Haru !!

smut warnings | stepcest, slight dubcon (reader entirely consents however she morally does not want it), fingering, oral (f receiving), heeseung eats reader out over her shorts, nipple sucking, groping, dacryphilia, some dry humping, corruption kink, hella religious humiliation (heeseung mentions it literally every second), use of names (baby sis, little sis, sis, angel) in patronizing way, they keep mentioning they are stepsiblings, this is not respectful to christianity, heeseung is genuinely just getting off to corrupting reader, this is sooo fucked up

Heeseung wasn’t a bad kid. Not everyone you asked would agree with you on that, though. See, Lee Heeseung seemed to have created a sort of name for himself in your small town. His antics always ended up as the gossip that slipped past the lips of the mothers in the Church parking lot; the same Church parking lot you always found yourself standing proudly in.

You only ever looked like you belonged. Your elegant dresses always stunned in comparison to the other girls' plain dresses – too big to fit comfortably in hopes of presenting ‘modestly’, in the words of their prudish mothers. Your mother was no different, however, she never traded beauty for modesty. She was always hyper-focused on the way you looked, further accentuating the stereotype that children’s actions spoke for the parents’ type of person; bad kids existed because their parents were bad people.

No, not bad people in the sense that they did bad things; bad people in the sense that they never followed God’s word closely enough. Take the Yang family, for example. Mr. and Mrs. Yang hardly went to Sunday mass – how blasphemous. The whispers were terrible, and every time they decided to get off their lazy asses and haul to Church, they appeared to be less tentative than the last time. Maybe that’s why their two boys – Jeongin and Jungwon – turned out the way they did.

Long story short, Father Lee caught Yang Jungwon feeling up on the Park’s youngest daughter, Park Minju, by the dumpsters behind the church. The boy got a very stern talking to, (and maybe a few smacks to the knuckles), and he never showed his face inside the church again. Yang Jeongin was caught smoking one of his dad’s cigarett  on es two weeks later, and by the end of the month the Yang family was all packed up and gone in the middle of the night.

The Parks disciplined their daughter very well in the eyes of the townspeople and, apparently, God. She always sat in the back during Sunday school and Sermon, never uttering a word. Minju kept her head down when approaching Father Lee to receive her communion every Sunday, and the ‘thank you’ that slipped past her lips was never audible enough to anyone but the Father. The poor girl never spoke to any of the boys again, save for her older brother, Park Sunghoon, who always kept a tight arm thrown around her shoulder; sharp features turning dangerous anytime someone decided to look at his beloved sister in a less-than-friendly way.

You always thought Minju was a sweet girl.

You always thought the Yang boys were alright, too.

But unfortunately, your opinion meant nothing in the eyes of your fellow townsfolk. Their shitty and outdated interpretation of God’s word was what truly mattered – no, they weren’t biased, not in the slightest.

The only adult who was able to evade the scrutinous gaze of pathetic parents was Father Lee. He was the town’s savior. A man sent from God himself; one of the last true Messiah’s this generation had to offer and someone who truly treated religion as the end-all-be-all it should be.

The man saved the town from becoming a corrupt community that fell victim to the sins of modernity. He saw the holy water becoming watered down and carried buckets upon buckets up to the pearly heaven gates, begging to God on his hands and knees to please, restore the faith in these good people. The slow loss of faith present in the town was quickly reversed, and everyone was happy once more.

The bad people – the Yangs, the Chois, the Kangs – were gone, sensing the sudden unwelcomeness displayed by the community. And finally, the bronze cross that perched atop the Church – marking the highest and most important building in the town – that was once rusted was now brand new, shining so brightly it could truly lead a lost soul to salvation.

Maybe that’s why when Father Lee’s son – Lee Heeseung – came home after being expelled from his third boarding school, everyone kept their mouths shut. Sure, at home, your mother mumbled under her breath about the boy’s “inappropriate” wear, but no sly or condescending remarks were ever made to Father Lee’s face.

Heeseung came back to live with his father when he was a sophomore in high school – just two years older than you had been at the time. He was always uninterested in what was going on around him, black and baggy hood pulled over his red hair that he dyed without his father’s permission. Whispers spread about the boy's seemingly ‘satanic’ style of self-expression, but he never cared.

He heard their whispers, always, yet he never quipped back. These strange patterns in behavior – the smoking, the drinking, the swearing – all developed after his mother had died from an illness. Hearing “she’s in a better place now” a million-thousand times wasn’t good for a twelve year old’s psyche – apparently. After that, he simply spiraled.

Possessed by Beelzebub, that was his diagnosis. And unfortunately for everyone else, the boy rolled with it. Heeseung never minded being the boogeyman; the one parents used as an example of what happened when you didn’t listen to God. Somewhere deep inside the boy, he enjoyed finally having a purpose on this Earth. If people wished to use him as some cheap advertisement for his father’s shitty sermons, then so be it. He didn’t care.

Father Lee cared.

Father Lee cared so much he sent him to the best Protestant disciplinary school in South Korea. That lasted about three months.

So, Heeseung switched to the second best – then the third best, all before his 10th year of school. Father Lee was fed up with his son ruining his reputation within the Church, and so, he made the incredibly hard executive decision and had the boy come back home before he could add a lucky number four to his record.

That was how Lee Heeseung came back to terrorize your poor town.

And your poor household.

It wasn’t a shock to anyone when the rumors of Father Lee courting your mother arose, yet you never asked for confirmation. It simply was not your place – you were a kid. Kids were received the best when their heads were down and mouths closed. That’s why you had such a brilliant reputation of being the Church’s Golden girl.

You were the leader of the dance troupe, the first violinist in the Church’s orchestra, you always stayed to help Father Lee clean up after Sunday Mass – you were the epitome of perfection. A beautiful face and stunning personality came with the package, so it was natural that every teenage girl within a hundred mile radius was simply seething with jealousy towards your person.

They never admitted it out loud – no, how could they? They would then be publicly admitting to sinning. But they talked – oh boy, did they talk. They talked about your choices of clothing, how it all seemed to be inching towards inappropriate and was clearly influenced by outside trends. No adult ever said a word about your style of wear, however.

But how could they forget how you always seemed to wear bras that showed through your shirt? Well, maybe that only happened once and was corrected immediately, but still. You were simply begging for attention from everyone.

It irked the girls how often the town boys seemed to trip over their own feet in order to make your lips curl into that beautiful smile. All the boys who claimed to court them always turned their gazes towards yours, offering small and polite bows with eyes that lingered far too long.

That was it – you made the boys want to sin. And for that fact alone, you had to be placed under very close watch.

Maybe that’s why the official news of your mother and Father Lee’s courtship was seen as a good thing to most people. You would have the close guidance of a preacher with you at all times, and Lee Heeseung would finally have someone to lead after example with – even if you were younger than him.

He never paid you much attention, always giving soft hums and grunts of acknowledgement instead of real words strung into sentences. You didn’t care – he was disgusting. Everything Heeseung did made you scrunch your nose and furrow your eyebrows, deeply concerned for his soul.

The first thing you realized you hated about him was his utter lack of respect; Heeseung never waited for you or your parents before eating. He never sat at the table with patient eyes as he waited for Grace – not even once. Instead, he’d sit there, scooping up some potatoes with his fingers as he sucked them off, eyes fixed on you and your figure. Heeseung would just taunt you, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge to see if you actually lived up to your goodie-two-shoes reputation the town had for you.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes before placing that sickeningly sweet smile back on your face, nodding politely as your new stepfather asked you to lead the family in prayer that night..

“Heeseung,” you said, lifting your eyebrows expectingly. “It’s rude to eat before Grace.”

The boy just snorted out an annoyed laugh at your chastising words as he rolled his eyes. Heeseung shook his head side to side as he leaned forward on the table, elbows splayed out and back hunched in a hideous manner.

“Sorry, princess,” he responded, hands coming together in a loud clap as his fingers intertwined with themselves. Heeseung shut his eyes harshly, desperately trying to make a show of this whole ordeal. He opened one of his eyes, gazing at you from across the table as if to say, ‘get on with it’. You snarled at him before continuing.

For the rest of dinner, Heeseung remained uninterested. He was off in a completely different world as if only half of his physical consciousness was present at the family dinner table. Heeseung would occasionally touch his foot against yours under the table; you’d look up at him with a grumpy look clouding your features, yet his eyes never met yours. When you examined his face, you noticed how his lips never curled into his usual teasing smirk, but how his foot would always stay there. Heeseung waited for you to do something about it – to do something about him, yet you never did.

The second thing that really boiled your blood was the way he treated the house when your parents were gone. Your stepbrother would stay holed up in his room, yet the lack of his physical presence meant nothing. Somehow his entire being would still make itself known throughout the entire house.

You were trying to do your daily bible study. Sure, some people thought it was a little silly how excited you got for it – but you couldn’t help it. Bible study was peaceful; bible study was your quiet time where you could forget about everything in the physical world, completely enveloped within the religious universe you held so close to your soul.

Heeseung didn’t seem to care – he never did. He was too in his own world, too absorbed in his stupid lifestyle to care about what you had going on. His rock music was loud – too loud. You could feel the walls pulsing with every boom of the bass; you swore the mirror in front of you physically shook as it displayed double of you in time with the music.

You groaned loudly, capping off your baby pink highlighter as you slammed your bible shut. Your feet carried you angrily down the hall to his room. The loud bang of your knuckles on wood startled you, but you kept going until Heeseung appeared in front of you.

As his door opened, your eyes narrowed dangerously as your stepbrother came into view. Heeseung just stared at you, eyes hooded and eyebrow cocked as if you were disturbing him. He brought a hand to the back of his head, stroking the red strands of hair as he waited for you to speak.

“Do you have any shame?” was the first thing that came out of your mouth. Your eyes bore into his soul angrily, fists clenched angrily by your side. “I’m trying to study and here you are,” your hands came in front of you, motioning wildly at his figure.

Heeseung’s lips tugged upwards into a knowing smile, and he nodded along to your words. He just waited for you to finish your thoughts, softly pulling his lip in between his teeth as he hummed in acknowledgement.

“With your loud music and – are you smoking?” your mouth fell agape as you dramatically gagged at the stench. Heeseung just laughed softly, disappearing behind the door before emerging a moment later. He had a joint perched in between his fingers, and for some reason, you found yourself absolutely fuming.

“Pink Floyd is awesome when you’re high,” he mumbled and pulled the joint in between his lips, smirking as he took a long drag from it. He decided to make a show of it; eyes trained on you seductively as he felt the smoke fill his lungs with that sweet burning sensation. He pulled off, tilting his head back but kept his eyes on you as he breathed it in and finally exhaled. He brought his hand up through his hair once more, softly tugging on his rough strands.

And this fucker moaned.

Heeseung lowered his gaze to meet your eyes directly, throwing you a sly wink as he held his hand out towards you. “C’mon sis,” he slurred, biting his pink and swollen lips, “you wanna have some fun for once, or what?”

You felt your stomach twist with something – something sick. The heat traveled up your neck, settling comfortably behind your ears and across your delicate cheeks. Heeseung noticed – Heeseung always noticed. He chuckled, cocking his eyebrow up in waiting.

You stared at him – examining his soft and delicate features. You didn’t understand why he did this, why he sat around like a stupid sleazebag and did everything he possibly could to defy the lord. Heeseung was born with a type of beauty many could only dream of achieving, and he was incredibly smart if your memory served you well. He had a delicate speaking voice, one that would cause any passersby to turn and hear his prayer. Heeseung’s singing voice was on a completely other level; the sheer daydream of hearing the heavenly feature bouncing off the walls of the chapel were enough to send goosebumps raging over your skin.

He could’ve been perfect; could’ve been someone everyone in the town adored as he offered polite bows and soft smiles. He could’ve been the epitome of a physical manifestation of the Lord and everything good in the world He created – yet here he was, being the sole reason his expiration date was nearing sooner.

You frowned at him softly, deep in your thoughts about what wasted potential he was. Finally, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you gave in and delivered the exact reaction he wanted. “I want you to be quiet,” you said, trying your best to sound sincere. “If you let me study in peace, I won’t tell mom or dad what you get up to when they’re gone.”

Heeseung chuckled, taking another drag from the joint – however this one was much faster. He sucked the smoke in, wincing at the burn it offered him, before turning over his shoulder and blowing it away from you. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, clicking his lips and winking at you before shutting the door in your face.

After that incident, you noticed a steady decline in his obnoxious behaviors towards you. That didn’t stop you from finding more reasons to hate him, however.

Lucky number three: he was constantly on his phone, nose buried deep in the device as if it was his lifeline. He never treated God with this reverence, never touched his bible with such delicate fingers. Yet, here Heeseung was, posture slumped against your now-shared pew as he furiously tapped away. His expression always remained stoic, his lips only curling into a sinful smirk when his eyes would flick up to the top of his screen.

You stare at the device hovered over his lap as you furrowed your eyebrows in disgust. He couldn’t go without it, even at Sunday Mass – gosh, this guy was pathetic. You nudged your elbow into his side, keeping your eyes fixed on the people shuffling through the doors as they made their way up to your stepfather. They all offered him polite bows before turning their attention to you – his family – sat in the front pews. Small smiles were sent your way, yet Heeseung was always met with looks of disdain. It wasn’t like he ever saw them; too absorbed in his fictional world to care for the very real world around him.

“Can you put that away for once,” you whisper-yelled, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. Heeseung groaned, nudging you back in response. One of the strings to his hoodie, (yes, hoodie, because God forbid he actually dresses up for the most important day of the week), was perched in between his lips. He softly nibbled on it, rolling the plastic piece in between his fingers.

“Heeseung,” you tried again. Your stepbrother responded with your own name, breathing it out in the same exasperated way you did. You found yourself rolling your eyes, “You look ridiculous,” you offered, hoping it would gain a little bit of his attention.

Heeseung frowned next to you, a soft but mocking whine slipping past his lips. “Really?” he said, sighing dramatically, “and here I was, about to compliment you on your cute dress.”

Your eyes snapped in his direction, that horrible feeling curling deep inside your stomach as the heat once again crawled up your body painfully slow. “What?” you breathed out, completely exasperated with whatever game he was playing.

Heeseung clicked his phone off, shoving it into the pockets of his gray sweatpants as he slumped into the pew. “Yeah, I mean it,” he said, resting his head against the back of the bench; not a care in the world for the people sitting behind him. Your eyes moved to your lap, examining the fabric carefully. Your hands played with themselves nervously as Heeseung blew a dramatic bubble next to you.

“It really shows off your figure – very Godlike, you know?”

Heeseung smirked after finishing his statement, completely aware of how his comment would affect you. He knew it would get under your skin – knew it would make you second guess your outfit choice. Suddenly, you were much too aware of the eyes on you; it felt as though everyone in the church shared the same views as your stepbrother. Shame slowly built up in your stomach as your eyes found a spot on the floor to stare at absentmindedly.

A pair of shoes came into frame that you recognized instantly as your stepfather. You peered up at him with teary eyes, unsure of what to do. He offered you a soft smile as he placed his hand on your cheek. He didn’t hold it there for long, simply giving you two affectionate pats before turning his annoyed attention towards Heeseung.

“Heeseung, my boy,” he started. You noticed how intentional he was with his tone, desperately trying to avoid catching wandering eyes and curious ears. Your stepfather held his hand out, palm open and fingers splayed. He wiggled his fingers, shoving his hand closer to Heeseung’s mouth. “Spit it out.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes and smirked, leaning forward with his arms still crossed in front of his chest. He craned his neck, looking up at his father sweetly through his eyelashes. He opened his mouth slowly, letting the gum fall out and into his father’s palm. Heeseung leaned back against the church pew. His body turned to face you, curious.

That was another thing; he was always chewing gum. Heeseung could never chew it normally – no, of course not. Why would he? He always had to chew it loudly and obnoxiously, and anytime you’d turn to give him a scowl or hurl chastising words his way, he’d stop. A sigh of relief would slip past your lips which always seemed to egg him on. Heeseung’s lips would form his usual annoying smirk as his eyes would lock in on yours.

His head would always be cocked to the right, and he’d start playing with it. Heeseung’s tongue would dart out to wet his lips before retreating back into his mouth, swirling the sugary pink gum around obscenely. He’d make a show of it – like he did with everything.

You could see his eyes light up with something sinful as he’d eye you up and down, a soft groan slipping past his lips that quickly turned into a mocking laugh. You’d furrow your eyebrows, snarling at him as you got up to leave whatever situation he had you trapped in. The worst part – that stupid, ugly, annoying feeling would bubble up into your stomach again.

No matter what, you could never figure out what it was. It wasn’t like you could ask your mother or stepfather because you knew this feeling was deeply associated with sin, you just couldn’t figure out how. The way Heeseung made you feel when he put on crude shows like that – it wasn’t anger, no, it was something else. The feeling annoyed you – disgusted you to no end. Especially considering the fact that you could never figure out how to get rid of it afterwards.

It would sit there, long and absence way overdo, distracting you from whatever activity you picked up to distract yourself from it. You wanted to know; wanted to know what it was, why it happened, how to get rid of it and how to never let it happen again. It kept you up at night as you tossed and turned, playing previous scenes with Heeseung over and over in your head.

Lee Heeseung – that bastard.

Your stupid stepbrother was so stupid, in fact, that he seemed to create a whole new emotion for you; anger mixed with something. You’d curl in on yourself, pulling the blankets up closer to your chin, thighs clenching together without meaning. It soothed the feeling – only a little. Part of you still hurt, still craved for more.

But you knew that part of you was the Devil talking, so you ignored it. You ignored your stepbrother and the ache he left behind after his vulgar displays, ignored his knowing looks and his suggestive comments – you ignored it all because it didn’t mean anything. He was trying to get under your skin; trying to see how long it took before he could break you. Heeseung wanted to take your hand in his, whispering sweet nothings as he led you down that irreversible path of sin he seemed to own.

Well, it wasn’t going to happen. That you were sure of.

It seemed as though any time Heeseung’s face plagued your mind, one more reason to despise him was added to the cookie jar; because right now, in the middle of the bi-annual Church picnic, Heeseung was face deep in his phone and smirking. This smirk was different; this smirk was devilish. He kept peering over his shoulder, practicing caution and hoping that nobody could view his screen.

You stared at him from across the lawn, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“[Name], are you even listening?” your friend, Hanni, groaned. Her hands were waving maniacally in front of your face. You turned to her, straightening out your features as you forced a smile – an attempt to apologize for your wandering mind. “What’re you even looking at?”

Hanni peered over her shoulder, looking in the direction of your stepbrother. She rolled her eyes, mimicking your earlier disdain, and waved her hands as if to say, ‘forget about it’. “He’s so weird,” she said, turning on her heel and plopping herself down onto the picnic blanket you two had spread out. “He’s always on his phone – what’s he doing, anyways?”

You shrugged, scoffing at the mention of his behavior. “Talking to girls, probably,” you muttered. You sat down next to Hanni, hands tangling into the rough blades of grass below you. “He’s always texting them from a few towns over, but it’s never anything serious.”

Hanni cocked her head curiously, lips forming a pout. “Like, he won’t court them?” she asked innocently. You turned to meet her eyes, shaking your head as you let out an exasperated sigh.

“Nope,” you said, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth. “But he sure is taking up their time.”

Heeseung always talked to girls with no intention of officially courting them and making them his wife. He was cheating the system – entirely. Courting was a tradition, something that everybody had to go through. That’s how it worked – point, blank, period. A guy fancied a girl and so, with her parents’ blessing, he began the process of courting her.

Sometimes suitors were arranged by families, but sometimes they were organic. It was a rite of passage; a surefire way for a woman to begin her duties on this planet. After marrying her suitor, a woman could finally fulfill her prophecy: becoming a mother.

Everyone followed the process, and everyone respected it. Not Heeseung, though. No, of course, not Heeseung. He never followed the system – he broke the system. He had secret girlfriends at his private schools and random numbers that would text him late at night asking what he was doing. Heeseung would sneak out, stealing your stepfather’s car and returning before the sun came up.

You knew what he was doing. You knew, but you didn’t want to admit it. Your heart ached at the thought that someone could commit such a level of sin so willingly. And so, you ignored it. You ignored his smirks and chuckles at his screen; the way he would clear his throat suddenly and shift his body, groaning softly as he moved his legs to a more comfortable position.

You ignored the muted conversations you heard him having through his phone as you passed by his room – especially the ones he preferred to have with his voice down low. You lived your life trying to forget about Heeseung’s existence, yet it never fully worked.

Hanni giggles, slapping your shoulder playfully. “Don’t talk like that, [Name], it’s crude.” Even though she was correcting your behavior, soft and breathy giggles continued to slip past her lips. “Speaking of courting,” she continues, voice becoming a little too sing-song for your liking. Hanni wiggles her eyebrows teasingly as she leans in closer, “How’s Jake?”

A smile spreads across your face faster than you can correct it. You giggle nervously at her comment, shrugging once more – it really is a terrible habit for you. “It’s okay,” you begin. When you look at her, she’s expecting more – egging you on to tell her about all the cheesy things your suitor has done for you. “It’s better than okay,” you finish. Heat flushes up your neck and settles across your cheeks, painting them a soft shade.

Jake was a sweet boy – the sweetest. He truly seemed to care about you. Maybe it had to do with the whole ‘pastor’s stepdaughter’ thing, but you didn’t care. You only cared that you had someone as devout as you; who touched the Bible like the sacred collection of works it was. Jake was an altar boy – and the best at that. Your stepfather always praised him at your house, discussing how excited he was for Jake to become an official member of the family.

Heeseung would always scoff and mumble something under his breath, calling Jake a ‘kiss-ass’ or saying he was ‘a pathetic excuse for a man’. His comments never bothered you because you knew he was wrong. You knew who Jake was and why he treated you so delicately; he cared. He didn’t exist to get a reaction out of you as Heeseung did, and he never made crude shows of daily activities.

Maybe, you thought, Heeseung was just jealous. Maybe Heeseung had realized how bad he messed up his own life, and so seeing someone as righteous as Jake get praised for things Heeseung could never even imagine doing was a huge hit to his precious ego. Maybe Heeseung was mad that his father would rather have Jake a son than him; maybe Heeseung was just mad that you preferred Jake’s company over his.

Hanni looked past you, grabbing your shoulders suddenly as her smile beamed. “Go talk to him, c’mon!” she said, pointing behind you. You turned around to see Jake standing at the lunch table, plate in hand as he smiled kindly at the older woman asking about him. Hanni ushered you up, giving you a quick shove in Jake’s direction as you turned around and shot her a look.

Your feet carried you towards him, however. As you made your way to the table, you passed Heeseung sitting in his lawn chair. He peered up at you through the loose strands littering his forehead, giving you a curious look before jutting his foot out and catching onto your shin.

You stumbled forward, catching yourself before you could fall and make a fool out of yourself. Heeseung sat upright, glancing over his shoulder and frowning when he noticed you still standing. “Aw, man,” he mumbled, shaking his head and snuggling back into his baggy, black hoodie.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh, but quickly quelled the anger as you ventured towards Jake. He saw you approaching and smiled at you, offering a polite wave as he cocked his head. His eyes glanced over your dress briefly, before settling onto the bow nestled in your hair.

“Hey, [Name],” he said. Jake grabbed a plate and handed it to you before motioning for you to step ahead of him in line. You giggled softly at his kind gesture, cheeks flushing. “You look pretty today – not that you don’t usually look pretty, but today,” he inhaled a shaky breath, desperately trying to calm his nerves and get rid of the awkwardness he presented. “You look very pretty.”

You smiled and bit your lip subconsciously, trying not to seem too eager for Jake’s attention. “Thank you, Jake.” You said, looking over his outfit. Jake always opted for pastel colored shirts on special occasions; deviating from his usual rainbow of blue button-ups he wore underneath his robes every Sunday. “I like your shirt,” you say, beginning to return his compliment. “The color’s nice, it reminds me of,”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before you heard someone clear their throat obnoxiously behind you. The two of you turned around and were met with Heeseung; standing there with his gum smacking and his hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked at the two of you expectingly, as if he’d asked a question and the two of you were obligated to answer.

“Can I help you, Heeseung?” you said, not even bothering to hide the venom that laced your words. Heeseung chuckled and shook his head, wiggling himself in between the two of you as he grabbed a plate and scanned the appetizer options in front of him.

“You two are a bit too close, yeah?” he responded. Heeseung’s usual teasing tone was amplified in this moment, and you hated how it was already starting to get under your skin.

You scoffed, “What are you even talking about?” That was your first mistake. You admit it – you’re well aware of how often Heeseung likes to tease your seemingly innocent way of living. You always asked stupid questions for clarification, and it was never a problem. Not until Heeseung realized he could tease you – rile you up higher than he would if he’d just said something rude instead.

“Your bodies,” he emphasized the word, eyebrows raising slightly, “c’mon, sis, I thought you were big into leaving space for Jesus.” Your fists clenched at your sides, eyes twitching as you tried your best not to smack Heeseung right across his stupid face.

Jake intervened – which he really shouldn’t have – before you could do anything too rash. “It’s not like that,” he said, offering Heeseung a polite smile in an attempt to calm the situation down, “we were just talking.”

Heeseung let out an overdramatic cackle at Jake’s words, “Just talking?” He said the words like it was the most obvious lie in the whole world. “C’mon, man, you should know better than anyone that khakis don’t do anything to hide a boner.”

Heeseung’s hands motioned to Jake’s khaki pants. Jake smoothed his palms down the sides of his thighs, taking in a deep breath in as he prepared to divert the conversation. Heeseung didn’t stop, though; why would he? He brought his fingers up to his lips, looking at the different options of salads provided before him.

“Hey, there’s no shame in it, Jakey,” he mocked, scooping a big dollop of something mayonnaise covered onto his blue paper plate. “She’s hot. And that dress she’s wearing?” he let out a low whistle, turning over his shoulder to glance at your figure.

That stupid feeling was back. It seemed worse, this time. The way Heeseung gazed at you – predatory and perverted, it was disgusting. He had no right to say this kind of stuff – no right to even think it. Yet, here he was, saying it out loud for the world and your future fiancé to hear. Heeseung said it so casually too, as if he was talking about the weather or asking when the next chorus rehearsal was. Your cheeks flushed deeply, and your palms were suddenly soaked in your own sweat. You didn’t know why you felt like crying, but you did. Warm tears pricked into your eyes, but you willed them away.

The last thing you wanted was to show Heeseung that what he said had its effects on you.

“Word of advice, though,” he said, turning around. Heeseung kept the big plastic spoon in his hand, resting it against Jake’s chest as he poked him with two fingers. Jake turned his head to look down at the spoon, a mayonnaise stain already blossoming onto his new shirt. “She’s a prude – won’t let you get in her pants until she’s got a ring on her finger.”

Heeseung paused, giving a teasing smile as he looked up towards the sky in thought. “Oh, wait,” he said as he turned to you, “if you try hard enough, she might.” Jake swallowed thickly at Heeseung’s comments, glancing over to you nervously. Your nostrils flared in anger as your vision blurred from tears. Heeseung just cooed at your reaction, putting the spoon back in the dish as he brought his wrist up to his mouth. He licked a grotesque stripe up the flesh, catching some stray condiment that spilled on him at some point during this whole encounter.

The action caught you off guard, and you squirmed under his watchful gaze. Heeseung simply chuckled, enjoying how you acted when he was present. “Am I right with that, [Name]?”

You don’t remember doing it, but somehow, your hand met Heeseung’s face with a force strong enough to cause him to stumble back. Shocked gasps rang out across the lawn, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care how you had given in to sin and let someone anger you enough to slap them; you didn’t care how your reputation sank, and your little-miss-perfect personality faltered. You were simply livid.

“Leave me alone, Heeseung,” you said through gritted teeth. Tears began to spill from your eyes in quick and hot spurts as you let out a choked out sob. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but count me out.”

You grabbed a wad of napkins and made your way the few steps over to Jake, dabbing softly at his shirt in an attempt to try and get some of the stain out. Heeseung sat there, wide-eyed with a red handprint that matched his hair. Jake had no idea what to do, simply bringing his hands up to meet your shaking arms. He shushed you, trying to get you to calm down. Jake didn’t care about his stupid shirt anymore, and he didn’t care that the three of you were causing a scene; all he wanted was for you to stop crying.

-

You thanked Jake for his comfort before you left without the rest of your family. All you wanted to do was curl in on yourself, forgetting that any of what transpired ever took place. Life was never that easy, unfortunately, because Heeseung’s words continued to play on a loop in your mind. Over and over, never pausing even when you tried to recite your favorite Bible verses for comfort.

The way his eyes raked over your body; how his smirk danced across his face in an invitation; his overall assumption that, if given the opportunity, you’d sleep with any guy you could. You hated it - hated him. You hated the way his face appeared in the middle of your dreams, imaginary hands grabbing your waist and pulling you into a never ending pit in the middle of the ground.

You hated how, in your mind, when you got there, you didn’t want to leave and wished you could stay with your stepbrother. You wished you could continue to rest on his lap with his hand petting your hair like you were some kind of fucking pet; his voice cooing in your ear as tears prickled into your eyes when you became so overwhelmed with sin.

You looked down at your own lap. His hand was placed delicately between your thighs, pressing lengthy fingers against your clothed pussy. Heeseung licked a strip along your neck and you shivered. A soft moan broke free as his hand moved your underwear to the side, two fingers softly prodding against the wetness and warmth of your innocence.

Your eyes snapped open. You laid there on your side, thighs tightly clenched together as the underwear underneath your shorts clung to you. You could feel the wetness that seeped into the fabric; feel the way your body quivered when it brushed against you with your movements.

It was late – too late for you to be awake, but all you could think about was Heeseung. What he said – what he did as he spoke. It was back, of course, it was back. Because Heeseung’s words weren’t enough; they had to affect you.

You flung the covers off your body and placed your bare feet on the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom. You gripped the sheets with your fingers, letting out a shaky breath as you clenched your thighs together. Your breath quickly turned into something else, and your eyes snapped open at the realization.

No. You weren’t going to let sin overtake you.

You let out a soft whimper as you stood up, shame building deep inside your chest. You hurt and ached and wanted nothing more than to feel better – for this feeling to go away and allow you to fall back asleep. Maybe that’s why your feet moved without you noticing and why your hand reached for your doorknob without your permission.

Your feet softly padded against the floor of your hallway until you found yourself in front of Heeseung’s door. You stared at the bareness of it – the sleek white paint looked as though it was painted only yesterday. For some reason, you never noticed how clean it was compared to Heeseung’s personality. Your lips quivered and suddenly you were crying; crying without reason and without remorse for what you were about to do.

Finally, you brought your shaky fist up to the door, softly tapping your knuckles against the wood. You waited – half wondering if you should just turn around and go into your room as if nothing happened. But then the door opened, and Heeseung’s eyes met yours. He ran his hand through his hair, staring at you in confusion. Usually, when you saw this scene, Heeseung was smirking or winking at you, fully aware that you were there to complain about him.

But now you were crying and there was nothing he could think of that was making you feel this way. Sure, he toed the line a little too far during the Picnic, but the idea that what he said was still bothering you was completely lost on him. So, when the silence stretched a little too long, he simply whispered your name, urging you to talk.

You jumped a little, half expecting the man in front of you to be a hallucination and not at all a manifestation of the physical world. You nibbled on your bottom lip and smoothed your palms against your sleep shorts. “Something’s wrong,” you whispered.

He cleared his throat, eyebrows furrowing as he cocked his head to the side. Heeseung swallowed carefully before opening his door wider, “Did you wanna come in?”

There was a sense of hesitation in your movements before you nodded, slipping past his figure into his hardly lit bedroom. It was now that you realized you’d never really been inside of Heeseung’s room – you’d only seen it through the crack that he allowed when you were yelling at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You couldn’t ignore the genuine concern laced in his tone – something completely peculiar coming from him. You shook your head and kept your eyes trained on the floor, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“I,” you began, and your voice cracked. You felt so shameful in this moment – so bare and put on display for the last person you wanted to see you in this vulnerable state. “I don’t feel good – like, it hurts.”

He sat down on the chair by his desk, patting the edge of the bed for you to sit in front of him. You complied, carefully sitting on his burgundy bedspread. “What hurts?” he asked.

You took your hands off your lap and motioned to your body – all of it because, honestly, you weren’t entirely sure where the pain was really coming from. Heeseung laughed, yet no venom was present in the sound. The noise was more out of disbelief; like he was saying ‘c’mon, sis, give me something to work with here’.

His hand found purchase on your knee delicately, calmly thumbing your soft skin. “Here?” he offered, trying to get the answer out of you. You shook your head and he frowned, already frustrated with how closed off you were getting.

“Up,” you choked out. Heeseung cocked his eyebrow before slowly sliding his hand up your thigh – only a few inches. When you shook your head again, he cleared his throat.

“[Name],” he didn’t want to admit it. Sure, he thought you were hot; and sure, he caught himself staring at your lips and your waist, maybe even craning his neck to see the swell of your ass as you walked by. Yeah, maybe you slipped into his mind while his hand was wrapped around his cock and some random girl was giving him the sweetest sounds in the world on the other side of the phone – but he would never act on it.

Your lips quivered at his words; head ducked in shame. Heeseung sighed – he hated seeing you like this. He ran his hand through his hair, leaning forward and cooing at you softly. “If you want me to help you,” he started, “then you need to help me.”

Your eyes moved up to look at him, tears blurring your vision from appreciating him to the fullest. You nodded in agreement, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Where does it hurt, [Name] – show me,” he said the words so softly – such care laced throughout every pronounced syllable that you couldn’t help but flush at his tone. So, with shaky fingers you picked his hand up from your leg, clasping it in between your smaller ones. Slowly but deliberately, you moved his hand just above the ache between your thighs, barely on your stomach. You held it there; his palm flattened against your shorts.

Heeseung blinked at you in utter shock as he parted his lips. He didn’t mean for the moan to slip past his lips, really – but this was a lot. Heeseung could admit he was fucked in the head, honestly. He knew it and he embraced it with every fiber of his being. Half of his wet dreams involved this exact scenario: you coming into his room and begging him to take your innocence away.

He couldn’t explain it – couldn’t tell anyone why if they dared to ask – but he just wanted to ruin you. He wanted to see you fall apart under him; see you begging for more of his touch as he cooed at you softly. Heeseung wanted you to cry under him; he wanted you to feel so much shame for your actions that you couldn’t do anything but let him devour you.

Maybe that’s why he hated Jake so much – he hated the idea that Jake would be the one to take this from you. Heeseung knew guys like Jake; he knew how they fucked. They fucked slowly and sensually – making sure every stroke of their cock was giving you the most amount of pleasure possible. They made sure you were comfortable; made sure you felt loved and cherished. It was pathetic.

Girls like you deserved to be fucked right – face buried in the pillow, ass high up in the air, sheets stained from tears and drool and snot because you were so fucked out you didn’t even care how you looked – you just cared that you were getting the best dick of your life.

Jake wasn’t the guy to show that to you; Heeseung was.

“Please, Heeseung,” you whispered, effectively pulling him out of his vile thoughts. “I want to be better – I want this gone.”

Heeseung nodded, softly tapping your skin where his hand was placed before letting that terrible smirk overtake his expression. “I got you,” he said, standing up. His hand moved from your stomach to your chin. He held it there – admiring how you looked in this moment.

Your cheeks were flushed and nose raw; your lips were puffy and red and already covered in saliva from how often you licked them; your cheeks were tear stained and eyes glassy – fuck, he could cum from this sight alone. No girl in the whole world ever gave him this sight – not the older one he met when he was fourteen and sneaking out of his private school; not the girl he fucked in the bathroom of a nightclub; not even the girl who cornered him in the chapel at church camp and rode him like her life depended on it.

You were special to him – you fulfilled every sick and twisted fantasy he could conjure up.

“You trust me, yeah?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity. You nodded furiously as your cheeks squished against the fingers holding your face in place. “I can help you – I can make you feel better.”

Heeseung leaned in, pecking the tip of your nose before pulling away ever so slightly. He examined your features; examined your reaction to this whole situation. Heeseung half expected you to back out – calling in his father and pointing at the boy in fear and anger, crying about how he really was the Devil reincarnated. But you didn’t.

Instead, you looked at him as if he was showing you the world – which he was, in some sick and twisted way. Your eyes followed him before flicking down to his lips, a shaky and unknowing breath escaping you and fanning over his delicate face. He squished his fingers closer together, pushing the fat of your cheeks closer in a way that he found to be utterly adorable.

Heeseung smiled and breathed out a laugh before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. “Look at you,” he whispered against your skin. He pulled back and kissed your temple, “So pretty.” He moved on to the corner of your lips – kissing once, twice before he left his lips there.

You whimpered at his softness, relishing in the way he was treating you. Your eyelashes fluttered shut,  waiting for his next movements. You were too scared to move or do anything - you wanted to let him take the lead; let him show you what to do and relieve this ache that’s been taunting you for months.

Heeseung chuckled at you, “And such pretty sounds, too.” He pulled away from your face and examined you. His smirk appeared again - as you assumed it would this entire night. “Can you lay down for me?”

His voice was disgustingly sweet; honey-soaked and dipped in chocolate all in the effort to make this enjoyable. You looked up at him and nodded, nibbling on your lip. You scooted back a little before laying down - your back touched the sheets and you shivered.

So much was going through your mind - so many new emotions and sensations rushing through your body that you didn’t know what to do. Heeseung seemed to sense the nerves jittering your body as he placed his hand over your stomach. You squeezed your eyes shut at his touch. He kept his hand there for a minute, rubbing small circles over the skin underneath your t-shirt. 

He moved his hand down, fingers playing with the waistband of your shorts delicately. Heeseung started to tug at them, but your hands shot up to grab his wrist, a yelp of “No!” slipping past you as your eyes shot open. “I don’t,” you said, gasping for air already, “I want you to keep them on!”

He pulled the waistband of your shorts up before releasing it with a snap. The sudden noise startled you and you gasped, lip quivering as you met his eyes. “Why?”

You shook your head, ears refilling your eyes. “I just want to - okay?” They way the last plea was barely audible did something to Heeseung. The tears, the quiver of your voice, the way you looked and acted so small once he finally got his hands on you - it was all perfect.

“Okay,” he said, leaning down and pecking your cheek. “I’ll try - but, I can’t help myself, sis. You’re too,” he paused, making his way over to his bedside table. Heeseung bent down, plugging in the lights that hung around his room so he could see you better - deciding the moonlight seeping through his windows wasn’t enough.

When he stood back up, he strolled towards you with dangerous eyes. He settled to the side of you, leaning forward and twisting his torso so his hands caged your head in on both sides. You licked your lips in waiting. Heeseung slung his legs over you, now caging your thighs tightly with his own. 

His hand came up, thumb separated from the other fingers as he dragged it over your bottom lip, collecting the small amount of spit that remained after you’d licked them. “Tempting,” he finished as he leaned closer to you.

You felt his breath fan over your lips before he finally interlocked them. It was softer than you thought it would be. In your mind leading up to this moment, you believed you’d be ravaged - like Heeseung would take everything he possibly could and never even make an attempt to give it back to you.

He didn’t, though. Heeseung let his soft lips press against your pink and swollen ones, hand cupping your jaw with tenderness. He didn’t push you; didn’t force his tongue past your delicate fortress, even though holding himself back from doing so was physically painful. 

You followed his rhythm delicately, whimpering softly into his mouth as his hand slid down to your chest and cupped your breast. Heeseung’s hand rested there as he massaged the skin through your shirt - smirking when his hand delicately glided over your nipple and he felt you squirm under him.

He pulled back and admired you; admired the way you looked under his much bigger body and the way you sounded when his hands touched you in places he was sure you didn’t even know could feel this good. Heeseung’s thumb circled your nipple, and although this entire situation was driven by nothing but sexual desires and lust, the action didn’t feel that sexual at all.

Heeseung was careful with his touch, making sure to let his hands do the talking when his words failed him. Was he absolutely over the moon like a cow in a fairytale when you knocked on his door and begged him to ‘make you feel better’? Fuck yeah, he was. Was he absolutely terrified that he would push too hard and scare you away, forcing him to live a life without ever seeing your face again? Fuck, yeah - unfortunately.

So, he kept teasing your nipple. “You okay?” he whispered, eyes scanning your flushed face. When you nodded back at him, a smile fell across his lips. Not a smirk, not a stupid grin - a genuine, real smile. At that moment, you were sure your stepbrother was the prettiest boy God had ever sent down to Earth. 

“I love how you look right now,” he began, hand removing itself from your chest as it snaked down to the hem of your shirt. He pushed it up, hand running across your bare skin as he exposed it to the world. “But, I’m gonna need you to start using your words.”

Heeseung leaned forward - teeth latching onto your collarbone in a soft nip before he kissed it better. The open mouthed kisses he traced along your skin as he made his way down to the curve of your chest were mind-numbing. You weren’t sure how you were gonna stick it out for his ‘demonstration’, feeling the ache between your thighs already quell down with only his current actions.

When he reached your breast, he pecked it. Heeseung left his mouth against your skin, breath fanning hot and ragged over it as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. He looked absolutely heavenly at this moment. His ‘cool guy’ facade was slipping and you could tell this was affecting him just as much as it was affecting you; glassy eyes almost begging for something from you.

“I want you to watch from now on,” he said in an attempt to make you look at him.

Your chest rose and fell desperately; your breath completely out of your control as you willed your entire body to not violently shake at every new feeling he presented to you. You shook your head, eyes clenched shut as you brought your arm over your face to hide your mouth in the crook of your elbow. “I can’t - Heeseung, I can’t do -” a moan slipped past your lips when he licked a stripe from the underside of your breast up to your now pert nipple. The heat of his wet tongue contrasted to the cool air filtering in through his window was definitely something.

Heeseung reached up towards you. His fingers carefully wrapped around your wrist as he moved your arm above your head. You still refused to look at him. The ceiling above you was much easier to focus on - plain white and not making you commit the most sin you ever have.

“Down here, baby sis,” Heeseung whispered, licking another stripe in the same spot he had before. “God isn’t here - he can't help you.” Those words made you gaze down at him through half-lidded and teary eyes.

None of this was right - none of this should attract you or make your thighs clench together or make that annoying feeling in your stomach ten times worse. This was sin on so many levels. You were supposed to be saving yourself; supposed to let Jake be the first man to ever lay a hand on your bare skin - after the two of you were married, of course.

But, here you were. Goodie-two-shoes, the Golden Girl of Church, all spread out in the middle of the night with her stepbrother sucking on her fucking nipple. He relished in the soft noises you made at his comment, loved to know that right now, in this very moment, you were thinking about your beloved God.

God. Heeseung was God; your God. In this moment, you were fully prepared to drop to your knees and worship Heeseung at the twisted altar he’d built for you. You wanted to drink his blood as he gazed down at you with those dark and teasing eyes - legs spread wide for whenever you felt like your mouth was too empty. You wanted him to leave black handprints along your white dress; wanted him to stain you with impurity as he ripped every ounce of innocence left from your bare hands.

And if you cried? God, you didn’t even care if you cried anymore. You kinda hoped it would turn him on, if you were being completely honest.

So, when his hands smoothed down the curve of your waist, and when his mouth followed suit, kissing a line down your stomach, you let loose. The tears flowed instantly - quiet at first. Heeseung was so focused on his actions; so focused on the feeling of your smooth and pure skin touching his rough and tainted lips. He didn’t notice your switch, didn’t notice how you closed your eyes and mumbled a quick prayer begging God for His forgiveness.

Heeseung reached the hem of your shorts. He kissed over the fabric delicately as his hands continued to rub circles over your hips. “‘m gonna make it feel better, ‘kay?” he mumbled against your waistband.

A sob slipped past your lips as you nodded. Your eyes squeezed themselves shut as you sniffled, sucking in a shaky breath as you waited for Heeseung to move.

And move he did. Heeseung delicately cupped his hand over your clothed pussy, holding it there carefully. He kissed your shorts again, resting his forehead against your lower abdomen as he took in a deep breath. Slowly, his fingers moved. Electricity surged through your body; you involuntarily arched off his mattress, another sob falling from your swollen lips.

Heeseung just chuckled against you, a soft whisper of “Yeah, that’s it,” ringing in your ears as you focused on the sensation. Slow, languid yet calculated movements; everything done with the purpose of curing your apparent sickness. 

His fingers stroked your pussy up and down, the fabric from your shorts acting as the only barrier between a man and his seeming birthright. You moaned softly; it was working. You were feeling better, feeling the hurt dissipate into something else, something disgusting and sinful.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” he asked, placing another kiss on your shorts before he looked up at you. His hands continued their movements; wet slick causing your clothing to stick to his fingers. Heeseung liked the way your body was reacting, liked to watch you arch up and try to quell your moans.

You nodded at his words, another sob coming from you as you opened your sticky mouth to speak. “Mhm,” you hummed, keeping your eyes shut. Heeseung ceased his movements and hummed back, clicking his lips as he saw your state.

“You're not watching,” he whispered. You looked at him with quivering lips, nodding for no reason. 

“Feels good, Hee,” you sobbed again. “Really good.”

Heeseung exhaled, “Want me to show you something better?”

His usual smirk returned as he curled a brow, hands moving once more. He waited for your soft nod, and when it came, he slid his hands up to your waist, holding you there. Heeseung began trailing kisses from your lower abdomen, taking his sweet time as he enjoyed you writhing underneath him. He made his way down to your clothed cunt, examining the growing wet patch carefully.

Heeseung let out a low whistle, lightly biting his lip as he glanced up at you. “Look at you,” he hummed, scoffing when he heard yet another sob fall from your lips. “So wet for her stepbrother.”

Another sniffle of your nose and a shake from your head, trying so hard to deny the truth. You couldn’t deny it - the proof was right there. You came into Heeseung’s room late at night and asked him to make you feel better, and he was doing just that. You keened into his touch like a demon starved, and you silently cursed him for pulling his hands away from where it ached most.

Heeseung didn’t wait long before moving again; a soft kiss over your clit and you arched once more. Your hands flew to cover your tearfilled eyes, hiding the rest of your face in the process. Heeseung tutted softly before kissing it once more, “You don’t listen - I’m actually kind of offended.”

He shrugged before continuing to kiss your shorts, this time with wet and opened mouthed ones. Kisses saved for necks or bare skin; kisses saved for lovers sharing an intimate bond that cannot be recreated by anyone else; kisses saved for those who trust each other.

You did trust Heeseung, and maybe that was the problem.

He moaned into you, vibrations reverberating throughout and settling deep within your stomach. “Disrespecting your elders - that’s a sin, right?” He continued to eat you out over your shorts, waiting for a response. When it didn’t come, he pulled away and sighed. Heeseung softly pinched your waist, causing you to yelp in surprise. Your hands removed themselves from your face and shot down to his wrists, holding them there.

“I asked you a question,” he mused. Heeseung’s eyes were big and round, almost painting the false picture of innocence. You knew it was an act - another patronizing attempt at Heeseung to try and pull you further into his Second Circle of Hell.

You just nodded in response, whispering a soft “Yeah,” trying to ignore how your voice cracked from your muted endeavors. Heeseung smirked and dove right back in, sucking and licking and kissing, all while your shorts were still on.

It was lewd and obscene and perverted.

“So, that’s gotta be three now, huh?’

You blinked, processing his words as you continued to lay splayed out across your stepbrother's bed. The ceiling was interesting now, you’d decided. The plain white tiles seemed to offer some sense of stabilization or calming abilities, something to take your mind away from what you were doing. You furrowed your brows as you thought about his words, glancing down at him. 

That was a mistake. The visual you were presented with was one that would be burned into your mind for decades to come - if you even made it that long. Lee Heeseung’s hands were placed bruisingly onto your hips and only the top of his head was visible. His face was completely submerged in your pussy, virtually making out with it like he couldn’t get enough. You didn’t miss the way his own hips slowly ground themselves into the mattress, either.

You whimpered, followed by a full moan before finally releasing a shaky breath and willing yourself to speak. “What?” you asked, returning your attention to the ceiling. “Three what? I don’t get it.”

“Three sins,” Heeseung replied matter-of-factly, voice muffled by your pussy. You just softly huffed out a ‘huh’ as you thought over your predicament. 

“What’s He gonna think?” Heeseung asked, seemingly unable to let your mind relax for even a moment. “Your God - how do you think he feels?”

The tears brimmed once more as you shook your head. Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle your moans as Heeseung picked up his kissing pace. You didn’t know what He thought - you didn’t care to know what He thought. You were past the point of salvation now; your sins were too terrible. You’d have to run away, you thought, in the middle of the night where no one could find you.

“I said to use your words, angel,” and Heeseung pulled off of you and onto his knees. He groaned as he stretched his neck in an obnoxious manner. His shoulders were slumped as he gazed at the work he’d done - both on your sleep shorts and your entire body.

Your shirt was pushed up to expose your breasts; your cheeks and neck were soaked from the tears that didn’t seem to stop leaking; your shorts were a lewd mess of spit and slick, it was all perfect.

You were perfect. His perfect little fucked up maserpiece. He was making paintings with his tongue, religious paintings. Paintings he wished he could hang up inside of his father’s sorry chapel. “This is true salvation,” he’d preach, pointing to your body. He’d explain the beauty within you, how angelic your moans were and how your holy tears could heal souls.

It’d certainly healed his soul, that’s for sure. Heeseung wanted to drape you across a cross and make you his symbol of religion. He wouldn’t nail you as they did Jesus and he certainly wouldn’t make you take the blame for either of your sins. No, he’d just strip you bare of your clothing, your innocence, and your dignity before propping you up on a pedestal for all the other girls to see.

“This is following,” he’d tell them, softly caressing your plush skin. “This is following your heart, even when it takes you down a dark path.”

Heeseung was prepared to worship you for years to come; to build civilizations around your sacred lore.

He grabbed your hand away from your mouth, noting how you quickly shut your eyes and pursed your lips. It was like you were bracing yourself for something terrible - Heeseung didn’t like it. He let out a dejected sigh, interlocking your fingers in his as he peppered sickeningly sweet kisses along them. Softly, he placed your hand onto his clothed cock - hard and yearning underneath his sweatpants.

“You feel that?” he whispered, holding your hand there. You nod, deciding it’s best to just go along with whatever he says. “Feel what you’re doing to me, baby sis?”

Yet another sob slips past you, and you sniffle trying to regain your composure. He was big. The heat radiating off his cock and through his sweatpants was sickening; you weren’t sure how you could handle something like this. Your hole clenched around nothing at the sheer thought of his size entering you.

“I’m not gonna do anything, though,” he continues, picking your hands up and placing a soft kiss on your wrist before letting it go. “Tonight’s about you, yeah? Curing what’s wrong with you and shit.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You reach your hand out for him, looking at him with those big eyes he loves so much. Heeseung chuckled at your sudden neediness, quirking an interested eyebrow. He slowly sinks down between your legs, guiding your hand to rest on his cheek.

He nuzzles into it softly, kissing your palm before returning his lips to your clothed core. His pace was damn near abusing now, latching onto anything he could in an attempt to heal what ailed you. An even more unfamiliar feeling settled into your gut, squeezing you from the inside out. 

“My God,” you hear Heeseung say against you, “I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.”

You whine and choke out a hearty sob at the realization of what he’s doing.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he continues, movements becoming more erratic as he begins to nip at you through your clothing. Your hand falls from his cheek and flies up to his forehead, attempting to resist him, to push him off of you. It’s becoming too much, too many things are happening at once.

“I have sinned against you,” the world drowns out around you, Heeseung’s soft and mocking voice ringing in your ears like a hot cicada, “whom I should love above all things.”

You bite your lip as your tears flow, sniffles sounding out here and there as you desperately try to compose yourself. You know this prayer; you’ve never had to use this prayer.

You’re a good kid, a righteous kid who follows God’s law and plan. You listen to your parents and school teachers, you don’t stray from the norm or wander into business that isn’t yours. You don’t lie or cheat or steal.

You’ve never had to beg Him for forgiveness, not until now. You have the prayer memorized, “just in case”, as your stepfather liked to tell you. Heeseung probably has the prayer memorized because all he should be doing is recite it - though you know he never does.

You don’t know if he’s saying this to mock you, or because he’s genuinely wanting to give you that push towards acceptance and moving on. Maybe Heeseung cares about what he’s taking from you; cares that he’s snatching every last drop of innocence you’ve ever had.

Maybe he’s begging God for forgiveness on your behalf, acknowledging how simple statements are just too hard for you right now.

“I firmly intend,”

“Stop,” you cry out, “just stop it!” You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes as you shake your head back and forth. His voice is annoying and laced with mockery. He doesn’t care, he just wants to rub it in that this is really happening.

Heeseung stops his movements entirely, coming up and resting his chin on your stomach. He sits there and waits for you to calm down, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“But, I thought you wanted His forgiveness?” he presses, the fakest pout you’ve ever seen plastered upon his swollen, pink lips. You shake your head again, sucking in a shaky breath as you force your lips to move.

“Not from you! You don’t even,” you sob, “you don’t even know what this is doing to me.”

Heeseung smirks, hooking his hands under your knees and resting them on his shoulders. “I do,” he says before kissing your pussy again. “I know it’s killing you to do this, so let me help.”

“I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance,” and you just don’t stop. You sob and wail and sniffle out into the world, but you don’t stop him. You don’t kick him in the face or pull him off your pussy, you let him continue. You let him turn you into this sinful sack of mush because you’re selfish.

This feeling he’s giving you, this release, it’s too good. It feels better than anything you’ve ever experienced in your whole life, and some sick and twisted piece of you wants to see how it ends.

“To sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin,” he just keeps going. You’re thankful he doesn’t say the last line; thankful he spares you the shame and guilt of having Jesus Christ’s name spoken against the organ made for temptation.

But you think about it - about the whole situation, and it fucks with you. Because why are you pulling him closer? Why do you want the piece of cloth separating his mouth and your core gone? Why are you craving something that you know you shouldn’t; why is the heat building up so exponentially that you’re becoming scared?

“Heeseung,” you choke out, “I,”

He laughs into you, looking up through his eyelashes at your fucked out state. “I know, baby, I know.” He continues his pace, moaning as your hand tugs at his hair. “It hurts, but when it’s done,” he pauses his movements, “it’s gonna feel so much better.”

You bite your lip and nod at his words, relaxing yourself as you attempt to welcome this feeling. Heeseung mutters a quiet praise at your obedience before returning to his previous task. It’s all so much, suddenly. The ceiling no longer provides you with the mental escape it had before, and all you can think about is the heat bubbling in your stomach and how it aches.

How it burns through you like the fire in Hell; ripping you apart from the inside out as it gives you a taste of what you’ll be experiencing in the eternal afterlife. This is sin. Sin hurts, it hurts so bad. You want to run away, to push Heeseung off your soaking pussy and hide away in your room. You want to cry and cry and cry and never stop crying; the tears effectively flushing every ounce of impurity out of your system. You don’t deserve to be revered anymore - not after this.

So, when the wave finally crashes over you and you tug so hard at Heeseung’s hair both of you are sure you’ll pull some out, you let the emotions consume you; all of them. The fear for what this means for your soul; the wanting for more of what Heeseung can offer you; the hurt and anguish of what you’ve come to.

Heeseung doesn’t give. He continues to lap at your core, over your shorts and away from the real thing. He helps you through it; not complaining about the grip you have on him or how your thighs clenched so hard around his face he almost couldn’t breathe. Heeseung just takes it, lets you explore this new realm entirely on your own and how you please.

His genuine praises of your body and sounds, how good you’re handling this, they all fall onto deaf ears. You can’t hear anything anymore; not your labored breaths or the lewd noises Heeseung’s mouth makes - just static.

You want more.

Sinning is addictive.

You understand why one-time sinners can’t give it up, why they can’t just beg for forgiveness and return to their mundane life of simplicity.

When your grip finally softens on Heeseung’s hair and your thighs begin to part, he glances up at you and the way your chest rises and falls with deep, wanting breaths. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs soothing circles into your inner thigh. When he presses a soft kiss to the plush skin, you twitch away, too sensitive to even handle his featherlight touch.

“You feel better?” he asks, attempting once more to kiss your thigh and smiling to himself when you allow it. You just nod, unable to speak while your lips stick together and the last few tears fall past your waterline. 

He sits up, removing your legs from his shoulder. You just stare at him. When you blink, your eyes threaten to close forever. Eternal peace is waiting for you, you can feel it.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” he whispers. Suddenly, Heeseung is closer to your face. He’s petting your hair, pulling your shirt down to cover you, peppering kisses against your jaw. “And I asked you a question.”

“Mhm,” you croak out, nodding with your eyes closed. The world behind your eyes is bright and warm; exactly what you feel with Heeseung. “I feel better. Thank you,” you croak out.

Heeseung chuckles at your fucked out state. All he did was eat you out - over your shorts, may he add - and you’re already giving up? Pathetic. He’ll just have to train you until you can handle more. But not now - no, someone as delicate as you will take time to mold.

“‘M gonna get stuff to clean you up, ‘kay?” he mumbles against your skin. You nod, reaching for his body as he starts to walk away. “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

In the time he’s gone, all you can do is sit there and listen to the static of your brain. There’s no more inner voices anymore, no devil or angel on your shoulders telling you what to do. Just white noise. It’s all so incredibly loud - you can’t handle it. Your sinning has killed all the life inside of you; you’re destined to live a life of deafening silence, the whispered prayers too much for your sensitive ears.

Heeseung returns with a wet washcloth and a new pair of shorts and underwear for you. You can’t help but smile at him. He coos at your state and wipes you down, chuckling when you pull away from the coldness of the cloth. Heeseung tosses the shorts over your face, and stands up. He makes his way over to his door, whispering “change” before he disappears into the hallway.

You decide to sit up. You grimace at the sticky feeling within your shorts, moving quickly to shed them and replace them with the pair Heeseung got for you. As if he knew you were done, Heeseung comes into the room with a glass of water. He makes his way over to you, stopping in front of your figure as he squats down below you. His steady hand hands you the glass, still holding on to it while your own shaky hand lifts it to your chapped lips.

“Hey, hey,” he muses, “slow down.” You don’t listen to his advice, effectively finishing the glass in one fell swoop. Heeseung places his hand on your knee and rubs it soothingly. The two of you sit in silence for a moment. Heeseung stares at you; you avoid his gaze with your arms crossed over your chest.

“I don’t wanna go back there,” you finally speak up. 

Heeseung just tilts his head in confusion, “Back where?”

You point your chin into the direction of your room. “I don’t wanna see Him.”

Heeseung just nods. He stands up, pulls his shirt over his head, and walks over to his dresser. He opens one of the drawers, rummaging through it. When his hands emerge, he’s holding a navy blue t-shirt. Heeseung swiftly pulls the fabric over his head, running a hand through his messed up hair.

“You can spend the night here,” he shrugs, “you know, if you want.”

You finally lift your eyes from your lap to stare at him across the room. You examine his perfect face before drifting your eyes down further. Usually, you’d scold yourself for looking in such places, but you decided you’d deal with repentance in the morning.

You stare at your stepbrother’s gray sweatpants, noting the print visible underneath the wet patch on his crotch. Heeseung’s hands fly to his clothed dick, quickly covering himself from your watchful eyes. “Woah, hey,” he teases, “you never see a guy cum in his pants before?”

You tilt your head, confused by his words. “What?”

“Y’know, like, cum?” He closes his fingers into a fist formation, pumping the air a few times before looking at you, utterly shocked you’re not understanding him.

You just shake your head, and he mumbles a quick ‘forget about it’ before opening another drawer. Heeseung grabs a fresh pair of underwear and some black sweatpants. “Close your eyes,” he says, and you comply. You hear a few soft grunts, some hopping on the floor, before he informs you that you can open them again. 

When you look at him, he’s in a new pair of pants, and you can’t ogle his cock anymore.

Damnit.

Heeseung walks over to you and plops himself on the bed. He yawns before throwing an arm around your waist, beckoning for you to lay down and curl up next to him. You already miss him - somehow. He never really left you, not physically, save for when he let you change without him looking and went to get you a glass of water. But, you missed him.

So, you comply, and you cuddle up close to him and let him wrap his much larger body around yours for protection. You feel the soft rise and fall of his chest; acknowledge the movement of your hair from the breaths he lets out over it. 

You close your eyes and try to calm down, but you can’t help it. You can’t help but imagine Jake instead; imagine it’s him who’s taking care of you and him who’s breathing calms you down. You can’t help the tears that brim in your eyes, but don’t fall because you’ve cried your whole body dry.

You can’t help but think about how this is it - this is the end for you. Your life is truly over. There’s nothing you can do about it.

Jake can’t help the pain and guilt you’ll eventually feel; he’d only pull away from you.

Heeseung can’t help the loneliness that crawls through your bones like a monster trying to merge with your soul.

And God can’t help your conscience. He can’t help you get into those pearly gates, not after tonight. You must remain ruined; remain guilt-ridden while you continue to lay next to your stepbrother.

But then is then and now is now, so you must only focus on that. Only focus on the way Heeseung holds you like you’re a treasure worth cherishing, on the way he softly strokes your spine and hums a hymn he knows you love in an attempt to calm your nerves. 

smut warnings | stepcest, slight dubcon (reader entirely consents however she morally does not want it), fingering, oral (f receiving), heeseung eats reader out over her shorts, nipple sucking, groping, dacryphilia, some dry humping, corruption kink, hella religious humiliation (heeseung mentions it literally every second), use of names (baby sis, little sis, sis, angel) in patronizing way, they keep mentioning they are stepsiblings, this is not respectful to christianity, heeseung is genuinely just getting off to corrupting reader, this is sooo fucked up

Heeseung wasn’t a bad kid. Not everyone you asked would agree with you on that, though. See, Lee Heeseung seemed to have created a sort of name for himself in your small town. His antics always ended up as the gossip that slipped past the lips of the mothers in the Church parking lot; the same Church parking lot you always found yourself standing proudly in.

You only ever looked like you belonged. Your elegant dresses always stunned in comparison to the other girls' plain dresses – too big to fit comfortably in hopes of presenting ‘modestly’, in the words of their prudish mothers. Your mother was no different, however, she never traded beauty for modesty. She was always hyper-focused on the way you looked, further accentuating the stereotype that children’s actions spoke for the parents’ type of person; bad kids existed because their parents were bad people.

No, not bad people in the sense that they did bad things; bad people in the sense that they never followed God’s word closely enough. Take the Yang family, for example. Mr. and Mrs. Yang hardly went to Sunday mass – how blasphemous. The whispers were terrible, and every time they decided to get off their lazy asses and haul to Church, they appeared to be less tentative than the last time. Maybe that’s why their two boys – Jeongin and Jungwon – turned out the way they did.

Long story short, Father Lee caught Yang Jungwon feeling up on the Park’s youngest daughter, Park Minju, by the dumpsters behind the church. The boy got a very stern talking to, (and maybe a few smacks to the knuckles), and he never showed his face inside the church again. Yang Jeongin was caught smoking one of his dad’s cigarett  on es two weeks later, and by the end of the month the Yang family was all packed up and gone in the middle of the night.

The Parks disciplined their daughter very well in the eyes of the townspeople and, apparently, God. She always sat in the back during Sunday school and Sermon, never uttering a word. Minju kept her head down when approaching Father Lee to receive her communion every Sunday, and the ‘thank you’ that slipped past her lips was never audible enough to anyone but the Father. The poor girl never spoke to any of the boys again, save for her older brother, Park Sunghoon, who always kept a tight arm thrown around her shoulder; sharp features turning dangerous anytime someone decided to look at his beloved sister in a less-than-friendly way.

You always thought Minju was a sweet girl.

You always thought the Yang boys were alright, too.

But unfortunately, your opinion meant nothing in the eyes of your fellow townsfolk. Their shitty and outdated interpretation of God’s word was what truly mattered – no, they weren’t biased, not in the slightest.

The only adult who was able to evade the scrutinous gaze of pathetic parents was Father Lee. He was the town’s savior. A man sent from God himself; one of the last true Messiah’s this generation had to offer and someone who truly treated religion as the end-all-be-all it should be.

The man saved the town from becoming a corrupt community that fell victim to the sins of modernity. He saw the holy water becoming watered down and carried buckets upon buckets up to the pearly heaven gates, begging to God on his hands and knees to please, restore the faith in these good people. The slow loss of faith present in the town was quickly reversed, and everyone was happy once more.

The bad people – the Yangs, the Chois, the Kangs – were gone, sensing the sudden unwelcomeness displayed by the community. And finally, the bronze cross that perched atop the Church – marking the highest and most important building in the town – that was once rusted was now brand new, shining so brightly it could truly lead a lost soul to salvation.

Maybe that’s why when Father Lee’s son – Lee Heeseung – came home after being expelled from his third boarding school, everyone kept their mouths shut. Sure, at home, your mother mumbled under her breath about the boy’s “inappropriate” wear, but no sly or condescending remarks were ever made to Father Lee’s face.

Heeseung came back to live with his father when he was a sophomore in high school – just two years older than you had been at the time. He was always uninterested in what was going on around him, black and baggy hood pulled over his red hair that he dyed without his father’s permission. Whispers spread about the boy's seemingly ‘satanic’ style of self-expression, but he never cared.

He heard their whispers, always, yet he never quipped back. These strange patterns in behavior – the smoking, the drinking, the swearing – all developed after his mother had died from an illness. Hearing “she’s in a better place now” a million-thousand times wasn’t good for a twelve year old’s psyche – apparently. After that, he simply spiraled.

Possessed by Beelzebub, that was his diagnosis. And unfortunately for everyone else, the boy rolled with it. Heeseung never minded being the boogeyman; the one parents used as an example of what happened when you didn’t listen to God. Somewhere deep inside the boy, he enjoyed finally having a purpose on this Earth. If people wished to use him as some cheap advertisement for his father’s shitty sermons, then so be it. He didn’t care.

Father Lee cared.

Father Lee cared so much he sent him to the best Protestant disciplinary school in South Korea. That lasted about three months.

So, Heeseung switched to the second best – then the third best, all before his 10th year of school. Father Lee was fed up with his son ruining his reputation within the Church, and so, he made the incredibly hard executive decision and had the boy come back home before he could add a lucky number four to his record.

That was how Lee Heeseung came back to terrorize your poor town.

And your poor household.

It wasn’t a shock to anyone when the rumors of Father Lee courting your mother arose, yet you never asked for confirmation. It simply was not your place – you were a kid. Kids were received the best when their heads were down and mouths closed. That’s why you had such a brilliant reputation of being the Church’s Golden girl.

You were the leader of the dance troupe, the first violinist in the Church’s orchestra, you always stayed to help Father Lee clean up after Sunday Mass – you were the epitome of perfection. A beautiful face and stunning personality came with the package, so it was natural that every teenage girl within a hundred mile radius was simply seething with jealousy towards your person.

They never admitted it out loud – no, how could they? They would then be publicly admitting to sinning. But they talked – oh boy, did they talk. They talked about your choices of clothing, how it all seemed to be inching towards inappropriate and was clearly influenced by outside trends. No adult ever said a word about your style of wear, however.

But how could they forget how you always seemed to wear bras that showed through your shirt? Well, maybe that only happened once and was corrected immediately, but still. You were simply begging for attention from everyone.

It irked the girls how often the town boys seemed to trip over their own feet in order to make your lips curl into that beautiful smile. All the boys who claimed to court them always turned their gazes towards yours, offering small and polite bows with eyes that lingered far too long.

That was it – you made the boys want to sin. And for that fact alone, you had to be placed under very close watch.

Maybe that’s why the official news of your mother and Father Lee’s courtship was seen as a good thing to most people. You would have the close guidance of a preacher with you at all times, and Lee Heeseung would finally have someone to lead after example with – even if you were younger than him.

He never paid you much attention, always giving soft hums and grunts of acknowledgement instead of real words strung into sentences. You didn’t care – he was disgusting. Everything Heeseung did made you scrunch your nose and furrow your eyebrows, deeply concerned for his soul.

The first thing you realized you hated about him was his utter lack of respect; Heeseung never waited for you or your parents before eating. He never sat at the table with patient eyes as he waited for Grace – not even once. Instead, he’d sit there, scooping up some potatoes with his fingers as he sucked them off, eyes fixed on you and your figure. Heeseung would just taunt you, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge to see if you actually lived up to your goodie-two-shoes reputation the town had for you.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes before placing that sickeningly sweet smile back on your face, nodding politely as your new stepfather asked you to lead the family in prayer that night..

“Heeseung,” you said, lifting your eyebrows expectingly. “It’s rude to eat before Grace.”

The boy just snorted out an annoyed laugh at your chastising words as he rolled his eyes. Heeseung shook his head side to side as he leaned forward on the table, elbows splayed out and back hunched in a hideous manner.

“Sorry, princess,” he responded, hands coming together in a loud clap as his fingers intertwined with themselves. Heeseung shut his eyes harshly, desperately trying to make a show of this whole ordeal. He opened one of his eyes, gazing at you from across the table as if to say, ‘get on with it’. You snarled at him before continuing.

For the rest of dinner, Heeseung remained uninterested. He was off in a completely different world as if only half of his physical consciousness was present at the family dinner table. Heeseung would occasionally touch his foot against yours under the table; you’d look up at him with a grumpy look clouding your features, yet his eyes never met yours. When you examined his face, you noticed how his lips never curled into his usual teasing smirk, but how his foot would always stay there. Heeseung waited for you to do something about it – to do something about him, yet you never did.

The second thing that really boiled your blood was the way he treated the house when your parents were gone. Your stepbrother would stay holed up in his room, yet the lack of his physical presence meant nothing. Somehow his entire being would still make itself known throughout the entire house.

You were trying to do your daily bible study. Sure, some people thought it was a little silly how excited you got for it – but you couldn’t help it. Bible study was peaceful; bible study was your quiet time where you could forget about everything in the physical world, completely enveloped within the religious universe you held so close to your soul.

Heeseung didn’t seem to care – he never did. He was too in his own world, too absorbed in his stupid lifestyle to care about what you had going on. His rock music was loud – too loud. You could feel the walls pulsing with every boom of the bass; you swore the mirror in front of you physically shook as it displayed double of you in time with the music.

You groaned loudly, capping off your baby pink highlighter as you slammed your bible shut. Your feet carried you angrily down the hall to his room. The loud bang of your knuckles on wood startled you, but you kept going until Heeseung appeared in front of you.

As his door opened, your eyes narrowed dangerously as your stepbrother came into view. Heeseung just stared at you, eyes hooded and eyebrow cocked as if you were disturbing him. He brought a hand to the back of his head, stroking the red strands of hair as he waited for you to speak.

“Do you have any shame?” was the first thing that came out of your mouth. Your eyes bore into his soul angrily, fists clenched angrily by your side. “I’m trying to study and here you are,” your hands came in front of you, motioning wildly at his figure.

Heeseung’s lips tugged upwards into a knowing smile, and he nodded along to your words. He just waited for you to finish your thoughts, softly pulling his lip in between his teeth as he hummed in acknowledgement.

“With your loud music and – are you smoking?” your mouth fell agape as you dramatically gagged at the stench. Heeseung just laughed softly, disappearing behind the door before emerging a moment later. He had a joint perched in between his fingers, and for some reason, you found yourself absolutely fuming.

“Pink Floyd is awesome when you’re high,” he mumbled and pulled the joint in between his lips, smirking as he took a long drag from it. He decided to make a show of it; eyes trained on you seductively as he felt the smoke fill his lungs with that sweet burning sensation. He pulled off, tilting his head back but kept his eyes on you as he breathed it in and finally exhaled. He brought his hand up through his hair once more, softly tugging on his rough strands.

And this fucker moaned.

Heeseung lowered his gaze to meet your eyes directly, throwing you a sly wink as he held his hand out towards you. “C’mon sis,” he slurred, biting his pink and swollen lips, “you wanna have some fun for once, or what?”

You felt your stomach twist with something – something sick. The heat traveled up your neck, settling comfortably behind your ears and across your delicate cheeks. Heeseung noticed – Heeseung always noticed. He chuckled, cocking his eyebrow up in waiting.

You stared at him – examining his soft and delicate features. You didn’t understand why he did this, why he sat around like a stupid sleazebag and did everything he possibly could to defy the lord. Heeseung was born with a type of beauty many could only dream of achieving, and he was incredibly smart if your memory served you well. He had a delicate speaking voice, one that would cause any passersby to turn and hear his prayer. Heeseung’s singing voice was on a completely other level; the sheer daydream of hearing the heavenly feature bouncing off the walls of the chapel were enough to send goosebumps raging over your skin.

He could’ve been perfect; could’ve been someone everyone in the town adored as he offered polite bows and soft smiles. He could’ve been the epitome of a physical manifestation of the Lord and everything good in the world He created – yet here he was, being the sole reason his expiration date was nearing sooner.

You frowned at him softly, deep in your thoughts about what wasted potential he was. Finally, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you gave in and delivered the exact reaction he wanted. “I want you to be quiet,” you said, trying your best to sound sincere. “If you let me study in peace, I won’t tell mom or dad what you get up to when they’re gone.”

Heeseung chuckled, taking another drag from the joint – however this one was much faster. He sucked the smoke in, wincing at the burn it offered him, before turning over his shoulder and blowing it away from you. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, clicking his lips and winking at you before shutting the door in your face.

After that incident, you noticed a steady decline in his obnoxious behaviors towards you. That didn’t stop you from finding more reasons to hate him, however.

Lucky number three: he was constantly on his phone, nose buried deep in the device as if it was his lifeline. He never treated God with this reverence, never touched his bible with such delicate fingers. Yet, here Heeseung was, posture slumped against your now-shared pew as he furiously tapped away. His expression always remained stoic, his lips only curling into a sinful smirk when his eyes would flick up to the top of his screen.

You stare at the device hovered over his lap as you furrowed your eyebrows in disgust. He couldn’t go without it, even at Sunday Mass – gosh, this guy was pathetic. You nudged your elbow into his side, keeping your eyes fixed on the people shuffling through the doors as they made their way up to your stepfather. They all offered him polite bows before turning their attention to you – his family – sat in the front pews. Small smiles were sent your way, yet Heeseung was always met with looks of disdain. It wasn’t like he ever saw them; too absorbed in his fictional world to care for the very real world around him.

“Can you put that away for once,” you whisper-yelled, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. Heeseung groaned, nudging you back in response. One of the strings to his hoodie, (yes, hoodie, because God forbid he actually dresses up for the most important day of the week), was perched in between his lips. He softly nibbled on it, rolling the plastic piece in between his fingers.

“Heeseung,” you tried again. Your stepbrother responded with your own name, breathing it out in the same exasperated way you did. You found yourself rolling your eyes, “You look ridiculous,” you offered, hoping it would gain a little bit of his attention.

Heeseung frowned next to you, a soft but mocking whine slipping past his lips. “Really?” he said, sighing dramatically, “and here I was, about to compliment you on your cute dress.”

Your eyes snapped in his direction, that horrible feeling curling deep inside your stomach as the heat once again crawled up your body painfully slow. “What?” you breathed out, completely exasperated with whatever game he was playing.

Heeseung clicked his phone off, shoving it into the pockets of his gray sweatpants as he slumped into the pew. “Yeah, I mean it,” he said, resting his head against the back of the bench; not a care in the world for the people sitting behind him. Your eyes moved to your lap, examining the fabric carefully. Your hands played with themselves nervously as Heeseung blew a dramatic bubble next to you.

“It really shows off your figure – very Godlike, you know?”

Heeseung smirked after finishing his statement, completely aware of how his comment would affect you. He knew it would get under your skin – knew it would make you second guess your outfit choice. Suddenly, you were much too aware of the eyes on you; it felt as though everyone in the church shared the same views as your stepbrother. Shame slowly built up in your stomach as your eyes found a spot on the floor to stare at absentmindedly.

A pair of shoes came into frame that you recognized instantly as your stepfather. You peered up at him with teary eyes, unsure of what to do. He offered you a soft smile as he placed his hand on your cheek. He didn’t hold it there for long, simply giving you two affectionate pats before turning his annoyed attention towards Heeseung.

“Heeseung, my boy,” he started. You noticed how intentional he was with his tone, desperately trying to avoid catching wandering eyes and curious ears. Your stepfather held his hand out, palm open and fingers splayed. He wiggled his fingers, shoving his hand closer to Heeseung’s mouth. “Spit it out.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes and smirked, leaning forward with his arms still crossed in front of his chest. He craned his neck, looking up at his father sweetly through his eyelashes. He opened his mouth slowly, letting the gum fall out and into his father’s palm. Heeseung leaned back against the church pew. His body turned to face you, curious.

That was another thing; he was always chewing gum. Heeseung could never chew it normally – no, of course not. Why would he? He always had to chew it loudly and obnoxiously, and anytime you’d turn to give him a scowl or hurl chastising words his way, he’d stop. A sigh of relief would slip past your lips which always seemed to egg him on. Heeseung’s lips would form his usual annoying smirk as his eyes would lock in on yours.

His head would always be cocked to the right, and he’d start playing with it. Heeseung’s tongue would dart out to wet his lips before retreating back into his mouth, swirling the sugary pink gum around obscenely. He’d make a show of it – like he did with everything.

You could see his eyes light up with something sinful as he’d eye you up and down, a soft groan slipping past his lips that quickly turned into a mocking laugh. You’d furrow your eyebrows, snarling at him as you got up to leave whatever situation he had you trapped in. The worst part – that stupid, ugly, annoying feeling would bubble up into your stomach again.

No matter what, you could never figure out what it was. It wasn’t like you could ask your mother or stepfather because you knew this feeling was deeply associated with sin, you just couldn’t figure out how. The way Heeseung made you feel when he put on crude shows like that – it wasn’t anger, no, it was something else. The feeling annoyed you – disgusted you to no end. Especially considering the fact that you could never figure out how to get rid of it afterwards.

It would sit there, long and absence way overdo, distracting you from whatever activity you picked up to distract yourself from it. You wanted to know; wanted to know what it was, why it happened, how to get rid of it and how to never let it happen again. It kept you up at night as you tossed and turned, playing previous scenes with Heeseung over and over in your head.

Lee Heeseung – that bastard.

Your stupid stepbrother was so stupid, in fact, that he seemed to create a whole new emotion for you; anger mixed with something. You’d curl in on yourself, pulling the blankets up closer to your chin, thighs clenching together without meaning. It soothed the feeling – only a little. Part of you still hurt, still craved for more.

But you knew that part of you was the Devil talking, so you ignored it. You ignored your stepbrother and the ache he left behind after his vulgar displays, ignored his knowing looks and his suggestive comments – you ignored it all because it didn’t mean anything. He was trying to get under your skin; trying to see how long it took before he could break you. Heeseung wanted to take your hand in his, whispering sweet nothings as he led you down that irreversible path of sin he seemed to own.

Well, it wasn’t going to happen. That you were sure of.

It seemed as though any time Heeseung’s face plagued your mind, one more reason to despise him was added to the cookie jar; because right now, in the middle of the bi-annual Church picnic, Heeseung was face deep in his phone and smirking. This smirk was different; this smirk was devilish. He kept peering over his shoulder, practicing caution and hoping that nobody could view his screen.

You stared at him from across the lawn, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“[Name], are you even listening?” your friend, Hanni, groaned. Her hands were waving maniacally in front of your face. You turned to her, straightening out your features as you forced a smile – an attempt to apologize for your wandering mind. “What’re you even looking at?”

Hanni peered over her shoulder, looking in the direction of your stepbrother. She rolled her eyes, mimicking your earlier disdain, and waved her hands as if to say, ‘forget about it’. “He’s so weird,” she said, turning on her heel and plopping herself down onto the picnic blanket you two had spread out. “He’s always on his phone – what’s he doing, anyways?”

You shrugged, scoffing at the mention of his behavior. “Talking to girls, probably,” you muttered. You sat down next to Hanni, hands tangling into the rough blades of grass below you. “He’s always texting them from a few towns over, but it’s never anything serious.”

Hanni cocked her head curiously, lips forming a pout. “Like, he won’t court them?” she asked innocently. You turned to meet her eyes, shaking your head as you let out an exasperated sigh.

“Nope,” you said, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth. “But he sure is taking up their time.”

Heeseung always talked to girls with no intention of officially courting them and making them his wife. He was cheating the system – entirely. Courting was a tradition, something that everybody had to go through. That’s how it worked – point, blank, period. A guy fancied a girl and so, with her parents’ blessing, he began the process of courting her.

Sometimes suitors were arranged by families, but sometimes they were organic. It was a rite of passage; a surefire way for a woman to begin her duties on this planet. After marrying her suitor, a woman could finally fulfill her prophecy: becoming a mother.

Everyone followed the process, and everyone respected it. Not Heeseung, though. No, of course, not Heeseung. He never followed the system – he broke the system. He had secret girlfriends at his private schools and random numbers that would text him late at night asking what he was doing. Heeseung would sneak out, stealing your stepfather’s car and returning before the sun came up.

You knew what he was doing. You knew, but you didn’t want to admit it. Your heart ached at the thought that someone could commit such a level of sin so willingly. And so, you ignored it. You ignored his smirks and chuckles at his screen; the way he would clear his throat suddenly and shift his body, groaning softly as he moved his legs to a more comfortable position.

You ignored the muted conversations you heard him having through his phone as you passed by his room – especially the ones he preferred to have with his voice down low. You lived your life trying to forget about Heeseung’s existence, yet it never fully worked.

Hanni giggles, slapping your shoulder playfully. “Don’t talk like that, [Name], it’s crude.” Even though she was correcting your behavior, soft and breathy giggles continued to slip past her lips. “Speaking of courting,” she continues, voice becoming a little too sing-song for your liking. Hanni wiggles her eyebrows teasingly as she leans in closer, “How’s Jake?”

A smile spreads across your face faster than you can correct it. You giggle nervously at her comment, shrugging once more – it really is a terrible habit for you. “It’s okay,” you begin. When you look at her, she’s expecting more – egging you on to tell her about all the cheesy things your suitor has done for you. “It’s better than okay,” you finish. Heat flushes up your neck and settles across your cheeks, painting them a soft shade.

Jake was a sweet boy – the sweetest. He truly seemed to care about you. Maybe it had to do with the whole ‘pastor’s stepdaughter’ thing, but you didn’t care. You only cared that you had someone as devout as you; who touched the Bible like the sacred collection of works it was. Jake was an altar boy – and the best at that. Your stepfather always praised him at your house, discussing how excited he was for Jake to become an official member of the family.

Heeseung would always scoff and mumble something under his breath, calling Jake a ‘kiss-ass’ or saying he was ‘a pathetic excuse for a man’. His comments never bothered you because you knew he was wrong. You knew who Jake was and why he treated you so delicately; he cared. He didn’t exist to get a reaction out of you as Heeseung did, and he never made crude shows of daily activities.

Maybe, you thought, Heeseung was just jealous. Maybe Heeseung had realized how bad he messed up his own life, and so seeing someone as righteous as Jake get praised for things Heeseung could never even imagine doing was a huge hit to his precious ego. Maybe Heeseung was mad that his father would rather have Jake a son than him; maybe Heeseung was just mad that you preferred Jake’s company over his.

Hanni looked past you, grabbing your shoulders suddenly as her smile beamed. “Go talk to him, c’mon!” she said, pointing behind you. You turned around to see Jake standing at the lunch table, plate in hand as he smiled kindly at the older woman asking about him. Hanni ushered you up, giving you a quick shove in Jake’s direction as you turned around and shot her a look.

Your feet carried you towards him, however. As you made your way to the table, you passed Heeseung sitting in his lawn chair. He peered up at you through the loose strands littering his forehead, giving you a curious look before jutting his foot out and catching onto your shin.

You stumbled forward, catching yourself before you could fall and make a fool out of yourself. Heeseung sat upright, glancing over his shoulder and frowning when he noticed you still standing. “Aw, man,” he mumbled, shaking his head and snuggling back into his baggy, black hoodie.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh, but quickly quelled the anger as you ventured towards Jake. He saw you approaching and smiled at you, offering a polite wave as he cocked his head. His eyes glanced over your dress briefly, before settling onto the bow nestled in your hair.

“Hey, [Name],” he said. Jake grabbed a plate and handed it to you before motioning for you to step ahead of him in line. You giggled softly at his kind gesture, cheeks flushing. “You look pretty today – not that you don’t usually look pretty, but today,” he inhaled a shaky breath, desperately trying to calm his nerves and get rid of the awkwardness he presented. “You look very pretty.”

You smiled and bit your lip subconsciously, trying not to seem too eager for Jake’s attention. “Thank you, Jake.” You said, looking over his outfit. Jake always opted for pastel colored shirts on special occasions; deviating from his usual rainbow of blue button-ups he wore underneath his robes every Sunday. “I like your shirt,” you say, beginning to return his compliment. “The color’s nice, it reminds me of,”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before you heard someone clear their throat obnoxiously behind you. The two of you turned around and were met with Heeseung; standing there with his gum smacking and his hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked at the two of you expectingly, as if he’d asked a question and the two of you were obligated to answer.

“Can I help you, Heeseung?” you said, not even bothering to hide the venom that laced your words. Heeseung chuckled and shook his head, wiggling himself in between the two of you as he grabbed a plate and scanned the appetizer options in front of him.

“You two are a bit too close, yeah?” he responded. Heeseung’s usual teasing tone was amplified in this moment, and you hated how it was already starting to get under your skin.

You scoffed, “What are you even talking about?” That was your first mistake. You admit it – you’re well aware of how often Heeseung likes to tease your seemingly innocent way of living. You always asked stupid questions for clarification, and it was never a problem. Not until Heeseung realized he could tease you – rile you up higher than he would if he’d just said something rude instead.

“Your bodies,” he emphasized the word, eyebrows raising slightly, “c’mon, sis, I thought you were big into leaving space for Jesus.” Your fists clenched at your sides, eyes twitching as you tried your best not to smack Heeseung right across his stupid face.

Jake intervened – which he really shouldn’t have – before you could do anything too rash. “It’s not like that,” he said, offering Heeseung a polite smile in an attempt to calm the situation down, “we were just talking.”

Heeseung let out an overdramatic cackle at Jake’s words, “Just talking?” He said the words like it was the most obvious lie in the whole world. “C’mon, man, you should know better than anyone that khakis don’t do anything to hide a boner.”

Heeseung’s hands motioned to Jake’s khaki pants. Jake smoothed his palms down the sides of his thighs, taking in a deep breath in as he prepared to divert the conversation. Heeseung didn’t stop, though; why would he? He brought his fingers up to his lips, looking at the different options of salads provided before him.

“Hey, there’s no shame in it, Jakey,” he mocked, scooping a big dollop of something mayonnaise covered onto his blue paper plate. “She’s hot. And that dress she’s wearing?” he let out a low whistle, turning over his shoulder to glance at your figure.

That stupid feeling was back. It seemed worse, this time. The way Heeseung gazed at you – predatory and perverted, it was disgusting. He had no right to say this kind of stuff – no right to even think it. Yet, here he was, saying it out loud for the world and your future fiancé to hear. Heeseung said it so casually too, as if he was talking about the weather or asking when the next chorus rehearsal was. Your cheeks flushed deeply, and your palms were suddenly soaked in your own sweat. You didn’t know why you felt like crying, but you did. Warm tears pricked into your eyes, but you willed them away.

The last thing you wanted was to show Heeseung that what he said had its effects on you.

“Word of advice, though,” he said, turning around. Heeseung kept the big plastic spoon in his hand, resting it against Jake’s chest as he poked him with two fingers. Jake turned his head to look down at the spoon, a mayonnaise stain already blossoming onto his new shirt. “She’s a prude – won’t let you get in her pants until she’s got a ring on her finger.”

Heeseung paused, giving a teasing smile as he looked up towards the sky in thought. “Oh, wait,” he said as he turned to you, “if you try hard enough, she might.” Jake swallowed thickly at Heeseung’s comments, glancing over to you nervously. Your nostrils flared in anger as your vision blurred from tears. Heeseung just cooed at your reaction, putting the spoon back in the dish as he brought his wrist up to his mouth. He licked a grotesque stripe up the flesh, catching some stray condiment that spilled on him at some point during this whole encounter.

The action caught you off guard, and you squirmed under his watchful gaze. Heeseung simply chuckled, enjoying how you acted when he was present. “Am I right with that, [Name]?”

You don’t remember doing it, but somehow, your hand met Heeseung’s face with a force strong enough to cause him to stumble back. Shocked gasps rang out across the lawn, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care how you had given in to sin and let someone anger you enough to slap them; you didn’t care how your reputation sank, and your little-miss-perfect personality faltered. You were simply livid.

“Leave me alone, Heeseung,” you said through gritted teeth. Tears began to spill from your eyes in quick and hot spurts as you let out a choked out sob. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but count me out.”

You grabbed a wad of napkins and made your way the few steps over to Jake, dabbing softly at his shirt in an attempt to try and get some of the stain out. Heeseung sat there, wide-eyed with a red handprint that matched his hair. Jake had no idea what to do, simply bringing his hands up to meet your shaking arms. He shushed you, trying to get you to calm down. Jake didn’t care about his stupid shirt anymore, and he didn’t care that the three of you were causing a scene; all he wanted was for you to stop crying.

-

You thanked Jake for his comfort before you left without the rest of your family. All you wanted to do was curl in on yourself, forgetting that any of what transpired ever took place. Life was never that easy, unfortunately, because Heeseung’s words continued to play on a loop in your mind. Over and over, never pausing even when you tried to recite your favorite Bible verses for comfort.

The way his eyes raked over your body; how his smirk danced across his face in an invitation; his overall assumption that, if given the opportunity, you’d sleep with any guy you could. You hated it - hated him. You hated the way his face appeared in the middle of your dreams, imaginary hands grabbing your waist and pulling you into a never ending pit in the middle of the ground.

You hated how, in your mind, when you got there, you didn’t want to leave and wished you could stay with your stepbrother. You wished you could continue to rest on his lap with his hand petting your hair like you were some kind of fucking pet; his voice cooing in your ear as tears prickled into your eyes when you became so overwhelmed with sin.

You looked down at your own lap. His hand was placed delicately between your thighs, pressing lengthy fingers against your clothed pussy. Heeseung licked a strip along your neck and you shivered. A soft moan broke free as his hand moved your underwear to the side, two fingers softly prodding against the wetness and warmth of your innocence.

Your eyes snapped open. You laid there on your side, thighs tightly clenched together as the underwear underneath your shorts clung to you. You could feel the wetness that seeped into the fabric; feel the way your body quivered when it brushed against you with your movements.

It was late – too late for you to be awake, but all you could think about was Heeseung. What he said – what he did as he spoke. It was back, of course, it was back. Because Heeseung’s words weren’t enough; they had to affect you.

You flung the covers off your body and placed your bare feet on the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom. You gripped the sheets with your fingers, letting out a shaky breath as you clenched your thighs together. Your breath quickly turned into something else, and your eyes snapped open at the realization.

No. You weren’t going to let sin overtake you.

You let out a soft whimper as you stood up, shame building deep inside your chest. You hurt and ached and wanted nothing more than to feel better – for this feeling to go away and allow you to fall back asleep. Maybe that’s why your feet moved without you noticing and why your hand reached for your doorknob without your permission.

Your feet softly padded against the floor of your hallway until you found yourself in front of Heeseung’s door. You stared at the bareness of it – the sleek white paint looked as though it was painted only yesterday. For some reason, you never noticed how clean it was compared to Heeseung’s personality. Your lips quivered and suddenly you were crying; crying without reason and without remorse for what you were about to do.

Finally, you brought your shaky fist up to the door, softly tapping your knuckles against the wood. You waited – half wondering if you should just turn around and go into your room as if nothing happened. But then the door opened, and Heeseung’s eyes met yours. He ran his hand through his hair, staring at you in confusion. Usually, when you saw this scene, Heeseung was smirking or winking at you, fully aware that you were there to complain about him.

But now you were crying and there was nothing he could think of that was making you feel this way. Sure, he toed the line a little too far during the Picnic, but the idea that what he said was still bothering you was completely lost on him. So, when the silence stretched a little too long, he simply whispered your name, urging you to talk.

You jumped a little, half expecting the man in front of you to be a hallucination and not at all a manifestation of the physical world. You nibbled on your bottom lip and smoothed your palms against your sleep shorts. “Something’s wrong,” you whispered.

He cleared his throat, eyebrows furrowing as he cocked his head to the side. Heeseung swallowed carefully before opening his door wider, “Did you wanna come in?”

There was a sense of hesitation in your movements before you nodded, slipping past his figure into his hardly lit bedroom. It was now that you realized you’d never really been inside of Heeseung’s room – you’d only seen it through the crack that he allowed when you were yelling at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You couldn’t ignore the genuine concern laced in his tone – something completely peculiar coming from him. You shook your head and kept your eyes trained on the floor, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“I,” you began, and your voice cracked. You felt so shameful in this moment – so bare and put on display for the last person you wanted to see you in this vulnerable state. “I don’t feel good – like, it hurts.”

He sat down on the chair by his desk, patting the edge of the bed for you to sit in front of him. You complied, carefully sitting on his burgundy bedspread. “What hurts?” he asked.

You took your hands off your lap and motioned to your body – all of it because, honestly, you weren’t entirely sure where the pain was really coming from. Heeseung laughed, yet no venom was present in the sound. The noise was more out of disbelief; like he was saying ‘c’mon, sis, give me something to work with here’.

His hand found purchase on your knee delicately, calmly thumbing your soft skin. “Here?” he offered, trying to get the answer out of you. You shook your head and he frowned, already frustrated with how closed off you were getting.

“Up,” you choked out. Heeseung cocked his eyebrow before slowly sliding his hand up your thigh – only a few inches. When you shook your head again, he cleared his throat.

“[Name],” he didn’t want to admit it. Sure, he thought you were hot; and sure, he caught himself staring at your lips and your waist, maybe even craning his neck to see the swell of your ass as you walked by. Yeah, maybe you slipped into his mind while his hand was wrapped around his cock and some random girl was giving him the sweetest sounds in the world on the other side of the phone – but he would never act on it.

Your lips quivered at his words; head ducked in shame. Heeseung sighed – he hated seeing you like this. He ran his hand through his hair, leaning forward and cooing at you softly. “If you want me to help you,” he started, “then you need to help me.”

Your eyes moved up to look at him, tears blurring your vision from appreciating him to the fullest. You nodded in agreement, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Where does it hurt, [Name] – show me,” he said the words so softly – such care laced throughout every pronounced syllable that you couldn’t help but flush at his tone. So, with shaky fingers you picked his hand up from your leg, clasping it in between your smaller ones. Slowly but deliberately, you moved his hand just above the ache between your thighs, barely on your stomach. You held it there; his palm flattened against your shorts.

Heeseung blinked at you in utter shock as he parted his lips. He didn’t mean for the moan to slip past his lips, really – but this was a lot. Heeseung could admit he was fucked in the head, honestly. He knew it and he embraced it with every fiber of his being. Half of his wet dreams involved this exact scenario: you coming into his room and begging him to take your innocence away.

He couldn’t explain it – couldn’t tell anyone why if they dared to ask – but he just wanted to ruin you. He wanted to see you fall apart under him; see you begging for more of his touch as he cooed at you softly. Heeseung wanted you to cry under him; he wanted you to feel so much shame for your actions that you couldn’t do anything but let him devour you.

Maybe that’s why he hated Jake so much – he hated the idea that Jake would be the one to take this from you. Heeseung knew guys like Jake; he knew how they fucked. They fucked slowly and sensually – making sure every stroke of their cock was giving you the most amount of pleasure possible. They made sure you were comfortable; made sure you felt loved and cherished. It was pathetic.

Girls like you deserved to be fucked right – face buried in the pillow, ass high up in the air, sheets stained from tears and drool and snot because you were so fucked out you didn’t even care how you looked – you just cared that you were getting the best dick of your life.

Jake wasn’t the guy to show that to you; Heeseung was.

“Please, Heeseung,” you whispered, effectively pulling him out of his vile thoughts. “I want to be better – I want this gone.”

Heeseung nodded, softly tapping your skin where his hand was placed before letting that terrible smirk overtake his expression. “I got you,” he said, standing up. His hand moved from your stomach to your chin. He held it there – admiring how you looked in this moment.

Your cheeks were flushed and nose raw; your lips were puffy and red and already covered in saliva from how often you licked them; your cheeks were tear stained and eyes glassy – fuck, he could cum from this sight alone. No girl in the whole world ever gave him this sight – not the older one he met when he was fourteen and sneaking out of his private school; not the girl he fucked in the bathroom of a nightclub; not even the girl who cornered him in the chapel at church camp and rode him like her life depended on it.

You were special to him – you fulfilled every sick and twisted fantasy he could conjure up.

“You trust me, yeah?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity. You nodded furiously as your cheeks squished against the fingers holding your face in place. “I can help you – I can make you feel better.”

Heeseung leaned in, pecking the tip of your nose before pulling away ever so slightly. He examined your features; examined your reaction to this whole situation. Heeseung half expected you to back out – calling in his father and pointing at the boy in fear and anger, crying about how he really was the Devil reincarnated. But you didn’t.

Instead, you looked at him as if he was showing you the world – which he was, in some sick and twisted way. Your eyes followed him before flicking down to his lips, a shaky and unknowing breath escaping you and fanning over his delicate face. He squished his fingers closer together, pushing the fat of your cheeks closer in a way that he found to be utterly adorable.

Heeseung smiled and breathed out a laugh before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. “Look at you,” he whispered against your skin. He pulled back and kissed your temple, “So pretty.” He moved on to the corner of your lips – kissing once, twice before he left his lips there.

You whimpered at his softness, relishing in the way he was treating you. Your eyelashes fluttered shut,  waiting for his next movements. You were too scared to move or do anything - you wanted to let him take the lead; let him show you what to do and relieve this ache that’s been taunting you for months.

Heeseung chuckled at you, “And such pretty sounds, too.” He pulled away from your face and examined you. His smirk appeared again - as you assumed it would this entire night. “Can you lay down for me?”

His voice was disgustingly sweet; honey-soaked and dipped in chocolate all in the effort to make this enjoyable. You looked up at him and nodded, nibbling on your lip. You scooted back a little before laying down - your back touched the sheets and you shivered.

So much was going through your mind - so many new emotions and sensations rushing through your body that you didn’t know what to do. Heeseung seemed to sense the nerves jittering your body as he placed his hand over your stomach. You squeezed your eyes shut at his touch. He kept his hand there for a minute, rubbing small circles over the skin underneath your t-shirt. 

He moved his hand down, fingers playing with the waistband of your shorts delicately. Heeseung started to tug at them, but your hands shot up to grab his wrist, a yelp of “No!” slipping past you as your eyes shot open. “I don’t,” you said, gasping for air already, “I want you to keep them on!”

He pulled the waistband of your shorts up before releasing it with a snap. The sudden noise startled you and you gasped, lip quivering as you met his eyes. “Why?”

You shook your head, ears refilling your eyes. “I just want to - okay?” They way the last plea was barely audible did something to Heeseung. The tears, the quiver of your voice, the way you looked and acted so small once he finally got his hands on you - it was all perfect.

“Okay,” he said, leaning down and pecking your cheek. “I’ll try - but, I can’t help myself, sis. You’re too,” he paused, making his way over to his bedside table. Heeseung bent down, plugging in the lights that hung around his room so he could see you better - deciding the moonlight seeping through his windows wasn’t enough.

When he stood back up, he strolled towards you with dangerous eyes. He settled to the side of you, leaning forward and twisting his torso so his hands caged your head in on both sides. You licked your lips in waiting. Heeseung slung his legs over you, now caging your thighs tightly with his own. 

His hand came up, thumb separated from the other fingers as he dragged it over your bottom lip, collecting the small amount of spit that remained after you’d licked them. “Tempting,” he finished as he leaned closer to you.

You felt his breath fan over your lips before he finally interlocked them. It was softer than you thought it would be. In your mind leading up to this moment, you believed you’d be ravaged - like Heeseung would take everything he possibly could and never even make an attempt to give it back to you.

He didn’t, though. Heeseung let his soft lips press against your pink and swollen ones, hand cupping your jaw with tenderness. He didn’t push you; didn’t force his tongue past your delicate fortress, even though holding himself back from doing so was physically painful. 

You followed his rhythm delicately, whimpering softly into his mouth as his hand slid down to your chest and cupped your breast. Heeseung’s hand rested there as he massaged the skin through your shirt - smirking when his hand delicately glided over your nipple and he felt you squirm under him.

He pulled back and admired you; admired the way you looked under his much bigger body and the way you sounded when his hands touched you in places he was sure you didn’t even know could feel this good. Heeseung’s thumb circled your nipple, and although this entire situation was driven by nothing but sexual desires and lust, the action didn’t feel that sexual at all.

Heeseung was careful with his touch, making sure to let his hands do the talking when his words failed him. Was he absolutely over the moon like a cow in a fairytale when you knocked on his door and begged him to ‘make you feel better’? Fuck yeah, he was. Was he absolutely terrified that he would push too hard and scare you away, forcing him to live a life without ever seeing your face again? Fuck, yeah - unfortunately.

So, he kept teasing your nipple. “You okay?” he whispered, eyes scanning your flushed face. When you nodded back at him, a smile fell across his lips. Not a smirk, not a stupid grin - a genuine, real smile. At that moment, you were sure your stepbrother was the prettiest boy God had ever sent down to Earth. 

“I love how you look right now,” he began, hand removing itself from your chest as it snaked down to the hem of your shirt. He pushed it up, hand running across your bare skin as he exposed it to the world. “But, I’m gonna need you to start using your words.”

Heeseung leaned forward - teeth latching onto your collarbone in a soft nip before he kissed it better. The open mouthed kisses he traced along your skin as he made his way down to the curve of your chest were mind-numbing. You weren’t sure how you were gonna stick it out for his ‘demonstration’, feeling the ache between your thighs already quell down with only his current actions.

When he reached your breast, he pecked it. Heeseung left his mouth against your skin, breath fanning hot and ragged over it as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. He looked absolutely heavenly at this moment. His ‘cool guy’ facade was slipping and you could tell this was affecting him just as much as it was affecting you; glassy eyes almost begging for something from you.

“I want you to watch from now on,” he said in an attempt to make you look at him.

Your chest rose and fell desperately; your breath completely out of your control as you willed your entire body to not violently shake at every new feeling he presented to you. You shook your head, eyes clenched shut as you brought your arm over your face to hide your mouth in the crook of your elbow. “I can’t - Heeseung, I can’t do -” a moan slipped past your lips when he licked a stripe from the underside of your breast up to your now pert nipple. The heat of his wet tongue contrasted to the cool air filtering in through his window was definitely something.

Heeseung reached up towards you. His fingers carefully wrapped around your wrist as he moved your arm above your head. You still refused to look at him. The ceiling above you was much easier to focus on - plain white and not making you commit the most sin you ever have.

“Down here, baby sis,” Heeseung whispered, licking another stripe in the same spot he had before. “God isn’t here - he can't help you.” Those words made you gaze down at him through half-lidded and teary eyes.

None of this was right - none of this should attract you or make your thighs clench together or make that annoying feeling in your stomach ten times worse. This was sin on so many levels. You were supposed to be saving yourself; supposed to let Jake be the first man to ever lay a hand on your bare skin - after the two of you were married, of course.

But, here you were. Goodie-two-shoes, the Golden Girl of Church, all spread out in the middle of the night with her stepbrother sucking on her fucking nipple. He relished in the soft noises you made at his comment, loved to know that right now, in this very moment, you were thinking about your beloved God.

God. Heeseung was God; your God. In this moment, you were fully prepared to drop to your knees and worship Heeseung at the twisted altar he’d built for you. You wanted to drink his blood as he gazed down at you with those dark and teasing eyes - legs spread wide for whenever you felt like your mouth was too empty. You wanted him to leave black handprints along your white dress; wanted him to stain you with impurity as he ripped every ounce of innocence left from your bare hands.

And if you cried? God, you didn’t even care if you cried anymore. You kinda hoped it would turn him on, if you were being completely honest.

So, when his hands smoothed down the curve of your waist, and when his mouth followed suit, kissing a line down your stomach, you let loose. The tears flowed instantly - quiet at first. Heeseung was so focused on his actions; so focused on the feeling of your smooth and pure skin touching his rough and tainted lips. He didn’t notice your switch, didn’t notice how you closed your eyes and mumbled a quick prayer begging God for His forgiveness.

Heeseung reached the hem of your shorts. He kissed over the fabric delicately as his hands continued to rub circles over your hips. “‘m gonna make it feel better, ‘kay?” he mumbled against your waistband.

A sob slipped past your lips as you nodded. Your eyes squeezed themselves shut as you sniffled, sucking in a shaky breath as you waited for Heeseung to move.

And move he did. Heeseung delicately cupped his hand over your clothed pussy, holding it there carefully. He kissed your shorts again, resting his forehead against your lower abdomen as he took in a deep breath. Slowly, his fingers moved. Electricity surged through your body; you involuntarily arched off his mattress, another sob falling from your swollen lips.

Heeseung just chuckled against you, a soft whisper of “Yeah, that’s it,” ringing in your ears as you focused on the sensation. Slow, languid yet calculated movements; everything done with the purpose of curing your apparent sickness. 

His fingers stroked your pussy up and down, the fabric from your shorts acting as the only barrier between a man and his seeming birthright. You moaned softly; it was working. You were feeling better, feeling the hurt dissipate into something else, something disgusting and sinful.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” he asked, placing another kiss on your shorts before he looked up at you. His hands continued their movements; wet slick causing your clothing to stick to his fingers. Heeseung liked the way your body was reacting, liked to watch you arch up and try to quell your moans.

You nodded at his words, another sob coming from you as you opened your sticky mouth to speak. “Mhm,” you hummed, keeping your eyes shut. Heeseung ceased his movements and hummed back, clicking his lips as he saw your state.

“You're not watching,” he whispered. You looked at him with quivering lips, nodding for no reason. 

“Feels good, Hee,” you sobbed again. “Really good.”

Heeseung exhaled, “Want me to show you something better?”

His usual smirk returned as he curled a brow, hands moving once more. He waited for your soft nod, and when it came, he slid his hands up to your waist, holding you there. Heeseung began trailing kisses from your lower abdomen, taking his sweet time as he enjoyed you writhing underneath him. He made his way down to your clothed cunt, examining the growing wet patch carefully.

Heeseung let out a low whistle, lightly biting his lip as he glanced up at you. “Look at you,” he hummed, scoffing when he heard yet another sob fall from your lips. “So wet for her stepbrother.”

Another sniffle of your nose and a shake from your head, trying so hard to deny the truth. You couldn’t deny it - the proof was right there. You came into Heeseung’s room late at night and asked him to make you feel better, and he was doing just that. You keened into his touch like a demon starved, and you silently cursed him for pulling his hands away from where it ached most.

Heeseung didn’t wait long before moving again; a soft kiss over your clit and you arched once more. Your hands flew to cover your tearfilled eyes, hiding the rest of your face in the process. Heeseung tutted softly before kissing it once more, “You don’t listen - I’m actually kind of offended.”

He shrugged before continuing to kiss your shorts, this time with wet and opened mouthed ones. Kisses saved for necks or bare skin; kisses saved for lovers sharing an intimate bond that cannot be recreated by anyone else; kisses saved for those who trust each other.

You did trust Heeseung, and maybe that was the problem.

He moaned into you, vibrations reverberating throughout and settling deep within your stomach. “Disrespecting your elders - that’s a sin, right?” He continued to eat you out over your shorts, waiting for a response. When it didn’t come, he pulled away and sighed. Heeseung softly pinched your waist, causing you to yelp in surprise. Your hands removed themselves from your face and shot down to his wrists, holding them there.

“I asked you a question,” he mused. Heeseung’s eyes were big and round, almost painting the false picture of innocence. You knew it was an act - another patronizing attempt at Heeseung to try and pull you further into his Second Circle of Hell.

You just nodded in response, whispering a soft “Yeah,” trying to ignore how your voice cracked from your muted endeavors. Heeseung smirked and dove right back in, sucking and licking and kissing, all while your shorts were still on.

It was lewd and obscene and perverted.

“So, that’s gotta be three now, huh?’

You blinked, processing his words as you continued to lay splayed out across your stepbrother's bed. The ceiling was interesting now, you’d decided. The plain white tiles seemed to offer some sense of stabilization or calming abilities, something to take your mind away from what you were doing. You furrowed your brows as you thought about his words, glancing down at him. 

That was a mistake. The visual you were presented with was one that would be burned into your mind for decades to come - if you even made it that long. Lee Heeseung’s hands were placed bruisingly onto your hips and only the top of his head was visible. His face was completely submerged in your pussy, virtually making out with it like he couldn’t get enough. You didn’t miss the way his own hips slowly ground themselves into the mattress, either.

You whimpered, followed by a full moan before finally releasing a shaky breath and willing yourself to speak. “What?” you asked, returning your attention to the ceiling. “Three what? I don’t get it.”

“Three sins,” Heeseung replied matter-of-factly, voice muffled by your pussy. You just softly huffed out a ‘huh’ as you thought over your predicament. 

“What’s He gonna think?” Heeseung asked, seemingly unable to let your mind relax for even a moment. “Your God - how do you think he feels?”

The tears brimmed once more as you shook your head. Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle your moans as Heeseung picked up his kissing pace. You didn’t know what He thought - you didn’t care to know what He thought. You were past the point of salvation now; your sins were too terrible. You’d have to run away, you thought, in the middle of the night where no one could find you.

“I said to use your words, angel,” and Heeseung pulled off of you and onto his knees. He groaned as he stretched his neck in an obnoxious manner. His shoulders were slumped as he gazed at the work he’d done - both on your sleep shorts and your entire body.

Your shirt was pushed up to expose your breasts; your cheeks and neck were soaked from the tears that didn’t seem to stop leaking; your shorts were a lewd mess of spit and slick, it was all perfect.

You were perfect. His perfect little fucked up maserpiece. He was making paintings with his tongue, religious paintings. Paintings he wished he could hang up inside of his father’s sorry chapel. “This is true salvation,” he’d preach, pointing to your body. He’d explain the beauty within you, how angelic your moans were and how your holy tears could heal souls.

It’d certainly healed his soul, that’s for sure. Heeseung wanted to drape you across a cross and make you his symbol of religion. He wouldn’t nail you as they did Jesus and he certainly wouldn’t make you take the blame for either of your sins. No, he’d just strip you bare of your clothing, your innocence, and your dignity before propping you up on a pedestal for all the other girls to see.

“This is following,” he’d tell them, softly caressing your plush skin. “This is following your heart, even when it takes you down a dark path.”

Heeseung was prepared to worship you for years to come; to build civilizations around your sacred lore.

He grabbed your hand away from your mouth, noting how you quickly shut your eyes and pursed your lips. It was like you were bracing yourself for something terrible - Heeseung didn’t like it. He let out a dejected sigh, interlocking your fingers in his as he peppered sickeningly sweet kisses along them. Softly, he placed your hand onto his clothed cock - hard and yearning underneath his sweatpants.

“You feel that?” he whispered, holding your hand there. You nod, deciding it’s best to just go along with whatever he says. “Feel what you’re doing to me, baby sis?”

Yet another sob slips past you, and you sniffle trying to regain your composure. He was big. The heat radiating off his cock and through his sweatpants was sickening; you weren’t sure how you could handle something like this. Your hole clenched around nothing at the sheer thought of his size entering you.

“I’m not gonna do anything, though,” he continues, picking your hands up and placing a soft kiss on your wrist before letting it go. “Tonight’s about you, yeah? Curing what’s wrong with you and shit.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You reach your hand out for him, looking at him with those big eyes he loves so much. Heeseung chuckled at your sudden neediness, quirking an interested eyebrow. He slowly sinks down between your legs, guiding your hand to rest on his cheek.

He nuzzles into it softly, kissing your palm before returning his lips to your clothed core. His pace was damn near abusing now, latching onto anything he could in an attempt to heal what ailed you. An even more unfamiliar feeling settled into your gut, squeezing you from the inside out. 

“My God,” you hear Heeseung say against you, “I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.”

You whine and choke out a hearty sob at the realization of what he’s doing.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he continues, movements becoming more erratic as he begins to nip at you through your clothing. Your hand falls from his cheek and flies up to his forehead, attempting to resist him, to push him off of you. It’s becoming too much, too many things are happening at once.

“I have sinned against you,” the world drowns out around you, Heeseung’s soft and mocking voice ringing in your ears like a hot cicada, “whom I should love above all things.”

You bite your lip as your tears flow, sniffles sounding out here and there as you desperately try to compose yourself. You know this prayer; you’ve never had to use this prayer.

You’re a good kid, a righteous kid who follows God’s law and plan. You listen to your parents and school teachers, you don’t stray from the norm or wander into business that isn’t yours. You don’t lie or cheat or steal.

You’ve never had to beg Him for forgiveness, not until now. You have the prayer memorized, “just in case”, as your stepfather liked to tell you. Heeseung probably has the prayer memorized because all he should be doing is recite it - though you know he never does.

You don’t know if he’s saying this to mock you, or because he’s genuinely wanting to give you that push towards acceptance and moving on. Maybe Heeseung cares about what he’s taking from you; cares that he’s snatching every last drop of innocence you’ve ever had.

Maybe he’s begging God for forgiveness on your behalf, acknowledging how simple statements are just too hard for you right now.

“I firmly intend,”

“Stop,” you cry out, “just stop it!” You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes as you shake your head back and forth. His voice is annoying and laced with mockery. He doesn’t care, he just wants to rub it in that this is really happening.

Heeseung stops his movements entirely, coming up and resting his chin on your stomach. He sits there and waits for you to calm down, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“But, I thought you wanted His forgiveness?” he presses, the fakest pout you’ve ever seen plastered upon his swollen, pink lips. You shake your head again, sucking in a shaky breath as you force your lips to move.

“Not from you! You don’t even,” you sob, “you don’t even know what this is doing to me.”

Heeseung smirks, hooking his hands under your knees and resting them on his shoulders. “I do,” he says before kissing your pussy again. “I know it’s killing you to do this, so let me help.”

“I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance,” and you just don’t stop. You sob and wail and sniffle out into the world, but you don’t stop him. You don’t kick him in the face or pull him off your pussy, you let him continue. You let him turn you into this sinful sack of mush because you’re selfish.

This feeling he’s giving you, this release, it’s too good. It feels better than anything you’ve ever experienced in your whole life, and some sick and twisted piece of you wants to see how it ends.

“To sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin,” he just keeps going. You’re thankful he doesn’t say the last line; thankful he spares you the shame and guilt of having Jesus Christ’s name spoken against the organ made for temptation.

But you think about it - about the whole situation, and it fucks with you. Because why are you pulling him closer? Why do you want the piece of cloth separating his mouth and your core gone? Why are you craving something that you know you shouldn’t; why is the heat building up so exponentially that you’re becoming scared?

“Heeseung,” you choke out, “I,”

He laughs into you, looking up through his eyelashes at your fucked out state. “I know, baby, I know.” He continues his pace, moaning as your hand tugs at his hair. “It hurts, but when it’s done,” he pauses his movements, “it’s gonna feel so much better.”

You bite your lip and nod at his words, relaxing yourself as you attempt to welcome this feeling. Heeseung mutters a quiet praise at your obedience before returning to his previous task. It’s all so much, suddenly. The ceiling no longer provides you with the mental escape it had before, and all you can think about is the heat bubbling in your stomach and how it aches.

How it burns through you like the fire in Hell; ripping you apart from the inside out as it gives you a taste of what you’ll be experiencing in the eternal afterlife. This is sin. Sin hurts, it hurts so bad. You want to run away, to push Heeseung off your soaking pussy and hide away in your room. You want to cry and cry and cry and never stop crying; the tears effectively flushing every ounce of impurity out of your system. You don’t deserve to be revered anymore - not after this.

So, when the wave finally crashes over you and you tug so hard at Heeseung’s hair both of you are sure you’ll pull some out, you let the emotions consume you; all of them. The fear for what this means for your soul; the wanting for more of what Heeseung can offer you; the hurt and anguish of what you’ve come to.

Heeseung doesn’t give. He continues to lap at your core, over your shorts and away from the real thing. He helps you through it; not complaining about the grip you have on him or how your thighs clenched so hard around his face he almost couldn’t breathe. Heeseung just takes it, lets you explore this new realm entirely on your own and how you please.

His genuine praises of your body and sounds, how good you’re handling this, they all fall onto deaf ears. You can’t hear anything anymore; not your labored breaths or the lewd noises Heeseung’s mouth makes - just static.

You want more.

Sinning is addictive.

You understand why one-time sinners can’t give it up, why they can’t just beg for forgiveness and return to their mundane life of simplicity.

When your grip finally softens on Heeseung’s hair and your thighs begin to part, he glances up at you and the way your chest rises and falls with deep, wanting breaths. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs soothing circles into your inner thigh. When he presses a soft kiss to the plush skin, you twitch away, too sensitive to even handle his featherlight touch.

“You feel better?” he asks, attempting once more to kiss your thigh and smiling to himself when you allow it. You just nod, unable to speak while your lips stick together and the last few tears fall past your waterline. 

He sits up, removing your legs from his shoulder. You just stare at him. When you blink, your eyes threaten to close forever. Eternal peace is waiting for you, you can feel it.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” he whispers. Suddenly, Heeseung is closer to your face. He’s petting your hair, pulling your shirt down to cover you, peppering kisses against your jaw. “And I asked you a question.”

“Mhm,” you croak out, nodding with your eyes closed. The world behind your eyes is bright and warm; exactly what you feel with Heeseung. “I feel better. Thank you,” you croak out.

Heeseung chuckles at your fucked out state. All he did was eat you out - over your shorts, may he add - and you’re already giving up? Pathetic. He’ll just have to train you until you can handle more. But not now - no, someone as delicate as you will take time to mold.

“‘M gonna get stuff to clean you up, ‘kay?” he mumbles against your skin. You nod, reaching for his body as he starts to walk away. “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

In the time he’s gone, all you can do is sit there and listen to the static of your brain. There’s no more inner voices anymore, no devil or angel on your shoulders telling you what to do. Just white noise. It’s all so incredibly loud - you can’t handle it. Your sinning has killed all the life inside of you; you’re destined to live a life of deafening silence, the whispered prayers too much for your sensitive ears.

Heeseung returns with a wet washcloth and a new pair of shorts and underwear for you. You can’t help but smile at him. He coos at your state and wipes you down, chuckling when you pull away from the coldness of the cloth. Heeseung tosses the shorts over your face, and stands up. He makes his way over to his door, whispering “change” before he disappears into the hallway.

You decide to sit up. You grimace at the sticky feeling within your shorts, moving quickly to shed them and replace them with the pair Heeseung got for you. As if he knew you were done, Heeseung comes into the room with a glass of water. He makes his way over to you, stopping in front of your figure as he squats down below you. His steady hand hands you the glass, still holding on to it while your own shaky hand lifts it to your chapped lips.

“Hey, hey,” he muses, “slow down.” You don’t listen to his advice, effectively finishing the glass in one fell swoop. Heeseung places his hand on your knee and rubs it soothingly. The two of you sit in silence for a moment. Heeseung stares at you; you avoid his gaze with your arms crossed over your chest.

“I don’t wanna go back there,” you finally speak up. 

Heeseung just tilts his head in confusion, “Back where?”

You point your chin into the direction of your room. “I don’t wanna see Him.”

Heeseung just nods. He stands up, pulls his shirt over his head, and walks over to his dresser. He opens one of the drawers, rummaging through it. When his hands emerge, he’s holding a navy blue t-shirt. Heeseung swiftly pulls the fabric over his head, running a hand through his messed up hair.

“You can spend the night here,” he shrugs, “you know, if you want.”

You finally lift your eyes from your lap to stare at him across the room. You examine his perfect face before drifting your eyes down further. Usually, you’d scold yourself for looking in such places, but you decided you’d deal with repentance in the morning.

You stare at your stepbrother’s gray sweatpants, noting the print visible underneath the wet patch on his crotch. Heeseung’s hands fly to his clothed dick, quickly covering himself from your watchful eyes. “Woah, hey,” he teases, “you never see a guy cum in his pants before?”

You tilt your head, confused by his words. “What?”

“Y’know, like, cum?” He closes his fingers into a fist formation, pumping the air a few times before looking at you, utterly shocked you’re not understanding him.

You just shake your head, and he mumbles a quick ‘forget about it’ before opening another drawer. Heeseung grabs a fresh pair of underwear and some black sweatpants. “Close your eyes,” he says, and you comply. You hear a few soft grunts, some hopping on the floor, before he informs you that you can open them again. 

When you look at him, he’s in a new pair of pants, and you can’t ogle his cock anymore.

Damnit.

Heeseung walks over to you and plops himself on the bed. He yawns before throwing an arm around your waist, beckoning for you to lay down and curl up next to him. You already miss him - somehow. He never really left you, not physically, save for when he let you change without him looking and went to get you a glass of water. But, you missed him.

So, you comply, and you cuddle up close to him and let him wrap his much larger body around yours for protection. You feel the soft rise and fall of his chest; acknowledge the movement of your hair from the breaths he lets out over it. 

You close your eyes and try to calm down, but you can’t help it. You can’t help but imagine Jake instead; imagine it’s him who’s taking care of you and him who’s breathing calms you down. You can’t help the tears that brim in your eyes, but don’t fall because you’ve cried your whole body dry.

You can’t help but think about how this is it - this is the end for you. Your life is truly over. There’s nothing you can do about it.

Jake can’t help the pain and guilt you’ll eventually feel; he’d only pull away from you.

Heeseung can’t help the loneliness that crawls through your bones like a monster trying to merge with your soul.

And God can’t help your conscience. He can’t help you get into those pearly gates, not after tonight. You must remain ruined; remain guilt-ridden while you continue to lay next to your stepbrother.

But then is then and now is now, so you must only focus on that. Only focus on the way Heeseung holds you like you’re a treasure worth cherishing, on the way he softly strokes your spine and hums a hymn he knows you love in an attempt to calm your nerves. 

Jungwon tsks and runs one hand down the smooth skin of your stomach to the inner portion of your leg. He takes the droplets of cum running down your thigh onto his fingertips before stuffing his hand inside of you.

Your whole body jolts from the sudden contact. You both have gone at it for two hours, three rounds of sex not quenching your boyfriend’s insatiable need.

Damn your romantic night in and the cuddling that became an endless session of mating presses and words of loving affirmation. Now, Jungwon is forever hungry, his stamina never-ending when it comes to pleasing you.

You’re his entire world, holding the sun and moon in the palms of your hands. How can he not love you so completely, so fully you’re spent in the wreckage? Whatever he has to do to prove you mean everything to him, so be it.

And still, some deep part of you wants more of him, always, and he can tell. That’s why all of your pleas fall on deaf ears, your cries ringing hollow to the both of you, even if you try to deny it.

“C’mon cutie, just one more. One more for me, hmm? You know you want to come again, this perfect pussy is telling me so. Hear how wet it is? Just one and then I’ll stop, I promise.” Jungwon says, lying to himself as he strokes your clit with his thumb. He could watch you orgasm forever, if he were truthful.

Sweat trickles down his blonde bangs, but he’s focused, determined, still ravenous. “All I want is one more, baby.”

You feel your body climbing again, reaching towards your peak once more with open arms and spent legs. It’s so perfect, so much, you fall. You come with a weak cry, numb but full as you chase the high that Jungwon provides with his fingers and murmurs of appreciation.

Streams of your essence erupt from your cunt until the high ends, and you know you’re absolutely boneless. There’s no way there’s any strength left in you.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect and all mine.” He kisses the center of your stomach and slides his fingers out of you, licking them clean before they can glisten in the moonlight. “I think you can take one more on my cock. Right, cutie?”

── .✦ 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜! 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙!

🏷️ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘)

@lovetaroandtaemin @filmnings @innocygnet @jaylaxies @xylatox @xomakara @gyubookeries @yvampyr @prkhaven @hannieoftheyear @frenchkisstheabyss @lovenha7 @wonberries @lyks02 @seokjinthescientist @icatpjs @chososg1rl @staarflowerr @rikisonline @chuuyaobsessed @ador3sturniolo

an average person can't say they get to travel around the world and get paid for it, or routinely get invited to watch fashion shows—but sunoo can. it's a privilege he's earned by working his body to the bone for years.

but the biggest perk of his job, and arguably his favorite, was getting to spoil you too.

not that you'd want to. you've always turned down his gifts politely, always telling him that his attention and time was all you need. but this time, he made sure you wouldn't be able to refuse.

he didn't even bother asking you if you wanted anything. he bought as much as he was allowed to, and even decided to personally deliver it to your apartment, sneaking in with his spare key.

"love! i'm back!"

your eyes widened at the familiar voice and you shuffled out your bed with a wide squeak. "baby! can't believe you didn't even text me that you'd... be... here?" your voice trailed off at the sight of your boyfriend.

he was beaming at you with not just one, but multiple paper bags hanging off of his arms—all stamped with the familiar prada milano logo. "i come bearing gifts!" he giggled, body shimmying along with the bags.

your lips are parted as you stare at the bags, then back to his stupidly pretty face. you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "sunoo... how many times do we have to go over this? i told you i don't need those."

the disappointed tone quickly watered down your boyfriend's bright and bubbly demeanor. "it isn't a matter of you needing them, baby." he frowned. " i want you to have them. i picked all of them out especially for you. you said you wanted a new bag, right?"

"yeah, from the department store, maybe! these probably cost a fortune." you gave him another sigh of exasperation, grumbling underneath your breath.

you don't mean to sound ungrateful, especially not when sunoo's being so generous, but gifts—especially extravagant ones like these—made you feel guilty.

but what would you expect from a boyfriend whose love language is gift giving? expensive gift giving, to be specific.

sunoo, seeing the grim expression on your face, set the bags down on the coffee table. he walked to you, arms snaking around your waist before pressing an affectionate peck on your forehead. "well you'd be glad to know that we get a hefty discount as prada ambassadors."

"really?"

he smiled and leaned forward to rub the tip of his nose against yours, pulling out a giggle out of you. "mhm. the boys bought a lot too, but i already have enough clothes, so i used mine to get you nice things. now don't worry your pretty little head about the price, okay? or else i'll be upset."

you pouted, nodding in defeat. "thank you, baby."

"no need to thank me, doll." sunoo gave your bum a pat and quickly stole a kiss from your lips before gesturing to the mountain of bags in your living room. "give me a fashion show. i wanna know if they look as good on you as i imagined."

sunoo sat on the couch with a calm and laidback smile plastered on his face as he watched you flaunt your brand new clothes. your confidence grew each time you left your bedroom in a different piece, and he gladly gave you encouraging compliments, one after the other.

a leather jacket, shiny new heels, a purse, a dress—sunoo truly went all out. though he couldn't say he did it all for you. selfish as it was, it was also rewarding for him.

he felt useful whenever he spoiled you. given how much attention the public gave to him, he knew he couldn't indulge you in a lot of other things other "normal" boyfriends would, so this was his way of compensating for that.

seeing you in shorts skirts and revealing tops that he picked on purpose for this very occasion just so happened to be a very nice bonus.

"sunoo, they look so pretty!" you bit down your lip as you strut out in a lacy tank top and wool skirt from the brand's most recent collection, gasping and giggling in excitement after making your silly poses. "they make my legs look longer, too."

he leaned forward wearing a calculated smile. "of course they do. i told you, i only got the ones i know you'd like." sunoo's sharp eyes dropped down to the smooth skin of your upper thighs, tongue running across his lower lip. "give me a twirl, princess."

you followed your boyfriend's orders, unaware of how his eyes stuck on to your body—at how the fabric lifted just enough to give him a quick look of your ass and the thin black panties hiding the sweet dip between your thighs.

he couldn't resist the grunt clawing out his throat, already feeling himself grow firm under his pants. "god. so fucking pretty, aren't you?"

your teeth sank on your bottom lip and a giddy laugh bubbling out of your mouth before you could control it. "first you spoil me with clothes, and now you're spoiling me with compliments?"

sunoo shrugged, opened his arms, and beckoned you over. "come here, doll. i have one last gift to spoil you with."

he pulled you on his lap until your back was pressed flat against his chest before fishing a small leather box from his side. you watched him open it slowly, revealing a white-gold necklace.

the sight of the tiny diamonds pressed into the triangular pendant almost made you choke. the thought of your boyfriend spending his hard-earned money on something so obviously expensive made you push his hand away, shaking your head.

"sun, it's... it's beautiful but—"

"no buts, princess." sunoo ignored your protests and swept your hair to one side. he pressed a kiss on your bare shoulder, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the base of your nape, raspily whispering, "you'd wear it for me, won't you?"

he escalated it into nips and licks, knowing your resistance would slowly break with each press of his plump lips on your skin. you let out a soft mewl, neck instictively tilting to make room for his mouth. soon enough, he had your head bobbing weakly.

once it the accessory was secured, sunoo let out a small sigh, pride gleaming in his eyes. the pendant sat right between your collarbones and the metal perfectly accentuated the light red marks blooming across your decolletage.

"you look so good in it, baby." he whispered, voice low and thick with restraint. his palms that once rested on your knees began treading dangerously high up your inner thighs. "so, so pretty. and all fucking mine."

sunoo resumed his assault on your neck and you grew dizzy under the wet kisses, body beginning to feel like jelly as his hands roughly grabbed at every inch of your skin with need.

his gave your perky mounds a rough squeeze though the thin top while simultaneously reaching under your skirt to trace his delicate fingertips along the hem of your soaked underwear.

your hips pushed upward, trying to gain some sort of friction and he just chuckled at the cuteness of your attempt, teeth sinking down on your shoulder blade. "i'm not even doing a lot and yet you're already squirming, doll." nevertheless, he relented and cupped your dampened core.

"pretty. so fucking beautiful even when you're needy." he praised softly as he watched your pathetic attempt to grind into his palm, cooing when you cry out his name in frustration.

he pressed a firm hand to your stomach and you slumped against him in defeat, head tipped back against his shoulder. he planted a kiss on the tip of your ear, swapping his warm palm with fingers on your clothed clit. "d'you miss me, doll? tell me you missed me. tell me you missed this."

his finger pushed, rubbing your swollen bundle of nerved through the rough fabric making you gasp and nod eagerly. "yes— fuck.. i missed you so much, sunoo. please– please, i need it."

his fingers threaded through your hair and he used his hold to tilt your head towards him—still done with love but with enough to make you gasp at the mild sting on your scalp.

"i missed you too, doll." his plump lips ghosted over yours before tugging on your hair to claim your mouth in a fiery, passionate kiss like he wanted his actions to prove his words.

sunoo claimed your lips like it's the only air he needs, tongue prodding inside your mouth like he's trying to remember every corner and every ridge again.

as if the lip lock wasn't enough to drive you insane, he began rubbing you through your underwear harder, smearing the sticky mess inside until it seeped out onto his fingers that moved in tight, firm circles.

at this point, you're panting into his mouth. your body felt like a live wire, jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core with each flick and pinch he gave on your most delicate parts.

and sunoo was not faring any better with the way you kept rocking your ass against his covered length. "shit, i can't take this anymore— i need to feel you now."

his fingers found the ends of your skirt, and just before you think he's going to pull it off—he pushed it up, causing the fabric to bunch around your waist. "s–sunoo?"

"want to see you like this. my pretty little doll getting fucked in clothes i bought for her, hm?" he flashed you mischievous grin and with another pull at your top's neckline, your chest is exposed as well.

he removed your panties last—the only thing he hasn't gifted to you—tugging it down your thighs before manhandling you until you're straddling him again. "my girl."

sunoo's eyes hungrily raked up your still-clothed yet very bare body. his fingers tweaked and rolled on your sensitive nipples, abusing the poor buds until you're arching your back further into his touch and dripping down onto his denim. "yours, sun. mmh— a–all yours, i promise."

his fingers ghosted higher, index finger hooking on the chain of your new necklace. you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips before you're pulled down, lips crashing with his in another messy, uncoordinated kiss. he willingly swallowed all your sinful noises, only breaking away from the kiss so he could look at you, reveling at your glazed eyes and spit-slick lips.

your skin buzzed with each touch and it amplified when he began pushing your wetness against the evident bulge of his jeans, guiding you to roll your hips against him. "like that, sweetheart. feels good, doesn't it?"

"yes. y–yes, fuck.. so good." your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a quiet whimper of his name as the rough fabric tugs on your exposed clit, the friction enough to have your thighs shaking. "want you, sun... want it so bad, please—"

he threw his shirt side, pushed his jeans and boxers down to his knees with the speed of a man whose patience was stretched too thin to be bothered about removing them properly.

you wrapped your finger around his firm length, licking your lips as translucent beads of his arousal leaked from the dark pinkish tip. sunoo let out a low hiss when you ran your thumb across the tip, giving your thigh a gentle smack.

"quit teasing. you wanted my cock, right? so sit on it, doll." his cocky demeanor faltered for just a flash when you guided his tip to your entrance, letting out a quiet his when you sank down.

his sharp eyes locked where you were connected, pupils dilating at the sight of you greedily swallowing him whole, "like that.. such a good doll for me, aren't you? so warm, so tight— fuck, you're killing me, baby." he whispered, muscles of his jaw growing tighter as he fought his body's urge to buck upwards.

"f–full..." was all you could say—whimper, rather. you settled in that position for a while and sunoo graciously rubbed your skin, thumb moving in soothing circles on your clit while muttering praises of how well you're taking him.

"i know, love. it's been a while since you got a good fucking like this, haven't you? don't worry. i'll give you the attention you deserve—let you have as much as you want." he cooed.

when you felt good enough, you planted your palms against his firm shoulders walls to anchor yourself and began moving. your walls dragged against his length as your pelvis moved up, only to slam down again, each drop causing his length to press into you in its entirety.

the pain of the stretch is swiftly replaced with the overwhelming sensation of wanting more, and more, and more until all you could do was babble incoherently with eyes rolled back as pleasure consumed you. "i missed you, sun— fuck. n–none of my toys or—mmh—fingers... c–could—"

"none of them feels the same, do they?" sunoo breathlessly chuckled, drinking in the sight of your bouncing figure: your hair that stuck to your face, your tongue that stuck out as you panted, the chain that glinted around your neck like his personal branding.

he reached up, cupping your bouncing mounds, tweaking at a nipple. "nothing—and no one—would ever fuck you as good as i can, baby. "

you felt your thighs starting to burn, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop—not when each drop on his cock has the tip kissing your cervix, battering the sweet spot you wouldn't even dream of reaching by yourself. "no. fuck, o–only you, sun! only you can."

you bounced, rocked, and ground yourself against him, claws digging down on his skin but his eyes were stuck—glued to the way the diamonds of your new necklace caught the light with each hop you did.

he almost felt guilty that it distracted him from your blissed out expression, but something about the way it hung on your neck, the way it shone against your dampened skin like it was made just for you—it filled him with a deep, insatiable feeling of possessiveness seeing you fuck yourself dizzy on his cock wearing it.

before you know it, his hips began to move, thrusting upwards to meet your own as it sunk down. "o–oh, fuck, sunoo!"

your nails left red streaks on his shoulders and on the thick of his arms, but he couldn't care less. sunoo even indulged in the pain, letting out a moan of your name as he secured his arms around your waist, lifting you up and down on his cock and shamelessly using your body as his own toy.

"it's okay, baby. let me do the work." he grunted in between short gasps, once again pulling you down by the chain around your neck so you could rest your forehead on his broad shoulders.

sunoo let out breathy sighs of your name, mingling with the constant sound of skin slapping bouncing off the walls. "poor baby. you must've missed this, huh?" he smugly laughed, hand rearing back to landing a few hits your ass. "missed getting treated like a slut? a dumb needy hole for me to fuck?"

you couldn't answer him in your disheveled state but your clenching walls were enough for sunoo. still, he wanted to drag it out. he needed to hear it from you. "is my baby too dumb to answer already? too drunk on cock? come on, answer me." he demanded with another whip to the flesh of your thigh.

"yes! yesyesyes, fuck—" you nodded your head as much as you could, nose buried in the crook of his neck while chanting sunoo's name like a prayer. pleased, he rewarded to by angling his hips to where he'd have you seeing stars with every precise thrusts.

"of course you did." he chuckled, tone dripping in confidence. the muscles of his arms tensed, biceps curled as he pushed you up, only to pull you down to meet his thrusting hips half-way.

"you fucking ruin me, d'you know that? every night i was away—mmh, fuck—all i could ever think about's your pussy– 'bout destroying this pretty cunt as soon as i get home."

more filthy confessions spilled from his mouth his mouth in dragged out slurs as he chased after his high, driving his cock up into your weeping hole until tears of overwhelm left your waterline, reducing you into nothing but a babbling, shaking mess. "sunoo! i'm gonna cum, s–shit!"

"wait— nngh– fuck, hold it. wait for me, doll." his jaw tensed and his brows pinched together, pent up desperation translated to merciless thrusts and red handprints on your ass and thighs.

you tried your best, but the pressure was too much—far too much for your body to handle, especially with your boyfriend whispering dirty promises into your ear, detailing his plans of ruining you all night.

you cried out his name as you hit your peak, body writhing on top of his as sunoo pulled your hips down all the way until he bottomed out inside you, releasing thick spurts of his cum with a shudder and a quiet whisper of your name.

the exhaustion finally hit you both like a freight train. no sound of the world outside the walls of your apartment, just two lovers catching their breaths and muttering soft proclamations of love to one another.

you laid your head on his shoulder. the calm aftermath allowed you to feel the way his heart beating quickly beneath his chest, and you giggled, "god.. i forgot how insane and needy you become after tours."

sunoo laid his hand on top of yours, the other mindlessly playing with the necklace's clasp that rested on your nape. "you're calling me needy like you didn't just confess to being unsatisfied with your little toys." he chuckled, pressing loving kisses on the crown of your head. "you did so well, doll. 'm so proud of you."

"do you want to get up and shower? i can set up a bath for us." you offered, but sunoo shook his head, speaking in that soft, sonorous tone you missed so much. "later. let's stay like this for a while, mm?"

you nodded your head and carefully adjusted yourself on top of him to get a little more comfortable. sunoo hissed, his torso flinching when the movement made you involuntarily clench around his still-twitching length. "actually— why don't i clean you up in the shower?"

you met his eyes and swallowed.

this night was going to be much longer than you thought.

YAN'S NOTES ➤ ending kinda ass but this is another YUMMY drabble that came about from this request. everyone say "thank you, peach anon" for giving me this idea !! again, i'd love to hear ur thoughts!! send your feedback to my inbox jsy ! < 3

PERM TAGLIST ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @strawberrykkk1 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine

When he glanced at his phone and checked the time, he knew it was time. The murmur of voices and the background music helped cover his movement. He waited until the others were distracted, raised his glass as if to say goodbye, and murmured calmly: "I'm going outside for a while. I'm a little dizzy, I need some air." No one questioned him too much. Some just nodded, with no intention of going into details.

On the other hand, Jungwon spoke, with eyebrow raised, deep down sensing the true intentions of that excuse, then blurted out in a half-serious, half-mocking tone: "Be careful not to do anything reckless, hyung."

Heeseung raised his hand as if promising something and slipped through the crowd with the same ease as someone looking for a break. Moving toward the exit wasn't easy: flashing lights, conversations that stopped him in their tracks, curious glances. But fortune seemed to be on his side. Almost as if the universe had conspired to clear the way for him to you.

Once outside, the night air hit his face and cleared it enough to ignite another spark of urgency. The car was waiting discreetly nearby. He quickened his pace, opened the back door, and, finding you there, the heat hit him suddenly in the chest. You were sitting calmly, as if the seat had always been yours. The image drew a wide, lopsided smile from him as he closed the door behind him.

"Your body definitely isn't the only sexy thing about you. Your brilliant mind is too," he murmured huskily, settling in next to you. You made room for him with a smooth movement and greeted him with a satisfied smile.

"We women can be quite resourceful when it comes to getting what we want," you replied, your tone as confident as your gaze. Heeseung smiled, half from the alcohol still burning in his blood, half from the way your words stirred him. He leaned toward you slowly, tilting his head as his large hand rested on your cheek, cupping it gently. His eyes shone with reverence, as if for a second he'd forgotten he was in the backseat of a van and not in front of a masterpiece.

"So tell me..." his voice lowered to a husky murmur. "What does this resourceful woman want? Ask me for anything, darling. I'll give you everything."

Warmth rose to your lips in the form of a smile before you answered, caressing his reddened ear with your fingertips. "This resourceful woman here wants her man... although it seems the man in question is a little tipsy right now," you murmur, your voice soft and patient. To which he let out a low, haphazard laugh, but soon replaced it with a seriousness that only further inflamed the tension between you.

"That doesn't matter, love. Being a little tipsy only makes me need you more. And, believe me, I'm not as drunk as you think..." he retorted, his pupils boring into yours. His thumb stroked your lower lip, causing an electric tingle. "I made sure I stayed sober enough to fuck you. I wasn't going to repeat last year's carelessness".

There was no time to respond. His lips took yours with a savage hunger, and suddenly everything became a delicious mess: shared saliva, tongues fighting for dominance, the burn of whiskey seeping into your palate as moans were drowned in the clash of mouths. Your hands slid to his shoulders, hastily removing his trench coat, as if the fabric were an unnecessary obstacle. At the same time, Heeseung's fingers worked at the buttons of your blouse, opening them with anxious clumsiness until they revealed your breasts, encased in the black lace that stood out shamelessly.

You both broke the kiss panting, gasping for air, though he soon buried his face in your neck, kissing, biting, savoring the sensitive skin there. Your soft moans were interrupted by the touch of his hands running down your thighs, bunching your skirt until it bunched at your waist. The sigh that escaped his lips was almost a growl as he discovered the lace panties that matched your bra… and the garter belts that completed the outfit.

“I knew you’d like this,” you said with a crooked smile, your voice dripping with mischief. He responded by capturing your lips again, more demanding, while his fingers cheekily slipped in to part the thin fabric of your panties and caress the wet heat that awaited him. Your body trembled at the touch, just as your own hand descended to release his hard, throbbing cock. He groaned against your palm. The moan you shared mingled with the kiss, muffled between gasps. You pumped his erection with increasing rhythm, and he returned your desperation by rubbing your clit with precise movements, sinking his fingers into the wetness that drove him wild.

The kiss broke with a thread of glistening saliva between you, your breath trembling against his lips. Heeseung looked at you with blazing eyes, his voice low but charged with an edge that pierced you straight.

"Spread those perfect legs now." The command came out husky, urgent, and your thighs responded before your mind did. You opened for him in the seat, letting the skirt swirl around your waist barely cover the indecency. He groaned in satisfaction, leaning down immediately, making space between your thighs as if he were born to be there.

Without wasting a second, he lowered his face and dropped a hot line of saliva onto your pussy, followed by the wet pressure of his tongue sliding from your entrance to the top, collecting the moisture that was already dripping uncontrollably. The heat of his mouth contrasted with the cool air of the car, making you gasp, a shudder that made you arch in your seat. When he reached your clit, he didn't hesitate: he licked it firmly, then captured it between his lips, sucking hungrily, swirling his tongue in precise circles around the throbbing bud. The hand he kept on your thigh squeezed so tightly that you felt his fingers digging into your skin, reminding you that you were completely his in that instant.

"Oh god... Heeseung~" His name escaped you between broken moans, as you dug your hands into his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands and tousling them with every movement. Your hips lifted from the seat, biting your lip as you began to grind against his mouth, fucking his face like he'd begged for in his texts before.

He didn't resist; on the contrary, he groaned against your pussy. He didn't try to hide his pleasure or his obsession, swallowing every drop of your wetness, panting as he devoured you with a passion so uncontrolled it made your legs weak. The wet friction, the heat of his swirling tongue, the sucking pull on your clit, it all built up too quickly. In a trembling voice, you barely managed to realize, "Baby, I'm so close... I'm going to... I'm going to cum." He looked up for just a second, his lips glistening with your juice, and he groaned at you with an intensity that made you shudder.

"Be a good girl and cum in my mouth," he commanded, and at the same instant, he thrust two fingers into you without any preparation, thrusting with a swipe that immediately opened you up. The inside of your pussy greeted him with a wet, desperate sound, contracting around his long fingers, which were already moving mercilessly. The hot, wet friction of your inner wall was accompanied by the perfect pressure on that sensitive spot that was driving you crazy. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking it while pumping his fingers in a hard, relentless rhythm, hitting that spot he knew exactly where it was again and again. The mixture of sucking, his muffled moans against your flesh, and the vulgar sound of your fluids being worked filled the car, enclosing the air in a stifling heat, heavy with the salty-sweet scent of your arousal. Your hands tugged at his hair, almost pulling out clumps, your back arched against the seat as stars began to twinkle behind your closed eyelids. The moans turned into suppressed screams, until a spasm ran through you, making you lose control.

Your orgasm exploded in waves that shook your muscles, spilling unchecked onto his tongue, soaking his fingers and mouth. Heeseung drank it all in without pulling away, moaning as if intoxicated by your taste, swallowing every drop as his fingers continued to fuck you until you were completely drained. And when you finally came down from your peak, trembling, panting as if you'd run for miles, he pulled back just enough to lick your glistening thighs and smile against your skin, his chin wet and his lips reddened from sucking you.

“So fucking perfect when you cum for me, princess,” he murmured, his voice husky, still slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of your hot pussy, filling the air with the obscene sound of your dripping walls.

Your hands were still shaking from your recent orgasm, but the urgency still burned in your belly. With a sudden impulse, you pushed him by the shoulders, forcing him to lean back against the seat.

"We're not done yet, my love," you murmured hoarsely. Heeseung let out a low, deep laugh that mingled with the labored breathing in the cabin. His lips were still glistening with your juices, and his ears were still glowing red, evidencing his prevailing state.

He slowly rolled up his sweater, revealing his tense forearms, and without taking his eyes off you, he lowered his hand to envelop his cock. He pumped up and down, slowly, firmly, his palm damp with precum, spreading a sheen with every movement. His eyes darkened as he watched you brazenly, his chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. As he jerked off in front of you, you brought your fingers to the waistband of your soaked panties, quickly sliding them off. A playful glint crossed your face before you deliberately hung them over Heeseung's throbbing cock. He let out a lust-filled snort, his hand still wrapped around the stiff shaft.

"Someone's definitely being quite resourceful tonight," he hissed, also gripping the fabric as he continued pumping with long, tense strokes, making the panties slide against his length with every movement.

"I'm just trying to give us a moment worth remembering, handsome". you replied with a mischievous smile, leaning slightly toward him. Your fingers went to your skirt, ready to take it off, but he reacted faster. His other, free hand gently slapped your wrist and stopped you.

"Oh no, love. Don't even think about it. I've been fantasizing about fucking you in that skirt all damming day. This is the moment," he growled, his tone heavy with possessiveness. His eyes shone brightly in the dim car light.

The command drew a disbelieving, resigned laugh from you, as a wave of heat rose through your chest. You smiled at him knowingly and straddled his lap. Heeseung didn't waste a second; he moved his free hand directly to your ass, squeezing the juicy flesh hard as he pulled you toward him. Your mouths met again, a deep, messy kiss, where his teeth caught your lip and his tongue invaded hungrily. In the middle of the kiss, you lifted your hips, feeling the raw, heavy heat of his cock brushing against your wet pussy. He, still holding it firmly, aligned the bulbous tip, glistening with precum, against your throbbing entrance. A shared moan erupted from each other's mouths as you began to slide down, taking him with agonizing slowness. Inch by inch, your pussy opened to accommodate him, surrounding Heeseung's burning hardness. The pressure was exquisite, the stretch intense, every internal nerve reacting to the thickness invading you.

The air in the car was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy swallowing his cock, mingled with both of your breathy gasps. Your panties were caught at the base, straining against his skin, but far from hindering, they accentuated the indecent sight.

Your nails scraped his shoulders through his sweater as you sank onto his cock, taking it deeper, until there was no space between your body and his. He groaned hoarsely, biting your lower lip as he held you against his chest, his forehead resting on yours, looking straight into your eyes.

"Fuck~ You drive me crazy, baby," he panted, his voice broken, trembling with desire. The heat inside your pussy wrapped around him so tightly that both of you stood still for a second, trembling. Then, with a calculated movement, you began to lift your hips, feeling the wet friction cover him completely. You lowered yourself back down just as slowly, a delicious back and forth that made you moan in unison.

The first voluntary thrust was the spark, the rough texture of your inner walls caressing every vein in his cock, the wet collision of your hips, the smell of raw sex spreading through the van. Every movement amplified the electric tension in the air, every gasp louder, dirtier. Your hips set a slow but deep rhythm, enjoying how he filled you to the limit. Heeseung kept his hand on your ass, helping you move on him, the other still holding the panties tight at the base of his cock like an indecent trophy. Moans mingled with the soft squeak of the leather seat. Each thrust was a reminder of how obscene and perfect it was to be like this, hidden, yet completely exposed to pleasure.

The slow, teasing rhythm with which you began to ride him soon became insufficient. The hunger was still alive, burning inside you. You rested your hands on his chest and began to move faster, lifting your hips and lowering yourself hard, until the wet, vulgar sound of your pussy engulfing his cock filled the entire car. Heeseung let out a guttural growl, his neck muscles tensing as he closed his eyes for a second and threw his head back, lost in the feeling of your walls squeezing every inch of him. He didn't take long to respond; at the same time you lowered yourself onto his cock, he bucked his hips violently, slamming into you with dry thrusts that drove him deeper.

The backseat creaked under the frantic swaying of your bodies, your skin rubbing against each other. ing against skin, moans and gasps tangling in a seemingly endless mess. One of his hands suddenly slammed down against your ass with a loud smack that echoed through the cabin.

“Fuck, baby girl, you ride me so fucking good,” he moaned against your mouth before capturing it in a fierce kiss, teeth clashing with teeth, saliva oozing from the corners as your tongues fought with the same desperation with which you fucked.

You bit him in response, on his lower lip, drawing a low growl from him that vibrated against your throat as he moved down to kiss your neck. His teeth sank into your skin and drew a high-pitched moan from you, your hips responding with more force, more need. The heat became suffocating. Until suddenly, Heeseung roughly grabbed your chin, tilting you toward him, and without warning, spat directly into your mouth. The hot liquid fell on your tongue and made you moan even louder, swallowing it without a second thought, while he smiled with that unhinged arrogance.

"Open your mouth for me, baby. Let me hear you moan when I ruin this pussy," he whispered, his voice raspy, so close to your ear that you felt a shiver run down your spine. His words made you squeeze tighter around his cock, contracting as if your body responded to every syllable.

Your movements became frantic, riding his cock with all your body weight, your nails digging into his shoulders. He held you by your ass, helping you fall harder on him, lifting his hips with each thrust until the collisions were loud, wet, brutal. The tension built quickly, too fast. Their gasps turned into muffled, jumbled cries, their words broken and staccato:

"Darling, I'm so close... cum with me, please..." he moaned. Your climaxes hit you almost at the same time. You felt his cock throb inside you just as your pussy tightened with violent spasms, squeezing him mercilessly. He grunted loudly against your mouth as he spilled into you with a hot wave of semen, further thickening the sticky mixture already dripping from your crotch.

The orgasm shook you in endless waves, your body trembling uncontrollably, moans reverberating against his lips. The sensation of him filling you with each hot spurt intensified everything, making you feel needier, dirtier, as if your body wanted to absorb him whole.

But even that didn't stop you. Still panting, your bodies convulsing from your shared orgasm, you continued moving, slowly at first, then faster again, the need reigniting almost immediately.

"Fuck! You're insatiable, princess," Heeseung chuckled, sweat running down his temple, his ears still aglow as he squeezed your ass again to guide you onto his soaked cock. Your lips sought him out again, kissing him furiously, leaving no room for anything but that shared madness. There was no more fashion show, no more homework, no more risk of discovery. There was only that car, the sticky heat of your bodies, and the visceral need to keep fucking until you were completely destroyed.

© heesngirl ★

★ : It's the first time I use fake texts, but, it seemed the most reasonable thing to do, because it didn't make a long narrative compared to if I tried to add them in the script itself.

KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.

He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.

And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!

And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.

"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.

He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?

His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.

"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.

His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.

The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."

Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.

"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.

It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.

Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.

There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.

"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!

You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.

Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."

You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.

When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.

What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"

He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."

You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."

Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."

You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."

You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.

"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.

You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"

You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.

You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.

You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.

"Who's that guy?"

Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?

"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."

Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching.         His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"

Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"

Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.

He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?

With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."

He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.

Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.

Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.

"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.

They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.

"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.

Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.

Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.

Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!

You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.

Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.

A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!

His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."

Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"

Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."

He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.

A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"

He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.

Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.

At least, that's what he told himself.

But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.

Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.

Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.

Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.

And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.

So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.

"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.

"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."

Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."

"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"

Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."

He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.

But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.

Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."

You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."

Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!

Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy.      "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.

Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.

"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.

"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.

You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.

You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.

You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.

With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.

Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.

So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.

"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.

Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—

Jake nudged him. "You good?"

"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."

But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!

And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.

Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.

"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."

And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.

Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."

Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.

And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.

But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!

And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.

But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.

He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.

"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.

He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.

You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"

His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."

You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"

"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."

You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."

He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."

"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."

Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.

He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.

He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."

You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."

Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"

You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."

The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.

You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."

That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.

Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"

Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"

Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."

Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."

Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."

Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.

Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"

Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.

"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.

Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.

The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.

You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.

Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.

It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?

"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.

You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.

Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.

You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."

That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"

And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.

He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with  him, though. Not just a friend.

If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.

And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.

And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!

Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."

And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.

And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.

His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.

You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"

Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."

You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."

"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.

"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."

The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.

Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.

So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."

The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.

Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.

You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"

"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."

You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."

He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."

You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"

You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."

He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.

"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."

Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."

The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.

"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.

You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.

You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."

Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."

You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."

He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.

"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."

Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."

He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!

"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.

"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."

Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."

Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"

"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."

Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."

Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"

Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.

He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"

Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.

Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.

"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"

Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.

"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."

Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"

Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.

Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.

"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"

Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.

There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!

So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.

Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"

Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"

You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"

Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"

You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."

Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"

"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.

He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"

"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."

He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"

"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.

Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.

You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"

"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"

"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.

You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."

"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.

You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.

That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.

His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.

You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.

"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.

Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.

You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."

He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.

"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."

He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."

Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."

Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."

You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.

Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.

He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.

The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.

You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.

When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.

Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.

Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.

He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.

He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.

And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.

Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.

"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.

You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.

Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.

Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.

And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.

His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.

"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.

You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.

Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.

"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.

Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.

Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.

"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.

You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.

Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"

"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.

You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."

But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.

"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."

He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.

"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."

You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"

You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"

"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"

"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"

"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"

Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.

Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.

"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"

You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.

"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."

You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.

Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.

"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.

You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.

Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.

He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.

He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."

Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.

"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."

Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.

It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.

Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —

"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"

Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.

The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"

Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."

Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."

Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.

All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.

You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.

Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.

But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.

Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.

The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.

"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"

You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.

Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.

What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.

What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.

"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.

You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.

"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.

You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.

"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."

Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."

Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.

Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.

"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."

"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.

Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."

You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.

"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.

Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"

Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"

"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.

You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.

Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.

You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.

Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.

You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.

"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.

You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"

He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."

You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"

His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."

You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"

That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.

He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"

The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.

God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"

You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.

"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."

Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.

"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."

Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."

You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."

"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."

His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.

"Okay," you said. "Sorry."

You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"

You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."

His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.

"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."

He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.

You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.

He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.

Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.

You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.

"My shirt's in the living room—"

"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.

You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"

He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.

Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.

"You're hard."

Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."

The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.

You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.

He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."

You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"

"No. You're the one making it complicated."

His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.

You waited. "Never what?"

"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."

"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"

He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.

His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.

There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.

Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.

The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.

"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...

He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.

His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.

With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.

Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.

You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."

And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.

Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.

He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.

Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.

And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.

"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."

"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.

Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.

Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.

Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.

You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.

Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.

It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.

"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.

You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.

"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."

He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."

You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.

"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.

You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.

Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.

You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.

You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"

He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.

You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.

"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"

"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"

Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.

Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.

There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.

"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.

But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"

You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.

He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"

You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.

Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"

For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."

He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."

That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.

He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"

You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.

He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.

"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.

"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.

Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.

"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.

The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.

But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.

At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."

The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."

"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"

"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"

Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."

When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.

Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."

Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.

It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.

"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.

Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."

You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.

"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.

You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.

From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.

Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"

You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.

"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."

Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.

"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.

He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.

"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"

That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.

"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.

If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.

You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.

"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.

Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.

You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."

"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.

You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.

"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"

You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.

"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.

Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."

Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."

That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.

You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered.  "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"

He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.

You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"

His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.

"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"

He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.

And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.

His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.

Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."

Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.

His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."

You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.

His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"

Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."

He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.

You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.

"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."

He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.

He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.

Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.

So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.

His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.

"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.

When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.

"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.

His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.

Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.

This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.

Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.

He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.

When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.

But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"

He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.

Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.

You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.

"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.

"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.

But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.

Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.

Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"

You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.

Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."

You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"

You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."

Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.

You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.

Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.

You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.

You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."

He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.

As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.

The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.

"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"

His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.

You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.

You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.

Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."

Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.

"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."

You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.

You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.

You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.

His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.

Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.

And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.

So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.

"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"

He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.

"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."

You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."

Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.

Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.

"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—"  your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.

The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.

Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.

Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.

And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.

"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.

He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.

"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.

Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.

You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.

Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.

"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."

Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.

Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."

You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.

After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.

4 Months Later.

"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"

Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.

Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.

His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.

He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."

You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.

"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.

You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."

You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.

It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.

By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.

He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.

You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.

Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."

He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.

"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"

Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."

You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"

You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."

"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.

You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."

Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.

The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.

"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.

Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.

You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."

You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"

You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."

Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.

"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."

Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."

You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.

Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.

On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"

You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"

"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"

There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.

"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.

Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."

Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.

When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.

Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.

"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."

You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."

His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"

"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."

You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."

You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.

"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.

You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.

You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.

"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."

"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."

Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."

You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"

Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."

Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."

You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."

"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."

Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."

"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.

"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.

Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.

So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."

He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."

You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."

"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."

You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"

You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.

He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"

"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.

Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.

You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder

"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."

You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"

Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"

You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."

He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."

"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"

"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."

You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.

Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."

You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."

The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him,  your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.

The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.

"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.

You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.

You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.

One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."

You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.

Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."

You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."

Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"

"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"

You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.

By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.

That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.

"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.

Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."

You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."

"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."

Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."

You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."

Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."

You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."

"Wow, you look really good, girl."

The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.

"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.

Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.

The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.

That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.

As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.

"Sunoo?"

Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.

But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both

"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"

Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"

You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.

It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.

Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.

Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.

By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.

"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"

You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.

He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"

"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."

Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"

You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"

"That's not the point—"

"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"

You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."

You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."

Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes.       "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."

All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out.        Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"

But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."

You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."

Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.

"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."

You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.

Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.

By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.

You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.

"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."

You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.

• ───────────────── •

Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?

He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.

His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.

Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.

He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.

"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"

Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up.        "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."

Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass

Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"

"It's not a man," he said quietly.

And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"

Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."

His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."

There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."

He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."

Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"

"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."

Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."

Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."

He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."

Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer.        "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."

"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.

"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."

"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"

You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."

Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."

"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.

Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.

Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.

You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.

Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.

You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.

"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.

Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back.          "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.

"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."

If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?

But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?

Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.

The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.

Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."

You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.

And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.

You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.

"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."

Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.

"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."

A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."

You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."

You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.

"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."

You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.

"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."

You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.

You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.

"I thought you hated pop songs."

You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."

"But you sang the hell out of it."

"Don't push it," you warned.

Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"

You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.

Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"

Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time.           "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.

He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.

"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."

Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.

You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."

"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.

Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.

Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"

You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.

When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.

"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.

You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."

Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"

You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.

Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.

Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"

You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."

There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.

"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."

Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."

You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.

He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.

"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.

"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."

You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."

"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"

You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."

Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.

Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.

And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.

Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.

"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"

Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."

It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.

He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.

Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.

But then, Jake said your name.

"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."

Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."

The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.

Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."

But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.

No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.

Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.

And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.

"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.

Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"

But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.

All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?

No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.

You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.

Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.

The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.

Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.

"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.

He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.

Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."

Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?

"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"

"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.

You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"

Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."

Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?

And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.

"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."

You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"

"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"

And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.

Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.

Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"

Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.

You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"

You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"

He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"

"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"

Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."

But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.

"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."

You blinked, stunned. "What?"

Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."

And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "

Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."

"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.

He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."

His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."

The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"

That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."

He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.

You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.

When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.

You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.

You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.

"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.

He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."

You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.

"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."

Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.

You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.

But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.

"I... I have my period."

He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.

"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."

"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.

His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."

You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.

"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."

"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."

Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.

Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.

"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.

"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.

Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.

He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."

Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"

He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."

Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.

"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."

His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."

He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.

"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.

"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"

You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."

He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.

Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.

You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.

EPILOGUE

Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.

"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.

He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."

Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"

Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.

Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.

He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."

You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"

Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.

His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"

You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."

He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."

Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.

Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."

You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."

Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"

You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."

"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."

You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."

That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.

"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."

You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"

You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."

He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."

You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.

The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.

END.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

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KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.

He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.

And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!

And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.

"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.

He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?

His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.

"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.

His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.

The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."

Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.

"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.

It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.

Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.

There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.

"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!

You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.

Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."

You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.

When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.

What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"

He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."

You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."

Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."

You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."

You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.

"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.

You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"

You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.

You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.

You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.

"Who's that guy?"

Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?

"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."

Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching.         His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"

Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"

Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.

He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?

With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."

He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.

Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.

Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.

"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.

They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.

"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.

Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.

Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.

Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!

You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.

Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.

A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!

His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."

Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"

Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."

He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.

A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"

He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.

Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.

At least, that's what he told himself.

But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.

Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.

Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.

Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.

And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.

So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.

"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.

"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."

Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."

"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"

Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."

He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.

But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.

Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."

You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."

Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!

Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy.      "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.

Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.

"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.

"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.

You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.

You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.

You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.

With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.

Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.

So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.

"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.

Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—

Jake nudged him. "You good?"

"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."

But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!

And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.

Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.

"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."

And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.

Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."

Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.

And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.

But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!

And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.

But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.

He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.

"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.

He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.

You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"

His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."

You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"

"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."

You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."

He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."

"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."

Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.

He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.

He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."

You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."

Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"

You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."

The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.

You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."

That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.

Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"

Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"

Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."

Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."

Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."

Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.

Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"

Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.

"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.

Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.

The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.

You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.

Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.

It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?

"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.

You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.

Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.

You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."

That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"

And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.

He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with  him, though. Not just a friend.

If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.

And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.

And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!

Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."

And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.

And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.

His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.

You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"

Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."

You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."

"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.

"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."

The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.

Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.

So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."

The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.

Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.

You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"

"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."

You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."

He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."

You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"

You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."

He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.

"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."

Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."

The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.

"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.

You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.

You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."

Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."

You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."

He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.

"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."

Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."

He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!

"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.

"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."

Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."

Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"

"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."

Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."

Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"

Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.

He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"

Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.

Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.

"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"

Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.

"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."

Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"

Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.

Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.

"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"

Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.

There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!

So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.

Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"

Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"

You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"

Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"

You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."

Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"

"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.

He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"

"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."

He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"

"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.

Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.

You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"

"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"

"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.

You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."

"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.

You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.

That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.

His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.

You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.

"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.

Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.

You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."

He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.

"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."

He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."

Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."

Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."

You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.

Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.

He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.

The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.

You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.

When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.

Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.

Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.

He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.

He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.

And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.

Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.

"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.

You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.

Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.

Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.

And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.

His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.

"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.

You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.

Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.

"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.

Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.

Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.

"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.

You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.

Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"

"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.

You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."

But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.

"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."

He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.

"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."

You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"

You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"

"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"

"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"

"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"

Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.

Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.

"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"

You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.

"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."

You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.

Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.

"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.

You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.

Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.

He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.

He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."

Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.

"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."

Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.

It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.

Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —

"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"

Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.

The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"

Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."

Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."

Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.

All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.

You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.

Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.

But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.

Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.

The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.

"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"

You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.

Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.

What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.

What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.

"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.

You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.

"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.

You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.

"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."

Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."

Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.

Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.

"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."

"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.

Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."

You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.

"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.

Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"

Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"

"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.

You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.

Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.

You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.

Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.

You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.

"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.

You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"

He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."

You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"

His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."

You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"

That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.

He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"

The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.

God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"

You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.

"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."

Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.

"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."

Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."

You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."

"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."

His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.

"Okay," you said. "Sorry."

You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"

You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."

His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.

"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."

He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.

You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.

He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.

Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.

You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.

"My shirt's in the living room—"

"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.

You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"

He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.

Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.

"You're hard."

Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."

The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.

You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.

He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."

You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"

"No. You're the one making it complicated."

His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.

You waited. "Never what?"

"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."

"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"

He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.

His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.

There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.

Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.

The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.

"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...

He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.

His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.

With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.

Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.

You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."

And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.

Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.

He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.

Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.

And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.

"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."

"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.

Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.

Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.

Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.

You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.

Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.

It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.

"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.

You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.

"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."

He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."

You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.

"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.

You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.

Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.

You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.

You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"

He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.

You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.

"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"

"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"

Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.

Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.

There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.

"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.

But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"

You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.

He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"

You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.

Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"

For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."

He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."

That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.

He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"

You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.

He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.

"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.

"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.

Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.

"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.

The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.

But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.

At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."

The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."

"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"

"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"

Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."

When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.

Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."

Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.

It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.

"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.

Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."

You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.

"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.

You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.

From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.

Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"

You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.

"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."

Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.

"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.

He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.

"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"

That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.

"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.

If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.

You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.

"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.

Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.

You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."

"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.

You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.

"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"

You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.

"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.

Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."

Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."

That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.

You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered.  "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"

He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.

You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"

His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.

"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"

He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.

And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.

His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.

Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."

Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.

His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."

You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.

His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"

Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."

He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.

You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.

"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."

He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.

He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.

Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.

So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.

His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.

"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.

When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.

"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.

His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.

Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.

This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.

Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.

He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.

When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.

But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"

He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.

Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.

You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.

"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.

"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.

But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.

Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.

Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"

You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.

Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."

You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"

You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."

Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.

You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.

Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.

You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.

You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."

He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.

As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.

The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.

"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"

His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.

You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.

You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.

Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."

Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.

"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."

You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.

You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.

You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.

His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.

Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.

And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.

So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.

"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"

He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.

"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."

You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."

Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.

Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.

"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—"  your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.

The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.

Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.

Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.

And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.

"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.

He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.

"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.

Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.

You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.

Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.

"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."

Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.

Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."

You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.

After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.

4 Months Later.

"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"

Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.

Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.

His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.

He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."

You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.

"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.

You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."

You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.

It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.

By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.

He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.

You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.

Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."

He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.

"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"

Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."

You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"

You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."

"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.

You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."

Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.

The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.

"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.

Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.

You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."

You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"

You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."

Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.

"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."

Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."

You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.

Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.

On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"

You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"

"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"

There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.

"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.

Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."

Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.

When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.

Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.

"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."

You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."

His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"

"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."

You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."

You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.

"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.

You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.

You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.

"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."

"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."

Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."

You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"

Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."

Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."

You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."

"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."

Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."

"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.

"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.

Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.

So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."

He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."

You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."

"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."

You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"

You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.

He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"

"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.

Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.

You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder

"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."

You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"

Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"

You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."

He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."

"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"

"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."

You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.

Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."

You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."

The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him,  your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.

The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.

"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.

You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.

You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.

One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."

You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.

Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."

You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."

Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"

"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"

You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.

By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.

That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.

"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.

Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."

You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."

"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."

Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."

You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."

Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."

You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."

"Wow, you look really good, girl."

The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.

"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.

Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.

The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.

That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.

As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.

"Sunoo?"

Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.

But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both

"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"

Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"

You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.

It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.

Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.

Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.

By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.

"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"

You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.

He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"

"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."

Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"

You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"

"That's not the point—"

"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"

You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."

You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."

Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes.       "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."

All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out.        Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"

But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."

You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."

Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.

"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."

You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.

Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.

By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.

You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.

"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."

You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.

• ───────────────── •

Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?

He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.

His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.

Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.

He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.

"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"

Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up.        "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."

Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass

Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"

"It's not a man," he said quietly.

And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"

Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."

His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."

There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."

He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."

Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"

"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."

Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."

Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."

He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."

Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer.        "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."

"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.

"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."

"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"

You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."

Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."

"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.

Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.

Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.

You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.

Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.

You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.

"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.

Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back.          "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.

"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."

If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?

But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?

Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.

The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.

Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."

You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.

And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.

You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.

"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."

Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.

"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."

A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."

You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."

You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.

"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."

You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.

"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."

You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.

You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.

"I thought you hated pop songs."

You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."

"But you sang the hell out of it."

"Don't push it," you warned.

Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"

You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.

Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"

Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time.           "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.

He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.

"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."

Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.

You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."

"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.

Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.

Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"

You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.

When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.

"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.

You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."

Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"

You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.

Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.

Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"

You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."

There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.

"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."

Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."

You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.

He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.

"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.

"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."

You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."

"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"

You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."

Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.

Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.

And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.

Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.

"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"

Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."

It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.

He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.

Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.

But then, Jake said your name.

"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."

Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."

The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.

Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."

But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.

No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.

Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.

And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.

"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.

Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"

But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.

All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?

No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.

You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.

Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.

The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.

Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.

"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.

He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.

Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."

Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?

"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"

"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.

You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"

Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."

Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?

And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.

"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."

You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"

"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"

And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.

Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.

Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"

Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.

You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"

You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"

He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"

"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"

Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."

But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.

"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."

You blinked, stunned. "What?"

Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."

And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "

Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."

"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.

He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."

His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."

The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"

That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."

He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.

You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.

When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.

You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.

You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.

"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.

He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."

You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.

"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."

Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.

You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.

But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.

"I... I have my period."

He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.

"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."

"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.

His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."

You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.

"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."

"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."

Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.

Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.

"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.

"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.

Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.

He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."

Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"

He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."

Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.

"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."

His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."

He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.

"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.

"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"

You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."

He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.

Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.

You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.

EPILOGUE

Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.

"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.

He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."

Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"

Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.

Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.

He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."

You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"

Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.

His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"

You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."

He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."

Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.

Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."

You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."

Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"

You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."

"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."

You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."

That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.

"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."

You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"

You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."

He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."

You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.

The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.

END.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

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The house was packed wall-to-wall. Bodies swayed to the music. Lights pulsed like heartbeats. You ducked away from the chaos, slipping past the kitchen, past a laundry room—until you found it. A quiet back hallway with a dim red glow leaking through a half-open door.

You meant to just sit and breathe.

But when you pushed the door open, you found him.

Jake. Sim Jaeyun. Slouched against the wall. Half his red leather jacket slipping off his shoulder, hair messy from dancing, and that sleeveless shirt clinging to his chest—sweat making it near transparent.

He looked up. His eyes locked on you like you were a surprise he didn’t know he’d been waiting for.

“Didn’t think anyone else knew this part of the house existed,” he said, a crooked grin on his lips.

“I could say the same,” you muttered, heart hammering in your chest.

He pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer. The music still pulsed outside, but it felt far away now. Like the world had narrowed down to just this hallway. Just the two of you. Just him.

“You’re… Y/N, right?” he asked, voice low, playful.

Your breath caught. “You… know my name?”

Jake smirked. “Of course. You’re the quiet guy who always wears those oversized hoodies. I notice more than people think.”

You were stunned into silence.

He stepped closer again, and now you could see the way his chain gleamed under the dim light, the way his chest rose and fell just a little faster. “You looked like you didn’t wanna be at the party either,” he murmured. “Thought maybe you’d understand.”

You nodded slowly, but your voice betrayed you. “Yeah… I get it. Too many eyes.”

Jake tilted his head. “Then maybe we can look at each other instead.”

Before you could reply, he closed the distance—and kissed you.

Hot, slow, testing. You gasped against his lips, and he took that as permission, tilting your chin up and deepening it. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you back into the wall, and your head spun.

“I’ve wanted to do that since midterms,” he confessed against your neck, breath hot, fingers curling into your shirt. “The way you look when you're reading? Fuck.”

You were drowning in him—his scent, his heat, the slick brush of his lips on your jaw.

“Jake—someone might—”

He silenced you with another kiss, this one rougher, more desperate. “Let them,” he whispered. “They’ll just see me kissing the guy who actually makes me lose my mind.”

Your body was pressed flush against the cold wall now, Jake’s hand slipping under your shirt. His touch was fire, his mouth tracing your collarbone, biting softly, then licking the sting away.

You whimpered.

“Shhh, baby,” he cooed, lips brushing your ear. “Can’t have you being loud if we’re gonna keep this secret, yeah?”

You nodded, flushed and breathless.

His hand slid lower, and your hips bucked into him instinctively. Jake groaned.

“Fuck, you're sensitive,” he muttered. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“Then do it,” you challenged, surprising even yourself.

Jake’s eyes darkened.

“Oh, you have no idea what you just unlocked.”

You didn’t know how it happened. One second, you were pinned against the hallway wall, Jake’s mouth devouring every sound you made. The next, his fingers had laced through yours and pulled you—half-dazed and fully aroused—up the creaking stairs, past the noise, past the crowd.

To his room.

He closed the door behind you with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the music downstairs. The room was warm, dimly lit with fairy lights tangled across the headboard. A poster half-ripped on one wall, cologne bottles on a cluttered dresser, an unmade bed that you suddenly couldn’t look away from.

Jake didn’t say a word at first. Just looked at you. Really looked. Like he was deciding where to touch first.

He took off his chain slowly, eyes never leaving yours. Then the red leather jacket. He tossed it on the desk chair without care, like he’d done this a hundred times—but tonight, something about his hands screamed restraint.

“You okay?” he asked gently, stepping closer.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice a little shaky. “You?”

Jake gave you that soft half-smile again, the one that made your knees weak. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Then his hands were on you again—one gripping your waist, the other sliding under your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your skin like he was memorizing you. You shivered.

He kissed you this time with less urgency, more intent. His lips moved like he had time. Like he wanted you to feel everything. And you did—your heart beating so hard it echoed in your ears, your body arching instinctively into his.

You grabbed at his shirt, dragging your nails lightly down his side. “Off,” you said, voice low, breathless.

Jake chuckled, low and teasing. “Yes, sir.”

He pulled the sleeveless shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, revealing sweat-slicked skin, toned chest, collarbones you wanted to worship. You swallowed hard.

Your hands moved without thinking, tracing up his abs, then his chest, pausing when he let out the softest sound—a choked gasp that made your body burn.

“Fuck,” he murmured, tilting his head back. “Keep doing that.”

You stepped forward, pushing him gently toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge. He let you, eyes wide and full of hunger. You kissed down his jaw, then lower, until your mouth reached the curve of his throat. He let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the sheets behind him.

“Y/N,” he breathed, voice cracking, “if you keep teasing me like this, I might forget I’m supposed to take care of you too.”

You smirked against his skin. “Who said you had to take the lead?”

Jake let out a surprised little laugh. “Damn. Quiet guy’s got a mouth on him.”

But even as he said it, he pushed you down—slow, gentle, guiding you to your knees between his legs. His hand tangled in your hair like he’d been dreaming of it.

“You don’t have to—” he started, breath hitching.

“I want to,” you said.

He didn’t say another word.

Just watched you, lips parted, eyes dark as you undid his belt, pulled his jeans down just enough, and saw the outline of everything he’d been holding back.

He was packing. His length was probably around 6.5 to 7 inches, maybe a bit more. The girth was unfairly satisfying. Not baseball-bat thick, but thick enough that you could already feel your jaw going numb just by looking at it.

“Holy shit,” you muttered.

Jake bit his lip, trying not to look smug—and failing. “Still want to play quiet now?”

You didn’t answer.

You just opened your mouth.

His reaction? Immediate. A curse, then a gasp. His hand tightening in your hair, not to control—just to ground himself. His head hit the wall behind him.

“F-fuck, Y/N—oh my god—”

You worked him slow, steady. Tongue tracing every inch. Every whimper from him went straight to your core. He was losing it. For you.

“Look at me,” he begged, voice breaking.

You did.

And he almost came from just that.

Before he could do so though, he gently pulled your head away and in a moment, his lips were already on yours again.

Next thing you knew, you were lying on his bed, hearts racing, skin buzzing from everything that happened before. Jake was hovering over you, his hand cupping your cheek like you were something fragile, precious—his.

“I…” You swallowed hard. “I’ve never done this before.”

Jake’s eyes widened slightly, but not in surprise. More like—relief? Awe?

“Okay,” he whispered. One hand brushed your hair away from your face. “Okay. We’ll take it slow. We’ll stop if you need to, yeah?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening around his wrist.

He kissed your forehead. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you breathed, voice small but steady. “Just… be gentle?”

Jake smiled, soft and sincere, and kissed you again—this time like he was promising you something sacred.

“I will. I’ll take care of you, baby.”

He took his time with everything. His hands explored you like a map—fingertips memorizing every spot that made you gasp, shiver, arch. He slicked his fingers, prepping you carefully—watching your face with every motion, kissing you through every wince and whimper.

When he was done, he was about to stand up when you suddenly locked your legs on his hips. He looked at you, gentle yet a raw desire radiating from his eyes.

“Wait, baby. I’ll just get a condom from my pocket—”

“Don’t,” you almost whimpered. “I want you, Jake.”

You could see him swallow hard. At that moment, you knew. This wasn't some random heat-of-the-moment hookup in a grimy frat house bathroom.

No—

This was Sim Jaeyun taking his time with you, treating your first time like it meant something. Because it did—to both of you.

And when he finally lined himself up, hands shaking slightly from how badly he wanted you, he asked one last time:

“You want me like this?” he murmured, rubbing the tip against you, voice strained. “No condom?

And you nodded, breath hitching, trusting him.

“I want to feel all of you.”

Jake went still, his jaw clenched—like your words broke something in him.

“Fuck… okay. I’ll go slow. I’ll be gentle. Just tell me if it’s too much, baby.”

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, whispering praise the whole time.

“You’re doing so well for me.”

“So tight… so good…”

“Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

The stretch stung a little at first, but his lips were everywhere—your cheek, your jaw, your neck—until it turned into something warm and full and right. Your hands tangled in his hair, and he laced his fingers with yours.

He started to move—slow, careful, hips rolling deep and smooth. It wasn’t about roughness. It wasn’t about dominance. It was about you.

And you felt everything.

Jake moaning softly into your ear, his breath stuttering. The way he held your hand like he never wanted to let go. The tremble in his voice when he said your name like it was a prayer.

“Fuck, Y/N—you feel so good, baby.”

You gasped, your body clinging to him.

“I-I can’t believe it’s you,” you whispered, overwhelmed.