose himself and desperate enough to want to. No one to blame but himself, really. He wanted to forget, so he let himself do something stupid and let Sooha lean in a little closer and press into him until all the noise in his head was gone for just a moment. But the only thing that stuck was the look on Jake’s face when he found them together—the look that said, clear as day, that nothing between them would ever be the same.

Heeseung scrunches up his nose. “Alright, Mr. Wayne. Let’s relax,” he clicks his tongue. “You know that shit wasn’t your fault. Sooha is… bro, she’s borderline psychotic.” He runs a hand down his face like just thinking about her is exhausting. “The two of them have been a shitshow since day one… On and off, break up, make up, cheat, cheat some more, repeat. They probably get off on it. God… Just take us all. We’re ready. We’ve seen it all.”

“It was my fault—”

“No, man, it wasn’t. Maybe a little. But only because you’re an idiot,” Heeseung mumbles. “Look… You and Jake are both idiots, but… you’re family. All of us are. Even when it’s fucked up, and we wanna strangle each other. Shit, especially then.”

Sunghoon lets that word settle in for a moment. He can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

“Speaking of family… Bro, I almost forgot about the dinner on Sunday night.” Heeseung’s tone suddenly softens. “Are your… parents going to make it?”

“No. My father is still in New York. And my mother…” He trails off and rubs a hand over his face. “It’ll just be me.”

Heeseung nods with his lips pressed together, and there’s a silent understanding in the space between them. “Is your old man still pissed about you tanking that press thing?”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at the floor for a while. “You say that as if I talk to him at all.”

Heeseung looks more concerned now, but he doesn’t push. “Just be careful, man. He’s not gonna stay gone forever.”

Sunghoon doesn’t think you’ll ever really know what it costs him, all the times he ignores another call from his father or lets the world think he doesn’t care. You probably think that all of this is nothing but another performance, and maybe it is, but you never see the way his hands shake after he’s told his dad no for the third time in a week, or how he’s been running interference for you, stalling and lying and making sure you don’t get dragged into something else you’ll never get out of. He hopes you never figure it out, because he doesn’t want your gratitude or forgiveness. He just wants you out. He wants you as far away from his father, from this family, from him, from all of it, as you can possibly be. 

“Yeah. But as long as he’s gone, she’ll be fine.”

“And you?”

Sunghoon just laughs, but it’s hollow. “That’s never mattered, has it?”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Heeseung watches him for a moment, and there’s a certain comfort in his eyes that only he can give him. “Of course it matters, dumbass. It matters to me.”

Heeseung’s voice is light, but it lands with the kind of warmth that unknots something tight in Sunghoon’s chest. He lets out a shaky breath and slightly feels the tension he’s been carrying springing free. And for the first time all night, he manages a smile—small and crooked, but real. Heeseung’s own grin breaks across his face like sunlight, terribly greedy for any scrap of softness Sunghoon will give him. But Heeseung, ever the man, has never been one for letting things get heavy without throwing a lifeline of humor.

“Anyway, you won’t be alone on Sunday. I’ll be there, obviously—but let’s not forget your ex-best-friend slash fake fiancée slash… whatever the hell you two are now… slash emotional terrorist slash—dare I say—soulm—”

Sunghoon groans and chucks a pillow at Heeseung, who ducks out of the way with the dramatics of a man who’s made a lifelong art out of getting on his nerves. He’s already halfway off the couch, grinning so wide it almost makes Sunghoon want to smile again.

“Dude, dude. Alright.” Heeseung throws up his hands in surrender. “Why do you always jump straight to violence? Ever thought about, I don’t know, using your words like a regular person?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. So, no.”

“Yeah? Pfft. Seventh drink Hoon would say otherwise.” Heeseung snorts, then gasps in sudden realization as if he’s remembered something highly important. “Oh, did you know Y/N is stepping in to work Sunoo’s booth at the university fundraiser tomorrow?”

“Sunoo’s booth?” Sunghoon whips his head around so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, but then he clears his throat and forces his face back into a mask of total disinterest. “…You mean that stupid flirting booth of his?”

“The one and only. Good thing you nevvvvver go to those things, right? Would hate for you to accidentally see something that ruins your whole stoic gimmick.”

Sunghoon doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m going.”

“Oh, wow, real subtle, man! Here I was, thinking I’d have to work for it. The gods have blessed me today.”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung tries for innocence but can’t keep the smirk off his face. “Noooothing. Absolutely nothing, my guy. Don’t even worry about it. Hey. Don’t throw—” 

Sunghoon throws the other pillow at him, and this time Heeseung doesn’t dodge it in time, and it ends up hitting him square in his chest—then he staggers back dramatically like he’s been shot, one hand clutching his heart as he collapses onto the couch. Sunghoon scoffs, but it cracks into a laugh he can’t stop, and Heeseung peeks one eye open just to make sure he’s watching before going completely limp again. It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous. But for a moment, Sunghoon almost feels like nothing outside these walls could touch them. Family isn’t a word he’s ever trusted, not really, but with Heeseung, it almost feels too small to describe what they are.

“Whew… All that talking made me hungry. Yo, you want ramen?”

You really, really can’t believe Sunoo signed you up for this. 

You’ve been here for two hours already, just mingling and eating your way through all the food stalls with Ningning and Wonyoung (who’s currently being dragged away by Ningning to go sample every single bungeoppang in a five-mile radius, while also meticulously documenting every single heart-shaped snack on her Instagram story). You, meanwhile, have exactly five minutes before you’re supposed to take your place at Sunoo’s Sugar Talkin’ booth, which, by all metrics, has to be the single most humiliating thing you’ve agreed to in your entire life. (And considering your recent track record, that’s a pretty fucking high bar.) Still, you can’t even bring yourself to be mad about it. The thing is for a good cause, and you actually do like participating in events here and there. But do you like the concept of contributing to the entertainment of the male species of your university? Absolutely not. But this is what happens when your best friend is a bored rich boy with too much time, too many connections, and absolutely zero shame.

You find Sunoo at his booth, and of course, it’s literally the cutest setup at the whole damn thing. Pink and green streamers, tiny plushies as prizes, and heart-shaped post-its with handwritten puns. The whole thing is obnoxiously on brand for him, and you’d be almost charmed if you weren’t the one being paraded.

You drop your voice as you catch up to him. “I’m going to die. I still don’t even get why you’re making me do this. Everyone thinks I’m—” you wiggle your left hand at him, “—engaged.”

Sunoo just beams at you with all the mischief of a sly fox. “Exactly. That’s what makes it so good. It’s like… what’s that phrase? Forbidden food?”

“It’s forbidden fruit, dumbass.”

“That’s what I said.” Sunoo shrugs. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “And what is with that look on your face?”

“What look?” he puts on a poker face (or he tries to) and wiggles his eyebrows at your ring. “Anyways, who better to decide if a pickup line would actually work than someone who’s, you know—technically engaged?” 

“I’m serious—”

“Babe, there’s no harm in it. Also, you owe me after Yunjin bailed—don’t look at me like that. You know she did.” He points a finger up, winking so dramatically you’re tempted to throw a candy at his head. “I’m literally sponsoring this whole thing! I had to pull out the big guns—let’s be honest—who else has the face to bring in a crowd?”

“Kim Sunoo.” 

He snickers. “If you back out, I’m telling everyone you hate orphans. And fun. And me, obviously.”

You glare at him, but he’s already taping up another heart-shaped sign while humming to himself. For a second, you wonder if he actually runs the entire world and this is all just some elaborate ploy to make you suffer for his own amusement.

“My soul starts shriveling like a salted slug at the mere thought of making eye contact with a man, let alone the idea of entertaining them,” you sigh and rub your temple. “Like, what if a real creep comes up here and starts saying gross shit?” 

“Hello? I’ll kill anyone who gets weird. Besides… you know—” he jabs a finger at your ring, “He won’t let that happen.”

You roll your eyes so hard you swear you see your own past lives. “You’re literally insane. He doesn’t give a shit.”

Sunoo quirks up an eyebrow. “I’m insane and realistic. You really think he’s not gonna show up here foaming at the mouth the second someone gets too close?”

The thing is, you haven’t seen him all night. And frankly, you’re relieved. The last thing you need tonight is Sunghoon and his perfectly disheveled everything, not after you spent practically every day of the past few weeks fucking him out of your system and failing spectacularly. And definitely not after last night. 

“He’s not even at this thing.” 

“Oh? So what you’re saying is, you want him to show up?”

“Absolutely not.” You scoff and cross your arms. “Don’t talk about him. I want peace. I want serenity. I want zero Park Sunghoon for one night.”

“Mhm, sure. Whatever you say,” Sunoo laughs softly and dodges your hand when you attempt to smack him. “Either way, this thing is good for you. You could use hearing nice things being said to you for once. We… I mean, I can’t just sit by while you and that brooding bastard just torture each other. Just relax, okay? It’s literally low stakes. You’re just judging… If someone drops a line or a compliment and you think, ‘okay, that could actually work on some poor girl out there,’ then they get a prize. If not, they spin the wheel of shame and embarrass themselves for our entertainment. Or they ask for advice. You can handle giving out advice without combusting, right?”

You genuinely do not think you can. But he snickers all the same and ushers you into your spot just as the first round of stupidly hopeful idiots starts to gather. You absentmindedly fidget with the ring on your finger. Fuck. You could really use a cigarette right about now... But you just sigh, already resigned to your fate, as Sunoo shoves a paddle into your hand that says “Smooth” on one side and “Cringe” on the other. Then you eye him for a second longer because you’re still suspicious of how chipper he is. It’s that same shit-eating look he has whenever… No. Don’t think of him. 

“Sunoo, stop making that face, or I’m going to strangle you with one of those heart garlands.” 

Then you feel someone flick you lightly on the back of the head. You whip around, already halfway to cursing, only to find Heeseung standing there with a lollipop in his mouth and a little bag of heart-shaped cookies dangling from his wrist.

“Damn,” Heeseung quips, totally ignoring the way you scowl at him. “You’re already threatening violence, and it hasn’t even started?”

You open your mouth to retort, but you catch the way Sunoo and Heeseung exchange a look like they’re both in on some inside joke at your expense, and you narrow your eyes at them suspiciously. “God—what is it with—Stop. You two are acting so weird. What, are you running a side hustle on how fast you can make me lose my shit? Cause if that's the case then I've already lost it. Don't bother. I'm always out of my mind.”

“Who, us?” Sunoo grins. “Never. I don't even know who this man is. This is my first time seeing him. Ever.” 

Before you can interrogate them further, someone clears their throat loudly. You turn to see a tall guy you vaguely recognize from one of your electives already leaning on the edge and reading the rules with far too much enthusiasm. He flashes you a cocky little grin and drops onto the stool in front of you. “Alright,” he says, already way too excited. “I’ve got one for you. Ready?”

You stifle a groan and try to channel any ounce of patience you might have left in you as you look at the guy in front of you. You don’t even bother responding, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because he goes on.

“You’re with the Park kid, right?” he starts, and your stomach immediately twists at the mention of him, or what this guy is about to say. “Is he not keeping you satisfied, princess? Want me to step in for him and show you how it’s done?”

Holy shit. 

Men are so painfully predictable that it almost feels like performance art. And somehow even dumber than you give them credit for, because the guy in front of you smirks when you laugh, clearly mistaking your genuine disbelief for interest. You see Heeseung and Sunoo move towards him in your peripheral vision, but you’re faster.

You pick up the paddle and SMACK the “cringe” side straight across his face. His head whips to the side from the impact, and for a heartbeat, the whole booth goes silent except for the ringing in your ears. You don’t even care who sees.

“Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. I’m perfectly satisfied as I am,” you snap, the words flying out before you can even think. You lift your left hand, showing off the ring with a careless flick of your wrist. “And you couldn’t handle a fraction of it.”

If only everyone knew this ring means less than nothing to you. 

The guy looks stunned, hand flying to his cheek. “I— I was just—You bitch—”

“Just. Just.. You weren’t ‘just’ anything,” you cut in, mocking him. “You were being disgusting. What makes you think you can talk to me like that, let alone any woman?”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to double down, but before he can even breathe, Heeseung fists the back of his collar and yanks him right off the stool. His lollipop is still hanging from the corner of his mouth, but the lazy grin on his face is gone. 

“Yeah, no,” Heeseung mutters as he hauls the guy to his feet like he weighs nothing. “We’re not doing this tonight.”

The senior sputters and tries to twist free, but Heeseung doesn’t even seem bothered by it. “Apologize,” he says simply, tightening his grip. “Loud enough for everyone to hear.”

The guy’s face goes redder. “Yo, no need for—She’s the one—She hit—”

“Apologize,” Heeseung repeats, and this time there’s no room for argument as he yanks his collar higher. “Or I’ll make you, buddy.”

“I—I-I’m sorry!”

Heeseung shoves him toward the edge of the crowd and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Beat it.”

The guy stumbles off, and the second he’s gone, Heeseung turns back to you. “You okay?”

You just nod, then you shake out your hand and flex your fingers. “Next,” you sigh, holding up the paddle. “Anyone else wanna be stupid?”

Sunoo snorts and hugs you from behind. “God, I love you.”

The good news is that no other losers tried their luck after the first. The bad news? You didn’t get another excuse to swing that paddle across another losers face.

But anyway, you’re barely two hours in but very seriously in the middle of questioning whether “Cringe” or “Throw Yourself Into the Han River” is the correct paddle option when you suddenly notice two silhouettes from afar. You squint and crane your neck to get a better look, but with half of Seoul’s upper crust walking around, it’s basically impossible to see over anyone. One of them has a shock of unmistakable blond hair, and the other is wearing a cap and a hoodie…  Okay, even from a distance, you’d know Riki’s walk anywhere. Of course it’s him. But wait, Riki is also blond, which means—

You blink, then do a double-take. Oh my God? 

It’s Jake. 

It’s been… weeks. Weeks since you last saw him. (Mostly because you’ve been avoiding him. Oops.) Even worse, it’s almost been a month since you went home and pretended you didn’t hear him telling you he liked you to your face—since you shoved every complicated feeling you’ve ever had into the deepest drawer of your brain and slammed it shut. And now here it partly is. And of course, he looks unfairly good. 

Sunoo lights up like someone just plugged him into a generator. “OH! Well… Look who it is!”

“This should be good.” Heeseung mumbles with his phone in his hand. “I’ll be back. Gimme a sec.”

Jake toys with his turtleneck when he reaches the booth. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey,” you breathe. “I like the blond.”

Riki snorts before Jake can speak. “Y/N-nnie looks like she wants to die. I love this. Do the thing.”

Jake shoots him a murderous look. “I swear—”

Riki raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you cook, hyung.”

Jake looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “Ignore him.”

“WELL,” Sunoo cheers, clapping his hands together. “Let’s hear it!”

Jake steps a little closer. “So… How does this thing work?”

You lean your elbow on the table with your chin in your hand—eyes glinting and burning into his just enough to make his ears go pink. “You give me your best line. I judge. If you impress me, you get a prize. If not… I’ll punish you.”

Jake laughs softly as he sits down in front of you, and then he hesitates for a moment. “Okay. Uh.”

You tilt your head. Why is he being so… shy? “Don’t choke on me now.”

Jake’s breath visibly hitches, and something in his eyes shifts for a moment as he licks his lips. God. He’s so easy to fluster. So earnest. So different from— You cut off the thought before it forms.

Then, quietly—almost too soft for anyone but you to hear—he says, “I don’t really have a line for you to judge or anything. But I can tell you the truth. You look beautiful tonight. You always do. And… if you’ll give me a chance, I’d just like to say all the things I couldn’t get out the last time I saw you.”

Sunoo actually chokes on his candy behind you, but you barely register anything else aside from how fast your heart is suddenly beating and how earnest he sounds, or sweet he looks, and how his eyes literally twinkle when he looks at you like you’re something worth saying pretty things to. So, you smile sweetly and flip your paddle to “Smooth” without breaking eye contact.

“WHEW!” Sunoo throws confetti in the air (where the hell did he even get confetti from?). “That right there is the first smooth of the night, baby!” 

“Ignore him,” you tease.

“So…” Jake grins. “Do I spin the wheel now for my prize?”

“You can spin the wheel…” You whisper, pretending to think while twirling the paddle between your fingers even though the answer is already curling on the tip of your tongue. Then you tilt up on your toes and whisper into his ear, “…or I’ll bend the rules for you. If you want your real prize… you can come claim it later.”

You’re not entirely sure why you said that.

Jake’s eyes widen just a little, but the effect is immediate. You see his shoulders loosen, and his lips split into a confident crooked grin; then he straightens up and finally looks like the annoyingly flirty boy you know. “How about I do both?” he purrs.

You fight a giggle and tap the wheel with your fingertip. “Knock yourself out.”

Okay. Here’s the thing: Maybe you are playing this up just a little. Maybe you are being flirty out of pure, petty spite for reasons you don’t want to name right now. But also… also because he’s so stupidly kind, and soft, and uncomplicated in ways you didn’t realize you’d been starving for until you stopped seeing him. And you kind of really, really miss it. 

Jake spins the prize wheel, and it’s as if a lightbulb appears right over your head at the sight. So at the last second, you flick it yourself, subtle enough that you’re sure no one notices but Heeseung, who is watching with his lips pursed in anticipation. You trail your finger on it until it slows, slows… and lands perfectly on “Give the player a very PG, demure kiss on the cheek.”

There’s a collective “Ooooh” from the growing crowd, then Riki steps forward, “Hey, I saw that. You rigged—OW—MY ARM—” he shrieks as Sunoo yanks him right back by his arm. “FINE—Fine, yo, let go.”

You just shrug and teasingly blink up at Jake (who is grinning wider like an absolute fool). “What can I say? I don’t like playing by the rules.”

Jake licks his lips as he takes you in. And before you can overthink it, you lean forward and cup his face in your hand and press a gentle, slow kiss right to his cheek. You pull away just enough to see his eyes flutter open, and he looks a little dazed and very much pleased, and you linger just a second too long—letting your hand cup his jaw as your faces hover close enough that your noses almost brush. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a moment, you actually do contemplate kissing him right there in front of everyone. 

Partly to remind yourself that softness can exist without costing you something.

“Dude, how are you still on your second drink?” Jay elbows Sunghoon with his chin propped on the rim of his own cup. “You’re making me look bad.”

“It’s my third.” Sunghoon crinkles his nose. “I’m just pacing myself.”

Jay raises a brow and gives him a look. “Are you… evolving?”

Sunghoon scoffs. “Yeah. Into someone who doesn’t wanna drag your ass home at 3 a.m. again.”

Jay gasps. “Um, that was ONE time—okay, maybe three—” he cuts off and laughs, but he’s still eyeing Sunghoon the way he does when he knows there’s something more underneath. “Nahhh, you’ve been acting weird. You haven’t gone out for drinks with us in four weeks, man. You’re all… I don’t know, zen.”

Sunghoon snorts and takes another measured sip. “Don’t get excited,” he says. “I’m just… strategic.”

Jay squints. “Strategic about what?”

“About not embarrassing myself,” Sunghoon mutters, then he mostly says the next words to himself. “And not saying shit I can’t take back.”

Jay’s mouth falls open a little. “Oh my god. You are evolving.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, then Jay’s phone rings, and he gets up to answer it, and he watches as he disappears into the crowd. The whole place is loud and busy with students weaving between booths and ducking back inside to escape the cold. He lets his eyes wander over the sea of faces, each one unfamiliar and forgettable, and he feels that familiar ache start up in his chest.

Every single face that passes by just reminds him that he’s only ever searching for one.

Which is honestly pathetic, considering he’s spent the entire night going out of his way not to even glance at the booth you’re working. He keeps telling himself he’s not going to be the guy who huffs and puffs and throws a tantrum just because his pretend fiancée is volunteering at a fucking charity event. Like, to hell with it. If you want to play Good Samaritan, then so be it. It’s for a good cause. The public wouldn’t care, so why should he care? He shouldn’t. He doesn’t.

He rubs a hand over his face and sighs, fighting the urge to just give in and go find you. God, he wishes he didn’t want to. If he did, he’s not even sure what he’d say, not when his head is spinning just enough to make his thoughts slip and spill out if he’s not careful. He’d seen you earlier across the food stalls with your arm slung around Ningning’s shoulders as you laughed at something she’d said. You just looked so… happy and out of reach. Sunlight was catching in your hair, and laughter was pouring out of you so easily as you held on to her, like you’d already forgotten how it felt to have him pressed up against you just the night before. 

His fingers tighten around his cup. He takes another sip from it, and he hopes the burn will be enough to drown his thoughts out. But it’s not. So he takes another sip. And another. He drains the cup until it’s nearly empty as if he can drink you out of his system, but it doesn’t work. Because every second you’re not with him, all he can stupidly think about is how you’re out there somewhere else letting the world look at you.

He sucks his teeth. “People are annoying tonight.”

Jay snorts as he sits back down next to him. “Which ones?”

“All of them.”

Jay laughs again, but slowly, slowly, he stops. Because he tracks where Sunghoon is looking—towards the far side of the quad where your booth is faintly glowing under pink lights. “So, I know you told me to keep you from going there… But you’re really not even going to swing nearby? Might be worth the walk.”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon mutters.

“Hey. I didn’t say anything specific.”

“You were about to.”

“You’re right,” Jay cheers, taking another sip. “I was gonna say you’re whippedddddd.”

“Hyung?”

“Mm?”

Sunghoon turns and levels him with the slowest, laziest, most offended glare humanly possible. “Do you want me to break your fingers one by one?”

Jay looks at his fingers with his brows knit together. “Jesus Christ… No?” he pouts and shoves his hands in his pockets defensively. “You’re sick, man. My God. My fault for trying.”

Sunghoon raises his brows and huffs a laugh, then he checks his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes as humanly possible, and as if it’s a sign—a text flashes on his screen.

[5:51pm] heeseungie hyung: yo. just a heads up. your favorite australian’s here.

[5:52pm] heeseungie hyung: you should probably see this, bro.

And that’s how he ended up standing in front of your booth just in time to see you lean in and kiss Jake on the cheek, his hand faintly brushing yours on the edge of the booth.

And you linger.

Then you look at Jake like he’s hung the fucking moon for you.

Sunghoon’s hands curl into fists at his sides, and he swears, if there was anything left of his heart, he’d tear it out himself just to make it stop. He bites down so hard on his lip he can taste iron.

Yeah. He regrets not being entirely drunk out of his fucking mind right now. Because this?

This is so much worse.

“Dude, are you done yet?” Someone grumbles from the line, clearly at the end of his rope. “Seriously, can you two, like, wrap it up? I need advice, man. I’m dying out here.” The sound of his obnoxious voice jolts through the two of you, and you and Jake pull back like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You’re sure your cheeks are burning, and it doesn’t help that Jake’s bright red too, the flush creeping all the way to his ears. 

“Right, yeah. Sorry, man.” Jake clears his throat and pushes himself off the stool, then lowers his voice just for you. “I’ll see you later, pretty girl?”

You smile softly. “Okay.”

“Alright, hyungie,” Riki materializes behind him before either of you can say anything else, and he’s smiling awkwardly like he’s seen enough. He claps Jake hard between his shoulder blades before he starts dragging him away. “Let’s go inside. I need food before I die.”

Jake stumbles a step as Riki starts steering him away, still glancing back at you over his shoulder, eyes wide and fond until the crowd finally swallows him whole. Honestly, why is everyone being so weird today?

“Jesus—someone hold my drink!” the desperate guy shouts to his friends as he finally rushes up, and you recognize him briefly. He’s friends with Riki and is around his age… But gun to your head, you wouldn’t remember his name. “I’ve been waiting forever for my turn. You guys don’t get it, I think she actually likes me, but I don’t know how to ask her out and if I mess this up—”

“It’s not your turn.”

His voice is gut-wrenchingly ice-cold, and it makes your blood run cold for what feels like an entire geological era. For a split second, you seriously contemplate setting something on fire. Maybe the booth. Maybe Sunoo. Maybe yourself. Anything to escape as the crowd parts just enough for Sunghoon to step forward with his eyes fixed straight on you.

“What? Bro, what do you mean it’s not? I’ve been wai—” He turns, sees who it is, and his eyes pop wide like a cartoon character. “Oh. Shit. Park Sunghoon. Uh, wow, you’re really tall in person.” He takes a step back and almost trips, and you’d laugh at how ridiculous this all is if you weren’t suddenly hyperaware of every molecule in your body. “Uh… I can wait some more. It’s fine, go ahead.” 

Sunghoon slowly turns to look at him and arches a brow, and the guy immediately swallows. 

“I mean… I’ll just go. Yeah! I’ll be… going. Cause I just remembered—I’m… late. For… literally anything else. I’ll, um, just ask the internet, I guess. Or my mom. I’m not trying to, like, die alone, but also, like, not trying to actually die, you know?”

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare the guy another look as he walks away. Honestly, you almost want to give the poor guy some advice anyway. But now you’ve got bigger problems — namely, your fake fiancée looking like he’s about to tear the whole booth down plank by plank as he lets his gaze sweep lazily over the remaining line — five or six others, all sizing him up like they’re suddenly realizing exactly who he is.

“Fun’s over. Get out.”

The guys hesitate for a split second, trading looks with each other and with Sunghoon—whose presence alone, it seems, is more than enough to make them think twice. One by one, they back off, mumbling things like “Yeah, nah, I’m good,” and “I’ll pass, man,” as they melt away into the crowd. 

Your mouth drops open, and you turn to Sunoo, hoping for some sort of comfort, only to find him grinning like the Cheshire cat as he looks at Sunghoon. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Seoul’s finest wallet. Come to grace us with your presence, Prince Park?”

Sunghoon’s eyes never leave yours as he walks closer. “You’re done here.”

You immediately scowl. “Did you seriously have to—”

“Yes,” Sunghoon cuts you off and tongues his cheek. Then he finally glances at Sunoo. “How much did you put up for this spot?”

Sunoo raises a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sunghoon huffs as he slides his phone from his pocket with one hand, taps the screen a few times, and then turns it to Sunoo. “Transfer it,” he says. “And pack this up.”

Sunoo glances at the screen, then gapes—his jaw dropping so fast you’re honestly surprised it doesn’t hit the table. Then he clears his throat. “Do I look like your personal butler?” He points to a laminated sign taped to the booth with a QR code smack in the middle. “Scan the QR code, big boy. All donations go straight to the main event.”

The faint crowd gathering around the booth and the other stalls gasp in frustration as it mildly starts to rain, and you watch as Sunghoon aims his camera at the code, then he taps his screen a few times before he shows Sunoo the confirmation. On the other hand, you dig your nails into your palm and count the number of heart stickers on one of the posters to stop yourself from making a scene. 

Then Sunoo flashes a row of pearly whites. “Thank you for your… generosity. But… Rules are rules.” He clears his throat, eyes glinting as he looks between the two of you. “You gotta sweet-talk our girl first. That’s the only currency that counts tonight. Well—I mean, not literally—obviously in the sense that—”

“I don’t want to—” You start, but Sunghoon cuts you off.

“I’m not doing this… thing.” He says it like it’s beneath him.

Sunoo shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Then leave. My booth, my rules.” He waves a hand over Sunghoon’s shoulder, raising his voice (even though there’s no one there anymore because Sunghoon scared them all off..) “NEXT!”

You quickly glance back to see that Wonyoung and Ningning have returned, elbowing each other as they shoot thumbs up of encouragement at you. But you don’t hear their murmurs… or anything, really. Not as Sunghoon—the literal bane of your existence—takes one step closer and drops down into the stool in front of you with a heavy sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” Sunghoon says. “I’ll play.”

Sunoo practically vibrates. “Goooood! Now! Listen carefully. The rules are—”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon mutters, flicking a glance at the laminated sign hung up on the booth. “I can read.”

“Did this man just tell me to—” Sunoo takes a deep breath. “No, no, no. Not today. I refuse to be baited,” He slaps his hand down next to Sunghoon’s like he’s disciplining a toddler. “Just try to keep in mind that the whole point is to be nice.”

You turn back and shoot a look at Sunoo and Heeseung, both of whom are barely containing their snickers as Sunoo literally wiggles his eyebrows at you for the hundredth time. 

You kind of want them both to die right now.

“Go bother someone else,” you snap, and shoo them away with a flick of your wrist. Or at least you try, because they only take about… three steps back. Then you whisper—though it’s more of a hiss, really. “And stop looking at us like that!”

And then you turn back to Sunghoon. He’s close enough that you can smell the faint reek of whiskey on his breath. Jesus… You contemplate the merits of launching yourself into oncoming traffic instead of having to do this with him. It’s a pretty strong contender, because he keeps staring at you, and for the first time in a very long time, his expression isn’t unreadable at all. It’s too readable, to the point where it’s actually infuriating.

He looks fucking devastated.

“Is this your concept of participating? You’re just gonna sit there and stare at me like some kind of psychopath?”

“What do you want me to do?”

You arch a brow and jab a finger at Sunoo’s hand-painted sign. “I thought you said you could read?”

“But what do you want?” he asks, and there’s a subtle slur at the edge of his words. “Not the game, not them—” his chin tips toward your friends, then he glances at the ring on your finger. “Not that, not… anyone,” then he looks back at you, “You.”

You scoff, even as your heart tries to leap out of your chest because of the way he’s looking at you and how sincere he sounds. “Maybe start by pretending you have a soul?”

“I can’t,” he says quietly. 

“You’re unbelievable—” you start, but you freeze when you feel his hand on yours all of a sudden.

He holds your wrist with surprising gentleness, and his thumb traces over the raw skin near your cuticles, which you hadn’t even realized you’d been picking at again. You try to yank away on instinct, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he reaches into his pocket—fumbling, searching—and your heart instantly drops as he finally pulls out a little band-aid from some inner universe where Park Sunghoon is still the kind of boy who carries a band-aid for you in the same place you used to know he kept it on him only because you always bled through your own skin whenever you were anxious. The world goes quiet.

His brows knit together in concentration as he starts peeling the wrapper in clumsy movements. Then he presses the band-aid over your thumb with infinite care, and you’re so stunned you can’t even move, let alone protest or even form a coherent thought. Then, he leans in a fraction, just enough that only you can hear when he speaks. 

“I think you look stupid.”

And just like that, the spell is broken. “Are you serious?” you yank your hand back. “Get the hell out of my f—”

“No. Don't… talk for a second. Let me.”

You glare at him and drop your voice into a whisper. “If you’re going to be an asshole again, spare me. I’ve heard enough—”

“Just,” he says softly, and you want to throw up. “Just… listen. Please.”

You pause for a moment as you study his face. He almost looks desperate. You hate it. But for some stupid reason you can’t name, you hold your pointer finger up. “You have one minute. Make it pretty.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I think you look stupid—”

“Nope. That’s it—”

He ignores you. “—sitting here while everyone lines up for you like you’re some fucking doll, pretending that you don’t want to burn the whole place down and take everyone with you. You look stupid because—” 

“Call me stupid again and see what happens.”

“I’ll get to it,” he mutters.

“Be fucking normal.” You hold up the end of the paddle that says "Cringe" and scowl at him. “No. You know what? I’m done. Stop wasting m—”

“I’m not done.” He cuts you off and lowers the paddle in your hand. “I… think you look stupid because you’ve missed all your classes for the past few weeks, when you’ve never even missed one your entire life.” 

You freeze. “Why the hell do you… What’s…?”

“It’s… What’s even more fucking stupid is—” He breathes and slowly presses his fist to his chest, right above his heart. “You’re the only—” 

“Don’t.”

His lip actually fucking wobbles, and it knocks all the fight right out of you. You’re just… stuck. Stuck and staring and waiting and hanging off the edge of whatever comes next. His eyes are soft and burning holes straight through your bones, and you stare at the way his hand trembles on his chest. What the fuck is he about to say? No. He’s… been drinking. That’s all this is. 

“You’re—fuck,” his voice cracks in the slightest, “You’re everywhere. You’re in every room before you even walk in. Or even if you don’t walk in at all. You haunt me, and I...”

It’s raining hard enough to the point where drops have started battering the plastic canopy overhead and dripping down onto you, and most of the booths are emptying out as people start fleeing inside the university. You also notice Sunoo shooing everyone away from the corner of your eye, but all of that just blurs into nothing when Sunghoon is in front of you like this, and it’s only him and you and the thunder outside and in your own chest.

“Shut up. Just—stop it,” you whisper, then you stand so fast the stool behind you falls. “You’re not being nice. You’re being an asshole—Just stop.”

“I am being nice to you,” He pleads, rain starting to soak into his hair. “I’ve been… It’s all… I’m being nice to you by not being nice to you.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” you hiss, and wipe a droplet off your cheek. “Fuck—I don’t even want to know. Don’t you dare fucking sit there and put your cruelty on me. Just leave. Go.”

“You honestly believe that I don’t—?” He stops himself and gets up, digging the heel of his palm against his brow as if he could physically hold the words in. “You said you want me to pretend I have a soul? I can’t do that. That’s the one thing I can’t pretend to do. Not with you.”

“Oh, fuck off.” 

He shakes his head and presses his hand to his chest again. “There’s nothing in here. It’s…”

“Stop it.” Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not nearly enough.”

“You don’t get to say things like—like—what are you even saying? Huh? Do you even hear yourself? I’m everywhere? I haunt you? Blah blah blah, I’m stupid? What else? Just—”

“I…” His mouth opens, then closes again, and your heart skips a full beat. “I hate you.”

You feel sick over the way his tender expression doesn’t match the cruelty of what he’s saying. So you force a bitter laugh. “Oh. There it is. Right on schedule. Okay. Fantastic. I ha—”

“—and I want you.”

Your breath catches so fast it almost hurts, not because of what he said, but because of how he said it.

“I want you so much I think I could spend my whole life hating you for it and it still wouldn’t be enough to make it stop. I want you in every way a man is capable of wanting someone, but… I want nothing to do with you at all.”

“Sunghoon, stop—”

“I want you to disappear out of my life. And I want to spend the rest of mine inside yo—”

“Shut up. What are you trying to get at? That you want to fuck me? We’ve established that. But… this… this?” You shove his chest, and feel how solid he is beneath your hand. “What the fuck is this? I’m—shit. I’m not asking you cause I care. I’m asking because I’m embarrassed for you.”

“Nothing,” You see his throat work. Then he shakes his head once. “I want nothing from you.”

“Then what the hell are you on about?” you sneer, and point at the empty booth behind you. “That right there was a game. This—” you jab your finger at your head, “—This isn’t. Don't fucking play with my head. What do you want?”

“Nothing you can give. Nothing you should give,” he swallows, and his brows knit together. “I don’t want a future with you, and I don’t want a past with you. I don’t want—fuck—I don’t want you to be a part of my world.”

“Then leave—”

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says again, “except for you to never let anyone else touch you again.”

Is he fucking serious?

“I don’t want you with any guy in that fucking line. I don’t want you smiling at anyone, kissing anyone—fuck—touching anyone.” He looks at you like he hates himself for even saying it out loud. “I don’t want anyone thinking they could make you sound the way I make you sound. I don’t want—”

Something in you detonates.

Your palm meets his face so hard your fingers sting all the way up to your elbow. His cheek blooms red instantly, bright against the wet skin, and it should feel good—satisfying—except he turns back to you with that look again. Like he’d take another hit from you again. Like he deserves it. It truly, truly, makes you feel sick.

“You’re saying that?” You glance around the empty area as if someone might jump in and tell you this is all a joke. “You? To me? You’re actually insane. Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“Y/N—”

“Shut your mouth,” you reach up and slap your palm over his wet mouth. “No one fucking owns me, least of all you. I could walk out of here and take someone home right now, and there’s not a goddamn thing you could do about it. So don’t fucking piss me off.”

You feel the way his jaw clenches under your hand and the furious heat of his breath against your palm, but he does not move. 

“You’re not my…” you shake your head. “You’re not even my friend. So don’t stand there and talk about what you ‘don’t want’ like it means anything to me. Do you know what I want? I don’t want this.” You let go of his mouth and poke him right where his heart should be. “You’re right. There is nothing in here. Nothing. You can’t even be fucking normal for five seconds. You’re talking in circles and somehow saying everything but still saying nothing at all. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t want any of it, anyway.” You tilt your chin up and wipe the rain from your cheeks. “So stop wasting my time. What the hell is your point? And don’t you dare pull that possessive shit on me again.”

For a second, you just look at him. It’s so quiet you can hear the rain drip from your hair onto your shoes. You don’t even want the answer, not really, not at all. You’d just rather torch the whole place to the ground than let him play God with your mind for one singular second longer. 

“Stop asking me for a fucking point. I don’t have a point,” he mocks, and his voice is flat, empty, cruel, and cold as if he’s somehow managed to flip some switch back on inside him. “There is nothing between us. There never will be. There can’t…”

“Good. I’m glad we agree, then.”

He bites his lip. “Great.”

The rain has completely drenched you both by now, soaking through your dress, through everything—from the collar of his coat down to the soles of your feet. His chest rises faster by the minute, and yours answers to it. You swipe a wet strand of hair away from your mouth and force yourself not to look at his lips, but you do, just for a second, and—shit. He’s already looking at yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you breathe, even though you’re also staring.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to do something stupid.”

“I’ve been doing something stupid every time I look at you.”

Your pulse stutters so loud in your chest you’re scared he can hear it from where he’s standing, and it doesn’t help that he steps even closer. Or that his hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his palm, thumb dragging along the edge of your chin.

“Sunghoon,” you warn, breathing even heavier. “Don’t.”

“Thought you agreed that there isn’t anything between us?” he rasps, eyes flicking briefly to your mouth. 

You clench your jaw as he brushes his thumb along your cheekbone, but you don’t pull away. “There isn’t.”

“Yeah?”

It’s ridiculous, really, how every reason you’ve ever had to hate him collapses under the weight of how easy it would be to close the distance right now. 

But Sunghoon is the one who gives in. 

He leans down and crushes his mouth to yours before you can even process what it means. For once, the kiss isn’t a bruising collision. It’s… gentle. It feels like days and days' worth of ruined nights and ruined logic and ruined restraint are condensed into the soft press of his lip trembling against yours. His lips are flush and cold, then warmer as he sinks into you, and warmest when you breathe into him and he exhales into your mouth in turn, as if he needs to feel the air you’ve given him filling his own lungs to live. His tongue curls slowly and sweetly against yours, every movement patient and aching, as if he’s learning the shape of your mouth for the first time and memorizing the taste as his thumb keeps tracing your cheek, lingering, lingering, like if he stops, you might dissolve into the rain. You absentmindedly lean into him harder and cup his wet cheeks in your hands, and he whines right into your mouth. Rainwater drips from his nose and onto your lips, running down harder and harder between you and you let it all wash over you, hoping maybe it can wash this out of you for good, even though you know it never will.

This can’t be happening.

“You don’t get to do that,” you break the kiss and shove him off breathlessly. “You don’t get to… kiss me like that. You don’t get to make this anything else. I don’t want it. I don’t want you like that.” Your voice almost cracks, but you force it to be steady. “So don’t.”

Sunghoon just stands there silently and his eyes shine with something that almost looks like regret. But you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Before he can take any of it back or make it worse or make you want more—and especially before your mind wanders where you don’t want it to, where words you’ve left unsaid threaten to spill out—you turn on your heel and bolt. 

You hear his footsteps chasing after you and calling your name—once, twice. “Wait, just—” His voice is ragged, somewhere between pleading and furious, and it only makes you run faster. “Why the fuck are you running? Y/N—Be careful—”

“Leave me alone!” you shout back, barely able to breathe through the knot in your chest. You run and run and run, not at all caring about the puddles that soak straight through your shoes or the way the cold gnaws at your skin. You run like you’re trying to outrun the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands, and the fact that you’ve never wanted someone this much and hated them just as hard. It’s all so fucking stupid it makes you want to scream.

You don’t look back. And this time, he doesn’t follow you.

By the time you get home, your hands are shaking so badly you can barely fit the key in the lock. You try to blame the cold weather for the way your body won’t stop trembling, but you know it isn't from the storm outside but from the one you brought in with you—the kind with a mouth you can’t stop tasting, who’d said things that are still ricocheting around inside your chest and bruising up soft parts of you that you’ve managed to keep guarded. 

This might genuinely be the lowest point of your life. You stand in your hallway and stare at your reflection in the mirror, and if you squint, you almost look like a stranger: eyes wide and glassy, hair plastered wet against your cheeks, mouth bitten-red and swollen with something you can’t swallow down. But the girl in the mirror looks like someone who’d never let herself be undone for anyone but herself, and you really wish you’d met her sooner. 

For a moment, you think about calling Wonyoung, because she’d definitely know what to say—but you really just don’t want to burden anyone with messes of your own doing. So you just fumble with your phone and stare down at a message you’d already read a dozen times in the backseat as your driver silently drove you home, hoping a few (definitely more than a few) lines of your dad’s terrible texting could comfort you.

[9:59 pm] dad 🤍: Bad news, kiddo. Weather’s gone sideways over here and the board’s lost their collective mind, so it looks like your old man and your beautiful mother won’t be able to fly out back in time for tomorrow’s dinner with the Lees… Don’t have too much fun without us!!!!  (You know I get jealous) (Oh. I’m deeply offended just thinking of it)

Uncle Lee’s liver can only take so much wine so keep an eye on him for me. Love you. Eat something green… I’m not sure what else to say. Be responsible? IDK. This text is getting long. Are you still reading? 

Remember what we talked about. We’ll video call you in the morning. Take care, sweetheart. Love you xx (the British have gotten to me.) 

You hold your phone tighter like it might close the miles between you. Sometimes you feel selfish for wanting more when you already have so much, for wishing they could be here when you know they would if they could. You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. Maybe both. It’s almost a relief that you won’t have to see your parents, not when you're this much of a mess. But some younger, softer part of you aches for the simplicity of walking into a warm kitchen, soaked to the bone and exhausted, just to find your mother’s arms and your dad’s bad jokes filling the room. You want them to ask if you’re okay, and then you want to curl up and soak in the easy comfort of belonging somewhere without having to earn it and without having to explain what’s gone wrong.

Instead, you stand there in your dim hallway and stare at the stupid little band-aid still wrapped around your thumb. You trace the edge of it, remembering how careful he was, and how that softness cut deeper than all his sharp words put together. You don’t know what to do with that—don’t know what to do with any of it, honestly. But you do know what you want.

So you rip the band-aid off and head straight to bed.

The moment Sunghoon opens his eyes the next morning, he considers rolling over into his pillow and staying there until the world forgets he ever existed. 

It’s tempting, but the sun is already bleeding through the heavy curtains and the annoying ache in his neck is refusing to be ignored. He sits up with his hair sticking out in every direction and squints at the familiar lines of the guest room in Heeseung’s house—his room, if he’s honest, for all the years he’s spent here instead of going back to his house.

He’s not hungover, not exactly. (He literally is.) But… Whatever he’s feeling is so much worse. He simply remembers too much, and it all keeps coming back to him in pieces out of order. He remembers the way he’d been pacing his drinking all night and convincing himself he was in control. And then the moment that control slipped clean through his fingers without him even realizing it. He remembers finding Jay and Heeseung afterward, asking them why the hell they’d let him anywhere near you when he’d explicitly told them not to. Like it was somehow their fault and not his. He remembers drinking even more after that, while a very sober Heeseung tried to pry it out of his hands. He remembers, above all, the look on your face right before you slapped him—more pity than anger. Fuck.

The housekeeper knocks lightly, telling him lunch is prepared if he wants any. He mumbles a polite refusal, then spends ten minutes staring at the inside of the bathroom cabinet before actually brushing his teeth. 

It’s almost four. His phone is heavy with missed calls and unread texts—Jay, mostly, and then Heeseung, whose approach is less concerned and more… Heeseung.

[12:48 pm] heeseungie hyung: bro. alive???

[1:09 pm] heeseungie hyung: come downstairssss :(

[2:22 pm] heeseungie hyung: im gonna kms

By the time he drags himself downstairs to the kitchen, he finds Hana perched at the marble island, typing something into her laptop. Heeseung is slouched over the marble counter like he’s trying to merge with it, one hand scrolling on his phone and the other fishing aimlessly for snacks. 

Hana glances up immediately, and her eyes light up like she’s been waiting all day long just to see him. “Hoon-ah,” she smiles, closing her laptop halfway and patting the stool beside her. “There you are. Good morning. Or… I suppose I should say good afternoon, hmm?”

Heeseung doesn’t even look up from his phone, but he’s grinning like an absolute idiot. “He lives!” he cheers, “Alert the media.”

Sunghoon awkwardly rubs his temple. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to crash here.”

Hana clicks her tongue. “Nonsense. You know you’re always welcome here.” She reaches for the fruit plate and nudges it closer. “Eat something, darling. I also had Mrs. Shin make your favorite soup. Are you feeling okay?”

Sunghoon takes a seat next to Hana, trying not to look as pathetic as he feels. His face softens a bit at the easy normalcy, and at the way neither of them ever ask for more than he can give. “Just tired.”

Heeseung pouts immediately. “What about my favorite soup, Mom? I’d like to be coddled, too. I’ve been through a lot. I’ve heard things I shouldn’t hear.”

Sunghoon coughs and almost chokes on his coffee, and Hana gives Heeseung a look that’s filled with affection and a handful of teasing as she gets up from the table. “You? You ate half the kitchen this morning, you brat. Mrs. Shin nearly called for reinforcements.”

“That was breakfast!” Heeseung protests. “This is lunch. I’m being neglected in my own home… The human body requires regular affection and nutrients, or it withers. I read that somewhere.”

Hana rolls her eyes but wraps her arms around him from behind anyway, giving him a bear hug that makes his shoulders scrunch up to his ears. “My poor neglected son. Look at you,” she playfully squeezes his cheek and shakes his head in her grip. “Maybe if you didn’t spend all day gaming and shouting at a screen like a lunatic, you’d feel more fulfilled.”

“OW—MOM! NOT THE FACE! THIS IS THE MONEYMAKER—”

His mother ignores him and leans over, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of his head. Sunghoon cracks a smile, and Hana squeezes Heeseung’s cheek one last time before turning to Sunghoon. “Actually, now that you’re both here, I have some news about tonight. The dinner plans… have changed.”

Sunghoon glances up hopefully. “Cancelled?”

Heeseung’s whole body lights up. “Wait, really? So I can go back to my gam—” He freezes as Hana shoots him a warning look, and coughs, “—go back to… Garosu-gil. Yes. That’s what I meant. You know, that artisanal bakery you like. Big fan.”

“Nice save,” Hana raises a brow but lets him off with a laugh. “No, it’s not cancelled. But everyone else had to drop out. Also… Apparently, Hoon-ah, your father landed back in Seoul this morning, but he… well, your mother called and said they wouldn’t be able to make it anyway. I’m sorry,” she says gently, “and… Y/N’s parents are stuck in London because of the weather. Poor things. Anyway, it’ll just be the three of you tonight.”

Sunghoon’s brows knit together for a moment. “My father is… back in Seoul?”

Heeseung straightens so quickly he nearly tips his chair. “Wait. Us? Like… just us?”

Hana nods and reaches over to squeeze Sunghoon’s hand. “Aesun and I agreed that there is no reason to let the reservation go to waste. Not that the reservation matters, we just think you three can carry on the tradition just fine on your own. Maybe it’ll even be fun for you to have this night out without having us boring, nosy old people hovering over you.”

Heeseung’s face falls so fast it’s almost comical. “Oh, no, no, no, I know where this is going. Mom, no. Please. I’m begging you—”

Sunghoon chimes in. “That’s alright, we can skip—”

But Hana’s already smiling in that way that means the decision is final. “Ah. Did I sound like I was suggesting?” she says sweetly, looking at both of them like she’s daring them to protest. “I’ve already called and let the restaurant know it’ll just be you three. Against my better judgment, I still trust you to have at least one civil night out. So why not?”

“Oh, mother dearest, I have at least ten good reasons why not.” Heeseung looks like someone has physically struck him. He closes his eyes, lifts his hands to cup his own cheeks, and groans. “You want me to third-wheel the world’s most dysfunctional will-they-won’t-they couple? Alone? With no adult supervision? I can’t. I literally can’t.”

Hana just laughs, patting his cheek. “Oh, hush. You’ll survive. If there’s anyone to even remotely worry about, it’s Y/N.” She looks back at Sunghoon and her smile softens again, like she knows everything he wants to hide. “Take care of each other, hmm?”

Sunghoon doesn’t bother arguing. He knows better than to try to sway Hana once her mind is set—and he isn’t sure he’d want to, anyway. He meets her eyes and nods instead, offering a small smile he hopes says everything he’s never managed to put into words. She makes him feel wanted without ever making it feel conditional, without holding it over his head like something he could lose if he steps out of line, and loves him like a son even when he feels completely unlovable. Sometimes he wishes he could tell her how much that means, but the words always dissolve before they reach his mouth.

And if he’s being honest, he feels something close to relief that the dinner will just be the three of them tonight. There’s a deep, old ache in being the only kid with no parents in the room—a particular loneliness he’s carried for as long as he can remember. Tonight, at least, there’ll be no empty chair reserved for people who never show up.

But as the room grows brighter with Hana’s easy laughter and Heeseung’s endless complaints, Sunghoon feels the hollow ache return in a different shape. The only thing lonelier than being the odd one out is having to sit across from you and pretend he didn’t mean every desperate word he spilled last night. pretend that nothing in him is still burning for the shape of your mouth or the way your hand fit perfectly around the ruin he’s made of himself. That, somehow, is worse than being alone at all.

No.

No.

No.

What the fuck am I thinking? Get a grip.

He believes whatever that was last night was a mistake and a pathetically soft weakness he should’ve been smarter than. You don’t fucking belong in his world, and you never did.

She’s not anything other than something I keep going back to because it’s convenient, and I want nothing to do with her outside of that. She’s easily replaceable if I wanted her to be.

I want nothing to do with her. 

I want nothing.

I don’t.

[6:40 PM] The Devil Incarnate: stop being a brat. pick up.

Your phone lights up for the third time in five minutes, and you let it ring out again because you want him to suffer. Or, ideally, dissolve into thin air. And then it keeps fucking ringing and ringing, and you’re honestly so tempted to block him just to spite him, but your curiosity wins. 

“What?” you snap, not even bothering with hello. “Why the hell are you calling me this much? Are you dying? Tell me you’re dying.”

Sunghoon’s voice comes through the car speaker on his end. “Where are you?”

“Out,” you say, even though you’re literally standing in your dressing room. “Alone. Without you. As God intended for me.”

“Shut up. You’re not out. I’m on my way to your apartment. Don’t move.”

“Oh, I’m moving, alright,” you huff, wedging your phone between your shoulder and ear as you jam your foot into your heels. “In fact, I’m halfway out the door. You’re not picking me up, so save your breath.”

“You’re what?” He exhales, and you can hear the irritation in every syllable on the other end even with the static and what you’re pretty sure is another quiet groan in the background. “Just—fuck—wait. We should arrive in the same car.”

“Oh my god, who cares? It’s not like it’s an annual summit or something. It’s dinner, Sunghoon. People go to dinner. How would anyone even know where we’re going—” you shake your head and cut yourself off, because frankly, you’re not naive enough not to know the answer. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“We’re not ‘people.’ You know what happens if the wrong picture gets out. I’m not dealing with it. Wait. For. Me.”

“Aw. I literally do not care. The wrong picture already got out,” you click the door shut behind you. “Hear that? I’m leaviiiiingggg.”

“Get your ass back inside.” Sunghoon’s voice drops to a warning growl. “I’m not asking.”

“So scary,” you mock him as you wait for the elevator to arrive. “Reception’s terrible in this elevator—kssshhhh—oh, no—kssshhh—”

He lets out a frustrated noise on the line, and you could swear you hear another groan in the background, something between a sigh and a muttered prayer, but you just write it off in your head because you’re enjoying this too much. “You little br—”

“Wow, so weird… You’re like, totally breaking up,” you gasp, grinning like an idiot because the reception is, in fact, crystal clear and you can hear just how badly Sunghoon is losing it. “Can’t—kssshhh—hear you!”

“Y/N. Don’t you fucking hang—”

“Bye!” you chirp as you step into the elevator, and you make sure the last thing he hears is your laughter before you hang up.

God. What a fucking controlling cunt. 

But for all the ways you want to hate how obsessive he can be about this stuff, there’s a tiny kernel of reason in it. You know the game, know the rules, know what it means when you’re who you are and he’s who he is — living with the possibility that there are cameras everywhere hungry for a moment that isn’t meant for anyone but the two of you. But none of that changes the fact that you’d rather walk through fire than sit alone next to him in a confined space right now. Not when you’ve only just managed to scrape together enough courage to face him at all.

You pull together your best “not-irritated” face and turn to swipe a coat of gloss over your lips, touching up your makeup in the elevator mirror one last time. Then, the second you step into the lobby and look outside, your heart just betrays you and drops straight through the shiny marble floors. It’s stupid, really, how nothing about this feeling has changed since before you were even old enough to know what it was called. It just shows up every time you see him, because your heart doesn’t care about what your mind wants.

Sunghoon is already there.

You watch as your (utterly traitorous) driver gives him a polite nod before pulling away, leaving you standing in the afterglow of your own stubbornness. Unbelievable. You stop right before you reach the glass doors, and for a long, drawn-out moment, you just take him in.

He’s standing under the warm glow of the entryway lights with his hands in his pockets. His hair is pushed back a little messily and his pale skin glows softly, and every single time you see him like this, you get hit with the same stupid thought—he shouldn’t be this beautiful. And of course he’s in a suit… He might as well have been born in one. This is supposed to be a normal dinner, but he’s dressed like he’s about to close a deal worth millions. Which is almost funny, considering you’re not exactly wearing something that can pass for normal, either. You’re wrapped in a pale yellow slip dress that’s cut so perfectly it could’ve been poured onto you. You catch your reflection in the glass and realize how overdressed you both probably look by every normal standard except your own for something as normal as a dinner. Some would say it’s coordination. That it’s cute how well the two of you pair together. You’d say its a curse because you know it's never on purpose.

You step forward and the glass doors automatically slide open with a soft little whoosh, and that’s when Sunghoon looks up just in time to catch you stepping out into the light, and you briefly see something change in his face. A softness sneaks in around the edges, not a lot—he’d never give you that much—but his mouth slightly drops open and his eyes flicker warmer as they drop down to your dress, then back up to your face. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked nervous—his hand lingers just a second too long over his chest right below where the gold brooch is pinned to his suit, and it reminds you of how he looked last night, and you actually want to slap him right across his perfect face again for dragging you back there again.

But just as quick as you see it, the moment’s gone and his face shutters over and whatever softness you thought you saw is wiped clean away like it was never there to begin with and it was just your mind playing tricks on you. He looks annoyed now, bored even, eyes unreadable and mouth drawn into that line you’ve come to hate as he takes you in. 

This fucking dickhead.

Your heart is loud—too loud—but you force yourself to look at him like he’s nothing. And still, the truth of it lives in the way your fingers tighten around your purse, in the skip of your pulse, and in the way you wish you could be anyone but yourself for a moment. To hell with it.

“Are you done staring?” you snap when you reach the bottom of the steps.

This really must be what hell feels like, Sunghoon thinks, and the thought almost makes him laugh because he knows he deserves it.

You step out into the light and your dress turns the night around you golden, and Sunghoon swears he’s seeing sunlight even though it is already dark outside and the moon is hanging high over the city. 

And for a moment, he forgets why he was ever angry, or whatever he’d told himself before leaving, or the endless pep talks Heeseung gave him about not fucking it up tonight, and especially why he ever thought this would get easier. All of it, gone. There’s just you and the ridiculous pounding in his chest, and he can’t help but absentmindedly press a hand over his heart as if he’s physically trying to keep this pathetic feeling from spilling out everywhere before he can take it back. 

He has the answer to the question that’s been eating at him for weeks. He’s had it all along, really, but just doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how strongly he believes that he’d still take this hell a thousand times over, because any world that doesn’t have you in it would be so much worse.

For one selfish, shameful second longer, he even lets himself admit that even if he could go back and undo every stupid choice, every bruise, and every moment that led him here, he still wouldn’t. He’d live through every ugly, humiliating, gutting second all over again just for the impossible privilege of standing in front of you now, watching you glare at him like you’d rather set him on fire—except he’s always known the difference between your anger and the way your mouth twists when you’re trying not to look flustered. 

But, like every other time, these kinds of thoughts aren’t something he can afford to let himself have—not even in the safest corners of his mind. So he buries them again, deep and out of reach, where they can’t touch anything soft, and he pretends it never even crossed his mind.

“Are you done staring?” 

Part of him wants to say you look beautiful—devastatingly so, like the closest thing he’s had to both damnation and salvation. But he just bites it back and goes for what he knows best, that being an absolute fucking pain in your ass.

“You might want to wipe your mouth,” he drawls, tilting his chin and gesturing lazily to the corner of his own lips. “You’re drooling a little.”

You immediately swipe the back of your hand across your mouth like you actually expect to find something there, glaring daggers at him when you realize he’s full of shit. Then you smack him across the chest, not even bothering to hide your annoyance. 

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes so hard he half expects them to get stuck that way. “I look too good for your bullshit right now.”

You always look too good for anything of mine. 

Then you’re already brushing past him and striding for the car with your chin up. You yank the door open—and then you freeze for a second. 

From where Sunghoon’s standing, it’s honestly the best thing he’s seen all week.

You actually jump back and let out the most undignified little shriek as Heeseung pops up in the backseat, looking like he’s just emerged from three weeks in an isolated bunker.

“THANK GODDDDD,” Heeseung cries, flopping his head back against the seat in the most dramatic way humanly possible. “I couldn’t breathe. I think I saw my life flash before my eyes—do you know how stuffy it gets in a car with blackout windows? There’s not even a sliver of light in here. Oh my God. Hello, by the way.”

“You scared the living shit out of me, you absolute freak!” you gasp so loud Sunghoon thinks you might actually pass out, but then you dissolve into helpless laughter as you clutch onto the door for dear life. “Oh my God, I’m actually gonna pass out. I hate you.”

“Me? Me? I scared you?” Heeseung sits up and points dramatically at himself. “Do you know the kind of fear I experienced while your maniac blew past every speed limit known to man? I thought we were going to be on the evening news, bro. Just—Please. Let’s go. Feed me,” he says, patting his stomach for emphasis and giving you big sad bambi eyes. “Heeseung hungry.” 

“Then move aside.”

“Okay, okay, come on in—wait.” He suddenly stops and glances between you and the empty passenger seat. “Wait, if I’m in the backseat, and you’re in the backseat… who’s in the front seat…?”

You pause, and your mouth drops wide open in realization as you both turn to look at each other and then back at the front seat again. You immediately whirl around and point at Heeseung. “I’m not sitting in the front—”

“Y/N, get in the front,” Sunghoon says, already slipping behind the wheel.

“I’m not,” you shoot back, crossing your arms.

“Get. In.” 

Sunghoon bites down on a laugh as he watches you and Heeseung swat at each other like actual children, muttering about both of them being insufferable as you climb back out with a dramatic sigh.

This is going to be a long, long night.

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )

And you hadn’t—unless, obviously, you had to. For the sake of the public or whatever.

Because there’s only so much you can say to someone you’re legally bound to pretend to love when you can’t even look at him without wanting to punch him or throw up or cry or maybe do all three and then some more, and you haven’t decided which one would feel better yet. If at all.

You’d barely even gotten any sleep last night because you couldn’t shake a terrible feeling you had—though it wasn’t anything related to what you’d texted Sunoo about. No, your mind was quite made up on that matter.

You’d called Riki yesterday—just to make sure—and he’d said yeah, he was the one who took you home that night. So that should’ve been that. Except… it didn’t feel like that. But whatever. You had bigger things to worry about this morning.

When you got to the airport this morning, you did what you’ve always done; you schooled your face the way you’ve known your whole life—chin up, smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, turn towards the best lighting angle, and give them something pretty to photograph. You’d actually thought to yourself for a second that this might be easy if you just do the thing where you step outside of yourself and pretend you’re also watching it happen from somewhere in the crowd. 

And then he’d touched you.

He slid his hand around your waist—his palm flat and warm against the dip of your waist, and for one stupid second, your whole body had gone absolutely rigid. 

Smile. Just fucking smile—you’d thought to yourself.

And then you leaned into him like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had, in another lifetime. Because pretending is the only thing you’ve ever been good at your whole life.

Someone had yelled both your names, and he must have noticed how tense you’d physically been because at one point he’d dipped his head close enough that his mouth almost brushed your ear, and he whispered, “Relax, darling.” Just to taunt you.

You wanted to elbow him in the ribs. You wanted to grind your heel into his stupid, polished shoe and to keep walking and let the whole world watch him flinch like an idiot.

Instead, you’d breathed through your teeth and kept smiling until you were finally through the sliding doors and the noise of the crowd had faded behind the glass.

And then you went back to keeping your distance—because the hardest part was done. You hovered near him just enough for it to seem believable, and after a while, once you were inside the gate, he slid his hand around your waist again, ever so casually.

You stopped dead. “Don’t.”

He didn’t even glance at you. “Don’t be a fucking brat.”

You blinked. “The hell did you just say?”

“People talk.” He smiled simply and jerked his chin forward, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Behave.”

You stared at him for a long second, then looked around. “There’s no one here, you dick.”

“There’s always someone here, sweetheart,” he said with that mocking kind of smile of his that made your blood boil, and then tilted his head toward the corner where two assistants were whispering behind their tablets, pretending they weren’t watching. 

You had dug your nails into your palms so hard that the crescents stayed there for several minutes afterward.

By the time you got on the plane, you were seconds away from fully losing it. Maybe it was the fact that you were heavily sleep deprived, or how your head still had a faint ache to it, or maybe, just maybe—crazy—the fact that this… this is actually your life now. But anyway, you didn’t wait for him to say a word—just immediately slid into the window seat and turned your face away like the sight of him would physically burn you if you stared at him a second longer.

He sat down beside you, of course. Because of course he did. Because where else would he sit?

“Don’t start,” you said under your breath without even looking at him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

He leaned back in his seat, and his voice was low. “You always this pleasant in the mornings?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “You wanna die?”

He didn’t say anything back this time. Not even a smirk. Just looked at you for a second too long, the muscle in his jaw ticking once before he clicked his tongue and turned his head toward the aisle.

You furrowed your brows a little at that—not that you cared, obviously, but it was weird. He usually always had something smug to say back, some shitty comeback waiting on his tongue. 

But you don’t see the way he looks back at you then and almost opens his mouth to say something, not really—you’re too busy pretending the window’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever looked at in your life. 

The thing is, Sunghoon remembers that night enough for the two of you. 

He remembers it in a way that makes him want to claw it out of his own head. The way your voice had gone small, how your fingers had curled weakly around his arm, how you’d leaned into him like you used to before everything went to hell, and how you’d whispered that you miss him into the crook of his neck like you’d been holding it on the tip of your tongue this whole time.

And it had gutted him, sure, but not in the way you’d think. It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t sad—it was anger tearing through him. Because even drunk, even out of your mind, you still managed to sink your teeth into the one part of him he’d killed off years ago. He wanted to say a million cruel things—to throw it all back at you, to make you feel the same sick heat that had been rotting in his chest since that night. 

But you didn’t seem to remember.

So he let it go and told himself it was better this way. That it would be easier for you to hate him if you never remembered, and easier for him to hate you even more if you did.

But anyway, you shoved your earbuds in and continued to stare hard out the window as the engines started rumbling. You felt him glance your way once—maybe twice—but you don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you noticed. You shift against the window, fold your arms, and will yourself to sleep.

When you finally drift off, your head tips slightly toward him.

He doesn’t move.

Not for a long time.

FRIDAY NOON

The hard part, for most of it, was over.

Well. Not really. But at least you’d somehow already gotten through the ribbon cutting—the cameras, the press, and all the polite laughter and smiling that made your cheeks ache. 

The two of you had barely spoken after the plane ride, and the car ride from the airport to the hotel had been so painfully silent you’d felt bad that Ningning had to sit through it. You almost considered talking to him just so the poor girl wouldn’t have to suffer in there. 

Almost.

You walked beside Sunghoon while the hotel director—who was practically bowing every time Sunghoon opened his mouth—showed you around. He went on about where the guests would come in for the event later tonight, how the dinner would be set up, where the photographers would stand, and a bunch of other things you didn’t really wanna know. Honestly, you’d stopped pretending to pay attention halfway through. 

The stale politeness of everyone trying too hard to impress Sunghoon, seeing as he is here in his father’s stead, makes you want to crack your head against the nearest wall just to feel something real. That’s the whole reason you were sent here in the first place. Mr. fucking Park couldn’t oversee the grand opening of his own godforsaken hotel because of some last-minute business elsewhere, and that left Sunghoon and, of course, you.

The tour he was giving you had gone down toward the main lounge to a wide open space just off the lobby where a handful of investors and partners had already gathered for drinks and light refreshments. So that’s where you are right now.

You’d already had to talk to so many men that you’d lost count, and every single one of them somehow managed to make you feel worse than the last. All you wanted was to sit down somewhere quiet and take these goddamn heels off somewhere—anywhere but here—anywhere that didn’t make you feel like a fucking display piece beside him.

You were already at your limit, and the day hasn’t even properly started.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was doing just fine. Too fine. To the point where it actually pissed you off (like every other thing he did.) Seeing him all polished and well-spoken like this, you’d almost forget the filth and cruelty that could come out of his mouth when it was just the two of you. 

For just a second there, your mind almost drifted somewhere else… back to a time where you hadn’t even thought he was capable of ever being cruel entirely, but you shook your head and stopped yourself before it went too far.

Anyway, point being, you were about one more bit of small talk over a champagne flute away from losing your fucking mind.

“Your father must be proud,” says one of the international partners—who looks like he’s in his mid-fifties—loud enough to pull you out of your thoughts. His wedding ring looks like it hasn’t been worn with love in years, and you already hate him. But he’s important, which means you have to be nice, even if the sight of his hungry eyes lingering on you longer than necessary makes you want to hurl your guts out. “You’re so young and already carry yourself with such poise and intellect, and I’m sure you’ll make a fine successor soon enough. Especially with a beautiful wife like that by your side.”

Beautiful. That’s all you get.  

Meanwhile, you’d think Sunghoon built the whole goddamn hotel with his bare hands with how they’ve been praising him ever since you set foot into this building. It’s actually getting ridiculous.

You can feel yourself being made smaller and smaller with every passing minute—and the main part of you worth acknowledging in this room is the fact that you’re here with him. 

And fucking hell, the way these men look at you is so fucking invasive to the point where you want to crawl out of your own skin just to escape it—or better yet, shove your half-empty champagne glass into the eye of the next man old enough to be your father who looks at you like you’re some kind of toy or something.

You come from a family that built entire industries, and your father alone could buy out half the men in this room and still sleep just fine at night. They all know it, too. They just choose to forget the second they look at you. And it’s fucking driving you insane… because you’ve spent your whole life trying to be taken seriously, learning and doing things most people your age wouldn’t even know how to ask about, let alone think of—to prove that you actually belong in the world you’ve been born into. But it doesn’t actually matter, does it? Not when all they see is a neckline and a pretty face standing next to a better suit and tie.

“And Mrs. Park,” the man turns to you with a creepy grin that makes your stomach actually twist in disgust, “You are quite the vision, such a fine accessory for such a fine gentleman.”

Well.

If you’ve learned anything this past week, it’s that it can, in fact, always get worse. 

The fact that he called you an accessory is surprisingly not even the worst part about the filth that just left his mouth—it’s the Mrs. Park attached to it ever so casually—and it’s about… exactly the fifth time that has happened ever since you landed in Japan… You two weren’t even fucking married whatsoever. No, seriously, what the fuck is everyone’s problem? You truly only exist in relation to him in this fucking building. Do they know who you are?

You consider going off script and actually responding to him—maybe to ask if he plans on actually addressing you directly or just through your proximity to the stupid, putrid asshole beside you, maybe to even tell him to go to fucking hell and stop eyeing you in a way that is making your skin prickle with anger and humiliation—but you don’t get the chance.

Because suddenly, he’s speaking.

“Ah, Mr. Nakamura—She’s not Mrs. Park,” Sunghoon says, all too easily and politely, as he lifts his champagne to his lips and takes a slow sip, then, after a moment, he adds, “Not yet, anyway.”

Your mouth might’ve dropped open a little bit, but you catch it. Sort of. You try to recover and force a small, polite smile that feels like it doesn’t belong on your face. 

He goes on, “My apologies, I seem to have forgotten to properly introduce her. This is Y/N Y/L/N. Daughter of Chairman Y/L/N of Han Empire—surely you’re familiar?”

That gets him. The man blinks and his smile falters nervously, and you can almost taste the awkwardness in the air.  

Sunghoon’s mouth curls into a practiced smile as the man in front of him eyes him with surprise, and a clear apologetic look. “She actually laid the foundation of the entire PR direction for this launch herself and balances a full course load at university on top of that,” he adds and sets his champagne down. “If you knew half the things she’s capable of, you’d know I’m the accessory here.”

Huh?

For a second, it almost hit something soft in you—something that makes you think of your father, the way he’d always step in for your mother when men like this used to do the same thing. The quiet, dignified way he’d shield her without making her feel small.

But you know better than to mistake what Sunghoon just did for that.

It’s not about you. It will never be about you. And you don’t want it to be.

It’s only ever about optics for him. He’s made sure to remind you of that time and time again.

And you really, really hate that you needed someone else to speak for you at all—especially him—when you’ve never once felt small in rooms like this before.

The man nods and laughs a little too loudly, and then he does the whole “Oh, of course! Your father is such a blah blah blah; your family is blah blah routine," as he finally reaches out to shake your hand properly. But you barely register it. All you can see is Sunghoon and his infuriating smug face, and the way he lifts his champagne toward you with that faint smirk tugging at his mouth. Then the man in front of you excuses himself a moment later, muttering something you couldn’t quite understand before slipping back into the crowd. 

And just like that, it’s only you and Sunghoon again for the first time since the airplane.

You look at him again, and he’s still looking at you with the same smirk plastered on his stupid face. You consider slapping it off for a second—just to do something with all this pent-up anger bubbling in your chest. But instead, you take a smooth step closer, your arm brushing his as you lean in—close enough that anyone walking past would think you were whispering something sweet to your boyfriend.

“Are you fucking enjoying this?” you say through your teeth. 

Sunghoon’s smile doesn’t even falter. “Who said I’m enjoying this, sweetheart?” he murmurs back, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Stop that—it’s written all over your face,” you say flatly, still smiling as you watch people pass you by. “You look like you’re having the fucking time of your life.”

He doesn’t respond right away and only studies you with that unreadable look of his before saying, “Tsk. You think I like standing here listening to them talk like that? To speak to them about you?”

Fucking prick.

“Then don’t fucking speak. I don’t need you to speak for me,” you murmur after a moment, still keeping your face pleasant. “And you can keep your stupid compliments to yourself. I’m capable of introducing myself just fine.”

You barely register the movement until you feel the light pressure of his hand sliding around your waist again—his touch is warm. Too warm. It settles at your hip like it belongs there, pulling you in just enough that from across the room, you probably look like you’re in love.

You feel sick.

“You sure?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes your ear. “Because the last five times they called you Mrs. Park, you just stood there and smiled like a good little wife.”

Your fingers tighten around your champagne glass as you turn to face him, and you’re so close it’s almost ridiculous—to the point where you can see the media training assistants in your head with your eyes going wide—close enough to feel his breath when he speaks. You consider shoving him off, but there are entirely too many people around for that.

“Okay,” you say, too sweetly, and give him a very ridiculous mocking smile. “Next time they say it, I’ll just shove this fucking champagne glass up their asses, then. No—seriously, what the fuck did you want me to do? Ridicule your name in front of your father’s precious investors? Hey! Maybe I should even tell them that we’re not even a—”you mouth the word couple.“—Like a real good little wife.” 

He smiles at a couple walking past and lifts his hand to gently adjust a strand of hair falling over your shoulder. 

You stay frozen.

Then he dips his head even lower until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Maybe just try growing a spine instead,” he murmurs. “You talk big when it’s me, but the second someone else speaks over you, you just stand there and take it.”

This fucking asshole. You were actually at your limit.

“You’re one to talk about spines, Sunghoon,” you snap, though still composed. “You don’t even have a fucking backbone—”

You stop yourself immediately.

Because what you’d almost absentmindedly said was you ran away from me for three years. You avoided me like I was nothing. Like I hadn’t meant anything. Like we never—you clench your jaw, swallowing it all down so hard it makes your throat burn. You hate your brain; you truly, truly, do.

He brushes his fingers just slightly over your waist and leans in again with that same smug fucking smirk. “Don’t get shy,” he murmurs. “What is it you wanted to say about me and my backbone? Hmm?”

“Fuck off,” you whisper, your voice still sugarcoated in a smile, as if you’re teasing. Like you’re flirting. Like you’re normal. “And get your fucking hands off me.”

But he doesn’t move. He just looks right at you.

It feels like the entire room has shrunk down to just the space between you.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” he mutters under his breath after a beat and catches you off guard. “You turn everything into a fucking moral standpoint and take it personally. It’s fucking exhausting.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re such a fucking—”

“Careful,” he interrupts and squeezes your waist enough to make you hiss for a moment—he’s smiling wider now and whispering right into your ear. “We’re in public.”

You step aside a bit, and then your hand moves down to where his hand is on your waist, and you try to brush it off subtly, but he tightens his grip and keeps it there. 

You just stare at him.

“The whole point of us being here is to sell the image that we’re a strong couple,” he goes on smoothly. “That just now? I didn’t do it to defend you. I couldn't care less what they call you.”

“Right,” you scoff. “God forbid I ever forget what a gentleman you are.”

But he doesn’t stop. He goes on. 

“I wouldn’t even waste a breath if the circumstances were different,” he says, and pauses—just for a second—when a waiter steps in between you to quietly take his empty champagne glass. He’s smiling like his jaw aches from holding something worse back when he whispers to you, “But unfortunately, as long as they think we’re a couple—” he tilts his head just a fraction, “you’re my responsibility. So shut up and take it.”

Like fucking hell he could talk to you like that. 

You shake your head and laugh lowly. “Get right with God today, because I’m going to kill you—”

“Tsk,” he interrupts, smiling wider now, whispering right into your ear. “Again, people are watching. Be a good girl, Hmm?”

You’re about to open your mouth and tell him not to ever call you that again if he wants to live to see another day—

“Sunghoon?”

A soft voice comes from in front of the two of you, and for a second before your mind even registers it, a decayed pit reopens in your stomach. 

And then you look up, and it’s her.

“Sooha,” Sunghoon greets her, and you feel the way his hand loosens around your waist. The sound of her name still makes something in you go tight, just like it used to when you were seventeen. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I,” Sooha smiles at Sunghoon as she walks towards the two of you and ignores you entirely. “I heard Mr. Park couldn’t make it, so I thought—well, it had to be you filling in. It’s been so long… well, a few months. But still!”

Right. This is the part where you go back in your head. Well… You’ve been in here the whole day. Anyways, did she just say I thought it’d be you filling in? Pfft. Liar. Your joint appearance was all over the news.

Wait. A few months? 

Your teeth catch the inside of your cheek. You don’t know why that small addition makes something inside you burn. Maybe it’s the tone… how she said it like she wants you to know something you don’t. Or that she knows something she shouldn’t.

Sunghoon smiles softly, and your nails absentmindedly dig into your palms again. “Yeah. It really has been a while.”

You don’t miss the way she’s still pretending you don’t exist. You can see it written all over her—the pointed glances, the deliberate tone, and the small tilt of her head when she speaks only to him. The fuck? Are we seventeen again? As if you have time for this fucking bullshit right now. 

Doesn’t matter if she ignored you or not, because you and Sooha have always been on opposite ends of the room, even when you weren’t—God, you really thought you were over this. All this ancient, dried-up, pathetic bullshit that makes your stomach turn inside out, all because of some night when you were seventeen and stupid and too young to know that there are some memories that stick in your ribs forever.

Not that you care. You don’t care. It was forever ago. It was before anything—before everything, actually. Just a party, a door left half-open, someone moaning, and then you, standing dumb and frozen, watching Sooha’s leg slide over Sunghoon’s hip while he kissed her neck like he meant it. You remember thinking you should leave, or maybe just set yourself on fire in front of them to burn their eyes the same way. Instead, you frantically apologized and stormed out like an idiot, and Sunghoon chased you down the hall—tripping over his own shoes, saying your name like he owed you something when he didn’t really, like he even had anything to explain in the first place.

You had your first proper ugly fight that night. The first of way too many. He was red-faced and breathless, and you were crying so hard you couldn’t breathe, and you swore you’d never think about it again. And you hadn’t until now.

(You are, obviously, an adult. It does not matter. You are not mad. You do not care.)

And the worst part? Even before that night, even before any of it, Sooha always had a way of making you feel… small. This wasn’t even really about him. She never had to say much (though, God help you, she did)—just the way she’d look at you, the tilt of her chin, the mocking laughter at anything you said like you’d said something weird, and all the sly little digs you’d pretend not to hear because you like to think you’re above passive-aggressive childish shit. All in all, She’d been making you feel out of place since the day you met her, always so amused at your expense. 

Then—Sunghoon’s hand tightens again at your waist, just slightly, but it’s enough to pull you a little closer to him and out of your thoughts, and you immediately see Sooha’s gaze drop to where his hand rests against you and then back up to your face. You also don’t miss the way her smile twitches for a moment.

She lets out a breathy laugh. “Ah, Sunghoon-ah… you were always one for public displays of affection.” Sooha shakes her head a little as if she’s recalling a memory fondly. “Oh, sorry—where are my manners?” (Have you ever had any? You think.) “I guess congratulations are finally in order for you two.” Then she actually turns to you with amusement and a wide smile, like you’ve only just materialized beside him. “Y/N, it’s so nice to see you again. I almost didn’t recognize you without your glasses—you look so different.”

Here we go… 

You didn’t even wear your glasses that often for her to be saying that. Like you actually can’t remember the last time you’d worn them publicly yourself. 

You bite down on a scoff. “You too, Sooha. You look exactly the same,” you say, smiling ever so politely. “Lovely as always.” 

Her eyes dart between the two of you, and you can tell she has a million things she wants to say. She settles for, “You two seem… happy,” and you can practically hear the mocking punctuation on it.

Sunghoon holds you just a little tighter, and he looks at you for a brief moment. “We are,” he says, and caresses the side of your waist gently. Then he turns back to Sooha and clears his throat. “How’s your father doing?”

Sooha turns back to him, and her expression immediately softens in a way only you could ever tell. “Oh, he’s good. Busy, as always. I’m mostly here on his behalf—he still insists on doing everything himself, but he’s finally realizing he’s not thirty anymore.” She laughs softly, brushing her hair back. “He was just telling me about the last time you came to Tokyo with him. That must’ve been, what… two years ago now?”

“Three,” Sunghoon corrects, and he’s still smiling, and you hate the way that smile of his hits you like a punch. It’s easy. Soft. Effortless. Familiar. Too familiar and not familiar all at once.

Sooha laughs again. “God, I remember that trip too,” she touches his arm lightly as she says it, her fingers just barely grazing the fabric of his sleeve, like she has every right to. “You and my brother got into that ridiculous argument over dinner—what was it even about again?”

Sunghoon didn’t pull away from her touch.

“I just remember getting very drunk, to be honest,” he says, a small grin tugging at his mouth as he shakes his head. “Your brother wouldn’t let it go for days.”

“And he still refuses to tell me what you’d rambled about that night!” she laughs again, and you almost scrunch your face to mock her. 

What the hell do you look like just standing here? It just pisses you off even more—obviously because you’re exhausted—and you keep your chin up and let them talk or catch up or whatever… this was. 

You’re just tired. That’s all.

Sooha glances at his hand on your waist again before looking back up at him. “No, but seriously, Sunghoon, I’m so happy for the two of you,” she smirks, and you can tell she’s about to say something diabolically passive-aggressive by the look on her face. “Didn’t actually think you had it in you to settle down.”

There it is. 

You can’t help it—your fingers curl around his sleeve and you tug him even closer. You don’t even give a fuck, really. It’s the principle of it—the way she thinks she can talk like that, like she’s the one standing on higher ground. Especially after the day you’ve had.

You smile sweetly at her. “He’s full of surprises,” you say.

You’re fucking tired, you think again. That’s what this was about. No fucking way are you taking this from her, too. Though honestly, maybe you should. Poor girl. Maybe you should let her have it. Let her hold onto whatever scraps she’s grasping for. Because that’s all this is, isn’t it? A sad little reach for something that doesn’t exist anymore. You all left that behind a long time ago.

“Not that surprising, honestly,” Sooha murmurs almost to herself, swirling the champagne in her glass.

Just about why was she still here, exactly? 

It’s hard to tell if she meant that as a compliment or a dig, but at this point you don’t care enough to figure it out. Your head is pounding, your toe’s throbbing in your heel, and you’ve been so good all fucking day. 

You’re allowed one slip.

“Ah—we have a busy night ahead,” you coo softly, turning to Sunghoon. “We should get going. Haven’t even had the chance to freshen up upstairs yet, right, Hoonie?”

The nickname drips from your tongue like venom dressed as sugar, and it takes everything in you not to burst out in laughter at the way Sooha’s expression twists—and just how silly you actually felt—and you feel Sunghoon tense beside you.

You turn to look at him and he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out.

He licks his lips. “Right,” he says and smiles mockingly at you—which, to Sooha might seem genuine, but you know it too well to mistake it for anything sweet—then his eyes flick over to Sooha and he tips his head towards you, “She gets cranky if I keep her waiting too long,” then he looks back at you. “Wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetheart?”

Piece of shit. (To be fair—again—you started it.)

You turn back to see Sooha’s smile gone entirely as her eyes flicker between the two of you. A win is a win.

“Of course,” she says, stepping back. “Don’t let me keep you. It was… nice seeing you both.”

You hum, lips curving into a tight smile. “Oh, it was so nice seeing you.”

Sunghoon nods once, gaze flicking between the two of you. “I’m sure I’ll see him later—but send your father my regards,” he says. “It was good seeing you.”

Sooha reaches out again, resting her hand on his arm—slower this time. “You too. Really.” Then her eyes cut back to you and her smile is syrupy-sweet and all too fake. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Y/N.”

This time, Sunghoon shifts away from her touch.

You mirror her smile and take a sip from your champagne. “Oh, we will.”

The second Sooha turns her back and disappears into the crowd, you move without thinking. You grab Sunghoon’s hand where it’s still resting at your waist—and this time, you don’t care who’s watching—and shove it off.

He barely flinches, but when you look up at him, his expression is… unpleasant. His nostrils flare once, and you can tell he’s pissed. 

Good. That makes two of you.

Though pissed doesn’t even begin to cover how you’re feeling right now.

“Don’t ever,” you start, voice just low enough for only him to hear, “fucking touch me again.”

You don’t wait for a response. You just turn on your heel and start walking. You can hear him follow almost immediately, his shoes clicking against the marble floor just behind yours.

“Y/N,” he says roughly.

You don’t turn around. You don’t even slow down. You just keep walking.

“Y/N.”

This time it comes out even sharper, and you’re just about to turn and tell him to fuck off when a voice distracts you again—though this time it’s the hotel director, and he’s coming toward you.

“Ah! There you two are! Mr. Park, Miss Y/L/N—everything’s been arranged upstairs,” the hotel director says as he steps forward, bowing politely with a nervous smile. Ningning is right beside him, tablet in hand, eyes darting between you and Sunghoon. “The staff will begin closing preparations here soon, so you’re welcome to head up and rest before the event. We’ll notify you once the final checks are complete and preparations start—we will be on standby should you need any assistance in the meantime.”

Ningning smiles and adds quickly. “The event starts in five hours, so you’ll have some time to rest before then and before the photographers arrive.”

You force a small smile that doesn’t touch your eyes. “Perfect,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” The director bows slightly, then gestures toward the elevators. “Please—this way.”

HOTEL ROOM

The suite is bright and cold and perfect.

Of course it was. Everything under the Park name always was. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, the skyline glinting beneath the faint layer of rain that had started to fall. There was a long couch by the window, beige and perfectly arranged. A tray on the desk held a bottle of champagne in ice, with two glasses neatly and beautifully placed next to it like it was waiting for someone to celebrate something worth celebrating, and a folded card with Park Group’s crest embossed in gold.

And then there was the bed.

It looks like a goddamn honeymoon spread. Ridiculous rose petals are carefully scattered — though still elegant and simple — across the blanket, and there are two perfectly folded robes waiting on the armchair.

You can almost hear the universe laughing at you.

You stood still for a second. “There’s one fucking bed,” you huff to no one in particular.

Sunghoon barely glances at you. “Yeah?” He sounds bored. “So?”

What the hell does he mean by that? So? So?

You glance at the couch by the window. It’s long, sure, but not long enough for a man his size. A part of you almost wants to tell him to enjoy breaking his neck trying to fit on it.

You scoff. “So, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

He follows your gaze. He seems to have come to the same conclusion as you, because he lets out a short, humorless laugh. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” you snap.

“I’m not.”

You ignore him and walk over to the bed, staring at the stupid petals lined up on it. “Actually, no, forget it. I’m getting another room.” You turn toward the door again, because there’s no way in hell you’re sleeping on that bed in the same fucking room as him. “You can enjoy your lover’s suite or whatever the hell this is—”

“And how the fuck do you think that’s gonna look?” he cuts you off. 

You turn around with your brows furrowed. “Like I want another fucking room!”

He leans against the desk and rolls his sleeves up. “You really think you can walk up to the front desk and ask for another room when half the staff already thinks we’re married, Mrs. Park?” He tilts his head, voice low, and you flinch at the way he called you that. “You want that story getting around before they’ve even finished setting up the ballroom downstairs for tonight? Huh?”

“I don’t care how it looks,” you sneer. “And don’t call me that.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. You say that now.”

See, the thing is, you wanted to argue. You really did. But you couldn’t. Because you knew he was right. And you obviously weren’t going to get another room… you just— you just… you don’t know anything anymore.

You swallow back the first response that comes to mind. But then you remember you don’t have to pretend anymore. 

“You’re such a dick,” you mutter.

He hums. “You’ve said that before.”

“Yeah, well,” you shoot back, "I'll say it again. And again. And again. You’re a dick.” you glance at the bed again and then point to the left side of it. “You’re a fucking dick, and you’re staying on your side of the fucking room.”

He lifts a brow. “Wasn’t planning otherwise.”

“Good,” you bite.

“Great,” he huffs back.

Then he shrugs off his jacket, and the mattress dips under his weight as he sits down on the bed—the petals shifting slightly where he leans back on his hands.

You stand there for another few seconds, watching him, and then you raise a brow.

The hell is he playing at?

“Get the fuck out,” you hiss.

Sunghoon groans and drags a hand down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ, will you just shut up for one second?”

“I’m serious,” you say, “Get the fuck out of this room.”

He looks up at you slowly, like you’re being ridiculous. “I’m not getting out.”

Your nostrils flare. “I’m not joking, Sunghoon.”

He clicks his tongue. “Think I’m joking?”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, pacing a few steps away just so you don’t throw something at him. You stop by the window, breathing hard, trying to remember the last time you didn’t feel like you were about to explode. Then you turn back to him. “I want to shower.”

He finally looks up properly, an eyebrow raised. “So?”

“So?” you mock him. “So! stop saying so, you bitch! so get the fuck out, that’s what! You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m showering with you in here.”

He grins faintly. It’s nothing short of twisted. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You let out a sharp laugh that doesn’t sound like one at all. “Oh, go fuck yourself. Do you think this is funny?”

He finally looks at you properly then—really looks. His head tilts, eyes narrowing a fraction, voice calm in that infuriating way of his. “I think you’re losing your shit over a hotel room.”

Oh, okay.

You feel something in you start to snap — that thin thread you’d been holding onto all day, through the flight, through the car ride over here, through Sooha and her smug little smile, the exhaustion, the demeaning conversations, the pretending, and the way he gets under your skin so easily. The whole fucking day. The whole fucking year. 

It all spills out at once. 

“Over a hotel room?” you repeat, disbelief twisting your mouth into something that’s not quite a smile. “You—” you take a step closer, jabbing a finger toward him, “—don’t get to tell me what I’m losing my shit over, do you fucking understand? you have no idea how I’m fucking feeling—you’re just—” You stop, breath catching halfway through, hands trembling at your sides. “You’re just—”

He rises slowly from the bed, and that stupid, unreadable expression drops from his face. He’s looking at you now, properly looking, and it’s infuriating—because he’s looking over your shoulder like he’s bored.

“Go on,” he says quietly, and the calm in his voice is the kind that makes your teeth grind. “Finish it.”

“Forget it.”

He takes a step closer. “No. Say it.”

Your pulse thuds in your throat. “I said forget it.”

Another step. He is close enough that you can see the faint line where he pins his tongue to the roof of his mouth when he thinks. “You don’t get to start and not finish,” he says.

His face is so blank, so infuriatingly composed. That smug, patronizing calm of his. That same look he wears when he thinks he’s right. You feel heat rush up your neck. You want to scream. You want to slap it off his fucking face.

“You think I’m losing my shit over a hotel room?” you say, voice rising. “You think this is about a fucking bed?” you shove him very hard then, and the contact jolts through your arm. “You want me to fucking finish it?” you spit. “Fine. I’ll fucking finish it.”

You don’t even give him time to react.

“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in this room with you. I don’t want to be doing this fake—whatever the fuck this is. I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to keep pretending like everything’s fine when I feel like I’m losing my mind every time you so much as look at me!”

He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, and for a second he looks almost bored.

Then he gestures with the faintest lift of his chin at the bed, at the ridiculous petals, at the robes folded like an invitation. “You think I wanted to do this?” he snaps, and the vein in his neck ticks. “You think I signed up for this bullshit so I could spend a weekend in a honeymoon suite getting bitched at every ten seconds?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want and don’t want,” you bite back, and your throat burns. You don’t even know if you’re making sense anymore, but the words keep coming, tumbling out before you can stop them, then you jab a finger at him, “And you shut the fuck up. I’m talking.”

He clenches his jaw. “Don’t fucking tell me to shut up.”

“I just did,” you scowl. “Shut. Up.”

“Y/N,” he warns.

You step forward, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Shut up.” Another jab. “Shut up.” One more, harder this time. “Shut. Up.”

“Stop it—”

“No, you stop it!” you snap, and it’s even louder.  “I’m so tired of pretending! And it’s only… This is our first fucking bullshit trip together! I don’t want to sit next to you and smile and act like everything’s fine when it’s not. I don’t want to do it anymore. Today was… Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk into a room and feel people sizing you up like you’re not even a person?”

You press your palms flat to your thighs because you cannot keep your hands still. “I don’t want to step inside a room where I feel so fucking uncomfortable I can’t even breathe. Where people look at me like I’m just a body to stand beside you. Like I’m not—” Your voice shakes, and you force the last word out. “Like I’m not me.”

For a second, all you can hear is the sound of your own heartbeat.

He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, and when he opens them there is an expression you have only seen a few times before—an unimpressed amusement that looks exactly like someone watching a child have a tantrum. It makes something ugly crawl under your skin all the more.

“Done?”

You stare at him, shaking. You can’t tell if you want to laugh or scream. You let out a sound that’s somewhere in between, shaking your head because—really? That’s still all he has to say?

You shove him again without thinking. This time you put everything into it and he actually really stumbles back and his foot catches on the edge of the rug. He blinks—looks surprised—then annoyed, then the annoyance melts into something small and close to a smile that he poorly tries to hide.

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you spit, chest heaving. 

His voice drops to a whisper so low you almost miss it. “You’re so angry you don’t even know what you’re angry at anymore.”

You glare at him.

“You.”

A beat passes.

“You. Always you,” you huff.

“Then get it out of your system,” he says. 

You scoff. “What?”

“All of it,” he shrugs, tone maddeningly calm. “Say everything else. Go on. There’s more.” 

For a moment you wonder if he’s fucking serious, and anger floods you again, hotter and more precise—and your hands ball into fists so hard your knuckles whiten. Your nails dig into your palms and the sting grounds you for a moment. 

“You’re not worth the fucking breath anymore,” you snap, because if you keep going, you’re going to spiral, and you know it, and if you spiral, you’re going to do something very fucking stupid, and you can’t—

“Oh, really?” he cuts in quietly. “That why you played house so well downstairs? Acting like some clingy little girlfriend in front of—”

“Acting!” You cut in before he can finish. “Yes! Acting!” You shove him—hard, all over again—because you can’t stand his face for another second. He barely stumbles this time, and it pisses you off even more. “Because I have to act! You said it yourself—we have to keep up appearances. We have to sell the fucking story.”

You can hear yourself getting louder, but you can’t stop. “But the second it’s not some old man eyeing me like he wants to fuck me—” you jab a shaking finger into his chest, “—the second your dick gets wet, I’m wrong? That’s where you draw the line? Why the fuck are you angry?”

“Maybe I am angry,” he spits. “Maybe I’m fucking furious. Maybe I want to shake you until you get it through your thick skull that none of this matters. That none of them matter. That you—” He stops, veins ticking in his neck. “God, you make me so fucking mad.”

Before you can shove him again, he grabs your wrists—both hands locking around them tight. The sound that leaves you isn’t quite a gasp, not quite a curse, just something raw that dies halfway in your throat. You look down at his hands around your wrists, then up at him. 

And it’s stupid how close you are. 

And it’s even more stupid how the room instantly shrinks down to the two of you and the rain and the stupid spread of rose petals on a bed neither of you will sleep on, and a simmering heat pooling in your chest since God knows when.

You can feel his breath. You can feel your pulse in your throat and in your wrists and under your skin, pounding loud and fast. And for one dizzy second, you can’t tell if you want to hit him or just—

You want to. God, you want to—

You wrench your hands out of his grip and reach for his shirt. He startles, glancing down at your fingers fumbling at the first button, then back at you with his brows knit together.

His eyes drop to your hand, then back up to your face. “What the fuck are you doing? Stop—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, still pulling at the button. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Y/N—”

“Shut up.”

He grabs your wrist again, tighter this time, like he’s trying to get control of the situation before it slips entirely out of his hands, but you’re done playing this game by halves, and you don’t stop. You yank back, teeth clenched, and the button snaps clean off and hits the floor somewhere between you.

“You don’t want this,” he says.

You don’t think. You just try to move. 

You twist out of his hold completely. “Don’t fucking tell me what I want.”

And before he can say anything, before he can do that thing he always does where he looks at you with that goddamn expression like you’re a child losing control, your hands move again and you grab at the rest of the buttons and RIIIIIIIPPPP—the fabric splits under your hands, buttons flying across the carpet. His shirt hangs open, his chest rising hard under the mess of it, and your hands are still trembling where they hover between you.

You grab the shirt again, this time just to hold on to something, but he moves faster and grabs you back — both hands wrapping around your arms and holding you in place.

And then he pushes you.

Not gently, not playfully, not like he’s teasing—no. He drives you back with force, and your shoulders hit the wall behind you, a thud echoing through the room as you suck in a breath and gasp from the impact—and you just stare at him, and the way he’s looking at you now with his gaze so dark and unreadable feeds into something simmering low and hungry in your chest. 

His eyes drag down once, taking in his shirt and your furious expression, and then back up to your face. 

He clicks his tongue and his voice drops just enough to make your skin crawl. “Fucking brat.” 

His breath fans hot across your skin. “Go shower,” he mutters after a beat, and his grip loosens on you. “We’re done here.”

Done? Right.

You breathe out a bitter, humorless laugh, because you just can’t help it. Your whole body feels like it’s about to snap in half from the tension. “What?” you push, and his own words tumble out of your mouth before you can think better of it. “Afraid to blow off some fucking steam? Think it might mean something?”

He exhales hard and finally lets go of you, and his jaw is clenched, and it looks like he’s trying not to say something he’ll regret. You can hardly breathe anymore, but you laugh again — lower this time, and you shake your head.

“You’re so fucking soft and pathetic.” you huff, “Go then. Get the fuck out.”

That’s when it happens. 

His whole face stills. His expression doesn’t change right away, not completely — just a flicker of something in his eyes, something dark and dangerous, and then everything in him shifts. 

His gaze drops to your lips again, but this time slower. Then to your throat. And then his own bare chest where his ruined shirt still hangs open.

He looks back up at you and you don’t even give him a second to think about it (like everything else that has happened in the last few minutes); (you don’t even think of it yourself, really.) 

You just want somewhere to put all of this anger—you just need—

You grab a full fistful of his hair roughly and yank him closer, dragging his mouth down toward yours like you’re daring him to do something, anything, just react, just stop pretending he doesn’t want to tear this entire room down.

But he doesn’t kiss you.

He grabs your face and keeps you from moving another inch.

He cups your cheeks, fingers splayed wide, firm but careful—careful like he’s trying not to hurt you or something and it only makes you angrier, more desperate, because he always does this, always pulls back right when you need him to break.

He holds you there and keeps you still, staring at you, and your breathing is uneven while his chest is also rising fast—his hand tightening a little where it cradles your jaw. 

Your lips are so close they’re practically touching. 

You could lean in the smallest bit and close the distance. 

You could ruin everything.

So you do.

You lean in — you’re right there, so close you can feel his hot breath — but before you can actually close the distance, his grip on your jaw tightens even further, and he stops you with nothing more than that — his fingers pressing into your cheeks, his thumb under your chin, forcing you to look at him. You can feel the tremor in his hand as his gaze burns into you, and for a second neither of you move.

Then—

You don’t even know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it was both of you at the same time… But suddenly—

You’re kissing.

It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. No, it’s anything but soft. It’s not the kind of kiss you ease into slowly. It crashes into you like a fucking truck, all teeth and breath and heat and hands. His mouth slants over yours like he’s trying to prove something, and you kiss him back like it’s the last goddamn thing you’ll ever do. Your hands go to his shoulders, his neck, his arm, and his chest—clawing, grabbing, grounding. His hands drop to your waist and he pulls you closer, his fingers twitching and splaying out across you like he doesn’t know what to hold onto first.

You gasp into him and he groans against your mouth—a filthy sound that vibrates through your whole body, and it only makes you want more. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and then you nip back at his—harder, and he just groans again and pushes you harder into the wall.

It’s too much.

And not even close to being enough.

You tug at his hair and drag his head back with your grip so he’s forced to look at you, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and hungry. His chest heaves once, twice, and for a split second, neither of you move as you look at each other through your heavy breathing… It’s all so… The way he looks… His mouth is parted, his breath is hot, and he’s staring at you like he’s about to do something stupid.

So he kisses you again, and somehow, it’s messier than the first.

It’s even rougher, more desperate, and you’re barely holding yourself upright with how fast it’s all happening, hands roughly clawing at his shoulders to stay grounded again, to keep him close, pull him in closer until you’re practically one, and then suddenly he’s also properly grabbing you. His hands slide down your waist — rough and very fast — until he grips the backs of your thighs, then your ass, and he hoists you up like you weigh absolutely nothing. Your back hits the wall again—harder this time, and you wrap your legs around him to lock him in place.

You’re not thinking.

You moan into his mouth before you can stop yourself, the sound sharp and high and embarrassingly fucking loud—and he responds with a groan so deep in his chest it rumbles through both of you.

“Fucking slut,” he groans against your mouth, “Couldn’t even hold this in, huh?” His hand shifts lower and grips tighter at your thigh—hard enough to make you hiss out of pain—and his lips brush messily along your jaw, right up to your ear. “We just got into the fucking room. This what all that was about? The screaming, the shoving, the bullshit? You’re needy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you pant, and drag his hair again and pulling him in until his mouth is on yours again. “Stop talking.”

You bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him grunt, and you feel the sound vibrate through his chest and into your mouth—so rough and low and so fucking good you want to do it again and again and again. Then he pulls back just a few inches and his lip is still caught in between your teeth—and you drag it out slowly until he shoves you back and slips it free.

“No. You stop talking. You’re fucking done with your cute little attempts of telling me what to do,” he growls. “You listen to me now.”

You’re not proud of it, but you actually almost moan at the sound of his voice when he says it and how he says it. It’s like… you almost feel giddy? What the fuck is happening?

And fuck… he looks infuriatingly fucking good like this. Face flushed. Hair absolutely ruined from your hands. Muscular chest rising hard beneath the wreck of his open shirt. His lips are so, so red and wet.

You manage to slide (well, not exactly slide… really, you shoved it off very hard) his shirt off before he can stop you, your hands rough and clumsy, pulling it down his shoulders until the fabric slips off completely and lands somewhere on the floor. His skin is hot under your palms—chest muscular and bare—and you barely have a second to breathe before you’re reaching (or trying) for his belt even quicker, angry fingers.

But before you can properly even touch it, he drops you and you yelp.

His fingers wrap around your wrists and he shoves them up above your head, pressing them flat against the wall.

“You really think you get to do that?” he practically growls. His grip tightens when you try to wiggle free. “Think you can touch me whenever you want?”

You whine—terribly frustrated because your body is lit up and aching and you don’t know what to do with all of it. “Just take your fucking clothes off,” you snap, and it comes out almost like a plea, but you refuse to let it sound like one, so you quickly add, “Don’t be fucking boring. You know what I want.”

He laughs under his breath. “Ask nicely,” he whispers, slow and taunting. “And I’ll think about it. Think.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You just want to get fucked.

“Don’t fucking start this bullshit with me again.” You try to yank your wrists down, but he’s stronger and you know it and that only makes you angrier and hornier. “I swear to god, Sunghoon, if you turn this into some stupid power trip—”

He cuts in with a low laugh. “Power trip?” His breath brushes your mouth just enough to make you chase his lips without meaning to. “You think you’ve had a single second of control since you walked in here? Since anything?”

You don’t say anything. Can’t, really. 

He leans even closer—lips hovering just shy of yours—eyes half-lidded. “Go on then,” he murmurs. “Keep talking. You like running that mouth? Use it properly. Let’s see if you can still talk when I’m done with you.”

It’s kind of embarrassing how close you are to whimpering, how your whole body is already leaning toward him like you’ve forgotten how to stand on your own. Every inch of you feels wired, hot, and restless—your pulse loud in your ears—and the thought of him finally touching you just makes it worse.

“You’re all talk,” you finally bite out and click your tongue. “You’re gonna bore me to death before you even manage to make me come or something.”

His jaw twitches. “Say that again.”

You roll your eyes, tilt your chin up, and let your head fall back against the wall just enough to look up at him through your lashes, so careless and cocky you can see the way it sets him off even before you open your mouth. “Oh my god,” you scoff. “See? All talk again. You actually are gonna bore me to death before you—”

It happens so fast you don’t even finish the sentence.

He releases your wrists and grabs your face with both hands in one fluid, rough movement — fingers digging into your jaw, forcing your head to tilt the way he wants it, and then he’s on you — mouth dragging down, and then lower — finding the curve of your neck with his lips parted and breath ragged. And then he bites your fucking neck hard enough to make your knees buckle, and everything inside you short-circuits like someone pulled a plug. 

“You asshole—” your moan punches right out of your throat before you can stop it and your body arches into him; then he bites you again and you rake your nails down across his back hard enough to make him hiss—shit—against your throat. “Fuck!”

His mouth is all over your neck now, sucking and biting and mouthing wet and sloppy trails with his tongue so slowly and messily. And you… you’re not thinking. You’re dizzy with how much you want to feel something—with how hot your skin feels where he just bit you (and how good it felt, and how you want him to keep doing it; but you’d never tell him that.) Most of all you’re dizzy with the ache that’s been clawing at your chest and your stomach and between your legs since the second you stepped into this room—or maybe even longer than you’d want to admit.

You grind up against him without thinking just to feel him. And he’s so fucking hard against your center—thick and once again, unmistakably large through both your clothes. You just want to feel it. Anything. Him. You move again, slower this time, dragging your hip against his cock in his pants just enough to make him groan low in his chest.

But then he stops and pushes you back, and he places his hand flat against your stomach and holds you right there against the wall.

He leans in—mouth brushing your collarbone—and his tongue flicks over the mark he just made. Then he licks slower, up the side of your throat, and murmurs against your skin.

“The more you try to rush this, the longer I’m going to make you wait.”

His tongue drags higher, tracing your jaw, and you actually have to fight the urge not to moan (when he hasn’t even touched you) — because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction — then his lips hover just beneath your ear. “You want it?” He nips at your ear. “Then fucking beg for it. Otherwise, I’m going to spend this whole trip making you wish you had.”

Is he out of his fucking mind? Cause you definitely are. Your thighs clench around nothing and it’s almost humiliating how fast you try to move again and chase the feeling, but he presses you firmer against the wall like he already knew you’d try.

“Tsk,” he groans. His hand is still gripping your jaw, the other sliding down your side to your hip, holding you still. “Keep doing that and you’re gonna regret it.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

His thumb digs into your hip. “Yeah?” he huffs. “You don’t care?”

You shake your head and shrug. “No.”

You can feel the smile in his voice, feel it when he licks a slow stripe up your neck and hums against your skin. “Fine. You wanna grind like a needy little bitch? Go ahead. Just know every second you do, I’m keeping score.”

He adds, “So be a good girl and answer me, hmm? What do you want?”

Then—you huff a laugh and manage to shove him back a step, just enough to get a sliver of space. 

He doesn’t even get to blink before you’re yanking your top off over your head and letting it drop to the floor, standing there in your bra and skirt, flushed and breathless and entirely too horny to back down. “Is this an answer for you?”

His eyes drop to your chest—to the curve of your breasts spilling over the black lace bra you’re wearing—and you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. Then you start sliding one strap off your shoulder slowly, just to see how far you can push him. (Apparently, not far, because he immediately steps in and grabs your wrist hard enough you feel it to your bones.)

You grin at him. “Either fuck me right now, or I’ll go lock myself in that shower and make you listen while I finger myself.” 

His nostrils flare. “You think I’d let you?”

You shrug and bring your other hand up to pull the other strap off just as slowly. “Guess you better stop me, then.”

That’s all it takes.

He grabs your ass and lifts you up so fast you gasp and wrap your legs around his waist—and you dig your nails right into his muscular bicep. He’s so fucking strong, every muscle in his arms straining as he holds you up and presses you into him, and for a second you can’t even think about anything except how stupidly massive his arm is—how you want to lick a line down it bite, suck, leave bruises just to see if it actually leaves a mark on him—but you wouldn’t tell him that, not ever.

You squeeze tighter with your thighs, your hands clutching his bicep just to feel the way it bulges beneath your fingers, and you actually feel insane. You roll your hips right against the head of his cock from where he’s holding you up, and then he laughs lowly under his breath and mutters. “That’s three,” then he slaps your ass so hard you jolt.

“Fucking bitch!” you yelp in pain, and then with one hand—while still holding you up—he finds your bra clasp, flicks it open with ease, and throws you onto the bed. You land hard—so hard your breath gets knocked out of you—and then he crawls up onto the mattress slowly, the way a predator stalks prey. 

He stops and kneels between your thighs, then he slides the bra down your arms slowly, and just watches your breasts spill out—heavy and so flushed—and you catch his gaze right as his lips part and he flicks his tongue out to wet them, hungry and desperate like he’s actually losing his mind or something. Good. You were too.

He just stares for a second, and you swear you see his cock twitch against his pants.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself — then he licks his lips again as he takes you in longer. “Could just fuck your tits alone.”

Your mouth waters at the thought, and a shiver may or may not have just rolled down your spine. You don’t want to admit that.

You keep your chin up and try to act like you’re not picturing having his cock between your tits right now. “And what do I get out of that exactly? You get to get off, but I don’t. What’s in it for me?”

You’re still catching your breath when he smirks and bends his head down. Then—before you can even process it—he opens his mouth and spits. It lands right between your tits, and you don’t have time to say a word before his tongue is there, licking it up and spreading it—wet and messy and oh so loud, tongue circling your nipples until you whine. “You get to be my whiny little fucktoy; that’s what you get,” he says around your nipple.

Then he lifts his head and grabs both of your tits in his hands, pushes them together and stares at them for a moment, before he leans down again and—

He bites the swell of your breast so fucking hard you don’t recognize the sound of your own voice when you scream.

“Ahh—SHIT!” you cry out despite how badly you don’t want to react, and you arch your back and shove your chest deeper into his mouth. The feeling of his teeth on your breasts while he circles your nipples with his fingers is so sharp and dizzying and so new you almost get mad all over again, because it’s him making you feel this good—and because you never want him to stop. 

But he stops.

He looks up at you, and his other hand comes up just to slap your tits, one after the other. “You like that? Huh?”

Well, obviously you did. But were you gonna make it easy for him? No.

So you don’t say anything—instead, you reach down to grip his wrist, or something—grinding your hips up into him like you’re about to lose your mind. 

He clicks his tongue and presses into you to still you, but you feel his cock against the fabric of his pants, and you moan. “That’s four,” he mutters.

Then he’s on your tits again — He takes one nipple in his mouth and sucks on it harshly and lets go with a wet pop — then he trails his mouth lower, and starts licking a filthy path down your stomach. His tongue drags over your belly button, lower and lower, never breaking eye contact. When he reaches the waistband of your skirt, he pauses, glances up with that stupid cocky smirk of his, and then hooks his fingers in the fabric and pulls it down excruciatingly slowly. 

When he finally gets it off, he tosses it aside, and now you’re left in nothing but your tiny black lace panties. 

For one blinking second — just one — you realize what you’re doing. And who you’re doing it with. But just as fast, you shove the thought down, and for the first time you actually succeed in doing so.

You get to feel good. That’s all. 

None of this means anything.

“Now,” His thumb brushes teasingly along the waistband of your panties, and his voice drops low and filthy. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

You think of a hundred different snarky things to say, maybe even get up and spit in his face, but instead you just stare at him and bite your lip. 

He arches a brow, and his fingers drag lazy little circles over the damp lace of your panties. “Come on, say it. You’ve got such a big fucking mouth; use it for something useful.”

You weigh it in your mind for a second. It being your pride versus the ache to be fucked. Unfortunately for your dignity, the latter wins.

You almost choke on the words. “I want your dick, asshole,” you breathe out.

He grins. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You’re about to tell him to just shut up and take it out, but then he hooks his fingers under the edge of your panties — nails roughly grazing your skin when he does it — right where your thigh meets the lace, and he doesn’t break eye contact when he leans down, and then—fucking hell—he takes the panties in his teeth and pulls them down, slowly, making sure you see every filthy second of it.

You truly can’t help the way your mouth falls open, and you just stare as he drags them all the way off with his fangs and tosses them away onto the floor.

He sits back for half a second, and for once, he doesn’t say a word. He just looks and lets his gaze devour every slick inch of you—tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip again like he can already taste you. There’s something almost exciting to you in the way he stares—his fists balling in the sheets like he’s holding himself back from just wrecking you right there. 

Then his gaze flicks up to meet yours again, and his mouth twitches into the ghost of a smirk. “Shit.” He almost sounds awed, though his voice is rough and low. “Spread your legs for me. Let me see you.”

“Just take your fucking pants off,” you demand (it was kind of a whine, to be honest with yourself), even as you slowly spread your legs for him.

He raises a brow again. “Tsk. Just because you finally said what you want doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you,” he cocks his head. “I just wanted to hear you beg. You’re still not doing a good job.”

Before you can say anything, he leans forward and spits right onto your pussy—the wet heat landing right on your clit—and you can’t do anything but watch as he slowly slides a finger between your folds and spreads you open, just to feel how fucking wet you are. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he mutters, staring between your legs as he drags his own spit up and spreads it lower and into your folds, “I haven’t even touched you properly and you’re already dripping. What, you like running your mouth that much? Huh?

At this point, you’ve stopped trying to hold your moans back. You jerk your hips up, but he presses his other hand down and keeps you still. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” his voice is so low it’s almost a snarl. “The more you grind, the more you try to rush me, the longer you’re gonna wait. You remember the count?”

You try to glare at him. You try. “Fuck off, Sunghoon, just touch me already—”

He slides two fingers over your clit, and then in one quick, ruthless thrust, he pushes one finger deep inside your pussy. Your back arches off the mattress and a strangled scream punches right out of you. “Sunghoon—FUCK.”

“That was five,” he growls, and you don’t even get a second longer to feel it before he pulls his finger right back out, leaving you empty and throbbing. “You just don’t fucking learn, do you?”

He smirks and licks your wetness off his fingers slowly, his tongue dragging along his knuckle in such a cruel way—like he wants you to watch. And you do—God, you do. Your eyes are locked on his mouth as he sucks his own fingers clean and finally lets go with a filthy little pop. Your body actually burns at the sight, so close to the edge that you almost bring your hand down to touch your own clit just to get some relief.

He hovers over you again, his palm sinking deep into the mattress by your head, his body caging yours in completely. You can feel the heat of him, the weight of him, and the way his bicep bulges right by your face, and your mouth waters all over again at the sight. “If you want it that bad, you'd better learn to be patient, sweetheart. Or maybe I’ll just keep counting and see how many times I can get you to fuck yourself on nothing.”

He actually talks too much, you think. You almost miss when men did not even care enough and immediately got to the point.

You scoff, though it’s weaker than you wanted it to be. “Shut up,” you jerk your hips up again and reach up with both hands, grabbing at his shoulders—nails raking down his bicep, trying to pull him in. But he just laughs, pulling back so your fingers catch uselessly in the air.

“Six.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spit, voice shaking from how wound up you are.

“Keep going, brat. I can do this all night,” he tongues his cheek and grins.

All night? Oh, you need it now. 

You push yourself up, and this time, you actually get a good grip on him. You grab his jaw hard and yank his face down to yours, and you kiss him hard.

You bite at his lips just to hear that sharp groan that ripped out of his throat again before — and he tries to pin you down but you’re faster — you slide your hand into his hair and yank it back so you can lick a filthy, wet line down his jaw, your lips finding his throat and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He groans again, this time even deeper, and you can feel the sound vibrate against your tongue. You moan right back because you’re too fucking needy and frustrated, and you grind yourself against the bulge in his pants one more time. 

You want to make him snap, want to make him lose it, and just fuck you already. 

There’s just no way he can drag this out any longer, right?

He snaps just for a second. 

His grip on your hips tightens, and he presses down, grinding his cock against you, rolling his hips into yours until you both gasp into each other’s mouths, and the friction of his cock pressing up against you feels so fucking good you whimper right into his mouth again. You can feel just how hard he is, and you want more, want all of him—just to feel good, you think—and you dig your nails into his back, dragging them down hard to the point where you think one of your nails may have snapped off.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grits through his teeth, hands digging into your waist as he rolls into you, his cock rubbing against your bare cunt from his pants. “So desperate you’re grinding on my cock like a bitch in heat. Can’t even behave for five fucking seconds. You want to come so bad, you’re going to embarrass yourself like this?”

Your face burns at his words, but you snap back at him because he’s the fucking one being ridiculous. “Maybe if you’d stop being a little bitch and fuck me, I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself. I’m naked and in front of you, and you’re not fucking me, who is the pathetic one?”

He laughs and presses you down even harder. “You want to act like a brat, you get treated like one. I told you, I’m counting. Every time you act up, you’re waiting even longer to get what you want.”

“God, you’re such a fucking tease—”

He pulls your face to his and kisses you messily and deeply, sucking on your tongue until you moan into his mouth. Then he shifts, spreading your thighs and sliding one of his own between them, so you’re straddling him now, his thigh pressed hard against your bare cunt. Then he growls, “Keep grinding, sweetheart. Rub yourself all over me—I’ll let you make a mess on my thigh if you want to be a needy little slut so bad. But that’s all you’ll be getting.”

You ignore him. “I’m saying this one last fucking time. Either fuck me or get the fuck off,” you sneer, barely above a breath. “We don’t have time to be doing all this shit.”

“Time?” he repeats, voice dripping with disbelief. “Time? You think I give a fuck about time?”

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin, “I could keep you here all fucking night if I wanted. No one’s gonna bother us, cause I could tell them not to. You’re not going anywhere until I decide you can, so you better start behaving, or I’ll drag this out for the next three days if I have to.”

He grinds his thigh up, testing you, eyes dark and daring. “But go on. Tell me again how we don’t have time.”

The way he’s looking at you now, you know he could keep you here under him, pressed into this bed for hours…. And for all your bravado, for all your threats— Yeah. No, actually. What the hell. You like this back and forth. Plus, you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break that easily. This is… Sunghoon, after all. 

You shake that thought away again.

So you lean in and run your hand up his chest slowly, fingers dragging across the muscle on his chest until you’re right at his ear. “You wanna know what I think?” you whisper, letting your voice curl into something wicked, just to rile him up, then you go on before he can speak. “I think you’re scared you can’t satisfy me. Maybe you’re stalling because you know you’re all talk.” You pout at him—slide your palm over his chest and pinch his nipple for good measure. “All that control, and for what? You're scared you’ll come before I do? 

The muscle in his jaw tenses so hard, and you almost flinch at the way his gaze darkens, but you keep going because you fucking love seeing him angry. “Y’know, if you ever even get me there.”

That does it.

Finally.

“Have it your fucking way then,” he bites out, and before you can even think of smirking, his hands are on your waist and he’s shoving you back down into the mattress so hard your breath stutters. 

He spreads your thighs wide, pushing your knees up until you’re completely open for him, and then he’s right there—kneeling between your legs.

He drags his hands up your thighs, all the way to your hips, thumbs pressing in so hard it almost hurts, and you whimper and arch up for more. 

“You want to be a brat? Fine. But you’re going to fucking take it. Don’t cry about it,” he growls, then he grabs your thighs, spreads you wider than you thought was possible, and settles lower right between them. His palms slide up, thumbs digging into the soft inside of your thighs until he’s got your legs high up on his shoulders, pressing you flat against the mattress, and when he squeezes the flesh there—so fucking hard you actually scream—he grins.

Then he bites the inside of your thigh—fuck, it’s turning you on so much—and you think that’ll surely be leaving a bruise. 

You want to snap—rile him up even more, some half-formed curse already spilling from your lips—but his head drops and you feel the first hot breath against your cunt. Then he licks up so close to your pussy you almost buck right off the bed.

“Hold still,” he growls, and you feel his fingers flex, pinning your thighs wider, spreading you even more, just so he can stare. “Look at this. All wet and needy, and all for me.”

“Fuck you—” your voice gets lost in a gasp as he suddenly, finally, sucks your clit into his mouth. He’s rough and messy—his grip on your thighs tightening as he alternates between sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue.

The sound that rips out of you is so fucking raw, so insanely filthy and loud, you clap a hand over your own mouth to muffle your moan.

But Sunghoon, of course, isn’t having any of that. 

He stops instantly and lifts his head. “Hands where I can see them,” he snarls, then he catches your wrist with one hand and pins it to the mattress. “Don’t hide those fucking noises from me. I want to hear you fall apart.”

Then he dips his head back down. 

He starts slower this time, licking a thick wet stripe up your slit, teasing at your clit just with the tip of his tongue, breathing hard against your skin. “I could do this all night, keep you right here, legs open, crying on my tongue until you learn how to fucking behave.”

Then he goes faster. Your legs tremble on his shoulders as he licks and sucks and flicks his tongue over your clit until you’re babbling his name over and over again—you’re too high on the feeling of how fucking good it feels to care anymore. 

“Fuck—Don’t stop, you bastard—SUNGHOON—” 

His tongue is swirling and flicking in filthy circles that make you see white behind your eyes, and you feel his nose rub against you every time he moves—and the wetness and the sound of his sucking are so absolutely pornographic they bring you even closer to the edge.

Then—without warning—he pushes two thick fingers inside you all at once, and you clench so tight around him it actually hurts—your body is practically trying to force him out. “Fuck. My fingers barely fucking fit,” he grits out, “Such a tight fucking slut.” 

The stretch is so overwhelming it burns, and you choke on a moan, then try to arch your back off the mattress to try and give yourself some way to adjust — or move away — but he pins you down with one heavy arm thrown over your stomach, holding you in place so you can’t do anything but take it. “Don’t run, brat. Thought you wanted me to touch you?”

God. You can’t be bothered to speak anymore. 

He curls his fingers inside and pumps slowly, then faster, filling you so good it makes your eyes roll back. It’s so fucking thick, Honestly—his two fingers alone are thicker than everything you’ve had in your entire life. You’re not sure if you’re angry about that—but you moan all the same. and his mouth never lets up on your clit, sucking and licking, tongue flicking until your whole body shakes.

You reach down frantically and grab a fistful of his hair very hardly to have something to hold onto—and he groans into your pussy again in response, and the vibration nearly rips you apart. 

You’re so gone, shaking so hard you can barely keep your eyes open. “Sunghoon, shit—” You babble his name because it’s the only thing you can manage despite how badly you don’t want to be saying it, and he licks even harder somehow when he hears the way you moan his name — sucking your clit between his lips and sending vibrations up through your whole body as he hums into it.

“That’s it. Louder. Who’s making you feel this good, huh? Tell me. Say my name.”

You whine, head thrown back, voice breaking, “Shut up—fuck, Sunghoon, it’s you, you fucking bitch—”

You’re clenching around his fingers and soaking his hand, and when he moans into you after you scream his name—it’s so filthy, so hungry—you know you’re about to break apart right there on his tongue.

You’re already too close, and some part of you, the petty stubborn part, thinks for half a second about not giving in, about not letting yourself come just to spite him—but he senses it, the way you try to squirm away from the edge, and he snaps his teeth lightly at your clit in warning. “You try to hold back, and I’ll keep you like this all night.”

You watch as he slips his fingers out and spits on your clit again—making everything slicker and dirtier, and suddenly his mouth is everywhere—tongue pressing flat against your dripping slit. He licks into you, tongue fucking you deep as he groans, the sound low and hungry like he’s the one fucking getting off on it.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, mouth shiny and swollen as he grins and licks his lips. A tiny part of you twists at how devastatingly beautiful he looks like this—hair messy, jaw sharp, face wrecked and flushed, and all of it just from being between your thighs. It almost makes you ache even more, and you’re not sure in which way—and then his thumb finds your clit, rubbing rough, furious circles over it, so aggressive you jolt under the touch.

Then he plunges his fingers back inside you, and your hips buck out at how deep they are and how badly they stretch you. You can barely even fucking take two of his fingers. 

“Asshole—fuck, slow down, I’m gonna—” You can barely even speak. 

He hums, low and taunting, not stopping for a second. “You’re gonna what? Come all over my mouth? Yeah, that’s the fucking point.”

You’re so close, so fucking close so fast, and he only just started; it’d be embarrassing if you weren’t so fucked out right now. You just grind up onto his face and scream, and he keeps pumping his fingers, faster, harder, mouth never letting up, tongue punishing your clit while his nose brushes right into it too, until you finally snap. 

You shut your eyes so hard it genuinely hurts—and you scream so loud you think that the whole world could hear you—let alone the entire fucking hotel. Your body spasms and your cunt clenches tightly around his fingers, soaking his hand and mouth completely.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even say anything.

He just keeps sucking, keeps fucking you with his fingers, lapping up everything you give him, and groaning into you obscenely.

You manage to shove at his head; you feel so fucking sensitive it hurts, even though it feels so good. “Are you crazy—stop, fuck, I can’t—”

He lifts his head just for a second, and the asshole fucking grins, lips and chin shiny with your slick, while his fingers rub aggressively over your overstimulated clit. You’re not sure how you’re looking at him right now.

“You can take it. You can take all of it. You wanted to come, No? You’re gonna come again and again until I say you’re done.” His mouth latches to your clit again, even rougher—while his fingers go so deep it makes your vision go black at the edges. 

The stretch, the heat, the filth pouring from his mouth, the way he keeps fucking his fingers into you, the way he just made you fucking come in under a minute—your head spins, and somewhere inside you, despite the fact that you can barely even think, you still manage to wonder, where the fuck did he learn to do this?

You can’t even get words out anymore—just broken, desperate moans and halfway curses as he pumps his fingers in and out. You feel your body seize, your legs shaking so bad your calf cramps up, but you can’t stop, can’t breathe, and you’re—fuck, fuck—you’re fucking coming again— 

“Look at me. Look at me when you come.”

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut, half sobbing. “I can’t, fuck, I can’t—Sunghoon, I fucking hate you—”

“Yeah? Good,” he huffs and shoves his fingers even deeper, curling them up so you scream. “Say it again.”

You gasp for breath, the pleasure burning through you so hard you feel like you might break apart right there. “I hate you—” it rips out of your throat, high and ragged, your whole body trembling as his fingers curl deep and hit that perfect spot so hard your back arches right off the bed, making you see white. You can barely hold on; you’re clenching around him so tight your muscles ache.

“Again. Louder. Scream it for me.”

Your back arches off the bed, hands fisting aggressively in the sheets, and you scream it so loud you’re past the point of caring who hears, “I fucking hate you, Sunghoon—fuuuuuckkkk—I HATE YOU.” The words stutter out, twisted in a sob as you come again, cunt spasming around his fingers.

You barely know where you are, your vision still flickering at the edges, and every inch of your skin burning under his touch. Your thighs are trembling, slick and sticky and bitten and bruised, and his hand is still between your legs—thumb rubbing lazy circles over your clit. 

It makes you twitch, makes your hips jerk away, too much—you’re so fucking sensitive you feel like you’re about to die. And you love it.

Then—

Sunghoon leans in and grabs your jaw hard enough—and you have to force yourself to look at him—even while your gaze is all glassy and unfocused.

“Satisfied?” he purrs.

Asshole.

You try to smirk, try to sass him, but your voice is ruined, so raw and thin it’s barely there when you speak. “You wish. Could barely even feel it—”

He cuts you off by shoving his slick fingers into your mouth, filling it until you have to choke around them. “Tsk. You never were a good liar,” he hisses. “Open wider,” he commands, and you immediately obey because you can’t even think straight with him hovering over you like this—you slightly choke, but you suck on his fingers anyway and glare up at him while he watches, eyes dark as sin. You taste yourself and you moan around his fingers, and his mouth drops slightly open at the sight, and he pants and forces them deeper. “Good fucking girl.”

He finally lets go of your face and sits back on his heels.

Then he looks at you.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he says. “Now.”

You blink, still dazed, a little defiant—because fuck him, you’re not some performing doll—and he notices the hesitation and grabs your wrist and presses your hand down right on your clit.

He raised a brow. “Don’t make me wait. You were so eager before, bragging about how you’d finger yourself and make me listen. Do it now. I want to see.”

You want to laugh in his face.

Instead, your fingers ghost over your clit, and everything is so sensitive it almost hurts. You try to pull away to spite him, but he grabs your hand and makes you rub slow, torturous circles.

“Go on. Just like that—If you stop, I’ll leave,” he mocks, dragging his words out just to taunt you. “I’ll go fuck my own fist in the shower, let you listen to me, and you’ll have to touch yourself and think about how you can’t take my cock anyway.”

“You’re fucking sick,” you manage—voice hoarse, but you don’t stop. You’re entirely past the point of feeling any sort of shame or whatever, so you grind down into your palm.

He shrugs. “You want me to fuck you? Then you do what I say. It’s not that hard.”

And then—finally—he reaches down, the leather of his belt hissing as he unbuckles it. He takes his pants off slowly, and you can’t help but stare. The outline of his cock is straining so hard against the fabric of his boxers that it looks painful, the head leaking through—your mouth waters at the sight.

He shoves his boxers down just enough to free himself, and when he pulls it out, you genuinely forget how to breathe for a moment. 

God—you’ve felt him before, you knew he was big, but actually seeing it… It’s ridiculous, really.

It’s angry red at the tip, flushed all the way up, with big veins throbbing up the shaft, the head slick with precum to the point where it’s actually dripping and swollen; and it hurts your clit to look at. Your pussy clenches just at the sight, and you rub faster circles into your clit unashamedly as you watch the way he adjusts himself in his hand.

And shit—his hand… his hands have always been big—cartoonishly big, stupidly strong, the kind of hands that make you feel small just by being near them. You’ve seen his hands look ridiculously large while wrapped around a steering wheel, a beer bottle, or even your wrists. But now, for the first time, his hand actually looks…normal while it’s wrapped around his cock. Almost small. That ridiculous length and girth… You almost can’t believe it.

For a second, you’re genuinely worried it won’t even fit. It’s so long, so fucking thick, you can barely wrap your head around it. You could barely take his fingers, how the fuck—then, you see the half smirk on his face as he’s eyeing you through his half-lidded eyes.

You’re not about to give him the satisfaction. 

“I’ve had bigger,” you sneer, though with the way you’re clenching around nothing and how desperately you’re touching your sensitive self… yeah. Obviously, you’re fucking lying.

He just laughs lowly and spreads his precum all over the head of his cock with his thumb. 

It angers you that he doesn’t even bother responding to that taunt. God. Your fingers keep moving, even as you glare at him, and you’re so fucking wet it’s… You don’t know if you’ve ever been this wet before.

“Stop just—touch yourself too, asshole.” you snap, voice hoarse as hell, “Or are you just gonna sit there and watch like a pervert?”

He smirks and shakes his head. “No. That’s not how this works.” He strokes himself, but slow and lazy—just enough to tease you, not to actually chase his own release.

You rub circles even faster, spreading yourself with your other hand. “I’m starting to believe—mmpphh—you’re actually scared you’ll finish before you even get inside.”

He huffs a laugh and clicks his tongue.

Then he finally lets his hand tighten around the base of his cock. “You want this?” he strokes himself slowly—more properly now—clearly showing off, and his precum is dripping onto his thigh and onto the sheets. His eyes are glued to your cunt, watching every shaky circle of your fingers. “If you stop for a second, I put it away. You keep going, maybe I’ll fuck you. If you’re good. Otherwise I’ll just make you come on my tongue again and again.”

Your mind is finally starting to clear, just enough to feel the anger and want bubble back up under your skin. You’re so sensitive your thighs are shaking, but the sight of his cock has your mouth watering… so without thinking—fingers still rubbing messy, desperate circles on your own clit—you push up off the bed on shaky elbows and practically throw yourself at him. 

You straddle his lap, his cock standing thick and slick right between your thighs—your lips catching his jaw—and you grind down on his thigh because you just can’t take another second without feeling him.

He grabs your hips and tries to shove you back. “I said, don’t fucking stop, brat.” But you only smirk and meet him eye to eye—then you drag your hand up into his hair, fist a handful, and make him look at you.

“I heard you,” you pant, lips almost brushing his. “You said if I stop touching myself, you’ll put your dick away or whatever.” You squeeze your thighs around him, feeling the heat of his cock and the way it throbs against your inner leg. Then you don’t look away from him as your other hand drifts further down between your legs, and you push a finger into your own pussy right there as he watches. His jaw clenches. “You never said I couldn’t move.”

Your lips part, and you moan low and shameless, hips rocking against your hand. “You gonna punish me for that, too?”

He pumps his cock faster, precum smeared everywhere. “Fuck, you’re asking for it,” he growls.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you upright at this point—you’re also so high on wanting him it’s like you’ve left your own body. You pull your wet finger out of your cunt and bring it up to his mouth.

“Spit,” you order—filthy and sweet and bossy all at once.

He scoffs, looking at you like he’s about to bite your hand off. “Think you can tell me what to do?”

You let out a little whine and rock against his thigh. “Mmhmm, just wanna fuck myself properly, isn’t that what you want, Sunghoon? M’being good.”

You’re so wet, you don’t even need his spit. But you need his spit. You also like it when he’s angry. So you add, “Or are you scared I’ll do it better?”

His gaze flickers for a second before he leans forward and spits—hot, wet, filthy—right into your palm. “Tsk. Show me how desperate you are for it. Go on.”

You hum, satisfied, and press your finger back into yourself, moaning as you rock onto it. You bite down on his shoulder and start fucking yourself on your own fingers—hard and loud, body arching, hips grinding shamelessly.

You watch the way he’s pumping himself, and you clench around your own finger at the sight. “Wish this was your cock, don’t you?” you breathe, then you let your head fall against his shoulder, lips brushing the curve of his neck as you moan, your own fingers moving faster. And then you drag your tongue up the side of his throat, licking a slow stripe from his collarbone all the way up to his jaw. You taste the saltiness of his sweat, hot and wet and so him it almost makes your head spin. He shudders under your mouth, his cock jerking in his hand.

To be honest, you did that out of pure self-fulfillment cause you were enjoying this a little too much, but—

Sunghoon’s control actually slips, because he grips your hips and shoves you back down flat onto the bed, manhandling you so roughly you gasp.

“Don’t fucking move,” he snarls, voice ragged. “Don’t you dare touch yourself again.”

“Or what? You gonna keep standing there and jerk yourself off like a pussy?” you huff, frustrated, trying to reach for him, but he just pins your wrists over your head with one big hand and sits up, his cock hanging heavy and wet. 

It looks like it’s going to fucking explode.

“Don’t move.” he warns.

He moves over to the desk, muscles rippling, sweat slick on his skin, and grabs his wallet. He pulls out a condom and then turns back to face you, and then he tears the wrapper open carefully with his teeth. You watch the way he rolls it down, the veins on his massive cock so prominent it’s actually insane. 

Your stomach twists. You’re on the pill—you’d never let him fuck you raw, not in a million years—but there’s this tiny, traitorous voice in your head, sick with want, whispering to fill yourself up with him, take every fucking drop he has — and you snap at yourself. Get a fucking grip. (though, at this point, what grip?)

Then he’s crawling back over you with his cock heavy in his hand and for a moment, he just looks at you. And you look at him.

And it hits you all at once. This is happening. 

The only boy who’s ever made you feel anything real at all, the one you’ve liked, hated, and wanted in every possible way. The first boy you ever loved. The only—

You don’t let yourself finish the thought before you’re moving.

You grab him, wrap your arms around his neck, and drag him down until your mouths meet in a brutal, teeth-clashing kiss. Your thighs fall open, and you can feel his cock pressing up against your soaked cunt, briefly grinding up into your folds, and you gasp right into his mouth.

He moans—actually moans into your mouth. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you?” he snarls against your lips. “Filthy little brat.”

You bite back, teeth dragging down his bottom lip, pulling again until he hisses. “You’re the one moaning like a dog, Sunghoon. Maybe you should be begging me to let you fuck me.”

He leans in and drags his tongue up the side of your neck and stops at your ear, “Why would I beg for something that’s already mine?” he whispers.

Your breath stutters at the way he says it.

You dig your nails into his back—hard enough to make it sting—but he just grins against your skin and bites down on your shoulder. Then his hand is everywhere—palming your tit, squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, then sliding down until he’s rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, smearing your wetness everywhere. “Look at you,” he grits out, eyes glued to how you’re spreading your legs for him. “So fucking greedy. I can barely get my fingers in you, and you want me to stretch your pussy out with this?” he leans in, tongue dragging up the side of your neck, biting your jaw, “Maybe I should just jerk off on your tits and leave you crying for it. Maybe you’d finally learn how to ask nicely.”

Was he still on about that? 

Before you can think of something to bite back with, he presses his cock harder against your slit—but he doesn’t push in. He just slides the head up and down, catching on your clit, making your back arch and your voice break into a filthy, desperate moan.

You buck up and try to force him in, but he’s relentless—he drags it out, dragging the tip up and down your slit again. “That’s seven, you needy whore.”

“Come on, are you scared?” you tease, voice breaking on a moan. “What, you worried you really, truly won’t last long and live up to the talk?”

He huffs a laugh—then he shoves the tip in just a little more, making your whole body arch off the bed. “Tsk. You think you can handle it?” he says, and you’re not entirely sure if you can—you’re actually almost certain you can’t, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of saying it. 

Instead, you bite his shoulder hard.

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me already, Sunghoon.”

He growls, and presses his forehead against yours as he properly pushes in—and fuck.

The first inch feels like it’s actually fucking tearing you apart, a thick, burning stretch that makes your mouth fall open in a silent gasp because your scream dies in your throat. You grip his shoulders harder, nails digging into his skin, trying to breathe, trying not to let him see how much it hurts, how much you’re actually struggling to take him.

You try to squeeze your eyes shut against the sting, but he grabs your jaw. “Look at me,” he breathes. “Keep your fucking eyes on me. I want to see you take it.”

So you open your eyes, even though they’re already welling. You moan the second you meet his gaze, breath tangled with his as he inches in deeper, filling you in ways you’ve never felt, stretching you so wide you swear you’re going to split.

“Fuck, you’re tight—shit—” Sunghoon hisses between his teeth, his grip so punishing on your waist you feel your skin. For just a second, his brows furrow when his eyes flick over your face as you wince, but you’re too focused on the feeling of being stretched out so roughly to say anything—his grip eases just a little, and his thumb rubs a rough circle over your hip. “Relax. Breathe. I know you can take it. You want to, don’t you?”

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. See, there’s sex, and then there’s this. The pain was entirely too fucking much. 

It’s too much and still not entirely even close to being enough to satisfy you. 

Your cunt flutters, trying to accommodate the thick head of his cock, and every inch he pushes in feels like your body’s actually being forced open and reshaped to fit him. “Wait—WAIT—fuck, just—S—Hoo—”

He cuts you off with a roll of his hips and goes a bit deeper. “You want to stop now? After all that talk?” He bites at your jaw again, lips hot against your skin. “No. You can take it. I know you can. Be a good fucking slut and take my cock.”

You’re barely holding on, and you can hardly breathe—but it pisses you off how much it hurts and how slowly you’re taking him and how he’s actually dragging it out.

He needs to get to the fucking point.

So you snap, “So fucking slow—What, you going soft now?”

He scoffs.

And before you can even take another breath, he slams all the way in, burying his cock to the hilt in one brutal thrust. 

The stretch is just painful, so much you can’t even think—your scream rips right out of your chest, nothing but pain and shock and your nails clawing desperately and maddeningly at his back. You’re so full it’s terrifying, so full it feels like he’s punched the air from your lungs.

He barely gives you a second to breathe. 

Sunghoon draws back just enough for you to feel him again, then slams right back in, rough and brutal, and sets a punishing pace. It’s like he’s trying to fuck you through the mattress, like he’s trying to fuck you until you can’t walk or think or do anything except scream for him. 

“What?” he whispers after a beat, the tip of his cock grinding deep and slow and filling you to the brim. “Pussy too full to talk back now?”

“You’re not even that big,” you lie through your teeth.

He laughs again, the sound shredded by a groan as he fucks harder into you. “God—fuck—you were clenching around me so fucking tight when I put the tip in. Like a virgin—” his voice breaks on a moan, hips rolling harder,  “—couldn’t stand not having my cock, could you? Had to start a fight just to get fucked, huh?”

You try to say something back — really, you do — but he thrusts again and it knocks the sound right out of your throat.

You’ve stopped trying to dignify anything in your mind at this point — you arch up and drag your nails down his back again violently —and he hisses — then your legs wrap tight around his waist, locking him in place as if you never want to stop him from fucking you like this. He says something against your mouth and his voice is a ruined rasp—something you can barely make out over the filthy, wet sound of skin slapping against each other and your own desperate cries.

“Fuck—FUCKKKK, Sunghoon, oh my GOD—” It’s half a sob, half a moan… you don’t even know.

“That’s it, say my name,” he growls into your ear, one hand pinning your thigh up so he can fuck you even deeper, “Shit—so tight—can barely fucking move.”

He’s too fucking big. You can feel everything—the head of his cock dragging over every spot inside you, the stretch at your entrance, the way your pussy tries to clamp down and push him out, but he just holds you there and keeps fucking you harder.

You’re shaking. The pain is blurring into pleasure until you’re not sure which is which. “Harder. Don’t fucking stop, I can take it—need you—, fuck, just—”

The bed creaks violently under you two. “Yeah? You want harder? Want me to fuck you so deep you feel me in your fucking throat?

You nod frantically. “Sunghoon—oh, fuck, fuck, don’t stop—please—” You’re so gone you don’t care about begging anymore, you just need him to keep fucking you, need him to make you come, need him to never, ever stop. “FUCK—”

Then he slows, and his hand presses down onto your lower stomach. The pressure is so much it makes you gasp, but he presses down harder, eyes fixed where his cock is splitting you open, “Feel that? I’m so deep you can feel me here—fuckk. You’ll never take anyone else after this. I’m gonna ruin you.” His free hand grabs your chin and forces your gaze down. “Look. Look at how fucking full you are.”

You blink and actually look—and fuck, it’s… it’s insane. You’ve never been this full in your life, not even close. 

“Shut. up—GOD—”  you lose your grip on the sheets and reach for his face and drag his mouth down to yours. Then you kiss him like you’re trying to swallow every moan out of his mouth, and he meets you with the same messy and filthy desperation, tongues tangling, teeth knocking, both of you moaning so loud it vibrates right into your bones. 

His hips slam out and then slam back in with one harsh thrust that knocks the wind out of you. 

“Fuck, you sound so good when you’re like this,” he groans into your mouth, “Too stupid to —fuckk—to run your mouth. Just—clenching around my cock like you’re trying to milk me.”

You just scream.

“Listen to you,” he snarls. “All that mouth earlier just to end up whimpering under me. You gonna cum again? Huh? Wanna soak my cock like a fuckin’ slut?”

Yeah. You’re so close you’re almost delirious, hands clutching at his hair now, your legs trembling as you grind up to meet every thrust. “I’m—fuck you, Yes! Yes—I’m gonna come—don’t you fucking stop—”

He pounds into you, unrelenting, and then his thumb starts rubbing furious circles on your clit—and you know you’re fucked. 

His cock is hitting so deep you see stars, and all you can do is scream his name as you break apart for him. Your orgasm rips through you so hard your vision whites out and your voice breaks on a ragged, guttural scream that barely even sounds like you—your cunt clenching so hard around him you nearly push him out—so full, so fucking full. 

But Sunghoon doesn’t let up. If anything, he starts fucking you even harder somehow, his grip bruising your hips as he pounds into you, making the whole bed shake. You barely got a second to breathe—your body is still trembling, and the aftershocks are almost violent, really.

“Sunghoon—Are you insane—” Your voice is just a gasp, but you’re not even sure if you’re begging him to stop or begging him for more. 

He snarls, “No. You’ll take it. You’re gonna take every fucking thing I give you.” His thumb keeps circling your clit relentlessly, and you try to push his hand away but he just grabs your wrist and places it right above your head. “I know you can take it.”

Then he lets your wrist go, only to reach up and grab the top rail of that heavy, wooden headboard—his knuckles going white, muscles flexing, his cock somehow driving even deeper—and he looks so focused. His brows knit together, and his mouth is parted with shaky groans and pants escaping it. God, he looks so… 

You feel another orgasm building up so quickly—if you even came down from your last one—and your vision blurs out, then Sunghoon growls into your ear, hand moving from your clit to grab under your thigh, shoving your leg up higher so he can fuck you even deeper. “Come again. Now—fucking come on my cock, let me feel—shit.”

Stars explode behind your eyes as another orgasm rips through you like an out-of-body experience. 

You can barely breathe, let alone form words, but you manage to spit out, “Fucking—god, fuck you, Sunghoon—shit—don’t stop—fucking—asshole—” but they just dissolve into raw moans, and your body spasms so violently it feels like you might actually break.

“That’s it, take it—good fucking girl. That’s my good girl.”

“Not your—not your fucking girl—” you pant, and rake your nails down his back again and again for the hundredth time, and he groans—actually, he moans—and his hips stutter for a second, so out of control you almost want to laugh.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” he moans, and you do it again, “God, you’re so fucking tight—Shiiiiit.” 

The whole bedframe rocks, the headboard groaning under his grip—until suddenly—CRAAAACKKK.

The wood gives away—he rips the whole headboard right off the frame. But he doesn’t stop… the bastard barely even glances at the wreck, just tightens his hold on your hips and keeps fucking you like nothing happened.

But the splintered wood is nothing compared to the way your body’s splitting open on him. 

Then—he grabs you beneath your thighs and yanks you up as he gets up, still buried deep inside you. He palms your ass then brings his hand down in a hard slap that makes you whine—moan—gasp—scream, you don’t even know anymore—you’re just nearly sobbing, at the sharp sting and the overstimulation—and then he moves.

You’re so fucked out you hardly notice you’ve left the bed until your back slams into something cold and hard—the desk. 

The bottle of champagne, the glasses, whatever is on there—he swipes them all to the floor with a harsh sweep of his arm, and it barely registers over the sound of your moans. 

And this fucking angle…

His arms are under your knees, spreading you wide right there on the desk, your body shaking with the aftershocks. 

The thick drag of his cock as he stands and sinks in deeper—his mouth parting on filthy moans—going deeper than you ever thought possible, filling you in a way he never could on the bed. 

He thrusts up into you, the force of it making your head fall back—then he leans down and his mouth latches onto your tits, biting and sucking so hard your whole body arches up again when his teeth graze your sensitive nipple— and your  hands shoot out to tangle in his hair.

“Can’t—can’t—oh my god—” you sob, but your hips are meeting his every fucking thrust, because you’re greedy and ruined. “Too much—”

“No such thing.” He finally lifts his head and grabs your jaw and forces you to look at him. “Keep those eyes on me. Wanna see you when I come—”

You’re barely there, fucked out and shaking, and you’re not sure if your orgasm ever even stopped. “SUNGHOON—” 

“Fuck, that’s right,” he snarls, rutting harder. “Say my name—look at me and fucking say it—”

You purse your lips together violently and try to hold back, but a moan slips out. “Fuck you—” 

He grins—then pulls all the way out and slams back into you, making the desk rattle as he tightens his grip on your jaw. “Say it—now.”

You cry out, the sound torn from your throat before you can even stop it, “Sunghoon—fuck—Sunghoon—”

He growls. “That’s it—good fucking girl—fuckfuckshit—”

And then you feel him come, cock pulsing so deep inside as he spills his hot load right into the condom, his whole body shuddering as he keeps thrusting into you, drawing every last bit out.

You press your forehead against his—you’re both shaking, flushed, panting, and soaked, and you barely feel anything other than how his cock still feels inside you, and you’re clenching so hard, shaking through another aftershock, that you don’t even realize what’s happening until he pulls back a bit.

He hisses, “Fuck—wait. The condom—shit, hold still.”

Your heart skips, and it jolts you out of your haze. “What? What do you mean—” 

You try to sit up, but he grabs your hips and pushes you back down, then he pulls out a little, just enough for both of you to look down. 

And… The condom—well, there’s no easy way to put this. 

It’s not there.

There’s a sudden rush of fear rushing through your body at the thought of it being stuck inside you. “Get it out—fuck, get it out, Park Sunghoon—”

He leans over you, still panting. “Shut up. Relax.” Then he slides out slowly, and you feel the condom still inside you, the ring barely at your entrance. “I’ll get it.”

Did he just… say… Relax? Relax? 

You swat at his chest. “Don’t tell me to relax, that shit could get stuck, and—”

He interrupts. “You on the pill?”

You glare up at him breathlessly. “Are you stupid? Yes, I’m on the pill—But it’s—” you go to reach for it, but he catches your wrist and pins it to your side.

“I said I’ll do it,” he growls, and then he slides his fingers between your thighs. “Spread.”

You hesitate, and he arches a brow. “I said spread your legs.”

So you do. You spread wider for him, and then he reaches down, and you feel his finger curl inside you, hooking the rim of the condom. 

Except he doesn’t pull it out—he pushes it in deeper with his finger. 

You whine, back arching off the desk as your head tips back at how he curls his finger inside you, “Asshole—what are you—”

Sunghoon groans. “Look at me. Don’t even think about looking away,” he says, and you find yourself doing it, meeting his gaze through half-lidded, fucked-out eyes.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight. Shit,” his words come out in little pants and moans as he keeps fingering you, working you open even more. “Squeezed the condom right off my cock—practically milked it off—so fucking greedy, aren’t you?”

Your body is so sensitive, you’re twitching and gasping at every single push of his finger. “You’re sick,” you manage, but your voice is barely a breath.

“Yeah?” He curls his fingers up just right. “You’re even sicker. Look at you, letting me finger you with my cum inside you.”

Then the fucking asshole moves his thumb down and starts pressing small, relentless circles against your insanely sensitive clit, making your hips buck. 

“Fuck—Sunghoon, I can’t—you dick, Slow down—”

But you still arch into his touch, and you pull him even closer—digging your nails into his biceps and feeling him up.

He smirks when he feels your nails drag down his arm, and he flexes his bicep under your touch like he’s showing off on purpose. “Look at you, can’t keep your hands off me even when you’re falling apart. What, you gotta thing for ‘em? You gonna start begging to be choked next?”

You glare up at him, breathless and pissed and still rolling your hips helplessly against his hand. “Shut the fuck up—cocky bitch—” you spat, but… God. The thought of his biceps around your throat… You clench around his finger at the thought.

He leans in, mouth right by your ear, “That’s it, squeeze my fingers, slut. You wanna come like this? Just from this?”

You don’t even bother trying to cuss him out, not when you can feel how close you are again — the filled condom inside you only adding onto the sensation. You don’t care, you don’t fucking care, you just need to come again, need him to ruin you all over, need—

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for a moment. “Shit—How are you—You’re so fucking cock-drunk you can’t even talk, huh?” he taunts. “Fucking perfect. That’s how I want you.”

He pushes another thick finger in and the sensation burns all the more. 

“Sunghoon—fuck, that’s—shit—” your voice breaks, and he clamps his big palm around your throat. 

“You’re really gonna come all over my fucking hand again, aren’t you?” he rasps, and you nod, just desperate, the pressure so much you can barely stand it. “With my cum inside you? Filthy girl.”

Then he leans in and trails his mouth down your neck — sucking harsh marks into your collarbone and tits, all the way down. 

Then he drops onto his knees in front of you, and it’s the most cruel sight you’ve ever seen, and you can’t look away.

He spreads you open wider, and then his mouth is on your clit, sucking it between his lips, while his fingers continue pumping in and out of you. You buck up so hard you nearly throw yourself off the desk, and he just growls, holding you still, staring up at you the entire time.

“Come,” he snarls. “I’ve been fucking nice to you all day—let you run that bratty mouth, let you come as many times as you wanted—so come on, show me how grateful you are. Make a mess all over my mouth. Know you got one more in you.” 

You’re losing track of your own words, your hands scrambling uselessly on the desk for something to grab that isn’t his hair, which you’re already clinging to for dear life. “I’m gonna die. I’m literally going to die—you idiot—oh my god, Sunghoon, don’t stop—too much—” and your legs are actually shaking, your hands trying to push him away even as you’re grinding your hips up into his mouth, because your body doesn’t know what the fuck it wants.

Your orgasm hits you so violently it’s almost unfair to the previous ones you’ve had. 

He’s still licking you, still sucking your clit, still drawing out every last twitch of pleasure—honestly, what more does he want from you? “Sunghoon—stop—stop it, oh my god, you freak!”

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug on it harshly, and he actually finally pulls away, mouth wet and shiny. “Since you were so good for me…” he says, licking his lips.

Then he dips his head back down and sinks his teeth into the rim of the condom hanging barely inside you—and you watch, half in disbelief, as he pulls it out with his mouth, and he presses his tongue right against your swollen, fucked-out cunt—and you immediately gasp, legs jerking, and he grins up at you with the condom clenched between his teeth—so filthy, so fucking cocky, your body betrays you and you clench around nothing. God—Honestly, woman, what more do you want?

He spits the condom out onto the floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, and smirks at you. “Didn’t think you actually had it in you to be such a good little slut.” 

You glare down at him, and even though you’re breathless as hell, you manage a shrug. “Didn’t think you actually had it in you to fuck me good… enough.” 

He tongues his cheek — then suddenly brings his palm down in a loud slap right over your pussy, making you jolt and hiss, the sting shooting straight up your spine. “FUCK—Are you stupid in the head?” you bite.

Then your breath stutters as you watch how he leans in and presses a slow kiss right against your swollen, ruined cunt. He flicks his tongue out, tasting you one last time—humming low in his throat before he gets up again. 

And—Sunghoon stands over you, fingers glistening, then he brings his fingers up, holding them just in front of your lips. “Open,” he commands.

You glare at him, lips parted from how you’re still panting, but your mouth still kind of twists into somewhat of a smirk because you have an idea. 

“No.”

His brow lifts. “No?” He looks genuinely thrown, just for a second, but his cock twitches, hard and heavy between you—Christ.

You shrug even as your heart’s pounding. “No. You wanna see me suck your fingers?” you weakly jerk your chin at the floor, “Pick up the the condom.”

For a second, he just looks at you like you’re insane. But you watch his throat bob, and you watch the way his cock jerks at the idea. God, he’s so fucking easy, it’s honestly embarrassing for both of you.

“Go on,” you coo, “Be a good boy. Collect your mess and bring it here. I’ll suck you clean. Isn’t that what you want?”

His jaw clenches. “Nasty fucking girl,” he mutters, then—while still holding your gaze—he briefly bends down to grab the spent condom from where he spat it on the floor, tying it off and squeezing until the milky fluid gathers in the tip. 

His jaw is so insanely clenched you think he might shatter a tooth, but he does it anyway, and you watch eagerly — biting back a mean little smile, maybe even a whimper — as he still holds your gaze and works his thumb along the slippery latex, gathering his own cum on his thick fingers and there’s so much of it, more than there should be, you think, but it just makes you giddier.

Then he towers over you again, fingers gleaming with his own mess, and you don’t even wait for him to speak this time. You just part your lips and pull his hand to your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste, and the look on his face is pure disbelief and dark, like he can’t believe you’re actually doing it — or maybe even how easily he’d just listened to you. You suck, slowly at first, and you let your tongue swirl around his fingers — tasting him and you and the mess you’ve both made, and you hear the way his breath catches, and you see the way his big cock twitches against his stomach when you hollow your cheeks, moan around his fingers and swallow him down.

He looks nearly pained.

His free hand goes to your jaw, and he digs his thumb into your cheek to keep your mouth wide open for him. “Jesus fuck, you’re insane,” he practically growls. You don’t break eye contact, just hum around his fingers—letting his cum slide down your throat, eyes fluttering just a little because it’s so much, salty and hot and his, showing him your tongue as you let him go with a wet pop.

You try to reach down to wrap your hand around his dick—God, he’s so hard, and you’re kind of baffled at how you still haven’t felt him properly—but he immediately clicks his tongue, and his hand darts out to swat your wrist away. “No,” he snaps. “Did I say you could touch? Fuck, you’re never satisfied, are you?”

You actually whine. Your hips lift off the deft and your cunt clenches uselessly around nothing — like it wasn’t just stretched to its limits — clit throbbing, and you glare up at him, spit and cum smeared all over your lips and so, so empty.

You pout. “You’re no fun.”

“Fuck. Filthy, dirty girl,” he rasps, but it comes out as a whine. “You really want it all, huh?”

You barely register the broken glass on the floor or the champagne bottle rolling under the desk. 

No, the only thing you register is the throbbing ache between your legs, the taste of his mouth still lingering on your skin, and especially how Sunghoon is so hard. 

Like extremely fucking hard. His cock is heavy and hanging like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. And then he glances up at you, and the look on his face is so fucking smug you want to claw his face off.

Then you watch as he looks around the room, and you do the same.

The sheets are in absolute ruins, the headboard is snapped in half, there are broken shards of glass on the floor, water is pooling under the desk, and petals are… clinging to your skin?

You almost throw up at the thought of the staff or literally anyone seeing this mess… you don’t think you can live down the humiliation of asking for a new room because you and your… your? 

You shake your head. 

Before your mind can catch up — before you can think about what the fuck you just did, before the idea of it all can hit you, before you can even blink — you’re off the desk and lunging for him, shaking legs be damned.

You grab him by the jaw and crush your mouth to his, not caring if you’re too desperate or too fucking obvious. He groans into your mouth, and he tastes like you, like sweat, like salt, and he kisses you back just as rough. “You’re—fuck—” he hisses as you bite his lip and drag it out, “Shit—fucking needy whore—”

His hands fumble on the floor for his wallet, never breaking the kiss, and when he finds it, he pulls out another condom—doesn’t even look at you, just rips it open and rolls it down, his cock so hard it’s almost angry, the tip swollen and flushed.

You lean against his chest to stay upright, and then you glare at him and scoff. “How many condoms do you even have in that thing?”

He doesn’t answer. Just meets your eyes and jerks his chin at the window. “Bend over,” he growls.

You blink, taken aback, and your whole body buzzes with something like adrenaline and giddy panic. “Huh?”

He grabs your hips and spins you around, pushing you toward the window, his palm flat and rough on your lower back. “I said bend over. Now.”

You shiver, but God, you fucking love it. You brace your hands on the cold glass and arch your back—wiggling your ass out towards him. You can see both your reflections in the window—him behind you, hair a mess, scratched and marked and sweaty, and it only turns you on even more.

He presses up behind you, crowding you into the glass, and you barely have time to think before the thick head of his cock is nudging your entrance, and he leans down, voice right at your ear. “Still want it?” he grits through his teeth with a tone, “Tell me how much you want it, sweetheart. Or I’ll stop right now.”

You roll your eyes, grinding your ass back against him, and spit, “Just shut the fuck up and put it in.”

His hand comes down on your ass, hard, and you gasp, the sting blooming through your skin. “Wrong answer,” he growls. “Think you can touch me and kiss me like that and get away with it? Tsk. I should just walk away right now.” 

You try to grind your ass back into him again, desperate for any friction even after everything, but Sunghoon just pushes you harder into the window, pressing your chest and cheek to the cold glass. 

He brings his hand down on your ass again—SMACK—harder this time, and you hiss a curse under your breath. “You really don’t fucking listen, do you?” he says. “That was seven. Keep wiggling like that, and I’m just going to have to spank you until you beg me to stop. That what you want?”

Your lip almost curls at the thought. Why is he threatening you with a good time? “Oh no… I’m falling asleep,” you pretend to yawn instead, though it kind of comes out as a whimper, “I’m soooo bored.”

He laughs—and you can hear how wrecked he is, how much it’s taking for him not to just slam into you right then and there. “You’re lucky I like it when you’re mouthy,” he says, gripping your hips even tighter, keeping you right where he wants you. He leans in—God—biting at your shoulder, his cock pressed between your thighs, but not giving you anything. “Say please,” he whispers, his voice nothing but hot filth right at your ear.

You scoff, and your voice is mocking, but it comes out as a whine when he rubs his tip against your clit. “Please, Sunghoon, fuck me. Is that what you want to hear?”

His grip tightens on your hip as he lines himself up better and drags the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you with it. “We’re getting there. That’s more like it,” he murmurs, and then—finally—he pushes the tip in.

Sunghoon groans from behind—and you moan at the sound and also at the feeling of being stretched to oblivion again—your breath fogs up the window as he starts to push in deeper, filling you up so slowly it’s torture. 

“Fuck, you’re still so tight. How—” he groans, and his hand slides up to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back even more for him. “Look at yourself,” he says, eyes flicking to your reflection in the window. “Look how desperate you are. City out there has no fucking clue what a needy slut you are for my cock, do they?”

“Shut up, you’re just as needy—JESUS—”

He slams in the rest of the way, bottoming out with one brutal thrust, and you scream—so fucking loud—your body clenching around him so hard you both have to stop and breathe for a second. But it’s not long before he’s fucking you hard, his hips snapping into your ass, making the whole window rattle in its frame.

You barely recognize your own voice when you moan out, “Harder—harder, fuck—show me you can actually fuck me properly.”

He laughs and yanks your hair so your back is flush to his chest as he fucks you harder, and then his other hand slides up and grabs your tits, kneading them roughly, pinching your nipples until you arch and whimper and burn under his touch, nipples already too sensitive and tender from before.

He bites down on your shoulder and then licks the mark. “Bet the whole fucking city would pay to see you like this, Mrs. Park,” he taunts with a shaky moan, “So desperate and too drunk on cock to—fuckk—to speak.”

Bastard.

You snarl, head lolling back against his shoulder as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “Don’t call me that. I’ll jump out t..this window.”

He just ruts into you deeper and harsher, his fangs scraping up your neck. “Yeah? You don’t want everyone knowing you’re mine now? Gonna have to get used to it, sweetheart.” his mouth finds the soft skin beneath your jaw and he sucks hard and wet — leaving another angry, blooming mark. “You sound so pretty when you whine. Say it again. Tell me not to call you that while I stretch you out.”

Well. You try. Or maybe you don’t, you’re not entirely sure with the way he’s fucking you—It’s gotten to that point again where your only answer is a breathless moan as his thumb circles your nipple and his cock hits so deep you see white. 

“Sunghoon—just—fuck me, don’t fucking stop—”

“That’s it,” he groans. “Taking me so well,” he punctuates it with a deep thrust, cock buried to the hilt, and when you scream, he grins into your skin and pounds into you even harder. “You want them to hear you? Want my father’s entire staff to know how desperate my pretty little fiancée is for me?”

You shake your head frantically, but you can’t stop the moans that spill out of you. Not when the bastard is so deep you can feel him in your guts. Not when you can feel yourself close again already—God, how is he fucking doing this?

His hand slides back down, fingers rubbing your clit rough and fast. “Oh, and if you come without me telling you to, I’ll fuck you against every window in this fucking hotel. You got that, Mrs. Park?”

Well… too bad, you think. Or maybe too good.

Your thighs start to shake, your stomach tightens, all your muscles lock up around his cock and his hand, and you know—fuck—you know you’re going to come if he keeps it up for another second. You open your mouth and moan, “Sunghoon, I’m—”

But suddenly, he fucking stops. Everything. 

His hips go still, cock buried as deep as he can get, and his hand leaves your clit—and the only sound in the room is both of you panting. You whine—hips pushing back, trying to get anything—but he tightens his grip, holding you in place so you can’t even rub yourself against him.

He scoffs, and it comes out as a growl. “What did I say? Did I say you could come?” He draws his hips back, just enough to tease, and you feel furious and so fucking close you could sob. Maybe you were sobbing.

You whine. “Are you fucking serious? Don’t play. Sunghoon, I need—”

He slaps your ass. “No. Not until you ask me like you mean it,” he growls, “Beg.”

Your pride flares up, but your body is shaking, aching for him, for anything. You choke out, “I’m not begging. Just fuck me. Finish what y…you started, asshole.”

Another slap. “Not begging? Tsk. Guess you don’t want it, then.” then he pulls out halfway, making you feel every single inch leave your body—leaving you so empty you gasp and clench down on nothing. 

God, the things you do for pleasure. You’d rather die than beg—seriously, you would rather throw yourself out this fucking window—but some sick, twisted part of you also realizes you’ve never had dick this big in your entire life, and then suddenly your body is betraying you—willing to say anything just to feel full again. You're so, so close you’d say almost anything. And so you do.

“Just—fuck, just give it to me, please—” It slips out, more of a sob than a plea.

He clicks his tongue again. “Hmmm… I don’t know… wasn’t very convincing.” He drags the head of his cock over your clit, rubbing circles, making you jerk and moan. “You gonna do better, or do I have to teach you how to beg?”

Thank God you’re too fucked-out to think better of this right now. “Please, Sunghoon. Please—fuck me. Need you to make me come, please—” 

He doesn’t even let you finish. He slams back into you so hard you nearly hit your head on the glass, but his hand catches you by the throat and he yanks you back into him. His mouth finds yours, practically swallowing your scream, and he kisses you and moans right into your mouth. “That’s it. Good fucking girl—finally learned how to ask for it,” and then he pulls away just enough to watch your face.

“Come for me,” he hisses. “Fucking come all over my cock.”

You’re gone again—completely, totally gone. All you can do is sob his name (unfortunately), claw your nails at his hand on your throat, and lose every shred of control and strength as your orgasm crashes through you. 

Then he grabs your hips and spins you around—and he barely gives you a second before he’s in you and fucking you stupid again, chasing his own release while you’re still shaking.

Sunghoon is saying something, growling and all, but your vision actually blurs and your legs buckle and nearly give out — but he holds you up — you swear you blackout for a second — but  he still doesn’t stop, not for a second, driving you through it, over and over. You’re still spasming around him, and you feel him chase his own end, hips snapping harder, faster, sloppier, and messier now—until he finally buries himself to the hilt and you feel him throb inside you and fill the condom.

For a second, it’s just the sound of both of you breathing again, and nothing else.

Your vision is… well, not quite good. Don’t have rough sex with contacts on, maybe? Your brain is a fried livewire—and then you look at Sunghoon.

God. His forehead is slick with sweat, his hair is a complete disaster, and for some reason, he’s never ever looked better. It actually makes you angry somehow. He leans his head back with his chest heaving, mouth dropped open because of how hard he’s panting—and he is still inside you. He doesn’t even bother to move.

You just… look at him. 

You bring your hand up to his chest and drag your nails down—like you’re marking him up for fun, or just to make sure he’s there—not even thinking about it. He hisses, but it comes out all fucked up and like a whine.

Then he glances down between the two of you.

And he gives you a lazy, evil thrust, rolling his hips ever so slowly (Somehow, impossibly, he’s still half-hard inside you, which should be physically impossible, but apparently, not for him)—making your mouth let out a noise you hope to God you never hear come out of you again. And you watch with your mouth dropped open as he spits between your bodies and then drags his thumb through it, rubbing it right into your clit—you twitch violently, but you both just moan as he slowly starts thrusting again.

You want to tell him to stop. You really do. You want to say, “That’s enough, I can’t, I can’t,” because you’re “sore” all over and everything hurts, but the truth is you don’t want him to stop, not at all, not ever—and it’s always been like this for you—with your stupid, embarrassing, insatiable sex drive, always the one with the higher sex drive, always left off after one, maybe two average rounds at best, forced to fake it, pretending you’re satisfied, laughing it off and saying, “No, I’m fine, I’m good, I’m tired,” when really you were just wired and frustrated and thinking about getting yourself off in the bathroom ten minutes later.

And now it’s him—of all fucking people, it’s him—It’s infuriating, actually. Completely humiliating. Why does he get to be the best you’ve ever had? No. You refuse to admit that. Even in your own head. You’re not giving him the satisfaction. 

“Insatiable,” he mutters, mostly to himself—and it’s mean, but his hands are soft when he slides them down your waist. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you? Greedy fucking thing,” he drags his thumb back to your clit, rubbing slow circles, watching the way you arch for it, watching your mouth drop open. “Look at you—still want more? You want me to keep going, pretty girl? I can do this all night.”

You grit your teeth. You do. You really fucking do. But you still moan all the same.

And then, because the world is sick and you’re in hell, the doorbell goes off.

RIIIIIIIINGGGGGG.

For a second, neither of you moves. You shut your eyes tightly and actually start praying.

Then another second. 

Then—knock knock knock—followed by a voice, high and nervous and guttingly familiar, through the heavy hotel door.

“Um… hello? Y/N? Sunghoon?” It’s Ningning. Why? God? Why? Must you make this poor girl suffer? “You guys in there? They need you for photos—like, now. Like, actually now. The stylists are—um—freaking out. Are you decent?”

No, Ningning. Oh, dear sweet girl. You’re not decent. Oh… you’ve never been less decent in your life.

Then you stare at Sunghoon—and he just stares at you, breathing hard, like you’re both waiting for the other person to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Don’t answer,” he mutters. “Let them wait.”

Another knock. More urgent. “Hello? Please? You’re not answering your phones—the staff are panicking, the event is in two hours—please don’t make me open this door. Are you in there?”

Sunghoon thrusts once, and you bite down on his shoulder not to moan.

“Stop it,” you hiss and try to glare at him, but your face is all wrecked, and his mouth just quirks up in this infuriating, smug, absolutely smiteable smile.

Sunghoon raises his brows at you—he has the most annoying glint in his eye, and you could kill him, honestly; you could murder him right here and now and feel absolutely nothing except justified.

You groan, flop your head against his shoulder, and try to shove him away (he does not budge, obviously, because he’s a fucking mountain), and then you slap your palm weakly against his chest, nails dragging down the sweat-slick muscle just to make him flinch. He does not. Instead, the sick freak’s cock twitches inside you, and you both feel it, and then he rolls his hips—and you both whine, and it’s almost funny, really.

Outside, Ningning’s voice climbs another octave, and she sounds so sweet and oh so oblivious to what’s going on, it makes your insides twist. “Y/N? Sunghoon? Please—if you guys don’t come out in the next two minutes I’m—um—supposed to use the master key and—oh my god, please don’t make me do that.”

Your eyes widen.

The fucking room… if anyone sees this…

You pinch his bicep and manage to gasp out, “You better pray she doesn’t walk in, Park Sunghoon, or I swear to God I’ll kill you, and then myself, and then you again somehow for good measure.”

“She’ll go away,” he shrugs, then he fucking thrusts again. “Or maybe not.”

“You’re actually insane. She’s right there. I’m—oh my god—get out, get out—” but your voice is all basically half a whine and not convincing at all.

Sunghoon leans in and bites your jaw, right under your ear, and you hiss and swat at his chest again, but he grins against your skin. “Let her wait. You think I give a fuck about some stupid event? They could set this whole fucking hotel on fire and I’d still keep you here. I’ll fuck you all year if I have to.”

And for some fucked-up reason, you almost whimper at that, which is the final, humiliating straw, you think.

“Y/N? SUNGHOON?” Ningning just sounds like she’s about to lose it. “Please, are you—are you okay? Please just answer me—say something—I’m coming in—”

Oh hell no.

You quickly manage to choke out, “We’re fine! We’re—just—” and you can hear your own voice, breathless, weird, totally suspicious. And what’s worse is you don’t even finish your sentence.

You hear Ningning sigh and say something in relief outside, but Sunghoon… actually laughs. And you hate him so much you might actually kill him. 

“You think this is funny?” you hiss, jabbing a finger at his chest, “Get out of me—”

“You’re pathetic. It’s a little funny,” he shakes his head — the bastard — still buried inside you, still so fucking hard it’s actually criminal. “Come on, say please.”

Not this shit again. 

You stare at him, and consider actual, legitimate murder. “I will bite your fucking nose off, Sunghoon, I’m not joking—” you muffle your voice before you can moan, because he rocks into you again, so slow, so goddamn deep, and you can feel your brain short-circuiting with every inch.

“You’re done! You’re done! Get OUT—oh my god, if she comes in here and sees—” you start to laugh, but it sounds a little too close to a sob.

He finally, finally pulls out—slow, way too slow, and you almost sag to the floor with relief and frustration and God knows what else. Then you carefully step around the glass on the floor and try to stumble for your robe (where even is that robe? Did you ever even put it on?) but Sunghoon yanks you back in—then he grabs your jaw and kisses you filthy—nothing gentle, nothing sweet, just tongue and the taste of both your ruined pride. He groans into your mouth, palm sliding between your legs one last time—just to feel how wet, how fucked-out he’s left you. 

“This—” he mutters against your lips between kisses, “didn’t—” kiss “—mean anything.” kiss “You get that?”

You huff a laugh against his mouth and grip his cheeks. “I just wanted a good fuck,” you shrug—and then you bite his lower lip hard enough to make him grunt (one last time.) “And you barely managed that.” You lie.

His hand comes down across your ass in one last, stinging SMACK—and you hiss—but you shove him away and grab whatever clothes are closest (you honestly hope it’s not his shirt, but you literally can’t tell anymore) and throw yourself into the bathroom without another thought.

You slam the door behind you and lean against it for a beat—heart pounding, body wrecked, and mind absolutely fried—and try to remember how to breathe. Or walk. Or exist. Or, god forbid, face a camera after this. Uh… Maybe you could fake your death?

Outside, you hear Sunghoon’s voice—calm, almost infuriatingly bored, as if he wasn’t just trying to fuck you through the glass two seconds ago, “We’re coming, Ningning. Chill.” he pauses. Then he adds, “And let the front desk know this room is… just tell them we need a new suite.”

Then you finally catch sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror—and for the first time in a long, long time, you recognize the girl staring back at you.

And you really wish you didn’t.

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )

𝓝 ⟢ legend says they would’ve fucked forever if they hadn’t been interrupted 🥱🥱 this might actually be the most Insane chapter (TUMBLR YOU WILL NOT SILENCE ME) i’ve ever released and it’s not just because there’s 17k words of absolute filth (address me 🐘 🐘 🐘 ) but because this is genuinely the chapter where they’ve both been themselves the most mamas…. and AGAIN, I KNOW i say this at the end of every chapter BUT!!!! i mean it a thousand times over this time. i really mean it. i blacked out writing this. and WHEW i went all out with the smut LOL. They’re too freaked out don’t look at me like that…. thank you so much for reading AAAAA i would genuinely pay to hear every single one of your thoughts. i love you. i love you. i love you. ♡:(；ﾞﾟ'ωﾟ'): 🌷

He turned at the sound of your voice, and his grin grew wider. “Y/N,” he slurred softly, like your name had been sitting heavy on his tongue, and he held his arms out a little, “You came!”

You crossed the kitchen, frowning at the bottle. “What are you doing?”

He shook his head, hair swaying into his eyes, lips still stretched into that silly smile. “Noooothing.” The word dragged out of him, sing-song, his shoulders shaking a little as he leaned back against the counter for balance. “Why? What’s it look like?” he hiccuped in between the words. “Uh oh. You look mad. Am I in trouble?”

You reached for the bottle without saying anything, but he tipped it out of your reach, swaying slightly with the motion.

“Hoon,” you warned, “give it.”

He pouted and tucked the bottle tighter to his chest, as if he were a child and you were trying to take a toy from him. “Nooo,” he slurred, shaking his head again. “It’s mine. Go get… your own."

You sighed, “I’m fifteen, I don’t drink—you don’t drink either.” You stepped closer, trying not to smile at how ridiculous he looked, your fingers brushing the bottle before he jerked it away again.

“Come on,” you whispered, “just give it to me.”

He stuck his tongue out playfully and then whispered back, “Make me.”

He stepped closer, and your breath caught stupidly, and you wanted to hit him for how easily he could still make you nervous, even when he was like this. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he leaned down just enough that your shoulders brushed and lifted the bottle higher, his arm wobbling. “C’mooooon get it, then.”

You rolled your eyes and reached again, and this time he tried to sidestep, but his balance betrayed him, and his foot caught against the leg of the counter stool, and he stumbled, the bottle slipping from his fingers as he went down with it.

“Shit—Sunghoon—”

The glass shattered against the tile and scattered everywhere, and you managed to catch his arm before he fully hit the floor. He hissed, trying to push himself up from the edge of the counter, and when you grabbed his hand, you saw a thin line of red blooming along his skin.

“You’re bleeding—god, you idiot—come here.”

“It’s fiiine,” he tried to wave it off, though his words slurred around the edges, “Don’t worry. You’re here… taking care of me. So m’fine.”

You tugged him along, careful of the shards under your feet, and half-dragged him down the hallway, and it felt endless with his weight pressed into your side.

His steps were clumsy but easy enough to guide, and he wouldn’t stop leaning close and half-yelling, “Oh, you liiike meee! Y/N liiikes meee!”, dragging the words out in a sing-song voice that echoed through the hall. You hushed him, rolling your eyes, but his laugh just spilled out louder, and you were smiling too by the time you managed to get him inside the bathroom.

You sat him down on the edge of the tub, and he let you push and guide him like he didn’t want to be anywhere else anyway, still leaning heavily into your side until you eased him down. You turned on the tap, wet the corner of a tissue, cleaned the blood from his skin with hands that shook a little, more from how he was looking at you than from the cut itself.

He stopped swaying his legs against the bathtub and hissed when you dabbed at the cut with a tissue. “Ow. Ow, ow. That hurts.”

“It’s nothing,” you said gently, blowing on the skin like that would soothe it. “Baby cut. You’ll live.”

“Not if you’re mad at me,” he slurred, quieter this time. 

Then, even softer, “Please don’t be mad.”

Sometimes you can still see it when you close your eyes. 

The way his cheeks were flushed pink and how his hair was falling into his eyes, how even with the alcohol softening every line of him, he still looked at you like it mattered to him what you said. Back then, you never thought about how one day it might not be like that, because in this memory, you’re only shaking your head and laughing under your breath as if he’d said the most ridiculous thing, as you squeeze his hand softly and blow gently over the cut one more time. 

And he’s still watching you with that heavy-lidded warmth that made your chest feel too small, and you remember how easy it was to believe in it, in him, in the way things were, without ever once thinking you could lose it.

“I could never be mad at you,” you’d hummed, pressing the tissue to his hand one last time.

He didn’t take his eyes off you. Not when you pressed the tissue against his hand, not when you bent closer to make sure the glass was gone, not even when you hummed under your breath without realizing it. 

“You’re lucky it’s not deep,” you said, frowning at the smear of blood that kept reappearing. “Why would you even—”

“I wanted to know,” he interrupted, “Why people like it. Why my…” He trailed off, biting down on the rest, and his thoughts drifted in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“You don’t need it.” 

“I know.” He smiled at you again, softer this time, almost shy. “I have you.”

“Then promise me you won’t drink again?”

He hummed, nodding as his eyes slipped closed, “Mmm. Promise.”

When you’d finished wrapping it with the makeshift bandage, you sat back on your heels, wiping your hands on your skirt. He was still staring, a little dazed, a little drunk—maybe too drunk- and when you lifted your pinky without thinking, holding it up between you, he blinked down at it, then at you.

“Do it properly then,” you raised a brow.

His lips stretched into the kind of grin that had lived in all your favorite memories, and a low laugh slipped out of him. “We’re not eleven anymore.”

“Do it,” you said simply, nudging your finger towards him further.

He stared at you for a long moment, the kind that made your heart pick up even though you pretended it didn’t, then shook his head and lifted his pinky, hooking it through yours, and pressing his thumb to yours the way only the two of you ever did.

He mumbled, eyes still locked on you. “For you.”

You hadn’t thought about that night in years. 

The boy in the kitchen with his flushed cheeks, sloppy grins, and promises whispered into the space between your pinkies. 

He had felt so far away for so long that you almost believed you’d imagined him—or maybe you hadn’t, and that’s what you kept holding onto. But now, standing in the back alley of the Lotte with the cold pressing in around you, with Sunghoon too drunk to hold his head up straight, you almost saw him again. Not the man who wrapped his words with cruelty and filth, but that boy. The one who laughed too softly around the edges and only ever cared that you did too, who leaned into you like he didn’t know how to stand without you there.

Heeseung, of course, was no help. He was swaying worse than Sunghoon, grinning like the drunk idiot he was, throwing his arm around both of you.

“Look at us,” he exclaimed, “Golden trio. Just like old times… except Hoon is… a fucking psychopath. M’still perfect, and you—” he poked your cheek, missed, and jabbed your ear instead, “—are still bossy as hell.”

You swatted his hand away. “I said stop talking.”

“See? Bossy.” He giggled at his own joke, “I’m just saying. If y’don’t want to take care of us, you can always let me die here. I’ll haunt you, though. I will. On GOD!”

“Shut up before I actually leave both of you out here.”

Heeseung grinned, though he glanced at Sunghoon and considered it for a second. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

His eyes widened. “Ohh mannnn. Ohhhh. You so would!” he gasps, genuine concern etched in his voice, “Mann..I have tickets for the Weeknd next year. You can leave his ass, I don’t give a shit—”

Sunghoon shifted against the wall, his shoulder brushing yours, and the movement tugged your thoughts back to what he’d said earlier about his father and a tie. 

It sat somewhere in the corner of your mind, and you didn’t have the space to think about it properly—not with his weight leaning into you, not with everything else pressing in. Still, the thought stayed there, faint and unwelcome, and your jaw tightened before you even realized it.

“M’gonna throw up,” Sunghoon muttered against the wall, leaning away from your shoulder.

“Oh hellllllll no—dude! If you throw up, I’ll throw up! Oh—” Heeseung gagged and clutched his stomach, “I’m finished. I’m gonna throw up just thinking about it—”

“Both of you shut up!” you snapped, “If you throw up and you throw up, then I’ll throw up, and then who’s gonna drag your asses home? Huh? Not me. I’ll leave you right here.”

Heeseung pointed dramatically at you, finger wobbling in the air. “Mmm. No. I thought about it again, and I decided you love me too much to leave me out here.” 

“I don’t,” you said flatly. 

“You do,” he sing-songed, “You love me. I’m your brother—I’m basica—Hello? Don’t look awayy—Admit it. Say it right now before I die.” he leaned his whole body weight onto your shoulder until you stumbled. “Say it back. Tell me you love me. Look at me. Y/N. Look at meEEEeeeEEee.”

You shoved him off with an elbow. “I swear to God—”

“Mmm.” Sunghoon whined, eyes half-closed, “I think she loves me more.” His words were soft and slurred but clear enough.

You turned your head and glared at him. “You. Don’t start.”

He smiled at you lazily, “I’m not starting. You started.”

“Let me say this again since I don’t think you’re comprehending it up here,” you pointed at your head, “I will leave both of you here,” you threatened, and turned to jab a finger at Heeseung, “And you. Stop fucking gagging.”

He paid you no mind, bent over, and made retching noises. “Ughhh, I can’t stop picturing him throwing up,” he whined, holding his stomach. “I’m dying. I’m actually dying. It’s over.”

You smacked the back of Heeseung’s head lightly, just enough to make him jolt. “Get your shit together.”

“OW!” He slapped a hand over the spot and looked at you, “Owowowow! Why is everyone hitting me tonight?”

You bit down on the urge to cry out of anger and shoved the water bottle you’d managed to grab before coming out here into his arms. “Shut the hell up and drink this.”

He blinked at it, then at you, then back at the bottle before he took it. 

Sunghoon lowly laughed from where his head was tipped against the wall, and when you glanced over at him, he was grinning at you like this was the funniest thing he’d seen all night. And then, as if it wasn’t enough that you had to be out in the cold babysitting these two idiotic grown men, his knees buckled, and he slid down the wall and landed hard on his ass with a dull thud.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Heeseung, get him—”

When you turned back to look at Heeseung for help, you immediately regretted it, because he was now rocking the bottle of water you gave him—still unopened—back and forth in his arms like he was lulling a newborn.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against the glass. “The bossy mean lady won’t hurt you.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, crouching down to Sunghoon—despite every bone in your body wanting to turn around and leave him here. You hooked an arm under his and tried to haul him up for the thousandth time tonight. “What the fuck did you even drink—no, actually, this has to be mushrooms or something. Are you on drugs?” 

He slumped heavier into your side than he needed to, letting you do most of the work as you tugged him back to his feet.

“No drugs,” he mumbled, breathing warm against your cheek. “Just you.”

“Would you stop talking like that?!” you sneered, breathless as you tried to get him upright again, but he was too heavy and his weight was pulling against you no matter how tightly you gripped his arm. 

“Can’t help it when you’re weari—”

You both hit the ground in an ungainly mess, knees stinging, his elbow catching your ribs as his full weight crashed into you. The rain had left the asphalt slick and dirty, and the second you looked down, your stomach dropped—mud and street water were already soaking through the hem of your dress, turning the white fabric a dull, ugly brown.

“My dress!! Oh my god—it’s fucking white—” you shoved at his shoulder uselessly, scrambling to push yourself up from underneath his weight. “Do you know how much this costs?”

He groaned something incoherent against your shoulder, and you swore you could feel the faintest vibration of a laugh, which only made you want to shove him harder. 

And you did.

He just blinked down at you, hair falling in his eyes, lips tugged into a lazy grin. “M’gonna buy you another one,” he slurred, words dragging together. “Buy you soooooooooo many. Milan, Paris, wherever. They’ll send them before sunrise if I call—” He hiccuped, grinning wider. “But then I’ll ruin it myself—”

You froze mid-motion as you were trying to brush the dirt from your dress, “Sunghoon,” you hissed, heat rushing straight to your face. “Shut the fuck up.”

His lashes fluttered as he muffled something against your palm, gaze dragging over your face and lingering like he was memorizing something he’d lose when the morning came. 

And then—before you could even process it—his tongue dragged lazily and wet across the heel of your hand.

“Are you—what the fuck?!” you yelped, jerking back and wiping your hand furiously on his jacket. “Did you just—lick me? You freak!”

He licked his lips shamelessly, “You taste good,” he murmured. 

You shove him again, harder this time, “Get off me,” you snap.

He scrunches his face like a sulking kid and answers softly, “Don’t wanna.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Mmm. You’re so smart, Y/N.” He said, nuzzling his face into your shoulder.

“And you’re stupid,” You try to shove him off and fail, “How are you this heavy?!”

He pouts properly now, little stubborn furrow between his brows. “M’not stupid.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

Your patience was thinning. If it even existed at this point. “Shut the hell—” 

“You’re stupid!”

“I’m not stupid!” you huffed.

“You so are—”

“I will kill you. Get. Off. You bastard—” your hand scrabbled at his arm again.

He blinks at you, head tipping as if the motion itself takes effort, and then, through a hiccuped laugh, he garbles, “Ifyou’restupidsaywhat.”

“What?!” you barked, and then it hit you—what he’d just said, as if here a twelve-year-old—and for a second you nearly left him there for the sake of your own dignity.

God, he’s truly fucking impossible. 

And so familiar to a boy you once knew.

He snorts, the sound bubbling up into a hiccuped laugh, “You said what!” he repeats, delighted, pointing and looking towards Heeseung, who had gone suspiciously quiet behind you. “She fell for it!”

For a second, you just looked at him, and the sight of his hair falling over into his eyes, the faint flush still clinging to his cheeks, and his cheesy grin made you feel like you were stepping back into rooms you’d locked away in your mind that never stayed buried, no matter how hard you tried. He reeked of alcohol so badly it made you want to hurl your insides out, but you still couldn’t stop your eyes from catching on the way his jacket had slipped down his shoulder. 

And then—there, just above the collar of his jacket, a faint spot of purple bloomed across his skin.

Your hand moved before you even thought about it, fingers brushing gently over it. “What’s—”

His face twisted despite his state, and his hand shot up immediately, catching your wrist before you could touch it further. “S’Nothi—Nothing.” 

Your brows knit, words catching in your throat. “Sunghoon, is something going on at h—”

“I got into a fight.” He cut you off, still slurring, and his grip tightened before he forced it loose, shaking his head. “Leave… it.”

You sat back a little, biting down on everything that rose in your throat. You didn’t want to press, you didn’t want to care—God, you didn’t—but it was him sitting in front of you. 

Him, the soft, silly ghost of your past sitting in front of you, and it was worse somehow, because you knew that by tomorrow he’d be gone again. By tomorrow, he’d be the same but all too different, the cruel boy who twisted your chest in a different way.

Your teeth found the pad of your thumb without thinking, biting down absently.

And then his hand was there again—sloppy, as he tugged yours down. “Stop that,” he murmured, still so soft it almost broke you. 

You just looked at him again, your brows knitting without meaning to. He still had your hand in his, clumsy fingers holding onto it like he was afraid you’d pull away. His eyes blinked heavily, lashes low, but then his lips parted and his voice came out slurred, small, almost swallowed by the quiet. 

“You said… you’d never be mad at me,” he hiccuped. 

Your breath stalled. The words hung right there in the air between you, and for a second, you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. 

How drunk was he? 

“…What?” you whispered. 

He leaned forward just a little, like it took everything in him to say it, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Back then,” he started, almost like he was talking to himself. “I was… sixteen and you said… you’d never… be mad.” He let go of your hand and raised his pinky weakly, and you hated that he knew exactly which part of you would answer to that. “This used to mean… something.”

Something inside you went hot.

This impossible, putrid, vile, all too confusing piece of shit in front of you was sitting there drunk and sloppy and holding up his pinky like the version of him that last did that to you years ago hadn’t burned himself out of existence. 

Like he hadn’t spent years—sober, but still, treating you like you were nothing, like you were dirt stuck to the bottom of his stupid, putrid, obnoxious, expensive shoes.

“You don’t get to do this,” you hissed, and shoving his pinky away, “You don’t get to sit here drunk and play at being my—him again. You don’t get to say this stuff to me now and then go back to—” you swallowed hard, angry at how your voice shook, at how he was pouting as if this was some sort of game, “—back to treating me like shit when you’re sober.”

He tilted his head against the wall and shut his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “Shut up,” he muttered.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” It came out louder than you meant to.

“Too loud… much... No more yelling today,” he slurred, shaking his head. “Don’t wanna hear anymore. ’M tired.”

He looked almost peaceful with his eyes closed, hair falling over his face, and if you were stupid and didn’t know any better, if you didn’t remember everything else, you could’ve mistaken it for softness again.

You stared at him, nails digging into your palms. 

It was laughable, really, how he could still take up all the air in the space even when he was barely conscious. How he could drag you back and forth between wanting to shake him until his teeth rattled and wanting to—

No. No, you weren’t going there.

“Look, baby!” Heeseung’s voice came up behind you, and you nearly jumped. 

You turned towards him, “Heeseung, what the hell are you—”

There really was no easy way to describe the sight in front of you. 

He was swaying, still clutching the bottle of water you’d shoved at him earlier, and then he stretched it out towards you, “This is Mommy!” He jabbed the neck of the bottle vaguely at you. “And that’s Daddy!” Then he pointed it at Sunghoon.

“They’re always fighting,” He squinted at the bottle like it might answer him. “But wait. What would that make me? If he’s your dad... and I’m your dad…” he wagged a finger at Sunghoon, almost toppling over “—no homo. I’m just daddy number two... But like… Y/N is basically my s-sister…” His eyes went wide. “Okay, baby, clearly we have a lot to talk about…”

“No, genuinely, what the fuck did you two drink?” you hissed.

Heeseung covered the bottle’s ears—or that’s what it looked like he was doing, “Hmmmm. Everything.” He started counting on his fingers. “Gin. Whiskey. Wine. Beer. Champagne. Some old guy’s flask Sunghoon copped… And—Um… But shhh, don’t let the baby hear about drinking—bad influence.” He rocked the bottle again like a cradle.

You were truly never meant to witness anything of this sort in your life. “You’re actually stupid in the head.”

Heeseung gasped. “Don’t call me that in front of my child!”

“I will break that stupid bottle over your head, Lee Heeseung.” You motioned at your dress, then your surroundings, “I’m fucking freezing, my dress is ruined, and I’m stuck babysitting you two dimwits! We can’t go back inside like this. Call someone—Jake—”

“No.” Sunghoon groaned, took the tiniest breath, and added, “Don’t call him.”

You stared at him. “Why not?” 

“’Cause I don’t want him here.” There was a bluntness in the way he said it that made your mouth go dry. 

“I don’t give a shit what you want— I’m calling him.”

“Try it,” he muttered, “Call him. See what happens.”

You reached for your pockets to spite him, expecting your phone to be there, and then realized you don’t have pockets and that your phone was tucked in your purse in the ballroom. You kept that to yourself, though. Let him think you were bluffing. Let him squirm a little.

“Are you… Is that like a threat or something? You’re threatening me? Bitch, you can barely even stand. Tell me what to do then!” you spat.

“Don’t yell,” Sunghoon groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “My head’s… killing me.”

“Good. I hope it kills you. Like, actually.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue, “You hear that, baby? Daddy and Mommy are soooooo toxic, but Daddy number two’s gonna raise you right.”

“Shut up, Heeseung,” you and Sunghoon said at the same time. 

“See what I mean?”

You stare at him for a beat, then at the bottle in his hands. “Give me that.”

“What?!” Heeseung protests, wobbling. “That?! She has a name—Nooo.”

You finally managed to twist out from under Sunghoon’s weight and snagged the bottle from Heeseung before he could protest properly, and then shoved it towards Sunghoon’s face. “Drink.”

He whines, fumbles with the cap, and fails, then pushes the bottle away entirely. 

Unfuckingbelievable. Really. You’re too angry to think straight at this point, so you snatch the bottle back, your chest tight with everything crowded in there… How your mother is probably wondering where you were, Jake, and how insanely damned you’d be if you walked back into that ballroom—filled with vultures who are practically sitting at the edge of their seats and waiting for you to slip up—with two stupid drunk boys trailing after you. 

Maybe you should just leave them here. You should.

But you twist the cap off and hand the bottle to Sunghoon anyway.

He stares up at you, brows knitted, and then stares at the bottle and groans again—not even bothering to try. 

Yeah, okay. Now you really contemplated leaving them. 

This time you grip his cheeks with both hands and you do it harder than you mean to, cause he flinches and scrunches his nose like he wanted to push you off. 

You eased up immediately, tipping his head just enough to get the bottle against his pink lips. “Drink,” you say, softer.

And he did, finally.

You watch the water slip down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then watch his eyes fix stubbornly on yours the whole time like he’s daring you to look away. And you don’t. You can’t. 

For a second, it’s just the two of you and the dark around you, nothing else.

You’re so caught up staring at him, at how undone he looks, that you almost miss the muffled sound he makes against the rim. “M’done,” 

You blink and pull the bottle back and put it down, but your hands didn’t drop right away. His skin was warm under your palms, too warm, and for the briefest moment, you almost forgot yourself, almost forgot everything except how close you were and how different he looked like this—this version of him that doesn’t exist anywhere but here and in a memory tucked deep inside of your mind, heavy-eyed and pliant under your hands.

“Oooooohhh, look who it is. Jakeyyyyy.”

Your stomach dropped before you even turned. You let go of Sunghoon and straightened too fast, wiping your palms on your dress as if to erase the trace of how you had just held his face in your hands.

Jake stood at the mouth of the alley with his hands shoved in his pockets, his brows knit in confusion, and his expression pulling tighter the longer he looked at you. 

“What the hell happened to you three?” he said, looking at you, and then where you had just been with Sunghoon.

Heeseung clutched the bottle—where the fuck did he get that back from?—to his chest, “Family time,” he declared, and started pointing the bottle towards each of you, “Daddy, Mommy, and Daddy number two. Baby, meet Uncle Jake.”

You closed your eyes briefly, dragging a hand down your face. “He’s drunk.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, his tone flat, “I can see that. And smell it.”

A beat. Then,

“And you?” he added, “Having fun?”

You gave him a look. “Do I look like I’m having fun?”

His mouth twitched, but it wasn’t really a smile. “You look good, though. Always do.” His eyes cut briefly toward Sunghoon when he said that. 

Then Jake stepped closer, “You really shouldn’t be out here like this, it’s freezing,” he murmured, taking his jacket off to put it over your shoulders. “You keep robbing me of my jackets, pretty.”

You didn’t answer him and only moved to tug it tighter around yourself, and you caught the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth—satisfied, smug, something in between. 

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers still held the lapels together. “You make it sound like I planned it.”

“Looks better on you anyway,” Jake glanced toward the other two, his brow furrowing. “Where the hell did they even manage to get this drunk?”

You sighed. “I have no idea.”

Behind him, Heeseung perked up from where he was. “Uncle Jake is lyingggggg,” he slurred, wagging a finger. “You were with us—then you left. Said you were gonna—”

Jake turned his head slightly, cutting him off with a small laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Shit, you’re right. I should’ve stayed,” He turned to look at you then, and the corner of his mouth lifted as his tongue swept across his bottom lip. “Had my hands full with something else.”

Heat rushed up your neck so fast it almost made you dizzy. 

“Jake,” you hissed under your breath, trying—and failing—to sound annoyed instead of flustered.

From beside you, Sunghoon groaned low in his throat, shoving against the wall like he was going to stand, and you almost told him not to move, but bit it back. His hand dragged against the brick, jaw tight as he forced himself up.

Jake leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, and then he stepped past you toward Sunghoon. 

He bent slightly, one arm ready to sling under him. “C’mon, let’s get you sobered up—”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched hard the moment Jake came close, and somehow he managed to straighten almost perfectly. “Don’t need your help, man.”

Jake ignored him, slinging his arm under him anyway. “Yeah, you do. Don’t make it harder than it is.”

Sunghoon’s lip curled, and he shoved Jake’s arm off with more force than he had any right to muster in his state. “Said I don’t need it.” Then he took a step forward on his own.

One step. 

Two.

And then, just like every other time tonight, his foot caught, and he stumbled hard.

Your body moved before your mind caught up—you were already there, already catching him, already bracing against the pull of his weight like you’d done it a thousand times before.

Sunghoon looked at you for a long second, and you saw anger and something else twist in his face when his gaze flicked down to take in how Jake’s jacket was clinging to your shoulders, and then what was trailing on your neck that you had so desperately tried—and failed—to cover from when you two… You swallowed down the thought and held his gaze and didn’t move.

Jake saw the whole thing unfold, and you could swear you saw his jaw twitch when you looked at him. “Y/N. Come with me,” he said, “Let’s get you inside. I’ll come back for them.”

“I’m not leaving— like this,” you said. You had almost said them.

“Then I’m not leaving you,” Jake said, matter-of-fact.

“God, you’re all so exhausting, it’s sobering me up,” Heeseung muttered, hugging the bottle to his chest. “Can we do this somewhere else? My baby’s getting cold.”

You felt the words forming before you’d even decided to care about how you hadn’t stopped to ask yourself why you were holding him up at all, why your body kept choosing for you. You didn’t have an answer you liked, so you didn’t look for one.

You sighed, “Fine. Jake, take Hee.” You jerked your chin at Sunghoon. “I’ll bring him.” 

Jake raised a brow. “You sure? I can bring Sungh—”

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened on your arm. “She’s sure,” he said, eyes on you, not him.

“Okay, but I still think—”

Heeseung gagged loudly. “Uh-oh.”

You turned just in time to see him bend at the waist. “Hee—don’t—”

Only, he did. 

You flinched back on instinct, yanking Sunghoon with you. Jake swore under his breath and jumped sideways, shoes scraping the ground.

Heeseung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and squinted at the mess. “Uh-huh. Yeah. That definitely sobered me up.”

“God, kill us all right now,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him cause he was still gagging, and because you could feel your own throw up coming. “Don’t fucking do it again.”

“Oh, I’m good,” he said weakly. “I’m so good. I’m—” He gagged one more time, caught himself, forced a thumbs-up. “See?”

Jake dragged a hand over his face, then slipped his phone from his pocket with the other. “Fuck this. Okay. For starters, we’re not walking anywhere,” he muttered, already dialing. “There are too many cameras out in the front entrance, so we’ll take the VIP exit. I’ll call the embassy driver to swing around back. And I’ll get the hotel liaison to send towels or something.”

Right. Of course. Back entrance or not, you were still you, and there were far too many vultures coiled around the block like second skin. You shifted anxiously on your feet because you could practically feel the press at the curb.

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened on your arm again, not hard, just there. “She’s bringing me,” he said, mostly to Jake—even though he was on a call, but his eyes never left your face.

“You’re not deciding anything,” you muttered, and still didn’t shake him off.

Jake ignored what Sunghoon said and put his phone back in his pocket. “They’ll be here in a second, told me to use the service elevator by the banquet pantry. Security knows not to look.”

A back door opened up at the far end of the alley, and two men slipped out in black suits, black gloves, and one of them had a stack of hot towels and a trash bag, the other had a radio clipped to his ear, and the face of a man who looked like he’d seen things you were afraid to name.

“Miss,” the towel-man said to you, eyes kind. “We’ll handle the spill.” He handed Jake a towel first, then you. You let go of Sunghoon and pressed yours to Heeseung’s mouth—despite your gagging—like a mother bird, and he actually let you, eyes big and sorry.

“Thank you,” you said, politely tipping your head at the man. “We’ll be out of your way in a second.”

He bowed. “Your car will be waiting in the private exit lane.”

When you all made your way back inside the hotel again, the service elevator arrived with a soft chime. You and Jake got Heeseung inside first, then Sunghoon. When you backed him against the rail, you braced your palm on his chest for half a second longer than you should have, then let go. 

“Hey,” Heeseung whispered to the same water bottle. “We’re going down, baby. Wheee.”

You shook your head and laughed despite yourself. “I’m actually going to lose my fucking mind.”

Jake’s shoulder brushed yours. “I’ve got them, baby,” he said, and your heart skipped a beat at the way he so casually called you that. “I’ll take you back inside. Find your mom. Get your things. Say your goodbyes.”

Your brows knitted. “I can’t go back inside.” You motioned down at the dirt-streaked hem of your dress. 

From the corner, Sunghoon let out a low sound, not quite a laugh and not quite anything else, just a sharp exhale through his nose. He was slouched against the rail, pale under the fluorescent light. “You really think dragging her through there in that dress, your—that jacket over her, with you— is a good idea?” His voice was rough and heavy, but the bite in it carried clearly enough. “They’ll practically eat her alive.”

Jake’s mouth pulled into something close to a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You suddenly care about how she looks in front of everyone, Hoon?”

“I don’t.”

“Right.” Jake smiled properly this time.

“You just don’t understand how our world works,” Sunghoon sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I’d be caught in… It’s my image—my father’s. I can’t be seen with her.”

You’d just hauled his ass out of that stupid fucking gala and risked your own image for this bastard, and this is how he repays you? 

Your fists curled at your side, “Then don’t. Nobody asked you to be seen with me.”

He tilted his head, “Little out of options aren’t we, huh?” 

He looked at you a beat longer like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. His jaw clenched once before he settled back against the rail, shutting his eyes like he was done with it.

Jake just shook his head. “Bro, you’re the one who decided to get shitfaced at a fundraiser crawling with half of Seoul’s press and half the board of your father’s company. Three hundred cameras pointed at you—and you think she’s the liability?” His hand slid from under his jacket and onto the small of your back. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but Sunghoon let out something that wasn’t quite a laugh before you could, “Half of those cameras are on our payroll. Don’t act like you don’t know how this works. This—” he jerked his chin at you, “—is different.”

Jake shrugged. “And what’s your suggestion, Hoon? Hide her in the back of the car with you? That’ll look better?”

Sunghoon’s jaw worked, teeth pressed tight, but he didn’t answer Jake. His eyes moved back to you instead, dragging over the ruined hem of your dress, Jake’s jacket on you, the scarf that had slipped just enough to bare the skin of your throat with purple markings peeking through more clearly now. 

“You look ridiculous,” he muttered finally, but it was soft, “If y’think anyone isn’t going to notice—”

There he was again. “Yeah? And whose fault is that?” you snapped, “Why do you even care? You’ve made it very clear what you think of me when you’re sober.”

A beat of silence.

“I would like to add that I’m very uncomfortable right now,” Heeseung mumbled from where he stood.

Jake’s eyes dropped, sweeping over you slowly, too slowly, before coming back up. “She looks fine,” he said lightly, and then brought his other hand and brushed it at the edge of your scarf, fixing it gently back into place. “Better than fine, actually.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard. 

The doors finally slid open to the dim light of the parking lot. For a moment, it was quiet, except for Heeseung mumbling to his “baby,” Sunghoon’s uneven breaths, and the rush of blood in your ears.

“Wait,” Heeseung groaned, dragging the word out, “help. Think I’m gonna—be sick again.”

You slid under his arm on reflex, steadying him for three steps while threatening to kill him if he threw up again, until Jake reached in and took the weight. “I’ve got him,” he said, already shifting Heeseung to his side.

You don’t know why you looked back, but when you did, Sunghoon had his head tipped against the elevator wall, eyes shut, and his face scrunched like the lights were too much. 

Without really thinking—mostly because you just wanted to get the hell out of here—you reached forward and tapped his chest.

“Can you walk?” There wasn’t an ounce of care in it.

He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head. “My head...”

Your fingers curled into his jacket and gave the slightest tug.

He came off the wall too easily, stumbling straight into you, his weight falling at your side like his body trusted what his mind never would.

“I didn’t offer to hold you,” you said through your teeth.

“Shhhh,” he said, barely audible.

You contemplated dropping him right on his ass and walking off without looking back. But instead, against all judgment, you hitched your shoulder under his and steadied both your steps. 

“Walk,” you hissed, “Don’t make me drag you.”

His breath was warm against your temple, uneven, and for a second, you thought he might just fold in on himself right there, so you mindlessly tightened your grip on him and gritted your teeth. 

A different pair of men in black suits were already waiting in front of the tinted parked car Jake was leading Heeseung towards. They didn’t seem to react when they saw who you were holding or how you were holding him; they were simply just there, efficient and expressionless. Of course they were. This was normal. You hated that it was normal.

For a second, you thought of your parents and immediately cringed. If they found out about this… God. It’s not that they’d be furious or anything; they’d understand. You just couldn’t stomach another one of your father’s half-hearted lectures, the kind where he tried to look serious only because your mother was watching. But either way, it wasn’t like you’d been much use up there. What were you supposed to do—walk back in with dirt on your dress and half-faded hickeys up your throat, smile that perfect smile they’d taught you, and pretend nothing was out of place? 

No. That wasn’t what they needed tonight. Their only daughter showing up like this wasn’t going to hold up the warm image they worked so hard to keep. You’d already done your part, anyway—charmed half the people your father lined up for you in the car ride over. That was enough.

“Miss, let us—” one handler reached forward towards you and gave a polite incline of his head as if to take Sunghoon from you.

You shook your head once. “It’s fine.”

Jake helped Heeseung—who had surprisingly gone quiet now, his arms folded tight around that stupid bottle—into one of the single seats in the middle row.

You stopped short before taking the next step because you suddenly felt the floor tilt under you and your vision flickering at the edges, almost as if your body was reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since… what? Three?

The stumble was small, but Sunghoon nearly lost his balance with you, then he caught himself and shifted his weight away so he wasn’t leaning on you so heavily. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you managed, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth like that might steady you.

His hand moved clumsily, finding your face. His palm was warm against your cheek, and his thumb brushed faintly without intention. 

“Look at me. What’s wrong?” The words came softly, and he almost sounded concerned, almost—but then he quickly slurred, “If you’re gonna fall, let go. Don’t take me with you.”

You scoffed, but your chest tightened all the same.

Jake was already closing the car door, but when he turned back, he caught the moment and how Sunghoon’s hand was still lingering softly near your face. The look he gave was unreadable, but heavy enough that you straightened, shaking Sunghoon’s hand off as if you hadn’t noticed it there.

By the time Jake stepped closer, his hand was already reaching for Sunghoon. “She doesn’t need to drag your dead weight around anymore, Hoon. Lemme handle it.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” his voice was low and rough, but no longer slurred.

“Don’t have to,” Jake only raised his brows and smiled. “That’s what friends do.”

Sunghoon let out a low huff at that but didn’t pull away when Jake reached for him. Your hand, which was still resting on his to keep him steady, lingered a beat too long before you finally let go. 

His fingers twitched after, flexing once like he could still feel where you’d been holding him. It was the smallest unconscious movement, but you saw it. 

You cleared your throat, dragging your eyes away. “I’m not going with you guys,” you said finally, voice steadier than you felt. “Jake—can I borrow your phone? I left mine inside.”

“Why not?” Jake’s voice was soft, as if you two were the only ones standing there. “Just come with us, baby. I’ll get y’home.”

You hated that your eyes flicked to Sunghoon at that.

You shook your head softly, ignoring how Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, and forced a small smile at your mouth. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll just…” You trailed off, mind running through your options. 

Jake tilted his head, not letting up. “No, really. I insist. I’ll take care of everything.”

“It’s fine, Jake. I’ll just call my driver,” you said.

“You could,” he said easily, hands still braced around Sunghoon as if he weren’t listening. “Or you could just let me take care of you.” He tipped his head, and there was something gentle in his voice that had teeth underneath it. “What’s the difference?”

The difference was everything, but you didn’t say that.

Sunghoon groaned and tipped his head back, “For fucks sake, just let her go. You don’t have a family name like ours that could collapse with one singular headline.” His lip curled. “You’re just—what? The son of a politician?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Don’t be a fucking asshole.”

“It’s fine,” Jake smiled, looking at you instead of him. “He’s drunk. Says things he doesn’t mean when he’s drunk.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

And then you thought of all the things Sunghoon had said tonight, and how you’d probably think about them for a while after tonight, even, and your stomach twisted at the thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about which words he did mean, and which ones he didn’t. 

Maybe Jake was right, maybe he didn’t mean any of what he had said. 

No, not maybe. He definitely hadn’t meant it.

Your chest tightened, but you forced the thought away, clinging to the flicker of something meaner, pettier inside you. 

Sunghoon didn’t want you there? Fine. 

You lifted your chin, and the words left your mouth before you could second-guess yourself. “Actually? Fuck it. I’ll come with you guys.”

Jake’s grin widened, “That’s my girl.”

You caught the way Sunghoon’s head turned at that, the flick of his eyes in your direction, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. You just smoothed your dress over your knees and acted like you hadn’t just made this decision simply out of spite.

But in your head, you were weighing the risk of being seen, of walking into the wrong angle of a camera lens, and the way the story would spin in the morning if you weren’t careful. Your parents would never be angry with you, but they’d carry the weight of it quietly. Which was worse, honestly. 

The only thing that brought you relief is the thought of calling your mother from the car, explaining it yourself, and asking her to bring your purse back since you’d left it behind. She’d probably already taken care of it, knowing her, but still—it’d calm you down, hearing her voice.

What could go wrong?

You were fifteen minutes into the car ride when the driver’s voice came low through the intercom.

“I apologize, sirs, miss. There’s been a pile-up on the Gangbyeonbuk-ro. Police have closed three lanes. We may be looking at… an hour. Possibly more.”

That. That could go wrong.

A beat of silence passed in the car, because you thought Heeseung and Sunghoon were asleep from where they sat in front of you—each of them sank into their own seats in the second lounge row, separated from you by another tinted divider. You could still see the faint outline of their heads through the glass.

Then, Heeseung stirred in his seat, his voice muffled through the partition as he groaned, “Oh my god, God strike us down NOW. I don’t even have three minutes left in me to be in this shit.”

A muffled rustle followed, then Sunghoon’s voice came roughly, “Shut the fuck up, ‘M trying to sleep.”

You closed your eyes as though you could will yourself anywhere but here.

Really, were you truly this petty to end up in a situation like this simply out of spite? 

As if the entire night hadn’t already gone in a direction you never would have imagined for yourself—at least not when you were who you were now and… 

You shook your head and turned slightly to look at Jake, who was bunched up comfortably right next to you, his thigh pressed against yours despite all the space the two of you had in the back—because he’d insisted you sit next to him, which was funny, because where else would you have sat? 

He was part of the reason you’d bent your principles and gotten into this stupid, suffocating car in the first place, anyway.

He was humming and tapping his knee in a rhythm when you sighed,  “It’s so late,” you whispered, careful not to disturb the boys in the front. “And it smells like fucking shit in here.”

He turned to look at you, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “‘Least we’re stuck here together, hmm?”

You didn’t answer right away, your chest tightened a little when you caught the half-smug look on his face, and heat crept up your neck before you could stop it.

“You’re annoying,” you whispered, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

His grin widened. “Still sitting next to me.”

“Because you told me to.”

“Because you wanted to.” He corrected you with a nudge. 

You shook your head and nudged him playfully, tilting your head back against the seat.

You’d called your mother on Jake’s phone ten minutes ago, and she’d picked up on the first ring, her voice soft and perfectly even with the kind of concern etched into it that never tipped into panic but somehow still made you feel like a child. 

Where are you? Why did you leave so early? Who are you with? Someone said they saw you walking out with the Park boy? What on earth happened? Were there cameras? Reporters?

And you’d told her. Sort of.

That you were fine.

That Sunghoon and Heeseung had too much to drink.

When you’d mentioned Heeseung’s name, her tone had softened instantly, the worry bleeding out of it. 

Hee is with you? Oh, thank God, we were worried. Yes—honey, of course we were worried about you too—Oh, that fool’s mother—Hana would have a heart attack if she heard. You know how she worries herself. Just make sure he gets home safe. Please, darling. You’re the most responsible one. 

You’d smiled faintly at the way she still said his name like he was the same boy she used to scold for sitting cross-legged on your carpet, peeling tangerines and staining the rug when you were kids—before things got complicated. Before you all grew up into people with names that carried too much weight.

But you hadn’t told her about Sunghoon and how his drunken words had wound themselves tightly around your mind and refused to let go, or the fact that you were oh so scandalously sitting here in the backseat of this van next to Jake, in a ruined two hundred million won gown with your hair a mess and your throat marked up like a fucking scandal waiting to happen.

No—those details didn’t belong to her right now. They belonged here, in this other world, the one that felt like freedom to you on the surface but always left you more trapped than the one you were born into.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this quiet,” Jake said softly, voice just above a whisper but still loud enough to get you out of your head. “Should I be worried?”

“I’m so tired,” you murmured. “It’s been such a long day.”

He nodded, eyes glinting faintly under the passing lights. “Yeah,” he said. “You were a pretty little hero back there, you know. Holding Hoon’s drunk ass up like that.”

You chewed your lip. “Someone had to.”

“And it had to be you, huh?”

There was something in the way he said it—half teasing, half sincere—that made you press your lips together and stare at him instead of answering.

A beat of silence passes, and then he shifts in his seat and leans towards you in the slightest, “Tell me what’s on your mind, pretty girl.”

You rubbed your thumb against the fabric of your dress, breathing out softly before you gave him a lazy smile, “Jake,” you whispered after a moment, “it really does smell like shit in here. I don’t know—just thought I’d be home sooner and out of this mess.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh and grinned. “You’re thinking about home right now?” he said, almost amused. “That’s cute.”

“Why? What are you thinking of?” You raised your brow in mock curiosity.

You weren’t stupid. Though you did enjoy teasing him. You could tell what he was thinking by the way he kept shifting in his seat, the subtle clench of his jaw, and the way his fingers tapped against his thigh and hovered over yours only to stop midway. You could also tell simply because he was Jake Sim. 

His eyes dragged over your face. “Not home,” he said low enough that only you could hear. “Definitely not home.”

You turned your head to face him fully, narrowing your eyes at him. “Then what?” 

You were doing it on purpose, really. 

He hummed. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrugged, lips curving into a small, teasing pout as you shifted in your seat, fingers toying with the hem of your dress until it rode a little higher against your thighs.

“Such a fucking tease, I swear.” Jake’s gaze lingered, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. Then he leaned in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath near your ear, and his voice dropped lower. “What if I just remind you?”

His hand slid down slowly, brushing the fabric of your dress before settling on your bare thigh. The warmth of his palm made your breath catch, and it took everything in you not to jolt at the contact.

You pressed your lips together, pulse quick and uneven against your throat. Sure, you liked to tease—maybe a little too much sometimes—but you hadn’t actually thought he’d do something about it here. 

“Jake—” You shot him a look, then tilted your chin toward the dark partition ahead, where the silhouettes of Sunghoon and Heeseung sat slumped against their seats. “Hello? They’re right there.”

He only hummed and traced circles on your thigh, “They’re out. Heeseung doesn't know what year it is, and Hoon? He couldn’t wake up even if he tried. Trust me, I know how he is when he drinks this much.” he shifted even closer, “Just like I know a way we can pass the time.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but he leaned forward so his lips brushed your jaw and added,

“Don’t act like you’re not thinking about it.” 

You were thinking about it. You shouldn’t be, not here, not now, not with the only thing separating you from those two idiots asleep less than three feet away being a thin stretch of space and glass.

You swallowed, throat tight. “That’s not— I’m not.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Jake said, his tone almost sweet. “But I’ve got a feeling you like the idea of it. You liked it before, too, didn’t you? Back there. Knowing people could walk in. Or hear your filthy little moans.” 

Your thighs pressed a little closer together on instinct, your words failing you.

He squeezed your thigh, “Shit—you can’t be doing that. C’mon.” His voice was low, coaxing, threaded with that neediness that always caught you off guard. “Just a little. I need you. Fuck. Sitting here, all quiet, acting like you don’t know what you do to me—fuck, baby, I can’t even think straight. Wanna feel you.”

Your mouth went dry, eyes flicking toward the front again. Both of them are so unmoving, and both are oblivious to how severely you were contemplating this right now.

You swallowed hard and raised a brow, trying to look composed even as you were burning under his touch. “Hold it then. Not here. You actually can’t be serious.”

Jake tilted his head, studying you in the dim wash of the streetlights through the tinted glass. “You think I’d joke about this shit? You’re killing me, baby,” he breathed, hand sliding higher on your thigh. “My dick physically hurts. I’ve been hard all fuckin’ night. All I can think about is how you felt around my fucking fingers and how tight you’d fuckin’ feel around my cock—”

“Shut up,” you hissed, your chest hot, but you didn’t push him away. 

Jake’s mouth brushed the edge of your jaw again, “Sit on my lap.”

Your eyes widened, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’ve lost your fucking mind,” you said, barely audible.

“Then lose it with me,” he whined, “Please. Baby. I’ll beg, I don’t care. That's what you want? Please. Sit on my cock. Right here—”

You leaned in and caught his mouth with yours to shut him up.

Jake groaned into your mouth, the sound low and needy, his hands sliding up your sides until his thumbs brushed the edge of your breasts. He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, and you could feel how desperate he was by the way his hands moved over you like he needed to touch everything at once.

His tongue brushed yours, tasting, coaxing, taking, and every slow drag of his lips made your stomach twist. You could feel the heat rolling off him, the hard thud of his heartbeat under your palms, the way his breath hitched when you tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth.

You tried to be quiet. You really did. They were only a few feet away, their silhouettes still and heavy against the seats in front of you, but Jake made it impossible to think or even care about anything else. He dragged his other hand up to the back of your neck and held you there while the other slid down from under your breasts and pressed against your hip, guiding you closer until you felt him hard against your thigh, and he broke against your mouth with a strangled, breathy sound that sounded like a moan.

It was filthy, desperate, and whiny, and it made you want to hear it again.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, barely pulling back. “You taste so good. I’ve been thinking about this all fucking night. Was leaking through my fucking pants, almost went to the bathroom to finish what we couldn’t.”

“Be quiet,” you hissed, your breath trembling, but your fingers were already at his shirt and fumbling with the buttons just to feel skin. “The screen’s closed, but it’s not soundproof.”

Jake bit his lip, then leaned in again—this time lower—pressing his mouth to the side of your neck. The air left your lungs in one shaky exhale as his teeth grazed your skin, then his tongue followed, slowly dragging up until your head tipped back against the seat.

“God, let me be inside you. Right here. Let me fuck you with them passed out two feet away. Let me feel you squeeze around me.”

“Jake,” you whispered, but it came out as a moan as he sucked on your neck.

“Thought you said quiet? Tsk,” he whispered against your neck. “You want them to hear, don’t you?”

You almost laughed and shoved him off because there was no way, knowing yourself, you could possibly stay quiet—but then his hand cupped your pussy through the thin fabric between your legs, and every thought and worry you had melted into static. 

Maybe you deserved this again after the night you had. 

You swallowed hard, breath shaking as his fingers slipped past your panties and found you again. He wasted no time and immediately started dragging his thumb over your clit in lazy circles that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten, and you bit the inside of your cheek, fighting to stay silent, the effort almost painful.

“Last chance. Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “I’ll stop. But you have to mean it, baby.”

You didn’t say anything.

“Dirty fucking girl.” He smiled against your mouth before he kissed you, slipping one finger into your pussy, “Didn’t think so.”

You swallowed down a moan and frantically moved for his belt before you could even think about it, and his breath hitched—his hips instinctively jerked forward when your knuckles brushed against the hard tip of his cock through his pants. 

“Shit—no—fuck this,” he rasped, and his head dropped against your shoulder as you were working his belt. “I need you on my lap. Please. Please. Wanna feel you on my dick. No, fuck. Let me inside you.”

You kissed him again to shut him up, your hand sliding up to grab his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “I’ll stop if you say that one more time,” you murmured, tugging his belt loose in one smooth pull with your other hand. “You’re lucky you’re even getting this.”

“Fuckkkk,” he hissed when you tugged his pants down enough to free him, your mouth watering at the sight of it even though you could barely see it in this lighting. “That fucking mouth. I should just stretch your fucking pussy out on my cock right here ‘n make a point.”

His cock was throbbing desperately in your grip now, precum drooling steadily from the angry, swollen pink head as you stroked his length—and then you made him wait. 

You held him steady in your palm and slowed your pace to torturous strokes. His mouth fell open in a silent plea, a choked whimper catching in his throat.

"Don't. Make. A. Sound." You emphasized each word with a firm squeeze, using your thumb to spread the slick wetness all over his sensitive tip in slow circles. 

"F-fuck.. Y/N..." he breathes, his hips bucking helplessly as he tries to fuck your tight grip, and you can feel every thick vein pulsing against your palm as you milk more precum from him. “I’ll beg. I’ll do any—Shit—Please let me fuck you, I don’t care—”

“What did I say?”

“Shit—fine. Sit still,” he whispered, panting as you picked up your pace around his cock. “No—ride me. I mean, ride my thigh. Fuck, do it.”

You obeyed before you could think, mostly because he shifted under you, pressing his thigh right against your clit—hard enough that you had to grit your teeth to keep quiet. Then you rolled your hips down into him, his cock brushing thick and hot against your thigh where your hand still held him.

His fingers were making ridiculously obscene, wet sounds—too loud in this stupid fucking car, you thought—but you didn’t have half a mind to stop him. They pumped in and out of you, curling up to hit that perfect spot, his thumb working your swollen clit in quick, practiced circles. His other hand gripped your ass hard, dragging you closer so he could get deeper and grind on him harder, and you bit down on his shoulder to stifle the moan threatening to tear out of your throat.

“Fuck—So fucking dirty—I don’t give a shit… don’t hold back, pretty girl. You sound so fucking good,” he murmured, but you were too gone in the feeling of trying to stay quiet with his fingers buried deep inside you and your hand still working his slick cock in the dark to properly process what he was saying. “Shit. They’re right there. If they saw how—Ah—Bet you’d let me fuck you right here, too. Should fucking make him watch.”

Your breath hitched. “What—”

Then—Sunghoon’s head stirred once against the screen in front of you, the faint rustle of his jacket, and you went completely still, your pulse so loud in your ears you thought he’d hear it somehow.

But Jake didn't stop—if anything, he increased his pace, driving his fingers deeper. Your free hand flew to your mouth, trying to muffle the whimpers you couldn't contain, and he slid his fingers out of you slowly and pushed them back in all at once, and this time you couldn’t hold back the muffled moan that slipped out. “Say it. Say I’m the only one who could get you like this.”

You only whimpered against him in response and shook your head.

He stilled.

"Fuck off. Y-you're the only one," you managed, barely a whisper, your hand tightening around his thick length to steady yourself as his fingers worked faster. “Jake—”

“Louder.”

Another rustling sound from in front of you, and this time you could almost swear you saw Sunghoon's shoulders tense. Was he awake?

Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe you were just paranoid. But even through the haze, your brain tugged at the last bit of sense left in you, enough to make you reach for Jake’s arm.

"Mmmmff—wait." You bit down on his shoulder, reluctantly pushing his fingers away from your pussy despite how amazing it felt. "Too much. I wanna focus on you. Let me make you feel good."

His fingers slipped free and left you empty in a way that made your stomach twist, but his cock twitched hard in your grip as you leaned forward to kiss his swollen tip before he could say anything, "You’re—Holy shit—" his words fail him as you slowly drag your tongue from the tip of his head down to the base, tasting the salty precum coating it. 

You squeeze the base of his cock once and glare at him to be quiet, and his hips jerk into your mouth as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and setting a rough pace, your tongue tracing along every throbbing vein on his thick cock.

Your hand works what won't fit in your mouth, twisting and stroking in time with your bobbing head—then you realize how loud, too loud even, your mouth is around his cock, and how he’s absolutely making zero effort to stay quiet, so you pull off with a wet pop, jerking him fast while you lap at his sensitive tip. 

"Wh—So fucking close—baby keep going—Need your pretty mouth—” he whispers, hands finding your breasts and roughly kneading and pinching your nipples through your dress. 

You bring your free hand to place it over his mouth while your other hand continues its pace, “T’was too loud.”

He muffled a groan against your palm, his hips lifting off the seat as he tried to chase your hand. "Don’t fucking care.. Want— let— hear—God, I need to be inside you. Gonna cum—" he warns in a strained groan, grip tightening on your tits, and you double your efforts in turn, stroking faster. “Y/N. Baby, Don’t fucking stop—”

His whole body goes rigid as his cock swells and pulses, and right before he comes, you lean down to take him in your mouth, bobbing your head a couple of times more before he floods it with hot spurts of cum all at once. You swallow eagerly, not letting a drop escape as you milk him dry with greedy final strokes around the base of his cock.

Only when he's completely spent do you release him with a satisfied smile, giving his sensitive tip one last kiss, and licking your lips clean as you bring your head back up to him. 

Jake’s head fell back against the seat, chest rising and falling hard as he tried to catch his breath. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, pretty.”

You smiled faintly, licking your lips again, tasting him still there, and it took a second for your eyes to adjust again—to remember where you were, what you’d just done. 

And then you saw the screen in front of you.

You could’ve sworn it had been closed the whole time. You were sure of it. But now, there was a gap—small, just barely there—but enough to see the faintest line of light spilling through from the other side. Not that it was soundproof to begin with, but still…

It was one thing to have it closed. Another thing entirely to have it slightly open.

You turned your head slowly toward Jake, your stomach tightening, “Did you—?”

He blinked at you, that same lazy grin he always had plastered on, tugging at his lips once more, “Weird,” he said softly as he tucked himself back into his boxers. “Must’ve slipped.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words barely left your tongue before a voice came from the front.

“Stop the fucking car.”

For a second, everything in you went still, and the air in the car felt heavy, like it had been sucked out all at once. Jake’s hand froze where it was on his zipper, his grin faltering. You blinked at the tinted glass in front of you, heartbeat rising into your throat, because you could see his shadow moving properly now.

The driver must’ve hesitated, because Sunghoon said it again—louder this time, followed by three loud knocks from in front of you. “I said stop the fucking car.”

Jake sat back slowly, dragging a hand over his face. You couldn’t see Sunghoon’s expression through the screen, but you could hear the sound of something shifting, the low rustle of movement, and a quiet, frustrated groan. Then the car jerked to a stop, not gently either, and the sudden halt made you grip the seat beside you to steady yourself.

When the door opened, you turned your head to the window just enough to see Sunghoon stumble out into the traffic on the side of the road, one hand pressed against the side of the car as he leaned forward. 

For a second, he looked like he was trying to catch his breath. Then he bent over and threw up right on the side of the road.

You blinked, wide-eyed, then looked at Jake. He was watching him too, his face unreadable. Heeseung hadn’t even moved. He was still slumped in his seat, probably unconscious. 

Your fingers were still resting on your knee, knuckles pale from how tightly you’d been holding them together. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until Jake exhaled quietly beside you.

“Well,” he said, “Guess that killed the mood.”

Out of everything you’d done tonight, this was the moment where you could practically hear Wonyoung, Sunoo, and Riki’s collective gasp echoing in your head when you’d tell them all about tonight—that horrified, drawn-out “Why on earth would you do that?” that only they could pull off. But you did it anyway.

You frantically straightened yourself out, pulling your dress down where it had ridden up, your fingers trembling a little more than you wanted them to. You didn’t dare look at Jake. You didn’t have to. You could feel his eyes on you, lingering, and just… there. You grabbed his jacket from beside you and pulled it over your shoulders again as if the mere fabric covering you could make you decent again.

Without another word, you reached for the handle and stepped out of the van.

You hesitated for a second, your fingers curling around the hem of Jake’s jacket. You could’ve just stayed inside, pretended you didn’t see him. But he was standing there all alone in the middle of the road with his head bowed and one hand braced against the side of the car. 

So you went.

Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. “Are you okay?”

He turned slowly.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything and just looked at you. His face was pale, his hair stuck to his forehead, his tie was loose, and his shirt was wrinkled. His eyes met yours for the briefest second, red and glassy, and it hit you all at once how awful he looked—devastated, even.

There was something hollow in the way he stared at you, like he wasn’t really seeing you at all. His jaw flexed once, his throat working, and then he looked away, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Go back in the car,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

You stayed where you were, your heart pressing against your ribs, unsure if it was pity or something else that rooted you in place.

“I’m serious,” you said again, quieter this time, “Are you okay?”

He exhaled through his nose and dragged his hand through his hair. “Do I look okay?” His voice was rough, and he leaned against the car like he couldn’t quite keep himself upright. “Fuck, my head’s spinning.”

“You should drink water,” you said after a pause, unsure of why you even said it.

He let out something that sounded like a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Why are you here?” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be out here right now.”

You didn’t have an answer. You just stood there as the wind brushed your hair into your face. “I don’t know,” you said after a moment. “You looked—” You stopped yourself. What were you supposed to say? You looked like you needed someone? Even so, Why would that someone be you?

“I looked what?” he snapped quietly, his words slurring just a little. “You looked at me and what—felt bad for me?”

You frowned. “That’s not what I said.”

He leaned back against the car, his knuckles going white where he gripped the handle. “I don’t need you to fucking pity me. I don’t need anyone to—” he shook his head and clicked his tongue. 

You felt something twist low in your stomach. “You’re drunk,” you said, forcing the words out steadily. “I’m not doing this with you. Just get back in the car.”

“Why did you come out here, Y/N?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “Because you’re out here throwing up in the middle of traffic?” you said finally. “Because I was trying to be decent, despite everything, unlike you?”

“Decent,” he repeated, his voice almost mocking, though it came out too quiet to sound cruel. “Right. And that’s all it is?”

“What else would it be?”

He flicked his brow up, “Nothing,” he exhaled, and rubbed a hand down his face. “You should go back in the car,” he said, “I don’t want you here.”

“Fine.”

He hesitated just for a second, but it was enough. His mouth opened, then closed again, his jaw clenching.

“Good. Go,” he said, but it came out hollow.

You took another breath, steady but shallow. “You don’t even sound like you mean that. Stop being so fucking impossible and just let me help you— I have water—”

“I do mean it.” His voice cracked right through the middle. “I do, Y/N. Just—” He stopped himself, running his tongue across his teeth, looking at anything but you. “Please.”

Silence passed.

He was still clearly drunk, not as insanely as before but still half out of his mind, and definitely drunk enough for this to just be piled up on the list of one of the many stupid, reckless, and extremely questionable things he’d said and done tonight.

You wanted to say something, maybe to ask what he meant by that, to ask what he’d seen, if he’d heard anything—but the sound of the van door sliding open again cut you off.

Jake stepped out, his shirt still unbuttoned halfway, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Everything good out here?” His voice was rough, and it made your stomach twist because you could still hear what that voice had sounded like a few minutes ago against your mouth.

You turned to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was watching Sunghoon — head tilted, eyes glinting faintly with something you couldn’t name. “You good, man?” Jake asked.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”

Sunghoon didn’t give him a chance to say anything in response. He just pushed off the car, steadying himself against the door for half a second before brushing past his shoulder and climbing back inside without another word. 

When you finally climbed back into the van, you pulled Jake’s jacket tighter around you, trying to fix your hair, your dress, anything that would make you feel normal again. But then your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you stopped short.

Sunghoon wasn’t in the front anymore. He was sprawled out in the back now, where you and Jake had been, his head tilted against the seat with his eyes half-shut. 

The driver’s voice calmly came through the intercom again. “Is everything alright, sir?”

Jake leaned forward and pressed the button beside him. “Yeah,” he said, “Keep going. We’ll be fine.”

“Yes, sir.” The line clicked off.

You sat stiffly, fingers gripping Jake’s jacket where it hung loose around your shoulders, trying to ignore how close Sunghoon was beside you now. Why on earth had he moved back here?

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and tried to think about anything else, anything but the way the car felt too quiet. Then Jake’s phone buzzed from the cupholder, lighting up the space between you, and you froze when you saw the name on the screen.

You grabbed it quickly, “Mom?”

“Y/N? Honey?” Your mother’s voice came through, tight and worried. “Wait—whose number is this again? Are you still with them?”

You slumped back against the seat. “No, Mom, I’m actually not. You’re hallucinating this call.” 

She sighed, and you could practically see her pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. Where are you?”

You pressed your lips together, glancing out the window at the endless line of brake lights ahead. “Don’t even know. We’re stuck in traffic.”

“Ah,” she said, her tone softening. “So are we. We’re right by the bridge—it’s a mess. Apparently, a freight truck overturned near the interchange. Some chemical spill or something—police have blocked three main roads.”

“Chemical spill?” you repeated, straightening a little in your seat. Jake glanced over, eyebrows raised.

“That’s what they’re saying on the radio. Your father’s been yelling at someone on the phone for the past twenty minutes—he’s insisting I say hello—honey, stop, she can’t hear you—” 

You heard rustling, your dad's muffled voice, your mom sighing, then she put the phone on speaker.  “Honey–Hi, where exactly are you right now?” Your dad asked.

You turned your head toward Jake. “Where are we?”

He leaned forward and tapped the intercom. “Mr. Kang, where are we right now?”

The driver’s voice came through the speaker. “Still near Hannam Bridge, sir. The lanes ahead are completely blocked.”

You repeated it to your dad, who hummed thoughtfully for a beat, then said, “That’s close to Lee’s neighborhood,” he said. “Just tell the driver to reroute and take you all there. I’ll make a call, and the police will let him through. It’s safer. No one knows how long this will last, and it’s better if you’re off the road sooner.”

Sunghoon’s shoulder brushed yours when he shifted slightly. “Wait—”

“Y/N, The press vans are already circling. It’s better if you stay put somewhere private until this clears up.”

You frowned, “You think people care where I go?”

“I think people care too much,” your mother said lightly. “There are already articles about the gala, about Park Jaejoon’s boy—and if anyone gets a picture of you wandering home at midnight with those two boys, it won’t look good for any of you. Especially not for your father.” She paused, softer now. “Or for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing your eyes to stay on the window. “You really think going to Heeseung’s is better?”

“No arguments, Y/N. It’s too late.” His tone softened, but only slightly. “You already ditched the gala irresponsibly halfway through; the least you can do is listen to your parents now. Ah. That sounds funny even as I say it out loud—but anyway, the city’s a mess, and the bridge might close entirely if that spill spreads. You’ll all be safer if you stop at theirs for the night. Their place isn’t far. Heeseung is there, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you put him on the phone?”

You turned in your seat. Heeseung was slumped forward with his chin almost touching his chest, mouth open, drool catching on the seatbelt. You poked his shoulder through the crack in the screen, just to be sure. Nothing.

“He’s not here, actually,” you said.

“I thought you said he was.”

“Physically,” you said, watching him snore softly. “Mentally, not so much.”

“And Jaejoon’s boy?”

“Mmm,” you said, ignoring every instinct to turn and look at him. “And Jake.”

There was a pause. “Jake Sim?”

You bit down on your lip to keep from smiling, and you avoided looking at Jake, who you felt perk up the second he’d heard his name. “Yes, Dad. Jake Sim.”

“Jake Sim,” he repeated, like he needed a second to process it. “As in—Jake Sim? The boy you’ve—”

You fumbled for the volume, lowering it quickly. Sunghoon’s head turned slightly, and you didn’t have to look to know he was listening. “So help me God, I will run into incoming traffic if you finish that sentence.”

“There’s no incoming traffic,” he said dryly. “It’s not moving. Anyways, as I was so dramatically about to proclaim—as in the boy you’ve li—”

“CUTTING… OFF… in a tunnel.”

“You are literally on Hannam Bridge,” he scoffed. “The boy you’ve lik—” You heard rustling on the other end, then— “Ow! Aesun—”

“I’m never telling you anything again,” you groaned, sinking lower in your seat. “You’re unbearable.”

“I’m delightful,” he countered. “Anyway, tell Jake—”

“Dad.”

“—tell him I said hi.”

You groaned again. “I’m not doing this.”

“Hi,” he repeated, this time in a flat, mock-serious tone. “Not the same kind of ‘hi’ I usually tell you to give Sunoo. I like Sunoo. There’s a difference. Throw a slight threat in there. Make sure he gets that.”

“Dad, I’m not translating your tone.”

“I’m just saying—ow! Don’t pinch—Honey, wait, I’m not done—”

Your mother sighed, and then it was off speaker. “My love, I already spoke to Hana earlier. I’ll call her again and tell her you’re all heading there. Just spend the night, okay? Like old times.”

Like old times. Right.

You blinked. “You called Mrs. Lee?”

“Half an hour ago,” she said simply. “Word got around that the three of you left early. Someone saw you. There’s already talk, but it’s not in the media as far as I’m aware.”

You shut your eyes for a second, the weight of it sinking in. Of course, there was talk. There was always talk.

“Did you tell her about Heeseung?”

“Of course I did. I can’t keep anything from her, you think she wouldn’t find out either way? I told her you were keeping an eye on the boys, which brought her some relief. She said you’ve always been the sensible one between those two idiots.”

“Mom.”

“What?”

You exhaled softly, trying not to smile. “You don’t have to—”

“—interfere?” she finished for you. “If I don’t, who will? I raised you, and I practically raised Hana’s boy, too. You really think I’m letting either of you wander around Seoul at midnight in this state? No. So do me a favor and just stay put there, alright? I trust that house more than the idea of you on the road at this hour.”

“Fine.” You hummed softly in acknowledgment, staring out the window again, and the line stayed quiet for a few seconds, just the sound of your mother breathing faintly on the other end.

“Alright, darling,” she said finally, “We’ll call when we’re home. Text when you get there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to worry so much, and don’t let the boys make you clean up after them.”

You let out a quiet exhale through your nose. “Right. Bye, Mom. I love you.”

“Goodbye, honey. Love you.”

You stared at Jake’s phone for a beat longer before setting it back into the cupholder.

Jake was already watching you, his elbow propped against the seat. His mouth twitched into a small grin. “Guess we’re going to Heeseung’s then.”

Before you could answer, there was a low groan from the row in front of you, and Heeseung’s head lifted just enough for you to see how his hair was sticking up in every possible direction, his jacket half off one shoulder.

“What day is it?” he mumbled, eyes barely open, lips dry and parted.

The Lee household was exactly as you remembered.

Not that it had been a lifetime since you were here or anything, no, you were here a few months ago for a family barbecue. But the last time you walked in with Sunghoon and Jake beside you felt like another lifetime.

You stood in the hallway now, and Mrs. Lee—who’d spent twenty minutes insisting you call her Hana, like she always did, and you’d spent twenty minutes swearing Auntie Hana was the best she’d get, to which she’d grinned widely and said that is all she’s ever dreamt of hearing ever since you were little—was still talking softly with the housekeeper somewhere down the corridor. 

The walls looked the same, except for a few new picture frames lined neatly in a row, and there was one photo in particular that caught your eye—her handwriting was visible in small, neat cursive across the bottom of the golden frame: Hee’s 12th!

Everyone in it was covered in frosting. You stood beside Heeseung and Yunah, a fork in one hand, your face half hidden behind a laugh. Heeseung was grinning so wide his eyes had disappeared, his cheeks smeared with blue icing, a paper crown falling off his head. Behind you, a smaller Sunghoon wasn’t looking at the camera at all. He was looking at you.

You must’ve stopped walking, because Jake’s voice came softly from behind you.

“That you?”

You blinked, swallowed, and nodded. “Yeah.”

He hummed, leaning closer to get a better look. “And look at Hoon in the back. Cute.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him and down the hall. “Shut up.”

The house looked almost the same as it did when you were kids—same gold-framed mirror in the foyer, same pale carpet, same faint dip in the couch from where you, Yunah, Heeseung, and Sunghoon used to squeeze in after dinner. You could almost hear Mrs. Lee’s voice calling for you from the kitchen, could almost see the four of you rushing to wash your hands before she caught you sneaking bites.

Now it was quiet. Too quiet.

Mrs. Lee’s was still smiling when she reappeared from upstairs, “You must all be exhausted. I told the staff to set up the rooms thirty minutes ago, so everything is ready. I took Hee upstairs—barely made it to his bed, stupid drunken boy. And Hoon-ah—” her voice softened on his name, “Make sure you drink your water and freshen up.”

Sunghoon had barely spoken since you arrived. He’d thanked Mrs. Lee when she pressed a bottle of water into his hands, but that was it.

He’d spent so many nights here when you were kids that it almost felt like he belonged more to this house than his own. You still remember the first time you realized that—when you were ten and came down for a glass of water, and he was already asleep on the very couch he sat on now, curled up under one of Mrs. Lee’s quilts. You remembered how her voice had softened when she told you to let him sleep, that he was tired and had a long day. You remembered many things lately, it seemed.

Even now, years later, she still looked at him and talked to him that same way, like he was still that same little boy. With that quiet kind of tenderness that came from knowing what someone needed before they ever said it out loud.

Your eyes flicked to the corner where he was sitting now, slouched into the couch with the water bottle resting against his knee, staring blankly at the rug. He didn’t look up, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Mrs. Lee followed your gaze, and for a second, something passed through her expression. Concern, affection, maybe a little sadness, and she pressed her lips together like she was holding something back, then turned toward you.

“There’s tea on the stove if you want some, and food in the fridge. Make yourselves at home, alright? None of that shyness here. We do it differently.”

Jake nodded politely. “Thank you, Mrs—uh, Hana.”

She pressed her lips together like she was hiding a grin and then looked up at you again. It was a brief look, but you felt the message in it, and heat rushed to your cheeks immediately. Your mother had definitely reminded her exactly who this Jake Sim was. Of course, she had.

“Heeseung’s old room for you, Y/N. Or the blue guest next to it if you decide you want more space.” She said it as if you didn’t already know where you always slept. “Sunghoon, yours is the same. I put a new humidifier in there. Don’t argue with me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he said, quietly. It almost made you smile.

Then her eyes moved to Jake. “And Jake, dear—could you do me a favor?”

He straightened a little. “Of course.”

“Heeseung’s out cold. He’s upstairs, you know where his room is, right?” Jake nodded, so she went on, “Lovely. Just stay with him tonight, will you? He tends to get sick a lot when he drinks, and I’m afraid he’ll choke in his sleep—it would be a shame if that happened, cause then I wouldn’t be able to kill him myself when he wakes tomorrow.”

Jake laughed at that, then hesitated, though he was polite as ever. “Uh—sure. Yeah, I can do that.”

He looked at you then, a quick glance that said everything he didn’t say out loud. You tried not to smile, tightening your grip on your heels.

“Perfect.” She brushed her hands together and smiled, “Go on, wash up. I’ll be in the study for a while if anyone needs anything, though if I’m not there you can ask the staff for help.”

Then, Mrs. Lee, with years of practice, kept Jake there a while longer with ten gentle questions about his parents and whether he still took his coffee too sweet. He had no hope of escaping. You almost laughed.

You stood there for another beat, the silence closing in again, and then Sunghoon finally looked up. Not at you, exactly. Just past you. He took a breath like he was going to say something and then didn’t. You were already turning toward the stairs.

“Eat,” he said, low.

You didn’t look back. “Shut up.”

You stepped into the kitchen, and the warm light felt like the first normal thing all night. The housemaid had already laid out a small plate by the counter and, with a soft nod, lifted the lid to show a simple tray of rice and soup steaming in the air.

You sank onto a stool, fingers cold against the bowl, and let the house settle around you for a second.

You envied Heeseung for being fast asleep in his bed right now.

Hell, you envied every fucking man in this house, and it was the only fucking time you’d admit to envying any man—simply because none of them had to deal with the agony of peeling off layers of foundation and mascara or trying to pry out stupid contacts that felt like they’d fused to their eyeballs after the day you’d just had. You were sticky with perfume and sweat and anxiety, and the simple thought of dragging a cotton pad across your face right now made you want to curl up and die. 

You’d wandered into the room you always used to stay in when Yunah was still in Seoul without even thinking about it. Everything was the same as it was, and the air smelled faintly of detergent and lavender, and the shower was running through the door connected to the bedroom. You didn’t think much of it. You sighed and tugged off Jake’s jacket, crawled under the covers, and told yourself you’d get up in ten minutes. Just ten. That’s it. Just enough to breathe, to stop thinking, to pull yourself back down to earth before you did anything stupid. To let this stupid ache in your knees settle for a bit until you get back up.

It was a stubborn routine you couldn’t bring yourself to quit, no matter how many times it ended the same way—with you passing out right as you were and waking up approximately twenty minutes later.

And that was exactly what happened.

When you woke up again, your head felt heavy and your throat dry. You brought your hand up to your face to check it as if your makeup would have magically disappeared during this interval, but it was unfortunately still on. You groaned into your pillow, then reached toward the nightstand to grab your phone, then remembered you didn’t have it with you, and for a moment, you just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on you like a blanket you couldn’t kick off.

You thought about Jake.

What the fuck had gotten into you today? It was stupid. You were stupid. Maybe you didn’t even like him. Maybe you just liked… the idea of him. The distraction. 

No, that was a lie. You liked him too much for your own good. 

You sighed, pressing your face deeper into the pillow, trying to will the heat away from your cheeks. 

And then—you heard it.

The water.

At first, it was just the steady hiss of the shower through the bathroom door, and for a second, you were suspicious of yourself, thinking maybe you’d turned it on and forgotten about it, but Mrs Lee had been fussing before you went upstairs, talking about how she’d already run hot water for you so you could freshen up. So you assumed that was what you were hearing.

But after a few seconds, your brow furrowed against the pillow. There was something off about the rhythm. A faint thud. Another. The sound of the spray changing pressure like someone was leaning their back against the tiles.

You rolled onto your side, eyes still half shut. Too tired to think about it properly, but you knew this guest room connected to the other one through the same bathroom. And you also knew the one person who’d be in there right now was… 

And then you heard it again. Quieter this time, muffled under the water but clear enough now that your heart stuttered. 

A low, hoarse sound. A grunt.

“Fuck.”

You froze.

There was more movement. The sound of skin against tile, the soft slap of wet rhythm. A breath caught and released roughly through teeth. You could almost see his palm working over himself through the wall, slow at first, then faster. Another broken groan left him, lower this time, like he was trying not to let it out at all.

You were wide awake now.

You pressed your lips together, staring up at the ceiling in utter disbelief, your whole body wired and hot. You shouldn’t be listening. You knew that. You should’ve turned over, should’ve covered your ears, should’ve done anything else—No, fuck that. This wasn’t on you. Why the fuck was he fucking jerking off so loudly in the middle of the night, not even in his fucking house at that? What kind of fucking freak does that? 

You turned your head toward the bathroom door like you could burn a hole through it with your glare. The absolute fucking nerve of Sunghoon. 

You pressed your palm against your face and groaned quietly into it, because what were you supposed to do? Knock and tell him to shut the hell up? Pretend you didn’t hear it?

Another sound came through the wall — wetter now, rougher, the rhythm picking up. A deep, shaky exhale that bled into a quiet moan.

“Ah—Shit—”

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

No. No, you were not doing this. You were not lying here, in Heeseung’s house, listening to Park Sunghoon getting himself off in the shower like some kind of deranged pervert.

Your throat went dry. The more you told yourself to ignore it, the clearer it seemed to get — the water shifting, the faint smack of his hand, the low, almost pained grunt that followed. You could practically picture it now, the way his head would tip back, his mouth falling open, water running down his hair and onto his neck, his hand moving slowly, firm, desperate.

Dear God.

You squeezed your eyes shut, furious with yourself. This was insane. You should’ve gotten up. You should’ve walked out. Instead, your thighs pressed together, tight, and you wanted to smother yourself with the pillow.

You fucking hated his ass.

You threw the blanket off you and sat up so fast the room tilted for a second. Your pulse was pounding in your ears, partly from anger, partly from whatever the fuck that was. You rubbed at your face hard and muttered a string of endless curses to yourself under your breath, but you were already swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Then you immediately reached for the zipper of your dress, fingers clumsy, yanking it down halfway before realizing it was stuck. Another curse slipped out between your teeth as you tugged harder, until it finally came loose. You exhaled shakily.

If you’d had the sense to look around properly, you would’ve noticed the neatly folded towels and the set of men’s clothes laid out across the couch. Buuuuuuuuut you didn’t. You were too busy heading for the mirror, catching the first clear look of yourself under the dim light.

You looked wrecked. There was truly no other word for it. Mascara smudged under your eyes, hair fallen out of whatever style it was even supposed to be in earlier, lipstick faded to a soft smear of nothing.

Your collarbones were littered with marks. Deep red and purple, some faded into your skin, others brand new—you had been so fucked out on Jake’s fingers and so anxious about being quiet, you hadn’t realized just how terribly he’d marked you down.

“Fucking freak,” you whispered, dragging your fingers over one just under your jaw. You actually didn’t remember him doing that. Or maybe you did and just hadn’t cared.

You kept tracing them—the one on your shoulder, another at the base of your throat—until you caught sight of the worst of them. They ran down to your chest, dark and angry against your skin, half-hidden under your bra.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so mindlessly busy doing whatever the hell it was you were doing, you would’ve noticed the sound of the shower had gone quiet. Buuuuuuut again, you didn’t.

You just hooked your thumb under the zipper at your side again and started tugging the dress down slowly till it was just below your breast. The white lace of your bra was thin, stretched tight over the swell of your breasts—full and flushed—and the cups barely did anything to cover them.

Your reflection looked back at you through the mirror, eyes wide and hazy. You didn’t even recognize yourself for a second, and you weren’t sure if it was because of how you looked or because of how you were feeling or who you were thinking of and what you were thinking of, and your gaze stayed locked on the curve of your chest, the faint rise and fall with every breath.

And that’s why you didn’t hear it at first— the sound of the bathroom door opening, steam spilling out into the room.

You turned, startled at the sudden motion of the door opening from the mirror, heart still thudding unevenly against your ribs.

And then he stepped out.

For a second, you honestly thought you were hallucinating. You blinked once. Twice. Maybe even three times.

Sunghoon stood there, towel slung low around his hips, water still running down his chest in lazy rivulets that trailed over the hard lines of muscle and disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair was dripping wet, strands plastered to his forehead, and his shoulders—fuck, his shoulders—looked broader than you remembered. His skin was pink from the heat, slick, and his forearms flexed when he reached up to rub the back of his neck. The muscles in his arms bunched and moved, veins catching the light when he dropped his hand again.

You froze, halfway through pulling your dress back up, the fabric bunched in your fists under your breasts.

He blinked, just once, eyes sweeping over you slowly, taking you in inch by inch. His jaw tensed, then his gaze lifted back to your face. And then back down.

“What the fuck were you doing in there?” The words slipped out before your brain could stop them.

He stared for half a beat. His voice came out rough, lower than usual. “Showering.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you shot back, glaring at him even as your pulse jumped. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “This is my room.”

“No, the fuck it’s not—this is mine.” You gestured wildly, like that proved anything. “I’ve slept here every single time—”

“You haven’t slept in here in years.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something smart, but the words got stuck halfway out because that’s when your brain caught up to what the fuck was actually going on. You were standing there, tits practically out, dress pooled around your waist, skin flushed from heat and embarrassment, and he was standing there like that. Half naked. Still wet—and his gaze was still down.

You looked down, too, and your stomach dropped when you realized what he was actually seeing. The sight of your dress half undone, hanging low, the top bunched around your waist. Your lace bra—thin, white, fucking useless—barely covering you, the bruises Jake had left glowing like fucking neon signs across your chest. You froze again, heat crawling up your neck.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped, even though you were the one staring now. Because fuck, he was standing there—bare chest gleaming, towel barely holding on, broad shoulders flexing as he shifted his weight.

You swallowed hard, and your tongue darted out before you could stop it, wetting your lips.

His mouth twitched, the faintest smirk pulling at one corner. “Like what you see?”

You scoffed too fast, too loud. “Burn in hell.”

“Mmm,” he said, tilting his head. “Still staring.”

“I’m not—” you started, but the lie tripped in your throat because you were staring. His chest rose and fell, muscles shifting under his skin, biceps flexing as he dragged his hand through his hair again. There was still water clinging to the curve of his shoulder, a bead trailing down the center of his chest, catching on the line of his abs before vanishing under the towel. You physically couldn’t look away. What the fuck was happening tonight?

When you glanced at his biceps again, you tried—really, you did, tried so fucking hard—not to picture how he’d probably been positioned in the shower just a few minutes ago, head thrown back against the tiles, thick fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock as he stroked himself with desperate need. You could practically still hear the deep, primal groans rumbling in his chest as he fought to stay quiet and failed miserably, his massive body trembling as he worked himself closer and closer to the edge. The way his abs would clench, thighs flexing, cock weeping as his hand moved faster and faster… What the fuck were you thinking of?

Your cheeks burned with shame even as arousal pooled hot and heavy between your thighs, and you truly wanted to slap yourself for it. It took everything in you to finally look away and fumble with the top of your dress to yank it back over your chest, the zipper half-caught in your shaking fingers.

“You could at least—” you hissed. “You could at least look somewhere else, you bastard.”

He let out a soft huff and shrugged. “Can’t,” he said simply. “You’re standing there half-naked.”

That made you blink. “Then don’t fucking look.”

“I’m trying.” He wasn’t.

He moved. Just one step at first, but it was enough to make your breath catch. The towel around his hips shifted with the motion, sitting even lower now, and you didn’t even move, too caught between wanting to hurl a fucking pillow at him and wanting to take another look. He took another step closer, and your pulse jumped so hard it almost hurt.

“Relax,” he muttered, eyes still on you as he walked past—except he didn’t really walk past. He stopped right beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his damp skin and so that you could smell the faint mix of cleanliness on him. He bent down to grab the pile of clothes on the couch, the towel tugging dangerously low on his hips as he did, and you couldn’t stop your gaze from following.

When he straightened again, your eyes flicked down—and that’s when you saw it. The fucking towel was tented. The outline of his bulge under the towel was clear, heavy, impossible to ignore, and it looked like the damn thing was barely holding together, thick enough that your mouth went dry before your brain even caught up.

Your breath caught. “You—”

“Get out,” he said. His voice was low, almost a growl.

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. “Excuse me? This is MY—”

He clenched his jaw. “Y/N,” it almost sounded like a prayer falling off his lips, knuckles whitening where he gripped the clothes in his hands. “Get the fuck out. Because if you keep standing there, I will do something about it.”

He stepped closer, slow enough that you could hear the faint squelch of water still dripping from his hair onto the floor. 

“And if I start,” he said, “I’m not fucking stopping.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, until he tilted his head slightly—just enough to make you realize how close he was, how easy it would be for him to touch you right now if he wanted to.

You scoffed, but it came out shaky. “You’re disgusting,” you muttered, half to him, half to yourself. Then you spun on your heel and yanked the door open, stepping through the connecting bathroom without looking back. The door clicked shut behind you.

You leaned your back against the door for a second and let out a laugh that sounded like a sob. Of all the things tonight had been, of all the humiliations and stupid choices, this was new. This was ridiculous. The idea—the suggestion, hell—even the feeling of it should have made you furious. Instead, your chest felt weird and hollow and full all at the same time.

And when you finally drifted off that night, the last thing you remembered was the sound of his voice in your head.

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )

𝓝 ⟢ honorary song mention of this chapter (all i had on repeat while writing): Heavy in your arms by Florence + The Machine // Cardigan + My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift … entered a state of psychosis unprecedented to mankind while writing this chapter 😭 can you guys tell drunk heeseung is my favorite or do i have to spell it out LAWL. AS ALWAYS!!! thank you for reading!!!! & i would love to hear what everyone thinks hehehe i love you all so much ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)੭🌷

Instead you ended up on your side with your cheek in the pillow, Wonyoung groaning into hers and telling you to please turn your stupid brightness down, while you watched the typing bubble blink in and out. His messages had started soft and easy—pretty girl, tell me how you feel, let me make it up to you tomorrow night, gonna take you out properly—and then somewhere around two, they shifted. 

He said he couldn’t stop thinking about that noise you made. He said he wanted to kiss you properly, slower next time, then not slow at all, then a couple other lines you’d dreamt of him saying for too long, and you’d let out this ridiculous silent laugh into your duvet because your stomach had just dropped straight through the mattress. 

You smiled at the thought of it while you made your way back to your apartment after your two classes of the day, hitting the crosswalk and waiting with a knot of strangers, the light ticking down, and for a spare second your brain tried to reroute—tried to drag you back to a moment in a room that you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t enter again in your mind, or ever. You refused it. 

You stuck your eyes on the blinking white figure across the street and when it flashed, you walked.

This was the deal you’d made with yourself last night, under your breath, while Wonyoung’s hair tickled your cheek, and it was simple. You decided you didn’t have to revisit your entire history just because your skin remembered the shape of a hand that shouldn’t have touched you in the first place. You were allowed to want what you wanted without apologizing for the way your stomach reacted to a voice you once knew—chasing the ghost of someone that was far gone. You know that now.

So. Jake. You could start there and keep it simple. You could let tonight be nice if you wanted it to be. You could wear something cute, maybe another one of your skirts, seeing how Jake liked that one so much—he’d told you several times last night in the endless thread of texts. You could let him kiss you again, let it consume you wholly this time, and not feel guilty afterwards. You could take it slow. You could take it fast. You could decide in the moment without making it a referendum on your entire character. 

Most of all, you could stop grading yourself on a curve nobody else could see.

The marble of the lobby floor clicked under your shoes as you crossed to the elevators of your complex, polished to a shine that reflected the little bouquet of flowers someone had dropped off with the doorman. Peonies, light pink. They reminded you of the vases your mom used to fill every summer because they were your favorite, cutting stems too long on purpose so they’d droop dramatically out of the glass. 

Your apartment was waiting in its usual way with sunlight spilling through the tall windows, catching against the glass dining table, throwing sharp patterns across the rug. Everything smelled faintly like whatever candle Wonyoung had lit last night—vanilla and something woodsy. You dropped your bag by the door, kicked your shoes off, and stretched your arms above your head.

It was always a little jarring how big the place felt when you were by yourself. High ceilings, wide rooms, and far too much space for one person, though Wonyoung filled it just fine when she crashed occasionally, her things trailing in little evidence piles from the couch to the bathroom counter. Alone, it felt cavernous—which is exactly why you spent most of your days at hers or Sunoo’s. 

“Sweetheart, is that you?”

You nearly gave yourself whiplash turning around.

And there your mother stood, in your living room like she owned the place—technically, she kind of did—a scarf knotted elegantly at her throat as she set a wrapped box down on your coffee table, like she hadn’t just literally materialized out of thin air.

“Oh my god. Mom!” you squealed, though your brain was still catching up. “What the—you’re back? are you trying to send me into cardiac arrest? How are you even—how did you get in here?”

“With a key, obviously.” She dangled the spare one between two fingers with a warm smile on her face. “Don’t be silly.”

You paused. “Didn’t I literally change my locks while you were in Paris?”

“And didn’t I literally give birth to you? I’ll always find a way in.”  

Before you could respond, she pulled you into her arms, all warmth and the faintest trace of airport air still clinging to her clothes, though she looked unfairly put together for someone who’d clearly just stepped off a flight, lipstick intact, hair smooth, eyes crinkling in that smile that always felt like home, no matter where you were.

You were still buried in her shoulder when another voice came through from behind you. “Jesus, There’s only banana milk and two cans of olives in your fridge—who lives like this?”

You managed to turn your head a little. “Dad?”

“Hi, honey,” he said, strolling in with that boyish grin plastered across his face, a half-empty carton of banana milk in one hand and the container of prepped berries—you specifically sought out—which you’d been saving for later in the other.

“You’re back—Wait—Hey!” you cried, darting over. “I was saving tha—Those were expensive!”

“Expensive?” He popped a berry into his mouth, “I’d know if they were expensive,” he mocked your voice, “-since it’s my card paying for them.” He clicked his tongue, playfully shaking his head. “And is this how you greet your old man after a whole month apart? By accusing me of petty theft?”

You walked over to him. “Okay, first of all, as far as I’m concerned, the second that money hits my account, it’s mine. Hard-earned and all.”

“Hard-earned,” he repeated flatly, pointing a berry-stained finger at you. “From what? You haven’t worked a day in your life.”

You clutched your chest dramatically. “Excuse me,” you gasped, “are you undermining my full-time job as the most perfect, beautiful, beloved daughter in the world? Because that’s a position I take very seriously. I take great offense to such slander. I shall take you to trial for defamation!” 

Your mom laughed from behind you, shaking her head. “She truly gets those theatrics from you.”

“Oh, she gets everything from me. You simply never stood a chance,” he said smugly, before tugging you into a hug so tight you almost squeaked. “My sweet princess,” he cooed in the most obnoxious voice he could muster, tightening his grip further until you actually wheezed. “My very expensive, fridge-neglecting princess. If only I’d known you’d grow up to rob your own father blind. Should’ve left you in the hospital and taken home the other baby they offered us.”

“Dad!” you yelped, shoving at his chest as he kissed the top of your head with ridiculous exaggeration. “Let me go before I suffocate!”

“Maybe then you’ll stop spending my money,” he sighed dramatically, refusing to loosen his hold. “Shhh. It’ll all be over soon, sweetheart.”

Your mom rolled her eyes but she was smiling like she’d seen this scene a thousand times before. “Don’t kill her please. I didn’t haul myself across the Atlantic just to show up to the gala without my daughter.”

At that, you froze. “…Wait what?” 

You finally pried yourself loose from your father’s grip and stumbled back a step, fixing your shirt where he’d wrinkled it. He looked far too pleased with himself, already reaching for another berry, while your mom just shook her head with that fond, loving, patient look she’d been aiming at him for most of their marriage.

You eyed the wrapped box she’d set on the coffee table suspiciously. “Is that a bribe I’m seeing?”

“It’s a gift.”

“So… bribery.”

“Open it,” your mom urged, ignoring you entirely.

With a huff, you pulled the ribbon loose and pushed the lid back, and tissue paper crinkled, then your fingers sank into silk—a white gown, sharp V neckline, bare sides down to the flare of the skirt, hem cut in clean slits, and a soft scarf detail trailing from the straps. You recognized it instantly. “Oh my god. Is this—this is the vintage Valentino dress I love—”

“Perfect, isn’t it?” she said, already fussing with it as though she wanted to dress you right there in the living room like a little girl. “Had it custom-tailored for you. You’ll wear it tonight.”

“Tonight?” you blinked at her. “Wait—tonight tonight?”

Your mom raised a brow at you like you’d said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Honey, there’s only one tonight as far as I’m aware. It’s a Gala at the Lotte. Major donors, industry bigwigs, half the board your brother’s been charming in New York. I’ll spare you the details since it already looks like you’re about to shut me down—which I won’t let happen.” 

You dropped back against the couch with a groan loud enough to echo off the high ceilings. “Mom—Dad,” you whined, as if he might save you. “I have plans!”

“Cancel them,” your father shrugged, like it was already settled.

“But—”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to sound serious, even though seriousness never sat right on him. “No buts.”

You sat up straighter and clasped your hands like you were praying. “My dear, sweet father… you know I love attending these fancy little… galas or whatever but I fear you’re not understanding the severity of these plans of mine.” You wagged a finger slowly at him, also putting on your best serious face. “I simply can’t cancel them. You’ll just have to go on without me—plus you’d be better off without me there anyway, because I’d spread negative energy so severe in that ballroom, they’d think parental neglect is at play, and they’d change the motivation of the entire gala and start raising funds to get me out of your care and into the best psychiatric care possible.”

He turned to your mother. “That little head of hers holds so many… interesting things,” he said. “We don’t need a gala to raise funds, let’s take her now.”

“Stop encouraging her,” your mom smacked his arm without looking away from you, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Y/N, You’ll get to spend some time with us, and you’d look breathtaking in that dress—don’t think I didn’t see the way your face lit up when you saw it, honey.”

You dragged yourself up and held the dress against your body in the mirror’s direction, and it caught the light like magic, and you hated how much you loved it, and just how well your mother knew you. 

Your dad picked at your berries again, and grinned around the rim of the little glass bowl. “So then, judging by that look on her dear sweet face, I’m assuming the bribe worked?”

You dramatically sighed. “See, I knew it was a bribe. You guys don’t care about me.”

“Bribe, gift—semantics,” he said, mouth full.

“You’ve never complained about Valentino before,” your mom added smoothly. “Perhaps I should just take it away then?”

“No! Ugh—You’re both conspiring against me.” You let out another groan, collapsing back into the couch with the dress bunched tightly against your chest, careful not to wrinkle it, like they’d take it away from you any moment. “This is emotional manipulation. I hope you’re proud.”

“Immensely,” your dad said cheerfully. “Although, about that fridge of yours—”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he held up his hands like he was surrendering and made a motion as if to say his lips are sealed, before walking back into the kitchen.

Your mom just shook her head, soft with laughter, and came to sit beside you. She smoothed the gown across your lap, fussing until it laid just right, then reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Her eyes searched your face, her hand warm against your cheek.

“You look tired,” she murmured. “Have you not been sleeping again? You know how bad that is for you, honey.”

You didn’t answer that—just leaned into her palm, cheek pressed to her skin, and your voice came out soft, deflecting. “Do you know I missed you so much?”

Her expression softened all over, the corners of her mouth tugging. “I missed you too,” she whispered. She pressed a kiss to your temple, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like she could smooth the exhaustion out of you.

From the kitchen, your dad’s voice piped up again. “What about me? Nobody missed me?”

“Not at all,” you snorted. “Your trip was too short, actually.”

A second later, he appeared in the doorway, “Brat,” he said, then jabbed a finger at your mom. “I’ll give you that. She gets that from you.”

“Are you calling me a brat?” your mom asked, brow lifting.

He put his hands up quickly, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “No ma’am.”

“Mm,” your mom hummed and turned back to you, playing with your hair. “Later we’ll sit down, and you’ll tell me all about how this semester has been going, and what you’ve been up to. I’ve been away at work long enough.”

You didn’t mean to think of him.

But he crept in anyway. Just the shape of him, that last look he’d thrown you. The way his hand had casually rested against your thigh in class, as if it hadn’t left heat there that still lingered. You shoved it down quick, and huffed a laugh instead, tilting your head toward the dress. “Why do I even need to go to this particular one?”

Your mom’s brow arched like she’d been waiting for that exact line. “You always ask that, as if the answer is going to change…”

“Taehyung never has to go to these things,” you argued, fingers still picking at the fabric.

“He’s in New York,” your dad furrowed his brow.

“And? Correlation?”

“Well, I don’t know, sweetie—I’d say geography?” He looked genuinely baffled. “Your brother physically cannot be present—”

“Right, and how’s that my problem?” you shrugged. “He still gets to not be there.”

Your dad squinted. “You know, the other day I saw a video on tic tac—”

“TikTok,” you corrected immediately, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to say.

“That’s what I said.” He waved a hand. “Anyways, I saw this video about… rage-baiting?” He said it like it was a foreign word on his tongue, glancing between you and your mom like one of you might correct him. “Whatever—is quite the trend amongst… you know.” He gestured at you with his cup. “People your age. Is that what you’re doing to me?”

You dropped your face into your hands and turned to your mother “Why do you let him have a phone?”

Your mom chuckled, squeezing your knee before she leaned back a little. “It’s not about this particular one… but more so that it’s important you show up with us, honey,” she said, her voice gentler now. “These are your circles too, and at your age, people expect to see you at our side. You don’t have to follow our path exactly as is—you know we’d never ask you that, but seeing as you want to yourself— it’s better if you’re there.”

For a second, your mind went to Jake, and the thought of telling him you couldn’t see him tonight made your stomach twist. Why was it that every time you tried to make plans with him, something got in the way? It was always something. Either the universe working against you, or—no. You cut yourself off before the thought could go further. Before it could circle back to him.

You chewed at your lip, dragging it between your teeth as if stalling would change anything. Finally, you let out a sigh and muttered, “You’re so lucky I love you two. And that I’m a well-behaved daughter.”

Your dad shook his head as he playfully laughed, “Oof—let’s not go throwing words like ‘well-behaved’ around—”

“Enough out of you,” your mom cut him off, sparing him a glance—to which he threw his hands up in surrender, and then she pulled you into a tight hug like you were still small enough to tuck under her arm. “Truly the loveliest daughter in the world,” she said warmly, kissing the top of your head before straightening again. “Now, go get ready cause I know you like to take your time. I’ll order us dinner—and don’t worry, I’ll have boxes of your banana milk sent over, and your favorite berries—Ooh! and maybe some of those little macarons you love… and obviously I’ll have someone restock the pantry, because what on earth were you even living on?”

You shot her a glare, and she only raised her brows at you. “What? your father was right, honey.” She was already digging in her bag for her phone. “Don’t tell him I said that though.”

Your father looked around and raised a brow. “I’m still here, y’know.”

You groaned, stretching as you got up from the couch. “You two are actually making me go to this thing like I don’t have a life outside of this house.”

“Do you?” your dad shot back instantly, one brow cocked like he already knew the answer. “Wonyoung alone doesn’t count.”

You opened your mouth to argue– “Neither does Sunoo. Or the little tall kid always trailing him,” he added. 

You gave him a look. “I refuse to speak without a lawyer present.”

He tapped his chest. “Well it’s a good thing your old man is the best in the country.”

“Second best,” You raised a finger matter-of-factly, “To mom—I’d rather have her represent me.”

“Ok. That’s cool. It’s no big deal.” He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d shot him where he stood, staggering back a little for dramatic effect. “Your brother is my favorite child anyway.”

Your laugh slipped out easy, but it softened into a smile when your eyes drifted to your mom. She was still on the phone, murmuring about restocks and a new chef she wanted to try and whatever else she had on her list, her hand flicking toward you now and then like she didn’t need words to let you know she was listening too. And for a moment you just watched her and your father, and it hit you all at once how much you’d missed this—the noise, the warmth, the way your dad filled every corner with his ridiculous theatrics just to make you laugh, the way your mom carried all the small details of you like they were second nature. You’d grown up in this, in love that was so steady it never had to be questioned, in a house where you and your brother could be loud and messy and still be met with nothing but care. That was the constant. That feeling was home, and only ever built a home where love came first.

You’d missed the ease of simply being their kid again, instead of someone who had to hold up the weight of the world on her own.

The smile on your face stayed, following you all the way down the hall to your dressing room.

As if it wasn’t enough that your head was still spinning since you’d slept at 4 and woken up at 7, your mom had insisted that her hairstylist twist your hair into a tight, though flawless updo, pinned into place with not a strand out of order. “It’ll be the best pop to your necklace, and it’ll frame the back of the dress,” she’d said. You’d groaned when she’d brought it up, because you hated anyone’s hands in your hair, but you couldn’t argue with her when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. The low, intricate back of the dress deserved its own separate moment.

And now, the ballroom stretched out in front of you as you settled into it, every single pair of eyes feeling heavier than the diamonds around your neck, and your dress clinging tight to your body as if it had been sewn into your skin—the scarf detailing trailing behind you with every step.

You were all immediately welcomed warmly by a man with a badge pinned to his chest, and before you’d even finished nodding politely, your father was swept off by another man you didn’t recognize. That left you and your mom to be ushered toward the seating plan projected on a big screen, surrounded by a ridiculous arrangement of hydrangeas.

“Ah! You’re table three,” he said with a small clap of his hands. “Follow me, please!” You watched the way his eyes flicked from the screen to your mother and then off toward the tables, but when your mother didn’t move, he shifted his weight awkwardly on his feet.

Your mother gave him one of her polished smiles and said lightly, “We’ll wait for my husband to accompany us,” and that was that. He nodded, politely hovering still.

And since you were painfully nosey—your mother just as bad—you both leaned in at the same time to read the chart for yourselves.

Your eyes skimmed over the names on your table. Your father’s partner and his wife. The Chois. Heeseung and his father. Another man. Another man and his wife. And—

Wait.

What?

You blinked, once, twice, and thought that surely you’d read it wrong. Surely it didn’t actually say what you thought it did. 

Park Jaejoon.

Park Jiwoo.

And right there, clear as day, his name was placed directly beside your own.

Park Sunghoon.

Your face didn’t so much as twitch, even as every muscle in your body wanted to recoil. You forced a polite, practiced smile into place, and reread the list one more time, like maybe—just maybe—the letters might shuffle themselves around into something else.

They didn’t.

You turned to look at your mother, only to find her already staring back at you, and when she saw the horror in your expression, she pressed her lips together like she was fighting back a laugh, only for it to escape anyway—a tiny puff of amusement she immediately smothered with a forced, polite smile aimed at the poor man in front of you.

“Do you think this is funny, Mother?” you asked through your own smile, as the man visibly shifted under both your gazes and quickly looked away. “Is something funny?”

Your mother cleared her throat lightly. “Not at all.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I did no such thing.”

“You literally just laughed.”

“I most certainly did not,” she whispered, eyes locked forward now, the corners of her mouth twitching.

You leaned a little closer, your voice sharp but hushed. “This isn’t funny. Don’t laugh.”

“I said I’m not.”

“You won’t be laughing when I taint the family name by killing—”

Her hand came up to gently touch your arm, calm as ever, though you could see the corner of her mouth tugging in the slightest. “What did we talk about in the car, Darling?”

“The talk in the car never accounted for this,” you hissed back, a smile still plastered on your face for the man’s sake. “This is a joke.”

Her eyes flicked back to yours, somehow with all the warmth in the world but also heavy enough to make you straighten. “Sweetheart, behave.”

You squeezed her hand tight, huffing through your nose. “I’ll behave if that putrid prick—”

“Actually,” she cut in immediately, still smiling at the attendant as if you weren’t about to explode, “we’ll just go ahead to the table. It seems my husband has been stolen from us.”

The man practically sighed in relief, stepping forward to lead the way, and you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. You followed a step behind your mom and kept your chin lifted like you weren’t on the verge of grinding your teeth down to dust.

The Parks weren’t there yet. 

Their names glared back at you from the little gold placards neatly arranged around the centerpiece, like someone had taken pleasure in planting them there on purpose—even though on paper, technically, Park Jaejoon and your father were on “good” terms. That’s what the press said, what the handshakes at gatherings like this pretended to prove. 

But you knew better. You knew how badly that deal years ago had ended, how much your father hated the word ally when it was tied to the Parks.

You felt your thumb under your nails again. All day long, you’d done so well. You’d refused to think about him, shoved it down into the little box in your brain filled with things you avoided every time his face tried to crawl back into your mind. You’d even managed a whole morning without seeing him in the edges of everything.

And then this. Of course, the universe had other plans. Of course, the one time you almost made it through clean, he’d be thrown right in your face. Or rather, right at your side.

Then you felt your mother’s hands against your thumb, gentle but firm, pressing it flat against the linen. “That never did you any good,” she said softly.

Since the table was still empty, you let yourself speak freely. “You’ll have to sit in front of Jiwoo the entire night.”

“And?” Your mom’s brows lifted, but the glint in her eyes told you she knew exactly what you were getting at.

“And you know how she is. I don’t think that woman has ever formulated a single sentence toward you without the wrath of a thousand devils hanging off every word.”

“And what do I always tell you?” she hummed, tilting her head, and when you didn’t respond, she went on, “Hmm, sweetie?”

“Yes, but—”

“Tell me, Y/nnie.”

You let out a sigh, “You never know what people are going through at home.”

“Exactly,” she said softly, “Don’t think that that means you should ever allow someone to be unkind to you. If someone makes a habit of it, you simply don’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Ignore it. That is all.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line. Right. Ignore it. As if you’d ever been good at that. Still, you nodded, brushing your thumb gently over her hand in reassurance.

“Besides,” she went on, lowering her voice so only you would hear, “the Parks are too…” she paused, as if searching for the right word, “Performative. Jiwoo only bares her teeth when no one’s looking.” Another quiet pause, her mouth curling ever so slightly. “Though I suppose even in public she can’t resist trying to cut me down when she thinks she can get away with it.”

Your mom went on, “I’m still holding onto the fact that we’ll be getting coffee tomorrow and talking about all this soon—but her son, Sunghoon,” you hated how you almost flinched at the sound of his name, “last you told me he was your partner for Dr. Kim’s class—is he still the same as he was?”

You tilted your head, blinking at her. “If by the same you mean an obnoxious, putrid, narcissistic, egotistical freak—”

She squeezed your hand, cutting you off with a knowing smile. “So I’ll just take that as a yes.”

You groaned quietly, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll save my words for your sake.”

“Honestly, sweetheart, it makes me sad to think about,” she hummed, thumb brushing over your knuckles like she could smooth the thought away. “He was such a respectful boy when he was younger. I don’t know what changed.”

Does anyone? 

Your brows tugged together before you caught yourself, forcing them smooth again, shoving the thought down and tucking it neatly into that box in your mind of things you refused to touch tonight. “No one does,” you said, “And I certainly don’t care to find out.”

Your mom studied you for a moment, the kind of look that felt like she could see past every wall you built, but she didn’t press. Instead, she sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Well, with a father like Jaejoon and a mother like that, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Cruel men rarely raise kind sons.” She left it there, not bothering to add anything about his mother, because the two of you would be sitting at this table until morning if she had.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted the Lees approaching, and immediately your face lit up, smoothing your hands down in a silent little signal for your mother to look. 

You rose just as they reached you—your father right behind them, his hand clasped warmly over Mr. Lee’s shoulder.

They all bowed politely. Heeseung wore a fitted suit that caught the light with subtle detailing, and his father stood there grinning, voice booming as he greeted your mom. 

“Aesun!” he beamed, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads nearby. “How lovely to see you again—” he turned toward you, grin widening, “—and who might this young lady be?”

Your dad didn’t miss a beat. “We found her wandering outside, poor thing,” he said, straight-faced, “took pity and decided to let her tag along. You know, good deed of the day.”

You groaned immediately, swatting at his arm. “Dad.”

Mr. Lee barked out a laugh, clapping him on the back. “Always the saint, aren’t you? Truly, Seoul’s greatest philanthropist.” He turned to look at you again with a grin. “I kid, I kid. How have you been, Y/N? Yunah asks about you all the time. Are you still as sharp-tongued as your father tells me?”

You gave him a warm smile. “Depends on who’s asking.”

That made Heeseung laugh under his breath, quiet but clear, and when you glanced his way, he ducked his head just slightly, as if to hide it.

You felt a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth once more at the familiarity of seeing your dad with his arm slung over Mr. Lee’s shoulder, the two of them laughing loud enough to turn heads—though they never cared, and your mom shooting daggers with her eyes as if to remind him to behave. It was warm, familiar, the kind of noise you grew up with—

And then someone cleared their throat from behind them.

When your father and Mr. Lee broke apart, Park Jaejoon stood behind them perfectly composed, cold as ever, expression unreadable—though the faintest irritation lingered at the edges of his face. “Gentlemen.” He said with a tip of a bow.

Your father shifted just enough to face him, his hand already outstretched, “Chairman Park.”

“Chairman Y/L/N.” Their hands met, firm and measured, and Mr. Lee stepped forward next.

Everyone dipped their heads in unison, the kind of bow you’d done since you were old enough to stand at your parents’ side, and only when you lifted your head again did you see him.

His eyes were already on you like he’d been waiting for the exact second you lifted your head, and it felt like the weight of his eyes sank straight into you, burning holes into your skin. 

Like he couldn’t help himself even if he wanted to.

Sunghoon wore black from head to toe, his suit tailored at the shoulders so it framed his figure with cruel precision, pulled in all too neatly at the waist—and his hair fell just right, dark strands falling delicately into place across his pale skin like spilled ink, and you hated the way your teeth clenched at the sight of him, and how easy it was to admit that he was beautiful—devastatingly so. In this light, he didn’t look like a person at all, but more like something carved and placed here on purpose, the kind of figure God and all his angels might dream up just to fill ballrooms like this.

But that kind of beauty only worked if you were unaware of the rotten parts crawling under his perfect composure, and you in particular for better and for worse, couldn’t bring yourself to ignore them, especially not when the memory of how he had you pressed against a wall days ago with his breath ghosting over your ear still threaded through your head when you tried to sleep.

And then, almost like he could feel the question hanging in the air, his father added, “My wife won’t be joining us tonight. She’s feeling under the weather.” 

You caught the twitch in Sunghoon’s jaw at that. Barely there, so small anyone else might’ve missed it, but you didn’t. 

Then it was gone, smoothed over like it hadn’t happened at all, and he stepped forward right after, shaking Mr. Lee’s hand, then your father’s, bowing to your mother with that easy, practiced grace, and offering Heeseung the kind of quiet smile you hadn’t seen from him in years. 

It was all so neat, so well-rehearsed, the perfect image of the perfect son.

And then his eyes landed back on you, and your skin burned under something that felt dangerously close to anticipation.

“Good evening, Ms. Y/N.” His voice was low, polite, stripped clean of anything else, but the formality of your name on his tongue sounded heavier than it should have.

Your teeth pressed into the inside of your cheek to keep from scoffing. You dipped your head just low enough, lips curving into the kind of smile you’d perfected over years of nights like this. “Evening.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Heeseung tipping his head back, staring up at the ceiling with a sudden fascination that could only mean he was swallowing down a laugh. 

It seems everyone found this humorous but you.

You followed behind as everyone finally moved toward the table, your seat waiting for you right beside his, the little gold nameplate shining up at you like it had been designed just to mock you.  

You slid into your chair, smoothing the gown under you, and only then did it hit you just how tight and revealing the dress was. It clung to your ribs, the neckline was too low, it pulled against your waist, and the scarf detail suddenly seemed to drag every ounce of air from your lungs.

You pushed the thought down, lifted your chin, and fixed your gaze on your mother instead, who was already leaning toward your father’s partner’s wife, her hands moving gracefully as she spoke.

You almost lost yourself in watching her—how she filled every corner with ease—until a low whisper came from beside you. 

“Mr. Park.”

It was so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined it, but when you turned, Sunghoon was leaning just the slightest bit closer, expression unreadable except for the faint crease between his brows. 

You blinked at him, then glanced around the table, as if to make sure he hadn’t aimed that at someone else. When you looked back, your voice stayed low, and you bit down the urge to call him a schizophrenic prick, “Congratulations? You know your own name?”

“Your manners.” He said, even lower. “That’s how you should address me.”

You stared at him for a long moment, something bubbling in your chest that you forced down before it could come out as a sneer. Instead, you smiled sweetly enough that anyone glancing your way would think you were the poster child of grace. 

Then you tilted your head just slightly and whispered back, “Why are you even talking to me?”

“Someone needs to teach you how to behave,” His gaze slid deliberately around the table before settling back on you. “In public.”

You let out the faintest laugh under your breath, “Surely I’m mistaken, and you aren’t the one saying that to me.”

“I addressed you properly.”

Your eyes narrowed, though your smile didn’t falter. “So what? You want me to get up and clap? Grab you an award from over there, maybe?”

He leaned in a fraction closer, “I want you to remember your place.”

Your nails absentmindedly pressed lightly into your cuticle, picking at the skin, “Trust me, I’m very aware of my place right now.”

He didn’t answer right away, and you finally flicked your gaze back to him—only to catch where his eyes had fallen. Down to your hand. You quickly shoved it under the table.

Mr. Lee had already leaned forward, his voice booming as always, though softened now for the sake of the setting. “So, Y/N,” he started, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon, “your father tells me you’re taking Dr. Kim this semester.”

You straightened a little in your seat, nodding. “Unfortunately, yes.”

That earned a laugh, deep and knowing. “Man hasn’t changed one bit then. Sadist through and through. Did you know he taught us back in our day? My first and only ever failure I’ve received. Same miserable bastard then as I’m guessing he is now.”

Your dad huffed a laugh beside him, shaking his head. “You’re forgetting he failed you twice.”

“Twice?” Mr. Lee clutched at his chest like it still hurt. “See? Sadist. I stand by my words.”

You smiled, unable to help it. They always stood out in rooms like this—so loud, so alive, refusing to shrink themselves into the stone masks everyone else wore. You’d grown up watching it, watching them laugh too hard and clap each other’s backs too loud, and sometimes it felt like the only proof that people in this world could actually breathe.

“I like his classes.” Sunghoon’s voice came low, steady, almost bored, but aimed squarely at you.

He shifted forward slightly in his seat as he spoke, and that was when his knee brushed against yours under the table. Just a fleeting touch, but enough to make you flinch in the slightest before you caught yourself and forced stillness back into your body. He didn’t so much as blink, carrying on like nothing happened as he looked in front of him.

Mr. Lee lifted a brow, “Oh? That so?”

Sunghoon gave the smallest shrug, the picture of composure. “He’s strict. Demands precision. I don’t mind it.” The faintest smile curved at his lips. “I say this with all due respect to you, Mr. Lee and Mr Y/L/N, of course, and mostly with our particular class in mind,” His gaze slid back to you, “Maybe the professor isn’t the issue.”

Your brow arched on instinct, but you didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead, you turned your head slightly, the perfect picture of poise, and smiled sweetly at him. “Maybe that’s because he’s obsessed with you.”

Heeseung coughed into his fist, eyes flicking between the two of you, and you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he looked up at the ceiling once again as if to act oblivious.

And then he did it again. His knee slid back against yours, impossibly calm—almost bored—but you could feel his eyes burning into you the whole time.

Sunghoon’s eyes didn’t leave you as he spoke. “He’s not the only one.”

Your smile only deepened, though your chest tightened, and you forced your chin high like none of it reached you. Then you turned your head to find his father staring at the two of you.

He didn’t bother to hide the disgust in his eyes, as if even entertaining this exchange was beneath him.

Your father eyed him, too, and tried to pry the mood up a notch like he always did. “Chairman Park,” he said lightly, though you didn’t miss the faint edge under it. “Tell me, what do you make of Dr. Kim these days? Surely he hasn’t gotten any less merciless since our time.”

Jaejoon didn’t break his stare, not even to glance at your father, and his answer came almost like an afterthought. “Mercy doesn’t produce results.”

You told yourself not to, told yourself to look anywhere else, but your eyes slid toward Sunghoon anyway. He sat there perfectly composed, like the words hadn’t brushed him at all.

The table went heavy with silence, and you shifted awkwardly in your seat, fingers brushing at the edge of your napkin. You looked toward your mom to find that she was already watching you—warm as always, but her brows pulled in just enough to crease with a look of concern only you’d be able to recognize.

She leaned toward your father then, fingers fussing at the knot of his tie even though it was already perfectly in place. He let her, the two of them sharing a quiet smile that passed unnoticed by anyone else at the table but you, and it was warm, unspoken, the kind of intimacy that lived in the smallest gestures.

Your eyes drifted across the table again, to the empty chair beside Jaejoon. And he didn’t seem to care one bit about the absence of his wife, or maybe he did; you could never tell with him—but he was carrying on with his wine as though her absence wasn’t glaring in the space she should’ve filled.

Before anyone could fill the silence, the clink of trays broke through, and a waiter stepped in with a flourish, delicately laying out plates of appetizers one by one. The salads were dressed so beautifully they looked like they belonged in a painting: little arrangements of greens, bright slices of fruit, and thin curls of something pickled. 

And then—under the table, Sunghoon’s knee found yours for a third time. A slow press. Nothing accidental about it. He held it there, steady, like he was waiting for you to react.

Fuck this. You kept your eyes down on the plate, on the neat circle of greens and the smear of sauce across the glass, and let your voice come out low enough that only he could hear. 

“Move.”

He didn’t. “Address me properly, maybe I will.”

Your lips curved as you picked up your fork. “I told you we don’t need to talk outside of class.”

“Behave first.”

A quiet breath slipped through your nose. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Someone should.” He glanced at your father and pointed his fork at him, “Clearly, no one ever did.”

Your mouth dropped open, but you knew better than to give him a reaction. “Try behaving yourself first.” You shoved at his knee just enough to push him off, careful not to draw anyone’s attention.

He eased back half an inch, but then he came right back, brushing your knee again like he wanted you to know it was a choice.

You set your fork down, finally turned your head, and met his eyes head-on. “Stop.”

“Address me properly.”

Was he still on that? God, he was insufferable.

“There isn’t enough leg space for you to be doing this.“ You glanced around and smiled once, but everyone was too focused on their own conversations and plates to notice what was going on. “If you don’t move, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” His tone was smooth, steady, and baiting. “Make a scene? Right here, in front of everyone?”

You stabbed a piece of fruit with your fork harder than necessary. “I’ll break your fucking leg under this table.” 

“Mmm. Say it louder.” 

At that exact moment, a waiter arrived with another tray of porcelain plates steaming, and he moved between you and Sunghoon, and the two of you separated by measured politeness. The waiter set the plates down with a practiced smile and went on.

“Thank God,” Heeseung muttered under his breath and then, louder, a little slurred, “Praise the heavens. You two need help.”

The rest of it passed in pieces, with Sunghoon’s father occasionally uttering a few cold remarks as if this whole thing was beneath him, your father countering with a laugh that didn’t quite land, little patches of small talk blooming and withering, and the silences in between being heavy enough that you had to count your breaths to sit through them.

By the time you excused yourself, murmuring something about touching up your makeup, your chest already felt tight. No one stopped you. They just let you slip out, which is how you ended up at the bar tucked into the corner of the hall.

It wasn’t really an escape—not when every few steps someone stopped you, hand brushing your arm, smiling a little too wide. You heard it over and over again.

You look just like your mother. You’ve grown up so well. How is school going? What do you plan on doing next? 

The words piled up like appetizers on a tray, shiny and empty, until all you could do was smile and nod, let them wash over you, thank them politely even when you didn’t know half their names.

By the time you finally reached the bar, you needed the cool edge of the counter under your palms just to steady yourself.

The bartender looked at you expectantly, but you only asked for water, fingers wrapping around the glass when he set it down like you needed something solid to hold onto. You didn’t drink, you didn’t even really want the water. You just needed to be anywhere but back at that table for a moment.

“There you are, sweetheart,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You turned, and your stomach flipped when you saw Jake standing there with that familiar grin tugging at his mouth.

He also wore a black suit, and where Sunghoon looked devastatingly carved, Jake looked like he’d brought light with him. His jacket was open at the collar so you could see the line of his throat, and his hair was pushed back but loose at the front, skin catching the light so beautifully it was almost unfair, and he was smiling at you like he already knew the effect he had.

“Jake?” you said, blinking like you weren’t sure if you were actually seeing him. “What are you doing here?”

“I put two and two together after what y’told me and pulled some strings,” he said, grin deepening as his eyes dragged over you slowly and shamelessly, “Told my father I could make it tonight after all.” A beat. “Worth it.”

He shifted a little closer, “You look… yeah. That’s—Wow.” His gaze flicked down and back up again. “You’re kidding me. This dress? You’re trying to kill me.”

“Blame my mother,” you said, trying and failing to sound bored. 

“Remind me to thank her.” He let that sit, his smile going softer as his eyes found yours. “Hi.”

You felt yourself exhale, shoulders dropping the inch you hadn’t realized they’d climbed. “Hi,” you echoed.

“Missed you.”

Your smile grew wider. “It’s been a day.”

He shrugged. “Exactly. What have you done to me?” he dramatically clutched his chest and pointed at you mockingly. “You’ve got me under some kind of spell.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “You calling me a witch?” you asked, brows tugging up at him.

“No, ma’am.” He leaned in just a little, voice dropping, “Saying I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes darted around the room. Too many people, too many eyes—you weren’t about to be openly flirting in front of all of them. But when you looked back, he was still watching you, steady.

“Where are you seated, pretty?”

“Uh, table three. With—”

“Hee? And Sunghoon?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.” You bit back the word ‘unfortunately’ before it could leave your mouth.

Something in his expression shifted, the faintest twist, before he said, “I just talked to Hee, actually.” He turned slightly, “He’s right over there."

He glanced back fully and gave a small wave, and when you followed his line of sight, you saw Heeseung—and Sunghoon stood right beside him. 

“Oh,” Jake added casually, “and Sunghoon.”

Heeseung's attention was elsewhere, but Sunghoon’s gaze was fixated on you like maybe he’d been watching longer than you wanted to know. 

He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, that faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his gaze flicked once to Jake. Then he raised his glass in a slow, deliberate toast, eyes locked back on you.

Your eyes were still on him when Jake leaned in even closer. “Can I steal you for five?” he asked, “Or ten? I’m flexible. Or,” he added, “I can just stand here and tell you how beautiful you look until you get bored and kick me back to the diplomats. Though they’ll bore me to death, and I’d much rather be with you.”

“Flatterer,” you said, but you were smiling now.

“Accurate reporter,” he corrected, eyes dipping once more to the neckline of your dress before he caught himself, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Sorry. Not sorry. You’re… yeah. Distracting.”

Here, it was just him, the clean heat of his cologne, and that open, flirty focus that always made you feel like the rest of the room had been turned down.

“Five minutes,” you said.

“Deal.” He offered his hand like a dare, palm warm, the corner of his mouth lifting when you took it. “Lead the way, pretty.”

You looked down at his hand, then back up at him again, arching a brow. “Are you crazy? Someone could see us. Just… follow me. Stay behind.”

“Shit,” he murmured with a low whistle, “I like it when you tell me what to do.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, just turned and started walking, heels clicking softly and even against the marble, keeping your chin high and every single movement practiced. 

For a second, you almost thought to look back to see if Sunghoon was still watching the two of you.

You slipped past a server balancing a tray of champagne and turned down one of the narrower corridors, quieter, tucked away. You knew your way around here to know that at the very end sat a bathroom most people would pass by without a second glance. You didn’t hesitate.

You pushed the door open and stepped in alone, shutting it behind you just long enough to breathe. Your reflection stared back from the mirror—hair pinned perfectly in place, dress clinging to your skin beautifully. You smoothed your hands down the sides of the gown, like that could calm the way your nerves.

The door opened again, and Jake slipped in without hesitation, shutting it behind him with a quiet click.

“Fuck, needed you to myself the second I saw you,” he started immediately, “You have any idea what you look like right now?”

“Jake—“

“Remember the last thing you texted me? And then you show up here looking like…” His gaze trailed down, lingering on the neckline, the bare sides of the dress, the way it hugged your waist. “…that.” His jaw flexed. “You really are cruel for doing this to me.”

“Well, I do remember.” You swallowed, forcing yourself to hold his stare in the mirror. “M’just Making you work harder for it.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” he stepped right up behind you.  “Question is, sweetheart…” he dipped his head, “…how quiet can you be?”

“Who said I wanna be quiet?”

That made him groan. “Shit.”

His hands found your waist, thumbs riding the dip. “Say the word and I’ll stop,” he murmured, breath warm at the base of your neck. “You want me to touch you?”

You hated how fast it came out. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His eyes caught yours in the mirror and held them as his hand slid lower, following the seam of your dress to where the slit began, knuckles grazing your inner thigh.

Your breath stuttered. “That’s it… Look at me,” he whispered, dragging his fingers a little higher. “Keep looking at me.”

You couldn’t. Your lashes fluttered, breath breaking out of you in a shaky sound as he pushed up against you just the slightest.

“Eyes on me,” he said again, softer this time, almost coaxing. “Let me see how bad you want it.” He paused just shy of where you were already hot and aching. “Say it again. Tell me what to do.”

“Please—touch me,” you whispered, breath shaking.

“Louder, baby.” His voice tightened, almost a whine. “Say my name. Need to hear it.”

“Okay—fuck—Jake.”

That was all it took. He finally slid his fingers up, pushing the thin fabric aside with a slow drag of his knuckles until he found your clit, bare and slick. He circled it once, just enough to make you jerk, then pressed a little harder, rubbing slow, tight circles right where you ached.

A small sound slipped out of you, caught between a whine and a moan, and Jake let out one of his own, head tipping forward like the sound alone had undone him. “Ohhh, fuckkk—You’re fucking soaked. Tell me you’re wet for me.”

You forced your eyes open, holding his gaze in the mirror even as your lips parted. “Always.”

He groaned, “Jesus Christ. You’re gonna kill me.”

His mouth found your jaw, then your neck, teeth scraping lightly before he soothed it with his tongue. His other hand came up to cup your breast through the dress, thumb dragging over your nipple until you gasped and your head tipped back against his shoulder.

“Mm, no—eyes, baby. Watch.” His hand left your breast for your jaw, firm enough to turn your face forward again, making you watch yourself in the mirror while his fingers pressed harder against your clit, rubbing slowly and deliberately.

“Jake…” your voice broke on his name, lips falling open.

“That’s it.” He kissed the side of your mouth, open and messy, not caring about the lipstick smearing across both your mouths. “You sound so fucking good. You have no idea what you do to me.”

Maybe if you had half the mind left, you’d tell him to stop marking you, to stop sucking so hard at the side of your neck that you knew it would bloom purple by morning, to not fuck up the makeup your mom’s makeup artist spent so long fixing. You’d tell him you couldn’t afford to walk back out into that ballroom with proof of him on your skin. But the second his finger finally slid past your folds and pressed into your heat, all you could manage was a filthy, broken moan.

“Fuuuck—” you gasped, nails scraping lightly against the porcelain sink as your thighs instinctively tried to close around his hand. He stopped them easily, his knee sliding between yours to keep you open, the sound of your wetness filling the room as he started moving his finger inside you.

“God, listen to that,” he groaned against your ear. “So fucking wet already—” he pulled back almost all the way and then sank his finger in again, slower this time, “I’ve thought about this so much, baby. Thought about your pretty pink pussy while I had my fist wrapped around my cock. All those nights you teased me and left me hanging—you fucking tease.”

“Not a... Not a tease.” 

He pulled back just enough to force your face forward again, hand gripping your chin until your glassy eyes met the mirror. “I said watch—Yeah, just like that.”

Then the sudden emptiness made your hips twitch forward, clenching around nothing for a moment, “Wh—” you started, but he turned you around and gripped your thighs and hauled you up like you weighed nothing, setting you down on the edge of the sink.

“Spread for me,” he breathed, crowding in between your knees, his forehead pressing to yours for just a second before pulling back to look at you properly

You spread for him slowly, the slit of your dress falling open with every inch, and he just stood there for a second, drinking you in like a starved man.

“Fuckkkkk,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair, “God—I wanna fuck you so bad. You don’t even know. This is fucking mine.”

Your head tipped back against the glass, the heat of his words flooding you more than his fingers had. You should’ve laughed at how insane he sounded, at how desperate he looked, but your brain was mush. You wanted to say something sharp, tease him for whining, but all that left you was a shaky, “Jake…”

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, his breath frantic. “Yeah, baby. Say it again. Say my name when I’m inside you.” His fingers slid back up your thigh, slow and claiming, and then pressed over your slick. His whole body shuddered. “Look at this pussy. All this for me. While everyone’s out there.”

Your hips jerked, and he grabbed your jaw with his free hand. “Open. Tongue out.”

You blinked, dazed, but did it anyway. He pushed the finger he’d had inside you past your lips, and the taste of yourself hit your tongue, and you whined, eyes half-shutting.

“That’s it,” he rasped, watching like he’d never seen anything so obscene. “Suck it for me.”

You hollowed your cheeks, slow just to tease him, and his whole body jolted. “God, you’re perfect. You’re my perfect girl. Nobody gets this but me.”

Again, if you’d had half the mind, you’d argue, tell him he was insane. But you were too far gone, too hot, too wet, and had spent nights thinking about him having you like this far too long to argue. You just wanted him to keep going, to keep saying all of it, even if you didn’t believe a word.

Jake’s hand left your jaw only to tug at the neckline of your dress, pulling until the fabric slipped low enough for your breasts to spill free. His breath hitched, a ragged groan falling out of him before his mouth latched onto one of them, sucking until your nipple pebbled against his tongue.

“Mmmphhh—” he moaned into your skin, squeezing the other with his free hand. “So round, so full, so fucking—Been thinking about these every night, baby. Shit—If he—anyone—saw you like this—” His teeth grazed lightly before he soothed it with a wet kiss, sucking hard again until you gasped and arched into him.

He pulled back just long enough to look at you and clicked his tongue, “This won’t do,” he panted, “Talk to me, baby. I need to hear you.”

Your lips parted, but all that came was a shaky whimper, and he kissed you before you could even try again, catching your mouth in his, hot, open, desperate, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to swallow every sound you made.

You made a muffled noise against his mouth, pushing at his chest weakly. “Jake—My makeup—” you breathed, lips already smudged pink against his.

“Don’t care,” he muttered, biting at your bottom lip before sucking it between his own, “Don’t fucking care. Just want you.”

“You’re being so needy—God, you’re obsessed—”

“Fucking am,” His hand slid back down between your legs, spreading you open wider, his thumb brushing slick circles over your clit while his mouth stayed locked to yours. He grabbed your wrist, dragging your hand down between you, “Fuck, feel me,” he hissed against your mouth and pressed your palm against his thick bulge, grinding into it like he couldn’t help himself.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers twitching against him. He was so hard and big you couldn’t think straight, and when you squeezed a little, he groaned right against your lips, forehead falling against yours.

“Yeah,” he rasped, hips jerking once into your hand. “Shit—fuck, tell me where you want it.” His hand covered yours, forcing you to rub him harder, dragging your palm along the length of his cock until you felt the thick head through the fabric.

“Here, baby? In my pants? Fuck—You want me to ruin my suit for you right here? Let everyone out there see me walk back dripping because of you?” he curled his finger inside you at the same time, pressing up into that spot that made your thighs tremble, then dragged it back out slowly just to shove it in again. “Or do you want me buried in this tight fucking pussy, fucking you stupid while you watch yourself come apart in that mirror?”

“You—Aaah—you talk too much,” you gasped, hips rocking down on his fingers shamelessly. “Just fuck me—please, J..Jake—just fuck me—”

“Holy shit—Y/N—don’t say that to me right now, I’ll lose it—” his forehead pressed to yours as his fingers picked up a filthy rhythm inside you. Curl, drag, curl again—each thrust hitting that spot so perfectly you swore the sink under you rattled. His thumb circled your clit, faster now, slick sounds and moans filling the small bathroom you were sure anyone passing by would have heard. “Shit— You want everyone out there to hear?”

“I thought… I said I don’t give a shit—let them.”

He growled, actually fucking growled, before sucking at your throat so hard you knew it’d bruise. 

Your thighs trembled around his arm, your breath coming out ragged. “Jake—oh my god—I’m—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, kissing at your open mouth, your jaw, anywhere he could reach, all too sloppy. “Shit, you’re squeezing me. Come for me, pretty, let me feel it, let me fucking feel this pussy—fuck—I need it—”

Your whole body tightened and then snapped, a moan ripping out of your throat before you could stop it, louder than it should’ve been, your cunt clenching so hard around his fingers you almost saw white.

“Good girl—so good—my perfect fucking girl—” He kept fucking you through it, his thumb never leaving your clit until your thighs squeezed his wrist tight and your whole body sagged against him—

And then, your phone started ringing inside your purse on the counter.

It was so cliché it almost made you laugh, except the sound of your ringtone—the one you’d picked out for your mother—physically yanked you back into your body, back into the reality of where you were. Your heart jumped, panic threading through the haze as you smacked at his chest weakly, “Oh my god—Jake—what time is it?”

He just kissed you again, hard, like he could shove the question right back down your throat.

Then his jaw flexed, and he muttered against your mouth, “Ignore it.”

“Mmpph—” You managed against his lips, “Jake—my mother—“ he kissed you again, “what time—” he kept planting kisses on your mouth.

For a second, you gave in, letting yourself sink back into it, into the heat of his cock in your hand, squeezing him harder just to hear the groan it tore out of him.

And then his phone started ringing inside his pocket.

He tore away from your mouth with a guttural groan, head dropping into the crook of your neck. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His hips still rocked into your fist like he couldn’t stop, “Swear the whole goddamn universe doesn’t want me inside you.”

You let out what sounded like a giggle, “Maybe it’s a sign,” you whispered, though your hand betrayed you, tugging at his belt until the buckle clinked loose, and then toyed with his zipper, “Answer it.”

Jake raised a brow, but his gaze dropped instantly to where your hands were brushing the band of his boxers, and the corner of his mouth twitched, before he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out with a sigh.

The second you pushed his briefs down, your lips parted around a quiet, shaky sound. He was so thick your fingers barely wrapped around him, precum glistened at the flushed tip, and you couldn’t stop yourself when your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

You were smoothing your thumb over the bead of precum at his tip, spreading it slowly across the velvety skin, when he answered the phone.

Jake’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, phone pressed to his ear, his eyes locked on you like he’d come undone if you so much as squeezed. “Y—yeah,” he stammered when you dragged your fist down the length of his cock, watching the muscles in his jaw tighten as he tried to keep his composure. “I’m here, Father. No, no– I’m with Sunghoon.”

Your breath hitched at the mention of his name, but you shoved it down. Jake was barely listening to whatever his father was saying, his knuckles white around the phone, his other hand braced on the counter like it was the only thing keeping him steady. You dragged his boxers down enough to free him, and fuck—up close he looked even thicker, and your mouth watered, pressing a kiss just under the head. His whole body twitched, and he muttered something into the phone that wasn’t an answer at all.

His hips jerked, a hiss slipping between his teeth, guiding you closer, desperate, needy, cock twitching in your hand as he pulled his phone away. “Pretty little mouth—God, I’m gonna—”

You licked your lips anyway, dragging your tongue over the tip. “Oh, fuck. Shit. Hold on—" His free hand shot down, tangling in your hair—careful enough not to mess up your updo, but just enough to hold you back just before you could take him into your mouth. “Y-yes, father, I’ll be there for the announcement. I’ll come back now.”

“Wait—” you started, but then your phone rang again.

Maybe it truly was a sign, you thought. 

Jake hung up fast and looked at you. “Shit—we gotta go.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, followed by a curse under your breath, and stood quickly, turning around to take your reflection in—and you immediately panicked. You looked insane—lipstick smudged, skin flushed and damp, dress wrinkled around the edges. You dug into your bag with trembling hands, powdering over the blooming marks on your throat, grabbing your scarf from the counter, and tugging it up high to cover what wouldn’t fade.

Jake was still muttering under his breath, buttoning his jacket crookedly. “Shit, I can’t fucking walk out there like this. My fucking dick’s throbbing—fuck—I need to cum.”

You smoothed your dress one last time, tugged the straps back into place, and glanced at him through the mirror, “You’ll live.”

He cocked a brow. “Oh, so now my pretty little thing’s got a mouth on her?”

The way he said my so casually made your heart stutter. “Forgive me if I’m not exactly thinking straight enough to speak while you fuck my brains out with your fingers.”

Jake let out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face like you were actually killing him. “I’ll throw you back on that sink and fuck you stupid right now.”

You brush past him, fingers flat against his chest, and click your tongue,  “Aren’t you all talk? Duty calls, Ambassador’s son.”

“Such a brat,” he breathes, but he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he cups your jaw and drags you in for one last hard kiss—smudging the makeup you’d just fixed, earning him a swat to the chest. He only grinned against your mouth, and you kissed him back anyway.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I’m not stopping for anything.”

By the time you slipped back into the ballroom, the crowd had thinned toward the stage, your father and the others nowhere in sight. When you’d finally answered your mom, she’d said Dinner’s starting, where are you—come sit, but when you reached your table, she wasn’t there either.

Only two figures remained, half-sunk into their chairs. Heeseung lounged back, collar loosened, his hand draped lazily over his wine glass. Beside him, Sunghoon sat straighter but not quite steady, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular until you slid quietly into your seat again.

Heeseung grinned. ears red, “Oh, great heavens above,” he drawled, leaning forward on one elbow, “I’mm so happy to see you. He was about to mill me—kill me to death—talking about—”

“Shut your stupid mouth.” Sunghoon groaned, his cheeks looked flushed.

You hissed under your breath, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention to them, and to how you kept fidgeting to fix your scarf. “Oh my god. Are you two drunk?”

Heeseung blinked at you, then grinned again. “Nooo. Just a little. Little drunk. Very little.” He tilted his head like he was considering something deeply important. “Oh… wait. Did you say two? As in plural. Meaning me and…” He jerked his chin toward Sunghoon. “Oooh. Yeah. He’s drunk two. too.”

“You two are actually—“ you narrowed your eyes, “Here of all places? Heeseung, your dad is going to kill you two.” The irony of you policing them about being in public was not lost upon you.

“Too? Was that plural or no? Wait—My dad has killed someone before?”

You shot Sunghoon a look. “Why would you let him—How many drinks have you had?”

“None of your business.” Sunghoon shot back lowly, “I’m fine.”

Heeseung snorted loud enough to earn a glance from the next table. “He’s not fine.”

“He’s so not fine,” Heeseung sang, tipping the last of his glass into his mouth before pointing a finger across the table. “He started drinking the second Jake—OW! Mother of God—help me—”

You blinked as Sunghoon lowered his hand back to the table, face smooth like he hadn’t just smacked Heeseung across the shoulder hard enough to make him jolt.

“What the hell?” Heeseung whined, rubbing at the spot dramatically. "In front of a lady? Have some shame.”

“Anything but a lady,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath.

Your head snapped toward him. “What did you say?”

He turned then, and the weight of his gaze made your stomach lurch. He didn’t blink, just let it burn through you until he flicked his fingers lazily towards his own neck. “Missed a spot.”

Heat shot up your throat so fast it almost made you dizzy. Your hand flew up on instinct, tugging the fabric higher, cheeks blazing. “You—” you didn’t have the right words.

Heeseung, oblivious, tipped his head back and groaned, “What is happening right now? Someone explain to me. Hello.”  he mumbled, half to himself, half to the ceiling, “I’m surrounded by ungrateful bastards. I provide entertainment, I provide warmth, I provide charm—what do I get? Abuse.” He jabbed a finger at Sunghoon. “You don’t even laugh at my jokes. 

“Because they’re not funny,” Sunghoon said flatly, still looking at you.

Heeseung gasped like he’d just been stabbed. “Not funny? Not—” He pressed a hand to his chest, swaying a little. “Y/N, tell him. Tell him I’m hilarious. I can’t breathe.”

You forced your eyes away from Sunghoon, “You’re hilarious, Hee. Drink some water,” you said dryly, hoping the weight in your chest would ease if you just didn’t look back.

Heeseung brightened immediately, his grin stretching ear to ear. “See? She loves me. I knew it. My little mister—sister. You’re just a stone wall, Hoon—cold, heartless. Meanwhile, me?” He thumped his chest, “Full of life. Warmth. Generosity.”

Sunghoon finally leaned back, a faint smirk curling at his mouth. “Full of shit,” he muttered.

For a second, you almost laughed because the whole thing was stupidly familiar, but you pressed your mouth into a flat line and let your gaze drift off instead to scan the room.

And then your eyes caught on Jake across the ballroom. He was standing near men who looked all too important, his smile charming enough to earn soft laughter from the older man beside him. His hand gestured once, smooth, and your stomach clenched so hard it hurt because all you could see was those same fingers buried inside you not ten minutes ago. The heat hit your cheeks before you could stop it.

You swallowed and dropped your gaze quickly, only to find Sunghoon watching you still, like he hadn’t looked away once. His eyes weren’t… dark the way they usually were. Softer, but heavier somehow, like he could see straight through the scarf at your throat, straight through the flush in your cheeks, straight through to the memory you were trying not to choke on.

“What?” you hissed.

Sunghoon shifted beside you, leaning just a little too close to the point where you smelled the alcohol in his breath. “You’re doing it again,” he slurred, chin tipping toward your lap, and when you followed his gesture, you realized you’d picked your skin bloody. “S’gonna hurt if you keep picking like that.”

“Excuse me?” 

He blinked, slow, his gaze dragging from your hands back up to your face. “You always do that.” There was no bite to his words — only a strange softness. “When you’re nervous. You used to…” He trailed off, lips twitching, “Bad habit.”

It was ridiculous how fast your mind betrayed you. 

One second, you were sitting in this glittering room with its chandeliers and beautiful silverware; the next, it flicked back to a different version of you, a younger girl sitting cross-legged on a polished wooden floor, stinging thumbs tucked into her palms while a boy a little older than her swatted at her hands for the fifth time that hour. You could almost feel the brush of his knuckles again, and how in the end he’d always give up and bring out a pack of crumpled bandages from his pocket he always kept in there instead, for this exact reason, kneeling awkwardly in front of you to cover the raw skin with careful fingers, and not saying anything about it while you stared at the top of his bent head. 

It was a small, traitorous memory, and it hit you hard enough to make you pull your hands back into your lap, curling them tight like maybe you could hide them from him, from yourself, from how your brain kept creeping up the past on you.

“You’re drunk,” you muttered, forcing your eyes forward, anywhere but him.

“M’not blind.”

At that, you looked. “Don’t pretend to care, Sunghoon.”

He studied you for a moment, then muttered, “I know you too well to pretend.”

Heeseung suddenly leaned forward, squinting between the two of you, “What’s going on here?” he demanded, blinking slow. “Hello? Are we fighting again? I don’t want t’fight… I miss you guys… No more. I swear to god, you two have been fighting for like—four years? I have a better F… suggestion.. Just… just fuck already. Or something.”

You snapped your head towards him. “Heeseung—”

Sunghoon let out a laugh—he actually laughed, soft around the corners, and shook his head, 

“You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, looking at them both.

“I’m a visionary,” Heeseung said proudly, sitting back with a flourish that nearly tipped his chair. He pointed between you and Sunghoon again. “What? Don’t look at me like that; I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

“We’re not all thinking that,” you hissed, heat crawling all the way up your neck.

He brought his fingers up to count. “Speak for yourself. Me, Jungwon, Y-Yunjin, Yunah, Jay, Jake—“ he shook his head, blinking hard. “Wait, I counted wrong… Shungwon—”

“You’re drunk out of your mind.” You reached forward to steady the base of his wine glass before he could knock it over. But when you turned back, Sunghoon was already tipping sideways in his chair, elbow slipping off the armrest.

“Shit—” you caught his arm before he could slide further, his weight heavier than you expected as he leaned into you.

He blinked at you, slow, unfocused. “M’fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you muttered, trying to straighten him back up, but he didn’t budge, shoulders slack against your side. His head tilted just enough that you could feel the brush of his hair against your arm. “Since when do you drink this much?”

Heeseung pointed at the two of you, “See? Look at that. She’s already taking care of you. My work here is done.” He raised his empty glass and looked up to the sky. “God? Am I a prophet? Give me a sign.”

You glared at him over your shoulder. “Drink your water before I shove it up your asshole.”

Heeseung gasped, and grabbed his ass where he sat, “My— freak.” He drank his water carefully, “No touching my ass.. No..”

You ignored him, “Sunghoon, sit up.”

But he only hummed, low and almost content, and let more of his weight settle into your shoulder.

“Y’keep calling me—that.” His reply was muffled, lips barely moving near your shoulder. 

“Your name? Well, no shit—“

“Still not addressing me properly.” He hummed, then clicked his tongue. “Brat. I’m older than you.”

For a second, you just stared at the chandelier above the table like maybe it could swallow you whole. “You’re so fucking drunk, Jesus, you reek.” 

“I said m’fine,” he slurred, trying to brace himself with his hand, elbow on the table, but it slipped, sending him pitching forward until his head practically landed in your lap.

His cheek hovered dangerously close to your thigh, and the panic clawed up your throat before you wrestled him upright again.

“Sunghoon,” you hissed, shoving him, “Get your shit together. People are going to see.”

“M’tryin’,” he mumbled, his hair fell across his forehead as he blinked up at you. 

You shoved at his shoulder again, hissing under your breath, “Sunghoon, get up, your tie’s—” you tugged where the silk had caught on your bracelet, “—it’s stuck.”

He let out a low laugh, breath warm against your neck. “Mmm. Least my old man’s not here to see…”

You frowned, trying to pry him off. “Shut up—“

“Knotted my tie wrong once.” His voice slurred, dipping lower, like he was talking more to himself than you. “He—he didn’t like that. Said a Park’s only as good as his presentation. Couldn’t move m’neck for days.”

You stilled. “What did you say?”

But Sunghoon only blinked at you, unfocused, as if he hadn’t realized what he’d just said. “You smell nice.”

Your head was spinning. “Sunghoon—What—Oh will you just get up.”

He only tilted his head, “Address me properly.”

You stared, jaw tight, heat rising up your neck. “You’re out of your mind.”

“M’not getting up until you say it.”

Across the table Heeseung said something—probably another dumb comment—but you didn’t catch it, your focus was on Sunghoon’s weight against you, the way his head lolled dangerously close again. 

You shoved lightly at his shoulder, trying to pry him off. “Sunghoon,” you hissed through your teeth, the smile you forced on your face practiced when you glanced up—because people were already watching.

“Say it,” Sunghoon muttered again, heavier this time, like he actually meant it. 

You clenched your jaw. “For fuck’s sake—”

“No. Try again.” he pushed.

Your cheeks were hot, your smile still plastered on for the few people glancing your way. “Fine. Mr. Park,” you hissed under your breath, “get the fucking fuck up.”

That finally made him move.

“Was that so hard?”

“Shut up.”

But then the scrape of wood made your stomach drop. His chair tipped too far back, his balance completely gone, and before you could catch him, Sunghoon slid right off, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

“Fuck—” you shot up from your seat immediately, heat rushing to your face as a few heads turned your way. “Heeseung, help me,” you hissed, already crouching down to grab at Sunghoon’s arm.

Heeseung just blinked at the sight, wide-eyed for a second before letting out a laugh that made you want to strangle him. “Oh, this is so bad. So, so bad.” He half-spilled out of his chair anyway, reaching down with both hands. “Ohhhhhh. The Weeknd, if you can hear me... Save me the weekend. The Weeknd, if you can hear me—”

“Shut the fuck up and help me,” you snapped, looping your arm under Sunghoon’s to haul him upright. He came up heavier than expected, all lean muscle gone slack, and before you could adjust, he was already clinging to you, face pressed into the curve of your neck like he belonged there.

“You’re so heavy,” you hissed, trying to peel him back, but his breath was warm against your skin, hair brushing your jaw.

“Mmm.” His voice was muffled, thick with alcohol. “Why’d you wear this dress…” His lips grazed the edge of your scarf, and he blinked up at you slowly. “You look… s’good.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat. “You need air.”

“Need you,” he slurred, and you froze so hard that Heeseung nearly toppled into both of you.

“Here he goes again,” Heeseung muttered, his laugh turning wheezy as he pried at Sunghoon’s other arm. “M’gonna need five more drinks after this.”

Sunghoon shifted against you, his words tumbling out, “Don’t… don’t letm— go. Please.”

His weight was heavy, but the words were heavier. They dug into you, confusing, traitorous, something you weren’t ready to pick apart—not here, not now. 

“Stop talking.” But you tightened your grip on him without thinking, your hand curling at his wrist, steadying him like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t even question why. Didn’t stop to wonder why you cared, or why you weren’t embarrassed, or why it felt more instinct than choice to keep him upright, ignoring the way it made your chest burn hotter than it had than when you were in the bathroom.

And if you’d bothered to look around—if you hadn’t been entirely too focused on him—you would have noticed how Jake was watching you from across the room.

But you didn’t.

REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )

𝓝 ⟢ AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH SHE’S FINALLY HERE !!!!!!!! ꒰ᐢ>⩊<ᐢ꒱ so, lots of things to unpack… read between the lines, yall. ALSO MEET DA PARENTS!!!!!!!! do you understand why she is the way she is now… heol…

also hello smut debut… sunghoon girlies please do not waver… you will be fed beyond words when the time comes. this? this was nothing. fr.

and yes… also taehyung as her brother... yall done made the wrong bitch an author why is taehyung the bus driver all of a sudden?

i'm picturing song hyekyo as her mother and gong yoo as her father… obviously you’re free to picture whoever but that’s my silly little casting. and her mother’s name is aesun because of when life gives you tangerines 🍊 yes, i’m normal about my interests!

TELL ME ALL YOUR THOUGHTS AS ALWAYS, MY ANGELS !!!!!!!! thank youuuu for reading, i love you endlessly mwah mwah mwah mwah (｡>﹏<｡)♡

Your body was still too hot where he’d been pressed against you, and it wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind him that you remembered you’d been crying. Or close enough to it that your lashes were damp, at least, so before Jake could look too close, you turned away, quick and careless like it meant nothing, swiping at your cheek, tugging your sleeve over your wrist as if you were only fixing your makeup, smoothing what wasn’t even visible. Your other hand moved on its own, fussing with the hem of your skirt once more, pulling it down like you could physically brush the fact that he’d been there mere seconds ago off of you and erase the place where his hand had been. It was stupid and pointless—you knew that. But still you kept smoothing, tugging, and flattening the fabric as if the motion alone could undo the way your skin still burned in the memory of his touch.

“…Y/N.” Jake’s voice was soft behind you.

You froze, hand still brushing your skirt, before you turned to face him. His eyes searched yours, careful, steady, the kind of steady that only made your chest lurch harder.

“What happened?” he asked, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Is there something going on between you two?”

For a second you didn’t know what to say, the words snagging on the back of your tongue, panic clawing for a way out.

And maybe that was the worst part—that there was actually a second where you didn’t have an answer.

You pull in a shaky breath, let out a laugh that doesn’t sound like you at all. “Never in a million years,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not what it looked like. We just argued, that’s all.”

He pauses, studying you. “Did he… hurt you?”

“No,” you snap without meaning to, then force yourself to soften, trying again. “No, Jake. He didn’t.”

Jake’s shoulders eased a fraction, but his face didn’t match the relief his body feigned. His eyes stayed on you—warm, yes, always warm, but there was a crease in his brow that didn’t leave, a tension in his jaw that made it look like his thoughts had already wandered somewhere you couldn’t follow.

“Okay,” he murmured. It should’ve been reassuring, but it sounded like something else. Like he was thinking too hard about something he wasn’t going to say. “Did he say something to you?”

Something? You blinked at him, then tried to force a little laugh. “Define something.”

His brows furrowed, and he looked as though he was deep in thought, deep enough that it made your chest pull tight. But he didn’t answer.

You shifted where you stood, your entire mind snagged on the question of why Jake was being so… whatever the word was for the way he was acting. Is he mad? God, what if he is? Why would he be? Your stomach flips at the thought. You’re already embarrassed—of course you are; how else could you feel after he walked in on that? On the other hand, it shouldn’t matter. You and Jake aren’t—whatever this is—you don’t belong to each other. Maybe you were reading too much into this.

So you tilt your head and force a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “What’s with the face? Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Jake’s expression shifts, softens, though not all the way. “Jealous?” he echoes, his voice low. “Hmm.” A beat passes. “Just trying to figure out what I walked in on.”

“I’m telling you it was nothing,” you said, unsure if you believed it yourself—though you tried to sound convincing. “I’d sooner die than let Park Sunghoon anywhere near me.”

Jake’s brow ticked up, the faintest curve at his mouth, like he didn’t quite believe you, and he didn’t have to say anything for you to hear the question anyway—then what was that?

“It was just—” you let out a breath, “In the heat of the moment. That’s all, Jake.”

The crease between his brows smoothed, his mouth pulled softer and easier, and he shook his head like he was batting whatever thoughts he had up there away before stepping closer. “Good,” he murmured, a smile finally catching. “Because I don’t like to share.”

The words punched a laugh out of you despite yourself. You nudged him playfully as he stepped even closer. “See? I knew you were jealous.”

“I‘m not jealous.” He shrugged, eyes still on you, steady and amused. “Just sayin’.”

You tilted your head, mouth curling. “You know better than anyone that the last person you’d ever ‘share’ me with is him.” You pointed a finger between the two of you, brows raised. “Also, big talk coming from you. We are not even together. You haven’t even k—” You stopped yourself, heat shooting to your cheeks before the word could leave your mouth.

“Oh?” His brows arched slowly, and the grin that spread across his face was the kind that had always been your undoing. “Haven’t even… what?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head too fast, eyes dropping, but it didn’t matter because he was already moving closer, steps easy but sure, like he’d made up his mind long before you opened your mouth.

“Mm, not nothing,” he teased, low and warm, tilting his head until he caught your gaze again. “You were gonna say something, pretty.” 

“I wasn’t—”

“What?” he cut in, softer now, closer now, until his chest was nearly brushing yours and his smile looked like he was savoring every bit of your fluster. “You think I don’t know what you were gonna say? Think I haven’t thought about it?”

His hand finally caught your waist, light at first, almost tentative, but firm enough that your breath stuttered. He dipped his head a little, nose brushing dangerously close to yours, and murmured, “You look beautiful tonight. This skirt—” his gaze flicked down, “—I don’t even have words.”

The words should have made you feel lighter. They should have been easy to absorb, soft and sweet, the way Jake always was. But instead, for one awful second, you heard another voice. His voice.

That’s why you wore that. Hoping he’ll finally buy the desperate act and dig up your skirt?

The pit that opened in your stomach was instant, like the floor had tilted where you stood. You hated that you thought of him now, of all times, with Jake this close, hand on your waist and lips brushing the edge of something you’d thought about too many times. You swallowed hard, trying to push it down, to fill the pit with the warmth in Jake’s smile, to focus on the way his fingers were curling so softly at your side.

Jake looks at you again and draws you out of your thoughts when he speaks. “A little unfair.”

Your voice was shaky, “Unfair?” It came out as a whisper.

“Mm.” His smile curved more softly now. “Yeah. Unfair. Distracting. You’re gonna drive me insane. Amongst other things… Cruel, don’t you think?”

Heat crawled up your neck, and you managed, breathless, “Maybe I like being cruel.”

His hand slid firmer against your waist, thumb brushing over the fabric, and he leaned in until the space between you felt impossibly small. “Silly,” he hummed, grinning. “So tell me, pretty—what were you going to say again? Hmm?”

You laughed, shaking your head fast, the sound bubbling out nervously and giddily. “Maybe you’ll just have to get it out of me.”

“Oh?” His grin sharpened, slow and easy all at once, like he was savoring it. “Tease.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” His breath slid hot over your lips, his eyes flicking down once before meeting yours again, steady. “Guess I’ll just have to make you talk.”

“Jake—” 

And then he kissed you.

It was the kind of kiss that stole the ground from under your feet, firm and deliberate, like he’d been holding himself back all these years and finally let go. His mouth slanted against yours, hot and sure, the press of him coaxing your lips apart until you melted before you even thought about it. You could taste the faint sweetness of whatever drink he’d had earlier, could feel the heat of his breath slide into yours, and it made your chest go weightless, your stomach clench tight.

Your hands bunched in his shirt, knuckles white as you clung, and he growled low against your lips, answering by sucking your bottom one between his teeth. He bit just enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue, lapping at the spot before plunging back inside, kissing you wet and obscene.

Every drag of his lips was greedy now, hungry, tongues tangling messily, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, like he wanted to drink down every startled sound you made, saliva slicking your chin where he pressed harder, like he didn’t care about keeping it neat. His thumb circled your waist while his other hand slid up, dragging the thin fabric tight over your ribs until his fingers almost brushed the side of your breast.

A shaky, unintentional “mmph—” slipped out against his mouth, and he stuttered, hips jerking forward like he couldn’t help it. He tore his lips from yours just enough to pant, breath ragged, forehead pressed to yours.

“Fuck— can I?” His voice was rough, and his hand hovered right there, fingers twitching against the curve of your ribs. “Tell me I can touch you—please.”

You laughed into the kiss, breathless and dizzy, tugging him back down by the collar. “No shit, Jake.”

That was all he needed. His hand slid up, hot and sure, cupping your breast through the thin fabric, and the groan that rumbled out of him made your stomach flip. He swallowed the sound of your gasp with his mouth, like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d been starving for it.

But the sound of someone clearing their throat came loud from the doorway, enough to tear the two of you apart fast.

You gasped, half a breath stuck in your chest, Jake still close enough that you could feel the ghost of his mouth on yours. But your eyes were already darting over, already finding the tall frame in the doorway.

Of course.

Sunghoon leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking between the two of you slowly. His tongue pressed against his cheek before a lazy grin that did not reach his eyes curved at his mouth.

Whatever thrill had been sparking in your veins a second ago drained out all at once. You didn’t even have time to process what he’d just walked in on—what had just happened—before the familiar pit started curling tight in your stomach again. If Jake said something, if he reacted at all, you didn’t catch it. The whole moment once again felt like it slipped out of your hands, like it wasn’t even yours anymore. 

Sunghoon didn’t speak right away. He pushed off the frame, unhurried, crossing the room with steady steps. He bent down without looking at either of you, reached across the couch, and plucked his phone from where it had fallen between the cushions.

Your eyes followed him the whole time. You couldn’t help it. The way his shoulders moved under his tight black shirt, the careless curl of his wrist as he plucked his phone out of the cushions like he had all the time in the world–like he hadn’t just walked in on the two of you making out. 

Finally, he straightened and turned, eyes finding yours. They lingered a second too long, sharp enough to make your skin prickle, before they flicked lazily to Jake.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he drawled, holding his phone up in a mock-apology. “Would hate to interrupt.”

You felt your nails dig into your palms before you even realized you’d curled your hands that tight, and you wanted to say something that would belittle him the same way he manages to belittle you every time, say anything—but then he walked out without waiting for either of you to reply.

Jake’s voice cut in and snapped you out of your thoughts, softly. “Hey. You okay?”

You dragged your gaze away from the door, scraped together something like a smile, and passed it to him. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m good.”

Except you weren’t. 

He was in your head now, lodged there like a splinter you couldn’t dig out. His stare clung to your skin, heavy even after he was gone, and somehow he’d said almost nothing but still managed to pick at you like a scab. 

Jake didn’t look convinced, not really, but he stepped closer anyway, tilting his head before leaning in to press the softest kiss to your nose. “Mmm. Where were we?” he teased, laughing under his breath. 

But even as his warm hand slid over your waist, even as you tried to anchor yourself to his grin, to the way his touch felt careful, as hard as you tried to sink into it, to finally let yourself have him, to let him be enough…

All you could think of was Sunghoon. 

“Just—” You shook your head, “Just a second. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back, I just…”

Jake’s brows lifted, confusion flickering, but he nodded all the same. You touched his wrist—a silent promise—and stepped around him, the pit still coiled tightly in your stomach as you slipped into the hall after him.

He was already gone, and for a second you thought maybe you’d imagined it, maybe he hadn’t been there at all. Perhaps you should just go back to Jake and forget about it. You didn’t need to get the last word every time, you thought.

But then the door across from you opened, and one of the guys—some upperclassman you half-recognized—stepped out with a lazy grin.

“Hey,” you snapped before he could say anything. “Which one is Park Sunghoon’s room?”

His grin stretched wider, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your stomach twist.  “Damn.” He gave a slow whistle, head tilting. “He’s a fucking lucky guy.”

“Ew. You’re disgusting.” The words tore out of you in a snarl. “Just tell me where the fuck it is.”

He chuckled, raising his hands like he was surrendering. “Alright, alright. Last room. End of the hall.”

Your feet carried you down the stretch of the hallway, each step heavy with the anger winding tight through your chest, and when you made it to his door, you didn’t bother knocking or hovering or whatever else before you shoved it open, your rage drowning out all reason with your hands curled tight at your sides.

Sunghoon was sitting on his bed like he’d been waiting for you. 

His gaze slid up slowly as you entered, unreadable, dark in a way that made your stomach tighten for the millionth time tonight. You wanted to kill him.

“You think this is funny?” You started, “Walking in like that, saying shit like that.. pushing me up against a wall—do you get off on it?”

“You came all the way down here just to ask me that?”

“Answer me!” Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “Is that it? You get your kicks by barging in and acting like a fucking asshole? By—by looking at me like—” 

“Like what?” he cut in, voice low, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Go on. Say it.”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me then, you dick!”

For a moment, he just looked at you without saying a word, and his silence and gaze were heavier than anything he could’ve said. Then he pressed his tongue against his cheek, and his head tilted with the kind of lazy cruelty that made your hands ball even tighter at your sides.

“Why are you here?” he asked, flat.

“Because you’re a stupid fucking piece of fucking shit and you don’t get to—“

He didn’t let you finish. “Mmm. Language. Try again.”

“Stop fucking interrupting me!” you yelled.

He pushed himself up from the bed slowly and deliberately. “Tell me why you’re here, Y/N,” he said, saying your name like he was tasting it on his tongue, taking another step forward. “You’ve got Jake waiting for you, even put on a skimpy little outfit for him—or what was it you said before? Hmm?”

You scoff. “God, you’re such a smug prick.” Your pulse was doing a sprint in your throat. “I should slap the living fucking shit out of you.”

He took another step closer. “Try it.”

Your heel edged back instinctively, and he followed, closer. Too close. Your laugh broke out of you then, humorless and jagged. “No—You know what? You’re right! This is one of the rare moments you’ve actually been right.” You shook your head. “This was a mistake—I don’t even know why I’m here when Jake is in the other room.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, mean. “Yeah. Go run back to him. Bet he’s dying to find out what you taste like after I’ve had my hands all over you.”

Your face burned with fury, and it was burning so hot it left absolutely no room for thought, so before you could stop yourself, your hand flew up to hit him—

He catches your wrist midair like it’s nothing and yanks you forward so hard your breath leaves you. Your chest slams his, close enough to feel the rise of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

“Don’t you ever,” he said, voice low as he towered over you, “try that again.”

“Let go!” You twisted immediately and tried to pull free, nails digging into his hand.

He didn’t. 

“God, just fucking leave me alone,” you jerked your other hand up to shove at his chest.

“You’re the one who came into my room.”

“Then fucking let me go so I can leave!” you hissed.

“You don’t want me to leave you alone—”

You blew air out through your nose, “I want you six feet under.”

“—That’s why you’re here.” 

“You’re literally delusional—”

His grip only tightened, your wrist throbbing where his fingers pressed into your skin. “You’re the one storming into my room and running your filthy little mouth like you’re too good for me, all while you’re shaking in my fucking hand.” His gaze dropped to your mouth before sliding back up. “All while you didn’t push me off before.”

“I’m not shaking!” you spat, but your voice betrayed you when it came out weaker than you wanted. 

You didn’t have anything to say to the second part of what he said. 

His mouth curled. “Then why can I feel it?” His thumb shifted, brushing against the rapid jump of your pulse. “Pathetic.”

God, if he doesn’t—

You jerked your chin up and sneered, “Better pathetic than a soulless fucking puppet choking on daddy’s little leash.”

His breath came harder, hotter, and when he spoke, it was through his teeth. “Say that again.”

“You keep saying that like I won’t.” You laughed, though it wobbled in your throat. “You’re just like everything I’ve ever heard about your father—”

Something shifted. You saw it—couldn’t unsee it. A flicker across his face, gone in less than a breath. 

“Shut your fucking mouth.” You had never heard him sound like that. “You don’t know jackshit.”

And for a moment, you were sixteen again, elbows pressed to the cool marble of the kitchen island, watching the kettle hiss as you asked your mother why your father had been coming home so late and why he always wore that tight, carved look like worry had settled there for good. Don’t worry about your father. She had said softly, brushing her hand over yours, though you could never forget the look on her face as she said it. This isn’t the first time PGI’s tried to tighten its grip. They don’t fight fair—never have. Park Jaejoon, especially. That man would burn down an entire family name for the fun of it if it meant his own got a little brighter. Sweetheart, be smart around people like that. They don’t forgive or feel, and they certainly don’t have hearts.

The memory snapped back like a rubber hand, stinging your skin, but your mother’s voice still rang loud in your ears.

They certainly don’t have hearts.

“I know—” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted. “You don’t have a heart.”

His jaw ticked as he stepped in, dragging you closer until you felt his breath on your cheek again, and his eyes ran over your face once, down and then up again, something tightening at the edges before he let out the softest, cruelest, little humorless laugh. “Right.”

And then he let go, sudden and final, and the absence of his hand burned hotter than the weight of it ever had.

“Go back to him.”

Your stomach clenched. You wanted to—God, you wanted to—but the sheer arrogance of him telling you to, like it was his decision, snapped something sharp in your chest.

“I’m not some dog you can command,” you bit out. “I’ll go when I want.” 

What the fuck had gotten into you, really? You’d probably look back at this moment and pinpoint it as the exact moment you fumbled Jake, and you were sure your friends would never let you live this down. But you’d worry about that later.

He just looked at you, steady, unblinking. And then softer, lower, his words pressing into you like a bruise. “Why are you here?” He asked again.

Your mouth opened, and it closed again, and you weren’t sure whether it was because you were furious or because you didn’t have an answer. Or maybe it was just the most obvious answer in the world. “Don’t pin this on me or ask me like you don’t fucking know why,” you managed finally, finger jabbing uselessly in his direction. “You’re the fucking asshole who—who just—” You broke off, looking away and then back at him again, cheeks burning from the anger. “You’re the one who pinned me against the wall, you touched me, and—you looked like you were going to—” You stopped.

Sunghoon just stood there, and the longer he didn’t say anything, the more the frustration bubbled out of you.

“Say something,” you snapped.

Finally, his head tilted, the smallest shift, his eyes fixed heavily on you. “You didn’t stop me.”

Your chest tightened. “I—” you started, then stopped, glaring at him like that might fill the space your words couldn’t. “That’s not—don’t do that. Do not twist this like I wanted it. You’re actually deranged.”

“Am I?” His gaze dragged down and up again, slow, deliberate, “Because if I really wanted to touch you, you wouldn’t be standing here, in my room, still running your mouth.” 

You contemplated slapping him again. Or trying it at least.

His eyes flicked down to your hands, your fingers still balled tight into fists. “That temper of yours. You don’t get this worked up with him, do you?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t point out the truth? Don’t make you admit what you’re really thinking about when you come running in here?”

You laughed under your breath. “What I’m really thinking about is the endless amount of ways in which I could kill you right now—Maybe with one of your stupid fucking trophies on your shelf? I think that’ll do me good. Or maybe I’ll jam it so far up your fucking ass you’ll never live to see another day from the damage it causes.”

He only hummed at that, low and thoughtful, like your insult amused him. “Violent little thing, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, mocking, and it slid under your skin far too easily. “See how far you get before I’ve got you pinned again.”

Your fists clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Then go,” he said simply.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” you hissed. “Yeah, you know what? Actually, I know why I came here. Because you contradict yourself too fucking much. Because I’m pissed. Because I never understood why one day you just woke up and decided to be a pompous fucking prick for the rest of your life—” You stopped for a second, waiting for him to interrupt, but he didn’t. His eyes just stayed on you, steady.

“—to the point of ripping our whole friend group apart.” Your breath caught, hot and fast. “I used to care about you. We grew up together, for fuck’s sake. I cared.” Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out anyway. “And you burned it all to the ground. And maybe once, Hell, maybe up until now, I wanted to know why; maybe I did give a shit about what made you flip like that, but God—I don’t even give a shit anymore. I’ve moved so far past wanting to understand you… But even as hard as I try not to think about you, you make it even fucking harder when you do these things!” 

He said nothing. Just watched.

“You don’t get to do that,” you snapped, louder now, chest heaving. “Not when you’ve spent the last three years being nothing but an asshole to me. You don’t have the right! You just stood there and said all that shit about my family the same fucking way your family used to, said you hated me, and then what? Suddenly, you can’t keep it in your fucking pants? You think bullying—tormenting me, or whatever this is—What is it? Huh? Is it your sick way of fucking flirting? Tell me, Sunghoon. What the fuck is it? Because I sure as hell can’t figure out what game you’re playing anymore.”

Something shifted in his face at that last part, gone before you could catch it.

A beat of silence passed.

You wanted to scream.

And then another beat.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Are you done?” You blinked, the words hitting harder for how casually he said them. "Go to fucking hell—" He tsked. “Spoiled little brat. What exactly do you mean by what is this, huh? You think my pushing you up against a wall actually means something?” His mouth twisted. “Do you think it means I spend my free time scribbling our names together in a notebook like some naive little kid?”

Your stomach dropped, heat crawling up your neck because fuck—he knew. He remembered. That one stupid morning in high school when he’d caught sight of your childish scrawls, your name paired with Jake’s in messy circles of ink, and you’d wanted the earth to open and swallow you whole. You felt that same shame burning in your cheeks now, even though it had nothing to do with Jake anymore.

He let out a quiet laugh. “Christ, you really don’t get it, do you? I don’t want—” He shook his head, paused for a moment. “You’re just easy to rile up. If I wanted to use you to take the edge off, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.” His eyes dragged down and back up, slow and deliberate. “That’s all you’d be. A way to blow off some steam. Nothing else.”

Use you to take the edge off.

Like you were something discardable. Like your anger was entertaining to him.

Part of you flinched at what he said, though you hated yourself for it—it was the part of you that remembered another Sunghoon, a boy so quiet he barely spoke above a whisper, cheeks flushed pink from the cold air of the rink when you’d go visit him. You remembered how sometimes you’d call his name from the edge of the rink, and how he’d look up, catch your gaze from where you sat, and always skate harder after that, faster, as if the sound of your voice was enough to push him forward. You remembered thinking, as a kid, that you had never seen anything more beautiful than the way he moved so carefully and gracefully under those white lights, eyes glancing back at you like you were his anchor.

That Sunghoon. The one who was too shy to look you in the eyes for too long, who let you weave stupid ribbons into his stupid skates when you were too young to know any better.

Back then, he was soft-spoken, awkward, and so achingly human.

Back then, his eyes weren’t so dark. 

And God, you hated yourself for still remembering him that way. Because that boy was gone. And you weren’t going to be one of those idiots who held onto ghosts, clinging to shit that wasn’t there anymore—you told yourself you didn’t care. You couldn’t care.

So why did you always end up back here?

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Your throat tightened, and when you finally spoke, your voice came out low, stripped of bite, like you didn’t even care to hide it anymore. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Your reason?”

For a second, he didn’t answer. His jaw ticked, cheek twitching like he was holding something back, chewing it down before it could slip out. “You and your fucking reasons,” he murmured, almost like he was hesitant—

And then his mouth twisted. “What, you expected me to say something else?” 

You didn’t answer. 

He tilted his head, eyes on you like he was peeling you apart. A scoff slipped out, then:  “Don’t tell me you were pathetic enough to actually think I’d ever say anything else.”

“This is the last time I’m wasting my time on you again.” You didn’t even know if you said it to him or to yourself.

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

A beat passed. You just looked at him.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore.” Your voice wavered, and you hated that it did. “Fuck— Actually, since you keep asking me, maybe another reason I came here is because, deep down, I thought the boy I once knew was still somewhere in there. That he’d reason with me and finally properly talk to me—even after what you just pulled. That maybe, just maybe, you’d prove me wrong even after all the shit you’ve said and done. But he’s not. He’s gone.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and you knew he saw it—saw the way you weren’t even trying to glare anymore. You let him see it all, the disgust, the hurt carved deep into your face. Something flickered across his expression at that, sharp enough to make your chest twist.

For a moment, he almost spoke. You saw it in the way his mouth opened, just barely, then closed again like the words caught in his throat. 

“You’re even worse than I thought.” His jaw flexed, his hands curling once at his sides before he shoved them deep into his pockets. “But that’s you, isn’t it? Always living in your little fairytales. Always had every fucking thing handed to you, everything lined up so neat and pretty—so wrapped up in your perfect little world you never even noticed what was right in front of you.”

You swallowed hard, hating the way your throat burned. “You’re the fucking poster boy for spoiled little rich boys, you know that? Like there’s a chip planted in your head telling you to fuck around, act out, and be cruel just because you can. You’ve had everything, Sunghoon. Everything. And you still do. And you stand here, feeding me this shit?” The last word came out rough, lower than you meant, and there was no hiding that you sounded more sad than angry. Which pissed you off even more.

He didn’t jump to answer, didn’t even smirk. Just stared at you. There was this flicker in his face, almost like confusion, like he was trying to figure out what the hell you were even talking about. It was gone before you could pin it down, smoothed over into that flat nothing he always pulled.

“Forget it.” He shrugged, too casual, like the words didn’t cost him anything. But his eyes lingered, just a second too long, like something had snagged there. “Maybe I just like seeing you angry.”

Of course. Of fucking course that was all he had. Why on earth had you ever thought you could reason with him? The heat in your throat pushed higher, stinging, angry tears threatening fast and hot—but no. Not this time. You swallowed hard once more until it burned. 

When you finally spoke again, your voice came out quieter than you wanted. “We don’t need to talk outside of class.” You shook your head once, like you were trying to shake him off with it. “Or even in class unless it’s necessary. That’s it.”

A pause.

“Fine,” he muttered after a beat. “Keep it that way, then.”

“Fine.”

He watched you like he always did, like he couldn’t help himself, like a million things were sitting on his tongue that he’d never let out. 

You turned before the sting in your eyes could turn into anything worse, moving steadily like if you just kept going, maybe the rest of you would hold together, and you didn’t look back, you couldn’t, you wouldn’t.

But you felt it in his eyes burning into your back, like he was waiting for you to give him something else, anything, even if it was just one last glare. And the sickest part was that deep down, some fucked-up part of you wanted it.

But you bit down on it and kept walking.

And when you got back to the study room, Jake was gone.

You hadn’t thought twice about calling Wonyoung the second you made it out of that goddamned putrid house, your hands still shaking as you hovered over her contact. She was the one person who always knew what to say, who felt your emotions better than you did, even when you couldn’t name them.

Please come over?

She had said okay before you could explain yourself, and showed up twenty minutes later with sleep-creased cheeks and messy hair, still in pajamas, eyes warm as she softly smiled at you. “I’m sleeping on the left side of the bed this time,” she said, and toed the door shut behind her.

Now you sat at the edge of the bed and told her all the facts as they came, out of order, the parts you could say out loud, and the parts you had to circle around. Wonyoung listened the way only she does—quiet, steady, not pushing, just there—fluffing your pillows with one hand, the room filling with the small sounds of fabric and breathing and the street noise outside your window. You kept picking at the skin around your thumbs as you spoke, harder and harder, because it was the only thing you could do to keep you grounded.

Wonyoung caught your hands gently, thumbs pressing over your knuckles. “I thought you stopped doing that.”

“Stupid fucking habit,” you muttered, dropping your gaze. A smear of red had already bloomed at your cuticle.

She brushed her thumb over it, softly. “I should just kill Sunghoon myself,” she said. 

“Trust me,” you said, a rough laugh scraping out. “I considered it.”

There was a beat where neither of you said anything. The only sound was the faint hum of your nightstand lamp, buzzing warm light over both of you.

“Did you talk to Jake?” she asked, softly.

You shook your head. “No. When I got back, he was—he was gone. And I know that’s my fault—”

“Not your fault.” She didn’t even let you finish.

You shook your head, bit at your thumb without thinking, and she caught your hand again, pressing it into the duvet. You sighed. “I mean I thought about going after him, but I didn’t even know what I’d say to him. Like—‘Hey, sorry I left you mid make-out, or rather, just after we made out for the first time to go scream at your best friend for 30 minutes, who, by the way, was borderline grinding into me 10 minutes before we made out. Oh, and you saw! Yeah!” You grimaced. “Fucking fantastic. Great conversation opener.”

Wonyoung’s mouth twitched. “I mean, first of all, points for honesty.”

“Shut up.” You pushed her knee with your foot. “I feel like an idiot.”

She just hummed. “Second, Sunghoon is—” she flicked her eyes at you, choosing the word, “—Sunghoon. You wanted answers. That doesn’t make you evil. You’re not wrong for wanting to understand why he keeps fucking with you. And third, again, none of this is on you.”

You flopped backward, hair spilling over the comforter. “Feels on me.”

“That’s because you have a knack for overthinking things.” She nudged your hip with her foot. “And because you like him.”

She let it hang there, then added, “Jake, I mean.”

You scowled at the ceiling. “Obviously Jake.”

“Good.” She pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged, facing you. “Then we start there. You like him. He likes you. You explain it. You two have been pinning after each other for too long now, I'm sure this is nothing.”

“Yeah, Wony, but explain what? Oh, I like you so much, I’ve liked you since I was fourteen, but a greater force keeps taking over and compelling me to fumble the bag every time I'm in your proximity?”

“That works.” She didn’t smile despite your humor. “Or ‘I panicked, and I’m sorry’. Not that you owe it to him to say sorry, but it does not have to be complicated, my love.”

“I probably gave him blue balls.” You groaned into your hand. Her face twisted playfully. “Gross. You keep that shit to yourself.” 

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Also… Sunghoon practically shoved me into that—” You clamped your mouth shut, swallowed, started again. “He—he cornered me. And then Jake walked in. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Give me your hands.” She took them again, smoothed your fingers open, wiped away the tiny line of blood with the corner of your sheet like a scandal. “You don’t owe Sunghoon a singular thought right now. You don’t owe anyone anything. But… you could text Jake, if you want. It might help you feel better.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “He probably thinks I’m insane.”

“He already knows you’re insane,” Wonyoung said, deadpan. “He likes it.”

That finally pulled a laugh out of you, small and crooked. “You’re not helping.”

“I am,” she said, and she was right. “Because I’m going to say this slowly so you can’t argue with it: you didn’t do anything wrong. You got pulled into something you didn’t ask for.”

You stared at the ceiling for another second, throat tight. “He was—” You gestured, helpless. “And I— It just… it was too much.”

“I know.” She squeezed your hands. “I know.”

You reached for your phone, then hesitated, thumb hovering. “What if I text him and he doesn’t answer?”

“Then he’s an idiot and I’ll break his kneecaps in,” she said calmly. “But he’ll answer. And then I’ll key Sunghoon’s car.”

“You don’t even know which one is his.”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll key all of them.”

You snorted, soft, thumb still hovering over your phone screen. And then—stupidly, against all logic—you shoved it aside.

You turned to Wonyoung and swallowed hard. “Would you kill me if I said I can’t stop thinking about him?”

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been hearing it for the past six years—” she started, a teasing lift at the corner of her mouth.

“I meant Sunghoon.”

Wonyoung blinked at you for a long second, then pressed the back of her hand dramatically to your forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

You laughed, swatting her hand away. “Stop,” you muttered, shoving at her wrist before burying your face in your hands with a groan. “Dear god, am I fucking stupid?”

“No,” she said immediately.

“You don’t have to lie.”

Her voice was firm when she answered. “I’d sooner feed myself to a pit of sharks before I ever call you stupid over men. Don’t joke.”

You peeked at her from between your fingers, groaning. “Wonyoung, I need you to slap me. Just once. Knock some sense into me.”

“I’m not slapping you.”

“Just a quick one.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.” 

“Wony—”

Her mouth twitched. “If I slap you, it’ll be because you won’t shut up about it.”

You groaned dramatically and shook her by the arm, playfully pleading, until she started laughing at you. Eventually, you both sank back into the pillows, and the soft glow of your bedside lamp washed her face in gold, and when you glanced over, she was still looking at you—her expression quieter now, softer, almost too thoughtful. You shifted, picking at a loose thread in your blanket, and when you finally spoke again, your voice was small, hesitant.

“Do you remember when we were, like, ten, and I’d drag you with me to Yunah’s house because I didn’t want to be alone? And Heeseung and Sunghoon were just in the other room?”

“How could I forget?” Wonyoung laughed. “God, I used to hate going over there. Yunah was insufferable—never let me touch the Barbie I actually wanted, bless her though. Heeseung was acting like he was some mysterious, cool older brother when he was literally eleven. And Sunghoon just hovered there like he’d been surgically grafted to Heeseung’s side. I think that’s when our homicidal tendencies started developing.”

You huffed out a laugh through your nose, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Do you remember how Sunghoon was back then?”

Her eyes softened. “Oh, I remember. I remember when we genuinely thought he didn’t speak at all. Like, we had whole conversations about whether something was wrong with him. And then the next time we went back, you’d literally looked up how to say hello in sign language and tried it on him.”

You slapped your hand over your face. “Oh my fucking god. Heeseung never let me live that down.”

Wonyoung laughed quietly, shaking her head. “To be fair, the shy little shit never spoke.” Then her expression shifted, slower, more thoughtful. “Well… not to anyone else. But he spoke to you.”

Your chest tightened, and you hated the way it did. 

And maybe Wonyoung was the only person you could ever talk about this with and not feel insane. Well — her and Sunoo, you thought.

“Feels like I made that kid up in my head. Like he doesn’t even exist anymore.” The memory of his voice rang sharp through your ears: Pathetic. You dug your nails into your palm. “God, I feel so fucking pathetic— No, not pathetic, I mean I just don’t feel like it’s fair that I’m even thinking about all this.”

“It’s not pathetic to remember,” Wonyoung said softly, raising her finger to make her point. “It’s human. The two of you haven’t properly spoken since we fell out. Hell, you haven't even spoken at all save for when he shits on you. No wonder this shit is resurfacing now that you have to spend time together— And it’s not your job to figure out whatever the fuck Sunghoon’s turned himself into. He’s a dick. He’s been a dick for years.”

You stared hard at the far wall, your throat dry. “He said I never noticed what was right in front of me. I don’t even know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

“When did he say that?” 

“I— I don’t even remember what it was about. He just… said it after I brought up how we grew up together.”

“As in about the past?”

“I mean, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

You turned, narrowing your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out.”

“No, it’s genuinely nothing.”

You didn’t buy it. Your glare sharpened, and after a beat, Wonyoung let out a long sigh, her eyes flicking toward the ceiling like she was debating whether it was worth saying at all.

“…You know, Yunah had the biggest crush on him when we were kids. Hell, even up until we were sixteen. And when she finally confessed, he turned her down—” Wonyoung scoffed lightly. “Which, like, why the fuck were we even confessing to people at that age, right? We were practically still in diapers.” She paused then, her voice dropping a little. “But… anyway. He said he liked someone else. Said he'd liked them for quite some time and it wouldn't be fair.”

“So Yunah’s patient zero.” A sharp huff of air pushed through your nose, almost a laugh, but it fell flat.

Wonyoung didn’t respond. Just sat there, looking at you, her lips pressed together like she was biting something back.

Your stomach knotted. You knew that look. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“I wasn’t gonna!”

You shot her a glare. “Your face is saying it!”

“I can’t help it!” She threw her hands up in defense. 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, I’d know if Sunghoon ever liked me. And I know he didn’t. His mom hated me too much—she’d always make backhanded comments about my parents, right to my face, every time I was at the rink.”

“Yeah? And who defended you?” Wonyoung shot back immediately, brows raising like she already knew the answer.

You shook your head hard, staring down at the blanket bunched in your lap. “No. It’s just… not possible. Not even worth thinking about.”

“Mm.” She stretched out on your bed, long hair spilling everywhere, then turned her head toward you with a sly smile. “How would you know? All you ever thought of was Jake, Jake, Jake. Oh—” her voice pitched up, teasing, “Future Mrs. Sim Jaeyun.” She made obnoxious kissy noises until you smacked her arm with your pillow.

“Shut up!” you groaned.

But… for a second, you let your mind go there. If there was some truth buried under all those years you’d spent swearing Sunghoon never saw you that way...

You hated yourself for even entertaining it. Because you were sure—no, you knew—he never liked you. Not when every time you went to the rink, there was some new little jab about your parents. Some sideways comment about your mom, like she wasn’t really one of them. The whole Park family walked around like they were untouchable, like somehow their branch of old money sat higher on the ladder than everyone else’s. Never mind the fact that you’d grown up with the same wealth, the same circles, and the same power. To them, it was still tainted because your dad had married your mom, and to their standards, that was unforgivable. His mom could barely even look at you, and when she did, it was with that tight smile that said more than if she’d just spat in your face. She never liked any of his friends anyway, but with you, it felt different. Like she hated you on principle. 

No boy in their right fucking mind would look at someone the way Wonyoung was implying when their own family was too busy ripping you apart.

And even if he had. Even if there was a split second where maybe, possibly, something in his chest had leaned toward you—how the fuck would that explain who he is now?

It wouldn’t.

It didn’t explain how he went from that quiet boy you used to coax out of his shell to this cruel, arrogant, putrid, cold, impossible version of him now.

You swallowed, the burn crawling up your throat, and when you finally dragged your eyes back to Wonyoung, the words came as a whisper. “I hate him.”

“I know.”

“I really fucking hate him.”

“I know,” she repeated, steady as a heartbeat. “But that doesn’t mean you have to hate yourself for still thinking about him.”

You sighed loud enough for the walls to hear you and shoved a pillow over your face, groaning into it like that would erase the last ten minutes. When you finally pulled it away, your hair was sticking up in all directions and Wonyoung was just watching you with that maddeningly patient face of hers.

You sat up and pointed the pillow at her. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Honestly?” She tilted her head like she was about to deliver grave news. “You’ve been saying some really insane things tonight. I think we should have you admitted.”

You smacked the pillow against her stomach. “And here I was so generously going to let you have the left side of the bed tonight. But since you’re calling me insane in my own home, you can sleep on the fucking floor actually.” You playfully pouted.

Her mouth twitched. “Wait. I never said that.”

“You literally just said that.”

“You’re hearing things.”

You shoved her by the shoulder and she smacked at your hand until you both gave up, giggling under your breath until the sound fizzled out and left the air heavy again.

There was a pause. You twisted your blanket between your fingers. “Wonyoung?”

She hummed, eyes still on the ceiling. “Yeah?”

You chewed on your lip. “I think I wanna text Jake.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” You nodded too fast, too eager, like saying it quicker would make it more true. “Yes. I just… I don’t wanna think about this for another second.”

She just reached over to where your phone was on the bed and dropped it into your lap. “Go for it then.”

You stared down at it like it weighed a hundred pounds. The screen was dark, your reflection warped in it, tired eyes, and bitten mouth. Jake was safe. Jake was easy. He was warm in a way Sunghoon never was, never would be. You’d only ever wanted Jake. 

Wonyoung bumped her shoulder gently against yours. “Don’t overthink it. Just text him.”

You swallowed, thumb hovering but not moving. Honest. Like that had ever actually worked out for you before. “I can’t do it. I’m fine. No it’s okay, actually I’ll just give up.”

She pinched you—the girl actually pinched you. “Just text him.”

You stared down at your phone like it was a loaded weapon. “What would I even say?”

“You already know what to say.”

“No, I don’t.” You thumbed something out on the screen, stared at it, then backspaced until it disappeared. Tried again, deleted it again. “See? I’m finished.”

Wonyoung let out a long-suffering groan. “Just tell him the same thing we talked about, genius.”

“But what?” you shot back, eyebrows pulling together like you were actually asking for her help and not to be annoying.

“Oh my god,” she said, dragging a pillow over her face and muffling her voice, “just text him!”

You gasped, clutching your phone to your chest. “Wow. So you hate me and you want me to die? That’s cool. Just say that.”

Before you even realized what was happening, Wonyoung sat up, snatched the phone right out of your hands, and started typing.

“Wonyoung—” you hissed, scrambling after her. “Hey, what are you—give it back—”

Her thumb hit send.

You froze. “What did you send?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, I don't even know.”

“Wonyoung!” you shrieked.

Before you could wrestle the phone back, it buzzed loud in her hands. Both of you froze.

Her jaw dropped as she squinted at the screen. “Did this boy just reply in under two seconds? Oh my god. He still wants you.”

“Shit—” you snatched it out of her grip, heart already hammering.

𝓝 ⟢ 𝗁𝗂 𝗁𝗂𝗂 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁… 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋. 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝟤𝟢 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?? 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍… 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈… 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉!! 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍!! 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 (while i was listening to your best american girl by mitski) (your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me!!!!) 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗆𝗀. 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾!!!! (｡•́︿•̀｡)♡ 𝗉𝗅𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗍 𝗂𝗍 in my inbox in my comments wherever u want 𝗁𝖾𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗅𝗒!!

you spent your lunchtime writing a status report. your fingers snapping across the keys but your mind drifts to that shameless first night with him.

the night where you wrestled with him for that fraud file of yours. the heat of his breath when you kissed him, when it finally landed on your skin…

you remember all of it. every time you lean over to pull a document from the printer, you imagine the wide arc of ni-ki's arms behind you, the precise angle of his jaw, his thick lips devouring you while telling you how much he hated you for existing…

it's all fucking there.

and as if reading your thoughts, your phone lit up again.

nishimura riki: i want to see what i'm missing.

you: fuck you. you literally work five feet from me.

nishimura riki: and new skirt? goddamn

your stomach clenched. so he… noticed? he noticed your above the knee with the slit at the side that shows just enough thigh to be questionable but still professional according to the office dress code new skirt?

you: your point?

nishimura riki: you look good and i want to see it up close.

a shiver runs down your spine. ni-ki's words became so direct, so suggestive, you can't help but to swallow hard and bite your lip. you sighed, immediately closing the report window before anyone could see you blush.

you check your company messenger during break. you noticed nishimura riki's presence: his avatar pops into view with the status "ready to crush it."

how fucking pretentious.

you just hoped ni-ki would do something back so you could stop feeling guilty whenever you sabotage him, then it would all go back to hell. the hell you not-so-secretly love. the hell he seemed to have loved before — and now forgotten.

@you @ni-ki i expect great results from the two of you. focus on the work, not drama.

you sat on your couch, sipping a cup of lukewarm green tea when your phone buzzes.

nishimura riki: we're stuck together for the next couple days.

you smirked when you realized how he can't stop texting you. you plop your head back against the cushion, totally interested.

you: yeah. happy?

nishimura riki: ecstatic.

ni-ki signs off with a kiss emoji, making you scowl in disgust and throw your phone onto the cushion. he'll see how you haven't responded and he'll definitely laugh about it tomorrow.

you came into the office projecting confidence the next morning. ni-ki is already there, beating you in punctuality. he's leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone but smiled immediately when your eyes met.

"you're late," he drawls.

"shut up," you fired back, tossing your bag under the table. you saw another folder you've been dreading. ni-ki's opened it already— hands off, though.

"fuck... i couldn't sleep," he said, casually looking at your eyes.

who asked? is what you would've said but instead, it's: "why's that?" you leaned in, "last i heard, sleeping without protection was your specialty."

he nodded slowly. his urge of choking you to death using his necktie suddenly crossed his mind, like it always does whenever you talk back.

he never followed through, of course. because every time he pictures it, the ending is him fucking you instead. he saw you submitting not because of trust, but because you can't help it.

ni-ki sighed and quickly pulls your chair close to him, making your pulse quicken. "hmm, what do you mean 'heard'? we both know you know that for a fact," he teased, his hand trailing up to squeeze your thigh. "also, did i ever told you how bad you needed practice?"

heat blooms across your cheeks. didn't he say you fucked him good? this fucking guy keeps challenging you — mentally and sexually.

you scoffed and opened your mouth to retort but your boss already knocked on the door, barging in to start the meeting.

the day isn't even done, yet you and ni-ki have exchanged more messages than you have with anyone else all week:

nishimura riki: did you catch the way that idiot glanced at your legs during the meeting? that mf is gonna keel over later once you unplug your laptop.

that 'idiot' is notoriously stiff when it comes to 'office decorum.' the thought of him being flustered at your skirt is thrilling, but:

you: you know i'd rather see how you react when i ask you to take off my skirt.

nishimura riki: come to my office then, i'll show you.

you stood up as soon as everyone's too busy to notice your absence. you opened ni-ki's door without so much as a knock. the tall guy is leaning against the edge of his desk, shirt already untucked, tie loose — completely losing his patience.

you walk towards him. he traces a finger along your jaw, tilting your face up, brushing his thumb over your sexy lips.

"show me," you whispered, sliding both hands flat against his chest.

ni-ki leaned in. "hmm, watch me," he replied, turning you gently by the hips, pulling your ass against his crotch — where you can feel the rigid outline of his cock through his trousers. you pressed yourself back, grinding on him as his hand tightens on your hip.

"we have a meeting at six, right?" he murmurs in your ear. "let's get you naked under this skirt."

"i already am…"

unbelievable.

"you really are a fucking tease, huh?"

your breath hitched when you feel his tip nudging against your folds. ni-ki slowly slid inside your welcoming heat — his cock was so big and hard, making your knees buckle as you can practically feel him rearranging your guts without even moving.

ni-ki moaned, "oh, y/n—" biting his lower lip before pressing one more searing kiss to your neck. "i could stay like this all day," he said.

you let out a shaky gasp, head dropping forward with a whimper. your fingers reached back, grabbing his hands — his big, warm hands that are locked around your hips. "ni-ki…"

"let's not sin so much today," he groaned softly, hips giving one teasing rock that makes your whole body jolt before he pulls his cock out. he stepped back and adjusted your skirt like a gentleman — making you feel full and hollow in the same instant.

that same afternoon, you decided to head to the break room for water. you stop short when you saw ni-ki with the boss' niece, who came to visit the office.

she's laughing, batting her eyelashes at him while grinning so hard. you didn't mean to eavesdrop, but she mentioned something about wanting him to show her around — and that guy just casually folds his arm around her shoulders.

"look at you, you social climber," you interrupted, clapping your hands slowly, it echoed like a gunshot.

ni-ki glances at you lazily over the girl's shoulder. the niece looks startled, she gave you both a sheepish laugh before excusing herself.

"how long have you two been planning world domination?"

"are you jealous?" he asked, chuckling as he drags out a chair for himself. "'cause i'm telling you that's pathetic."

"wha—?"

"don't worry, y/n. it's just been few days, i'll make sure to find some time for my favorite brat."

you scoffed, grabbing your water a little too aggressive. "wow... you sound so proud of being passed around like a party favor."

"passed around?" he repeated, raising a brow. "jealousy already doesn't suit you and now you're possessive too?"

you shot him a sharp glare but he just leans back in his chair, spreading his legs like he's offering you a seat.

ni-ki sighed, "fine, i'll come over tonight," he declared so casually, it made your jaw drop.

"excuse me?"