world of #you

Jungwon is troubled by a moral dilemma, being yours when three's a crowd. Your boyfriend is a constant thorn in his side, damned into irrelevancy but clawing back with a type of vengeance leaving bitter ash in Jungwon's mouth. The same distaste he attempts hiding at the stories you tell, the supposed happy pictures cluttering your feed. Happiness shines in your eyes, so pure and abundant. And yet, in your boyfriend's…his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, something dark hidden behind them. A pretence - a thin veil eclipsing true intentions Jungwon's yet to figure out. It drives him into slight delirium, seeing a variable he can't account for, knowing no good can come from it. 

Then again, there's no good in being with Jungwon, that is something he can admit. But he can also acknowledge that if your boyfriend didn't exist, he would give you everything. If you asked, it'd be yours in a heartbeat. Over and over again before the thought of him or anyone else could cross his mind.

At least in this regard, he can say his intentions are pure. The same cannot be said for your boyfriend, who when finally revealed for who he really is, brings you soaked in downpour at Jungwon's doorstep. A smaller version streaked down your cheeks, collapsing your body in grief towards the man who hates how braced he is for this.

Jungwon wishes this could've come at different price - the void of your pain, the simplicity of it all. A muddle of good and bad blurring into the grey he's been swimming in since he'd laid eyes on you. And, as the soft salt lamp light casts across the soft landscape of your skin, looking like every bit of heaven in Jungwon's attic bedroom, he realises he's stirred long enough in his moral dilemma. Because what is a better confrontation than through?

It starts on an unimportant Thursday. On the blue carpet of their accommodation's foyer floor, where just the night before they'd been throwing back shots so fast it's a miracle they'd gotten into the club, much less found their way there. They're paying the price for it now, slumped in day old sweats shovelling greasy takeout food into their mouths, hoping their queasy stomachs can absorb anything non alcoholic.

"Okay," Sunoo concludes, the older of the three holding up a fried chip. "I admit: Sambuca is a better shot than Vodka but," he blows a raspberry. "In smaller amounts."

"Agreed." Jungwon murmurs, his thousand yard stare cast with a mindless burger-bite. Just the right amount of grease. He groans. 

"You guys are pussies," Riki's eyes roll, stealing Sunoo's chips. Then dipping them into his strawberry milkshake. Jungwon looks away before he hurls. 

"We are not the same clearly," Sunoo establishes, index finger wagging between him and Jungwon. "Jungwon and I know when to quit. You…drink from an unknown bottle outside the club at 4 am."

"That was really bad, I admit," Riki nods his head into the wall he's propped against, toying with his chain bracelets. "At least it wasn't spiked or anything. We had that nice little DMC on the curb too. You win some, you lose some."

The incredulous huff Sunoo does mirrors Jungwon's, eyes caught over in a smile of disbelief. "Let's not gamble with our lives, okay?" Sunoo's hand braces on Riki's shoulder, finally eating his chip with the other. "Just don't pull that shit when she's here,"

Jungwon remembers. "Oh, your visitor?"

"Is she hot?" Riki asks, because he has to.

"She's my cousin."

"My point still stands," the takeout bag echoes with Riki's rummaging, teeth bared to rip open some tomato sauce. "Actually, she can't be, right? Since she's related to you."

Sunoo shoots daggers. "I should kill you."

"It'll get me out my next exam, go ahead," Riki only shrugs, only to pause halfway through. "Actually, don't. I've got tickets to see Carti and Abel in the summer."

"And Abel," Jungwon whispers, chuckle bleeding into his hoodie's arm. For how reserved Riki is, parasocialism lives loudly in him, speaking as if he's familiar enough with the Weeknd to refer to him as Abel.

Jungwon has to bury his face, his hangover amplifying his laughter.

"My God, my exam is tomorrow," his fingers card through his loose curls, tugging at dark roots. "Why did I go out?" 

"First year doesn't count." 

Sunoo lifts his head, looking particularly drained. "I'm in second year." 

"What the fuck?" Riki jerks back. Then Jungwon watches the light bulb go off. "Yeah, wait - you are. Yo, you need to get a grip ─ first years can't be bullying you into nights out."

"Says the guy who'd break down my door if I didn't come out for pres."

After a few more chews, Jungwon clears his throat, changing the subject. "She's staying the weekend?" 

"Yeah. She'll be down tomorrow night and leave sometime Sunday," he explains, tenderness blooming across his face. The staircase light streaming through its leading glass door catches it, the foyer doused in early evening darkness, distant elevators dings announcing their destination. "I'll take her to the city on Saturday - give her another incentive to like the place."

"Another incentive?" Riki steals another chip. 

"It's a long story." 

"She's coming here for uni then?" Jungwon clarifies. 

"Most likely," his response follows with a shake of the head, noticed by Jungwon. "In any case, we'll probably do bottomless brunch that day so if you guys are around, we could all have a drink when we're back."

"Let me get this Sambuca out my system first," Jungwon grins over his burger, stretching his legs to touch soles with the youngest of their three. Riki's nose scrunches, bringing more laughter out Jungwon. "But I'll be around."

"Me too." 

"Thanks guys," Sunoo's cheeks bunch up in that rosy, pleased way. His gaze shifts back to his chips, of which there are none. "Where'd all my chips go?"

Not so discreetly, Riki shoves the last milkshake covered chip in his mouth, caught with a wail from Sunoo who lunges at him.

"Rikiiiii!" 

Jungwon actually forgets you're meant to show. The exam he has the following Tuesday dials in his focus, tucking him away in the quiet library corners on a sparse Friday night. When he's trekking back to his residence of the year, he hears the faint buzz of a club night, admittedly dulled by exam session's tension but still palpable in the tipsy girls zooming past him, shimmering in their glittery tops as they giggle about the pres they're late for. It's the kind of lax Jungwon wishes he'd give himself, so rotted in the high hopes people have for him - overachieving, athletic, oh so friendly - he can't take a day off, doesn't allow himself to.

Existing for others weighs heavily today, a gnawing knot in his neck he massages while weaving through the path leading to his accommodation, wanting nothing more but to collapse into his bed and watch a movie. At least he knew what to expect then. He's rummaging in his coat pocket, a slight annoyance in grazes instead of grapples before his head shoots up, the call of his name earning attention.

In the grassy patch of land outside his staggering accommodation presents a somewhat usual sight. Sunoo, with his green zip-up sleeves rolled up, waving a friendly hand his way, smile to match. Except he's not alone. 

You're there. Painted in hues of late afternoon sunlight, streaking gold into your hair, conjuring something mythical in your eyes, twinkle vast in them as your gaze sets on him. A strange thing happens in those seconds. Perhaps a skipped heartbeat or a flutter in his chest, an unknown coming in hot and fast, a flash of emotions he doesn't want to name. You're shy, he observes as your eyes dart soon afterwards, a hand grated against your jeans when eye-contact overwhelms you, circling back again because he stays. Lingers long after he starts his conversation with Sunoo.

"What you guys doing out here?"

"Riki had his door open, so I took his ball," Sunoo supplies, the football tucked at his side, set on the ground with his foot over it. "We'd do this all time when the weather was like this, playing until our moms came out moaning about mosquito bites and the grass stains we'd help get out,"

Sunoo giggles at the memory, hand over his whiskered cheeks before his eyes take on a comically large shape.

"Oh God, where are my manners?" The same hand splays over his chest, gestured in the space between you and Jungwon. "This is the guy I was talking to you about, my flatmate, Jungwon."

Sunoo introduces you, says your name. Jungwon tests the syllables on his tongue, mouth running dry. "Been friends for almost a year and I'm still your flatmate?"

The harmless tease earns him a slap on the shoulder, smile smug as he extends his hand over to you, shaking it despite the jolt of electricity conjured in your pressed palms. "Sunoo's cousin, right?"

"Yes," you confirm, sugar cookie sweet. It's how your voice plays in Jungwon's ears, haunting him longer than he expects, the current of your pressed skin never forgotten as his hand comes to his side again, a look cast between you and Sunoo. 

"Mind if I join?"

"You're not tired from the library?" Sunoo quizzes, ball rolling out from his foot, treading to where you've created distance. 

It's not intentional. His eyes just happen to find yours, foot coming down on the football as your eyes find his. A lone lip corner ticks, lifting upwards as he relays. 

"I've got energy to spare."

And he does, their trio forming a pointed triangle shape, Jungwon closest to you as the ball gets kicked around, picking up mud specks Riki will rant about later, but it's worth it. Talking with you is worth the earful when he gets to learn more about you, the soft sounds of Sunoo's playlist humming amidst your nearby belongings. 

You're in the middle of firming between one of three uni choices, an addition to seeing Sunoo again presenting the option of seeing the campus of one. You plan on studying Astronomy, have a thing for stars as seen on the star charm on your bracelet and the app on your phone you show him when Sunoo needs a break, chugging water from his Owala bottle. Your shoulders brush in the interaction, Jungwon's figure towering over you as he peers into your phone, focusing on your words, but it frays. Simmers down to your manicured nail pointing out the intricacies of the app he'll download later, camera lens pointed to the sky when you show him the constellations it outlines. Your perfume mists in the movement, something like brown sugar and marshmallow together ─ S'mores, he'll learn later on because your sweet tooth bleeds over into other aspects of your life. Your scent, your words, your actions. He notes it all and when he attempts archiving them in the hoard of his mind, he halts. Questions what to label such a thing. It's attraction, that part he understands, but Jungwon's mindful. Of Sunoo's presence looming protectively over you, hollering in the set sun that you should head inside, relaying the same information your mothers relayed about mosquito bites. 

He also remembers Sunoo's words, about the other incentive swaying your decision and his mind, like it always does, takes it and runs. Mulls over possibilities, deliberates what the consequences of making his attraction known. If you'd reciprocate, if his extends beyond a harmless kiss or remains satisfied with pressed lips. 

Miraculously, the file sorting stops. More so done when your voice pierces through his muddle of thoughts, his backpack hauled onto his shoulders again, looking your way as the football rests against your hip. 

"We're planning on watching a movie after this," you mention, a curve to your lips dashed in timidity. His teeth ache to sink. "Did you wanna…join?"

The invitation fills his chest with a warm light, head tilted with mischief interfering. "Depends,"

You give your side profile, eyebrow arched with the same grin. "I can be a bit snobbish about movies."

"He's all about psychological thrillers," Sunoo rolls his eyes, turning his speaker off. "You'd swear he's studying Psychology with all the stuff docked into his Letterboxd."

"You have Letterboxd too?" He nods. Then takes initiative. 

"You'll have to show me your profile," he insists. Walking alongside you, shoulders brushing again. Your breath hitches, peering up at him with the shake of your pupils as he adds. "This depends on what your favourite four films are."

"This?" 

"How well we'll get along," he supplies, filtering into the lift, leaning against its back rail. "That's what Sunoo would want, right?"

"I'd hope so if you're coming here next year," he hikes a thumb over his shoulder, at Jungwon. "I'm in a house with him and Riki next year, so."

Jungwon drops onto Sunoo, a yelp dashing amusement amidst Jungwon's features as he slings an arm around Sunoo. "You'll be seeing a lot more of us."

It's a promise he sees linger on your mind, present when you've gone and rejoined in Sunoo's room, his door pinned open as Sunoo sets up his monitor to a movie night, Riki invited but already having plans with other friends to hotbox their car. Jungwon doesn't mind. After all, with Sunoo's back to you, he gets to inch close to you, comparing Letterboxd entries, laughing at some but pleasantly surprised by others. You have a lot of crossover, and he lets it be known, a harmless comment turning your head away, as if he hadn't seen the curve of your lips beforehand. 

And when Sunoo's set-up is good to go, Jungwon doesn't persist. Lets Sunoo sandwich in between your bodies, offering butter popcorn you have a thing for and the movie plays, darkness dominating the space if not for the muted tones cast across your faces throughout, your face not forgotten even after you turn in for the night, Jungwon retreating to his room.

Collapsing onto his bed, he sees his notes from earlier. Also sees you. The sterling sliver of your bracelet, the hair against your nape, the aversion of your eyes, a hidden smile. He'd let it co-exist with the race of his thoughts, if not for their unusual lull, gratitude in his chest as he rests easy for the first time in years. 

You're at bottomless brunch like Sunoo mentioned, flooding his Instagram story with scenery pictures and the obscene amount of cocktails you cycle through, Sunoo's words less coherent as the glasses pile. There's one video Jungwon's replayed, where Sunoo drunkenly asks what number cocktail you're on ─ a close friends story ─ and you match his energy, not as drunk but tipsy enough to yell the number back at him, giggling at your own ridiculousness. Jungwon's thumb jams into his screen, video paused on the slivered smile the camera catches, your head turned but expression vivid in his mind. 

He has to do pushups like the loser he is, a poor attempt to erase the sight, heaving his way to 100. He's brought to his knees, hands braced on his thighs as sweat drops to the taut red carpet beneath him, breaths echoed in the vacancy of his room. A shower is needed, not without Riki catching him on his way out, whistling at the towel bunched around his middle, Jungwon ruffling his hair with an eye roll. He has no plans except to study, something he condemns himself to as the hours tick, only for a practice exam question to escape his understanding. 

Luckily for him, one of his module's shining pupils resides in the same accommodation, floors down where he goes to bug him, stopped on his way into the winding staircase.

Sunoo stumbles into the foyer, lights flickered on by his sluggish movements, shopping bags draped around his forearms and is…just a bit of a mess. An endearing one after all the sugary cocktails consumed. 

"Jungwooooon," he wears out all the o's, cheeks flushed and whiskered as he collapses over him in a hug, dropping enough for Jungwon to brace. Over Sunoo's shoulder, Jungwon looks, not exactly caught off guard but similar, looking for the other variable in the messy equation.

The heavy glass-panelled staircase doors echoes with its close, Mary Jane's pushed into your share of shopping bags as frilly white socks skid against floor stubborn on white, pushing hair out of your face. In the motion, your eyes lock, pupils blowing instantly. The twitch of his lip Jungwon's only tell. 

"You should've come with us. There were so many cute shops," Sunoo asserts, prying from him with a pout as he rummages through his shopping bags, kraft paper crinkling. "I bought you something, got Riki a little something too. You know me shopping drunk."

A menace. Running without thought through isles, fawning over whatever catches his eyes and swiping his card without discrimination. It'd been one of the first few times they'd gone out together, a bottomless brunch meant to celebrate Riki who was equally drunk, flushed in his high cheek bones, mumbling to himself as he scanned articles of clothing. He'd picked out a zip-up hoodie, one Sunoo snatched out his hands, insisting it'd be his birthday present to him despite its costly price tag. Sunoo moaned the next morning, hands making a mess of his hair after he'd looked at his bank account while Jungwon and Riki could only laugh, Riki already wearing the hoodie. He wears it often. 

"Glad you had fun," Jungwon comments, hand coming up to whisk some flyaway hairs out of Sunoo's face as he still rummages, stumbling a bit. Jungwon steadies him, turning his attention to you hovering not far behind. "Did you have a good time? No handful Sunoo?" 

"I'm never a handful!" he retorts, childish in tone and encouraging shared laughter, your hand smoothing the back of your cousin's head. 

"It was great fun, I had a good time," you confirm, easiness spread like melted butter amongst your features. Jungwon can't really tell if you're just as drunk, your observed nature one and the same. Except for the repeated flutters of your lashes, eyes somehow more glassy as they peer up at him. "Sunoo's great at convincing me to stay." 

"Pretty sure Jaehyun has a big part in that," is Sunoo's harmless response, except when surprise floods your widened eyes, Jungwon realises the misspoken error. 

"Who's Jaehyun?" he asks anyways, witnessing the squirm of your body as your gaze dashes to your feet, wiggling in your frilly socks. 

"Only the guy she's─" 

Your hand swallows Sunoo's mouth, the rest of his sentence unintelligible but Jungwon puts the pieces together. Surmises your demeanour and knows there's another man in your life. One you're contemplating going to the same university for, all in the sake of proximity. 

He thinks it's cute. Partially wishes it was him that warranted the effort. 

"We'll go put these down and come back out for drinks," you utter through gritted teeth, Sunoo tapping away at your hand with knitted eyebrows. You don't yield, instead baring a tight lipped-smile Jungwon's way. "You're still up for it?"

"Of course." 

He's covered all his bases, study timetable on schedule, so he can afford the luxury. He's too nosy to pass up the opportunity anyways. 

So, you go your separate ways again, rejoining later when Jungwon better understands his practice exam question and Riki's scratched at his door, meowing with an accompanying throaty laugh. Jungwon smiles despite himself, beer can box in hand with the other fist bumping Riki, asking what antics entailed his last night. 

"I woke up high," he giggles, swiping a hand over his face. "Had to trek all the way back trying not to shit myself from all the cars driving by,"

"There was a rat in the bushes near the dining hall too. I fully launched like, at least three feet in the air." 

Jungwon grins, nudging Riki's shoulder. "And you wonder why those scouts are always hounding you." 

"I'm sorry, but I'm already unserious about uni. What makes you think I'll take that seriously?" 

"I don't know," Jungwon shrugs, Riki pushing open the door to the foyer, motion-sensor covered to keep the room's dim, LED disco alight with drinks and chasers circled around Sunoo's ongoing speaker. His gaze cuts to you, shuffling UNO cards they'll use for other purposes and feels joy come from within. "Things surprise you. Maybe it's the kick you need."

Like Jungwon anticipates, the UNO cards are used for some other drinking games, ice broken as laughter clutters the air, meshing with the hype music Riki hogs the aux over, nodding along when he's not actively stirring shit, grin shit-eating when Sunoo forgets the rules again, prompted to drink with which he does with an eye-roll and pleased smile. You can only shake your head, face-palming. When you look up, Jungwon's eyes are on yours. He chuckles too, and the look you exchange embodies a secret you share, your gaze averted first ─ as always ─ before your group gets into other games, one that unknowingly puts Jungwon under the spotlight. 

"Popular?" Jungwon can't help laugh, not drunk enough for this conversation. "This isn't high school, you know?"

"Bro, if we have to stop every five steps because we've come across someone who knows you," Riki cards his fingers through his blond hair, tucking it back into his snapback. "I'd say you're pretty fucking popular."

"He's sweet, sociable that way," Sunoo explains, fanning the flush beneath his cheeks before a sidelong glance of feigned disgust is chucked Riki's way. "Unlike someone."

"Good thing I'm not looking for anyone's approval." Riki shrugs, swatting away outreached hands in Sunoo's drunk attempt of smoothing Riki's ego. "Doesn't hurt you're stupidly handsome."

Smugness begs for disclosure, pushed down by some shred of sheepishness as Jungwon swipes his flush away. "What are you even talking about?"

"His body when he gets out the shower?" Riki directs his sentence to you, forehead creased with bleached-raised eyebrows. "No joke."

A scorch unrelated to alcohol's blanket gnaws up Jungwon's neck, more embarrassed than flattered. Riki rarely talks in new company, but the alcohol's made him talkative. More than Jungwon bargains for. 

"Hey, you're handsome too, Nishimura," Jungwon winks, gesture met with another swat. He creaks a turn your way, hyper-aware of your presence through this all. "As you can see, dramatics are our thing."

"Don't you think so?" Riki's question is posed, floor given with a fatal silence handed over to you.

Jungwon could kick Riki for instigating, the hidden smirk behind his cup fully intentional. Sunoo could intervene, but he's indifferent when checking his reflection with his phone's screen. Jungwon could too, but over the low murmur of Aminé, his nth life is sacrificed. He's barely known you twenty-four hours and yet, he doesn't recognise himself. The way you have no formula, how no slots carefully curated through his life belong to you ─ in everything he can (in)sanely control, you're an anomaly. Make him act that way too, hinging himself closer to inspect what perception of him you've formed, whether there's a world where if Jaehyun didn't exist, you'd pick him. 

The dark lighting's cruel. It doesn't give you away, but the constant bounce of your pupils do, Jungwon given a nanosecond glance before you rock yourself with knees to your chest, fingers toying with your bracelet charms.

"Yeah," hardly makes it over the music, the speaker smashed to pieces if within Jungwon's reach. Down in your lap, your head ducks as a shallow nod confirms his slight disbelief. "He's, uhm…really handsome."

How do others usually respond to such a thing? A confession of attraction when it matters, when it goes both ways? Flashes come, but they go, not nearly as meaningful to the present moment, your presence balled so small into yourself like you can't believe the words escaped you, centimetres away ─ enough for Jungwon's hand to shift with the graze of his fingertip to your sandals.

"I still take the cake though," Sunoo's voice pulls Jungwon out the hammer of his heart, eyes flicked up in time for Sunoo's imaginary hair flip. "I'll give him a tough time during Summer Ball awards."

You seem to come back to life too, head shaking as you utter. "You have a ball?!"

"I sent you those Winter Ball pics, didn't I?" he gasps, his phone grabbed in a haste, searching through countless photos. Riki, slightly tipsy off rum, doesn't bother hiding his peer into Sunoo's phone, leveraging his chin on him as Sunoo scrolls uninterrupted. "It had a chocolate fountain and everything! They had fake snow blowing for our group photos, it was so─"

However attuned Jungwon usually is to Sunoo's words, they dissipate into the background, glazed over in a blurring film as you make your way across, settling in between Sunoo and Riki to view the pictures Sunoo showcases. Time passes like this, Sunoo's phone on constant display even after you've retrieved back into the dorms section, beer cans emptied in Jungwon's midst, teeth gnawing into his lip at the flush searing beneath his skin.

"I might get my pills," Jungwon lifts himself off the ground, seared heat held in his body. 

"You're meant to take them before you start drinking," Sunoo helpfully reminds him, yanking his phone away from Riki's swipes. "What do you want?"

"Post this selfie, it's bet─" Riki's eyes bulge out his head, grin manic. "Is that a fucking thirst trap?!"

"Give it back, Riki!" 

Jungwon leaves them piled together, a mess of giggles and mild embarrassment with Sunoo's phone out his reach. With a beep, Jungwon scans himself into their flat, halls carrying an eerie silence as his feet swipe across the slate carpet, meaning to duck into his room five doors down but instead going further to the kitchen. Two further doors down, opposite Riki's room, where the door creaks open and─

You're there. Back towards him, having the same idea of getting water. Head whipping in his direction with a look similar to a deer caught in headlights.

"Jungwon," you start, sheepish and small. "Hi."

His heart starts up again, might as well be reaching out his chest to claim you as his own. 

"Hey," he says, low and unassuming. Breaching further into the small kitchen in increments, so not to spook you. "Needed water too?"

"It's for Sunoo," you answer, hoarse to which you clear your throat. "He's always the worst one between us two when we go for bottomless brunch. He'll need it."

Jungwon's brow quirks, remembering your interaction earlier. Despite your supporting act towards your cousin, you'd been fairly tipsy. Enough to look him in the eyes in an unabashed way, the image seared into his corneas. While you still drank after the fact, it was drinks below the percentage of 10, slowly sipping, eyes watching their interactions unfold as you curled into your shell again.

He'd wondered if he'd have the chance to see you comfortable again.

"And you?" he asks, stepping closer. You remain rigid in place, a rush of water filling Sunoo's glass. "You handle alcohol well?"

"I guess…I can have a few," is your estimation, eyes avoiding his. He, however, doesn't miss the split second glance you take at him, fingers seeking the comforted fiddle of your hooped earring. "Sunoo mentioned you flushed when drinking."

"That came up in casual conversation?" 

He pushes. Your layers started to peel away in the shadows of night, a ball kicked across the grass staining the bottoms of his sneakers. You'd found a rhythm eliminating the racket of your brain and spoke freely, which is why he does this. Checks to see how far he can go, even if Sunoo had mentioned some a crush of yours in his presence. The same one you hadn't mentioned since, but seemed pretty gone for. 

Then again, you'd said he was handsome in a group of people. Unless Jaehyun showed up to sweep you off your feet ─ to Jungwon, all bets are off.

Teeth creep into the flesh of your bottom lip, hand caught in the cookie jar. With only your side profile given, Jungwon can only draw conclusions as you close the tap just as starts to overflow, a quiet laugh to yourself as the ring of your hand illuminates the liquid coating it. 

"Sunoo brought it up earlier," you answer, a closed mouth smile given to him. "Said he has to constantly nag you to take your pills."

"Must've taken the night off then," Jungwon's head tilts, stepping closer until he's at your side. Not enough for your shoulders to touch, but as he settles, the sleeve of his shirt catches against your skin, a gulp your only tell. "Is it bad?"

There's only a faint hum occupying the slender grey and white paved kitchen, the ongoing buzz of the fluorescent light haloing your figures as tension eats away at the space, makes the air crackle and walls draw in. Leaning, Jungwon lends a palm to the counter's edge, veined inner forearm exposed, one your eyes do a slow drag of. He chuckles, because you're meant to be focusing on the face he offers and you do so slowly, intimated by what you'll see. His blatant stare as your eyes do a scan of his features, screwed in force focus. The kick he gets out of it must make him sick, pushing him to draw closer, the cloud of his linen fabric softener engulfing you and still…you don't waver. Your eyes do a few fast-paced blinks, but you're rooted in place, nothing but the tremble of Sunoo's glass giving you away. 

You place it on the counter's edge too, realising the hint given. 

"Your cheeks are really flushed,"

Caution laces around the words you utter, trembled but spoken, eyes cemented to a trail of his features, skipping over his eyes. 

"It's going down your neck too," your own neck cranes to catch a glimpse, hand starting to raise then lowering, knowing better. Jungwon doesn't bother hiding his smirk, your head ducked with scattered hands grappling for your glasses, maybe your composure too. 

"I should probably head back, I've─"

A crash.

Water and glasses crashing to the floor, liquid doused on both your shoes with shattered pieces in between. The look of horror pales your face, mouth agape as your fingers tuck back hair behind each ear, sharing the expression with Jungwon. He doesn't say anything for a moment, neither do you, unmoving before your exhale comes out in pieces of it own, apologies steadfast out of your mouth. 

"I can't believe that just happened," your eyes drop down to his shoes, tip of them dyed a deeper hue. "I got water on your shoes too. Oh my god, are you okay? Let me just─"

Before your hands can extend a millimetre, Jungwon's hands eclipses them, holding them firm in place. He catches you in a freeze, not an inch of you moving for what seems like hours, head slowly moving to meet his gaze, his one already on you. Always on you. 

"Let me get the dustpan," he insists, nodding to cue your own. "Hang tight." 

His hands leave yours, coldness invading his palms as he quickly finds what he's looking for, dropped down on a knee before you as the glass clatters together in a bunch. Out his peripheral, he spies your hands, drumming against the flesh of your thighs before nails sink into your short's material, displeased.

"I'm so sorry," your voice withers when you speak, not fond of your mistakes. "I'm usually not like this."

"It's okay. It's just glass," and as glass crackles, swept into the plastic of the dustpan, Jungwon feels the shift before he's a witness to it. The unravel of material in your clutches, the draw back down your shoulders do from your ears. A exhale from the depths of your chest. "Besides, wouldn't want you to injure yourself. You're Sunoo's guest,"

He uses the pause to his best abilities, on his knees before you, peering up at your figure haloed by florescent lighting ─ looking like every figment of dreams that'll haunt him moving forward. 

"I should take care of you too." 

The following year, things change. 

Jungwon starts his second year - the year that actually matters - and moves into an off-campus house with Riki and Sunoo, drawing straws to find himself in the spacious attic room. Sunoo's doing an internship for the year, so he's only around as much as exhaustion and long commute hours allow him to. Jungwon changes sports, feigning upset at his own decision amongst his Swim teammates, reducing his extra-curricular hours down to Taekwondo so he affords himself more hours in the library. Other things stay the same ─ he's still stopped every few metres, greeting people who feel like they know him but one of them he stumbles across, is the only person able to make him stop fully in his tracks.

You.

Your trip up to their campus (now yours too) was the dedicating factor, reusable bags in your hands filled with your food shop and a uni-friendly amount of alcohol. Your smile is sheepish when Jungwon looks back, one with more security mirrored by him before he decides his plans in town can wait. He helps you take your bags back to your accommodation (the quaint one next to his old one), meets your flatmates that happen to be in the kitchen and when he thinks he's due to leave, you invite him into your room. 

It's every bit of you, cluttered with everything you love ─ projector painting the night sky across your ceiling, movie posters pinned to your walls, peg board adorned in cute trinkets your bag has no space for at your desk, the familiar waft of brown sugar and marshmallows. It's like a peak into your mind, abundantly clear in your wardrobe doors plastered with printed photos ─ friends, family, moments you want immortalised forever. A few stick out to him, like the photo frame positioned behind your low bed frame, the pictures with your boyfriend. The same story repeats itself, your smile contagious to everyone except your boyfriend.

Jungwon's lips curl. 

"Fortune cookie?"

In your palm, the red plastic bundles, outlined by gold script like the ones packed into the takeaway plastics ripped apart by him each time he vows never to drink again.

You see the curious tilt of his head, only encouraging the smile on your face as you lead with, "It's one of my favourite memories ─ sugar and fortune after a warm meal,"

Fondness pools in your eyes, trained on the object now closed around your fingers. "We wouldn't go every month, but my parents made a habit of going when we could. The owners were really lovely too, always give us huge portions and sent us home with a bag full of fortune cookies. It was nice ─ it's a good reminder of home." 

You offer the fortune cookie again, Jungwon accepting with gratitude across his face despite the ugly churn of turmoil within him.

He wishes he could say he didn't carry emotional wounds, plasters over bullet wounds he's since trudged along with him since childhood but it simply isn't true. Everything he is is a product of early lessons, where inconsistency ran rampant in his home and he's made do with its consequences. While one parent festers abandonment, another prompts condition ─ to be loved is to be perfect. Anything less and he may as well not have any parents. Looking back on crispy childhood videos, he realises he was a lot to handle, holding the kind of temperament babysitters overcharged for, but it didn't change his parents' fondness over him. Their voices, clear in the background of recorded tantrums carry enough sweetness to make him sick, but it's only after that he realises why he has the reaction, why his stomach turns at the videos. 

Because somewhere along the line, they'd changed. Adored Jungwon like the shiny toy he was and then, as life took its natural course, they'd grown bored. Almost troubled by their own creation. Perhaps there's only so many tantrums you can suffer through before you combat them with silence, but it's deafening ─ it's been deafening for as long as Jungwon remembers and in the helplessness younger Jungwon experiences, his parents slowly retracting from him, he comes to the make-up of his life. 

Control.

Because even if one parents occupies Jungwon's house like a guest, he can at least vye for attention from another. Stop his angry tears, clean up his act and model himself after the children his mother openly praises in front of him, casting a look of regret his way. And it works, he earns admiration back, perhaps not as much as he used to, but it's enough to encourage the mask he puts on as the perfect son. Good grades, excelling at sports, friends with everyone ─ a parent's shiny badge of honour. Everyone adores him for it, the variables in his life he infuses with control, to the point where dawning a mask is not an act but instilled in him. Moulded to his skin, forever stuck over some childhood wound he hasn't bothered dealing with. 

Sure, he's sat on several couches in clinical clean offices asked to describe how those experiences have shaped him, but as soon as those invasive questions crop up, he shuts down. Closes and locks the door so deep-seated emotions don't barrel out of him. He'll give an answer, one seen right through judged by the pitying smile therapists give him and by the end of the session, when they've shook hands, Jungwon knows he'll never return. Not because he's helpless, but because he doesn't see need for it. 

He'd rather cast his control as far as it can reach than sit in the discomfort of his emotions, so to desire a future with you ─ wholly wrapped in your own emotions ─ is laughable at best. Though, he swears he would never assume the same control over you, its debate is valid in what he already holds regarding you. To be with you, and if that comes at the consequence of losing your bum boyfriend, he can't be too mad. 

After all, it is what's best for you. 

Especially after what's meant to be casual conversation he once has with Riki, soon after your first meeting, Riki hunched over his desk as his nimble fingers roll a joint with practised ease. 

He's sourcing information meant to serve him, which should add to his own perceived moral corruption, but Riki sees right through it. Understands it for what it is through shrouded secrecy ─ emotional vulnerability. 

"You know anything about that Jaehyun guy?"

Riki hums, rumble deep in his chest while his heavy-duty jewellery clinks together. Jungwon's only given his friend's back as he rests atop the black abyss of Riki's bed, clutching the duck plushie he's scribbled black dots into.

"Nothing good," Riki relays, gathering the grain of weed to funnel into rolled paper. "I'd go on a few nights out in their town and,"

He shakes his head, thinking no good of the situation. Jungwon's heart starts to do a slow, doomed beat.

Riki's chair squeaks as he swivels it to face Jungwon, joint forgotten as his arm props up to rest against his chair's back. "His friends are a bit scummy, the kind of people who haven't outgrown their popularity in school,"

"I mean, this was right after grad, so I don't know if they're still the same but," Riki's head tilts, a hiss between teeth given before he turns back around, resuming his joint roll. "Even being a guy around them makes you uncomfortable ─ the way they talk about women is just─"

"Degrading?"

"Disgusting," Riki answers, producing a groan afterwards. Remembering. "For her own and Sunoo's sake too, I hope that crush doesn't last long."

Except it does. Carries on as Jungwon finishes off his first year at uni, not moving his parents with his high scores and bleeds into summer, where he discovers over a group call with Sunoo and Riki, you're now dating the bastard. Silence takes over the line, a look traded between him and Riki, all of which is seen by Sunoo who can only sigh. 

"He seems different," Sunoo replies, sounding like he's convincing himself. "I met him a few times, so my hope is that he'll keep treating her well."

It's partially what Jungwon hopes too. Not to suffer at the hands of another, but faith in Jaehyun's hands is hard to give, especially when Jungwon finds himself thinking of you more. Combing over past interactions and theorising how future ones will go now that you're going to the same uni as him. Unfortunately for you, you firm your choice before you're able to hear news of your boyfriend's transfer elsewhere, a distance he sees you're more than willing to travel frequently despite your fear of driving. 

As much as he can appreciate the sentiment, he can't help but scoff. Because even if Jaehyun sends you flowers and lines the smile of your face, it doesn't erase what Jungwon's heard. Though foolish of him to take statements and run, Jungwon rarely finds much logic when it comes to you. How he'll fulfil his role as your friend despite the harboured feelings in his chest, how he'll execute caution in the words spoken to you over the programmed responses he gives over and finally, how he still wants you in spite of how head over heels in love with your boyfriend you are. 

He already knows himself to be corrupt in some sort of way and in the dead of night, when Riki's clocked out his nocturnal shift, their second-year house quiet, his mind will wonder. If there's ever an amount of sweetness he can show you to look his way, to make you reconsider or consider him at all ─ whether that meant if you were with your boyfriend or not. He knows you wouldn't, but in the howls of night, his imagination presents itself for what it is and all he can do at this point is imagine.

Then, he remembers how distant you've grown. How, the longer you're with your boyfriend, the further Jungwon drifts off. So, he lays the aimless thoughts to rest, not entertaining them and succumbing to social obligations, seeing your missing figure in places arranged by coursemates and other friends alike, the fortune given to him burning in his pocket. 

Wait and you'll see.

You wouldn't say your world revolves around your boyfriend, but it's pretty damn close. 

He's the first person you tell small happenings throughout your day to, the first to receive the photos you'll eventually post on socials, the last person you talk to before bed. It's to be expected, you reason. He's your first boyfriend, after all. Your first real boyfriend, not that version on the playground where you propose with candy rings in the morning and breakup before the day ends. It's new and exciting, limbs light when your phone dings with his response. He doesn't respond often, because second year is demanding, but you're happy with whatever dosage you get. After years cradling your juvenile crush to your chest, this is more than you ever anticipated. How ever much you may get of him, you're grateful nevertheless. 

Because in the end, he'd picked you. 

It's not a popular thing. Being in a relationship at university, particularly in your first year where the two-week early start rounds up everyone in the same boat, attempts to familiarize themselves with their new way of life, different shops and places they'll gain memories in ─ of all this in the midst of lethal amounts of drink. You're thankful you can handle your alcohol, but being hungover nearly every day isn't ideal. At least your bed-rotting sessions are a good excuse for a night-off. After the last one, keenness is sparse within you. 

"You haven't slept with anyone yet?" One of your flatmates, Isa asks, face aghast. "It's been like, four days. We've gone out loads too."

Another flatmate, Yuna, nudges her shoulder, mutters amongst them two heavily clogged in uncapped laughter, knees slapped over the chorus of the same playlist you're getting sick of.

"Well, I've got a boyfriend, so…"

"Stop, that's so sweet!" One of your nicer flatmates, Kazuha saves the day, hand over her heart, to which you smile to.

It's short lived.

"Ha, right," Yuna huffs, a fictional record scratch screeching as the rest of your flatmates' heads whip her way. She sees their widened eyes and realises her mistake, smoothing over the glittery crop top you'd just complimented her on. "Sorry, that was uhm, silly of me,"

"It's just," she starts, swirling the contents of her drink in her red paper cup, sharp eyes cutting up to yours, distaste pooled in hers. "It could never be me. Committing to a man, giving him my youth only to watch my whole world fall apart because in the end, all men do is disappoint." 

She straightens, the kitchen alarmingly silent, music playing no longer as her lip corner sharpen like pitch forks, falsehoods in her expression. "But you know ─ to each their own, right?" 

You shouldn't have gone out that night, you'd been emotional enough to bite your tongue, drowning your sorrows in the corner while Kazuha exchanged worried looks to you, rubbing your back when no one looked. But you went anyways, because you'd made a point of proving your youth didn't revolve around Jaehyun and yet, when you'd thrown up your guts in the club bathroom, escorted out by security guards, subsequently walked home by an exhausted Kazuha, you'd called Jaehyun. He didn't pick up the first few times, but ultimately did to hear your cries, tears streaming down your face as you wished for nothing more than to be with him, in the comfort of his arms where hurtful words didn't mess with your head and you could just be happy with what you had. 

She'd apologized the next day when you'd hauled yourself out your bedroom, washing the dishes while your stomach could only hack noodles. It lacked sincerity but at that point, you didn't care. You're bound to meet people unlike you at uni, she's one of them. Besides, despite your reservation, you could make friends. You didn't have to rely on Sunoo and his friends' company, and maybe it's a cheat code making friends who are just as obsessed with their boyfriends as you are, but it brings peace. Peace you long for amidst the whirlwind of classes starting, so many things happening all at once, the weekend your boyfriend invites you up to his weeks later immediately accepted. 

You're with him now. A time long awaited due to scheduling conflicts and your crippling fear of highway driving you conquer to see him, to make things work. And yet, in the middle of the folded over-limb kisses you drown in, your mind is elsewhere. 

It isn't initially, your heart sent into a series of flutters as Jaehyun indulges you in the sweet kisses you've missed, so brimmed with happiness you smile into his lips as you peck him, again and again until your arms loop and cross at his nape. Missed yous are traded, initiated by you then relayed back by him, his lips overlapping yours as the kiss deepens. There's a calmness that comes with the intimacy, the dull of your mind amplified by static accumulated through the week. Pending assignments, next year house stress, one of your girlfriends in the midst of a breakup. The tears she cried, you mirrored alone in your room after consoling her, riddled miserable at the mere thought of your life without Jaehyun. The whole other half of your heart, no longer yours after so long pining after him, counting petals on the chances of him loving you or not. Phone calls and texts can only do so much. After all, he's busy too, his degree eating away at your anxious bats for assurance and after your last call ends, your mind's set on seeing him again. Existing alongside him, stuck to his side because at least then, your love is tangible. Not a detail of fiction, but something you can hold and touch, pressing your chest against his to have your hearts sync because what is your heart if not beating for this? For him?

Except it doesn't. Not now anyways.

As the kiss deepens and your back lays across the expanse of Jaehyun's bed, his body caging yours, a thigh slides between your legs, your breath picks up. Starved for oxygen yet with no intention of prying, you lose yourself in his affection, so sugary sweet your heart aches. His thigh shifts, and it's just close enough for friction, a touch of it and your claws seek a home, hinging into the material of his t-shirt as a tease. You're meant to falling further into intimacy, seeking to become one with Jaehyun, but the more you lose yourself, the more things begin to blur. Jaehyun's figure isn't as prominent, clouded in a haze of lust then cleared by an image you can't forget.

Jungwon. 

Jungwon kissing you like you hold his last breath, adoring your skin in searing kisses filled with love, trailing all the way from the hollows of your collarbone down past your navel and then, he looks up at you. Through long lashes and dark eyes, desperation and affection overflowing in his iris' hue, begging you for the chance. And you let him, his veined hands working at your jean button before he cannot do without your lips longer, coming back up for kisses you reciprocate in the same vein, a moan caught at the back of your throat as his hand cups over you, in no way possessive, but a reminder of his presence. Of how badly you both need each other. 

Then his hand moves. Slithers beneath rough material then soft, under the waistband of your underwear. His fingers, unhurried, feel you, glide between your glistening folds. You're too far gone for the weight of embarrassment, its shred kissed away by the groan Jungwon does into your lips, an open-mouthed moan vibrating against them. 

"So good for me, so wet," he'd say and you'll moan in likeness, writhing from his words and motions, your zipper undone by the force of his hand as he explores you further. Teasing your entrance with circled fingertips before they go in, one at time because he knows it's your first and treats it as such. Whispering sweet nothings amidst syrupy kisses, a drizzle of degradation mixed in just to have you weaker. Putty in his hands so that when you're close too soon, it's to no surprise.

He'll only grin against you, teeth teasing your bottom lip before he utters the magic words. "You gonna come? Gonna be a good girl for me and come?"

And that's when it hits you. How vivid the image is, how badly your mind and body holds onto that desire in the face of another. Your boyfriend who is not Jungwon, but Jaehyun attempting the same thing as your miraged Jungwon. 

"Stop, stop," you pant against him, licking your mixed saliva as your hand braces to his chest. He relents, expression winded and…confused. Perhaps your mind plays mean tricks on you and there's a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, the crush of guilt following the avalanche of the man miles away, none the wiser. 

"I'm sorry," it's an admission of many, weighing heavily in the air now stale. Your back straightens off the bed, legs loosely crossed as you toy with the fingers in your lap, your stare there too. "I just…I'm not ready."

You could be. Things are going well, enough to brave the terrain of uncharted territory because of all you held in your heart for Jaehyun. Other than the glaring fact that you'd just imagined the entire sequence with someone other than him.

"It's okay," Jaehyun says, falling into compliance as the bed springs hiss with his leaving weight. His back to you, you hear the latter part of his response. "Not like this hasn't happened before."

However cruel it may be, his words carry truth. Many a times there has been when something resembling readiness filled your chest, reaching out a hand to grab ahold of his in attempt to become one and yet when the moment comes, intervention does too. Not by any outside forces but a gut feeling. An internal voice whispering its disagreement, not giving its reasons but a feeling convincing enough to pump the breaks, sorrows on your shoulders as you're forced to deal with the consequences, having to convince Jaehyun he's still someone you want while also shouldering your own conflict. The internal brawl of why you aren't ready, why this couldn't happen, what would it take to make the voice disappear. 

These are thoughts you don't get to share with Jaehyun, his ego tender as is it now. In the same song and dance, you flock over to him, on your tips of your toes, draping over his back in a blanket of sympathy.

You hope this time he isn't hurt enough to shrug you off. 

"I want to, I really want to," you confess, giving him the pieces of you to bind together. Calm the noise. "I don't know why or what…stops me." 

Your body lifts in the degree his shoulders rise with the exhale he does, so heavy and eerie in profound disappointment. You have to shut your eyes so you won't hear it in your dreams. 

"No worries. You're not ready, I wouldn't do anything you aren't prepared for," he recites like it's rehearsed, his go-to phrase in times like these. In his hands, he fumbles with the matching LEGO keychain you insisted on getting, a physical manifestation of your bond. He discards it to the table, a gaze tossed over his shoulder, expression softer now. "I'm just glad you're here."

The lump in your throat makes your voice hoarse, gulped down in the pained smile you give. 

"Me too."

His neck cranes more at the same time you go in for a peck, a series of little affections before the rain clears, grey clouds not yet gone as he lists off options for dinner. Later on, when you've made polite conversation with his flatmates in their shared kitchen, chuckling over a hot pan with bellies filled, you'll cuddle together, the best mess of limbs as he plays a Marvel movie. It's not your favourite, but isn't that love? Aligning best, accommodating even when interests mismatch. Your mind starts to scatter as the city crumbles on screen, reminded of the last time you'd watched a movie.

With Jungwon, a respectful block of distance in between that you hadn't thought twice of. Until now, when you relive the experience, cells singing in your body at the proximity, its abundance and prospects of a lack of. How the screen illuminates his side profile, painting the slopes of his face in a way that seems unfair for someone born with such features. His fingers will nudge the popcorn over to you, knowing how much you like the butter on your tongue and in a movie that interests you both, a scene will come calling for shared sentiment. Your gazes lock, the shared smiles coming with the lock of hearts on the same wavelength.

And now, you do ─ share a secret. Only, it's yours alone. Bathed in grime and shame, the possibility of Jaehyun's cutout figure replaced with Jungwon's.

You don't entertain the thought, closing the door on the impossible and locking it behind you. Because you know, no good comes from the click of its unlock. 

Keeping up appearances proves to be exhausting. 

This, Jungwon knows all too well. The same old story, the same horse beaten to death as soon as Jungwon saw himself as an outlier. All his responses come rehearsed, some interest mixed in with falseness as he conversates with his coursemates. Exams have come and gone, relinquishing the chains keeping Jungwon at a study desk the past few weeks. He should be happy, he supposes. Now life can resume its usual pattern, more freedom to catch-up on his hobbies, indulge Sunoo and Riki in time spent together not crackled with impending stress. His mind can ponder more on you and why even in a time like this, your presence mirrors that of a ghost. 

You'd already rescinded the longer you spent being Jaehyun's, disdain apparent in Jaehyun's face the one time you facetimed him alongside Jungwon. Sunoo and Riki had been there too, all in the kitchen together making some pasta dish you'd lit up at, the same one you mirror at your on-screen boyfriend. Jungwon plays his part, masking the bitter aftertaste he suspects Jaehyun sees right through. It'd explain why you'd leave the room whenever Jaehyun would call afterwards, if you hadn't thoight to do so firs. Why you meet up with Sunoo on campus more often, Jungwon's presence more so an accessory than a necessity. 

He tries not to mind. After all, what possessiveness harbours in his heart is his alone, not meant for someone with a significant other. Except it lingers longer than he accounts for, his crush preceding levels of prediction his mind can't control. It's something he wants to dissect, pick apart to figure its intricacies and faults so he can best move forward, however that may look like. However, the only logical thing for him is to let you go, live the fabricated life you've dreamed up with Jaehyun. A shame, because you amount to more than what he can give, but who is Jungwon to judge?

After all, he's meant to be nothing but a friend. A quiet accomplice that comes with the natural bond between you and your cousin. Yet, he lingers, never one to let go.

It's what he does now, a pint grabbed at the Falcon with coursemates celebrating the end of academic torture. He laughs along, sometimes sliding in a joke himself they'll laugh at. He'll catalogue it, knowing to play it safe with them, chat like their work colleagues because in a sense, they are. Enough distance for no further invitation, but enough to share commonality. 

It's the story of Jungwon's life, a sentiment shared with most because Jungwon's biggest fear is not losing anyone, but fear of himself. The authenticity of his figure and what that entails. 

"Jungwon!" A voice pierces through the barrage of muddled thoughts. His head shakes to clear them, surveying his surroundings to find himself at the pool table, drink in hand and three sets of eyes on him.

One of them very familiar, his fangs bared in a slick smile. "Wanna join? I could use the help." 

His course mates have since left, onto more wholesome activities because their version of fun stops after two pints. Exams over with, Jungwon's teeth gnaw into his lip, not eager to leave but considering if this unknown is how his night unfolds. Sunghoon, known through his Taekwondo extra-curricular, is one of the guys from that crowd Jungwon gravitates to, liking that their togetherness didn't require conversation for its own sake. And when a session is particularly draining, sweat dripping from Jungwon's body, Sunghoon will offer a cold drink, slapping his back with a proud smile. It makes him feel seen - in ways he usually strayed from. 

However, Sunghoon isn't alone. He's with what Jungwon assumes are his housemates - Heeseung and Jay - judging by their Tom and Jerry dynamic, bickering about nothing, none the wiser to Jungwon's looming presence. 

Sunghoon cocks his head, expectant. Jungwon gives his brain the moment off, relief in his smile as he ambles over, Sunghoon's eyes in moon crescents as he welcomes Jungwon into their fold, pulling him in like he's always had a space. 

Heeseung and Jay are good at that too, dapping Jungwon up with bumped shoulders and continuing their conversation like Jungwon was already there, deliberate sidebars taken to give him context. There's nothing feigned about the interaction, their attitudes genuine as they immediately reveal themselves to be crude but friendly losers, only half listening when Sunghoon goes over the stakes of pool. Of which there are none for Jungwon since they'd already agreed the loser would clean out their haunted basement. 

Heeseung and Jay are determined not to lose. 

Jack of all trades, Jungwon doesn't worry. Especially when he overhears Heeseung strategising how to interfere with Sunghoon's 'fucking A shots,' one of the suggestions being interference from one of the ladies working the bar - a lady Jungwon infers Sunghoon has some history with. 

Which piques his interest because last he heard, Sunghoon was with another girl. One of the hockey girls from the uni team who giggle and wave every time he'd walk past their pitch. 

Additionally, there's someone missing. Sunghoon's longest friend out of the bunch. 

"Where's Jake?"

The pool game's started, Sunghoon first to go. The stakes seem higher than anticipated. 

"He's got plans," The pool balls knock together. Hard and dispersed, several sinking with spectating groans. "With his girl."

Despite the drone of ongoing indie music, Jungwon could hear a pin drop, visible tension festering in unspoken air. Heeseung's cleared throat cuts through the waning indie song dulling in the bar's speakers. 

"Songyi." Jay supplies, an elbow to his ribs courtesy of Heeseung. "Ow! Fuck's that for?"

"Unnecessary," Heeseung seethes, a gulp done while his gaze trembles in Sunghoon's vague direction, the same man striding to Jungwon's side, eyeballing his shot. "Hey man, he didn't mean─

"What's it matter?" Sunghoon pipes, eyes trained on the green. His lip corners sharpen, pinpointing the scattered balls. All to their advantage. "You guys are gonna lose - I've got my girl anyways," 

In its aftermath, Heeseung and Jay exchange wide eyes, smiles forced down with snickers bitten back to secrecy. Like that, the energy shifts like there was no tension to begin with and Jungwon struggles. Wondering if he'd imagined it or would it be a conversation he'd ever get to know later on. Sunghoon's always good to be around, comfortable enough for Jungwon's mask to drop enough for a real peak at him but Sunghoon's different with the guys around. Bold with a hard laugh scrunching his nose, volleying crude jokes back and forth with Jay and Heeseung to the effect of Jungwon's guffaw, doubled over with ringing ears not quite believing their input. The onslaught of beers he nurses help loosens him up amongst new company, brain still working to catch onto their group dynamic. However, as the night winds, Jungwon can only think it's not really playing into a role around them, rather him getting comfortable enough to be himself. At peace and unworried. 

If only things were always like this.

"We're gonna go pick up and smoke," Jay's eyes point to Jungwon, giving a highbrowed invitation. "I'm out my overdraft, my treat."

"Just say yes. His poor budgeting isn't your problem." Heeseung folds over Jay's shoulder, shoved off with an abrupt jerk. 

"I'm a nightmare on anything except edibles," is Jungwon's response, foot kept in the closing door with the add on. "I know a good brownie recipe, so whenever you're free, I'm down."

"My man," with a head nod, Jay leans in for a dap and shoulder nudge. His attention moves over to Sunghoon, amusement sparkled in his eyes. "Where the fuck you been hiding this guy?"

"We could've got that 5 bed house with the jacuzzi," Heeseung adds.

"Not sure how'd that work with all the Nitro subs you give away," Jay argues, turning back to Jungwon. "He's paying for at least three girls subscriptions. For what favours? I'd hate to know,"

"Or love to, actually. Lord knows this guy ain't getting any."

"I'd be so easy to kill you right now," Heeseung seethes in a joke, perched arms on Jay's shoulder giving leeway to putting the younger in a headlock, smiles between the two.

Jungwon smiles, warm from something unrelated to alcohol.

"Yeah, well whenever you get your hands on those ingredients, let us know," Jay insists, pulling out a wad of cash, checking if the amount suffices. "I'd offer our kitchen but Jake's a bit of a bitch with it. Likes keeping it a certain way,"

"Yeah, after you left his used pan to rot the week he was away," Heeseung snorts, no more applying a chokehold but hanging off Jay, the view admittedly sweet. "The way he saw it, stopped, then said you could keep it."

"Free upgrade," Jay shrugs, stuffing the cash back in his designer wallet. The look Heeseung and Jungwon share makes his dimple appear. "I did feel a bit bad, but it's whatever."

"Come round anyways," Heeseung proposes. "Jake's not home much, so it'll be fine."

If Jungwon could look behind him, at Sunghoon, he would. Instead, he smiles, accepting the offer before they leave, patting their backs in embraces he's pulled into, smiling regardless. 

With their presence gone, a quieter ambience comes through, affording Jungwon the chance to digest the past few hours. He doesn't over-complicate things, what he could've said better, what landed with them and just enjoys it for what it was ─ a good time. Sunghoon sees as much on his face, affection in his expression as he offers Jungwon a pint at the bar, his favourite bartender conveniently free. Under the neon lights streaming behind her, she works slower than usual, served patrons still bustling about but settled into their dispersed conversations, allowing her the chance for quick chatter. 

She is beautiful, that Jungwon can objectively can agree to, beam akin to sunshine when her attention finds Jungwon's. She's kind and a bit mischievous, seen in the wink she sends, reminding Sunghoon of a promise after her shift. Handing Jungwon's Guinness to him, foam remains on her thumb, licked away with eyes locked on Sunghoon's. Jungwon looks away to spare himself of what he feels is a private matter, suddenly fascinated with the ongoing ice hockey game projected on one of the TVs until Sunghoon escorts them to another area. It's the direct opposite of where they last were, virtually no one in the tucked away section only lit by one sole overhead orange light, green plush armchairs amongst modern chic decor too nice for a uni town bar, its only eyesore an out-of-place dart board without any darts.

Kept behind the bar, a common practice. Especially after Sunghoon mentions an incident involving a very drunk football player and stitches he needed over his eyelids. 

Over the indie soft rage of Rec Hall, the two nurse their beers in silence, gazes mostly avoided as they observe other uni students engage. Let their hair down because their biggest worry is how much of their loan will cover tonight's drinks, laughing loudly and without care. Some flirt, some reflect while others hang off their seats, guys cradling cash notes in their hands watching the game play out. 

Jungwon thinks about what that all means ─ the people you surround yourself with. Sunoo and Riki back at the flat, Sunoo indulging Riki in some video game he's obsessed with despite his disinterest, despite the long hours of his unpaid internship. He wonders if Jake and Sunghoon ever did the same, if they'll ever do anything like that again. 

Sunghoon's seemingly unbothered by the whole thing, but years together frayed isn't something Jungwon thinks anyone is capable of sweeping under a rug. 

So, he asks. Because if there's anyone who will reflect the honesty he gives back, it's Sunghoon. 

"What was that earlier?" Jungwon chances, peering into his drink to feign casualness. "With Jake's girlfriend."

Jungwon cranes his neck like the sight fascinates him, ears catching the scratch of stubble as Sunghoon runs his hands over his jaw. He's too nosy for his own good, Jungwon thinks, but things left unsaid always bother him ─ annoyed by himself at the words he can't relay to you.

"Ah, that," Jungwon's head lifts, eyes on Sunghoon as he speaks. "Well, thing is, Songyi used to be my girlfriend."

Pool balls knock together in the distance, their impact may as well sounding like a natural disaster. Very fitting considering the information Sunghoon's just dropped.

Jungwon's back straightens, a slow crawl to alignment with his jaw dropped. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Not my idea of a joke," Sunghoon laughs, stare directed ahead of him before he chugs his drink, smiling over the rim. "But how can I be mad? I got what I wanted in the end."

"Your girlfriend?" Jungwon questions, Sunghoon nods. 

The bartender, the dots connect in his mind. Jungwon lazes his sight over in the direction of the bar, seeing his new girlfriend pour a drink and remembering how close they'd been when ordering drinks. "When did you start dating?"

Something sick falls over Sunghoon's face, grin wolfish as a chuckle comes thereafter.

"You're better off not knowing," He casts Jungwon a look as if it's a throwaway, iris hue dark and heavy. "Officially, a while ago."

He spares Jungwon the rest, sagging into the plush of their chairs fit for kings. "Jake's relationship didn't come long after that and even though it's been ages, the guys always have some sort of awkwardness about it. As if things were─"

Sunghoon contemplates his next words, hand against his stubble with slow, distant blinks weighing out the options of what he'll choose. Jungwon chooses not to move. 

"Let me not. I was the asshole at the end of the day."

Jungwon casts sensitives glances around their surroundings, assured by no prying ears. "Hard to imagine you that way,"

He gulps down his beer to shrug off the compliment, meaning it but still carrying a sense of apprehension. 

Sunghoon laughs like he's said something funny. "People can surprise you then." 

"You don't look too caught off-guard about other things though," his arm crosses over their shared side table, nudging Jungwon's shoulder gently. "What's got you troubled?"

"Nothing." Jungwon answers immediately, a reflex. Another, the scratch behind his ear. 

"Bullshit," Sunghoon chuckles, a twinkle of amusement dashed in his eyes. "I know that tortured look anywhere. I wore it the same year I had no means to my girlfriend,"

Curiosity crosses his face, a thick eyebrow raised. "It's about a girl?"

Jungwon non-answer is answer enough.

"Who is she? Girl in your lectures? Flatmate?"

The grilling should call for tension, a natural deflection Jungwon's offered other times in positions like this. He likes to think of conversations as pieces of a puzzle and with the right pieces he picks, it'll all make sense. He'll make his own image, while the other person makes theirs of him ─ his image, but this isn't like then. More than wanting a knack for honesty, he's troubled. Beyond the circumference of his own knowledge, so he seeks it in Sunghoon. 

"Flatmate's cousin."

"They close?" Sunghoon asks, Jungwon's nod bringing out a hiss from the older of the two. "Dicey, but I trust your judgment. She must be sweet."

He thinks of you then, delicate when the world isn't. Sweet when you have no reason to be, simply because it's your nature. You're braver than he is, Jungwon realises. 

"She is," he confirms. "All my opposites."

Sunghoon pushes Jungwon's shoulder with disapproval, the pity-party he throws for himself a circus quickly packed away. 

"Must be why there's that famous saying," Sunghoon alludes to, languid pace in conversation as they watch the bar pass them by. "Really though ─ why the anguish?"

There's many points to his anguish, but he settles for the most obvious. "She's got a boyfriend."

"And that's stopping you?"

"It should," Jungwon counters, picking the lint off his long sleeve. "But…I'm betraying myself. I can't not want her," 

"Are you betraying yourself or what others expect of you?"

Jungwon doesn't answer despite the dip of his heart, instead looking to Sunghoon with mirth. "Enough pints deep to be introspective, huh?"

"I need some redeeming qualities," he jokes back, a secret between them in their smiles before their gazes tear apart, back on the moving bar that move ahead of them.

"Her boyfriend's a piece of shit." 

"They usually are when they're in it for the wrong reasons," Sunghoon sips on his beer, a smack of the lips and a breath afterwards. "She relies on you, right?"

Jungwon nods. 

"Then there's nothing to worry about. What's probably got her is puppy love ─ I don't think I need to tell you how that ends," he supplies, sequences of your relationship's end playing in mind, each a different version. All with the same ending. "One day, her knight in shining armour will look a lot like you. Run when you've got the chance."

"You think it'll come?"

"It will," Sunghoon doesn't miss a beat, his line of sight Jungwon as his head turns to him. "When everything's said and done, we should go on one of those double dates. My girl loves making friends,"

Behind the counter, as if sensing their eyes, Sunghoon's girlfriend brims a cheek-filled smile, busing the table with a wave. Jungwon thinks of the mess they've been through, then sees their shared smiles in spite of it. It makes him feel better about his own situation, has the thought cross his mind that even the right things can sometimes be messy. 

If wanting to be with you, to cherish you with a heart that had no limits, a mess is what he'd have to be.

You're here again. 

In the perimeters of Jungwon's room that carries a world's worth of weight in the air despite the cracked open windows. He suppose it's a consequence of the day's earlier events, how you'd been cornered and like Sunghoon said, Jungwon appeared like your knight and shining armour. He wishes it were true, since Jaehyun is still Prince Charming in your eyes, but at least here in his room, he can create a world where none of that exists - where you don't long for a prince disguised as a dragon and peer down from your castle, eyes only for Jungwon.

Movie night. 

They've been few and far between the longer you've been with Jaehyun, time between lectures spent making new friends and driving up to see Jaehyun on the weekends. Every weekend. And every weekend, when he hates himself, he'll make his dreaded way to Instagram and see the flood of your story ─ dates with Jaehyun, your held hands, him looking off elsewhere instead of at you. To some, it reads as cute, as commented by your friends, but Jungwon can't help the ugly fester in his chest. Knowing you're the only one making the effort because Jaehyun is 'done' with your uni town, says there's nothing to do there as if you're not there. 

You say you don't mind the three hour long drive, most times taking back roads instead of the highway that still scares you. And like the idiot Jungwon is, he suggests going on it together because scary things are best tackled in company. 

"Really?" you perk up, lashes fluttering with disbelief. "You'd do that for me?"

He'd do anything for you. 

"Of course," he says instead, propped against the kitchen counter top with his arms folding across his chest. "What are friends for?"

When the day comes, you're white-knuckling the steering wheel, speeding up the slip road joining onto the highway and you're scared. Jungwon takes charge of the aux, switching the song to something like yours ─ a shared thing since Shrek had made it's way into both of your four favourite films ─ Smash Mouth's 'All Star' thumping through the speakers. You don't take your eyes off the road, but your head turns the slightest in his direction, a former aghast face morphing into mirth, nervous laughter becoming a whole-hearted one, grip released with thumbs thumping against the leather steering wheel. What starts off low becomes lyrics belted out obnoxiously, you still mindful of the road, but scared of it no longer. Not with good tunes blasting and Jungwon at your side, like he always is. 

He's not this time when you're heading up to see Jaehyun again, because he's incapable of coming down himself. A fact Sunoo grumbles into his apple, taking a bite with an eye roll. He doesn't mean to do it, but Jungwon's eyes meet Riki's and dart away, a sentiment between them ─ a sense of doom.

A sense he should've taken more seriously as he readies himself for lectures, only for his phone to ring.

"Hey, what's up?" Because you never call.

That much apparent when he hears raised voices in the distance, the roar of the highway pouring through the phone speaker. "Won," 

"I didn't know who to call, Sunoo's at work and I─" you're shaken, tremble apparent in the frenzy of your voice. 

Jungwon's already putting on his shoes. "Where are you?"

You describe the highway leading out of your uni town, the one always taken on your way to Jaehyun except your driving fears have been confirmed. You'd been in an accident, not a big one when Jungwon runs every red light to get to you, but enough to stare blankly at your clipped car, expression void of emotion. To make things worse, the asshole that's cut you off and caused the whole thing, is entitled, some middle-aged loser who looks like he's never put down an alcohol bottle in his life. Jungwon pulls up when the loser's cursing at you, threatening to sue you within an inch of the life for the damages he's made of his own car. The slow-moving traffic, prying eyes and the raise of his voice dial you down in notches, head hung with the toe of your shoe digging into obsidian asphalt. You've never looked smaller, so in your head. Jungwon's at your side in a flash, hands braced against your shoulders as he searches your eyes for more distress. 

"You okay?" he asks, voice tender and steady. Eyes darting to inspect your face of injuries ─ there, thankfully, are none. 

"I'm fine," you huff out, breath withering before you take a big inhale, centring yourself. "I called insurance, they'll be here soon. I just─"

"Should've let your boyfriend drive. That way, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Scum sounds behind Jungwon, and it sets him alight. Licks heat against his back and conjures wrath in his chest, eyes growing wild as his head does a slow swivel to the scum in question. He's a balding man, looks like he hasn't showered in weeks, spoken to a women in longer. If you weren't here, Jungwon hates to think of what he could do, knowing the danger you'd encountered on a trip he didn't even want you going on in the first place. His hands have left your face, bunched up in a fist at his sides, but they give, colour bleeding into his knuckles again as he glances over his shoulder, at you more in need than the shitty guy trying to take advantage. 

So, he ignores the man. Tends you until your respective insurance companies come, a tow-truck too because your cars are unfit to drive. While you're busy with the agents, hands used to explain the situation, the culprit takes a drag of his cigarette, satisfied with his wrongdoing.

Jungwon doesn't think, simply yanks the cigarette out his grip and stubs it to the asphalt, crushing it beneath his shoe. 

"What the fuck?"

"Try that shit again," Jungwon retorts, the epitome of hate pooled in his dark eyes. "And you'll be road-kill I'd run over."

The man hollers behind Jungwon, but he doesn't care to listen, walking off when heads turn, at your side for the rest of the fiasco before everyone departs, your weekend belongings now in the back of Jungwon's car. He's on his way to the vehicle, you in tow with the man loitering around to try hitch a ride, except you stall in your steps. Turn and face the man who'd made you feel small.

"It's not my fault," you start, your soft features blending in with the rigidness your chest puffs with. "Your careless driving is not my fault. And you putting the blame on me makes you an even shittier person than you are now."

It's the only place Jungwon thinks of after your insurance companies have left the cleared scene, prying eyes no more as cars zoom by, Jungwon slipping in when he gets the chance. Your gaze sets out the window, mind elsewhere and he makes no attempt to arrest it in poor attempts of cheering up, instead letting the place he takes you to speak for itself, surprise drawing a blank on your expression, your body turning to him. 

"The planetarium?" you ask, almost in disbelief. 

Jungwon kills the engine, keys jangling together. "Yeah. Let's go."

It's a bit out of the way, three towns away from your uni campus. It'd been the one you couldn't wait to see when Jaehyun said he'd come down for the weekend, but caught the flu and didn't want to make you sick. 

At least your excuse is more believable. 

Jungwon gets out the car, opening your car door because you're slumped in your seat, not plagued by earlier but rather the gesture of it all. How you've found yourselves here during an early Thursday afternoon, little to no cars around, the planetarium all yours to wonder about. Jungwon probably has class ─ you remember he does when the fog clears ─ and yet he makes no mention of it, purchasing your tickets and leading you inside, room swallowed in black beside the calm glow of planets and stars hung, a voice in likeness relaying information known to you like the back of your hand. 

You attempt a bargain of his time, insisting you can leave early so he can make it for his workshop. You only get a laugh in return, Jungwon's face illuminated from the stars projected onto him, ducking through different avenues of the room as you hear from say, 

"I don't want to," he answers, plotting himself on the slated bit of floor where other spectators lay a bit away, pointing up at the stars on the ceiling. "I've been missing those workshops for the past two weeks. I'd rather be here."

A chill runs down your spine when with you whispers in your ears, freezing your hands mid-air with eyes enlarged, looking around like help will come. Except your version of help is at your feet, Jungwon's arm behind his head as he shuffles for comfort, a gaze cast your way in a quiet question.

Will you sit? 

And you do, folding in a mechanical way, hugging your knees to your chest with a look up at the ceiling, lips brushed together as you stare at constellations you name. Out-loud, it seems, when Jungwon points out another, asking its name. Their names are being introduced in the ongoing intercom, yet he wants to hear it from you. Take your mind off things, not known to you until after the fact when you've laid back beside him, mouth having run a hundred miles a minute as you've filled him in on details the intercom leaves out, the same sparkle belonging to the stars above found in your eyes as your chest heaves, propped up on an elbow as you're looking at him.

His eyes trail downwards, his full face given moments later along with the slow spread of his smile, dimple somehow showing amidst darkness and there's another thing. Lightness in your chest, burdens forgotten when you're with him. And you soak in it, revelling in how his interest never dips no matter how much information you've dumped on him, questions asked to show he's been listening. There's a moment too, when he's hauled himself off the ground with the dust of his clothes, a hand offered to you. You take it like you have times before, but a current ripples right down the middle of your pressed palms, alarm flared within you as he brings you to your feet. 

He sees it. Asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah," is your poor excuse, hands grated against your jeans to dilute the current. "Just winded. Hungry maybe." 

In true Jungwon fashion, he takes everything you say to heart. Pauses for you to accustomize to the topsy-turvy spin of your world, steps slower as you venture further into the museum, reading slates of information, posing for pictures he happily takes and when there's nothing left to be seen, Jungwon takes you to your favourite fast-food restaurant, exchanging toys with you over salty fries when he gets the one you wanted. A Sanrio keychain, Keroppi yours and Kuromi's his. Unbeknownst to you, he'll clip it onto his bunch of keys, jangling as he turns the ignition on and drives back, early evening colouring the sky once you've climbed out his car, watching him lug your weekend bag on his shoulder and unlock the front door, turning to you with a smile that's only inviting, luring you into a house that doesn't exactly feel like home with how long you've been away, but Jungwon builds the bridge. Indulges in what you've left behind, lighting a candle you'd purchased as a house-warming gift, mixing in with the aroma of butter popcorn to the sounds of your favourite movie. 

You don't check your phone, forget to after you sent Jaehyun a text explaining why you couldn't come up. Only for planetarium photos to dot your Instagram story, question marks his response. You don't see them until morning, not after you've watched three movies alongside Jungwon, trading popcorn and conversation, the wear of the day slumping you to his shoulder, a smile on your face as you slumber, the same one mirrored by him before he tucks you in, at least having the decency to sleep on the couch despite Riki's puzzled face. 

When he's gone, lights turned off in his wake, Jungwon burrows into the cushioned couch, pulling the blanket over his eyes but still remembering the last of your conversations before you'd fallen asleep. 

"The main couples here," in the movie Hairspray, musical notes filling the room. You chuck a piece of chocolate in your mouth, eyes undeterred. "They seem to give an equal amount, don't they? In their relationship."

Jungwon contemplates. Knows the root of your question despite the attempt at clouding it. 

He hums, hand swallowing popcorn from the bowl between you two. 

"There's a bit of back and forth but in the end, it seems equal, right?"

You must realise it too. The plea woven into your voice, the quiet desperation making your pupils tremble whilst looking at him, his expression not giving anything away.

Because if it did? You'd know how undeserving he thought Jaehyun is of you. 

Alias, he relents, settles into a passive expression seen as empathetic before he replies, "I'd say so," 

"I don't believe in relationships being 100% but say if they were, I think that amount being the same is a bit of a stretch,"

"Life happens, after all. You're whole before you meet your partner, but even then, when you are together, it's hard to maintain that whole because you're sharing a life together," he explains, fingertip absently tracing the bowl's rim. "You're not gonna be 100% all the time, and they won't be either. You give and take, but what matters in the end is if you feel like that whole doesn't feel empty with them by your side."

He chances a look at you, not sure how his words land ─ if they make sense at all because his brain is scrambled. Wrestling between reason and his own emotions that never seem in-check around you. It's only years of practised masking allowing him to be this way: diplomatic, trying to see your situation from all different angles and delivering his verdict in a way that's kind but still the truth.

Which explains why you ask the unexpected, duvet cover bunched in your non-buttered hand while you look at him, mini TV screen casting colours across your features. 

"Do you think I give too much?" 

He's not stumped. Besides the momentary stall of his heart, every bodily functions carries on uninterrupted. His brain works over the words, erases the blunt edges and gives encouragement in his lifted lip corners, eyes trained on yours as he lets you down easy. 

"I think you're being brave. Loving with your whole heart isn't something a lot of people can do, if everything is considered," if he considers himself. "I can't say anything for sure because I don't know everything about your relationship, but I think you always show up as your best. I'd hope he does the same for you."

You're quiet long afterwards, gripping the duvet cover harder before you grant it some give, an exhale expelled before your back meets the hoard of pillows against his headboard. The thought that maybe he's somehow overstepped occurs to him, but reason reels him back in. Reels you in as you nudge the popcorn bowl his way, solace your expression as you spare him the turn of your head, a bittersweet grin on your face.

"Always there for me, aren't you?"

His heart cracks a little, a huff of what's meant to be amusement coming out wistful, stonewalled by the handful of popcorn he takes, pushing it back to you before his eyes draw back to the screen. 

"I try my best."

His phone screen glares beneath his blanket, searing at the back of his eyes but he still looks on. Lets them crawl over the snapped picture taken: not of you, but of his bunch of keys and yours. You'd left them on the living room table shortly after you'd entered the house, disappearing into the bathroom and he…they'd been together. Yours and his, keychains aligning and he'd acted on impulse. Sinking into the sad shell of himself that doesn't get to hold you close while you sleep, turning his phone off and trying to sleep, seeing stars dance across your face like they had in the planetarium where only you and him existed.

Today's one of the days where Jungwon thinks the weather's manufactured. 

Spring's meant to be in full swing, gentle breezes of the winter's last winds, sun sheepish behind its accompanying clouds and yet it's been nothing but rain. Angry rain and arctic winds, enough to not confuse him of what coat to wear walking to campus. Then, on a random Tuesday, the air sizzles with a preview of summer, temperatures high enough for Sunoo to fill up the children's paddle pool they'd foolishly purchased with Riki's insistence to have a barbecue.

Which is exactly what they do, Jungwon driving with Riki hogging the aux again, Sunoo with his head out the rolled down windows as they drive to the big supermarket in their town. Everyone comes out with the sun, outside seating for cafes and restaurants packed with patrons laughing, smoking, burning a shade of pink all in the joy of summer's hinted presence. To Foster the People's 'Take Me Back' Jungwon finds himself not looking in his rear-view mirror for what feels like a first. In the teased summer sun, his hand hangs out the window, carding cruising winds through his spread fingers with one hand on the steering wheel. Something's ticked in his brain ever since he's seen you last, seen Sunghoon last too. How life would be if he didn't premeditate it, let the cards fall where they may be and at least give himself the grace of a moment before he dissects it. It's hard, any ingrained habit to be unlearned is, but today, when time seems to move slower, ice cream doing a slow melted drip in the sun, he feels it. The moment he exists in, the buzz of excitement in the air, the music thumping through his car's sound system, the comfort in the triangle friendship he's found with Sunoo and Riki. It makes him chatty, trading old stories and current tidbits with friends who feed off the flow of conversation, stopping every so often in a singalong, their shared first year summer playlist entailing all their fave songs and memories. 

It's nice. Peaceful. 

"You skipped my song again," Sunoo sounds from the backseat, clicking his tongue with a swat at Riki's shoulder. "There's a queue for a reason."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not in the mood for Rina Sawayama."

"Well, I'm not the mood for Sexyy Red," Sunoo argues back, eyes finding Jungwon's. "Would you like to be driving a car blasting Get it Sexy?"

Jungwon pauses, remembering last when the song played. Their trio drunk, the song's moans filling their living room. "Good song, but time and place."

"Wouldn't want to scare off the ladies,"

The car comes to stop at a red light, the car beside them occupied by four elderly women, hollering with sunglasses and canned cocktails floating in their backseat. By sheer coincidence, all their gazes cast Jungwon's way, his head nod rippling swoons through the car, their chatter amplifying before the green light diverges their paths. 

"You pulling everyone except who you want is kind of peak." 

"What does that mean?" Sunoo asks, hands hinging on each of their car seat shoulders. "You're interested in someone?"

Jungwon can only laugh really, dimples cratering into his cheek as his forehead falls into his palm, elbow balanced on his windowsill. It's been nearly a year since Jungwon met you, downstairs on a stretch of grass where things unknowingly began to shift, it was only a matter of time before he'd be found out. For however observant Jungwon attunes himself to being, it's synonymous with Riki, many moments occurring to his dot-connections and shit stirring. He should've expected this, maybe been a bit mad at Riki for letting it slip in front of the last person who should know but Jungwon can't find it in himself to be mad. Riki's apologetic in the boxy smile stretching his lip corners and the sun's out ─ he really can't complain. 

"It means nothing," Riki deflects, barely covering his grin. "Here you go. Here's a song actually worth queuing."

Stardust comes through, living up to Riki's words and despite the shambled attempt at covering Jungwon's crush, Sunoo doesn't pry, seemingly losing himself into the collective head nod done throughout the car, volume turned all the way up by Jungwon before the bass drops. They're singing offkey when the lyrics finally come, enunciating even the beats of the song. It's silly and care-free, everything Jungwon deprives himself of, but not now. Not in the car he nearly swerves, not the big supermarket where he laughs at Nut-Free Bluey Cake and launches onto Riki's taller frame, happily carried into the next aisle while Riki attempts a grumble beneath him, Sunoo pushing the cart with a giddy grin. And when they've racked up an abysmal bill, rock-paper-scissors played at the till, they laugh. Louder than they should because Sunoo's been picked, swiping his card while Riki and Jungwon jump around, hugging with fevered pats on each other's backs. They sing more songs back in the car, Jungwon taking the long way home to fit in more and when they're back at the house, Sunoo gone to change, Riki and Jungwon linger in the kitchen, reading over the receipt and transferring the difference to Sunoo before they bolt their separate ways. 

The care-free energy doesn't cease when they return, changed into swimming adjacent attire, board shorts mixed in with vests and rash guards, Riki starts up the grill as Jungwon wrestles Sunoo into the paddle pool, his shrieks filling the tiny back garden in harmony with Riki's hiccuped laugh. A tip of Riki's finger gets Sunoo stumbling in, laughing in a shriek as he clatters, eyes in moon crescents as he tosses the remaining water not splashed onto the hot concrete their ways, Riki fleeing through the back door's walkway and Jungwon defending his own with a pre-loaded water gun. 

When the coast seems clear, Riki returns and there's almost no water in the pool now, an epic war fought where there's only wet losers who decide to make themselves useful, drying off and taking shifts inside the house, unpacking meat for Riki to grill and pre-making their burger buns, stuffed with combos Jungwon jokingly wrinkles his nose at, Sunoo's shoulder shoved into his with a playfulness he sinks into. Happy, the happiest he's allowed himself to be. 

They're together again sometime later when Riki's grilled most of the meat, Sunoo's shrimp only left which he leaves in Jungwon's hands, heading back inside to take a call. There's still some sun, customary of the late season, the spared sunlight hitting Sunoo's face as he lounges in the pool, legs extended with feet dangling off the pool's rings while Jungwon grills, not a thought running in the lull of his usually over-active brain.

"You're different these days." Sunoo observes, fingers rippling through what's left of the paddle pool.

Lightness takes at Jungwon's chest, carefully flipping the skewered-shrimps. "How so?"

"I don't know," Sunoo drawls, a pout on his face. Jungwon can tell even with his back to him. "I feel like I know you better than I have. It's…nice."

He presses, hears the sizzle of shrimp as he gives it firmness from the spatula held in his hand. He thinks of Sunoo's words, how transparent they are and vulnerable he's become. His answer is an easy one. 

"I think so too," it ends in a smile, only for his heart to do a slow sink. "Next year's gonna be hard." 

With Sunoo graduating, Riki and I in his rear view mirror, Jungwon thinks. You'll still be here, but it won't be the same. 

For a beat, no words occupy the space. Only the sizzle of meat and the drag of water, quiet and tranquil. Bird chirp in the distance, a gust of wind making dead leftover leaves dance across stones, the temperature suddenly dropping.

"It's bittersweet, isn't it?" Sunoo offers, and Jungwon has to turn. Stand on the opposite side of the grill and face his friend, watching his exact words spell across his face in a reluctant curve of his lips. "But why are you thinking so far ahead? There's still plenty of time left."

Because it's instinct, thinking three steps ahead, anticipating. 

"I don't know," is Jungwon's premade answer, and it bothers him how dishonest it sounds to his own ears. He thinks again, searching, keeping his hands busy with the meat that might charcoal. "I think I'm preparing for the worst and controlling what I can. So that when it happens, it doesn't hurt as much." 

It's as honest and coherent he's been about his own feelings, a somewhat sickly feeling coming with the admission. Like he could crawl out of his skin. But before he can take it back, his eyes catch on Sunoo's face, silent surprise unfolding with lips shaped in an O. Then, when he notices their eyes lock, kindness brims in them, warmer than usual as Sunoo's head tilts, surprise morphing into quiet sympathy. 

"You live your life so far ahead of itself," he lets the younger one know, a pinch of regret in his face as if he experiences Jungwon's life himself. "I don't like getting hurt either, but that's life no? Getting to experience what you can in spite of it,"

"I think that's what makes moments like these better. Knowing I opened my heart up to the experience because even if somewhere along the way, pain comes along ─ it's only temporary. Because in the grand scheme of things, I'll still be able to look back at this - all the memories we have together - and still be grateful I accepted them for what they're worth," Sunoo explains, heart on his sleeve. "Something to cherish." 

Jungwon thinks back. There's little to cherish from before, living for others despite being the most guarded he's ever been. He's been that way at uni, the key from the keyhole removed just to let Riki and Sunoo in and when you come along, he unlocks it completely. Opens the sliver of sunshine streaming in, and what feels like all he knows isn't enough. He wants to let people in, wants to share more belly laughs and inside jokes that resonate with him. Be in the moment and not worry about every moment after. Perhaps he's made his start, like Sunoo indicated, but when they pack up their house next year, Sunoo's tears spilling over while Riki wills himself not to cry - Jungwon wants to cry too. From the depths of himself because he knows he'll miss what felt like forever. He'll miss taking no more than ten steps to bug Sunoo to watch a movie, push back his hair with Sunoo's headbands as they try out skincare masks, huddle in the kitchen on weekend mornings - all three of them - their blended playlist blaring in the background, dancing around even Jungwon after spills the milk to his cereal. Because there's more to life than getting it right the first time. Jungwon knows this now. 

"Yeah," Jungwon concedes, burying his chin into his chest. Not holding back his tears, but blinking then away. "You're right. It is better that way."

Sunoo is nice enough not to say anything, not initially. Jungwon's too in his feelings to hear him come out the paddle pool, Sunoo's hand finding the back of Jungwon's head with tender strokes, a brush of pride-filled affection in his touch. Jungwon lets his heart crack a little, a tear escaping with the bite of his lip. The hurt festers, but as soon as its felt, it's gone. Soothed away by being experienced and with the lift of his chin, Jungwon inhales. Exhales for what feels like the first time ever and lets a little of rigidity go.

Whatever may come of his life, he will let it happen. Won't orchestrate anything beyond his exhaustion and let destiny take the wheel.

The ride is smoother that way. That much clear when Riki comes back with a share of ribs for Jungwon, buying them despite their extortionate prices because he's always thought of Jungwon. And even when he jokes about the sombre mood, he bumps Jungwon's hip with careful eyes searching for Jungwon's temperament. And like this, meat sizzles, tucked into buns perfectly sliced by Sunoo and eaten in ongoing chatter, another day in the sun but the first where Jungwon leaves the door open. 

It's raining again. Heavily. 

A matter of days before Jungwon's set to take his final exams for the year and he's surprisingly calm. Of course, he'd studied but he'd also had fun, spending nights when Sunoo wasn't tired in the living room as a trio, doing and talking about absolutely nothing but still marked as something to cherish to him. He also sees Sunghoon, goes over to his place where Heeseung perches on Jungwon's shoulder, marveling at the brownies Jungwon makes, Jay enticed by the aroma filtering into the living room where he'd previously been playing his guitar. And in their concrete backyard, they lounge on camping chairs, munching on the soft heaven Jungwon manages to bake and minutes later, they're laughing at nothing. The small fire Sunghoon's made outlines their faces, their happiness on display and Jungwon sinks into his own, hands in his pockets and slumps into his chair, happy. 

Which the weather doesn't mirror. Except it's not meant to reflect his mood, but yours, heart thudding in your neck as your phone vibrates with incessant calls attempts and a flood of texts. 

You'd been just about to toss your phone away for a study session, settling down at your desk, smiling at your pegboard, trinkets and a photo booth strip taken recently of you and Jaehyun. Your Kerropi keychain had found its way onto the pegboard too, because after you'd lost one of your keychains, you'd been apprehensive of losing others. 

In your hand, your phone buzzes, screen alight with a selfie of you and Jaehyun, his cheeks squished as you pucker your lips into a kiss onto his cheek. Happiness floods you, accepting the welcome distraction, painfully unaware of its destruction. 

"Hi baby!" 

You've been butt-dialled, softened by material and limbs, but even that couldn't muffle the words you'd heard. The horrid laughs of his friends back home since he'd finished the academic year, you always coming last. 

"Dude! Surely, it's been a year," his friend hollers, a smack delivered to Jaehyun. "And you still haven't cracked that?"

"I've been trying, believe me!" he insist, tone doused in a bucket of sinister tar you're so unfamiliar with. "She always clams up the last minute. Can't tell you how many boners she's sent to the grave." 

"She has that whole innocent, cutesy thing going for her," another friend explains, one you've had nothing but respectful interactions with. Your stomach twists, a sudden wave of nausea attempting to drown you. "But, I mean, come on? She would've slobbered on your knob with that crush she had on you in school. What's stopping her now? Men have needs too, don't they?"

"Don't even, bro, because─" and he laughs, a genuine hearty laugh that splits your heart in two. "─when she's feeling all guilty for not putting out, she'll try give me a blowjob and it's the fucking worst," 

He laughs again, his hand likely over his eyes like you've seen him do plenty of times. Only now, you're the butt of the joke. 

"I just imagine whatever Pornhub video I watched the night before and jizz in her mouth to get it over with," he explains, chorus of laughter filtering through the phone's speaker. "There's still time though. All bets are not off yet, gentlemen. I'm getting my money, her virginity too!" 

It's the last thing you hear as your phone jolts in your tremored hand, thumb aggressively tapping at the red end call button, with its delayed end coming with the shudder of your breath. The force of it, dry heaved out a throat working, gargling with no remnants in your stomach being pulled again and again, a desperate rush to your en-suite, your phone dropped like your knees to hard floor, spit plonked into the toilet bowl. 

Sanity is the last thing considered, your back pressed to cold tiled wall as your arms circle around your knees, wobbled lips pressed into the bone as your body rocks. Willing whatever wretchedness you've just heard not to be real, to be a figment of whatever horrible imagination your mind's constructed. 

However, when you're shaking your head, hoping the thoughts will drop out your ears, you only manage to connect the dots. His sudden interest after an eternity spent pining over him, the half-efforts elsewhere except the bedroom, the dismay you'd been met with when you'd introduced him as your boyfriend to other hometown friends, to Sunoo, Jungwon and Riki. The thought makes you sick, how everyone was able to see what laid beneath the surface but you, the person supposedly closest to him. His girlfriend. 

The title once meaning everything to you drops insects over your body, skin crawling at the heavy, disgusting feel as there is no one to blame except yourself. For wearing your heart on your sleeve, for believing Jaehyun was above you, for giving yourself to him. 

You want out. Out this bathroom, out your skin, not a thought in mind as you're stumbling out your bathroom, not caring for the pitter-patter of rain hitting your window and storming through doors and halls, figure soaking in rain as you run as hard as your burning lungs allow. The drenched weight of your clothes threatens to weigh you down, but you persist, tears mascaraed in the rain pouring over your face as you round the familiar corner, huffing and puffing with your hands on your knees, at the doorstep of someplace urgent. A place you'd neglected trying to find a home in Jaehyun. 

Jungwon opens the door, because of course he does. In the face of his surprise, you can only sigh, meekness in your croaked voice as you ask, "Can I come in? Please?" 

He'd be a fool to leave you in the rain, a fact you know now Jaehyun is capable of doing if it didn't get his dick wet. Your eyes pinch together, weak heart hoping once you trudge through Jungwon's doorway, all thoughts of your ex-boyfriend will cease, soaked shoes slipped off, tracking rain in the house as you're ushered to the upstairs bathroom, Jungwon moving swiftly to hand you towels and an extra change of clothes.

His. 

The relieved sigh you do should make guilt crush you, but you've forgone all thought. All emotion, only allowing the hot shower of water run down your back like you'd hope your previous relationship would.

You don't talk much after you've come through the door, whispered 'thank you's the extent of your vocabulary as Jungwon hands you towels and clothing to change into, hanging your soaked pair on the towel warmer to dry quicker. 

You're wounded, that much is clear in the gauntness in your face, skin pale and eyes soulless. He can't pry, the first tumble of his words possibly the final blow, your crumble inevitable, fleeing because where else can you go? Sunoo's not meant to be in until late, you're not as close with your friends because well, Jaehyun is your best friend. 

And yet, you make no mention of him. Don't attach yourself to your phone like you'd done before, giggling over sparse text messages and fawning over pictures of you together. As a substitute, your small figure hovers at the stairs leading up to his attic bedroom, complaining of the rain, how your troublesome presence would've left earlier if you didn't want to get soaked. 

"Stay over," Jungwon insists, hauling himself off his bed. "You can take the bed, I'll get the blow-up sorted."

There's back and forth and in an effort not to make you cry, he gives into your insistence, you taking the blow-up bed and him perched on his bed. The small TV mounted in his room blares, in the corner you occupy playing some movie he doesn't pay any attention to, face permanently creased as his eyes run over yours, wondering what he can do to erase it. 

There's little he can do without knowing the source, an omission of truth on your part after an hour and half long film, another absently switched over to before you burrow into your set of bedding, back towards him for a long while. The TV's eventually turned off, silence eating away at the bitter night.

"He had a bet going with his friends," you confess, voice small and tear-wrinkled. "That's all this was to him ─ some sick joke that he could make with his friends,"

"I don't even─I can't even─"

Jungwon sits up, heaving a sigh twisted in disappointment and heartache. Mounts his pillows to support his back, salt rock lamp in the corner providing some light as he coaxes you with tenderness. "Up on the bed," 

You don't move. His hand pats his mattress in a three-beat sequence. "C'mon, angel."

Hesitation for a moment longer, your back still to him, and then there's give. Your figure hauls itself up, drowning in his clothes and ambling over to him, stalling at his bedside, his arms out in comfort you've been robbed of. 

A knee edged into his bed, dipping with your looming presence before you draw to him, submitting. 

"In my arms. That's it," your back finds his chest, slumping with the world's weight on your shoulders, turned away because he can only imagine you'd hate for him to see you like this. In pieces ─ for nothing. "Go ahead, get it off your chest."

"He─" you hiccup, trembling in Jungwon's hold. "They knew I liked him and made a joke of it. They probably said all kinds of hurtful things and I just…he made it clear he was never in it for me,"

"He just wanted to brag to his friends about beating them to it," the disgust flicks off your tongue, body tensing against him. In the circle of his arm, a thumb caresses the top of your arm, devoted to your care. Your comfort. "As if I'm something to claim." 

"You know you're not his to claim," Jungwon reminds you, cheek pressed to the side of your head, lips brushing against your hair. "Nothing of you is even his to begin with because no man ─ no person ─ can ever take anything from you,"

"If you love the way you love and treat people, that will always come back tenfold," he assures you, something you might hate to hear, but need to anyways. "Same goes for what those shitheads did,"

It's a first. The crackle of your laughter, subdued, but undeniably there, vibration bleeding through to his chest. A smooth curve graces Jungwon's face, dimple cratering. 

"I can't wish bad on them," Even though he already has, mulling over methods of a get-back while he selects words for you. "But they'll get what's coming to them. Nothing goes unpunished,"

"Nothing goes unrecognised either," his neck cranes to see you better, tear-stained cheeks and a pout on your lips, painted in the soft cream hues of his lamp. "I'm really grateful you confined in me. I can't begin to imagine the pain you're going through,"

"But at least you and I both know by talking about this and separating yourself from the situation, you're doing good by yourself. Clearing out all the bad to make way for good because at the end of the day, that's what I truly believe you deserve and that's what will come to you. Everything good because you're deserving of that and much more," 

"Okay?" His head ducks to meet your hung head, lifting to reveal the wobble of your lips as you nod along. "C'mere."

You burrow, body turning to envelope in the embrace he gives you, limbs tangling in a sigh of relief as you bury your face into his shoulder, his chin resting upon yours, hand stroking the back of your head. 

"It's okay," he mumbles, knowing it'll be, hoping you'll eventually see it that way. "He doesn't know how good he had it, but that's not for him to know."

Your bodies separate on your behalf, the first pull away, him following along. He anticipates more distance between you, easiness in his expression that you'll attempt a smile at, which you do, but at a closer proximity, hands hinged at the top of his chest, fingers overlapping onto his shoulders. The heat of your skin burns into his, through material and his skin dotting with goosebumps as novelty swirls in the hue of your eyes, features creased in a taste of bittersweet before you're inching closer, nails digging into his shirt. 

"Jungwon,"

His name is breathless, uttered in a hushed voice like others will pry. Will take him away from you, and he tenses. Sees beyond your intentions, hyper-aware of his hands splayed onto your folded knees between his legs before he lets out a shaky exhale. 

"I─I don't know if this is," right, some things considered. Varying in severity depending on the person, he thinks his own motives regarding you aren't as squeaky clean as you believe them to be. He isn't sure whether after things with Jaehyun (if they've ended, which he hopes they have), you're doing any better than a man who'd been so desperate to have you, he considered pushing and prying. Inserting himself where he didn't belong. 

There's no need now. 

He's corrupted, he thinks. Maybe not meant for the porcelain you are. 

"I," you struggle for the words, grasping to the front of his shirt like a lifeline, at odds with yourself. Your eyes show him as much ─ but there's something else in them too. 

A plea. 

"You're the only one I could tell this to," you confess, glassy eyed all over again. "I don't think you or I realise how many times you've been there for me,"

Your forearm's used to wipe away your tears, a quiet sniffle before steadiness leads your eyes, ceasing the expansion of Jungwon's unmoving chest. 

"I may be acting out of weakness, but that doesn't change what you've always given me," your hands move, flat against the plan of his chest, up and down like you could soothe the hammer of his deafening heart. "All I need is comfort,"

You. All I need is you, is the statement echoed in Jungwon's mind, run on repeat like a broken record, lost in an echo chamber that doesn't know what to do with itself. Not with this information, not with you on him, pleading with your pretty tear-streaked cheeks and eyes that cast a sparkle despite the darkness looming over you like the dark clouds in the sky. 

He should be logical about this. Differentiate it like everything he's ever done with his life because it's got him places he'd set for himself. Study hard ─ good grades, good university, good job. Sociable ─ hangouts, friends, the loss of being alone. Everything is a system and chain reaction for him, spelled out because at least if dealt the hand of fearing loss of control, he could control some things. All the variables he could plausibly dictate while maintaining his good graces. 

But you're not a variable. Not some stat he could account for since the first moment he's laid eyes on you and it makes him tick. Tittering on how this could be and what he had to do to make things plain and simple. 

Unfortunate for him, all he had to do is accept it for the mess it is. Like everything else involving thoughts and feelings.

"Do you want to?" he asks, because he really needs to know. In the depths of his heart. "I don't want this to be something you regret."

After he's gained your trust, to see a reality where come sunrise, you never meet his eyes, sit furthest on the couch, don't entertain anything that has to do with him ─ he's selfish and enamoured enough to never want that for himself. Not in any timeline. 

"I can't regret you," you affirm like a confession, steady enough to meet his gaze with a calmness running the direct opposite down his spine. "I can regret things, but that will always exclude you." 

A hard thump, then a flutter. His heart tickles against his bruised chest and his fingertips itch, gnawing into the material splayed over your knees, his clothing. Even now, having gone through rain and a warm shower, brown sugar and marshmallow still persists, a sugary sweet aroma enticing him, begging him for mercy. 

His forehead falls to yours, your arms woven around, wrists crossed at his nape. Breaths shared, his eyes closed, brain scanning for what to do next. What to do with what he wants most, whether he can accept it for what it is or plague himself for never accepting it in the first place.

Noses brush each other, breaths synched. Both are shaky, for different reasons but you anchor yourself to Jungwon, fingernail tracing across his nape before you're holding his face with hands that won't let go. The itch persists, shorts material sleeving into the webs of his fingers. He so badly wants this, has been pining over you for months and that greed grinds his teeth together, gritted in apprehension. Questioning whether even if your words given, this will be a once-off thing. He's gone enough to take what he's given but as he peers down at your lips, plump, unkissed - he can't help wrestle himself. Wondering if once is ever enough when it comes to you. 

"I don't wanna think about this too much," you bring him back to life, speaking the words he needs to hear. Your forehead's creased, sincerity in your red-rimmed eyes. "If it feels right, then…"

He'll let go. Stop thinking five steps ahead, of the worst possible outcome and let himself be. Kiss you like how he's always wanted to.

The mere press of your lips electrifies him, drawing goosebumps all over his warm body as you let the press linger, lips overlapping each other in a pucker capturing the tip of the iceberg. The nerves, tamed desire. It's only the surface of what Jungwon feels and he's hooked, falling apart when you go in for seconds. He surrenders to buried feelings, firming his grip on your arms as you press further, face screwed like you're giving him your all. Jungwon can't help the groan that escapes him, especially when the hitch of your breath ends with a whine, lips parted as his tongue runs along your bottom lip, the shudder you get travelling through to him. He could do this forever, Jungwon thinks, kiss and kiss you, get lost in the plush of your lips and never leave, engulfing himself in your existence because that's what matters most to him. You and then everything after.

Being together like this unlocks you, peels back what you've so secretly hidden away under the guised affection for Jungwon that couldn't exist beyond the confinements of friendship. You'd pushed himself aside, too enamoured by the star you'd set yourself on, staring too long into the Sun, only to leave yourself blind. But Jungwon, always there, has this gravitation pull over you, keeping you to him despite your best efforts and with the gentleness of the moon, you fall. Tip over into the dark well you've always harboured for him, witnessing first-hand how much devotion you hold for him as your body sinks into the kiss, limbs pressed into his with a want that won't cease. 

Jungwon's back finds the mattress, laid flat with his head between pillows, his pupils swallowing the honey brown of his eyes. There's softness in his eyes, there's always been for you, but in the dark of his room, his eyes are almost sharper, fuelled by the sentiment iron-cladding his grip to your hips, his chest rising as you peer down at him, hands attached to him. You blink away the lazy film coating your eyes, letting out a wistful sigh while your hands explore, inched centimetres over to where his heart is. It'll beat out his chest, you think, with how fast it's going. The intimacy of it, being seen makes him shift briefly, hips unknowingly brought up to make you move on him, something more brushed against your back. You gulp it down, the sheepishness flooding your cheeks. He sees it too, and extends his hands out for you, holding your cheek in his palm with the quiet call.

"C'mere,"

And you fold, arms bracing yourself as Jungwon holds your face in his hands, kissing you like he'd always meant to. The thought pools warmth in your stomach, stirred slow and steady as he leaves traces of himself all over your lips, teeth tugging at your bottom lip to make you do a silent gasp, the boil threatening to spill over as your body grows antsy, wishing to fan the flame. 

"Won," you rasp, and it sounds so desperate. So harsh in your ears. "More," 

His thumb traces the outline of your mouth, ghosting over its frame to settle below your cupid's bow, capturing its every movement as the confession finds itself said into words.

"I need more." 

Only then, his eyes flicker up to yours. They're unassuming, more so gauging where you stand of all places, to which he makes up his mind. Flashes an indulgent grin your way before you start to feel him shift. 

"I'll give it to you, baby. Don't have to say another word," he muses, back lifting off the mattress as you pull away for space. Between your legs, he's hard, impossible to notice. Especially when the dull ache between your legs attunes itself to him. "In my arms, back to me."

Wonder starts in your mind, prickled by the erratic jolt of your heart rate, but in the calm of Jungwon's expression, you find some peace. Let your nerves be nothing more than that and let him guide you, shorts given to you taken off with your shoulders surrounded by his frame, his arms shadowing yours, hands over your fidgeting ones.

"Nervous?" he asks in a whisper, so close his lips brush the shell of your ear. You squirm into him, channelling the jitters with crescent nail-pressed marks in your thighs. 

"A little," you confess, sheepishness finding itself in your cheeks again. Your head turns away like he's facing you. "I-I haven't done this before." 

"Not with yourself?" he hums, nosing along your neck.

You gulp, memory providing clip images. "I have, but…"

Your head hangs, breath coming out ragged from the patterns he draws on your thighs. "It doesn't feel as good,"

He hums in understanding, against your back to make all the hairs on your body stand. His hand inches closer, not purposely because he's still drawing patterns, but it feels that way. "It usually feels better when someone's doing it for you," 

His teeth catch on your earlobe, a gentle mark before he lazes over down the column of your neck to lick a stripe against it, a whimper his reward. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with,"

"I'll touch your clit and you'll feel so good, princess. I promise," he begs, threading your fingers with his before they ghost over the front of your underwear, with no pressure in a hover that makes you buck. "And when you're ready and want my fingers, I'll give them to you. At your own pace, until you come."

You've never felt so restless, a thing of feral nature scratching at your chest, with no release but this. A man's hand between your thighs as you heave like you've done under covers, lips clamped together with a whimper of your release. You think of Jungwon, how he'd take his time with you, learn what feels good for you and commit to it, whispering sweet nothings in your ear before he kisses you right off a cliff.

There's only one answer.

"Please," you plead, squeezing his fingers. Turning around to give him your glossy eyes, tortured without any. "Touch me." 

A soft curve pulls one end of his lips, false pity in his features before he pecks your lips, looking you in the eyes as he says, "Then let me."

Wordlessly, you unhook your fingers from his, a steady tremble against your thighs as you give him free reign, anticipation rife in twitch of your lips. First, he doesn't do anything, just lets you sit with your legs open, helplessly aching and wet. Somehow, it's a secret you want to keep to yourself but as Jungwon's middle finger drags across the gusset of your panties, over your entrance - a slight push in to hear your slick's echo - and upwards, between your outlined folds and onto your clit, where he rubs, you croak. Unleash a sound you've always kept to yourself and he groans at it.

"So sweet for me," he moans in your ear, hands already beneath your waistband, tugging. "Off, off. These need to come off," 

With the same haste, you try slide your underwear off, bracing against Jungwon who doesn't even let you get them off your ankles before he's on you. Collecting all the slick spilled out your entrance, circling it with three fingertips with a drag up to your clit, going up and down to collect or savour as teeth tease at your neck. You mewl, body feverishly hot at the new stimulation, of having someone else touch you this way, your head spinning too fast to keep in time with.

"You're so wet. So ready for me, huh?" he groans into your neck, licking it as you feel his hips buck up into your back, a firm push of his clothed cock against your ass. A quiet squelch sounds, caught on the graze of Jungwon's fingers. "You clenched, baby. Oh, you know I want it too, fuck."

His fingers come back up to circle your clit, nice and slow to the detriment of your deep breaths, shallow and worn as a pool of molten lava swirls in your belly, at unrest while Jungwon dedicates himself to you. Kissing every inch of your skin, grazing with his teeth and then biting, applying enough pressure to pull the high keen from your throat, embarrassed but so turned-on you can't think straight.

"Feels good, angel?" he coos at your fast nods, your hips helplessly following the fast rubs he does, breaking you from within. "Think you're ready for my fingers?"

A desperate hand reaches for his one stationed on your knee, keeping your legs open. Your head tips back on his shoulder, throat bobbing as you rasp a moan, near tears. "Please ─ want more,"

"When did my princess get so greedy, hm?" he muses, the hint of condescension in his voice. Buckling under the shame of it, you seep into its pleasure too as your hands splay onto his thighs, muscles tense beneath your palms. "It's okay, I'll bite. Just sit back and watch."

So, you do. Watching with a heaving chest as his hand slides further, then stops. The silence of the moment is ear-splitting, nothing but Jungwon's slow and controlled breaths in your ear before his fingertip circles your entrance, done with no motive but make you shake. Have it glisten against his fingertip, done with his index finger to and held up for both your eyes to see, your cheeks set aflame.

It's not the end of Jungwon's cruel and unusual punishment, the fingers hovered to your face, expectant for your mouth. Jungwon doesn't say anything, just gives the slightest nudge of his shoulder, bottom lip coming between your clenched teeth. Then, they draw closer and your mouth opens, fingers laid flat against your tongue before your mouth closes. You sing around the digits, tasting yourself with a mewl that can't seem to stop, timid at first but when your tongue twitches, you try again ─ tongue swirling round his fingers, tasting him too.

"Fuck, you're good with your mouth," he gruffs out, fingers gliding further to make your throat close, gag muffled against his skin. His other hand leaves your knee, lightly pressed to your throat as he tries again, another gag following. "Holy shit,"

Both hands leave the circumference of your face, one hand back on your knees admittedly pulled together to calm the ache between your thighs you couldn't solve and his other ─ dipped behind you, the smack of his lips coming with the drop of your heart.

"You're mine now," he says, a bite down on your earlobe to make you yelp as he busies himself with his fingers tracing your entrance, taunting. "No one's gonna get you like this, taste you like this,"

A breach ─ finally ─ and he steals all the words you could possibly say, your chest full of air, shoulders heightened up to his neck and you blink a hundred times over, adjusting to the foreign feeling of someone else so intimately intertwined with you. More feeds in, your breath shuddering as all you can do watch, his knuckle past your glistening lips before it curls, a high keen automatic.

Claws fly into material, the fabric of Jungwon's sleep trousers, scrunching into the material as you catch your lip in your teeth, body hunching over into the feeling. So pleased, wanting more and more. Down your spine, Jungwon's kisses follow, at the top of it where exposed skin prevails and down into the material of his shirt, warm air huffed into as he chuckles into you.

"Too much?"

"No," you shake your head, hip jutting for more. "Jungwon,"

"What, baby?" he calls, so sweet despite his amused chuckles. He's curling more, moving his hand for the heel of his palm to hit against your clit. You squeal. "Use your big girl words. How else am I supposed to know how you're feeling?"

The squeals never stop, echoed as you brace back onto Jungwon like a magnet, his trousers in your hands as squelches fill the room. You can't help yourself, the slow unwinding of your body does into him, only your hips drawn to him as he pumps a lone finger into you, everything and not enough at the same time. The feeling pumping through your veins overwhelms you in the best way, seeing the truth to his words as he fingers you, feeding more until he's knuckles deep. And when he's─

"It's here, isn't it?" he smiles into the column of your neck, loving to hear you whine. "That gets you weak?"

He says it like a mere observation, finger hooked with a press against a spongy spot hunching you over, the moans pouring out each time he presses it against it. Desperate hands seek his crumpled duvet covers, clutching for dear life as you feel your brain rewrite itself, attempting to recall if you've ever felt this good or if it's just Jungwon who makes you feel that way. No time is offered to ponder the matter, pleasure drowning out simple mental gymnastics as you keen more, walls closing in as you buck your hips to meet his finger.

"Oh baby, you love getting fingered this much?" Jungwon chuckles, a firm hand on your shoulder to haul you back to him. Against him, your chest lapses, forehead accumulating sweat as you blink away the dazed haze over your eyes, pressure building your stomach. "I haven't even put another in, how much more my cock."

You buckle over his crude words, melting back with a whine as your hips keep bucking, meeting the hand cupped over you with more and more on your mind. "Should I add another?"

"Please. Now!"

"Oh," the disappointment comes with a hard bite against your neck, a yelp surfacing at the same time he pushes another finger in. Your nails find his bicep, lodged in with a cry. "I'm sure there's better ways to ask for what you want," 

Two fingers deep, the top bone of his palm slams into your clit with vengeance, voice stolen from you, released without regard for prying ears and your dignity. 

"There's better ways to ask me," he emphasizes, a shiver sent down your back. "Right, princess?"

Despite the incessance of his fingers, you at least have the presence of mind to answer back, an enthused nod coming with your answer. "Yes."

"My sweet girl," the sternness melts in a blink, smoothed against the skin of your cheek with an adoring kiss as the coil in your stomach twists, nearing its limit. "I'll add another, okay?"

"Thank you," the heave comes with the shutter of your eyes, head hung as the pressure builds beyond what you're equipped to handle. A short break, then the stretch. 

The fingers you'd already been dealt had a stretch of their own ─ foreign, long, thicker with the kind of intrusion edged with discomfort. Except when you'd taken a breath, closed your eyes and trusted, he moved at your pace. He listened to you, attuned to every shift in your body that resisted or begged for more. And now, the width bares teeth into your bottom lip, discomfort sounding at the back of your throat. Immediately, he ceases, leaned into the crook of your neck.

"Hurts?"

"A bit," you admit, feeling small. "It'll get better though,"

"It doesn't have to if it's too much for you," his response is instant. "I can go back to─"

Your hands eclipses his, a turn back to him with trembled lips and a tension that cannot be eased. "No. I-"

You turn away, having no reason to be shy but being so in the end. "I wanna try. It'll be preparation for…"

He knows. He knows what you mean too, if not from context clues, but the way your walls do a weak squeeze of his fingers, his smirk bitten back. 

"C'mere," he calls, and you answer. Kissed like you're porcelain, wondering how you'd ever allowed yourself to be kissed any other way. "So sweet for me. I'll go slow, okay? Let me know if you need me to stop,"

And you would ─ if you needed him too. Except you're on the brink of destruction, your body not your own as your pants fill the room, mixed in with the squelches that only amplify, Jungwon's fingers picking up speed as he feels you relax, letting go as you surrender everything to him. 

"You're close," he huffs, littering your neck in kisses. "Gonna come for me, angel?"

You might, except this release doesn't feel like others. It feels like─

"Jungwon, I might─" the embarrassment colours your face, bucking hips eagerly to meet him despite the horror soon approaching. "I might, fuck."

He knows you best, it seems. A graze of his teeth to your pulse, a tender bite and a kiss to seal the deal. "You won't, this is different. It's okay, princess. Come for me."

His fingers are still going, your hips are still bucking and you can only brace as you take your last breath and shatter in his hold. Let go like he asks with your vision engulfing in stark white. The world beyond the feeling is no concern of yours, swallowed by the birth of pleasure swallowing you whole, vibrating in every crevice of your cells bumping together. Your eyelids force blinks, ones that don't come with the clear of your vision initially, but when your soul finds itself back into your body, Jungwon's room comes back into focus. His lit salt lamp, sneakers arranged in a straight line, the hoard of medals ─ you see it all, and then your sight drops down between your legs. A damp pool seeping through Jungwon's navy blue duvet cover, probably darker if not for the low-lighting, and the removal of his fingers, both them and his hand drenched in clear liquid making your shivering body very still.

In silence is how the next few excruciating moments pass, eyes darting nowhere in particular as you come to terms with the mess you've made ─ whether Jungwon anticipated this, or whether your first sexual experience entails embarrassment you can't come back from. Decision paralysis keeps you rooted in place, no limb budged an inch except for Jungwon's hand - hoisted over your shoulder with the careful chase of your sidelong gaze, not seeing but hearing his fingers in his mouth again, lips smacked together. 

Then, a hum comes. Much like the last time, except there's something feral on its tail end, an unexpected variable your brain's failed to consider. So, you shift ─ just slightly, angling yourself enough to get a better look of him, his expression no longer cast in the darkness of your silhouette and illuminated by his salt lamp. His eyes are what you've seen black holes look like, an endless pit of exposed hunger you're still trying to wrap your head around. Amongst other things like how he just stares at you, licking you off his fingers while he hums at the taste. Emotion lurches in your chest, a door opening you're unaware of its existence and it…resonates with this. Filth. A unknown you've quietly managed to package away, only to meet its other half.

"Must've felt so good, huh angel?" he coos, other hand coming up to caress your cheek, an automatic melt into his palm. "You're not embarrassed, are you?"

Eyelashes bat, your gaze scatters. All cues he sees before his palm places tender pats on your cheek, the skin of your cheek pulled between his pinched fingers. 

"Don't be silly," he drawls, shifting closer to you. The hairs on your body stand, his fresh linen scent engulfing you. "If I needed to know how good you felt, that was the best way to show me,"

His head ducks, meeting your eyes flickered down to your lap. "It felt good, right?"

A look into his eyes is given a chance, cheeks aflame at how starkly honest they are. Your head ducks again, nodding wordlessly. 

Then his hand migrates, softly and without a word too, hands woven around your ponytail he tugs at enough for your head to lift. Caught in your throat, your breath is gulped down in a big gesture, eyes having no choice but to peer into his. 

"Want more?"

You already know your answer. 

Except the vacancy of its sound is not enough to appease Jungwon. 

"I won't give you more if I can't hear you."

Your exhale crumbles on its way out, brain racking itself to remember if Jungwon was ever like this. Gentle, yet stern enough to straighten your back, kept on your toes as your breath held for his every word. 

"Yes," your voices comes out, meek but an answer nonetheless. "Please, Won. I..need you,"

Magic to his ears, the loaded tension of the moment disarms itself in the smile he beams, a more playful yank of your hair done before he's barrelling towards you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It feels like a contrast and continuation of your last kiss all at once ─ hungry, desperate and with an itch with the sole function of being scratched. The amount of affection he bombards you with knocks you off-balance, lips prying in a pathetic plea as his teeth sink into your bottom lip, soothed with the stroke of his tongue, the action folding your body into yourself. 

You do your best to support yourself, staying upright but Jungwon leans and leans, frenzied to feel every inch of skin pressed into his and it lights you on fire, being so desired and wanted when you've felt nothing but discarded. With your back blending into the mattress again, his lips meeting skin you hadn't spared a thought towards ─ the tip of your nose, under your eye where a mole rests, on the curve of your jaw and all the way down your torso, teeth nibbling the skin of your collarbone to render you even more weak. Kissing his way all along from one hip to another, taking his time with you until your fingers thread into his hair, tugging enough to warrant the lift of his head, teary eyes meant to summon some sympathy. 

"You have no idea how long I've wanted you," he groans into your skin, dragging his lips against the skin of your lower stomach. "I want to savour everything,"

One last kiss is pressed to you before he lifts from the bed, pushing his boxers and sweatpants down in one swoop, not waiting a minute longer. Except for the moment you rise, propped up on your elbows to stare, slow blinks done as your eyes hate to starve themselves of the sight of Jungwon stroking himself in long, languid strokes, his large tip smeared with precome as more beads, its flushed appearance and size a hard pill to swallow. 

The corner of his lip lifts, amused with the honesty you wear on your face before he draws closer, the nudge of his tip to softly spread your lips apart making you clench. An aired chuckle is all you hear beyond the mess in your chest, sight devoted in watching Jungwon glide his cock between your folds, knocking into your clit knowing it'd make you quiver, hand flying to grab his arm. 

"Angel," his voice bleeds with fondness, brain a puddle of syrup between your ears. "Look at how wet you get for me,"

The slick that's accumulated in his scarce motions is to the amount of flattery, echoed when your walls close again as he nudges your clit, dragging himself down with his thumb replacing his tip. You catch your lip between your teeth, whimper heard nonetheless as his precome trails down to your entrance, his tip resting there. 

Your hips circle with his thumb, but your neck cranes to see what he schemes before his tip circles your entrance, painted to his eyes. The image must conjure fire in him as he gives a broken breath, tip not resting, but being feed in, the tiniest bit of skin beginning to meet yours. 

"I should─fuck, get a condom," he sounds winded, looking dishevelled with the heightened rise of his chest, pulling back out to trace your entrance again. He tosses a look to his bedside table like he's actually considering it, head swivelled back to yours when you give his wrist a squeeze. 

"It's okay." is all you say, slowly but surely spreading your legs further, your extension of invitation. 

Everything following afterwards occurs in blocks of time, the flutter-shut of his eyes as he collects himself at your words, him lining himself up with you and then him pushing in. On sleepless nights, you'd considered what this moment would be like, you anticipated pain and while there's a sear of it, there's more relief. Not in that you're doing this with someone you love, but the fact that it would feel good. And that Jungwon delivers on. 

Plenty of adjustment time is given to you, his palm smoothing over the skin of your forehead before it's kissed, sugar-sweetness in his voice as he asks if you're ok. At this point, he's buried to the hilt and it's compressed your lungs from the inside-out, the stretch of him an element to account for. But the fullness? How engulfed and full you feel, with all of him snug in you, arms caging your body with his mouth possessive against blooming bruises on your neck? Your brain cannot comprehend the kaleidoscope of sensory and emotional information. 

Then he moves. Eyes locked where you connect, watching while you feel him almost pull out entirely, only his tip left before he feeds himself back in, slow and unhurried. The keen at the back of your throat comes with the curl your body does into itself, nails seeking refuge in the duvet cover. Shallow thrusts follow, pulling the want out of you as every thrust, however minimal adds fuel to the fire, discomfort dissipating with the slow bloom of pleasure, your voice no longer yours as moans empty with every grind. 

"Sound so pretty when I'm in you," Jungwon smiles, grabbing the collar of his shirt to take his t-shirt off. The hard ridges of his toned torso make you squeal, walls coming down on Jungwon's cock. "Keep this up and I'm gonna keep stuffed forever."

The filth he speaks with contrasts sharply with the dimpled smile he gives you, endearment unapologetic and ever-flowing as Jungwon maintains his slow grinds into you, your jaw unhinging as shallow pants empty out of your mouth. 

You must feed his ego with all your reactions, face permanently scrunched as Jungwon rubs slow circles against your clit, coaxing your walls to have some give as his thrusts remain shallow and controlled. Every place your skin meets his feels explosive, cells vibrating with the slow drizzle of ecstasy you find yourself drowning in, thighs twitching as one of your ankles hooks around his waist, looking for an anchor.

His eyebrow raises, the beckon of your hand bringing him closer, his hips in no way stalled as he switches to torturous grind into you, pelvis grinding up against your clit in an action you squirm at, holding onto him hopelessly as he engulfs your vision's field.

"Won," you moan, leaned into the hand he cups your cheek with. "Faster, please...I want more."

The thumb giving your skin calming caresses halts midway, a momentary pause where his eyes linger on your lips and the squirm of your hips bucking for friction, before his moves again. Down to your chin and flirts with your neck, no pressure applied except for his index finger down on your pulse, erratic thunder beneath his fingertip. 

"What my angel wants," his lips curve, sharp at their edges. "She gets."

It's the last of his sweetness you see, your request fulfilled as he lifts from the human cage his body makes over yours, situating your legs with a wider spread and better grip. He pulls out of the home he's made in between your legs, leaving nothing but his beaded tip for your walls to cling to before he sinks in again, with no remorse for the drying gasp you do. Your brain barely has time to catch up to the fill of him, the rhythm his thrusts set almost claiming as he notches into you feverishly, a subtle build but with enough speed to undo the last of his restraint, his head thrown back as his Adam's apple bobs, a trail of sweat gliding against its column. 

It's too much all at once ─ the incessant pressure of him pistoning into you, deep enough to make his claim of you everywhere and the image of him, so worked up yet so relieved. Sheer bliss is born amongst his features as his head lolls back to you, eyes drinking you in with unmatched attention. Losing yourself in the building coil pulling tighter, you're acutely unaware of how Jungwon sees you: the precious body before him, breasts bouncing with every thrust delivered, thighs trembling beneath his bruising grip with a face so perfectly strung in rapture he wills himself not to come. You look every bit of heaven he feels, the lurch of his heart mirrored by his hand as it soars to knead the flesh of your tits, soft skin under his palm as his fingers flick over your sensitive nipples. 

"Taking me so good," Jungwon's voice makes it over the slaps of skin, his biggest competitor the moans you've given up withholding. "Aren't you a good girl for me?" 

Your enthusiastic nods earn a chesty chuckle, an itch scratched as his fingers pinch your pebbled nipple, Jungwon getting off at the squirm you do, huddling into yourself as if you can escape him. 

He knows how to reel you back in though.

"Oh, you just love praise, don't you? Love hearing me tell you how pretty you sound, how good you are at taking cock," he coos, heart growing three sizes at how you visibly undo at his words, eyes doing a reveal with the bat of curled lashes. "You're just a sweet little thing that likes getting fucked, right princess?"

He deserts your tits for your face, thumb smoothing over the plush of your pouted lips, resting in their middle. They aren't usually words you'd say out loud, your response, but even as your head turns with the deniable sheepishness hiking your cheeks up, he sees right through you. 

"You're cute trying to hide from me," he muses, a gentle hand directing your eyes back onto him. "It's no use. Not when this pretty pussy's clenching around me."

His thumb presses and you comply, parting your lips and letting him fill your mouth as he drives further into you, somehow maintaining the constant chase he does after your orgasm, pleased moan hummed into the wet slick of his skin. 

"God, you're gonna make me come sounding like that," he curses, a knit to his eyebrow as sweat beads between them, breaths coming with lapses in his chest. "I'll take care of you first. How about that, princess? Stretch you out, reach all the places your fingers can't,"

You're squirming again, hips with a mind of their own, moan blending into the flesh of his thumb your tongue lolls around, parting with a trail you mewl at. It disconnects once far enough, most of it dribbled down your kissed lips parting open again as Jungwon finds your clit, ample slick for the circles he draws on you, unearthing squeals that white-knucle your hands to the duvet covers. 

"It's okay, baby. You've got me now," he coos, affection in the face of his punishing thrusts. "I'll cherish you, I'll treat you well,"

"I'll fuck you like you deserve." 

His words have you in a complete daze, head spun in endless loops that never allow your mind to settle, on zeroing in on the feeling deep-seated in your stomach, so big and explosive you're scared of what it'll bring. 

Jungwon's right there with you, holding your hand as you brace for impact. 

"You wanna come?" he asks, voice hoarse. His eyes track down to where you connect, a white ring of your mixed fluids around his cock. "God, this isn't enough, but I'm gonna come too,"

Regret rings heavy in his words, his frustration your own as your lips tremble, wondering if you'll ever feel this good again. 

"Promise we'll do this again?" 

His sentence hits your eardrums like a pin, prickled with a waver and vulnerability he's been stripped down to, your legs hoisted onto his shoulders before he leans down towards you, tearing a yelp out your rasped throat as he buries further into you, bucking up into you with all the desperation he offers.

Close like this, skin-to-skin, you share breaths, cycled between searching lips only just missing each other, the sight of his eyes unforgettable as they swim in the ocean of his defencelessness. 

"I need to hear it," he chokes, torn gaze cast away then directed back to you, a kiss pressed in time with a thrust. "You promise, princess?"

Your fingers sail to the dishevel of his hair, making more of a mess in your own desperation, body ticking away as your eyes brim with overwhelm, chest burning with your release. 

"I promise."

It's sealed with your release, the pressure built over stretches of time erupting with the last overlap of your lips, yell echoed off his lips as you come. The feeling rips right through you, electric through bodily cell as your eyes roll back, a helpless grasp at the sides of Jungwon's face as your head cocks back, body bowing off the mattress. No word can even attempt to describe how you feel, suspended in air that can only compare to a freefall, soaring through whistled air before you're hung amongst the clouds, coming down with a regulated breath pattern after its shudders paired with the ones passing through your body.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungwon experiences a similar fate, laying witness to your orgasm capturing him as if you never want to part, velvety walls coming down on him with a taste for ruin. He has no choice but to fall apart, starved for the last few pumps his greed seeks before he pushes himself deepest in you, spilling over in white, thick ropes. It takes everything in him ─ the awareness he'd hurt you otherwise ─ to keep himself rooted in place, core burning as his forearms keep him suspend, his head hung as he catches his breath. 

The lazed film coating his eyes, speaking to his exertion, is prompted to clear at the feeling of fingers in his hair. They're tender, unhurried like their prior pull, and in the soft hum from your chest, his head is coaxed to lift upwards, pushing your legs down at his sides when he gazes up at you. In a glowing sheen, you beam a closed-mouth smile, twirling the end of his hair around your finger. Much like he is, having given himself over to you, its evidence seeping trying to seep out the walls he's plugged himself in, neither of you in any hurry for its discard. Unravelled around your finger, it moves down to his face as it descends down the slope of his nose, ghosting over his lips to rest in one corner of his lips, a question in your eyes. 

"You okay?"

Despite his fatigue, he can't help but chuckle. "I should be asking you that." 

Your lip corners lift higher, downturning in a brush of timidity. 

"Are you?" Jungwon asks, sincere now. Eyes searching yours. "Are you okay?"

Happy? 

Silence denotes the moment, nothing but the murmured sounds of night and sleeping figures taking any shred of spared space. Your index finger thoughtfully taps into the crevice of his lip corner, soaking in its feel as well as your own. 

It doesn't take long for you to answer back. 

"Yeah, I am," you croak, sincerity shining back into his eyes. "I will be too." 

That's all Jungwon needs to hear before he's summoned enough strength to inch himself upwards, peppering your face in adoring kisses you giggle at, fingers in his hair then and after you two drift into a slumber, the world beyond his bedroom walls forgotten. 

Jungwon has a hard time getting out of bed the next morning.

Not because his exhaustion keeps him chained to his bed, but because you're there with him. Peacefully asleep with limbs tangled in his, something he's somehow missed yearning for. Not plagued with yesterday's earlier woes, your chest rises and falls as you sleep soundlessly, nose only twitching when Jungwon's thumb caresses over the flesh of your cheek, wondering how any of this is real. 

If it'll continue being real.

Before he can stop his own mental spiral, your arms encase him, eyes closed as you pull him closer. His smile is as true as can be as you nuzzle into him, the warmth of your close bodies unwinding the creep of tension in his, his body finally at ease as he falls back asleep. 

An hour or two later, the comfort of his bedroom is swapped for the cold of the kitchen, his clothing draped over you in oversize as you sit at the kitchen counter, the extent of him letting you help with breakfast being keeping him company. Over the flip and sizzle of fresh pancakes, Jungwon finds himself grateful not only for you, but the fact that Sunoo ─ an early riser like himself ─ has plans, keeping him from discovering his one and only cousin spent the night. He didn't need to know just yet whatever…this is. While Riki poses somewhat of the same threat, it'll be hours before he trudges downstairs, swaddled in a blanket with his hair scraping the high ceilings.

Like this, Jungwon's shoulders unwind, cease their climb to his earlobes and he basks in it, the warmth and quiet of his home, the taps of your nails against kitchen counter, some song hummed absently under your breath and the domesticity of it all. What he hopes can someday become his permanent reality. 

"I broke up with him," you say, a confession abrupt enough for Jungwon to cast a sidelong glance, pancakes browning. The least he does is heighten his eyebrows, saving the rest of his reaction in internal monologue. "I should've said so before but,"

He hears a knock of bone into the counter, your elbow braced into the slab as your chin rests in your palm, a pout on your lips with eyes that seem far away. Out his realm of understanding. 

"He sent me all these frantic texts after I ended the call, saying everything was out of context and that he could explain." 

Even Jungwon can't hide the scoff he does, turning the stove off with an eye roll.

"Of course, there was nothing to explain. I'd heard it all," a flash of hurt crosses your eyes, and Jungwon white knuckles the spatula unloading the pancakes onto your plates. He'd do any to scrub Jaehyun's existence from your brain, not for his own selfish reasons anymore ─ just so you wouldn't have to carry the baggage of hurt he's brought you.

"I ended it right then and there. Told him we were through," you conclude, brimming a closed mouth smile, extending when he draws closer with your plate. Whipped cream and sprinkles he's specially set aside for your share are in his other hand, a funny feeling in your chest at the sight. "So, we don't have anything to worry about."

Jungwon's eyebrow can't help but quirk, the question sharp on his tongue. Heavy in his throat. 

"We?"

You're not as stumped by the question as he imagined, a raise of your shoulders coming with comfort blended in the soft curve of your lips. 

"If you wanted to," is your suggestion, shaking the can of whipped cream. "I mean, I'm a bit of a mess at the moment and probably shouldn't be proposing anything serious right now, but─" 

Your words die in the press of Jungwon's lips, his body leaned over the counter to meet you. It's soft and tender, how things have always been with him, a smile coming with the gentle reminder as your hand deserts the can and lays across your cheek, thumb resting in the dip of his dimple. 

A sincere lock of the lips and another press of him is all you get before he centres in your vision again, nothing but patience in his expression. "In your own time. You figure stuff out ─ how you feel, how you'll move forward and whenever you're ready, I'll be here,"

"Even if it's not me," his voice carries an echo, lid unscrewed before he gets out a heart sprinkle, placing it atop the swirl of cream. His eyes cut back to you, honest as he'll ever be before he adds, "I'll be here because my support is the least of what you deserve." 

It happens suddenly, the flood of emotion rushing up your chest and to your eyes, a miserable wobble of your lips cooed over as Jungwon gives a light chuckle, hand to your cheek as a tear is wiped. "Thank you."

"No need," is his quick answer, your plate pushed closer as he gives you a nod. "Eat up before it gets cold."

A hum dislodges from your throat, gulped down with the rest of emotion's ugly flare, heart still seemingly in two. It's to be expected, despite everything. Jaehyun was someone you'd projected your life intertwined with, stretching far beyond the scope of university with your white-picket fence and sold sign outside your two-storey house. You'd loved him, undeniably so, and with the reveal of how sorely misplaced it'd been…your reaction is warranted. Has a place, as Jungwon's expressed, where you'll sort through all your fondness, the signs you'll hate yourself for seeing in hindsight and whatever else comes with the crumble of hopeful dreams. And in that, you'll find yourself again. Who you are beyond the label of a girlfriend, someone who stands in their own right and still loves with all their heart because even if Jaehyun screwed you over, you'll bloom again. Because love given is never wasted. 

Fondness comes in a blanket draped over Jungwon's shoulders, seen in his lopsided smile as he watches you decorate the rest of your pancakes, excitement tipped in the corners of your lips as you snap quick photos before digging in. He watches it all unfolds, cutlery put to use and served to your mouth enveloping the fluff before the hum comes. Overflowing with satisfaction, eyes alight as they sparkle, flavours dancing on your tongue. His heart lurches, like it's always done, but at least now, the phenomenon doesn't feel as lonely, Jungwon no longer on his one-man island as he rejoins society, feeling everything before he can sort it into boxes, because despite what you'd said about yourself being a mess, he likes it. Prefers the chips in the mosaic you've made of yourself, of everyone he's letting in properly this time and allows himself to be the same ─ an imperfect mosaic, pieces of everyone he's ever loved. 

There's nothing but goodness engulfing Jungwon, his own plate in hand as he settles down beside you with a playful shoulder nudge, the same one done by you with a smile. Jungwon realises, despite how picturesque and pure the scene is, he can still be evil. Not wholly, but enough to make you look like an angel. Though his future intentions don't denote the same villainess, he carries some of it while you busy yourself with pancakes in his kitchen, phone at his side as he sends off an anonymous text to the man he'll drive wild. Your dear ex-boyfriend who never stood a chance. 

Unknown number: Beat you to it. 

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Jay, on the other hand, belonged to the people. As captain of the swim team that hadn’t lost a single meet since he joined in freshman year, he was popular and effortlessly charming. So that in turn meant their shared campus housing had a revolving door of bodies—Jay brought back guys from the soccer team, girls from his marketing lectures and anyone and everyone in between. He was both fluid and confident, just entirely unbothered by anyone that was watching.

And Jake sure did watch. He tried not to though but the apartment was only so big.

Every time Jay brought someone back, Jake would put on his noise canceling headphones and stare at his chemistry structures, trying to ignore the heavy thudding against the shared wall or the moans and groans coming from whatever Jay was doing to his hookups.

But it was impossible to ignore Jay himself.

Jake had thought Jay was handsome from the very first day they unpacked their boxes and it only got worse over the time they lived there. Jay had this habit of walking around the apartment completely shirtless after his morning showers, his dark hair would be damp and messy and he would lounge in the kitchen making coffee, wearing nothing but a pair of gray pajama pants that hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the oh so defined lines of his v line and the broad expanse of his toned chest.

Jake would sit at the kitchen island with his eyes glued to his textbook and his throat going totally dry every time Jay leaned over the island to tease him about being a nerd. He would memorize the way the morning light hit the muscles of Jay's back and try to ignore the strange feeling he’d get in his lower abdomen and in his chest that he kept strictly hidden behind his awkward demeanor.

He was just the nerdy roommate and Jay was the star.

The quiet hum of the refrigerator was usually the loudest sound in the apartment on most afternoons. Jake sat at the kitchen island as usual, surrounded by his notebooks, like a highlighters and index card defense perimeter against the rest of the world. He was mid formula, falling deeper as his mind became occupied by molecular bonds, when the door to Jay's bedroom clicked open.

Jake didn't look up immediately but his focus instantly fractured in a way he couldn’t control. He could hear the familiar drag of Jay's slippers on the floor and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight that always made his throat constrict—those soft gray pajama pants hanging dangerously low on Jay's hips, exposing his chiseled body to him.

But instead of heading for the coffee maker, Jay stopped right at the other side of the island and with a loud thud, a medium sized, flesh toned mass of premium silicone rolled onto the smooth marble, right over Jake's carefully organized flashcards. It was half a torso, complete with double sided openings and perfectly molded thighs.

Jake's heart didn't just skip a beat, it actually stopped because his worst nightmare had just materialized directly on top of his homework.

"Care to explain this beauty, pretty boy?" Jay asked, dropping his weight against the counter and crossing his arms over his bare chest. An incredibly smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he looked down at the toy, then back up at Jake.

A violent heat exploded across Jake's face, rushing from his neck straight to the tips of his ears. He looked like he'd been caught doing something that could land him in jail rather than just holding onto a horrible gag gift from his lab partners. He scrambled to cover the item with a notebook but his hands were shaking so badly he dropped his pen and the book.

"Why—why were you even in my room?" Jake squeaked in a shaky voice, trying to find an offensive angle. "That was under my bed. You shouldn't be snooping through my stuff, Jay."

"I wasn't snooping, I was looking for the laptop charger you borrowed last week," Jay drawled, too entirely unbothered by the accusation.

He stepped closer and shot a hand out to lazily tap the silicone base of the toy with his index finger, watching the material jiggle slightly. "But then I hit a massive box with a giant label that practically screamed 'Jake is hiding something filthy.' I gotta say, Jake, I didn't think you had it in you."

"It's not mine! I didn't buy it!" Jake panicked, his fingers digging into the edge of the marble as he stared anywhere but at Jay's face or his defined pecs. "My lab partners sent it as a joke because I lost a bet on a quiz. I was going to throw it away, I swear."

Jay responded with a laugh, adjusting his stance so he was nearly at Jake's eye level. The clean scent of his body wash and his cologne completely overran Jake's senses, making his brain glitch even further.

"Sure, a joke," Jay teased while his eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. He tilted his head and let his voice drop into a direct tone. "So, have you fucked it yet?"

"No!" Jake shouted, the protest coming out of him way too fast and too loud in the quiet kitchen. He practically bounced out of his chair, burning a shade of red that looked physically painful. "No, I haven't! I would never touch that thing!"

Jay didn't back down at all. Instead, his smirk shifted into something actually genuinely curious, his eyes tracked the frantic rise and fall of Jake's chest. "Why not?" Jay asked, dangerously straightforward. "This is a high end model. High friction coefficient, right? Isn't that what you guys call it? Why wouldn't you try it out..." Jay paused and narrowed his eyes slightly as a sudden realization hit him. "...unless you're a scared virgin?"

Jake's mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked and he instantly looked down at the floor, darting his eyes quickly between the pattern on the hard wood floor and his own slippers, his hands gripping the hem of his hoodie like a lifeline. The silence stretching between them was louder than any confession he could have possibly made, it made Jay let out a disbelieving whistle and the cocky smirk made its way back to his face with absolute certainty. "Holy shit. You actually are."

"I'm not—it's just none of your business," Jake muttered to the floor but his voice too thick with embarrassment and he sounded like he was about to choke.

"Hey, there's no shame in it," Jay said but his tone was dripping with nothing short of amusement. He picked up the heavy silicone torso from the table, turning it over in his hands with a casual ease that made Jake want to disappear on the spot. "I'm just saying, if you wanted to start practicing, you couldn't have handed a better tool. Look at this thing."

Jay tapped the molded upper thigh of the toy, pointing directly at the two separate, anatomically detailed openings on either end. "It's got options, pretty boy. Both holes. You know? Just in case you ever want to try out some ass play or if you end up experimenting with a guy."

At the word guy, Jake's head snapped up so violently that Jay heard his neck practically pop. His eyes went completely wide and his pupils blew out, like a frantic wave of panic overtook his embarrassment. He stared at Jay, trying to control the way his chest was heaving under his hoodie but it was useless, he was utterly incapable of hiding the raw shock that the comment had triggered.

Jay halted for a fleeting moment, latching his eyes instantly onto Jake's hyper reactive expression. The teasing smile on Jay's lips slowly morphed into something much sharper and his eyebrows lifted in realization.

"Oooh," Jay hummed out, stepping around the island until the low waistband of his pajama pants was right in Jake's line of sight. "You like guys?"

"No! I—that's not—"

"Don't lie, Jake. Your face is literally purple right now," Jay interrupted him, leaning his hands on the table and tilting his head to force Jake to look him in the eye. The proximity was suffocating, Jake could feel the heat radiating off Jay's bare chest, he could see the slight ripple of his abdominal muscles as he breathed.

Jay's eyes darkened and a new, dangerously playful glint entered his gaze as he ran a slow look down Jake's flushed face and back up.

"So, the quiet roommate likes dudes," Jay murmured in a gravelly register that made Jake's stomach do a violent flip. He closed the distance a little more, staring right at Jake's trembling lips. "Tell me then...am I your type?"

Jay cocked his head to the side when Jake shook his head no, with a lazy grin on his face, he was clearly enjoying the way he had the chemistry major pinned against the edge of the table using nothing but proximity.

"Why?" Jay asked, his voice dropping into a quiet, speculative drawl. "Is it because of how I look? What, are you into twinks or something?"

Jake's jaw dropped slightly, the total absurdity of the question temporarily cutting through his sheer panic. He looked at Jay's broad, tanned shoulders, the heavy definition of his chest and the solid line of his jaw, noting how there wasn't a single fragile or delicate thing about him.

"No," Jake muttered bluntly, his voice cracking a little on the syllable.

Jay nodded in easy agreement, absolutely unfazed. "Fair enough. That makes sense, to be fair. Twinks don't usually like other twinks, anyway."

The words hung in the air for a second before Jake's brain fully processed them. The blatant insult to his entire masculine identity overrode his embarrassment, now all he could feel was a hot burst of flustered annoyance.

"I'm not a twink!" Jake snapped, slamming his hands down onto his notebook as he glared up at Jay with indignant eyes.

Jay didn't even blink at his outburst, he just let his eyes slide slowly down Jake's frame again, taking in the hoodie that swallowed his shoulders, his soft, messy hair and the way he was practically trembling from the whole confrontation before bringing his gaze back up to Jake's burning face.

"Sure," Jay said smoothly but Jake could hear the dismissive irony that said everything it needed to.

A suffocating silence immediately dropped over the kitchen and Jake sat there with his hands still pressed against his homework and his face still burning a shade of red that felt so hot. He wanted to get up and sprint back into his room, lock the door and never come out until graduation but his legs felt too much like lead.

And it wasn't helping that Jay didn't seem to want to move an inch, he didn't look away either, keeping he's eyes on Jake's flushed cheeks with a calculating intensity that made Jake's stomach twist into anxious knots.

He could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, terrified of what Jay was going to say next, yet entirely incapable of breaking the spell.

"You know," Jay started, "Since you've never done anything before...do you want me to show you how to use it?"

Jake actually managed to scoff at, just a defensive sound that didn't quite cover the tremor in his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest and even managed to look Jay in the eye for all but five seconds.

"Right because that sounds like an amazing idea," Jake sarcastically muttered. "I'll pass on becoming your next casual conquest, Jay. I really don't feel like being the subject of a random group chat by tomorrow morning."

The smug smirk vanished from Jay's face and he straightened up slightly as his eyebrows knit together. He looked genuinely caught off guard by Jake's words, eyes searching Jake's with an unexpected seriousness.

"What?" Jay asked. "Why the hell would you say that? Genuinely, Jake, what do you think I am?"

Jay was surprised Jake didn't back down at the sight of his annoyance, in fact he rolled his eyes dramatically, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs at the sudden shift in Jay's demeanor. He gestured vaguely toward the hallway and the front door of their apartment.

"Oh, come on. Do I need to spell it out for you? Look at all the people you bring back here every week. Guys, girls, whoever. It's like a brothel here sometimes," Jake said and Jay definitely noticed the bitter edge in his voice slipping out before he could stop it. He clamped his jaw shut for a second, then looked away. "I live here. I have to study here. I don't want to be just another random person on your list."

Jay stared at him for a long beat, letting the silence stretch out between them before we spoke up again.

"Wow," Jay murmured, his voice low and amused. "I had absolutely no idea you were such a fucking brat."

"No, I'm not!" Jake's face flared an even deeper red, his defense perimeter completely collapsing. He shoved his chair back, the legs screeching loudly against the floor. "Just—leave me alone, Jay. Go back to your room."

"Alright, alright. Suit yourself," Jay said easily, shrugging his broad shoulders.

He didn't argue. What he did do, was reach down and wrap his long hands around the waist of the sex toy to lift it off the marble island and casually tuck it under his arm.

Then he turned around and began walking toward the hallway.

Jake froze, his eyes going wide as he watched Jay walk away with the joke gift.

"Wait—what?" Jake called out in a shocked, high pitched squeak. "Where are you going with that?"

Jay didn't even look back at him, he just kept walking down the dimly lit hallway toward his bedroom, his voice echoing loudly off the walls as he shouted back over his shoulder.

"Well, you said you're never gonna touch it," Jay called out, his tone entirely unbothered and too practical. "And it's a really nice model. So if you won't fuck it, I will."

Jake's brain completely fired off a dozen emergency alarms at once. Before he could even process the absolute absurdity of what he was doing, his legs carried him out of the kitchen and straight down the hallway after Jay.

"Hey! Wait! Stop!" Jake yelled, skidding to a halt right at the threshold of Jay's open doorway. He reached out, his fingers desperately clawing at the cool silicone of the object, trying to wrench it out from under Jay's arm. "Give it back! It's mine! It was literally addressed to me!"

Jay stopped, turning his upper body just enough to lock Jake in place but he didn't relax his grip even a little. He looked down at Jake's frantic face with a mix of disbelief and sheer amusement.

"Are you serious right now?" Jay scoffed, easily keeping the toy pinned against his ribs casie Jake had nothing on him. "You literally just said you would never touch this thing. You screamed it in the kitchen, Jake. So what do you care if I use it?"

"It's the principle of the thing!" Jake lied through his teeth as he yanked hard on the molded leg. "It's my property! You can't just steal my—"

"Watch me," Jay grunted and with an effortless twist of his shoulders, Jay used his athletic leverage to just rip the toy out of Jake's hands. The new loss of momentum almost made Jake trip forward into the room. Jay didn't waste a second, he had turned his back on Jake and casually walked deeper into his bedroom, tossing the heavy torso onto the center of his unmade mattress with a heavy plop.

Jake didn't even know what to do right at the threshold, his hands still twitching from the tussle, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He should have turned around, gone back to his organic chemistry flashcards and pretended his roommate wasn't a complete fucking lunatic.

Instead, a paralysis locked his slippers to the floor and to his absolute but deeply aroused horror, he just couldn't tear his eyes away.

Jay calmly walked over to his nightstand, opening the top drawer and pulling out a thick, black tube of premium lubricant. He didn't look rushed or embarrassed one bit, he looked too casual for what he was about to do, like he was just setting up a video game console. He walked back to the edge of the bed, unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle over the toy.

With a few deliberate squeezes, Jay squirted a generous dollop of the clear gel directly into the top opening of the toy and then another heavy amount into the lower channel. The sweet vanilla scent of the lube instantly began to drift into the air of the bedroom.

Jay capped the tube, set it down on the mattress and finally turned his head to look directly at Jake, who was still standing in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

"So," Jay murmured, reaching his hands down to the waistband of his pajama pants. "Are you just going to stand there and watch me?"

Jake's jaw clicked open but his brain was so thoroughly fried by the visual that he couldn't form a single thought, let alone a coherent sentence.

Jay was already pushing his pants and boxers all the way down past his hips, letting them pool around his thighs, making Jake let out an involuntary gasp, his hands tightening against the wood of the doorframe.

Jay was massive, so thick and already fiercely erect, his cock stood out proudly against the dark stubble of hair at his groin, pressing upward toward his stomach. It was completely different from seeing it through the thin fabric of his pants, the intimidating reality of it made Jake's heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.

No wonder all those people couldn't shut up for their lives.

Jay didn't stop there though, he settled himself against the pile of pillows at the head of his bed with his legs spread wide. He wrapped his long fingers around the thick base of his hard length and gave it two slow pumps, the skin sliding taut as he prepped himself.

He gripped torso toy with both hands to lift it before aligning it perfectly and sinking it all the way down his thick length in one smooth, unyielding motion.

A groan tore left him and he briefly closed his eyes. "Fuck..." he muttered, his jaw clenching tight, as if he was adjusting to the intense suction.

The scene was completely surreal, like a chaotic blur of heat and shamelessness that Jake's brain couldn't process. He watched, rooted to his spot as Jay began a slow pace, bouncing the weighted torso up and down on his cock. The suctioned squelch of the lubricated silicone sliding against Jay's skin quickly filled the quiet bedroom.

Jake felt a sudden throb between his own thighs. Within seconds, his cock went rock hard against the fabric of his shorts, the heightened friction caused a hot drop of pre cum to leak through his boxers. It was entirely too hot, watching the captain of the swim team losing his cool composure over a piece of plastic right in front of him was ruining every protective instincts Jake had built.

He started to spiral. What's the worst that could happen? he thought desperately. He was a recluse, no one on campus knew who he was anyway. If he crossed this line, it would probably stay behind the closed door of this apartment.

Jay's eyes suddenly snapped open, completely dark with arousal. He looked directly at Jake and shifted up his pace into a faster one.

"Jake," Jay panted, shoving the toy down to his base again. "Holy shit...it's so fucking tight. The suction is insane."

To emphasize the point, Jay kept his cock fucking into the toy but his left hand snaked around to the back of the silicone torso to align his long fingers with the second opening—the back hole. He slid two of his thick fingers straight into the lubricated channel, pushing them in deep and fingering it open.

Jay let out another loud moan, his spine arching off the pillows as his own fingers stretched the internal ridges of the toy from the other side. "F-Fuck...you have no idea what you're missing, baby boy."

That was the absolute breaking point. The sight of Jay's long fingers working the back opening of the silicone, paired with that challenging rumble in his voice, absolutely broke whatever restraint Jake had left. His social anxieties disappeared and he could no longer ignore the ache in his groin for a second longer.

Without saying a word, Jake reached down and shoved his shorts and boxers straight down to his knees. He kicked them off with a clumsy shake of his legs and began to shuffle over to the edge of the mattress.

Jay's eyes dropped before his dark pupils got even wider as he took in the sight of Jake's rock hard cock. A low, appreciative whistle escaped his lips.

"Damn," Jay growled, his pace on the toy stuttering for a fraction of a second. "Is that what you've been hiding under those baggy clothes? You're fucking huge."

"Jay, please," Jake whimpered, the praise hitting his ears felt like a physical jolt and made his cock throb violently. He crawled onto the mattress on his hands and knees, his thighs trembling as he hovered over the lower half of the silicone torso. "Please...you—you can't ever tell anyone about this. If anyone on campus finds out, I'll literally have to transfer."

"Hey, look at me," Jay murmured, his voice surprisingly steady as he reached up to take Jake's face in his hand and force him to look at him. "My mouth is sealed, Jake. I swear. This stays right here between us. Now come here."

Jake let out a shaky sigh, looking down at the second opening of the toy. The clear lube was still glistening around the edges where Jay's fingers had just been. He slowly lowered his hips, aligning the blunt head of his cock with the tight, synthetic hole but he was hesitating, his whole body shaking with nerves as the cool plastic brushed against his skin.

"That's it, just like that," Jay praised in an encouraging purr as he watched Jake hover. "Go on, Jake. Push it in."

But Jake was moving entirely too slow for Jay, like his brain still trying to process the utter insanity of the situation.

Losing his patience, Jay suddenly stretched down with his free hand and wrapped his fingers wrapped firmly around the base of Jake's cock, he pulled him straight forward with a tug.

"Ah—no, wait!" Jake screamed out, slamming his hands into the mattress on either side of Jay's hips as his body was forcibly dragged down.

Before he could even finish the protest, his cock was already deeply wedged into the lubed up hole. The deep suction of the high grade silicone closed around his length all at once, squeezing him out and dragging a shameless sob from his throat. He tried to flinch backward from the quick overstimulation but Jay's hand instantly shifted to slap and clamp down over the meat of Jake's bare ass cheek, pinning him securely in place.

"Where're you going?" Jay growled, digging his fingers into Jake's skin as he locked their hips together against the toy. "You're in it now, gorgeous. Just take it."

"Now thrust," Jay commanded, his tone left no room for argument. His hand remained heavy and firm on Jake's hip, anchoring him to the toy.

Jake swallowed hard, his arms trembling against the sheets as he tried to find his pace. He shifted his weight, his hips stuttering forward as he drove himself a fraction deeper into the toy. The overwhelming rush of pleasure made his eyes roll back into his head.

"Oh...good god, Jayyy," Jake whimpered and tried to pull back but the beautiful suction of the lubricated polymer dragged along his sensitive cock and forced another breathless whine from his throat. He felt like he coming apart.

"That's it, look at you," Jay praised and squeezed Jake's hip tightly, guiding his motion. "Good boy, Jake. Look how well you're fucking it."

The low praise hit Jake again, like hearing the campus heartthrob call him a good boy with his tone all thick and heavy with arousal, made Jake's knees go weak. His strength gave out completely and his arms buckled beneath him as his upper body collapsed forward, his chest landing heavily against the silicone torso between them.

It made Jay huff out a chuckle against the crown of Jake's head, basking in how thoroughly ruined he was.

"Alright, hold on." His hands moved to grip Jake's shoulders, then he carefully rolled them both over onto their sides. Jake moaned as they moved, his thighs tangling with Jay's on the mattress until they were pinned facing each other, the toy squeezed perfectly between their bare chests like a buffer zone.

"This better?" Jay panted out the question, searching Jake's wrecked, already tear stained face.

Jake could barely think but he managed to give Jay desperate nod, before his forehead dropped for a second against Jay's collarbone.

Jay drove his hips forward, his thick length sliding deep into his side of the toy and the force pushed the rubber wall directly against Jake's cock on the other side, making him scream out a moan and his hips instinctively snapped forward to meet the pressure.

Just like that, the lingering hesitation was gone. They both fell into a brutal rhythm, both of them thrusting relentlessly into the opposite ends of the silicone torso from their sides. The wet slap slap slap of their skin against the plastic was all they could hear, the cheap bedframe creaked violently against the floorboards as they shared the sex toy between them.

The industrial scent of artificial vanilla and silicone hung so thick in the air, completely overtaking the small space as Jake and Jay lay pinned on their sides, facing each other.

"Ah—shit, Jay sl—slow down," Jake choked out, letting out broken moans that sounded too similar to the needy little femboys that Jake usually fucked.

Jay wasn’t doing any better though. Hearing those pathetic sounds coming from his reclusive roommate is driving him totally insane. All he could think about was flipping Jake over, pinning his wrists to the mattress and topping him until he wouldn’t even remember his own name.

Needing more leverage, Jay allowed for his long arm to reach around the torso, his hand snaked directly under the hem of Jake's hoodie. His fingers slid up the damp skin of Jake's ribs until he finds his tight, sensitive nipple, pinching it firmly between his blunt fingers.

"Oh my god! Oh shit" Jake cried out and the new jolt of pain and pleasure made his hips reflexively jerk forward, slamming cock deeper and harder into the toy's internal ridges.

"Yeah, just like that," Jay growled, his jaw clenched tight as he matched Jake’s new and insane pace. "Fuck it just like that, baby boy. Take it all."

The muscles of their legs ground together, their sweat slicked bodies sliding heavily against the wet plastic of the molded torso. The bedroom was a suffocating symphony of slick friction and raw noise, both of them were driven completely wild by the heavy toy wedged between their chests and each other.

Deep in the overwhelming haze of the moment, his vision was spinning out of control from the intense rush of endorphins and Jay's filthy dirty talk, Jake lost his mind. He lurked forward, smashing his wet lips blindly against Jay's.

It was entirely instinctual, like a chaotic grab for connection but the very instant their lips collided, Jake's internal alarms blared. He jerked back instantly, slamming his head back into the pillow. His eyes widened, swimming with a vulnerable combination of tears, pleasure and deep confusion. His mouth clicked open, like an apology was already forming on his trembling lips but Jay didn't even let him speak.

Before Jake could form a single syllable, Jay lunged forward and weaved his long fingers into the back of Jake's soft hair, forcefully dragging him back down. Jay smashed his mouth against Jake's again, kissing him significantly harder this time. It was a messy, like an incredibly sloppy collision of teeth and tongues that tasted like salt and lust, completely swallowing the needy wails Jake couldn’t stop letting out.

Jake completely broke under the crushing weight of it. Instead of pulling away, he melted into it, tangling his tongue with Jay's as he moaned like a total whore straight into the other boy’s mouth. Jay pulled back just an inch to look down at Jake's ruined face.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn pretty," Jay growled, his voice trembled against Jake's lips. "Such a pretty little thing. You even moan like a whore, Jake."

"Ah, N-ggh...Jay!" Jake cried out, his head dancing against the pillow at the words.

Jay dragged his mouth down Jake's jaw line, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He bit down softly on the sensitive skin before sucking a dark bruise into his collarbone, making Jake cry again, "Oh god, hnggh, please!"

Jay's hand rumbled down under Jake's now damp hoodie that had been pushed up to expose his naked torso again, finding his aching nipple to capture it between his lips. He sucked on it hard, swirling his tongue around the peak until Jake was sobbing real tears while his hips blindly bucked forward into the silicone torso with a new and terrifying speed that threatened to split the toy completely between them.

"Yes—yes, Jay, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" Jake shrieked, his voice cracking into an unhinged whine. "Ah, ah...fuck, it's too much, hnghh!" He thrashed wildly against the mattress, his hips fucked into the toy harder and harder, he swore he would pass out the second he came. He was being so completely slutty, crying and begging Jay for it so loudly that it drove a primal spike right through his restraint.

"Yeah? You wanna cum, you little whore?" Jay growled, tearing his mouth away from Jake's chest.

Driven just over the edge by the sight of the subby nerd totally ruined beneath him, Jay snapped and with a coordinated heave of his shoulders, Jay shoved Jake flat onto his back, leading Jake to let out a breathless gasp and cry out at the loss of the stimulation, "Why?! No, wait—!"

As his hips were wrenched out of the toy, leaving his big cock twitching in the open air, completely coated in a thick sheen of pre cum and lube.

Jay didn't waste a single second adjusting his weight to pin the heavy sex toytangling directly underneath his own stomach so his cock stayed buried deep inside his own side of the toy. Then, hovering over Jake like a predator, Jay dove down and wrapped his mouth completely around Jake's throbbing dick.

"Mmmph—! Ha-ah!" Jake screamed, his spine instantly arching completely off the bed, his fingers clawed violently into the sheets as Jay took him all the way to the back of his throat.

Jay was ruthless. He bobbed and pumped his head down hard, the thick width of Jake's shaft stretching his lips as he purposely gags on the head, the sloppy sounds of the blowjob filling the humid room. At the exact same time, Jay's hips were still slamming downward, thrusting relentlessly into the toy pinned beneath his thighs, essentially fucking the synthetic polymer at a feral pace while ruthlessly draining his roommate's cock with his mouth.

"Oh fuck me, Jay! Jay, stop, I'm gonna—ah, god, nggh, fuck!" Jake wailed and shook his head shaking side to side against the pillow. His internal muscles spasmed out of control, his vision going completely white from the hard hitting pleasure of Jay's mouth gagging on him.

Jay heard the broken, pathetic whines, the desperate "Ah, ah, ah!" echoing off the walls and only sucked harder, gripping Jake's thigh with his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white, his own hips driving into the toy with a final, crushing force. He could feel the tight ridges of the silicone melting around him, pushing him right to his absolute limit.

"F-Fucking hell, Jake—nggh!" Jay choked out around his shaft, a guttural grunt ripping from his chest as his body went entirely rigid.

They hit the breaking point at the exact same fraction of a second. Jake let out a ruined shriek, "Ahhh!, his hips giving one final, violent hitch as he erupted, shooting a hot torrent of cum straight down Jay's throat. Jay didn't pull away though, he took every single pulsing drop, swallowing greedily while gagging around the climax and letting out wet, choked grunts. And at the exact same moment, Jay's spine snapped straight and a loud groan vibrated against Jake's skin as he pumped a massive load of cum deep into the tight, suctioned depths of the toy beneath him.

The bedroom descended into a silence, broken only by the sounds of both boys gasping for air. Jake was completely limp, his chest rising and falling under his damp shirt with tears of pleasure still streaming down his burning cheeks. Jay slowly pulled his mouth away with a wet smack, wiping a stray drop of spit and cum from his bottom lip with the back of his hand, his blown out eyes stayed on his ruined roommate, knowing he wasn’t done with him yet and neither of them was ever going to look at the apartment or each other the same way again.

Jay slowly raised himself up on his elbows, shifting his weight off the now ruined toy. His dark hair was messy and damp strands clung to his forehead while his chest glistened with sweat. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth one more time, letting his eyes slide slowly down Jake's trembling body.

He took a deep breath and a lazy grin gradually pulled at the corner of his lips as his hand settled on the soft curve of Jake's hip.

"Hey," Jay panted but Jake didn't move, only letting out a soft, questioning whine, "Nnh?", from the back of his throat.

Jay moved a fraction closer so his hot breath would fan across Jake's burning ear as he delivered the final blow to whatever sanity his roommate had left.

"That fake thing was good," Jay murmured, his hand trailing down to give the flesh of Jake's bare thigh a possessive, heavy squeeze. "But I would love to fuck that ass next."

Jake's eyes snapped wide open and a fresh wave of heat instantly rushed straight to the tips of his ears as he finally turned his head to look at his roommate and there was no sign of a joke on his face.

Oh fuck. What have I gotten myself into?

nene’s note ── super short but i hope you guys enjoy it, this is the last thing ill be posting as i start my exams on monday, thank you so much for all the supportive words i’ve been receiving in my box, i appreciate them❤️ as you know i love feedback so lmk what you guys think of this one💋💋

© nephynes 2026

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

The party’s been going on so long that the air has turned moist and the alcohol has begun to taste more like water instead of something dangerous.

Yunjins laughing at something next to you, her eyes half lidded and her limbs moving languidly. If it’s from the weed or the sheer gallons of vodka you’re sure she’s consumed tonight you aren’t entirely sure. What you are sure of though, is that you have definitely far surpassed the thin line between tipsy and black out drunk.

The weed makes your thoughts jumble together like some weird jigsaw puzzle, and every word that you manage to punch out takes way more effort then it probably should.

“But, seriously,” Jungwon starts, his words languid and low, “sex is kind of transactional. At least in this day and age.”

Yunjin attempts to smack his arm but instead she misses him completely and her hand lands between the couch cushions. She doesn’t bother moving it.

“That is sooo not true,” she drags out. “Sex is, like, sacred. Your body is a temple and all that bullshit.”

Jungwon laughs. “Maybe for other women, but I’m not sure if your body could be considered sacred anymore, Yunjin.”

She scoffs, her eyebrows furrowing in what might look like offense, but you know deep down she enjoys the easy banter her and Jungwon always seem to have. “Says the one who sticks his dick into anything that has a pulse!”

You are perfectly content to just listen to their conversation, as it would seem is Sunghoon.

You’d met Sunghoon your freshman year of university when you were still a small town girl in a city that felt way too big for you. He’d sat next to you in your freshman econ class and helped you around the city without so much as a whisper of a complaint, and the two of you had been inseparable ever since.

He’s always been the quiet brooding type, even when you’re around your mutual friends, and that’s become something you’ve found yourself finding comfort in more often than not. His presence is a consistent force in your life, and now that you’re nearing graduation and heading into unknown territory, it’s nice to have something so steady in your life.

That’s why you didn’t argue when he threw his arm around your shoulders and insisted you sit next to him. It’s why you didn’t argue when he offered you the blunt despite knowing you always get way too clingy when you’re high.

Sunghoon is your best friend. You trust him, and you know he feels the same way towards you.

You lean back into his arm, continuing to nurse the beer you’d had for the last hour. It makes your head feel warm and fuzzy in all the right ways, especially after whatever the fuck midterms had been. A disaster would be putting it lightly.

Sunghoon glances at you, his lips still enclosed around the blunt. He takes a drag of it, letting the end glow a bright orange before he pulls it away from his lips and offers it to you.

You accept it graciously, letting the smoke fill your lungs until you’re positive they’ll burst. You’ve never really been a big stoner, not like Ni-ki and Jungwon, but when you do let yourself indulge you always enjoy it.

Sunghoon watches when you exhale, his eyes following the cloud that forces its way from your lips and disperses around the room. For a moment, you think he almost looks impressed.

You laugh, your hand reaching out to shove at his chest gently. “What?” You ask.

He blinks, the movement slow, like he’s working overtime to process that you’d said anything at all. “What?” He echoes.

“You’re looking at me weird,” you mumble, dragging your eyes back to Yunjin and Jungwon. They’re still arguing over whether or not sex is transactional or whatever, and Ni-ki is just watching them like he can’t decide if he’s interested or if he wants them to shut up completely.

Sunghoon chuckles, the sound low and deep. You bring your gaze back up to him and watch as his lips curve up into that same lazy smirk he always seems to wear. Sometimes you wonder if that’s just his natural resting face.

“Was I?” He mumbles, choosing to play dumb. 

You’re not in the right headspace to argue with him, so instead you just sigh and let yourself sink further into the curve of his arm. His thigh is right against yours, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the thin lining on your tights. If it was anyone else, you’d probably feel a little self-conscious at being so close, but this is Sunghoon. He’s never shied away from physical touch, and at some point it just became another factor in your friendship.

The sound of your name forces your thoughts about Sunghoon to fade into the background, and when you look up Yunjin is staring at you like you’ve said something shocking. Which is weird, because you don’t remember saying anything at all.

“Huh?” You manage, your eyebrows furrowing as you try to work through the cloud in your mind.

Yunjin rolls her eyes but repeats herself anyway. “Do you think sex is transactional?” She asks before throwing a fiery glare at Jungwon. “Or is Jungwon just a grade A asshole?”

…Sex? She’s asking you about sex?

Usually you wouldn’t mind indulging in her less than ethical questions, especially when you’ve had a few drinks, but this one feels a little personal.

It’s not that you haven’t had sex, you have! Plenty of times actually, with a plethora of different men. Boyfriends, casual hook ups, one night stands – you’ve really done it all.

There’s just one teeny, tiny problem.

You can’t finish.

You used to blame it on the men you were seeing. They clearly had no idea how to please a woman and thus you were the one suffering for it. But then you’d tried to get yourself off with your hand and, well…nothing happened. So then you tried a toy and still – nothing.

It didn’t take you long to realize that it was clearly just something wrong with you. You’d self-diagnosed yourself as one of those unlucky women that simply couldn’t orgasm, and yeah, it sucked, but it was your life. How could you miss something you’d never even had anyway?

And it’s not like the buildup isn’t enjoyable, because it definitely is. It just never goes where you want it to, and you always end up feeling dissatisfied after. So you’d stopped trying completely after yet another failed attempt last year and that had been that.

You hadn't sworn off sex completely, you just stopped actively searching for it. And it was nice to not have to fake reaching your peak with every man that found his way into your bed, but that didn’t make the subtle jealousy you felt whenever Yunjin talked about her experiences disappear completely. It just made it more bearable.

You choose to just shrug, taking another sip from the bright red solo cup in your hand. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask that question.” You snort.

Yunjin raises a brow, genuine confusion washing over her features, before she seems to finally remember. “Ah,” she breathes, slumping back down into her seat. “Right. I forgot.”

Yunjin is the only person you’d confided in about your problem. She was supportive, of course, but she still sometimes told you that she thought it was all in your head. That you had some kind of mental block when it came to orgasming, but you couldn’t help but feel like that was a little silly. Why would your mind keep you from reaching what most women described as the ultimate pleasure? If it was, then that was just plain cruel.

The conversation starts to move on again, but Sunghoon glances at you and then swiftly brings it back around. 

“Hold on,” he starts, eyebrows furrowed. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Yunjin asks.

He pulls his arm away from your shoulders and uses his now free hand to gesture between you and Yunjin. “That,” he insists. “You asked her her thoughts on sex and then just blew past it.”

Yunjin glances at you, meanwhile your cheeks suddenly feel like they're burning. Why does he even care what your thoughts on sex are? It’s a silly question, one that you’ll probably forget anyone even asked in the morning, and yet he’s choosing to focus on the one minute thing you said in the entire debate.

Which wasn’t even anything ground breaking! You just said you wouldn’t be the right person to ask, that was it.

So why is he taking such an interest in it?

“Um,” Yunjin starts, her gaze finding yours before returning to Sunghoon. “Why do you care?”

He doesn’t even falter like you’d expected him to. Instead, he leans back and pulls you closer into his side. “Am I not allowed to be worried for my best friend?”

You swallow and attempt to put some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. If anything, he just pulls you even closer. All the way until you’re sure you can taste the remnants of cologne on his clothes and the weed on his breath. 

“Sunghoon,” you laugh, the sound coming out more nervous than anything else. “It’s nothing. Don’t get so worked up about it.”

But he doesn’t seem to like that answer either. “So something happened?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not that–”

“Then what?”

You pause, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. If you had all your inhibitions in check, you probably would’ve resisted telling him in such an open space. Because even though Jungwon and Ni-ki are trying to make it seem like they aren’t listening, you know they are. At least Yunjin doesn’t try to hide her nosiness.

You know that realistically Sunghoon is just worried for you, he is your best friend after all. You’d be worried for him too if he suddenly got weird when the topic of sex got brought up, but still, you wish you were admitting this to him somewhere with a little more privacy.

You lean back into the cushions, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. Sunghoon, always so in tune with your emotions, immediately reaches a hand over to smooth down your hair. 

“What is it, sweet girl?” He asks, his voice lowered so that only you can hear him. “You know you can tell me.”

And that’s the thing, you do know. And it should be easy telling him, because you know it’s not like he’ll judge you. If anything, he’ll probably be more sympathetic towards you then Yunjin is.

But, still. There’s something about telling him that makes shame burn deep in your cheekbones.

You shrug, your fingers toying with the edge of your skirt. “It’s embarrassing.”

He grins, all teeth and crinkled eyes. He’s staring at you like you’re something precious, like you’re something he has to handle with care. Not like you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions when it comes to her sex life – or lack of one.

“Nothing about you is embarrassing.”

That’s what finally breaks you. You sigh, words slightly jumbled together and voice so quiet you’re shocked he can even hear you. “I can’t,” you gesture with your hand lazily. “You know. Finish, or whatever."

He blinks. One moment passes, and then two. You’re on the verge of thinking you’ve somehow made him uncomfortable when suddenly he’s laughing like you’ve said something hilarious. “What?”

Yunjin tosses a pillow at him, but he just lets it hit him square in the chest and doesn’t spare her a glance. “It’s not funny, Sunghoon!” She defends. “It’s a serious condition.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t have time to focus on her because Sunghoon is quickly invading your senses again. “I’m not making fun of you, baby,” he mumbles, lips dangerously close to your ear. “It’s just…cute. That’s all.”

It most definitely is not cute. It’s humiliating, if anything. The one thing you’re supposed to be able to count on your body to do for you, it refuses to. What kind of woman can’t even orgasm?

“No, it's not,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “It’s weird.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything to that, but you can tell something in his expression has shifted. He’s eyeing you now like you’re some kind of anomaly he wants to figure out. Like your condition is something that’s piqued his curiosity.

You aren’t entirely sure how you feel about that.

The night continues easily – everybody's too drunk or high to focus on whatever little blip it was you’d had. Even you forget about it after another round of drinks.

But Sunghoon doesn’t. He can’t. 

Even when he goes to bed that night, every time he closes his eyes all he can see is you. His pretty little best friend. Sexually frustrated and somehow thinking there's something wrong with you.

To Sunghoon, that’s utterly absurd. Clearly these men you’ve been with don’t know how to handle you, and that’s not your fault! No, what you need is someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who will actually listen to what your body needs and doesn’t just chase his own pleasure.

What you need is…him.

And Sunghoon is a good best friend. He always has been. All he’d be doing is helping you, really. Just a friend helping out a friend.

Nothing more, nothing less.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖༄

The next week passes by just like it normally does. You go to class and try not to think about the fact that you definitely bombed your exams. Everytime you walk into a lecture, fear creeps up your spine at the thought of your teacher handing over a test with your name on it.

Sunghoon is there to help you through the anxiety though. He comes to your dorm every night with a bag of nerds gummy clusters and his laptop. 

You always start the night exactly how you plan to. Sunghoon helps you study, you both pretend to give a fuck for an hour or two, and then you end up side by side in your bed watching reruns of your favorite sitcom. It’s a simple routine that you’ve come to cherish, one that you don’t even remember starting. It honestly felt like one day he’d started showing up and then he just…never stopped.

“You know,” you mumble, popping another cluster into your mouth. “I think we’ve watched this show so many times we could probably recite the whole thing.”

Sunghoon shrugs, his glasses hanging off of the bridge of his nose. He reaches up and pushes them back into place without a second thought. “Modern Family is a classic.”

You hum. Modern Family is a classic. “Yeah, true.”

You both lull into silence again after that, your eyes following the screen as one of the characters does something stupid. It makes you laugh despite the fact that you know it’s coming. Sunghoon lets out a huff of breath too, but he seems on edge.

His hand keeps fisting the sheet until his knuckles turn white, and he only does that when something's bothering him. He doesn’t even seem to be paying as much attention to the show as he usually does.

It’s like his thoughts keep wandering and he’s trying to make the stop.

It worries you. The last time you’d seen Sunghoon this anxious was sophomore year, right before he broke up with his girlfriend. He never told you why he did, just that something about the relationship didn’t feel right. 

But, last you checked, he doesn’t have any girlfriends he’s wanting to break up with right now, which means something else is bothering him.

You nudge his shoulder gently, your eyebrows furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?” You ask.

He blinks, his eyes glued to the laptop before they slowly slide over to you. “Hm?”

You huff out a laugh. “I said what’s wrong? You’ve been acting off ever since we turned the show on. Did something happen?”

You watch as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. He doesn’t move his gaze from yours, but for some reason you wish he had. He’s looking at you so intensely, eyes searching yours like they hold the answer to the meaning of life.

Sunghoon gets like this sometimes. It’s almost like he’s…holding something back. And whenever you question him on it, he usually just pats your arm and tells you not to worry your pretty little head about it. You stopped questioning it a long time ago.

But he doesn’t do that tonight. Instead, he lets his tongue drag over his lips, and you can’t help the way your eyes flicker down to the movement.

You’re not blind. You know your best friend is ridiculously handsome. You know plenty of girls have gotten jealous and wished that it were them in your place. But your relationship with Sunghoon isn’t like that, he’s just your friend.

Besides, even if you did want him like that, you’d never want to risk your friendship with him. 

His lip's part for a moment, and then close, and then part again. “I…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and then starts again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You raise a brow. When did you say something? You try to rack your brain, but you come up empty. You can’t recall anything you said that would be worth bringing it up again. 

“Did I say something?”

His lips break out into a small smile, the curve threatening to reveal the tip of his fangs. “Do you not remember?"

You try to think back to anything you might’ve said, but still, you come up blank. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, expression scrunched in confusion. “Should I?”

Sunghoon is silent at that. He just looks at you, looks back down at his hands, and then straightens himself up so suddenly he feels like he’s towering over you in bed.

“If you don’t remember,” he murmurs, “then I’ll remind you.”

He leans on the tiniest bit closer, and suddenly it feels like all the air has been sucked from your lungs. You and Sunghoon have been close plenty of times before, but this feels different. This feels almost…intimate.

You swallow, your eyes widening the tiniest bit as you attempt to scoot closer to the headboard. “Hoon…”

“You told me,” he starts, his voice low in that sultry kind of way. “That you’ve never had an orgasm. That you can’t, actually.”

The memory dawns on you then. The party, the alcohol, the weed. You’d somehow unknowingly buried it all the way to the back of your mind without even realizing, and now you’re dealing with the consequences of your big mouth.

You wince. It’s almost embarrassing to hear the words coming out of Sunghoons mouth. Even though you know it’s true, that doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

“Oh,” you mumble. “I did?”

“You did.”

You clear your throat and attempt to look at least a little unbothered. “Well, it’s true so…you don’t need to bring it up again. It’s already embarrassing enough having my best friend know there’s clearly something wrong with me.”

His eyebrows furrow, and for a split second, he almost looks angry. Like the thought of you thinking there’s something wrong with you enrages him.

“Embarrassing?” He scoffs. “It’s not embarrassing. And there’s nothing wrong with you. You just haven’t been with the right kind of guys.”

You probably would’ve agreed with him if you hadn’t also attempted to get yourself there. You literally just cannot do it. It’s not the guys you’re with or anything like that, it’s just you.

“But that’s the thing!” You insist. Any shyness you might’ve had towards the topic before suddenly disappears. “It’s not just the guys. I can’t…I can’t finish on my own either.”

For what it’s worth, that looks like it genuinely makes Sunghoon pause. His eyes widen the tiniest fraction, his movements pausing before he resumes them.

“You can’t…” He glances down to your hands in your lap. 

You roll your eyes, cheeks practically blistering. You’re positive your ears are the same color as a tomato at this point. “No, I can’t. It’s whatever. Can we just finish the show?”

But Sunghoon doesn’t back off. Instead, he reaches behind him and shuts the laptop completely, cutting off whatever noise it was making. He pushes it off of the bed, not even flinching when it clatters violently onto the floor.

“So, let me get this straight,” he starts. You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You’ve never had an orgasm? Like, ever?”

He knows you said at the party that you can’t finish, but he assumed you meant with other guys. Not that you can’t finish at all.

“Yep,” you say, popping the P. Your arms cross over your chest in frustration. You don’t understand why he won’t just let the topic go. Yunjin doesn’t even hound you this much about it! “I’m one of the only girls in the world who can’t finish. Are you done making fun of me now?”

He leans back slightly, his pupils suddenly dilated and his tongue sweeping over his teeth. The tension in the air builds quickly, until it feels like you’re definitely going to choke on it.

Slowly, Sunghoon crawls over until he’s seated right in front of you. He leans back on his heels, studying your face like you’re some kind of expensive art piece. Usually, you don’t mind when he looks at you. In fact, you bask in it. But this feels different. This feels almost hungry.

“You think that there’s something wrong with you?” He asks, voice hushed. Deep.

You swallow, suddenly feeling silly for even admitting that to him. But what other explanation is there outside of you being biologically engineered differently than how you were supposed to? Maybe your mother drank a cup of coffee when she was pregnant and now you’re being forced to suffer for it.

You shrug. “What other explanation is there?”

He brings a hand up to your calf, the tips of his fingers brushing over the skin lightly. The touch feels like ice against your warm skin, and you can’t help the way your breath nearly catches in your throat.

He doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring at him. At the curve of his jaw. The way his bangs fall over his forehead like he styled them to be that perfect. At the freckles dotting his soft skin.

You know your best friend is attractive. You’ve always known.

But this…there’s something about it now that makes your stomach twist with arousal.

His fingers pause at the bottom of your knee, his thumb rubbing soft circles into it. You’re suddenly thankful that you took the time to shave last night.

He shifts, leaning forward just enough that you can smell his cologne. “I think you just…haven’t listened to what your body wants. To what it needs.”

You scoff lightly, but it sounds forced. Honestly, you’re too focused on how his touch feels against your skin to even think about whatever it is he’s saying to you.

“I think I would know what I need.”

He shrugs, tongue flickering out to wet his lips before it slides back into his mouth. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

You pull your legs out of his grip and hug them towards your chest. He doesn’t look shocked when you do it — he just lets his hand land on the bed and looks up at you.

“Why are you bringing this up?” You ask. You hate that you can hear the way your voice sounds so quiet. Shy. You’ve never felt shy around Sunghoon.

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Just lets his gaze trail from your eyes down to your chest, to the curve of your hip and all the way back up to the plump of your lips.

He scoots closer slowly, and suddenly his chest is right against your calves. Breathing suddenly feels difficult – like a task instead of something you just do on autopilot. His very presence feels mind consuming.

He’s hesitant for only a moment, something flashing in his eyes, and then he’s tossing it out the window and speaking so clearly you’d almost think there were other people in the room.

“I want to help you.”

You blink. “Help me?”

“Yeah.” He says easily, like those five words hadn’t just changed the trajectory of your friendship in a way you hadn’t been prepared for. “We’re best friends, aren’t we? Best friends help each other.”

Your cheeks flush at the implication. There’s a line between helping your friend and doing something like that for them. This isn’t just him letting you borrow his notes, this is unexplored territory. This is your body, your pleasure – all of it in his hands.

You’d be lying if you said the idea didn’t excite you.

But Sunghoon is your best friend, you can’t do that with him. It’d be wrong, and it’d change your relationship completely. You don’t know if you’d ever even be able to come back from something like that. The idea in general sounds good, even if you’re positive he’s not going to change anything about your condition, but the consequences are too great. You can’t do it. You can’t.

Right?

“What?” You splutter, a nervous laugh forcing itself from your throat. “I’m sorry, are you telling me you want to help me,” you clear your throat, your voice lowering into a hushed whisper, “...orgasm?”

Sunghoon smirks, his canines on full display like he’s some type of predator. “Yeah, I am.”

You blanch, your eyes wide as you stare at him like he’s grown two heads. At this point, you think an extra extremity would probably be less shocking than the words coming out of his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” you say, arms forming an X across your chest. “That’s…I can’t do that with you. It would change too much. Besides, I already told you, I physically cannot do it. I really doubt you’re going to be the one to change that.”

Sunghoon leans back on his hands, his smirk widening just a fraction. Like he’s taking your words as some kind of challenge. It scares you and makes heat swirl in your abdomen just the same.

“So, you're scared?” He asks, tone light and teasing, but there’s an underlying smoothness to it that makes a chill crawl up your spine. “You’re scared that I’ll prove you wrong.”

“I’m not scared.” You scoff.

Sunghoon just shrugs. “You are, and that’s okay. If you want to go the rest of your life without having an orgasm, then that’s your prerogative."

Your eyes narrow at that. You know he’s just trying to rile you up to get what he wants, but you can’t help falling for it anyway. You aren’t scared of what he’ll show you, you just don’t want to mess up your friendship for something you’re positive isn’t possible. It doesn’t matter how big his fucking ego is.

“I’m not scared,” you repeat. “I just know that you aren't going to miraculously be the guy that suddenly helps me finish.”

“You’re positive?”

“Yes.”

His eyes bore into yours – challenging you. Teasing you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how this is going to play out, even if you haven’t fully caught up to it.

He has to bite his cheek to keep his smile from getting any bigger. “Prove it then.”

“What?”

He leans forward again, his hands coming up to rest at the top of your knees. Slowly, he forces them apart and makes space for himself between your legs. He doesn’t move into it, just leaves it there like an unspoken promise. “If you really think I’m just going to end up like every other guy, then prove it to me. Prove me wrong.”

You know what he’s doing. You know he knows how competitive you can get. He’s trying to push you into the direction he wants, to mold you like clay into his hands. And you don’t want to fall for it, you really don’t.

But there’s something about the way he’s looking at you – all smug and so sure of himself. You’ve heard the rumors around campus, you know Sunghoons never shied away from his experience in the bedroom, but experience doesn’t matter for you. It’s just your biology.

And if he wants you to prove him wrong so fucking badly, then you will.

You don’t remember surging forward to kiss him – not until your teeth clash and he lets out the smallest sigh of approval. His hands are everywhere immediately – gripping the flesh of your hip, tracing up the line of your spine. 

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for it, like he’s a man starving and you’ve depraved him from any sort of substance. His tongue slides into your mouth easily, and you let out the slightest whine at the feeling.

He groans, his eyes squeezing together tightly. For a moment, you almost think he’s in pain.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he mumbles against your lips. “Prove it to me, baby.”

You kiss him harder, saliva beginning to pool at the corners of your lips. Sunghoon licks it up without a complaint. In fact, you think he’d thank you for it if he could.

His hands under your shirt and onto your hips, rubbing circles into your skin, and then he’s dragging you onto his lap without breaking away from the kiss.

You gasp when you feel his bulge through his sweatpants, the imprint pressing right against your folds. He’s big, you can tell that without even seeing it. The thought of your best friend carrying that around makes butterflies fly somewhere in your stomach.

Sunghoon kisses you deeper, his tongue licking into your mouth. Your mind is spinning from the sensation, and he’s barely touched you outside of kissing. It makes you feel like you’re in high school all over again.

Most men don’t waste their time kissing you like this. They just give you a few pecks and then get right to work using you to chase their own high. It’s become something you’ve learned to expect. But Sunghoon is kissing you like it’s the main event – like he’s been waiting his entire life to do it.

Slowly, he uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his cock, and instant pleasure bursts low in your tummy. The fabric between you does little to dull the feeling of his tip nudging against your clit – if anything, it almost makes it all the more intimate.

“Fuck,” you sigh out, your hands gripping his shirt like you’re trying to ground yourself.

He lets out a chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Hm?” He hums, moving from your lips to your jaw. “You say something, Sweetheart?”

You bite on your lip to keep yourself from spitting some kind of insult at him. Of course he’s enjoying watching you fall apart from a few measly kisses. But that doesn’t mean anything. You still haven’t cum, and you’re positive you aren’t going to.

“Shut up,” you mumble. Your hands slide up from his chest to his hair, gripping his black locks as he sucks at the sensitive skin around your neck. 

You can feel him smile against your skin, but he doesn't say anything else about it. Instead, he nips gently at your collarbone and then basks in the whimper it pulls from you.

His hips push up into yours again, and the feeling is enough to force your lips to part in pleasure. Hesitantly, you begin to grind into him on your own, your movements erratic compared to the preciseness of his thrusts.

He clicks his tongue, tightening his grip and forcing your hips to still. You immediately whine – completely forgetting that you’re supposed to be embarrassed – but he just shakes his head.

“Is that what you think pleasure is?” He asks, letting his fingertips drag across the bare skin of your stomach. “No wonder you can’t cum.”

You furrow your brows. You have no idea what he’s talking about. “What?” You murmur, the word breathless and whiny. If the entire point of this is to bring you to your peak, you don’t understand why he’s forcing you to stop.

He licks his lips, and you can’t help but notice how red and raw they are. Completely kiss-bitten. It makes you proud that he looks just as wrecked as you’re sure you do.

“You’re not letting yourself get any actual build up,” he explains, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re chasing something that hasn’t even gotten the chance to form yet.”

You part your lips to respond, maybe fight back, but nothing comes out. Because that’s the closest thing you’ve ever got to an explanation as to why you can’t seem to do something everybody else can. 

You swallow, your posture turning into a slight slouch. “I don’t understand.” You admit quietly.

You’re half expecting him to judge you – maybe laugh. It’s definitely something other men would do. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he pecks you softly on the nose and gently lays you down until your back is flat against the bed.

“You’re thinking too much,” he mumbles, softly tapping your forehead.

You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t know how to not think about it without sounding like a complete loser. But, then you remember that this is your best friend. And if tonight has shown you anything, it’s that he won’t judge you. You could say the dumbest thing and he would still look at you like you mean something to him.

“I don’t know how to stop.” You admit shakily, the words feeling like a losing battle as they come out.

But they seem to catch Sunghoon off guard. He’s hovering above you, eyes staring into yours with so much emotion you nearly choke on it.

This is different from the teasing Sunghoon you’d seen earlier. This Sunghoon genuinely wants to help you. He wants you to be able to experience something as trivial as an orgasm just to help you feel normal. 

This Sunghoon is your best friend.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s slower. Deeper, somehow. This time it feels like he’s kissing you just because he can, and for some reason, you like that.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his breath ghosting against your wet lips.

You nod at him without a second thought.

He crawls off of you, and the loss of his body is enough to force a breathless whine from your throat. He just shushes you and disappears out of your room. He’s been in your home enough times to know where everything is, but it still leaves you feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of him looking around your apartment without you. You cleaned yesterday, right? You really hope so.

When he reemerges, he’s holding something long and black. It dangles from his fingers clearly, and the closer you look you realize it’s a piece of black cloth.

“Where’d you find that?” You ask. You probably should be asking what he plans to do with it, but your brain is having trouble processing actual thoughts right now.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he climbs back into bed with you, and ever so carefully presents the fabric to you.

“You said you don’t know how to turn your brain off, right?” He mumbles, bringing a hand to your thigh. His fingertips ghost over the skin, bringing goosebumps in their wake. “Maybe…Maybe this will help.”

You still aren’t understanding, and he seems to be able to tell by the look of genuine confusion on your face. He chuckles and scoots closer, but this time it seems his confidence has faded the tiniest bit. He looks almost nervous, like he’s riding a bike without training wheels for the first time.

“I don’t get it.” You mumble, letting out a nervous laugh. “How is a piece of fabric going to help?”

He balls up the fabric, eyes lingering on it before he finds your gaze again. “Just let me try something?” He asks.

Part of you is screaming at you to say no. You have no idea what’s going through his mind or what strange fantasy he’s planning to play out with you, and you’re terrified to find out.

But the other part of you…the smaller, braver part, wants you to say fuck it. You’ve already come this far with him, what’s a little more push? Besides, what could it hurt?

Slowly, your head nods up and down. Sunghoon, for what it's worth, doesn’t look smug or happy. He just swallows, his adams apple bobbing as he does, and cautiously makes his way so he’s chest to chest with you.

You watch as he brings the piece of fabric towards your head, and then suddenly your vision is cut off completely. You let out a breath of air as he ties the fabric at the back of your skull gently, his fingers working carefully to make sure he doesn’t catch any of your hair.

The vulnerability makes your core ache something awful. The thought of not being able to see him, not being able to know what his next move is…it’s exhilarating.

Your hands clench your sheets from anticipation, knuckles going a vivid white. 

You hear Sunghoon chuckle, the sound low and breathy, and then he’s moving somewhere you can’t see. You can feel his hands on your thighs still, like he’s trying to keep you grounded. To reassure you that he’s still here. That he’s not leaving.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmurs. You feel his hand slowly slide up until he’s reaching the hem of your shorts. He doesn't go under it – just keeps it there. Like he’s teasing you.

You feel yourself flush. “Don’t say things like that.”

His fingers slide up the fabric until he reaches the waistband, and then slowly he slips his fingertips under it and tugs. “Why?” He asks. You can practically feel the smirk that you’re sure is radiating from him. “It’s true.”

You just let out a breath, too focused on the feeling of him dragging your shorts and underwear down the soft skin of your legs. You hear him toss them aside somewhere, and then the room goes very still. 

You swallow uncomfortably, legs closing on instinct. You hate that you can’t see him or even try to guess what he’s thinking. Is he disappointed? Does he not want to do this anymore?

Your hands reach for the blindfold to pull it down, but a sudden grip on your wrist stops you.

“Don’t.” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low and breathy. 

You freeze, arousal begins to pool in your core, and you listen to him. Your hands fall back to your sides and leave you encased in darkness and anticipation.

Ever so slowly, you hear him move. His hands find your knees and push them apart, exposing your glistening folds to him, and you feel him settle between your thighs.

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaving featherlight kisses on the inside of your thighs. “Never been taken care of properly, huh? No wonder this pretty little pussy is practically dripping for me.” He runs the tip of his finger over your slit, and you shiver at the contact.

“Hoon,” you pant, trying to ignore that it sounds more like a beg than anything else. “Just–Just hurry up and touch me so we can get this over with.”

He has the audacity to chuckle, but makes no move to help subside the growing ache in your stomach. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he thinks this entire thing is funny. 

“So impatient,” he says, clicking his tongue as he does. “This is why you’ve never cum, princess. You’re rushing things. How’s your pretty pussy supposed to finish if you never let her start in the first place?”

You don’t have a reply for that. If anything, it just irritates you that he sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. He totally doesn’t, but still. It’s annoying that he thinks he knows more about your body than you do.

Slowly, he begins to spread your lips, his thumb spreading your arousal. The pad of it catches on your clit for just a split second, but the jolt of pleasure it gives you is enough to force a gasp out of your throat.

He pulls back for just a moment, before finally his mouth is on you fully, licking a stripe from your hole all the way to your clit. Your back arches without warning, a moan pushing its way from your lungs. The suddenness of it forces your brain to go on temporary pause, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his mouth.

He licks you like a man starved, grunts of pleasure falling from his lips as if he's the one being pleasured. “There you go, baby,” he mumbles against you, the noise drowned out by the wet sounds of your sopping pussy. “Feels good, hm?”

You just moan in response, unable to form any actual thoughts. Suddenly you’re almost grateful for the blindfold, because you aren’t sure you’d be able to handle seeing him in between your legs – making a home for himself there as if he always knew he’d end up there.

His hand grips your hip suddenly, fingers digging into the plush skin so hard you’re sure there’ll be marks in the morning. “Tell me,” he gasps, punctuating it by a tug at your clit. “Tell me exactly how good it feels.”

“So–So good,” you manage. “Fuck, it’s good.”

You’ve had men go down on you before, but never like this. Never like it was something they were doing for their own pleasure and not just because they felt obligated.

“I know it is, pretty girl.” He says. You feel his free hand slowly run up your calf and your inner thigh, before his finger is prodding at your entrance and pushing through the tight ring of muscle.

Your head goes fuzzy, hips lifting off the bed and chasing the heat of his mouth and the thrusts of his finger. It’s an overwhelming sensation, one that you’ve never really experienced before. And for one fleeting moment, you think that Sunghoon might have just done the thing he set out to do.

Prove you wrong.

“Fuck,” you whine, your hand searching blindly for his in an attempt to slow him down. “Hoon, slow down–”

He doesn’t listen. Instead, he forces another finger into your hole, stretching you out deliciously and now giving you a moment to breathe.

“I know, baby, I know,” he mumbles, giving your clit another harsh suck. “It’s gonna feel real good here soon.”

Slowly, the coil in your stomach builds and builds. Usually, this would be when you stop, accidentally edging yourself and thinking it was because you just couldn’t orgasm like a normal woman can. But Sunghoon doesn’t. Instead, he works you through it like there’s no place you’d rather be.

You gasp, reaching up and tugging the blindfold off. It falls to the side slowly, and when you look down you see Sunghoon between your legs, his cock in his hand and jerking himself off with slow, languid strokes.

It’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a guy do.

“Shit, I’m gonna–oh, fuck–”

Sunghoon doesn’t go faster or harder, he just keeps the same pace, until finally you’re spilling over and releasing all over his face, your hole spasming against his fingers. He drinks your release like it’s his own personal ambrosia, groaning through it.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, voice raising in pitch. “Cum all over my face.”

He finishes shortly after you with a small cry, his cum painting your sheets and his hand a milky white.

When it’s over, you're panting like a dog in heat, thighs twitching and sweat beading across your forehead. You don’t even know what to do or say. Your best friend just made you finish for the first time after you’d spent years thinking it just wasn't possible for you. And not only did he bring you to orgasm, he did it without even using his fucking dick.

You could seriously kill him.

Slowly, he climbs up next to you, his own chest heaving from his own orgasm.

“So?” He murmurs.

You glare at him. “Don’t say it.”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” But the smirk on his face says otherwise.

You’re having a lot of thoughts right now. Mostly that you can’t believe you just let your best friend eat you out.

But mostly that you can’t wait for him to do it again.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

it took exactly one thousand four hundred and sixty one days for the phantom scent of cheap vodka and freezing wind to stop waking you up at three in the morning, though the ghost of that fire escape still lingered in the quiet corners of your mind like an unresolved equation. when you left that place, you hadn't just walked away from a campus or a ranking. you had completely dismantled the person you used to be, trading your grand academic ambitions for the unglamorous mechanics of survival.

your gap year was a blurred cycle of alarm clocks and heavy limbs, an endless stretch of twelve hour shifts at a local clinic where you filed medical records until your fingers went numb, all while living in the cramped, humid spare room of your aunt’s apartment. it was an existence stripped entirely of color, defined by the humiliating reality of counting pennies and sleeping on a mattress that smelled faintly of old dust, your already weak pride completely crushed as you watched your peers from afar moving forward while you were stuck in a static loop just to build back a savings account from nothing.

so when you finally saved enough to enroll in your final year, it wasn't at a prestigious institute with wood paneled walls and competitive hierarchies, but at an underfunded commuter university on the edge of the city where the paint was peeling in the hallways and the professors didn't even bother to memorize your name.

there were no numbered lists on the walls there, no brilliant rivals looking over your shoulder to see your methodologies. and for a long time, the absolute silence of it was harder to bear than the pressure ever had been.

you had spent that entire final year like a machine, putting your head down and grinding through advanced clinical seminars with detached efficiency. you completely refused to make friends or connect with anyone, because you were terrified that if you let your guard down for even a second, the overwhelming bitterness of what you had lost would swallow you whole. you finished your degree not with a sense of triumph, but with a quiet relief, your diploma just a piece of paper that proved you had survived the wreckage of your own life.

and now, two years later, you were standing in the sterile, brightly lit lobby of st. jude’s hospital, the heavy glass doors sliding shut behind you with a dull hiss that felt dangerously like a point of no return. you adjusted the strap of your bag against your shoulder, your fingers nervously tracing the sharp edges of the laminated plastic badge clipped to your blazer. you looked at it anxiously, your name printed in neat letters right above the title junior clinical psychologist.

this was supposed to be the fresh start you had spent so much time bleeding for, the clean slate where your past didn't follow you and your bank account was finally stable enough to let you breathe. yet, as you stared down the immaculate white corridor that smelled intensely of bleach and synthetic lavender, your stomach twisted into that same familiar knot of anxiety. the hospital was massive, a prestigious psychiatric and research hub that took only the best graduates. the sheer irony of ending up right back in an high stakes environment wasn't lost on you as you took a shaky breath, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.

you smoothed down the front of your trousers, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar, and began to walk toward the human resources department on the fourth floor, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors while you fought back the overwhelming urge to turn around and run. you told yourself you were ready, told yourself that the fragile, broken girl who had cried so much was completely dead and buried. but as you stepped into the elevator and watched the metal doors slowly close, the heavy silence inside felt thick with anticipation, as if the universe was just waiting for you to realize that some ghosts can never be outrun.

the elevator dinged, a soft sound that cut through the loud thumping of your heart. the metal doors slid open to reveal a sunlit floor that smelled faintly of that same lavender soap and old paper. you stepped out cautiously, your fingers still white from how tightly you were gripping the strap of your bag, waiting for the weight of the world to crush you again.

instead, a tall guy with a soft denim jacket thrown over his hospital scrubs detangled himself from the reception desk, a folder in his hand and a remarkably gentle expression on his face.

"you must be y/n." he said, his voice a low hum that didn't carry a single ounce of the cutting authority you had spent four years learning to fear. he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that felt completely uncalculated. "i'm daniel. i've been a clinical resident here for a bit of time now. the chief told me to look after you today so you don't accidentally walk into the research labs locked zones."

"good morning." you said, your throat tight, your body still braced for an interrogation about your credentials, your gap year, or the low tier university name printed on your degree.

but daniel just tucked the folder under his arm and gave you a reassuring nod. "don't look so terrified, y/n. we’re glad you're here. let's get you your locker keys first, and i'll show you where the good coffee machine is hidden."

you followed a half step behind him, your shoulder muscles so tense they practically ached because your brain was still operating on old, defensive code.

but daniel just walked at a leisurely pace, his hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket, pointing out things that had absolutely nothing to do with metrics or performance.

"the administrative wing is always a bit dry." he murmured, nodding toward a row of frosted glass doors as he guided you toward a back hallway. "but once you get past the main double doors, it gets a lot more human. the lounge is back here. it’s where we hide when the charting gets too mind numbing."

he pushed open a heavy wooden door as the clinical smell of floor wax was immediately replaced by the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans and toasted bread. the room was spacious, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through a row of large windows that looked out over a quiet inner courtyard. there were mismatched mugs drying on a rack by the sink, a half eaten box of donuts on the counter, and a couple of worn in green armchairs tucked into a corner by a bookshelf overflowing with thick psychiatric volumes.

"alright, locker forty two is yours." daniel said, pulling a small silver key from his pocket and sliding it across the counter toward you. "the lock sticks a little bit, so you have to give it a sharp jolt with your thumb when you turn it. go ahead and drop your things off."

you stepped toward the row of gray metal lockers, your fingers trembling slightly as you slotted the key into the lock of number forty two. you gave it the small jolt daniel had mentioned, the metal clicking open with a dull thud. as you swung the door wide, your breath caught in your throat. tucked inside the small shelf at the top was a small, hand painted ceramic mug with a sticky note stuck to the front in neat handwriting: welcome to the department, y/n! we left the good coffee pods in the top drawer for you. — ava.

you stared at the little note for a long second, the ink blurring slightly as a sudden pressure built up behind your eyes. for many years, you had been acting like a ghost, entirely convinced that your academic failure had stripped away your right to be welcomed anywhere. you had expected cold glances, a desk in a dark corner, and the silent judgment of people who had never had to drop out to survive. but this — this unprompted gesture of kindness from a stranger — felt completely upside down.

"ava is one of our occupational therapists." daniel explained softly, leaning his hip against the counter as he watched you trace the edge of the note with your thumb. his voice didn't carry any pity, just a grounding certainty that made you feel like you weren't about to shatter into pieces. "she remembers how brutal the first day can feel. we all do. nobody expects you to be a flawless machine by nine o'clock, y/n. just take a breath."

"thank you." you whispered, your voice thick as you carefully folded the note and tucked it into your blazer pocket before hanging your bag on a hook. "it’s... it's really nice."

once you had put on the mandatory white coat, daniel took you by the elbow, guiding you back out into the hall to begin the real introductions. but instead of marching you into a boardroom to present your credentials to a panel of hyper critical supervisors, the process was incredibly slow, almost domestic.

your first stop was the central nursing station, a horseshoe shaped desk right in the center of the adult psychiatric wing. an older woman with sharp eyes and her silver hair tied back in a neat bun was typing furiously on a computer, a massive stack of patient charts looming next to her elbow.

"may." daniel called out gently, tapping the top of the counter. "this is y/n. she's the new junior clinician taking over the outpatient cognitive behavioral therapy slots."

nurse may stopped typing immediately. she didn't just give you a professional nod and looked back at her screen. instead, she pushed her rolling chair back, standing up to look at you over her reading glasses. your body instinctively tensed, waiting for the standard evaluation look — a calculating glance that measured whether you were worth her time.

but to your surprise, her face softened into an almost maternal smile as she reached across the high desk to squeeze your hand. her palm was warm and dry, her grip surprisingly strong. "ah, the one with the research paper on adolescent trauma responses." she said, her voice rich and steady. "the chief showed us your abstract last week, y/n. it was beautifully written. we’ve been drowning in the outpatient queue, so you are an absolute godsend. if daniel here gives you any trouble or tries to pass off his intake paperwork to you, you come straight to me, alright?"

"okay." you said, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips for the first time all morning. the knot of anxiety that had been sitting in your stomach since you woke up at five o'clock began to loosen, just a fraction, leaving behind a strange ache of relief.

there were no lists on the walls here. there were no digital boards flashing your ranking to the entire department, no suffocating silence in the hallways where your peers almost refused to look you in the eye.

as daniel led you from the nursing station down toward the junior residents' lounge, introducing you to the speech pathologists, the social workers, and the intake coordinators, the world slowly began to regain its color. a guy named niki stopped eating his toast just to show you how to bypass the temperamental paper jam in the main copier. a senior resident named joe paused his phone call to give you a welcoming wave from his office door.

every interaction was small, subtle, and entirely devoid of friction. you weren't a metric to be beaten or a rival to be kept at a distance, you were just another pair of hands arriving to help carry the complicated stories of the people walking through the clinic doors. by eleven o'clock, as you sat at your new desk in the shared lounge, organizing your highlighters and looking over your first week's schedule, you took a deep breath of the sterile hospital air. right there, you allowed yourself to think, for the very first time, that maybe you had actually made it across the river. maybe the survival part was finally over, and you were allowed to just exist.

by twelve thirty, the morning rush had finally tapered off into a manageable hum. you were just finishing color coding your intake calendar when daniel leaned his head through the open doorway of the lounge, his pager clipped to his waistband and a crooked smile on his face. "alright, rookie." he said, gesturing with his chin toward the hallway. "lunchtime. let's get you down to the cafeteria before the neuro research team eats all the spicy pork bowls."

you stood up, smoothing down the front of your coat, and followed him down the long corridor toward the glass elevators. walking beside him felt easy, the hyper vigilant shield you usually wore around senior colleagues, and people in general, starting to feel a little lighter. your feet moved at an unhurried pace instead of the frantic scurry you had spent years mastering.

the cafeteria on the lower level was massive, flooded with bright sunshine pouring through the floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto the manicured green courtyard. the space was filled with the chaotic symphony of hospital life — the clatter of plastic trays, the low murmur of dozens of conversations, and the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on polished tile. just as you and daniel grabbed your trays and stepped into the salad line, an insistent electronic beep cut through the noise.

daniel unclipped his pager, his brow furrowing as he read the glowing green text on the tiny screen. he let out an apologetic groan, turning to look at you with a genuinely remorseful expression. "ah, damn it, y/n, i'm so sorry. there’s a critical intake issue down in ward b and they need a senior signature immediately. look," he said, pointing a finger toward a sunlit circular table near the center of the room where a girl with a high ponytail and bright pink crocs was violently waving her napkin at him. "go sit with lily. she’s one of our triage nurses on the psychiatric floor and she knows literally every single soul in this building. she won't let you sit alone, i promise. i'll catch up with you in twenty minutes."

"it's totally fine. thank you so much, daniel." you said, offering him a reassuring smile before balancing your tray in your hands and making your way toward the table.

lily didn't even wait for you to sit down before she pulled out the plastic chair next to her, her face lighting up with the kind of uncritical friendliness that you had spent years believing didn't exist in these kind of environments. "you're y/n, right? the new psych junior? daniel’s been talking about your research abstract for three days straight." she said, sliding her container of sliced strawberries toward the middle of the table to share. "sit, please. tell me everything. how was your morning? did nurse may try to scare you with the intake stack yet?"

"she was actually really sweet." you murmured, sitting down and feeling a genuine chuckle bubble up in your throat. "she told me she would protect me if daniel tried to dump his paperwork on my desk."

"oh, absolutely. may is the undisputed queen of this wing." lily laughed, leaning forward on her elbows, her eyes sparkling with a playful sort of energy. "but don't let the maternal vibe fool you. if you take her designated parking spot in the lower deck, she will systematically destroy your clinical rotation schedule. it’s a known fact."

for the next fifteen minutes, you actually found yourself having fun. it was an intoxicating sensation. you sat there eating your lunch, listening to lily dish out the entire social landscape of st. jude’s in a way that was entirely devoid of malice. she wasn't talking about who was publishing more or who had the highest accuracy ratings. she was telling you about the head of cardiology who accidentally wore mismatched shoes to a board meeting, and the radiology resident who was secretly terrified of the dark. you were smiling, your shoulders dropping completely as you let out a light laugh that felt real, a sound that hadn't crossed your lips in a standard hospital setting since the day you packed your bags into cardboard boxes. you felt like a normal girl, a normal twenty four year old having lunch with a coworker, completely wrapped in the warm cocoon of a life that finally made sense.

"oh, but wait, if you really want to know about the elite tier of the hospital, you have to look at the research tables by the courtyard glass." lily whispered suddenly, her tone shifting from bubbly amusement into a slightly dramatic drop that people usually reserve for campus legends or untouchable royalty. she nodded subtly toward the far end of the cafeteria, where the light from the courtyard windows was so bright it casted long shadows across the floor. "that’s the neuro analytics team. they're basically treated like gods by the administration because their data models bring in millions in grant funding every single quarter. but honestly? they are a bunch of absolute weirdos."

you took a sip of your water, still smiling, completely entertained by her commentary. "why do you say that?"

"because they're all completely socially inept, especially the golden boy resident they recruited a year ago." lily murmured, resting her chin in her hand as her eyes scanned the distant table. "god, the drama surrounding that guy is unreal. he came in from some insanely prestigious ivy league track. top of his class, brilliant beyond belief, the kind of mind that makes the chief practically weep with joy. but he is a literal ice cube, y/n. he’s been here like fourteen months and i don't think a single person has ever seen him actually laugh. all the nursing interns try to flirt with him, because he is honestly hot as fuck, but he just looks right through them like they're statistical noise."

the word hit the back of your throat like a drop of freezing water, your smile faltering just a fraction at the familiar terminology, a faint taste of old anxiety suddenly tingling on the back of your tongue.

"seriously, it’s almost tragic." lily continued, completely oblivious to the way your hand had gone entirely still against your napkins. "he works eighty hour weeks, lives in the high level research labs, and looks like he hasn't slept a full night since 2023. people think the mystery is hot though, i guess. his name is-"

"jake sim." lily said, finishing her sentence with a casual pop of a strawberry into her mouth, completely unaware that she had just dropped a live grenade onto the middle of the table. "honestly, just looking at him makes my own anxiety spike."

the name didn't just ring in your ears. it settled into the marrow of your bones with a dull ache that you hadn't felt in months. for the longest time, you had systematically scrubbed his name out of your vocabulary, burying it under stacks of cheap textbooks, twelve hour filing shifts, and the exhausting routine of survival. your heart did a violent thud against your ribs, and for a split second, your skin prickled with the phantom sensation of that dark balcony.

but as the initial shock rippled through your chest, something strange happened. the ground beneath your feet didn't disappear.

you felt the cool plastic of your new ID badge resting securely against your blazer. you felt the genuine sunlight washing over your shoulders from the courtyard glass, and you looked at lily, who was still sitting across from you, completely safe and friendly. you weren't that empty girl with seven hundred dollars in her savings account anymore. you had clawed your way through the dirt to earn this white coat, and you had built a life out of nothing but your own resilience. you were finally alive, and you were sure the ghost of jake sim didn't have the power to pull you back into the dark.

slowly, you turned your head. your eyes shifted past the crowded tables, the clattering trays, and the laughing interns, tracking the bright midday light until it hit the far end of the cafeteria against the glass panels.

there he was.

he looked so entirely different that it almost made your breath hitch in your throat, a quiet gasp trapped behind your teeth. the frantic brilliance that used to radiate off him like a sunburn was completely gone, replaced by a suffocating stillness that made him look entirely detached from the room around him. he was wearing his crisp white coat over a dark charcoal sweater, a pair of thin glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he sat slouched over a tablet covered in complex data models.

lily hadn't been exaggerating — he looked utterly hollowed out.

his sharp jawline seemed even more pronounced against his pale skin, his shoulders slumped forward in a total collapse of posture that made him look incredibly small despite his broad frame. the dark circles beneath his eyes were deep and bruised, a physical manifestation of a quiet rot that no amount of ivy league prestige could cure.

he looked like he was suffocating in the very tower he had broken both of you to keep. you sat there and watched him from afar, a strange mixture of old grief and quiet pity twisting in your stomach. you had spent years believing that he had won everything, that his charisma, his intelligence, his money and his status had bought him a flawless path while you were left to bleed in a cramped spare room. but looking at him now, the contrast was blindingly clear.

and then, as if feeling the sudden weight of your gaze cutting through the white noise of the cafeteria, his slouched shoulders suddenly went completely rigid.

jake slowly lifted his head from his tablet. through the thin silver frames of his glasses, his dark eyes scanned the crowded room with a cold indifference — until they hit your table. until they locked directly onto you.

the world didn't just stop, it felt like it imploded. the color completely drained from jake's face within a fraction of a second, his entire body freezing so abruptly his fingers slipped off the edge of his tablet. behind his glasses, his eyes opened with a raw shock that was so visceral you could feel it across the distance of the room. he didn't blink. he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling in shallow hitches as if he were looking at a literal ghost.

the mutual panic between you was thick, a dark wire pulling tight until it bruised. your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, the urge to run out of the cafeteria scratching at the back of your throat. because despite the new white coat on your back and the ID badge pinned to your blazer, you momentarily felt like that same broken girl, and he momentarily looked like the boy who still held the pieces.

jake didn't move. his knuckles turned white where his hands gripped the edge of the laminate table, a plastic pen slipping from his fingers and rolling off the surface with a dull click that you couldn't hear across the noise, but saw perfectly. the suffocating intensity in his stare was exactly the same as it had been on that fire escape — a direct line cutting through years of separation like it was nothing but thin air. you wanted to look away, you desperately needed to tear your eyes from his, but your muscles felt like concrete.

"y/n? god, you've gone totally white." lily’s voice suddenly pierced through the static in your ears, her hand warm and solid as it pressed firmly into your forearm. the touch felt like an electric shock, forcing the oxygen back into your lungs and breaking the invisible wire that had been pinning you to your chair. you forced your head down, the movement so abrupt it made the bright cafeteria blur into a messy smear of white and green.

"i'm fine." you choked out, your voice sounding incredibly small, a brittle lie that scratched at your throat. you stared at your tray, your fingers trembling so violently against your napkin that you had to tuck your hands between your knees just to hide the shaking. "just... a sudden head rush. i think the fluorescent lights are just a bit much today."

"are you sure? you look like you're about to faint." lily murmured, her playful energy instantly evaporating into genuine concern as she leaned closer, trying to read your downcast face. "do you want me to get you some juice from the counter? or we can go back to the junior lounge where it's quieter."

"no, no, i'm okay, promise." you whispered, forcing a mechanical smile onto your face as you risked raising your chin just enough to look at her, completely terrified of what would happen if your eyes drifted back toward the glass panels. "just give me a second. i just need to breathe."

but even with your back partially turned and your eyes glued to the table, you could still feel him. his gaze was a physical weight on the side of your neck, hot and heavy, a silent scream cutting through the clatter of silverware and the low murmur of the hospital staff. you were supposed to be safe here. you had bled for years to earn this position, to prove to yourself that your worth wasn't tied to his world, but the mere sight of him had reduced all that hard earned resilience into a fragile shield.

you took a slow sip of your water, using both hands to keep the plastic cup from rattling against your teeth. out of the very edge of your peripheral vision, you saw the distant shadow by the window finally change shape. jake hadn't stood up to come toward you. instead, his broad shoulders had slouched even deeper forward, his head dropping slowly into his hands as his fingers tangled desperately in his dark hair, now stripped of the recognizable bleach from your college years. the sight of his collapse sent a strange shiver down your spine. you weren't better than him, and you certainly weren't healed — the frantic thumping of your heart was proof enough of that. seeing the golden boy of your past university completely undone by your mere existence was a complicated pill to swallow.

"hey, daniel's back." lily said softly, nodding toward the entrance where daniel was weaving through the tables, his expression still hurried.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, smoothing down your coat with numb fingers, preparing yourself to look normal, to look functional, to look like the junior psychologist you were supposed to be. even as the ghost from the fire escape sat just a few yards away, drowning in the exact same room.

"hey, sorry that took longer than expected." daniel said, his voice dropping into the empty space at the table as he slid into the chair across from you. he smelled faintly of the cold air from the lower corridors and sterile hand sanitizer, his presence a grounding burst of normal reality. "some intern completely botched a medication reconciliation chart on a sectioned patient down in ward b. absolute nightmare."

you forced your chin up, the muscles in your neck so rigid they actually ached as you offered him a small nod. you had spent the entirety of your gap year learning how to look perfectly functional when your insides were completely hollowed out, and that defensive muscle memory kicked in now with a terrifying efficiency.

"it's fine." you murmured, your voice sounding a little distant, like it belonged to someone else entirely. "lily kept me entertained."

lily looked between the two of you, her eyes lingering on the way your knuckles were still white around your plastic water cup. "she had a bit of a sudden head rush, actually." she told daniel, her playful tone dropping into something more subdued. "i think the air down here is just a little suffocating today. she went completely pale for a second."

daniel’s brows furrowed, his gaze instantly shifting to your face with genuine concern. "you okay, y/n? the first day is a massive sensory overload, honestly. if you need to sit out the afternoon intake observations, i can easily tell the supervisor you're still adjusting."

"no, really, i'm okay." you interrupted, the words tumbling out a little too fast, a little too sharp. you couldn't afford to look weak on your first day. you couldn’t lose your footing the second you crossed the finish line. and more than anything, you refused to let the boy by the window be the reason you stumbled. "just needed some water. i'm ready for the rest of the tour, daniel. really." you stood up, your knees feeling uncomfortably loose beneath your trousers, your hands gripping the edges of your plastic tray with unnecessary force just to keep them from trembling.

as the three of you cleared the table and walked toward the tray return conveyor belt, you were forced to walk a path that ran parallel to the long row of courtyard windows. you didn't look, keeping your eyes locked strictly on the blue fabric of daniel's scrubs ahead of you. but the human brain is a cruel machine, as it mapped out the coordinates of your oldest wound without your permission.

still, you kept walking, the metal doors of the elevator finally sliding shut with a soft click. as it lifted toward the fourth floor, you kept your eyes trained on the small digital floor indicator, watching the numbers glow in the quiet air, forcing your lungs to expand and contract in a mechanical pattern. you had to keep it together. you had a job to do, a life to maintain, and you couldn't afford to crumble into dust before your first afternoon was even halfway over.

the outpatient psychiatric wing was quiet, a stark and comforting contrast to the sensory chaos of the lower floors. the hallways here were wide, painted a muted sage green that seemed designed to absorb the ambient anxiety of the building, and the harsh fluorescent glare was replaced by soft track lighting that casted gentle shadows against the polished floors.

daniel led you down the corridor, his sneakers making a faint squeak against the floor until he stopped outside a dark wood door with a small plastic nameplate reading office 312 — y/n, junior clinician.

"here's your space." daniel murmured, pushing the door open to reveal a compact but cozy room. a heavy oak desk sat against the wall, a tall bookshelf stood empty and waiting for your texts, and two charcoal grey armchairs faced each other near a wide window that looked out over the quiet tops of the courtyard trees. on the corner of the desk, a thick stack of manila folders was waiting for you — your first real patient intake roster. "i'll leave you to look over the files for an hour. at two, we'll do a joint observation in consultation room b. take a breath, y/n. you made it through the first morning."

you managed a small nod, offering him a professional smile as he closed the door behind him. the heavy wood clicked into place, insulating you from the rest of the hospital, and for a few minutes, you forced yourself to go through the motions of a normal life. you sat in the leather chair, logged into the clinical database, and arranged your highlighters in a perfectly straight line. you opened the first file, your thumb tracing the words generalized anxiety disorder and maladaptive coping strategies, trying to anchor yourself to the clinical reality that you were a professional now. you belonged there.

but the moment the room fell entirely still, the clinical terms blurred on the page, and your gaze drifted helplessly toward the glass pane of the window.

your outside shell was holding up perfectly — you had spoken to daniel, you had accepted the paperwork, you were clicking through the software exactly like a competent junior clinician should. but inside, your chest felt completely hollowed out, your mind utterly hijacked by the image of the boy from the cafeteria table.

you were deeply moved by that moment, and it terrified you how easily the mere sight of him could still rip the air straight out of your lungs. for years, you had carried a defensive but silent anger like a shield, entirely convinced that jake had walked away from your ruined relationship with his hands full of gold. you had pictured him thriving on his prestigious track, moving through his wealthy world with that same infuriating, effortless arrogance, completely untouched by the gravity that had left you counting coins in a dark room.

but the difference between the boy in your memory and the person sitting by that window was devastating. you remembered a jake whose posture was always straight with competitive pride, whose dark eyes snapped with magnetic energy whenever he spoke about his research models. he used to look entirely untouchable, like the world was something he could just bend to his will.

but the guy down there today looked smaller. the way his broad shoulders had slouched forward in that exhausted collapse. the deep, bruised hollows beneath his eyes. the frantic way his fingers had tangled in his dark hair — it was so incredibly easy to see how much he had changed.

as you sat in the quiet of your new office, your hands were still ice cold, the erratic thumping against your ribs a painful reminder that you were still incredibly fragile. but as you reached forward to open the next patient file, forcing your trembling fingers to grip the tab, a strange quiet finally settled over your panic. you were okay. your life was actually starting now and you wouldn’t let anyone or anything mess with that, not even your own self.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the weeks that followed that first afternoon slowly bled into a steady rhythm, the sharp edges of your initial panic gradually wearing down until they were nothing more than a manageable hum. the outpatient wing became a space that didn't just feel safe, but familiar. you learned the strange language of the charting software, figured out exactly how nurse may liked her intake summaries formatted, and found that the charcoal grey armchairs in office 312 actually held the weight of a lot of heavy stories without breaking. to your own quiet surprise, you weren't just getting by, you were actually good at your job. the long years you had spent being hyper vigilant in a spare bedroom, analyzing every slight shift in the air just to survive, finally translated into an intuitive competence. even the socializing part of your life was slowly losing its friction. you found yourself lingering by the central horseshoe desk just to exchange soft, dry humor with nurse may, or letting lily drag you down to the lower courtyard for quick coffee breaks. you were learning how to take up space again, and your outside shell was finally starting to feel less like a fragile shield and more like real skin.

it was a rainy tuesday afternoon in late november when you were just finishing up your notes. as you typed on your laptop, daniel knocked lightly on your open door, a thick blue binder tucked securely under his arm. 

"hey, y/n." daniel said, leaning against the doorframe with a tired but collaborative smile. "the chief is pushing for a cross-departmental review on our chronic outpatient queue. we’re trying to integrate our clinical cognitive tracking with the new predictive data models from neuro-analytics to see if we can catch patient regression earlier. we're doing a quick briefing in consultation room c."

"sure, let me just grab my tablet." you murmured, closing your own folder and sliding it into your drawer. you stood up, automatically smoothing down the front of your coat, the fabric now broken in and comfortable against your shoulders. you felt normal. you felt capable as you followed daniel down the sage green corridor, chatting idly about how his morning went.

when daniel pushed open the heavy door to consultation room c, the air inside was quiet, illuminated by the soft gray light filtering through a high window. a senior research coordinator named dr. vance was already standing by the digital whiteboard, his stylus tapping against the screen as he pulled up a series of complex graphs.

but it wasn't the graphs that made the blood instantly turn to ice in your veins.

sitting at the far end of the long metal conference table, slouched low over a glowing laptop, was jake. his pale fingers were moving across his keyboard in a mechanical blur, reminding you of the agonizing hours you used to spend watching him do that, looking just as hollowed out as he had some weeks ago. his broad shoulders curved inward in that heavy collapse of posture, completely detached from the room around him.

"ah, perfect, the clinical team is here." dr. vance said, looking up from the board with an energetic nod. he gestured toward the empty chairs opposite the table, entirely oblivious to the way your entire body had gone completely rigid the second your shoes hit the carpet. "y/n, come on in, take a seat."

jake’s fingers froze instantly on his keyboard.

slowly, as if the movement required an immense amount of physical effort, his head lifted. through the thin frames of his glasses, his dark eyes fixed directly onto you. the indifference that usually masked his face shattered within a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening so hard the muscle visibly jumped beneath his skin. the color drained from his lips, his chest rising in a shallow hitch that you could hear perfectly in the quiet room.

you looked around nervously, seeing that a handful of people were already gathered around the long metal conference table. dr. vance spoke again, quickly taking you out of your trance. "everyone, this is y/n, our new junior clinician on the outpatient slots. y/n, this is dr. cho from neurology, anna from stats, and over there is jake sim from neuro-analytics."

jake didn't move. his hand was still hovering over his laptop, his knuckles turning a stark white as he waited.

you wanted to run, but you didn’t. you couldn’t. instead, you took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing your outside shell to hold together with an icy efficiency. before the silence could stretch into something strange, you offered the table a polite smile and gave a casual nod in his direction.

"oh, we actually know each other." you said, your voice sounding remarkably light, completely devoid of any weight or history, as if you were talking about an old acquaintance you barely remembered. "jake and i. we went to the same undergrad university. good to see you, jake."

the words dropped into the room like a casual breeze, but across the table, jake looked like he had been physically struck. you actually didn’t know why you had said that, or if it even was appropriate in that setting. but the survival instinct had taken over before your conscious brain could even veto it. it was a defense mechanism, pure and simple — a desperate strike to set the boundaries before both of your expressions could give you away to the entire room. if you made him small, if you treated him like nothing more than an old classmate you casually ran into, then the ghost couldn't drag you back into the dark. you were claiming the narrative before he could even speak, forcing the past into a box neither of you were allowed to open.

"oh, small world! i love when that happens." dr. vance chuckled, completely missing the way the color had entirely drained from your faces. he turned back to the whiteboard, tapping the stylus against the screen. "well, that makes communication easier. y/n, for this pilot, you'll be coordinating your weekly clinical tracking metrics directly with anna and dr. cho. jake is going to be handling the macro backend algorithm on the upper floors, so he'll just be pulling from the shared database."

"perfect, that works great for me." you murmured, sliding into an empty chair next to daniel, completely removing your gaze from the far end of the table.

you opened your tablet, your fingers perfectly steady as you focused on the tracking graphs, completely refusing to look back at him. but even without looking, you could feel the crushing weight of his stare burning into the side of your face.

the remaining twenty minutes of the briefing passed in a dull blur. you kept your eyes anchored to the glass screen of your tablet, your fingers tracing the plastic bezel with a mechanical pressure, completely hyper-aware of how the air in the room had turned thick and heavy.

when dr. vance finally clicked his presentation shut, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor felt like a jarring rescue. you moved with quiet efficiency without looking across the table. you didn't wait to see if jake would stand up, or if the coldness in his eyes would melt into something else. you simply slid your tablet into your bag, gave dr. cho and anna a professional farewell nod, and walked out the door alongside daniel.

the frantic rhythm of your chest didn’t truly settle until you were three corridors away, the heavy double doors of the outpatient wing clicking shut behind you and daniel like a physical shield. you had spent the entire walk down the hallway nodding mechanically at daniel’s casual commentary about pharmacy backlogs, your outside shell perfectly intact, while inside, your mind was a spinning wreckage. you had actually done it. you had looked right into those dark eyes — the same eyes that had watched you break, the same eyes that had haunted every quiet room you had gone in for years — and you had reduced him to a footnote. as you kept walking, the phantom taste of adrenaline left a bitter weight under your tongue.

but you didn't look back. and for the next few weeks, you made sure it stayed that way.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the following days didn't bring a clean break, but rather a slow stretching of time. november bled seamlessly into a frost rimed december, the hospital windows growing opaque with sheets of gray winter rain. you adapted with a quiet precision, rewriting the internal map of your entire life around your new routine and his avoidance. you learned the exact cadence of the neuro-analytics shift changes. you knew never to take the central elevators between noon and one o'clock. you even memorized the specific smell of the fourth floor crossover bridge just so you could avoid it entirely. you told yourself you were healing because you weren't running away, but the exhausting amount of mental math it took to ensure your paths never crossed was a violent proof that he still occupied every corner of your brain.

yet, the hospital was an interlocking machine, and no matter how thick you built the walls of your fortress downstairs, the central server kept pulling your names into the same dark water. every tuesday and thursday evening, you were forced to log into the pilot program's shared ledger to input your clinical outcomes. and there, sitting quietly at the bottom of the encrypted data stream, his digital footprint would appear. j. sim. a timestamp at 7:42 pm. a database synchronization at 2:14 am. you would stare at the glowing gray characters on your screen, your chest tightening with a strange intimacy. you weren't speaking, you hadn't exchanged a single syllable since that morning in consultation room c, but you were reading his insomnia in the margins of the system logs. you knew exactly how late he was staying up, how obsessively he was twisting the code around your clinical notes, while he, on the upper floors, was watching your data drop into his system with the exact same silent regularity. it was a cold war fought in glowing pixels, both of you pretending to be ghosts while leaving digital footprints all over each other's work.

it was a freezing, stormy thursday night when the outpatient wing completely emptied out, leaving you alone in office 312 under the low hum of the fluorescent lights. you were just finishing the final entry on a critical, high risk observation file — a profile that absolutely required the morning analytics baseline — when your screen suddenly flashed a harsh crimson. the system locked. a stark, red diagnostic message blinked against your eyes: 

critical error: data sync corruption. cross-departmental token required for manual override. please report to neuro-analytics hub for physical database alignment.

you stared at the blinking cursor, a heavy knot of dread dropping straight into your stomach. the administrative staff had gone home hours ago. there were no on call tech couriers left on the lower floors. if you didn't manually push the token through before midnight, the patient’s entire chart would wipe, and the blame would land squarely on your pristine new record. you couldn't lose this job. you couldn't let your wreckage ruin this sanctuary.

with trembling fingers, you ejected the local backup drive, your heart already starting that familiar clatter against your ribs as you stepped into the darkened elevator. the numbers on the digital display ticked upward with a terrifying speed.

when the silver doors slid open on the seventh floor, the air instantly changed. floor seven didn't hold the soft sage green warmth of your clinical spaces. it was a sprawling labyrinth of brushed steel, glass partitions, and exposed concrete. it smelled strongly of ozone and expensive server cooling units, illuminated only by the deep blue glow of oversized workstation monitors. your flats made a terribly loud click against the polished floor as you moved through the maze of empty desks, your hand gripping the flash drive inside your pocket until your knuckles turned white.

"hello?" you called out, your voice sounding remarkably small, swallowed up by the heavy silence of the tech hub. "is there a resident analyst on duty? i need a clinical sync override."

no one answered. the silence stretched out, thick and heavy with the hum of a hundred cooling fans. you walked deeper into the heart of the floor, towards a private research alcove at the very back where a single amber desk lamp casted a long shadow across the concrete. the heavy glass door was propped slightly open.

you stepped up to the threshold, your lips parted to speak, but the breath died instantly in your throat.

jake was there.

he was entirely alone in the darkened lab, slouched so low in a heavy leather chair he looked almost broken by it. his white coat was gone, discarded carelessly over a nearby partition, leaving him in just a thin sweater that clung to the sharp lines of his shoulders. his glasses were pushed carelessly up into his messy dark hair, and his forehead was pressed hard into the palm of his hand as he stared blindly at a massive wall of cascading code. he looked utterly unraveled — the charismatic golden boy who used to glide through university lecture halls with a lazy ease was completely gone. in his place was a hollowed out resident, his face starkly pale under the light, seemingly surviving on nothing but caffeine and pure willpower.

the sound of your shallow intake of air cut through the low drone of the servers like a physical blow.

jake’s fingers froze instantly against his temple. slowly, his head lifted, his dark eyes adjusting to the dim light before they drifted toward the doorway. the exact second his gaze landed on you standing there, the exhausted slouch vanished. his entire frame went completely rigid, his jaw clenching so hard a sharp muscle hitched beneath his skin. he didn't move, and he didn't speak, but his chest began to rise and fall in a ragged pattern as the trap slammed shut around both of you. there were no senior coordinators there, no statistics teams, and no daniel to slide between your spaces. you were entirely exposed, locked in his high tower, with absolutely nowhere left to hide.

the silence that followed was so absolute you could hear the faint click of the cooling fans overriding the main server grid. neither of you moved. for five suffocating seconds, you just stood frozen on the threshold, your fingers digging into the plastic casing of the flash drive inside your pocket until the edges painfully bit into your palm. you became hyper aware of every single detail — the amber glow of the desk lamp cutting across his pale cheekbones, the way his dark hair was slightly damp from the storm outside, the crushing weight of his eyes locking onto yours.

almost mechanically, jake reached up and pulled his glasses down from his hair, sliding them back onto the bridge of his nose. the movement was deliberate, a shield to put between his exhausted face and your sudden presence.

"the data sync crashed." you said. your voice sounded shockingly thin in the vast concrete lab, a fragile thread that you desperately tried to lace with clinical authority. "outpatient database. it threw a cross-departmental corruption error. i need a physical token override before midnight or the file wipes."

jake didn't answer right away. he just stared at you through his lenses, his jaw working silently as he processed the actual sound of your voice. it wasn't a casual remark thrown across a crowded conference table anymore, but your voice, directly addressing him, alone in the dark.

"give it to me." he finally muttered. his tone was incredibly low, rough and gravelly from hours of silence and too much black coffee. it lacked any of that effortless charisma that used to make entire lecture halls lean in toward him. it just sounded incredibly tired and incredibly bitter.

you took three slow steps into his space, every muscle in your legs screaming at you to turn around and run back to the elevator. you pulled the small silver flash drive from your pocket and held it out, your arm stiff, keeping as much physical distance between your bodies as humanly possible. jake reached out to take it. he was meticulously careful not to let his fingers brush against yours, a deliberate avoidance that felt more intimate than an actual touch. he snatched the drive, the cold metal clicking against his keyboard as he slotted it into the side of his terminal.

the silence returned, heavier this time, punctuated only by the aggressive clack of his fingers hitting the keys. you stood just a step behind his shoulder, your eyes tracking the reflection of the cascading blue data lines across the glass of his monitors. your heart was hammering a violent rhythm against your ribs, a wild animal trying to break free of your crisp white coat. you didn't know where to look, you didn't know what to do with your hands. you just stood there, drowning in the suffocating scent of his sterile soap and bitter espresso.

"it’s a localized token block." jake said, his eyes never leaving the screen, his fingers moving with a terrifyingly robotic speed. "outpatient didn't clear the analytics queue from tuesday. your department is sloppy."

the petty, defensive swipe hit you like a low blow, a sudden flash of the old undergrad jake who couldn't bear to let you have an inch of ground without indirectly reminding you that he was still number one. but somehow, this time it was really direct. a strange heat flared in your chest, melting a tiny fraction of your icy composure.

"our department is handling eighty intakes a day, jake." you murmured, keeping your face carefully blank, though your tone caught on a sharp edge. "we don't have the luxury of sitting in a quiet glass tower playing with algorithms all night. some of us are actually dealing with human beings."

jake’s fingers froze instantly over the keyboard. the sudden halt of the clicking was jarring, making the empty room feel entirely too small again. he didn't look up at the screen, and he didn't look back at you. he just stared at his own knuckles, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a long, ragged exhale.

"is that what you think this is?" he whispered. the venom was gone, replaced by a bleeding misery that made your stomach twist in a deeply uncomfortable way. "playing around?"

you swallowed hard, the cold knot of internal turmoil tightening until it was hard to draw a full breath. deep down, in the places you spent so much time trying to bury under clinical charts, you knew he wasn't playing. you knew he was suffocating there just as much as you had been suffocating in that humid bedroom. you knew you were both ghosts trying to pretend the haunting wasn't real. but admitting that meant letting the walls crumble, and if the walls crumbled, you wouldn't survive the night.

"i just need the file synced." you whispered back, your voice dropping into that polite detachment that probably drove him insane. "that's all i'm here for."

jake let out a breathy sound, a bitter excuse for a laugh. he finally turned his head, looking up at you from his slouched position in the heavy leather chair. from this close, beneath the harsh light of the lamp, you could see those dark bruises of exhaustion under his eyes. he looked so fragile it made your chest physically ache.

"you're so good at that." he murmured, his dark eyes searching your face with an agonizing intensity, looking for any crack in your mask. "the polite junior clinician. the perfect colleague. you look right at me and you don't even blink. how do you do it, y/n? how do you act like you didn't leave a total disaster behind you?"

"jake, please-"

"i stayed away from that floor for months now." he cut you off, his voice trembling slightly, the flat edge of his clinical persona fracturing completely in the quiet lab. "i checked the schedules. i took the back stairs. i did everything i could because i thought... i thought if i saw you, it would kill me. and then you walk into a briefing, look me in the eye, and tell the chief we're just old university acquaintances." he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face just inches away from your coat. "we didn't just go to university together, y/n." he whispered, his eyes wide, swimming with a raw mix of resentment and pure unadulterated longing. "and you know it."

your outside shell felt like it was fracturing, tiny cracks spreading across your entire composure as the sheer weight of his words pressed against you. you wanted to scream at him. you wanted to ask him why he was acting like the victim when he was the one who kept the perfect scores, the perfect path, the perfect building while you had to rebuild your entire mind from scratch. but the survival instinct — that icy, brilliant shield — held the pieces together at the absolute last second.

you took a small step backward, pulling yourself out of the circle of amber light, out of his immediate space. "the system log says the override is pending." you said, your voice remarkably level, light, and entirely devoid of any history, as if he hadn't just laid his ribs bare in front of you. you pointed a steady finger toward the glowing green progress bar on his monitor. "is it clear to eject?"

jake stared at you, his mouth parting just a fraction, looking a bit dizzy from the quiet rejection. the raw emotion in his eyes instantly curdled into a defeated vacancy. you had given him absolutely nowhere to put his anger. you had treated his bleeding heart like an inappropriate interruption to a data transfer. without another word, he reached out, clicked the safety eject button, and pulled the flash drive from the slot. he didn't look at you as he held it out, his hand perfectly still, his eyes fixed blindly on the cascading rows of code. "it's clear." he said flatly, his tone completely dropping back into that lower register, devoid of any warmth or friction.

"thank you, jake." you murmured softly. you took the drive, slipping it back into your pocket, and turned on your heel. your flats made that same lonely click against the polished concrete as you walked away from the alcove, leaving him sitting entirely alone in there, drowning in the silence you refused to break.

the second the weight of his presence was lifted, the fragile scaffolding of your composure didn't just crack — it completely crumbled. you hit the button for the fourth floor, your hand trembling so violently your fingernail clicked sharply against the plastic. you dropped your forehead against the cold stainless steel wall of the elevator, your breath coming in short hitches that fogged the metal right in front of your eyes. your heart was hammering a terrifying rhythm against your ribs, a loud thumping that felt less like a pulse and more like a physical betrayal. that was the part that made you want to scream. you had spent so much time convincing yourself that you were whole. you had sat through countless hours of silence in a tiny apartment, learning how to breathe through the memories, forcing yourself to believe that you had outgrown the wreckage of undergrad. he had come to your mind, of course — in the quiet space between sleep and waking, or when the smell of stale coffee hit a room just right. but you thought you had built an ocean between who you were then and who you were now.

yet, one look at him slouched under that lamp, one sound of his voice dropping into that gravelly register, and your body acted like it was still twenty, trapped on that freezing fire escape, completely unraveled by him. you hadn't grown at all. you had just built a very expensive, very fragile glass box around a fire that was still burning.

why was it beating so fast? you thought, your fingers curling into the fabric of your coat, desperately trying to steady the frantic rise and fall of your chest. you’re a clinician. you know the physiology of panic. force it down. breathe in for four. hold.

but your brain refused to follow the clinical rules. because louder than the panic was the sudden prickle of a deep confusion. you didn't even recognize the girl who had just spoken to him. where had that ice come from? when he had looked up at you, his eyes wide and swimming with that confusing gaze, everything inside you had screamed to reach out, to touch the sleeve of his dark sweater, to ask him if he was eating, if he was sleeping, if he was okay. but instead, your mouth had opened and delivered a series of perfectly timed, brutal rejections. you had treated his emotions like a system error.

you didn't fully understand why you were being like that. it was like your brain had split in two: one half dying to scream his name, and the other half operating with a robotic efficiency that felt entirely alien to you. you were protecting yourself, you knew that deep down, but the sheer coldness of your own voice scared you. you had turned into a monster just to keep him from seeing that you were still bleeding.

and then there was his anger. the elevator jolted as it passed the fifth floor, and a sudden wave of resentment washed through your veins, turning the cold panic into defensive fury. how dare he be mad at you? how dare he stand there in his high tower and act like you had packed your bags and walked away because you wanted to? he knew. he knew better than anyone in the world that you hadn't chosen to leave. you had been forced out. you had been completely shattered, reduced to nothing but a hollow shell while he got to keep the perfect scores, the perfect path, the prestigious analytics spot on the seventh floor. you had left because staying would have killed you. it was survival, pure and simple.

and yet, he was looking at you with those resentful eyes, accusing you of leaving a disaster behind, as if he hadn't been the one holding the match. it almost felt like he was angry because you weren't still broken. it felt like he was angry because you had dared to put on a white coat and heal yourself without his permission. which was absurd to think about, if you were honest. you couldn't possibly know what he was thinking anymore, since you barely knew what your own self was thinking at that point.

"you don't get to be the victim, jake." you whispered into the empty elevator, your voice shaking as an angry tear finally escaped, hot and stinging against your cheek. "you don't get to be the one who's hurt."

the elevator chime gave a soft ding as the doors slid open to the warm, safe, sage green corridors of the fourth floor. you wiped your face with an aggressive swipe of your sleeve, drawing your shoulders back and forcing your spine to go completely rigid once more. you stepped out into the quiet hallway, your mind a chaotic storm of confusion and unresolved history, entirely conscious of the silver drive heavy in your pocket.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the days continued anyway, like they always did. people still showed up to work carrying paper cups of coffee, the elevators still dinged every few minutes, patients still talked to you in your office about divorces and panic attacks and impossible childhoods. the seasons shifted almost lazily outside the hospital windows, the trees in the courtyard gradually surrendering their last amber leaves until only dark branches remained against the winter sky.

and somewhere inside all of that ordinary movement, your own life quietly continued growing around the wound. but it wasn't linear, because seeing jake like that had definitely affected you.

some mornings, you woke up convinced that you had finally left that version of yourself behind. you drove to work with the windows cracked open despite the cold, singing softly along to whatever song happened to be playing through the speakers, your fingers tapping absentmindedly against the steering wheel as the city slowly came to life around you. you would stop at the café two blocks from the hospital because the owner had started remembering your order, and there was something deeply comforting about hearing someone smile as they asked, "the usual?".

other mornings, you caught the faint smell of burnt coffee drifting from the staff lounge, and before you even understood why your chest had tightened, you were back inside that library. the old one. fluorescent lights humming overhead, rows of impossibly tall bookshelves, the constant clicking of keyboards echoing through the silence. jake, sitting across from you with one elbow resting against the table, completely oblivious to the fact that he had somehow become the center of your entire peripheral vision. your body remembered him before your mind ever had the chance to object.

and somehow, it happened constantly. someone staying late finishing documentation, someone quietly correcting a typo on one of your shared reports before you noticed it, someone absentmindedly pushing a mug toward you because they knew you had forgotten to eat lunch. the library. him.

you hated that place and you hated that person. you hated how something as ordinary as a shared document could still make your stomach twist. sometimes, while waiting for a patient's file to load, you found yourself staring at the blinking cursor on your screen. and all you could think about was another cursor, years ago, appearing underneath yours at two thirty seven in the morning.

lately, you had begun wondering if you were actually haunted by who you had been whenever he was around instead of just being haunted by him. that girl had lived every single day with her shoulders pulled too tightly together, measuring her own worth against numbers on a ranking board and believing exhaustion was something admirable. sometimes, sitting across from your own patients while they slowly untangled years of anxiety, you almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. you could explain the physiology of chronic stress without looking at your notes. you knew exactly what prolonged hypervigilance did to the brain. yet somehow, your own nervous system still reacted to memories of a university library like it was preparing for impact.

he wasn't even there, hadn't been for months. and still your heartbeat occasionally forgot what year it was.

but life kept insisting on happening anyway. lily had somehow decided you were incapable of eating lunch alone. she would appear outside your office almost every afternoon without fail, leaning dramatically against your doorframe.

"come on." she would sigh theatrically. "if you make me eat cafeteria pasta by myself one more time i'm reporting you to hr."

you always rolled your eyes, but you always went anyway.

daniel started saving you coffee whenever he was on early rounds. nurse may had stopped introducing you as "the new junior." somewhere along the way, you had simply become y/n. people knocked before entering your office because they respected your space. patients asked for you by name. and your bookshelf slowly filled with textbooks, sticky notes, and the tiny ceramic plants lily kept insisting made the room "less clinically depressing."

you even caught yourself laughing comfortably now, without a second thought. real laughter, the kind that reached your stomach before your brain had time to overthink whether it sounded strange. you smiled to yourself when you thought about it while walking down the hallway. even if he was on your mind way more than you would ever want to admit, maybe you were healing. and maybe healing wasn't dramatic after all, maybe it just looked like forgetting to be miserable for a few hours.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

by the time december settled over the city completely, the hospital had transformed. paper snowflakes hung crookedly from the reception desk. someone had wrapped ridiculous gold tinsel around nurse may's computer monitor. a tiny artificial christmas tree appeared in the staff lounge, decorated almost exclusively with anatomy themed ornaments someone from surgery found hilarious.

"hospital dinner next friday." lily dropped the announcement onto your desk one morning.

"mandatory?" you looked up from your notes.

"strongly encouraged." 

"which means mandatory."

"exactly." she grinned. "you're coming."

you instinctively opened your mouth to decline. the old version of you would have invented an excuse before anyone could ask twice. but you were trying to prove that girl wasn't carrying your life anymore.

"...okay." the word surprised even you.

lily blinked. "that's it?"

you shrugged, smiling into your paperwork. "i guess i can survive one dinner."

"daniel!" lily shouted immediately into the hallway. "she said yes!"

somewhere outside your office you heard daniel cheer dramatically. you couldn't help laughing, completely unaware that, three floors above you, another department had received the exact same invitation.

and just like that, friday arrived much faster than you expected. by six thirty, the winter sky had already dissolved into complete darkness, the city streets shimmering under the glow of christmas lights and the reflections of the afternoon rain. you stood in front of your apartment mirror for far longer than was probably necessary, one hand smoothing invisible wrinkles from the dark green dress you had bought months ago and never found a reason to wear. it wasn't particularly fancy, just soft knit fabric that hugged your waist comfortably, long sleeves, a modest neckline. adult, you supposed.

you looked... older. not older in the exhausted way you used to after pulling consecutive all nighters in the library until your eyes burned from staring at statistical outputs. just older in the quiet sense. like someone who paid rent without completely losing her mind every time the letter came. someone who remembered to buy groceries before running out of milk. someone who had somehow survived long enough to become a woman instead of the anxious university girl who always felt like she was desperately trying to catch up with everyone else.

for a long moment, you simply stared at your own reflection, because it still surprised you sometimes how unfamiliar your own face had become. there were fewer dark circles beneath your eyes now and your shoulders no longer lived permanently curled toward your ears. you smiled more easily, more lived in.

your phone buzzed against the bathroom counter.

lily: if you bail i'm literally coming to your apartment

despite yourself, you laughed. "alright." you murmured to the empty apartment. "i'm coming."

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the restaurant occupied the renovated top floor of an old brick warehouse overlooking the river, all warm amber lighting and exposed wooden beams that smelled faintly of cedar and wine. somewhere in the corner, someone had hired a jazz trio to play soft christmas standards that disappeared beneath dozens of overlapping conversations.

the outpatient team had already claimed two long tables near the windows as lily spotted you almost instantly.

"she actually came!" she gasped dramatically, standing up so quickly she nearly knocked over her wine glass.

"i said i would."

"i genuinely didn't believe you." 

"that's a little offensive." 

"i believe it's completely accurate."

daniel looked up from across the table. "look who's voluntarily socializing."

"just... both of you, calm down." you said with a big smile plastered on your face.

"too late." you rolled your eyes, sliding into the empty chair between nurse may and lily.

somehow, the evening unfolded with surprising ease. there was a lot of wine and far too much bread before dinner. someone from physiotherapy confessed to accidentally walking into the wrong patient's family meeting three months earlier and somehow staying through the entire conversation before realizing. even nurse may laughed hard enough that she had to remove her glasses to wipe her eyes. you found yourself laughing too, to the point it left your stomach sore.

at one point, daniel disappeared only to return balancing six tiny desserts because “the kitchen made extras”, as lily insisted everyone rank them. you looked around the table, watching everyone interrupt each other with easy familiarity, and something inside your chest settled.

this was yours. not borrowed, not temporary. for years, you had imagined adulthood as some distant destination where everyone magically stopped feeling afraid. instead, it turned out to look like shared desserts, inside jokes, coworkers arguing over cheesecake. people instinctively saving you the seat beside them because it had simply become your seat. you hadn't fully realized how lonely you had once been until loneliness quietly stopped being your default.

you reached for your wine glass, smiling to yourself, as you heard the restaurant door open again. a burst of freezing december air swept briefly across the room as another large group stepped inside, voices overlapping while they shrugged snow from their coats.

"the research team finally made it." someone near the front called out.

your smile didn't disappear immediately, simply stalling as the glass stopped halfway to your lips. before you even looked, something deep inside your body had already recognized the shift. the old instinct returned with terrifying speed, making your shoulders stiffen and your heartbeat stumble. it wasn't logic, it wasn't reason. it was the same invisible thread that had once taught your nervous system to locate him before your eyes ever did.

slowly, almost against your own will, you turned your head. the research department filtered inside in small clusters, shrugging wool coats off their shoulders and stamping the december cold from their shoes as laughter spilled ahead of them. someone was already apologizing for how late they were. another person was carrying three bottles of wine balanced awkwardly against their chest while everyone argued over where they were supposed to sit.

for a brief, irrational second, you almost convinced yourself he hadn't come. your eyes skimmed over unfamiliar faces. someone from neurology, anna from statistics, dr. cho, another resident you vaguely recognized from the briefing.

and then, there he was. he had stopped just inside the entrance, one hand still wrapped around the strap of his messenger bag, quietly waiting for everyone else to move before he stepped further into the restaurant. he never really had been much of a loud entrance, as he had never had to do that for people to look at him. even now, he instinctively lingered toward the back of the group, waiting for everyone else to find their seats before quietly slipping into one of the empty chairs near the opposite end of the restaurant. someone from cardiology immediately reached over to steal his coat, draping it over the back of another chair before he could protest. another coworker slid a glass of red wine into his hand with an exaggerated grin.

"about time you showed up, sim."

"traffic." he answered simply.

"you've been saying traffic for two years."

jake only gave the smallest shrug before taking a slow sip from his glass, his attention already drifting toward whatever conversation dr. cho had started beside him.

you looked away almost immediately. or at least, you tried to, because for some reason it was embarrassingly difficult. your eyes kept wandering back toward the other side of the room without your permission, catching tiny glimpses between shoulders and half empty wine bottles.

he looked tired, painfully so. even sitting down, his posture carried that same quiet collapse you had noticed since that day at the hospital, his broad shoulders rounded forward as if the weight of the last years had physically settled across his back.

for the first hour, the two of you became experts at pretending the other didn't exist. you laughed with lily, he spoke quietly with his team. you reached for another piece of bread, he accepted another glass of wine. the restaurant buzzed louder around you as more bottles appeared across the tables, conversations dissolving into overlapping stories that no one bothered to finish.

someone convinced the jazz trio to play something more upbeat. chairs scraped across the wooden floor, departments slowly blurring together. and somewhere between the third glass of wine and dessert, something shifted. it was so subtle you almost convinced yourself you had imagined it.

"...that's absolutely not what happened." jake suddenly laughed as you heard his voice. just a short, genuine laugh that escaped him before he seemed to remember himself, one hand instinctively coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose as if he was almost embarrassed by the sound.

your stomach tightened immediately. before you could stop yourself, your eyes wandered back across the room. he looked lighter, only slightly. the exhaustion hadn't disappeared. the dark circles were still there, his shoulders still carried that familiar collapse, and he still looked like someone who hadn't slept properly in months. but the tension around his face had loosened and his posture wasn't so rigid anymore. the wine glass sat forgotten in one hand while the other moved absentmindedly through his hair, and every now and then another small smile slipped past whatever wall he had been holding up all evening.

it was so fleeting, so painfully familiar. for a terrifying moment, you could almost see him again. not the hollow man from the seventh floor, but the boy from the library. the one who used to lean back in his chair after proving an entire lecture wrong. the one whose eyes quietly brightened whenever a discussion became interesting enough to make him forget everyone else was in the room.

your chest ached, because for the first time in months, he didn't just look tired. he looked like himself.

"okay, okay." anna was sitting beside him as she nudged his shoulder with hers. "tell them about the python incident."

jake immediately covered part of his face with one hand. "absolutely not."

"you literally crashed the whole server." 

"temporarily."

"for six hours." 

"still temporarily."

more laughter. she reached over and shoved his shoulder. he shoved hers back, gently. the kind of thoughtless physical familiarity that only existed between people who had spent enough time together. you stared for one second too long, something ugly twisting unexpectedly inside your chest. it wasn't anger, it wasn't even jealousy. not exactly.

in the blink of an eye, he smiled. really smiled. without thinking, your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, the feeling arriving before you could name it. sharp, old, humiliatingly familiar.

it wasn't that anna was beautiful, it wasn't even that they seemed particularly close, you thought. it was something much quieter than that. watching him from across the room suddenly felt exactly like sitting several rows behind him during undergrad. there he was, surrounded by people, responding effortlessly. moving through conversations with that strange, quiet ease you had spent years trying to understand.

and there you were, watching again. your stomach twisted, and it was ridiculous. you weren't twenty anymore, you weren't measuring yourself against the people around him. you had your own table now, your own coworkers, your own life. lily was halfway through telling daniel an impossibly dramatic story beside you, nurse may was arguing with someone from emergency medicine over whether tiramisu counted as a proper dessert, and three people had already saved you a seat without even asking.

you belonged there, you knew you did. so why did your body suddenly forget? why did one glimpse of him smiling make every old insecurity crawl quietly back beneath your skin? it reminded you of every library walk where he somehow managed to make everyone else laugh before answering your questions with impossible seriousness. every hallway where he had effortlessly exchanged conversations with strangers before turning toward you with that unreadable expression that always made your heart start sprinting.

every moment you had wondered why is it always different with me?

the thought slipped into your mind so naturally it frightened you, although it wasn't a new one. it was actually an old thought you had spent years burying beneath degrees, rent payments, patient notes, and carefully constructed adulthood. but apparently, it had never really left.

you took a slow sip of your wine, letting the heavy liquid burn softly down your throat until the glass was nearly empty. you needed the alcohol to work a little faster. you needed it to dull the sharp edge that had taken over your body the second he walked through the door.

lily leaned into your space, completely oblivious to the quiet storm inside your head, her face flushed red from three generous glasses of cabernet. she clinked her glass against yours with enough drunken enthusiasm to spill a few dark droplets onto the wooden table.

"to surviving a full year of institutionalized chaos!" she announced, her speech slurring just enough to prove she was well past her limit.

"to survival." you echoed softly, forcing a small smile that felt a little too loose around the edges.

as the night stretched past eleven, the atmosphere in the restaurant shifted. the waiters cleared away the heavy ceramic dinner plates, replacing them with seemingly bottomless carafes of wine, amber glasses of bourbon, and small plates of shared desserts. the jazz trio packed up their instruments, leaving behind a warm hum of overlapping voices, clinking crystal, and unfiltered laughter.

the invisible walls between the departments finally began to dissolve. chairs scraped across the wooden floor as people stood up to stretch, drifting toward other conversations. dr. cho carried two open bottles of red over from the research table, pulling a chair right next to daniel, while a few junior analysts squeezed in near lily. before you fully understood how it had happened, the distinct tables had merged into one giant, chaotic circle.

jake was sitting four seats away from you. he had moved with dr. cho, carrying his glass of whiskey, his coat long forgotten over the back of a distant chair. his dark charcoal sweater was pulled up slightly at the forearms, revealing the sharp lines of his wrists. the alcohol had fully softened him, too. the rigid posture he usually wore like an armor had loosened into something fluid and relaxed. he was leaning back, one ankle resting over his opposite knee, his dark eyes glinting under the warm overhead lanterns as he listened to dr. cho speak.

he still wasn't looking at you directly, but he didn't have to. the air between you felt thick, charged with an invisible static that made your skin prickle every time he shifted in his chair.

"alright, listen up." dr. vance announced, standing up at the head of the merged table and tapping his fork against his water glass. his face was bright red, his tie loosened at the collar. "it is officially past midnight, which means the formal portion of this dinner is dead. before we all start ordering cabs, we're doing the annual game."

a collective groan rippled through the table, followed instantly by boisterous laughter.

"no, listen." dr. vance insisted, waving a hand. "two truths and a lie: clinical training edition. three statements about something embarrassing or unprofessional you did during undergrad or residency. the table votes on the lie."

"this is an hr trap." daniel called out, grinning into his beer. "i refuse to self-incriminate."

the game started off fast and messy, fueled by the sheer volume of alcohol everyone had consumed over the last four hours. daniel confessed to falling asleep inside a sterile supply closet for five hours during an overnight er shift. nurse may admitted she had once accidentally thrown away an entire box of research samples in her first week as a nurse and spent two hours digging through the hospital dumpster to retrieve them.

the room echoed with laughter, glasses sloshing, people shouting out guesses and arguing over who was the worst liar. you laughed along, feeling the heavy warmth of the wine creeping deeper into your veins, softening the sharp corners of your mind until your chest felt pleasantly numb.

and then the rotation reached the far side of the circle.

"sim." dr. vance pointed a finger down the table. "you're up. give us something good. the analytics prodigy must have screwed up at least once in his life."

jake let out a low chuckle, a sound so smooth and gravelly it sent a traitorous wave of heat straight down your spine. he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, looking down for a long moment before tilting his head up. he looked loose, effortless, and entirely too handsome, the dark fringe of his hair falling slightly over his forehead. you hated it so much.

"fine." jake said, his voice carrying easily over the quieted table. "one: i once completely slept through a third year observational trial and woke up with my forehead stuck to my own diagnostic notes." a few people tutted in disbelief. "two." he continued, a faint smirk touching the corner of his lips as he glanced casually toward dr. cho. "i accidentally corrupted a full semester's worth of conditioning data because i let an uncontrolled variable slip into the trial."

"oof, painful." daniel muttered, taking a drink.

"three." jake said softly, swirling his glass, his voice dropping into that magnetic register that used to hold whole lecture halls captive. "i spent an entire night locked inside the third floor library stacks because i refused to leave until i solved a statistical anomaly."

the table immediately erupted into loud debate.

"one!" lily called out instantly. "you would never sleep through a trial, jake."

"no, the library." anna chimed in from beside him, leaning in close enough that her shoulder brushed his sweater, smiling up at him with drunken fondness. "jake wouldn't need to stay a whole night there just to solve that."

jake didn't answer right away. he just sat there, holding his whiskey, letting the smirk linger on his face as he let everyone throw out their guesses. he was clearly enjoying the easy attention, looking every bit like the charming boy from undergrad who always held all the answers.

you sat quietly, your fingers coiled loosely around your glass. the alcohol in your blood was humming softly, stripping away the careful adult mask you had worn all evening. you knew the answer, and you knew it with a devastating certainty. you remembered those third floor library stacks. you remembered the rain against the tall windows, the stacked manuals, and the way he had sat across from you, staring at a set of results that refused to neatly align with his theories. but it hadn't only been a statistical anomaly he was trying to solve. it had been an argument with you. a night where his logic had completely failed him, where his careful control had cracked under the weight of something he couldn't measure or code.

and you remembered the conditioning trial, too. there hadn't been an uncontrolled variable.

you didn't shout. you just leaned back slightly in your chair, your voice soft, almost offhand, as if you were merely offering a passing observation about lab methodology.

"it's two." you murmured into the lull of the conversation. you were clearly drunker than you thought, because sober, you would have bitten your tongue raw before saying anything that publicly linked your name to jake's. you were the one who had built the wall between you in the first place, forcing the silence on the distance. but watching him sit there — so relaxed, giving away his quiet charm to everyone else after all this time — a petty needle twisted under your skin. you needed to prove, if only to him, that despite the cold front, you still held the blueprint to who he actually was. that no one else at this table knew him deeper than you did.

jake’s head snapped toward you. the lazy smirk on his face vanished in a single second. the relaxed posture melted away, his broad frame going rigidly still as his dark eyes locked onto yours across the small gap separating your chairs.

"what makes you say that, y/n?" dr. vance asked, looking amused, taking a slow sip of his drink.

you didn't break jake's gaze. you offered an indifferent shrug, your face remarkably calm, light, and perfectly unbothered, though your pulse was thumping a rapid beat in your throat. you let him see the quiet weight in your eyes — a message meant exclusively for him, completely invisible to everyone else at the table.

"because his data is always clean." you said softly, your tone smooth and conversational. "he doesn't let variables slip in by accident. he only abandons a trial when he realizes he can't control the outcome."

a light chuckle went around your side of the table. "damn, spoken like a true former lab mate." daniel joked, taking another sip of his beer, completely missing the radioactive underlying current. "she's got your number, sim."

dr. cho laughed softly, clapping jake on the shoulder. "she's right, jake! you never make reckless mistakes in methodology. you just scrap the whole project when it gets complicated!"

the rest of the table laughed along, accepting the comment as nothing more than a witty jab at his well known academic perfectionism.

but jake didn't laugh. he sat completely frozen, his fingers tightening around his whiskey glass until his knuckles turned a sharp white. the effortless charm he had been displaying all evening was completely gone, stripped away by two quiet sentences that no one else in the room understood.

he stared at you across the dark wood, his dark eyes wide and burning with an intensity that made the rest of the noisy restaurant fade into complete background noise. to the rest of the hospital staff, you had just made a clever joke about his undergrad work ethic. but to jake, you had just looked him dead in the eye and told him that you knew exactly who he was.

the game dragged to a messy, awkward close. jake eventually confirmed the lie with a quiet nod, forcing a faint smile that vanished the second people stopped looking at him. after that, he completely checked out. he just sat back in his chair, staring into the ice melting in his glass, letting the drunken chatter flow right over him.

you noticed every single second of it, of course you did. and you hated yourself for it. you hated that even after four glasses of wine, your brain was still wired to track every micro-shift in his posture.

by one in the morning, the restaurant was finally emptying out. people were slurring affectionate goodbyes by the coat rack, making ridiculous promises for weekend plans no one would keep. lily had disappeared to the bathroom with two pediatric nurses twenty minutes ago.

your head was swimming, your chest tight and claustrophobic from the heat of the room and the great amount of alcohol in your body, so you pushed open the side door and walked outside. the december air hit you like a physical punch. it ripped the warmth straight from your skin, replacing it with a freezing draft that burned your throat and made your eyes water. you leaned your forearms against the cold iron railing, staring down at the churning water from the river below, letting the cold air try to sober you up.

the heavy metal door behind you creaked open, then slammed shut against the frame.

you didn't even have to turn around. the smell of cold wool, dark rain, and bitter whiskey reached you before he even took a step.

"you just had to do that, didn't you?" jake said. his voice wasn't gentle. it wasn't quiet or tragically polite. it was rough, raspy, and thick with alcohol, carrying a defensive bite that cut straight through the freezing wind.

you slowly turned around, resting your back against the iron railing. he was standing four feet away under the dull yellow bulb of the emergency light. his coat was unbuttoned, his dark hair messy and blowing in the wind, his hands jammed aggressively into his pockets. his face was flushed from the cold and the whiskey, his dark eyes wide, bloodshot, and completely stripped of that calm composure he had spent all evening hiding behind.

"do what, jake?" you asked, your voice trembling from the cold, the wine and the anxiety, but your chin tilted up, refusing to back down.

"back there." he snapped, taking an erratic step toward you. "the little commentary on my data. you just couldn't help yourself, could you? you had to sit there in front of the whole department and make sure everyone knew you had some secret, superior insight into how my brain works."

a sharp laugh escaped your throat, turning to mist in the freezing night. "are you serious?" you hissed, stepping out of the shadow of the railing, right into his space. "you sat at that table for two hours giving everyone else your charming little routine, telling a cute little story about undergrad like it was some funny glitch in your pristine record. you were rewriting it, jake. you sat there acting like it was all just lab work, like it was nothing!"

"because it has to be!" he shouted, his voice cracking violently, the loud sound echoing off the wet brick walls of the alley. he looked completely unraveled, his jaw clenching so hard you could hear his teeth grind together, the sheer chaos of his state finally spilling over. "you think i want to stand in front of twenty people and talk about how it actually was?" he rasped, his eyes burning into yours with a terrifying intensity. "you think i want dr. vance or anna or daniel looking at me and knowing that i spent years obsessed with you? you think i want a room full of coworkers knowing that you're the reason i haven't slept a full night in-?"

the admission hit the cold air like a physical blow. the breath vanished from your lungs, your heart hammering a wild beat against your ribs. "what the fuck are you saying, jake-"

"no, y/n, listen to me." he choked out, quieter now. "you act like you're the only one who got wrecked. you stand here looking at me like i'm some cold, unfeeling bastard who walked away without a second thought. but you're the one who ran! you packed your bags, you left the town, you deleted your number, and you built this whole neat new life where you get to pretend i was just a bad habit you outgrew!"

"i ran because i had no choice!" you screamed back, tears finally spilling over your lashes, scalding hot against your frozen cheeks as you forced yourself not to punch his chest. the alcohol was making your entire body shake, dissolving whatever polite restraint you had left. "i also ran because staying near you was making me lose my fucking mind. and i genuinely do not understand why you would even look at me like... like i broke your heart!"

"because you did!" jake roared as he surged forward, his hands flying out to grip the freezing iron railing on either side of your head. he caged you in completely, his tall frame blocking out the streetlights, his chest heaving erratically just inches from yours. "you were breaking it every single day! and you're still doing it, y/n."

he stopped, his breathing coming in ragged hitches that tore through the quiet night air. the sudden, explosive burst of anger seemed to completely drain him, leaving nothing behind but a hollow exhaustion. his broad shoulders slumped forward and he dropped his head, staring blankly at the metal grate beneath your boots as if he couldn't bear to look at your face anymore.

"i can't do this." he whispered, his voice dropping into a ruined scrape that almost sounded like a plea. he squeezed his eyes shut, his knuckles turning an intense white against the black iron. "i can't sit at a dinner table and watch you laugh with everybody else. i can't watch you build a life that i'm not allowed to touch. and i definitely can't sit there while you drop little pieces of our past into the conversation like it's just some lighthearted trivia."

"why?" you choked out. your hands moved entirely on their own, pulling out of your warm pockets to grab the heavy wool lapels of his open coat. you twisted the fabric into your fists, holding onto him because the ground beneath you suddenly felt like it was violently tilting. "why does it hurt you so much?" you begged, your voice shattering on the last word, the sharp december wind stinging the tear tracks on your face as you forced him to finally look at you.

jake pulled his head back just an inch, his hand sliding down to wrap his cold fingers tightly around your wrist, squeezing until the pulse thumping against his palm was impossible to ignore. he stared down into your eyes with an expression of unadulterated ruin — his dark irises wide, bloodshot, and completely devoid of any remaining pride.

"because every time you open your mouth and mention back then..." he whispered, his voice cracking on a painful exhale. "it proves you remember everything. it proves it wasn't a bad dream i made up in my head to keep myself awake at night. you were real. we were real."

he swallowed hard, the sharp line of his throat bobbing as a furious tear finally escaped his lashes, tracking down the high curve of his pale cheek. he didn't wipe it away. he didn't care that he was completely unraveling under that dull yellow light, bleeding out in front of the only person who had ever known how to dismantle him.

"and knowing that you remember it..." he choked out, his chest heaving as he pulled your trapped hand up, pressing your palm flat against the erratic pounding over his own heart. "and knowing you still walked away... knowing you're standing here right now, alive and whole and surviving just fine without me, tells me that i'm the only one who didn't make it out of that library alive."

the frantic rhythm of his heart beating against your palm felt like a live wire. it burned through the freezing cold, through the thick haze of the wine, straight into your bones. you stared at him, at the single tear tracking down his cheek, and the sheer gravity of what he had just confessed threatened to crush you completely.

you couldn't breathe. the alleyway spun around you, the ground tipping dangerously beneath your boots. if you had been sober, you might have folded into him. you might have let the grief swallow you both whole. but the alcohol in your bloodstream was a vicious thing, magnifying your terror as much as your longing. if you believed him now — if you let yourself lean into this unguarded version of him — you would be gambling everything. because tomorrow, when he was sober, he could take it all back. and that would kill you. you wouldn't survive a second heartbreak.

"no." you breathed out, your voice trembling so violently you could barely form the word. you tried to pull your hand away, but his grip was iron tight, his fingers digging into your wrist like he was drowning.

"jake, stop." you pleaded, shaking your head frantically. "stop talking. you're drunk."

"so are you." he rasped, refusing to let go, his dark eyes searching your face with a desperate starvation.

"which is exactly why we can't do this!" you cried, finally wrenching your hand out of his grasp with enough force that you stumbled a half step backward, your shoes slipping slightly on the icy grate.

the sudden loss of contact made the freezing december air rush back in, biting viciously at your skin. you wrapped your arms tightly around your own waist, shivering violently, trying to hold your own ribcage together.

"we're drunk, jake." you choked out, the tears freezing as they fell down your cheeks. "you've had god knows how much whiskey, my head is completely spinning, and you're standing out here in the freezing cold telling me that i destroyed you. what am i supposed to do with that? what do you want me to say?"

"i want you to believe me!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in a sudden burst of frustration, his balance wavering just a fraction. he ran a shaking hand fiercely through his windblown hair, looking entirely lost. "i want you to stop acting like i'm making this up! y-you always fucking do this, y/n."

"but how can i believe you?!" you yelled back, your chest heaving, the raw truth finally ripping its way out of your throat. "you want me to believe this? now? after years of complete silence? you want me to accept this just because we had a few drinks and your perfect pride finally slipped?"

jake flinched. the accusation hit him squarely, stripping away the frantic energy and leaving him looking incredibly hollow. "you think this is just the alcohol?" he asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet rasp.

"i think the alcohol is the only reason you're talking at all." you shot back, your voice breaking on a sob you couldn't swallow down. "tomorrow morning, the whiskey is going to wear off. and you're going to go right back to being the untouchable sim jake. you're going to walk past me in that damn hallway and you are going to regret every single word you just said."

"that's bullshit, y/n, and you know it." he snapped, taking another unsteady step toward you, the anger flaring back up in his dark eyes.

"is it?" you challenged, stepping back until your spine hit the brick wall of the alley, leaving nowhere else to run. "we've spent months treating each other like strangers. you flagged my files, i ignored you in meetings, you looked right through me. and now you expect me to just... what? forget everything because you had too much bourbon and decided to feel sorry for yourself?"

jake stopped dead in his tracks. he looked at you for an agonizing moment, the mist curling between your bodies in the freezing dark. the anger in his face slowly died, replaced by a devastating defeat. he looked like a man who had just played his very last card, only to realize the game had been over for years.

"you really think that little of me." he whispered. it wasn't a question. it was a surrender.

"i think we're both a mess." you cried softly, swiping angrily at your wet cheeks, though the tears just kept coming. "i think we're completely wrecked. and i think if we keep doing this tonight, if we keep standing out here tearing each other apart while we can barely stand straight, we're going to permanently destroy whatever functional pieces we have left."

jake didn't argue. he didn't surge forward again, and he didn't try to touch you. he just stood there in the cold, his coat blowing in the wind, staring at you with an expression so hopelessly sad it made your stomach physically hurt. the alcohol was still humming loudly in your veins, making the silence between you feel dizzying and thick. there was no resolution, there was no comfort. there was just the bitter cold, the heavy smell of whiskey, and the terrifying realization that you were both bleeding out, and neither of you had any idea how to stop it.

the heavy metal door behind jake suddenly flew open with a loud clang, the sharp sound slicing through the suffocating silence like a knife.

"hey! there you guys- whoa." daniel staggered out onto the small space, his tie completely undone and hanging loosely around his neck, a lopsided drunken grin plastered across his flushed face. he was holding a half empty bottle of cheap champagne by the neck, his balance wavering just enough that he had to grab the doorframe to steady himself. he was completely oblivious to the wreckage he had just walked into.

"man, it is like... polar vortex out here." daniel slurred, shivering dramatically as he looked between the two of you. his eyes were unfocused, blinking slowly in the dim yellow glow of the emergency light. "what are you guys doing? having a secret research meeting without me? that's... that's academic betrayal, sim."

the snap of the reality shift was instantaneous, violent, and physically sickening. the exact second daniel’s boots hit the metal grating, the raw version of jake vanished. it was like watching a shutter slam down over a window. his broad shoulders instantly went rigid, his jaw locking into a tight line as he took a deliberate step back from you, pulling himself out of your space entirely.

he turned his head away, his long fingers flying up to aggressively rub at his eyes, wiping away the trace of that furious tear before daniel could track it. when he dropped his hand, his face was a mask of unreadable exhaustion. but it was clumsy, frayed around the edges by the sheer volume of whiskey in his system.

you froze against the brick wall, your heart slamming frantically against your ribs. your hands were still shaking so violently you had to shove them deep into your coat pockets just to hide the tremors. you choked down a ragged sob, the taste of wine and bile burning the back of your throat as you forced your face into something that hopefully resembled sobriety.

"we were just getting some air, daniel." you said, your voice coming out thin.

"air? you're gonna freeze your liquid assets off." daniel chuckled, entirely amused by his own terrible joke. he staggered a step closer, swinging the champagne bottle loosely. "everyone's bailing. you guys want to split an uber to the north side?"

"i'm fine." jake cut in. his voice was a low rasp, entirely stripped of the roaring anger from moments ago, but carrying a vibrating tension that made your chest ache. he wouldn't look at you. he kept his dark eyes fixed firmly on the collar of daniel's shirt, his hands jammed back into his unbuttoned coat. "i'm walking." jake muttered, his speech just slightly thicker than usual, betraying how drunk he actually was.

"walking? sim, it's literally freezing rain." daniel laughed, reaching out to cloddishly pat jake's shoulder. "don't be a hero. come on."

"i said i'm walking, daniel." jake snapped. the sudden edge in his tone made daniel blink, his drunken grin faltering for a fraction of a second as he sensed the radioactive field of tension vibrating between the two of you.

jake didn't wait for a response. he finally turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto your face for one final second. there was no anger left in his gaze. there was only that same hopeless ruin. a quiet warning that everything you had just done out here was going to follow you both into the morning.

he blew past daniel, his heavy shoulder brushing yours as he pushed open the metal door and vanished back into the warmth of the restaurant, leaving nothing behind but the fading scent of cold wool and bitter bourbon. the door clicked shut.

"man…" daniel muttered, shaking his head slowly as he took a swing from the champagne bottle. "he is always so... intense. i don't know how you survived being his research partner, y/n. guy needs to learn how to relax."

you didn't answer. you couldn't. you just turned back to the iron railing, gripping the freezing metal until your knuckles ached, staring blindly out at the river below. the hot tears were finally flowing freely now, spilling over your lashes and biting into your cold skin, but daniel just thought you were shivering from the wind.

you were entirely unraveled, the heavy haze of the wine making the ache in your chest feel double its size. you knew you were right. tomorrow the sun would come up and the hospital walls would turn that sterile, sage green again. and neither of you had any idea how to survive the wreckage of tonight.

the ride home in the back of daniel’s uber was a sickening blur. daniel wouldn't stop talking about the department's upcoming budget review, his voice a slurred drone that did nothing to drown out the looping thoughts in your own head. you pressed your cheek against the freezing glass of the window, staring at the blurred streetlights, your hand shoved deep into your coat pocket. your wrist still ached where jake’s fingers had clamped down, and your palm felt hot, branded by the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat.

i’m the only one who didn't make it out of that library alive.

the words felt like a physical weight on your chest, keeping you awake until the sky turned a bruised gray.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

when you went into the hospital the next day, the walls you had spent years building felt incredibly thin. you spent your morning sessions sitting across from people, trying to help them untangle their lives while your own mind kept drifting to the floors above you. jake was up there, tucked away in the data lab, probably staring at spreadsheets and mapping out human choices into predictable numbers. you knew how his mind worked — he used logic to control everything, hiding behind data until his emotions were buried too deep to find.

you ran into him on monday by the elevators. he was carrying a stack of reports, his lab coat buttoned all the way up, looking every bit like the detached, analytical researcher everyone expected him to be. when he saw you, his posture went completely rigid. you watched his eyes drop to your hands, then snap back up to your face, his jaw tight.

"morning." he said. his voice was clipped, perfectly formal. he gave you a professional nod as the elevator doors opened, stepping inside without waiting to see if you were getting on too.

he was overcompensating. you knew it, and he knew you knew it. it was a textbook display of emotional avoidance, and the deliberate distance made your blood boil. for the next three days, you both played the game perfectly. you over-corrected your posture when you passed his lab, and he looked straight through you when he came down to the clinical floor to drop off files. you were both weaponizing your training, pulling away with a fierce intentionality because admitting that that that night had happened meant admitting how completely unsafe you were around each other.

by thursday night, the hospital felt entirely claustrophobic.

a massive winter storm had hit the city, coating the streets in black ice and causing a power surge that knocked out the central servers. because the digital network was down, the department was forced to rely on physical records for the emergency cases coming in from the icy roads.

at eleven o'clock, you were down in the basement archives — a narrow, windowless vault filled with rows of heavy steel shelves containing years of old patient files and intake sheets. the air down there was freezing, smelling heavily of old paper, dust, and ozone from the backup generators humming faintly through the vents.

you were standing near the back of the longest aisle, your fingers stiff as you flicked through a drawer, trying to find a specific baseline evaluation.

the heavy electronic lock on the vault door suddenly clicked, the sound echoing loudly in the silence. you didn't turn around. you forced yourself to keep looking at the files, even as the slow thud of boots grew closer, accompanied by the distinct scent of cedar and the bitter edge of the black coffee he always drank when he was working late.

jake stopped at the entrance of your aisle. he had taken off his lab coat, wearing just a dark sweater with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. he looked exhausted, his hair messy from where he had clearly been running his fingers through it, and his dark eyes were shadowed with fatigue.

"vance sent me down." jake said, his voice a rough baritone that felt entirely too loud in the cramped space. "the emergency intake needs the comparative data for the patient in bed four. i told him i'd find the physical chart."

"it's in row c." you said, your voice tight, keeping your back to him as you shoved a file back into the drawer. "this is row e. you're in the wrong section, jake."

he didn't move. you could hear his steady breathing, a heavy contrast to the frantic skipping of your own pulse. "i know what row i'm in, y/n." he murmured.

the sheer stubbornness in his tone made you snap. you dropped your hands from the cabinet and turned around, your spine hitting the cold metal structure behind you. "then why are you standing here?" you asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound detached. "we established a pattern this week, jake. we do the professional nods. we don't look at each other. it was working fine."

"it wasn't working fine." he rasped, taking a slow, deliberate step into the aisle. the space was so narrow that his broad shoulders nearly brushed the shelves on either side. "you've been watching me every time i walk into a room. i can feel you calculating the distance from across the hallway, y/n. you're looking at me like i'm a clinical problem you need to solve."

"and what are you doing?" you challenged, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, trying to ignore how his physical proximity was suddenly making the air feel thick and warm. "you're pretending that if you just keep your lab coat buttoned up and stare at your data sheets long enough, you can erase what you said to me the other night.”

jake stopped just two feet away from you. his height completely blocked out the low light from the main vault corridor, casting a long shadow over your body. he looked down at you, his jaw clenching so hard a small muscle twitched in his cheek.

"i can't erase it." he whispered, his speech just a fraction slower than usual, thick with the weight of a week's worth of insomnia. "that's the whole damn problem. i've spent five days trying to look at my work, and all i see is how much i want to touch you."

"don't… don’t fucking say that." you breathed, a sudden wave of panic hitting your chest. you tried to push past him, your shoulder catching his chest as you attempted to navigate the narrow space, but he didn't move an inch. he was a wall of solid heat. "jake, let me out. it's just the stress from the storm, we're both tired and-"

"stop making excuses." he growled, his hand snapping out to grip the edge of the shelf right beside your neck. his fingers flexed against the cold steel, his knuckles turning white. he leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, his dark eyes wide and dangerous. "and stop running from me. you're doing the exact same thing you always do. the second things get real, you pull back and look for an exit."

"because staying here ruins me!" you hissed back, your hands coming up to press against his shoulders, not to pull him closer, but to frantically hold him at bay. you could feel the hard line of his collarbone beneath the wool of his sweater, the heat of his skin burning through the fabric into your palms. "you think you're the only one who's terrified? i spend all day trying to keep myself together, and the minute i look at you, i completely lose my mind. we are a bad idea, jake."

"i don't care." he choked out, his voice cracking violently on the words. he took that final half step, completely eliminating the remaining distance between you. his chest pressed flush against your hands, pushing against your resistance until your back was pinned flat against the metal cabinet. he didn't touch you with his hands yet, as they were still gripping the shelves on either side of your head, caging you in completely. but his entire body was a suffocating pressure against yours.

you let out a broken gasp, your chin tilting up involuntarily as his face dropped into the hollow of your neck. his breath was hot, fast, and smelling of coffee, fanning across your sensitive skin and making a violent shiver tear through your entire frame.

"tell me to go to row c." he whispered fiercely against your skin, his lips brushing the column of your throat as he spoke, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make your knees go weak. "say you don't want this, and i'll walk away. i'm giving you the choice."

your fingers twitched against his shoulders, your nails digging deep into the thick fabric of his sweater. you wanted to push him away. you wanted to save yourself from the inevitable wreckage that was coming. but the physical reality of him — the weight of his body, the desperate sound of his breathing — was a hunger you had been suppressing for so much time.

"i hate you." you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his forehead lean heavily against yours, his dark hair brushing your brow.

"i know." jake rasped, his hand finally leaving the metal shelf to wrap his cold fingers tightly around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. "i know."

for a fraction of a second, nobody moved. the space between your lips was a vacuum, thick with the smell of damp wool and the metallic hum of the archive basement. his dark eyes searched yours, wide and bloodshot, looking for a single reason to stop — a slight pull of your chin, a tensing of your spine, anything. but you didn't move, you couldn't. the lie had run its course, and the devastating weight of it seemed to leave both of you suspended in mid air. your thumb twitched against the knit of his sweater, a subconscious permission that he caught instantly.

the shift was sudden and terrifying. the fragile safety of the quiet room fractured down the middle as jake’s grip on your neck tightened, his control completely evaporating into the cold air.

the kiss was violent. it wasn't gentle, it wasn't a soft reconciliation. instead, it was an angry collision of two people who had been starving in the dark for years.

he shoved you backward, your hips hitting the edge of the cabinet hard as he crowded his entire weight into you, caging you between his body and the metal. his hands ripped themselves from yours, one flying to the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling fiercely into your hair to tilt your head back, while his other hand gripped your waist so tightly it would leave bruises by morning.

you moaned into his mouth, a desperate sound, your hands flying up to tear at the front of his sweater. you needed the barrier gone. you needed to feel the heat of his skin against yours to prove he was real, that this wasn't another cruel dream your brain had manufactured in the quiet hours of the night.

"y/n." he groaned against your lips, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, tasting of bitter coffee and pure desperation. he kissed you harder, deeper, devouring you until your knees buckled beneath you, his heavy thigh instantly slotting between yours to hold you up against the shelves.

the friction was agonizingly perfect. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down, arching your back into his heavy frame as his mouth left yours, tearing down the column of your throat. he bit sharply at the junction of your neck and shoulder, making you gasp, your fingers digging deep into the muscles of his back.

"i hate you so much, jake." you cried out, your head tossing back against the metal shelves as his hands moved down, aggressively bunching up the fabric of your skirt.

"hate me all you want, please.” he rasped, his breath burning against your collarbone as he ripped open the first three buttons of your shirt, his chest heaving. he looked up at you, his dark eyes entirely unhinged, wild with a desperate hunger that made your stomach clench pleasantly.

he didn't give you a single second to catch your breath. his mouth crashed back onto yours again, messier this time, open and wet and completely frantic. his large hand slid higher up your thigh, his rough fingers finally slipping past the hem of your skirt and finding bare skin. the sudden contrast of his burning touch against the freezing basement air made a high noise tear out of your throat, a sound he swallowed instantly with his mouth.

you finally got your hands under his sweater, your palms flattening against the rapid rise and fall of his bare chest. his skin was scorching hot, his heart hammering a violent rhythm against your fingertips. he wasn't calm. the meticulous, controlled data analyst was completely gone, completely destroyed, replaced by a man who was shaking just as badly as you were.

"jake." you whimpered, your nails lightly dragging down the center of his chest, exploring the heavy muscle there.

he shuddered violently at the contact, a guttural groan vibrating deep in his throat. his heavy thigh pressed harder between yours, applying a blunt pressure right where you were aching the most, forcing your hips to completely tilt up into his. you dug your heels into the dusty floor to keep from sliding down the cabinet, entirely at his mercy.

"four years." he breathed heavily against your lips, his voice a ruined scrape as his thumb traced the edge of your underwear, dragging slowly over the fabric to feel the damp heat of you beneath it. "four fucking years of pretending i didn't know exactly what this felt like. have you thought about it, huh? about how well you took me in your mouth in that classroom? mmh?"

you gasped, arching off the cold metal so forcefully your spine bowed. his fingers were slightly clumsy with sheer desperation, completely wrecking whatever fragile composure you had left. you tangled your fingers into his messy hair, pulling him closer, holding his mouth to yours like it was the only oxygen left in the room.

"don't think." you begged, tears of overwhelming relief and frustration suddenly stinging the corners of your eyes, blurring the harsh fluorescent light above. "just don't think about it, jake. please don't stop."

"i couldn't stop if i tried, y/n. i’m completely sick with you." he confessed, kissing the salt of a tear off your cheek before trailing bruising kisses down your jawline.

he shifted his grip suddenly, his strong hands grabbing your hips to hike you up effortlessly onto the waist high metal filing cabinet. the cold steel bit into the back of your bare thighs, a shocking contrast to the suffocating heat of his body as he stepped directly between your parted knees.

he caged you in perfectly, his broad chest pressing flush against yours, his hands moving frantically over your body like he was trying to memorize you all over again. he pushed your shirt off your shoulders, letting it pool uselessly around your elbows, his lips finding the exposed skin of your collarbone. he sucked hard, his teeth scraping against the sensitive column of your throat, deliberately leaving a dark mark that he knew you would have to hide under high necked sweaters for a week.

it was territorial, it was entirely unprofessional, and it made you completely lose your mind. you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, crossing your ankles behind his back to anchor him to you, pulling his hips flush against yours. you ground down against the thick denim of his jeans, chasing the friction, chasing the physical weight of him until you were both just shaking, breathing the same dusty air, actively choosing to ruin each other all over again in the dark.

his hand didn’t stay on the outside of the lace for long. the frantic friction of your hips against his was driving you both to the edge of sanity, but it wasn't enough. it was nowhere near enough. jake let out a harsh curse, pulling his mouth away from yours just far enough to look at you. his chest heaved, his dark hair falling into his eyes, entirely disheveled and completely ruined.

"i need to touch you." he rasped, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly low register. "i need to see if you feel the same way you did back then."

you didn't even get a chance to gasp before his rough fingers hooked under the damp edge of your underwear, pulling the thin fabric aside and sliding directly into you. you shattered immediately. a loud cry tore from your lungs, bouncing off the heavy steel walls of the archive as your head threw back against the shelves. he was completely relentless. his long fingers pushed deep, almost too familiar with how your body worked, moving with a precise rhythm that completely short-circuited your brain.

every single coping mechanism, every boundary, every professional defence you had built over the last four years dissolved instantly under the slide of his hand.

"jake, fuck-" you sobbed, your nails biting into his broad shoulders, your legs trembling violently where they were still locked behind his back.

"shhh." he breathed, though his own voice was shaking just as badly. he leaned in, his lips pressing hot kisses to the side of your neck, his tongue tracing the frantic pulse there as his fingers stroked you faster, deeper. "i've got you. i've got you. you're so fucking wet for me, doc. you missed me this much?"

the clinical nickname was a hot twist of the knife. he was doing it on purpose, weaponizing your shared profession, deliberately blurring the lines between the sterile hospital above and the dirty reality of the basement.

"yes." you admitted, the word an unraveled plea, your hips involuntarily chasing the movement of his hand. "yes, god, i missed you. i missed you so much."

that admission snapped the very last thread holding him together as he withdrew his hand completely. the sudden loss of friction was so jarring you let out an embarrassing whine, your hips instinctively tipping forward to chase his empty hand.

"shhh, don't cry." he murmured, though his chest was heaving, his voice thick with a dark satisfaction. "what happened to my clever little psychologist?"

the sharp metallic clink of his belt buckle echoed loudly in the tight space, followed by the heavy hiss of his zipper. you reached down, desperate to help him, desperate to speed up the agonizing process, but he caught both of your wrists in one large hand, pinning them firmly against the cold metal cabinet above your head.

"y/n." he breathed, stepping into the space you had just created, pressing the blunt heat of him directly against your entrance. "you've been running the show all week. you wouldn't even look at me in the elevator on monday."

he rolled his hips forward just a fraction — not enough to go inside, just enough to drag right over your most sensitive spot. you choked on a gasp, your spine bowing entirely off the metal.

"is this what you were thinking about when you were giving me those polite little nods, doc?" he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, his breath hot and completely ragged. "while you were sitting in your office, playing the perfect professional... were you thinking about how easily i can tear you apart?"

"jake, please-" you begged, the words tumbling out of your mouth without a single thought for pride or preservation. you tried to pull your wrists free, your legs tightening around his narrow waist as you tried to force him deep inside you, but his grip was iron clad. he wasn't going to make this easy. he was going to make you pay for every single day of silence.

"please what?" he taunted, though his own restraint was clearly killing him, a heavy muscle jumping frantically in his sharp jaw. he dragged against you again, a slow friction that made black spots dance in your vision. you let out a broken sob, your nails digging into your own palms where he held them pinned. "use your clinical vocabulary, y/n. tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

"fuck you." you cried out, tears of sheer frustration spilling over your lashes, mixing with the sweat on your skin.

"i'm about to." he promised, his voice dropping into a low growl that vibrated straight through your chest. "but you're going to ask for it first. you're going to admit that you're just as obsessed with me as i am with you."

he released your wrists, but only so his hands could drop to your waist, his long fingers digging into your hips to hold you completely still. he rocked against you once more, entirely deliberately, making sure you felt exactly how thick and ready his cock was, how close you were to having what you had been starving for.

"say it." he demanded, his dark eyes burning into yours, completely unhinged in the dim basement light. "you owe me this. say it."

"i'm obsessed with you." you sobbed, your hands flying down to grip his shoulders, your fingernails biting into the thick wool of his sweater. "i want you, jake. i want you so fucking much, please, just put it in. please."

he let out a ragged, tearing sound from the very bottom of his chest, completely undone by the sound of you begging.

"that’s it, my love.” he rasped, and drove his hips forward, sinking completely and devastatingly deep inside of you in one long thrust. the unexpected nickname made your cheeks flush even harder, making your face feel so hot it scared you.

the sheer fullness of his cock stretching you open was a violent shock to your system, stealing the remaining oxygen straight out of your lungs. you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your teeth his skin just to muffle the breathless sob that escaped you. jake went entirely still, his forehead dropping against yours, his upper body trembling with the sheer effort it took not to lose his mind completely. he was buried so deep it felt devastating, his heartbeat a chaotic thudding against your chest.

for a long moment, he didn't move. he just stayed deep inside you, letting your body adapt to his weight, his eyes tightly shut as he swallowed hard, trying to claw back some semblance of his usual restraint.

but you could feel the truth of him. you could feel the ragged vibration of his pulse, the way his fingers were dug so fiercely into your waist that his knuckles were white. the cool, analytical researcher was drowning, and the realization gave you an intoxicating surge of confidence through the haze of your own pleasure.

you slowly shifted your hips on the edge of the cabinet, a deliberate tight squeeze around him.

jake flinched, his entire body jerking as a strangled sound tore from his throat. his eyes snapped open, dark and completely wild, warning you to stop.

"what's the matter, jake?" you whispered, your voice a shaky tease as you leaned back just enough to look at him. your fingers trailed up his chest, your nails lightly catching on the skin of his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone. "a-are you going to cum just like this or what?”

"y/n." he warned, his voice a dangerous vibration, his hips twitching involuntarily against yours.

"y-you spent all week hiding up in your lab, pretending i didn't exist... and now you can barely even breathe just from standing inside me?” you murmured, tilting your chin up, your eyes dropping to his mouth before locking back onto his blown pupils.

an unhinged smile flickered across his lips, though his jaw remained rigid. he leaned down, his mouth brushing against yours, tasting of salt and heat. "you think you're so clever, don't you? you always have." he rasped, his hands tightening on your waist with a bruising pressure that made you gasp. "you want to test my limits? let's see how well you can keep that smart mouth running when you can't even think straight."

before you could reply, he pulled back and drove into you again, his pace suddenly turning brutal and completely unyielding. the first hard thrust knocked the wind clean out of you. the heavy metal filing cabinet groaned violently under your combined weight, a loud rattle that echoed sharply down the narrow aisle. your hands flew back to grip the cold edge of the steel behind you, your knuckles turning white as he hammered into you with a punishing rhythm that made it entirely impossible to form a coherent thought.

any trace of your smug satisfaction evaporated into a ragged sob. he wasn't teasing anymore. the dam had completely cracked, and the flood was tearing both of you apart. the friction was sudden and blistering, the thick denim of his unzipped jeans scraping against your bare thighs, a chaotic mix of freezing metal and sweat slicked skin.

"jake- ah! jake, wait." you choked out, your head slamming back against the shelf behind you as he hit you deeper, driving himself into you like he was trying to fuse his body with yours.

"no." he growled, his voice completely wrecked, his face burying into the crook of your neck. he was panting like a dying man, his teeth grazing over your collarbone, leaving wet marks as his hips slammed relentlessly against yours. "no more waiting. i'm so fucking done with the space between us."

he shifted his grip, his large hands sliding under your thighs to lift you higher off the metal, pulling you completely flush against him so he could bury himself even deeper. the sheer desperation in his movements was staggering. he was clawing at you, devouring your mouth in messy kisses that tasted of unadulterated hunger. you could feel the heavy trembling in his arms, the tight strain of his muscles as he held you up, completely consumed by the need to be closer.

you couldn't think, you couldn't analyze. your legs wrapped even tighter around his waist, your ankles locking behind his back as you began to meet him stroke for desperate stroke. you ground yourself down against him, chasing the blinding heat, your hands leaving the cabinet to tear at his hair. every impact was deep and heavy, a blunt ache that centered in your lower stomach and radiated outward until your whole body was shaking.

"look at me." he commanded, his voice a broken rasp. he pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes glassy with sweat and pure yearning in the dim basement light. he was staring at you like you were his only lifeline in a room that was running out of air. "look at what you do to me. tell me you feel it. tell me you're drowning too."

"i am!" you cried out, a tear finally slipping down your cheek as your hips rolled into his, meeting a brutal thrust that made your vision tilt and white out at the edges. "jake, please... i can't... i'm going to-"

"good." he choked out, a sob-like sound catching in his throat as he pushed even harder, his chest heaving violently against yours. "don't think. just take me. take all of it.”

the rhythm turned entirely chaotic, completely stripped of any calculation or restraint. every slam of his hips was a beautiful shockwave that travelled straight up your spine. he was completely unravelled now, his teeth digging into your shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a permanent mark.

"jake, jake, please." you sobbed into his ear, your fingernails tearing at the skin of his neck, drawing faint red lines. your vision was blurring into unreadable shapes, the light overhead spinning in dizzying circles. the pressure building in your lower stomach was too intense, too heavy to survive. you were right on the edge, teetering over a drop that felt miles deep.

"i'm right here. look at me, y/n. don't close your eyes." he choked out, his voice dropping into a feral whisper. his long fingers dug so hard into your thighs that they left deep marks in your flesh.

you forced your lids open, looking into the fractured expanse of his eyes. he looked entirely unhinged, wild with a desperate hunger that was terrifyingly beautiful. he was watching you go under, tracking every twitch of your face, every ragged intake of your breath.

"jake-" you didn't even finish the sentence. your walls spasmed, tightening around him in a sudden wave of contractions that ripped a shattered scream from your throat. you buried your face in his neck, your teeth sinking into his shoulder as your entire body went completely rigid, formatting itself around the blinding ecstasy of the release.

the absolute fullness of him inside you during those few seconds was staggering, a sharp crest that made your brain go entirely quiet. that crushing squeeze was the final blow to his threadbare restraint. jake let out a guttural roar that vibrated deep inside your chest. he drove into you three more times — hard, deep, completely blind with his own release — before his entire body locked up.

he threw his head back, his jaw clenching so violently the cords in his neck stood out, and poured himself into you with a desperate shudder that seemed to go on forever.

for a long time, the only sound in the archive basement was the overlapping noise of your breathing. jake didn't pull away. he collapsed forward, burying his face in your messy hair, his broad chest heaving against yours as his weight pinned you flat against the metal cabinet. his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to pull you inside his own ribs.

your legs were still locked around his waist, trembling with exhaustion, your skin slick with a mixture of sweat and the freezing air of the vault.

"don't move." he whispered against your ear, his voice a completely ruined baritone. his fingers flexed against your back, his touch suddenly incredibly tender compared to the violence from moments before. "just stay right here. don't run yet."

the steady drip of adrenaline suddenly began to fade, and the reality of the room crashed back in with excruciating clarity. the biting chill of the basement air hit your exposed skin, making a sudden shiver rack your entire frame. the silence in the vault was deafening now, suddenly being acutely aware of everything.

how loud your own chest was heaving. how his skin felt slick and hot against your palms. the absolute wreck of your clothes — your skirt bunched up around your waist, your shirt hanging open with the top buttons missing. your face burned with a sharp spike of self-consciousness that made your stomach do a nervous flip. your eyes darted down, landing on his shoulder where your teeth had left an angry red mark, and a wave of panic hit you.

what did we just do?

you shifted your weight awkwardly on the hard edge of the filing cabinet, your ankles slowly unlinking from behind his waist. your hands, which had been buried in his hair, dropped down to press weakly against his chest, trying to create an inch of space.

"jake." you breathed, your voice sounding small, raspy, and entirely too bare in the quiet aisle. "the... the files. vance is waiting for the intake data. we've been down here too long."

he didn't budge. if anything, he sank a fraction heavier against you, his hips remaining perfectly locked against yours, keeping you pinned to the cold metal. he slowly lifted his head from your neck, his dark hair completely disheveled, his eyes searching your face. they were still dark, his pupils wide, but the feral wildness had settled into a hyper-focused intensity.

"let him wait." jake murmured, his voice a low scrape.

you tried to look past his shoulder, anywhere but at his face, your fingers nervously twitching against his chest. "no, seriously. the digital network is down, they're drowning upstairs with the storm cases. if someone comes down here looking for us-"

"y/n."

the quiet command in his voice cut straight through your panicked rambling. his large hand left your waist, his long fingers reaching up to catch your chin, gently but firmly tilting your face back up until you had no choice but to look at him. his thumb pressed against your lower lip, tracing the swollen skin.

"stop that.” he said softly.

"stop what?" you asked, trying to force your voice into a defensive tone, but it came out as a breathless whisper.

"the retreating." he whispered, his thumb dragging slowly down to your jawline. "i can feel your brain working from here. you're already calculating the damage, trying to find a neat little box to put this in so you can pretend it was an isolated incident. you're looking for the exit."

your throat felt tight, the accuracy of his words making you ache. you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, not to pull his hand away, but just to hold onto something steady because your knees still felt like water. "it's a hospital basement, jake. we're colleagues. this... this is a massive hr violation, for one thing, and it's completely-"

"don't do that." he interrupted, leaning down until his forehead rested heavily against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips. "don't lie to me. not after that. you held onto me like you were dying. y-you told me you wanted this. you don't get to go back to polite elevator nods, y/n. i won't let you do it to me again."

"i'm just trying to be realistic." you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut because having him this close, even after everything, was still making your chest swell with a terrifying amount of yearning. "this changes everything up there. it complicates everything."

"good." jake rasped, his lips brushing against yours slowly. he didn't pull away, he stayed right there, anchoring you to the reality of what had just happened. "let it change. i want it to. i've spent four years losing my mind. i'm not letting you run away this time."

the generators hummed somewhere beyond the thick concrete walls, a steady vibration filling the silence between your mouths. for four years, you had replayed the wreckage a thousand different ways in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he apologized. sometimes you did. sometimes it was loud and explosive, a replication of the fights and the bickering that used to leave you both hollowed out and bleeding in that college library.

never, not once, had you imagined this.

your eyes searched his face, tracking the faint twitch in his jaw, the damp strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. he looked completely exhausted. not just from the late shift or the winter storm, but with the structural fatigue of someone who had been carrying a weight so heavy for so long that he had forgotten how to stand upright without it.

and suddenly, the sterile basement walls dissolved, and all you could see was the university library. the fourth floor windows glowing long after midnight. the half-finished coffees growing cold between stacks of behavioral data prints. the almost mechanical way he used to ask if you had eaten because he knew your blood sugar crashed when you were anxious. the ridiculous arguments over predictive models that were always just a thinly veiled excuse to keep talking to each other.

the classroom. the freezing rain. the boy who had looked at you as though decoding your mind was the only thing that could ever salvage his own.

he had been there the entire time. buried beneath months of sterile protocol and polite nods.

"i'm so tired." you admitted, the confession so quiet it barely disturbed the heavy air between you.

jake’s expression softened, the clinical armor he wore upstairs completely melting away. "i know."

"no." your voice cracked, a raw edge of tears catching in your throat. "i'm tired of fighting you, jake. i'm tired of pretending you're just a name on a shift report."

his eyes closed for a brief second, his long eyelashes casting dark shadows over his cheekbones. when they opened again, they looked unbearably young. stripped of the professional detachment, they looked exactly like they had four years earlier, right before everything went up in flames.

"i'm tired too." he whispered.

the truth of it settled between your bodies with an astonishing gentleness. it wasn't dramatic. it wasn't a breakthrough. it was just a mutual surrender to the exhaustion of running from the same ghost.

you let out a shaky laugh, brushing the heel of your hand beneath your eyes to catch a stray tear before it could drop. "look at us."

he frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in that familiar, analytical way. "what?"

"we're clinical psychologists and behavioral researchers." you murmured, another ironic laugh escaping you. "we literally spend our entire lives studying human behavior, and somehow we've managed to spend years acting like complete idiots."

for a heartbeat, he simply stared at you, his thumb still resting against the curve of your hip. then, the corner of his mouth twitched.

and he laughed. really laughed. it wasn't the polite, polished sound he gave the department heads. it was that quiet chuckle that used to echo through the empty library stacks whenever you managed to prove one of his statistical algorithms wrong.

your chest tightened so sharply it felt like a physical ache.

"there you are." you whispered before your brain could filter the thought.

his smile faded, his dark irises locking onto yours with an intense gravity. "...what?"

"you." you said softly.

he didn't answer, he didn't have to. because for the first time since leaving, you weren't looking at the brilliant data analyst the hospital prided itself on. you were looking at jake. just jake. the boy who was just as terrified of his own depth as you were. and somehow, seeing him clearly after so much time hurt even worse than the silence.

somewhere outside the heavy vault door, the distant sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by the faint chime of the staff elevator. both of you instinctively glanced toward the aisle entrance.

reality was waiting upstairs. patients who needed evaluations. servers that needed to be brought back online. coworkers, morning rounds. the structured, clinical life you had both built to keep yourselves safe from one another.

"we should probably find those files." you murmured, though your hands didn't move from his sweater.

jake nodded, his chest rising and falling against yours in one last sigh. "yeah. vance is going to come down here himself if we take any longer."

neither of you moved. you stayed locked together in the narrow space, your bare thighs still cooling against the metal cabinet, the heat of the encounter lingering in the cold air like smoke.

then, after a long silence, he slowly reached down. his large hand slid over yours, his long fingers carefully intertwining with your own. it wasn't possessive. it wasn't the desperate, bruising grip from before. it was tentative. a lingering question you both should have had the courage to ask four years ago.

you looked down at your joined hands, the contrast of his pale skin against yours, before looking back up into his eyes.

but this time, you didn't pull away.

the end ⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

extra !

the next morning, the winter storm had cleared, leaving the hospital windows framing a blindingly white city. the central servers were back online, the basement archives were locked up, and the frantic chaos of the night shift had settled into the quiet hum of a friday morning.

you were standing at the nurse’s station on the psychiatric floor, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee and staring blankly at a patient chart. you were wearing a high necked black sweater — a very deliberate choice — and your body still ached with a deep exhaustion that felt incredibly sweet.

"you look like you got hit by a snowplow." lily said, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you. she was currently holding a clipboard with a stack of new intake forms while looking at your face intensely. "did you even sleep?"

"barely." you murmured, keeping your eyes on the chart. "the emergency intake was a mess until the network came back up."

"tell me about it. the doctors were breathing down everyone's neck." lily sighed, flipping through her papers. "speaking of last night, did you ever find that baseline evaluation for bed four? vance said he sent you down to the archives, and then he sent jake down to help you, and then-"

the double doors to the wing hissed open.

both of you looked up. jake was walking down the corridor, his lab coat back on, unbuttoned and fluttering slightly as he moved with his usual long strides. he had a tablet in one hand, his eyes scanning a spreadsheet of behavioral data metrics. he looked as sharp and analytical as ever, but his hair was slightly damp from a rushed morning shower, and his jaw wasn't clenched for once.

lily didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. she just kept talking. "anyway, vance said you both took forever, so i assumed the filing system down there was a disaster-"

as jake drew level with the nurse's station, he didn't stop. he didn't even slow down. but as he passed you, his left hand dropped slightly.

his long fingers brushed against yours where your hand was resting on the counter. it wasn't a casual slip. his index finger hooked tightly around yours for a fleeting second, his warm thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles in a private squeeze before he let go.

he didn't look at you, his eyes never leaving his tablet. he just kept walking toward the administration offices, his expression completely blank, a perfect picture of professional detachment.

but you froze. your breath hitched in your throat, and a sudden, uncontrollable flush crawled up your neck, burning hot against the fabric of your sweater. you quickly took a sip of your coffee to hide it, your heart doing a happy flip against your ribs.

lily’s voice abruptly cut off.

you blinked, keeping your eyes glued to the patient file, desperately trying to look natural. "what? you were saying about the filing system?"

silence.

slowly, you turned your head. lily wasn't looking at her clipboard anymore. she was staring down at your hand on the counter, then staring down the hallway at jake’s retreating back, and then very slowly turning her gaze back to your face. her jaw was slightly slack, her eyes wide with a mix of absolute shock and frantic mental math.

lily had been a triage nurse on the psychiatric floor for years, which meant she possessed a near supernatural ability to read a room in under two seconds. she could spot a patient’s subtle shift in agitation, a doctor’s hidden hangover, or a brewing crisis before anyone else even noticed.

and right now, all that clinical intuition had just locked onto you.

she didn't need a degree in psychology to do the math. the puzzle pieces she had been casually collecting for months suddenly snapped together with an audible click.

the polite elevator nods. the way you always volunteered to go to the upper floors when jake wasn't there. the way jake’s posture went completely rigid whenever your name was mentioned in staff meetings. the sudden appearance of your high-necked sweater on a friday morning.

"oh my god." lily whispered, her voice dropping to a scandalized hiss.

"lily, don't." you pleaded quietly, your face burning even hotter as you shoved the patient chart shut.

"the university library." she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she leaned in so close your foreheads almost touched. "the “toxic situationship” from grad school who you said “moved across the country”? the data analyst?! jake?!"

"keep your voice down!" you hissed, looking around frantically, but the nearby nurses were occupied with a medication cart.

"you two have been playing matching coat cold war for months in this hospital, right?" lily muttered, her brain completely short-circuiting with joy. she looked down the hallway again, where jake was just disappearing into vance's office. "he just touched your hand. he didn't even look at you! that was the most calculated, romantic, deeply unhinged thing i have ever seen a researcher do."

"it wasn't calculated." you mumbled, a helpless smile finally breaking through your defensive exterior.

lily pointed a finger at you, her eyes gleaming with absolute victory. "you're smiling. you're glowing. y/n, you went into the basement for files and came back with a boyfriend. i am analyzing this entire situation and concluding that you are a complete idiot for waiting so much time.”

"we're figuring it out." you whispered, your fingers subconsciously tracing the spot on your knuckles where his thumb had just been. "we're... trying to be careful."

lily let out a happy hum, tapping her clipboard against her chin as she looked at you with pure affection. "well, the data doesn't lie, doc. you're a goner. now, tell me everything before daniel comes back out."

“You know,” Jungwon drawls, and it’s as gleeful as it is gloating. You’ve always had the upper hand when it comes to stealth, and it’s always gotten on his nerves. Especially since you can never let it slide without drawing comparisons, without throwing a handful of well-timed jabs his way. 

If there’s one thing you never fail to remind Jungwon of, it’s that between the two of you, he’s the only one with any formal training. Not that it makes a difference. You’ve always been able to catch him off guard in ways he could never hope to replicate, no matter how much time he’s spent in combat lessons. 

But not this time. Tonight, finally, he’s caught you first. He’d anticipated your unannounced entrance into his bedchamber. You were smart enough to use the lesser known door, of course, the one that’s easy to miss among the twisting and turning tunnels that make up the labyrinth of palace corridors. But you’ve always been smarter than that. 

“If you wanted to sneak up on me,” Jungwon continues, a smile already stretching his lips even though he hasn’t turned around to look at you yet, “you shouldn’t have come through the gate near the dining hall.” 

He waits a moment for your grumbled response, grin widening when he imagines the flash of annoyance he’s sure must be crossing your features. 

When you fail to dignify his taunting with a response, he presses on, “I mean, come on, ____, I know you’re well aware that it’s completely visible from my window.”

Jungwon notices his own misstep a moment too late. Because it’s not like he’s been watching, or anything. Not like he’s been spending the last week with his eyes locked on the least guarded palace gate, wondering when you’ll finally grace him with your presence again. 

He’s the prince, after all. He has the crown and the inheritance and the title to prove it. He spends his days doing other things, important things, not waiting like a maiden trapped in a tower for you to come and save him from his misery.

Thankfully, the implication seems to slip your notice. Still standing behind him, you remain quiet. Jungwon doesn’t hear so much as a footstep. He imagines the way a pout is surely tugging your lips downwards, annoyed to have been finally bested at a game you’ve been winning for years now. 

You’d deny it, of course, if Jungwon were to ever call you out on it, but he already knows the image would still burn to memory. 

Pretty, pouty, ever so slightly wetted lips. So tempting, so damn distracting. Just begging to be covered by his own. 

Jungwon’s imagination will have to serve for now—he’s at least eighty percent sure he’d wind up either six feet under or severely maimed if he were ever to actually try it. Were he ever to attempt breaching the long standing barriers of personal space that have been established between the two of you. 

He’s sure that breaking them down would take more patience than he thinks he possesses, and certainly more than a kiss or five, but he can’t help but think he wouldn’t mind getting there, even if he had to take his time. 

The thought is enough to make him sigh. Shaking his head slightly, as if the action alone can clear away any unbidden thoughts, he returns his focus to you. The real you, standing behind him now, not the fantasies he pretends don’t burn into the backs of his eyelids whenever he tries to sleep. 

He can hear your breathing, and it grounds him back to the present. Labored and slightly ragged, it only makes his smile widen. Had you really put that much effort into sneaking up on him? And now, he’s thwarted you in the attempt. Oh, Jungwon already knows he’ll be gloating about this victory for ages. 

Prepared to do just that, he finally starts to turn, ready to begin making good use of the bragging rights this alone will afford him for the next fortnight. Jungwon would be lying if he said he weren’t equally restless at the thought of finally getting a good look at you. His first one in nearly three weeks. 

He can already picture it now, the way your eyes will narrow when they meet his, the way dejection will paint itself across your features at having been caught. The way you’ll bite at your bottom lip, pretending not to smile when his teasing turns ridiculous. 

But when Jungwon turns to face you, when his eyes finally land on you, separated only by the space of his bedroom, the grin falls from his lips as fast as it came. In its place is something he can only call unbridled, unadulterated horror. 

Expression slackening, a single breathless gasp falls from his lips. 

You’re bleeding. Profusely. There’s a tremble in your fingers where they wrap around your abdomen, doing little to conceal the blooms of deep, violent crimson that have begun to spread, seeping through your fingertips and clouding his vision. 

You’re still standing, but just barely. Body hunched forward, it looks like it hurts more than he could ever have the words to describe. The clench in your jaw is unmistakable, teeth gritted as the pain threatens to overwhelm you fully, bracing yourself against the tears welling in your eyes, the ones that, even now, you refuse to shed. 

Brave girl. Jungwon wants to scream. Brave, stupid girl. 

When he meets your gaze, he realizes that your fingers aren’t alone in their shaking. Your entire body is trembling, lower lip quivering as your mouth parts in a pitiful attempt at explanation. 

“I d—” is all you manage before another wave of throbbing agony steals your words. He watches, horrified, as the hand wound through the blood-soaked fabric of your tunic grips a little tighter.  

Distantly, Jungwon knows that he needs to do something. He understands that he needs to move, needs to do it now. But locked in his own inaction, time seems to have drawn to a standstill, seconds passing like a drip in a leaking faucet, moments churning onwards against his will. A sickening progression that he can do nothing but watch. 

He feels useless where he stands, frozen to the space he occupied. All of his instincts are screaming at him, to run, to find help. To do something, anything, but it’s as if his body lags behind the racing in his mind. As if the terrifying, gut-wrenching swirl of dread and fear and nausea have made him incapable of anything but bearing silent witness to the horrors unfolding a stone’s throw away from him. 

Your eyes are wide when they flicker up to meet his, still glimmering with the promise of tears. Your lips part again, breath fatally shallow if the rapid rise and fall of your chest is anything to go by. 

Jungwon can barely hear you, can hardly hear anything but the thunderous rushing in his ears, the erratic thrumming of his own heartbeat. The panic that has settled heavy in his mind and scrambled his thoughts into something useless. 

It’s hardly audible, too low, too breathy to be even considered a whisper, but when you finally manage to finish the words you tried to get out earlier, they resonate all too much like an apology. 

Eyes glassy, body broken, you tell him, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

It’s all you manage before you collapse to the floor of his bedroom in an undignified heap, crimson spilling from your side, barely a ghost of the girl he knows. 

Against the stone, blood begins to pool. Thick, dark, and entirely too quickly it seeps into the seams between the stones of his floor. 

The sight of it, of life leaving your body in a river of red, is what finally spurs him to action, what has all of his protective instincts gathering to override the shock. 

In the space of a heartbeat, Jungwon is all but collapsing at your side, knees bruising as he they hit the stone with enough force to make his teeth clench. He hardly feels it. His own pain is somewhere distant now, hidden behind the terror, the white hot fear that pools in his stomach when he looks at you. 

Jungwon does his best to guide his touch into something gentle as he maneuvers your weakened body into the cradle of his arms, wracking his brain for something, anything that will serve him now. Trying to recall every piece of medical knowledge he’s ever come across as the desperation threatens to turn his thoughts hazy instead of sharpening them. 

Head cradled in the crook of his elbow, your eyelids start to flutter as he pulls you tighter against his chest. One hand still clutched to your abdomen, you bring your other to the side of his face. 

Your touch is weak. Jungwon can hardly feel your fingertips as they skim along the side of his face, leaving streaks of red,your own spilled blood, in their wake. 

“Jungwon,” you whisper, touch lingering for a moment longer before your hand falls back to the stone beneath you. 

Tears are spilling now—his, not yours—and he watches, shuddering, as they drip onto your skin, gather in the hollow just above your collarbone. 

The breaths you draw are labored. Slow, ragged. You’re trembling again, and Jungwon can’t tell if it’s your doing or his. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, lashes fluttering as your body becomes heavier in his hold. Jungwon can’t see, can hardly think, but he vows to himself then and there that whoever did his to you will never know a single moment of anything resembling peace ever again. “I know I shouldn’t—” your words die for a moment, lost in the strangled gasp that closes around your throat. Rawer, rougher, weaker, you finally manage, "shouldn't have come here.”

It’s an apology, the first one he’s ever gotten from you, and Jungwon hates it more than anything. It’s so unlike you, so against everything he’s come to understand about you, to be worried about something as trivial as propriety. Objectively, you shouldn’t have snuck your way into his the castle and certainly not the crown prince’s bedroom any of the times before either, but that never stopped you from becoming just as regular a fixture as the curtains the line his window. 

And that’s what scares Jungwon more than anything, the way it sounds like you’re trying to make amends. The way it sounds like you’re trying to tell him goodbye. 

Scattered across the floor of his bedroom, you’re hardly coherent and he’s nothing but terrified. Jungwon feels like a stranger in his own body, as if he’s watching from above, paralyzed, as a nauseating scene unfolds beneath him, out of his reach and out of his control.

He wants to scream, wants to plead with any god that will listen, to beg them to just allow his this. To let him keep you. He already knows he’d give anything in return. 

“Shh,” he manages to whisper, voice shaking in the quiet. “You’re okay,” he assures, and he doesn’t know which of you he’s trying to convince. His words are a prayer, a bargain he’d sacrifice anything to make. “You’re going to be okay, just…” One of his hands smoothes across your forehead, pushing back the hair that’s fallen across your fluttering eyelids. “Just stay with me, alright?” His voice breaks on the last syllable. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Jungwon knows that he would rather forfeit his own life than watch you bleed out against the stones of his bedroom, watch life drain from your body sprawled across his lap, held in his. But with every strained breath he feels you heave into heavy lungs, it seems a fate already sealed, a destiny already foretold. A tragedy moments from becoming something there will be no coming back from. 

Finally, finally, his fear sharpens into something that spurs action instead of stifling it. 

Hands still shaking, vision still blurring, Jungwon releases your head to let it rest against his knee instead. With hands steadier than he thought himself capable of, Jungwon begins to tear at the sleeve of his tunic. 

Knuckles whitening around the strip of fabric, he lets muscle memory guide his movement as he forms the beginnings of a makeshift tourniquet. 

His vision is blurring, mind racing. Jungwon has never had to do this in a context that wasn’t carefully controlled, a task to check off a list. A theoretical repetition of a hypothetical situation. 

He’s never been this terrified in his life.

Distantly, somewhere in the far reaches of your consciousness, you feel a warm hand slide across your abdomen, replacing your own weakening touch. Skin against yours, there’s a sickening, slippery feeling that shouldn’t be there. Your own blood is warm, too warm as it leaves the constraints of your body.

You hear another fervent whisper, a vague sort of expletive as something around you tightens. Pain is there too, of course, but it feels far away now. Less urgent than it was before. Brow furrowing, it’s suddenly difficult to remember why it even hurt in the first place. What brought you here at all. 

Maybe if you could just open your eyes, just one last time, it would all make sense again. Your eyelids are heavy, resistant as you try to make them open. 

Looking up, it takes you a moment to recognize the man above you. Jungwon, you know. Although you’ve never seen quite so much panic on his features. It makes you want to frown, to reach up and smooth the crease between his brow with your fingertips. To push back the hair falling loose across his forehead and promise him that it will all be alright. 

But your strength is failing you, and with every shallow breath, resolve bleeds into confusion, dizziness that you can’t find your way through. 

Eyelids fluttering again, the last thing you see before the world goes dark is the moonlight reflected against the glassy tint of Jungwon’s wide-eyed gaze.

…..

There was always something different about Jungwon. Maybe it’s the blind optimism you thought you were completely robbed of long years ago. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s one of the only people even close to your age that you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with. Or maybe this is all just mindless manipulation and you’ve done nothing but fall straight into his well-laid trap. 

Whatever it may be, the truth remains that for all of your many differences, for all of the exhaustive reasons you should never have been able to get along, you’ve never quite been able to feel anything other than a distinct sort of fondness for the crown prince of your kingdom. 

Because whenever you stripped the truth down to its bones, Yang Jungwon was always just… different.

For as long as memory serves, you’ve had your fair share of run-ins with the royals and their equally well-regarded and well-to-do acquaintances. There have been enough close calls and thinly veiled threats to last a lifetime. After all, for as long as you’ve been sneaking into the palace, you’ve been getting almost caught doing it. 

It’s why you’re able to say with so much blind confidence that Jungwon is nothing like the rest of them. 

For one, kindness seems to come to him easily. He may still be more prone to following the rules and traditions he’s been raised to cling to with jewel encrusted clothing and little regard for anyone else, but he’s also genuine. He’s good where it counts. 

He’s a listener, too, and an excellent one at that. You can’t even begin to count the number of evenings you’ve passed ranting to him, explaining to him in excruciating detail all the ways in which his family regularly fails their country. And Jungwon, despite the way he was taught to crush dissent with an iron first, would just listen to you with a thoughtful furrow between his brows like he cared about what you thought. Like your words and opinions and perspective were precious to him. 

And, as it stands, you’ve practically grown up with him. All in the secrecy of shadows, of course. The king would all but keel over dead on his own throne if he ever learned the truth about the company his only son keeps. If he knew that he spent his adolescence blowing off archery and modern languages to trade ideas and frolic around with a commoner. And a girl, at that. 

The implications, the scandal of it all, would simply be too much to bear. 

Jungwon was well aware of the potential consequences of his choices, even then. One does not inherit a kingdom without a fair bit of burden, after all. He understood that his life was one that would be lived under a microscope, that even bound by blood, the blessing of his father was something that would have to be earned, not given. 

Still, every time the opportunity presented itself, he took the risk. He did his best to make his steps untraceable, of course. Made sure to cover his secret rendezvous with believable half-truths and carefully placed lies. 

But there was always a risk. Always a chance that the truth would reach prying eyes and unwanted ears. 

It was easy enough to explain on your end—you were an orphan of war with few prospects and even fewer acquaintances. You had little to lose, and you’d never had anything to call your own, nothing that could be taken from you. 

You’d also never had a real friend, and despite all of the arguably more urgent needs in your life—things like food, shelter, and safety—you were still a child. And the pang of loneliness still stung like even hunger had never quite been able to. 

There’s something almost tragic, in retrospect, of just how much you craved something as menial as human connection even as you watched the world around you fall to pieces, burn to ashes.

For Jungwon, you suppose, it was more or less the same. He may have been a product of the palace, may have spent his entire life thinking of wants and needs as synonyms, but he was a kid too. One that felt just as lost as you, even with more food and clothes and knowledge at his disposal than he could ever know what to do with. 

As it turned out, castle walls were secure and enviable and beautiful, but they were also cold. Not the same kind of cold you’d come to know. Jungwon, after all, had never faced a winter full of frostbite. 

But cold, as you learned, could mean many things. And no matter how much firewood he had at his disposal, no matter how warm and wealthy and well-fed Jungwon had been, there was always a certain chill that lingered, a mirror image of that same gut-wrenching, ever-aching loneliness you’d only ever seen in yourself. 

And perhaps you should start at the beginning, or at least somewhere close to it. 

You were eleven years old the first time you met crown prince Yang Jungwon. 

It had glittered like a brilliant idea at the time, but retrospect is rarely in agreement with the choices made by a starving child. Still, you’d been surviving on your own for long enough to be imbued with a false sense of confidence. You’d learned to be quick on your feet and inconspicuous when it counted.

The first man you’d ever struck a deal with in a dark alley, away from wandering eyes and lit torches, had commended you for that—your uncanny ability to get lost in a crowd, to take without leaving a trace.

It gave you a false sense of security. That, combined with the hunger-borne haze that clouded most of your waking thoughts, was enough to make you feel invincible the first time you breached the castle barriers. You still remember that day as if it were yesterday, down to the worn trousers and blouse with more holes than remaining stitches you’d been wearing. 

You were acting of your own volition, a foolish plan you’d hatched all on your own. You could already envision all the silver coins, all the extra rations you’d be given with the contraband goods you were about to smuggle. 

And your mission was, for the most part, a sweeping success. You’d managed to weigh down your pockets with enough jewelry from one of the lower security vaults to keep several families fed for the coming weeks. 

But at eleven, there were lessons you hadn’t yet learned. 

And the disarming allure of almost was one of them. 

Because almost was very rarely enough, especially when the established binary presented only two options: life and death. 

You were almost back to safety, to freedom. You were one damningly long corridor away from the same palace gate you’d snuck in through when the sight of another person a mere twenty feet in front of you had stopped you dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t be here.” It was the only thing the stranger said. Despite the obvious truth, his tone was devoid of malice. You still remember the way the shadowy figure had stepped into the torchlight, the way you realized with slow certainty that he wasn’t a soldier or a guard but a boy. 

You can still recall the way he quirked his head at you, raising an eyebrow like he was in any position to be handing out admonishments. You thought it ridiculous, even then. Even with your obvious lack of an upper hand, considering that he couldn’t have been much older than you. 

You’d never had much respect for authority to begin with, and the fact that this child felt he had the right to tell you where you were and were not supposed to be only added insult to injury. It didn’t matter if he was right. It didn’t matter that you really shouldn’t have been there.

The hunger gnawing at your bones and the rising sense of desperation had you throwing your last scraps of caution to the wind when you should have been keeping them close to the chest. 

“And what are you going to do about it?” You raised your chin in an imitation of defiance, bravery you didn’t quite feel. 

It was a challenge if Jungwon had ever heard one, but to your immense surprise, he treated it like a question. 

And by the time heavy echoes of nearby footsteps you were sure really did belong to palace guard began to reach your ears, he had found his answer. 

“Follow me.”

You didn’t trust people. Even at eleven, the world was rarely kind to you. When it was, it was only in exchange for something selfish. 

You didn’t trust strange boys in palace corridors and you certainly didn’t accept their outstretched hands when they offered them to you. 

But there was something in his eyes, even then, that made you think maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a fight you had to endure alone. 

So, without looking back, you interlaced your fingers with his, pockets heavy with stolen gems as you ran down winding corridors hand in hand, away from the sound of fading footsteps behind you.

…..

“Now’s not a good time.” Jungwon was already shaking his head before you could fully work your way through his bedroom window. Even from the shadows, you could see the forlorn twist of his lips, the grim set of his expression. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Why he even bothers saying it at this point, you’re not sure. There’s never been a time when you should be inside the palace walls, but as it stands, it’s become something of a routine. Besides, you have reasons of your own. There’s nothing frivolous about your appearance tonight. 

“It’s important,” you try to argue as your feet land on the solid stone of his bedroom floor. 

But Jungwon won’t hear it, not tonight. “And it’s still not a good time.”

He turns away from you then, and you’re graced with the sight of his side profile, jaw clenched as his throat works around a swallow. 

He’s stressed, you realize. Worn thin. 

But some things take precedence over fragile feelings, and if anyone can set aside their personal struggle for the sake of the common good, you’re sure it’s him. 

Still, Jungwon is tight-lipped when he reiterates, “You need to leave.”

He’s never asked you to before. It catches you off guard, makes you feel suddenly unsure as you shift your weight between your feet, hesitating. You bite your tongue for a moment, watching moonlight cascade over the tense set of his shoulders, the tight line of his jaw. Your fingers twitch uselessly at your sides, imbued with the strangest urge to trace the same path as your eyes, to ghost over his skin until you feel the tension melt away beneath them. 

You release a small sigh instead. 

“You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.” It’s true. At seventeen, you’ve known one another for six long years now. Never once have you asked anything of him that wasn’t crucial. Essential. 

You’re practically begging him at this point, but pride is nothing but collateral damage when lives are on the line. “Please, Jungwon,” you whisper. 

A fraction of the tension eases from his jaw. You consider it a small victory. 

But he’s not willing to give in yet. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Jungwon turns to face you fully, then. With candlelight casting shadows over the angular planes of his features, you realize that you may have been wrong in your previous assessment. Because the furrow in his brow and glint to his unusually sharp eyes don’t seem to be indicative of stress. Jungwon looks… angry. 

“Look,” he sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, but it’s going to have to wait. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but there’s been a fresh round of attacks along the northern border. My father’s leaving to assess the damage himself, and he’s left me in charge of hearings in the meantime, and—”

“I know about the attacks.”

“—it’s a lot of pr—What?” Jungwon stops short when your words finally register, when they break through his own rambling to reach his ears. “You…” he trails off, confusion pulling his brow downward. “How?”

“Because they’re not fucking attacks, Jungwon.” You sigh now, too, head tilting as you plead for a bit of his understanding. “I don’t know how, but the castle caught wind of one of the smuggling rings. The attacks are an excuse, a distraction.” You meet his gaze, finding no comfort in the furrow of his brow. “A cover while they hunt down the ring leader.”

Under the glow of moonlight, Jungwon pales. “I… How do you know that?”

Another sigh breaches the barrier of your lips. You already know he’s not going to like what you say next, but you don’t have enough time to waste it arguing. You suppose it’s best to just rip away the bandage as quickly as you can. A clean break. 

“Because I work for him.”

You watch as his expression shifts. Eyes widening before they narrow, lips parting. The outrage in Jungwon’s furious gaze is just as unmistakable as the betrayal. But among all his swirling emotions, you note the absence of surprise. 

“You…” His voice is low. You break eye contact then, already knowing you won’t be able to handle the accusation in his eyes. Not tonight, not for this. “You what?” Ever the prince, he’s been trained in this. In negotiation, in interrogation. His words manage to be sharp even while his fingers twitch at his sides. 

“I said I work for him.” There’s defiance when you lift your chin. You’re not a child anymore, and you won’t pay for crimes you haven’t committed. Won’t apologize for sins you don’t regret. “I’ve been smuggling goods into the kingdom across the northern border for the last two yea—”

And despite the way Jungwon has countless times proven content to let his head rest in your lap, doing nothing but listening while minutes turn to hours, he doesn’t seem to be interested in extending the same courtesy tonight. When he interrupts you, his words are ice. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, ___? Do you have any idea—”

But you won’t hear it either. Not when everything you’ve done, every law you’ve broken, has meant food on the table for families that have been forgotten and discarded by their own kingdom, by their so-called leaders who swore to protect them. 

Blame may not rest on Jungwon's broad shoulders directly, but he doesn’t understand, not in the way you do. 

“And do you have any idea what that damn trade embargo has meant for those of us who weren’t lucky enough to be born behind palace walls?” You’re angry now too, chest heaving with the force of your words. “I know diamonds may have been hard to come by for you these last few years, but some of us haven’t had food.”

And now Jungwon is the one breaking eye contact.

Coward, you think, chin rising another fraction of an inch in furious defiance. How dare he accuse you of betrayal when everything you’ve done has been for the betterment of others?

How dare he question your loyalty to the crown when that same crown has failed its own people for the thousandth time?

You’re about to tell him as much when the soft murmur of his voice rings out against the stifled silence that’s settled around you. 

“I—” There’s pain you weren’t expecting etched through the single syllable, embedded across his features, in the tight screw of his eyelids or maybe the sudden sag of his broad shoulders. It leaves you more than a little confused. 

The fight, the anger, the disappointment, you’d prepared for. But the unmistakable hurt you see displayed so clearly across Jungwon’s open gaze? You have no idea what to do with it. It has your brow drawing downward as you struggle to put the pieces together. 

Finally, after the silence extends a moment longer, he all but pleads, “I told you I’d take care of you.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was never about allegiance to the crown at all. He’s not concerned with your distrust of the kingdom; he’s betrayed by your lack of faith in him. It’s a dizzying realization, one that leaves you treading with no sense of direction. 

And he’s right, you suppose, all things considered. The food rations he never lets you leave his bedroom without are enough to stretch for weeks if you’re smart. If you weren’t sharing them. The near perfect fit of your latest pair of trousers isn’t a coincidence, either. It is, however, the work of a palace tailor. 

Jungwon thinks that you’re doing this for the petty cash, you realize. Thinks you’d rather risk your life on the northern border than your pride in the privacy of his bedroom. He thinks that the faith you place in him is lacking a solid foundation to rest on. He’s hurt. 

You watch as his throat contracts around a swallow, as he opens his mouth while you remain silent, still standing inches from him. “I thought I told you that you could come to me. I thought…” he closes his eyes for a moment, as if the thought alone is unbearable, “I thought you knew that.”

The silence that surrounds you extends for a moment longer. Hands falling to your sides, all of the defense drains from your body. Your eyes, your features are open when you finally bring yourself to look at him. 

“I…” The waver in your voice is unmistakable, even as you try to keep your words unaffected. “You did, I mean.” You draw a long inhale. “And I do know that.”

Jungwon’s exhale is rough, consuming. “Then why…” his words die as his long hair falls over his eyes, shaking his head slightly before bringing his eyes back to yours. 

You let him search your gaze for a moment, unmoving as he lands on the honesty he’d been so desperate to find. 

Then, you turn away once again. This time, your gaze falls on the city in the distance, just visible from his open bedroom window. The curtains around it flutter in the evening breeze. 

On the horizon, the city glows as torches replace sunlight. Bathed in the shimmer of the moon and infinite stars above, it looks almost peaceful from here. A far cry from the truth. From the pain and suffering that can be found at every turn, in every nook and cranny. 

Distance may smooth the city into something beautiful, but a view from the palace will never paint the full picture. 

So you tell him, eyes still trained on that elusive lie in the distance, "Because there are a lot of people out there that don’t have anyone to take care of them.” You’re trying to tread lightly, and it puts a tremor in your words. “I know it’s different, that you don’t always see things the same way from here.”

Behind you, Jungwon’s jaw clenches, like he wants to interrupt. Like he wants to argue. Eyes tracing your profile as you turn back halfway, he thinks better of it. Instead, he listens as you say, 

“I mean, you remember the day we met. You remember what I looked like.”

He does. It’s an image he wishes he could unburn from the backs of his eyelids of restless nights. It haunts him, how hollow, how utterly lifeless you’d been. How even at eleven, you were already so well acquainted with all the ways in which the world could fail you. 

You take a deep breath, turning all the way now. If there were ever a time for bold words, you suppose it’s now. You have his focus, his attention. You think you may even have his trust. 

Facing him fully, you hold his unblinking gaze. “That’s what they look like, Jungwon.” Your eyes are imploring, not accusing, as you beg for bits of his understanding. “The people of your father’s kingdom.” Something akin to despair flashes across his feature, gone too quickly to pinpoint. “And they need someone to take care of them, too.”

He knows it. He understands your desire to take the world you see and make it better than it found you. He admires it. More fiercely than he thinks he could ever admit. And yet…

“I just…” Jungwon knows that his family has spent far too long doing far more harm than good. He knows that it’s high time things changed. He wants to play a part in it, too. Wants to leave the world better than he found it. But it doesn’t stop him from asking, words cloaked in with the fear of losing the one good thing that’s ever truly been his, “Why does it have to be you?”

…..

That’s the problem, he thinks, as he watches the shallow rise and all of your chest where you lay against his ivory silk sheets. Then and now. It always had to be you. 

Sat up straight with the notches of his spine digging into the oak headboard behind him, Jungwon lets his eyes trace over you without restraint. 

He’s always hiding, always shying away. He’s always afraid that you’ll meet his wandering gaze and find it unworthy. That if he looks at you too long, you’ll see him for what he really is, that you’ll find all of the fear and regret that keep him tethered to tradition. 

That it will drive you away for good. That you’ll never sneak through the least guarded gate of the palace again, that he’ll never get to see you climb through his bedroom window in the dead of night again. 

But now, your eyelids are closed. They have been for hours. You’re still, uncannily so, save for the shallow rise and fall of your chest. 

Again, he finds himself reaching over, letting his fingertips press gently against the clammy skin of your throat. He needs to reassure himself, needs to remind himself in every way that he can that you’re still here. That he hasn’t lost you yet. Not tonight. The pulse that greets him is faint but steady. Even in your weakened state, the rhythm is far more even than the erratic pattern of his own. 

It shouldn’t be like this, is all he can think. You shouldn’t be here, fighting for consciousness against his sheets. Shouldn't have a near fatal wound staining what had once been the pristine sleeve of his shirt. Shouldn’t be drawing dangerously shallow breaths in the privacy of his bedroom, not like this. 

You shouldn’t be paying for the crimes of people like him. 

He feels you stir at his side, your first real movement in hours, and it spurs him into immediate action. Bending, he puts himself as close to you as he dares, something akin to hope fluttering through his chest as he watches your brow furrow. 

Slowly, your eyelids begin to flutter, until you’re looking up at his ceiling, gaze still lost somewhere in your dreams. 

After a moment, your eyes land on him. “Jungwon?” Your voice rasps with disuse, scraped raw. Your fingers twitch as if you want to reach for him. He does the work for you instead, reaching to cover your cold hands with his own, intertwining your fingers into a hold he hopes will withstand what is yet to come. 

“I’m here,” he whispers into the dark of his room. Bending further, he lowers himself all the way until he reaches you, brushing a feather light kiss against the skin of your temple. 

And this time—he vows, letting his gaze turn towards the city in the distance that he can just barely see from his open window—this time, he will be. 

the sound of his laughter was always just a little too quiet to hear from across the floor, but you always knew exactly when it happened. you could tell by the way the girls in marketing would suddenly lean over their desk dividers, or how the receptionist would find a reason to walk all the way to the printer on your side of the building just to catch his eye as he passed.

yang jungwon had a way of distributing himself so thinly that everyone felt like they had a piece of him, yet nobody actually held anything at all.

it was a strange kind of currency he traded in. he didn’t have the loud, exhausting arrogance of the men you usually avoided. he didn’t smirk, he didn’t linger a second too long in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable. he was just... soft. incredibly, terrifyingly attentive. he remembered how people took their tea, he noticed when someone looked a little tired, and he always had the right words to smooth over a mistake before the department head could even find out about it.

you had spent eight months watching the cycle repeat itself. a new girl would start in accounting or design, she would get overwhelmed by the workload, and jungwon would appear out of nowhere with a reassuring smile and a cup of coffee. and a few weeks later, she would be looking at him with that same dazed, mesmerized expression you saw on everyone else. he got his shifts covered, his spreadsheets double-checked, and an absolute shield of loyalty from the entire floor, all because he looked at people like they were the only thing that mattered in a room full of fluorescent lights.

you hated how clearly you saw the pattern. it made you feel detached, like a ghost lingering on the edges of a game everyone else was happily playing. loneliness did that to you — it made you hyper fixate on the details of other people’s lives because your own felt so hollow. and maybe, just maybe, it was also about the fact that you were the only person on this floor who he hadn't tried to use that gentle charm on yet. it felt spiteful, almost, like he knew you were watching and had decided you weren't worth the effort of the routine.

you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing your eyes back to your spreadsheet. do not look. do not care.

"you're going to get a headache if you keep staring at that screen without blinking, y/n." your pulse gave a stupid, frantic flutter before you could stop it. he was right there, his shadow leaning gently over the divider of your cubicle. he looked so terribly neat, the sleeves of his grey button down rolled up just to his forearms, his dark hair falling perfectly across his forehead. he didn’t look like someone who had just spent the last twenty minutes quietly convincing the senior supervisor to give him an extra week on his report. he just looked like a concerned coworker.

"i'm almost done." you whispered, your fingers staying frozen over the keyboard. you didn't want to look up. looking up meant acknowledging the way he was tilting his head, the way he was offering you that quiet, private space he seemed to create wherever he stood.

"you said that an hour ago when i walked past." he murmured, his voice slipping into that gentle register that always felt like a secret meant only for you. he set a small paper bag from the bakery downstairs on the edge of your desk, careful not to disturb your papers. "you skipped the team lunch. i brought you one of those lemon tarts you mentioned liking last month." 

your heart ached a little, a sharp spike of anxiety hitting your chest. you hadn't even realized he had been listening when you said that to a completely different coworker in the breakroom weeks ago. that was his trick. he collected information like weights, saving them until he could wrap them up in sweet gestures, leaving you with no way to push him away without looking like the bad guy.

"jungwon, you shouldn't have." you said, trying to force your voice to sound flat, or at least indifferent. you finally met his eyes, searching for a slip, a hint of the calculation you knew was behind them. but there was nothing. just those wide, dark eyes looking at you with a steady warmth that made you feel completely exposed.

"i wanted to." he said simply, a tiny, almost imperceptible crinkle forming at the corners of his eyes. "you look tired, y/n. let me do something nice for you for once. okay?" the way he said for once, as if he had been waiting for the opportunity to care about you, made a bitter knot form in your throat. he was opening the door to the routine, and the worst part was how badly a small, pathetic part of you wanted to step inside.

you looked down at the brown paper bag, the grease from the pastry already leaving a translucent circle on the paper. it felt heavy, like an anchor pulling you straight into the deep end of his world. if you reached for your purse right now, if you pulled out a crisp bill and insisted on paying him back, you would look incredibly cold. you would be the girl who couldn't just accept a simple favor from a coworker who was only trying to be thoughtful.

but you needed a barrier. you needed to prove to yourself that you weren't like that girl from accounting, or the receptionists, or any of the other people who let his probably fake kindness soften their edges until there was nothing left to protect themselves with.

"how much was it?" you asked, your fingers gripping the edge of your desk a little tighter as you kept your voice low, trying to maintain the flat, corporate boundary between you. "i can venmo you. i also think i have some cash in my bag."

jungwon didn't move. he didn't blink, either. he just kept staring down at you, his thumb slowly brushing against the seam of his trouser pocket. for a second, just a tiny fraction of a second, the soft crinkle around his eyes vanished, replaced by an expression that was entirely unreadable. it was the closest you had ever seen his mask come to slipping, and it made your stomach do a small anxious flip.

but then, as quickly as it had gone, the sweetness returned. it bloomed across his face like it belonged there, gentle and effortless. "don't do that, y/n.” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, sounding almost disappointed. not angry, just gently hurt, like a friend whose genuine intentions had been misunderstood. he reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch above the paper bag, not quite touching it, but close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his laundry detergent mixed with the sweet scent of the lemon. "it's just a tart. you don't owe me anything for it."

you hated how good he was at this. he made your self-preservation look like paranoia. "i just don't like feeling like i owe people things." you whispered, finally looking away from his eyes because the intensity of his gaze was starting to make your chest feel tight. you focused on his collar instead, tracing the neat, sharp line of his grey button down. "especially at work."

"you don't owe me." he repeated softly. he leaned a little closer over the divider, his shadow completely enveloping your desk space now, cutting off the rest of the bustling floor. "i promise. consider it an apology for the project timeline being so messy this week. i know it's been stressful for you."

he hadn't even been the one who messed up the timeline, it had been the senior supervisor's fault. yet there he was, taking the blame, wrapping it up in a pastry, and handing it to you like a peace offering. it was perfect. it was entirely unassailable.

before you could think of another way to push him back, another way to say no without sounding entirely irrational, he was already straightening up. he patted the top of the cubicle divider twice, the dull thud of his palms against the fabric signaling the end of your private pocket of time.

"eat it before the sugar melts." he said, giving you one last, lingering smile that felt entirely too warm for a tuesday afternoon in a fluorescent lit office. "i'll see you in the meeting tomorrow, y/n."

you didn't answer. you just watched his back as he turned around and walked away, his stride easy and completely relaxed. and then, you watched the trap reset. 

barely three steps away from your desk, he ran into the assistant manager. within two seconds, jungwon’s posture shifted, his head tilting in that familiar, attentive way as he listened to the older man complain about a client. he smiled, offered a reassuring nod, and effortlessly slid back into being the floor's favorite person. it was like his conversation with you hadn't even happened. it was just another stop on his daily rounds.

you sank back into your ergonomic chair, feeling smaller than you had five minutes ago. the paper bag sat on the edge of your desk, a tiny, sweet monument to your own weakness. you hadn't won. you hadn't even fought back.

when you finally decided to pack your bag, the fourteenth floor was entirely dead. the quiet was suffocating, broken only by the distant, rhythmic hum of the building's ventilation system. you had stayed late on purpose, hiding behind the excuse of a heavy workload just to avoid having to walk out the double doors at the same time as everyone else. you needed the air to clear.

you walked down the narrow carpeted hallway toward the back supply room to drop off a final stack of hard copy client files before heading to the elevators. the lights in the back corridor were completely out, the darkness only cut by the faint city lights bleeding through the floor to ceiling glass windows at the end of the hall.

as you neared the heavy wooden door of the archive room, you realized it wasn’t fully latched. a thin sliver of light was slicing across the dark carpet. and then, you heard a sound that made your entire body freeze in place.

it wasn't a murmur about spreadsheets or a polite laugh. it was a breathy gasp, followed by the distinct, unmistakable friction of fabric rubbing against a hard desk surface.

"jungwon, please-"

it was sarah from design. her voice was completely unrecognizable, stripped of her usual corporate composure, thick with an open, desperate kind of heat.

"shhh." a voice quieted her. low, raspy, and completely dripping with that gentle cadence. "someone might still be on the floor. stay quiet for me, yeah?"

your heart gave a violent, sickening lurch against your ribs, your fingers locking onto the edge of the file folders so hard the cardboard bent. you shouldn't have looked. every piece of self-preservation you had left was screaming at you to turn around, to run to the elevators and pretend you hadn't heard a thing. but you were paralyzed. your eyes moved to the small gap in the doorframe, your breath catching in your throat. through the crack, the scene was explicit, dark, and entirely heavy.

sarah was pushed back onto the edge of the heavy wooden archive table, her knee length pencil skirt hitched all the way up past her thighs, her fingers tangled frantically in the dark hair of the boy pressing between her legs. jungwon’s shirt was completely unbuttoned, hanging loosely off his shoulders, exposing the pale, sharp lines of his chest and back as he moved against her. he wasn't being rough. even like this, hidden in a dark room against company policy, his movements carried that same terrifyingly smooth rhythm. his head was buried in the crook of her neck, his lips leaving slow, wet tracks along her collarbone, his hands gripping her hips to anchor her as he drove into her with a quiet deliberation. every roll of his hips elicited a muffled, shaking groan from the girl beneath him, her eyes completely blown out, utterly ruined by him.

"you're so good." jungwon whispered against her skin, his voice hitching slightly as his pace quickened, his thumbs digging into her skin. it was said with that same comforting warmth he used when he was handing someone a pastry or fixing a computer screen. "so sweet for me, sarah."

seeing him use that exact same tone — the soft sweetness he used to navigate the bullpen — while his body was violently taking someone against an office desk made a cold wave of humiliation wash over you.

he really was doing it. all of it. he wasn't just collecting favors, he was consuming them. and less than four hours ago, he had leaned over your cubicle divider, looked into your eyes with that exact same soft warmth, and told you he wanted to do something nice for you for once. 

you backed away from the door. you had thought you were being smart by observing him, thought you were immune because you saw the matrix of his charm. but the truth was, you were just another potential name on the rotation of favors he hadn't gotten around to breaking yet.

inside the room, the sudden, sharp rustle of your folders against your coat cut through the quiet. the rhythmic sound of his movements stopped instantly. through the gap, you saw jungwon’s head lift, his dark eyes instantly cutting through the dim light straight toward the door frame, his chest heaving as he stared directly at the shadow you were casting on the floor.

you didn't wait for him to pull away. you turned and ran toward the elevators, your chest heavy with an indescribable, uncomfortable feeling as the doors finally closed.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the next morning, the fourteenth floor swallowed you whole, completely unchanged. the office was just its usual, sterile self. you sat at your desk, eyes fixed on your monitors, trying to drown out the intrusive images from the night before. because the worst part — the thing you refused to admit to yourself as you stared at your spreadsheets — was how it had actually looked. the sharp lines of his bare back, the tight grip of his hands on sarah's hips, the low, raspy weight of his voice... it had been explicit. it had been dangerous. and god help you, it had been the most terrifyingly attractive thing you had ever seen.

you bit the inside of your cheek until it tasted like iron. do not think about it. do not fall for it. you weren't going to be another project he managed. you weren't going to let a few seconds of office floor smut shake the armor you had spent months building. besides, you were certain he would never try to win your favor like that anyway — he clearly wasn't interested. you had never had those kinds of interactions with him, which only made the fact that you were fixating so hard on the memory feel even creepier. you were acting like a voyeur, replaying a performance that wasn't meant for you, all because the raw control he had displayed had been so violently hot, if you were honest. you needed to go back to your normal self and not think about him ever again.

the conference room smelled of stale catering coffee and the chemical tang of dry erase markers. everyone was crammed inside, reducing themselves to a neat row of titles and deliverables. sarah sat three chairs down from you, her posture slightly rigid, her eyes tracking jungwon’s every move with a quiet devotion. but she wasn't special. you watched how he shifted his attention effortlessly — offering a quick, easy laugh to one of the guys from logistics, leaning in to whisper a reassuring note to the senior supervisor, making sure that everyone felt chosen. he didn't look like a man who had spent the previous evening ruining a coworker against an archive table. he looked immaculate. when the supervisor praised the recent turnaround on the quarterly reports, jungwon offered a modest smile, deferring the credit entirely to the rest of the team. he was a calculated machine, running on the fuel of everyone's compliance, using his charm interchangeably to keep the floor running exactly how he wanted it to.

you kept your gaze firmly fixed on your ipad, drawing a series of neat, aggressive boxes in the margins. you were an observer. you just had to get through the remaining forty minutes of this meeting, go back to your cubicle, and bury yourself in data.

"y/n?" the supervisor’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. 

you blinked, pulling your shoulders back into a sharp corporate posture. "yes?"

"jungwon mentioned that the client files from the fourteenth floor archives were still showing a few discrepancies. did you manage to drop off the hard copies last night?"

your breath caught in your throat. your fingers tightened around your pen so hard the plastic clicked. reluctantly, your eyes shifted across the table. 

jungwon was looking right at you. he didn't have his usual soft, accommodating expression. he was leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a terrifyingly unblinking intensity. there was no warmth in them now. no sweet, harmless coworker charm.

it was a dare.

"i dropped them off." you said, your voice a fraction thinner than you wanted it to be. you forced yourself to maintain eye contact, refusing to let him see the frantic flutter of your pulse. "right before i left."

"perfect." jungwon said softly. he didn't break his gaze. his fingers stopped typing entirely, resting flat against the aluminum casing of his laptop. "i went back in there this morning to organize them. i noticed a few of the folders were a bit bent at the edges. like someone had been in a rush."

a suffocating wave of heat rushed up your neck. he knew. he knew exactly who had been standing outside that door.

"the archive room is quite dark at night." you countered, your voice dropping into a flat, icy register that stood out sharply against the casual tone of the room. "it's easy to lose your footing when you're looking for something in the dark."

for a fraction of a second, the corner of jungwon’s mouth twitched upward. it wasn't his public smile. it was sharp, dark, and entirely private, like a glimpse of the calculating mind behind the mask. he liked this. he seemed to have realized that while the rest of the floor was blind to his games, you were watching every single move. and instead of pulling back, instead of playing it safe, he looked entirely reenergized by it.

"you're right, y/n." he murmured, his voice dropping into that raspy cadence that made your skin prickle with a dangerous heat. "it is very dark back there. you really have to be careful what you stumble into." he laughed softly, slipping effortlessly back into his usual public persona. a few of your coworkers laughed along too, entirely unaware of the double meaning bleeding through his words. you felt like you were going insane, like one of those tragic characters in horror movies who are the only ones capable of seeing the ghosts.

the meeting adjourned, and the room dissolved into the usual chaos of scraping chairs and murmured small talk. you gathered your notebook and pen, eager to escape the stifling air, but a tall shadow stepped directly into your path before you could reach the door.

jungwon stood close, effectively blocking your exit. the faint, expensive scent of his cologne hit you instantly, dragging your mind violently back to the image of his bare back and the frantic grip of his hands in the dark. your chest heaved, a sharp spike of anger and unwanted arousal hitting you all at once. 

"you didn't eat the tart, right?" he said. his voice was quiet, entirely obscured by the noise of the departing coworkers around you.

"i wasn't hungry." you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the top button of his shirt, refusing to look into his eyes. you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of a real reaction. he was just being fake nice, putting on the same calculated performance he used on everyone else to get his way. you were just a glitch in his perfect record of floor compliance, a loose thread he wanted to tuck back into his neat little tapestry because it bothered his meticulous nature that your edges wouldn't soften for him.

he leaned down slightly, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "a shame. i spent a lot of time thinking about what you liked before i bought it."

you bit the inside of your cheek, gripping your notebook like a shield. you didn't call him out, you didn't mention what you saw. you just forced a professional, detached distance between your bodies, holding onto the corporate wall with everything you had left. 

"i have work to do, jungwon. i’ll excuse myself now, see you." you stepped sideways, brushing past his shoulder without looking back. but as you walked down the carpeted hallway, you could feel his eyes burning into your back, a silent promise that he was only just getting started.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

by thursday afternoon, the tension had settled into the very carpet of your floor, heavy and thick enough to make your lungs ache. you tried to perfect your routine. eyes on the monitor, fingers on the keys, headphones firmly over your ears even when there was no music playing. you were determined to be the ghost he couldn't touch.

but jungwon was a master of using the space around you against you. he spent twenty minutes at the shared printer island just three feet away from your cubicle opening. he wasn't alone. he was with elle from legal, helping her sort through a massive stack of compliance contracts. you could hear the low, smooth rumble of his voice filtering through your headset. you didn't look. you swore to yourself you wouldn't look. but then you heard that quiet, private laugh — the one that always made people lean over their desks. against your own damn will, your eyes flicked up.

jungwon was leaning over the printer, his grey button-down stretched tight across his shoulders. his hand was resting on the small of elle’s back, his thumb making slow, casual circles against the fabric of her blazer. it was a gesture so effortlessly intimate, so completely unnecessary for printing contracts, that a bitter spike of heat flared in your chest. elle was looking up at him with that exact ruined expression you had seen on sarah, on the receptionists, on everyone.

and then, without missing a beat in his conversation with her, jungwon’s dark eyes shifted. he looked directly over elle’s shoulder, straight into your cubicle, locking his gaze onto yours. his thumb didn't stop moving against her back. his face didn't change its pleasant expression. but his eyes were entirely dark, heavy with a silent, mocking challenge.

look how easy it is, you imagined him saying. look at what everyone else gives me without a fight.

he was doing it on purpose. he knew you were hyper-fixated on his patterns, he knew you had seen what happened in the archive room, and instead of hiding it, he was putting his transactional nature on full display right in front of your face. he wanted you to feel the weight of your own isolation. he wanted the jealousy and the confusion to twist inside you until you finally snapped and gave him the compliance he wanted. you ripped your eyes away, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. you hated him. you hated how he could make you feel so entirely exposed without even speaking to you. and worst of all, you hated the pathetic, traitorous part of your brain that had watched his hand on elle’s back and wondered, just for a terrifying second, what it would feel like if those fingers were digging into your own skin instead.

you swallowed hard, the taste of iron lingering on your tongue. he doesn't want you, you reminded yourself, a cruel, internal mantra. he's just fake nice. he just wants to win the game.

the shadow fell over your desk before you could even register the sound of his footsteps. "the legal files are sorted." jungwon murmured. he wasn't leaning over the divider this time, he was standing right at the entrance of your cubicle, effectively blocking the view of the rest of the floor. he set a single blue folder on the corner of your desk, his fingers lingering on the plastic tab. "i put the updated compliance guidelines on top. i thought you might need them for your afternoon report."

you didn't look at his face. you focused strictly on his hands, on the neat skin of his wrists. "thanks."

"you seem quiet today, y/n." he said softly, his voice dropping into that low register meant only for the two of you. he leaned in just a fraction, his shadow completely swallowing your desk space. "even more than usual. did you get another headache?"

the artificial sweetness in his tone felt like a physical weight pressing against your chest. he was mocking your boundaries, testing the exact strength of the walls you were sweating to keep up.

"i'm fine, jungwon." you whispered, your voice tight, keeping the corporate distance as rigid as humanly possible. "just busy."

"mmh." a small, completely unreadable sound left his throat. he reached out, his index finger lightly tracing a slow line along the edge of your desk calendar, stopping just a millimeter away from where your hand was resting. the proximity made the skin on your arms prickle with a terrifying heat. "well... don't work too hard. it would be a shame if you got tired out before the week is even over."

he gave the desk a final, quiet tap of his knuckles and walked away, leaving you drowning in the suffocating air of his departure.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

on friday evening, the office had emptied out with a desperate speed, everyone fleeing for the weekend the second the clock hit five. you had stayed behind on purpose again. it was safer this way. the quiet felt like a shield, a brief window where you didn't have to watch him hand out his attention like loose change to every person who crossed his path.

the only light left on was the dull, overhead glow of your own cubicle row, casting geometric shadows across the empty desks. you were just finishing up the last data entry for the week, the rhythmic click of your keyboard the only sound in the entire space. you let out a long breath, your shoulders finally dropping from the tight, defensive posture you had kept up for days.

then, the printer island three feet away whirred to life. the sudden, mechanical groan made your heart drop straight into your stomach. a single sheet of paper began to slide into the tray, the sound incredibly loud in the dead quiet of the office.

"i thought i saw a light still on down here." his voice came from the darkness just outside your cubicle opening. low, completely devoid of the light, airy cadence he used during the day. jungwon stepped into the glow of your monitor. he had already taken off his tie, the top two buttons of his grey shirt undone to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbone. his jacket was slung carelessly over one shoulder, held by a single finger. he looked messy in a way that felt entirely intentional, entirely dangerous.

you froze, your fingers hovering over the keys. do not look at his neck. do not think about the archive room. "i'm just finishing up." you said, your voice tight, forcing that rigid wall between you even though the floor was completely dead. "i'm leaving in five minutes."

"there's no rush." he murmured, stepping fully into your cubicle space. but he didn't stop at the edge this time. he walked right up to the side of your chair, dropping his jacket onto the empty desk divider next to you. "the building doesn't lock down until midnight, anyway."

you kept your eyes fixed on the screen, your heart hammering a stupid rhythm against your ribs. "i want to get home, though."

jungwon didn't answer. instead, he reached past your shoulder, his bare forearm brushing lightly against your sleeve as he picked up the single sheet of paper that had printed out. the brief friction of his skin against yours felt like an electric shock, making your breath hitch in your throat.

he leaned back against the edge of your desk, trapping you in your seat, his dark eyes looking down at the paper in his hands. "you made a mistake on the logistics section." he said softly.

"what?" your head snapped up before you could stop yourself, defense mechanism kicking in. "no, i didn't. i checked the numbers twice."

"look right here." he leaned down, his face suddenly entirely too close to yours. you could see the tiny flecks of dark brown in his eyes and the immaculate line of his jaw. he pointed his long finger at a row of data on your monitor, his hand hovering right next to your mouse. "you put the shipping code under the wrong department head."

you looked at the screen, your mind entirely blank, completely unable to process the numbers because his chest was practically brushing against your shoulder. "it's... it's a minor formatting issue. i can fix it on monday."

"why wait until monday?" jungwon whispered. his voice dropped into that private register that made your skin prickle. he didn't look at the screen anymore. he was looking directly at your mouth, his gaze heavy, dark, and completely unblinking. "i'm right here. let me help you with it."

he placed his hand directly over yours on the mouse. his palm was warm, his fingers large and heavy as they entirely covered your smaller ones. your pulse gave a sickening lurch. he wasn't being gentle. he wasn't doing that soft, attentive routine he did all the time. his grip was firm, holding your hand in place on the plastic casing, forcing you to feel the solid weight of him.

"jungwon." you breathed, a panicky sound escaping your throat. you tried to pull your hand back, but his fingers tightened just enough to keep you pinned.

"shhh." he murmured, using the exact same low tone he had used on sarah in the dark. "you're always trying to push me away, y/n. why is that? i'm just trying to be a good coworker."

the blatant lie made a suffocating knot form in your throat. he was mocking you. he knew you knew exactly what he was, and he was using his body to deliberately test how much you could take before your walls completely crumbled.

"let go of my hand." you whispered, your voice shaking, although you tried with everything you had to keep it cold.

jungwon didn't move. he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his eyes darkening into something ravenous as he watched the frantic pulse fluttering in your neck. "and if i don't?" he asked softly, a tiny, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "what are you going to do, y/n? call the supervisor? tell them i'm being too nice to you?"

you couldn't breathe. the sheer weight of him was entirely too much, trapping you between the hard edge of your desk and the solid heat of his chest. your fingers were frozen beneath his palm, your skin tingling everywhere it connected with his.

"i'll tell them exactly what you are." you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. your voice was entirely too thinned out by the frantic beating of your heart, but you kept your eyes fixed on his chin, refusing to look up into the dark trap of his gaze. "i'll tell them you're a fraud, jungwon."

for a long second, the quiet of the fourteenth floor felt absolute. the hum of the ventilation system seemed to fade into nothing. then, jungwon let out a low, breathy laugh. it wasn't his public laugh — the quiet, pleasant one that made people lean over their desk dividers. this one was dark, raspy, and too dangerous. his hand didn't leave yours. instead, his fingers shifted, sliding down the sides of your hand to lock his fingers securely through yours, pinning your palm flat against the desk surface now.

"a fraud." he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating straight through the small space between your faces. he leaned down further, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that you could feel the slight brush of his dark hair against your temple. "and who do you think is going to believe you, y/n? the supervisors? the girls in marketing? they love me. i make their lives so easy."

he was right. it was the most humiliating part of the whole thing. if you went to anyone, you would look like the unhinged one. you would be the bitter, detached girl who couldn't handle a popular coworker offering to help her with a formatting error.

"they think you're nice." you breathed, your teeth biting down on the inside of your cheek until it throbbed. "but you're just... you just use everyone."

you expected him to pull back, expected him to get angry or play dumb. but as you finally forced your eyes up to meet his, your breath caught. jungwon was staring down at you with a look that made your entire stomach dissolve into chaos. his face wasn't sweet at all anymore. his jaw was set, his dark eyes wide and completely unblinking, tracking the frantic movement of your lips. his chest was heaving slightly, the top buttons of his shirt pulling apart just enough for your eyes to instinctively look down for a second.

he didn't look insulted. he looked violently fascinated. "you really do see right through it, don't you?" he whispered, his thumb slowly tracing a firm line across the back of your knuckles. his grip on your hand tightened, a sudden show of strength that made your pulse give a silly flutter. "everyone on this floor is so boring, to be honest. they just take whatever i give them. but you... you sit here and watch me, and you hate me so much." he leaned in until his nose almost brushed against yours, his gaze dropping to your mouth again with a hunger that felt entirely too explicit for a fluorescent lit cubicle. "you think i'm just being fake nice to be convenient. but the truth is, y/n... i've been waiting for you to look at me like this for months."

he shifted his weight, his thigh pressing firmly against the side of your knee, anchoring you into the chair. the mask was entirely gone, shattered on the desk between you, and you were left staring at the raw, calculating control underneath. and to be honest with yourself, it was the most terrifyingly attractive thing you had ever felt.

"now…" jungwon whispered, his thumb digging slightly into your wrist, right over the frantic jumping of your pulse. "are you going to fix this spreadsheet for me, or are we going to do something else?"

you refused to let him win. you refused to soften a single fraction. "i'm fixing the spreadsheet." you whispered, your voice tight and entirely thinned out, but you forced your eyes back to the monitor, desperately trying to focus on the green lines of the cells. you tried to pull your fingers out from beneath his palm, but jungwon’s grip remained firm, his fingers locked securely through yours, pinning your hand against the mouse. a breathy hum left his throat, the vibration of it traveling straight from his chest into your shoulder where his body was pressed against yours.

"then do it." he murmured, his voice dropping into that private register that made the skin on your arms prickle with a dangerous heat. "go ahead, y/n. fix it."

your left hand trembled as you reached for the keyboard, your mind racing to remember the correct shipping codes through the suffocating fog of his proximity. he was making it entirely impossible on purpose. he leaned down further, his head tilting until his lips were just a fraction of an inch away from the sensitive skin below your ear, his warm breath fanning across your neck with every shallow exhale.

"you're entering the wrong code." he whispered against your skin, his thumb shifting to press a slow, deliberate circle right over the pulse in your wrist. "look at the screen. you're messing up the formatting again because you're too busy trying to pretend i'm not here."

"i'm not pretending anything." you breathed, your teeth biting down on the inside of your cheek until you felt a sharp sting. you deleted the typo, your fingers hitting the keys with a defensive force. you weren't going to look at his collarbone. you weren't going to turn your head and let his mouth catch yours. you kept your gaze locked onto the data, your entire body stiff as iron against the solid warmth of his chest.

you clicked the save icon, the sharp sound of the mouse loud in the dead quiet of the fourteenth floor. "it's done. the data is clean. now let go of my hand, jungwon."

jungwon didn't move. he stayed exactly where he was for a long, agonizing second, his dark eyes wide and unblinking as he tracked the tight line of your jaw. you hadn't leaned into him. you hadn't given him that ruined look he was so used to consuming from the rest of the floor.

and as you finally forced your head around to glare at him, refusing to back down, you saw the exact moment his expression shifted. the mocking smile completely vanished from his lips. his jaw tightened, his dark eyes clouding over with a ravenous frustration that made your stomach dissolve into absolute chaos. he looked entirely consumed by the fact that you were still fighting him, his chest heaving slightly as his grip on your laced fingers tightened until it hurt. you were willing to choke on your own pride before you ever gave him the compliance he wanted.

"you really aren't going to give in, are you?" he whispered, his raspy voice shaking just enough to let the dark intensity underneath slip through. he leaned in until his nose brushed against yours, his gaze dropping to your parted lips with an explicit hunger that made your knees go entirely weak in the chair. "you're going to sit here and look at me like you want to kill me, even when you're completely burning up underneath my hands."

"i told you, jungwon." you whispered back, your fingers tightening around his despite yourself, your armor cracking at the seams even as you held the wall up between you.

jungwon let out another ragged breath, his thumb digging hard into your wrist as a possessive heat bloomed across his beautiful face. "we have time anyway, y/n."

he slowly released his grip, his fingers sliding away from yours with agonizing slowness, leaving your skin tingling and entirely too cold in the sudden absence of his warmth. he picked up his jacket from the divider, throwing it back over his shoulder with that effortless fluidness. he didn't say another word. he just gave you one last, unblinking look — a silent promise wrapped in a calculated package — before turning on his heel and vanishing into the darkness of the elevator lobby. you sat there for a long time, the silence of the empty office pressing heavy against your ears.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the weekend had been a blur of suffocating self-loathing. you had spent forty eight hours pacing your apartment, scrubbing at the wrist where his thumb had dug into your pulse, trying to wash away the phantom weight of his hand. you felt physically sickened by your own body’s betrayal. that silly, pathetic flutter your heart had given when he leaned in — it felt like a stain. you had always prided yourself on being the independent one, the girl who didn't get sucked into office politics or hollow, fleeting infatuations. you were supposed to be safe because you were invisible. but jungwon had stripped that safety away in a matter of minutes, leaving you raw, exposed, and terrified of your own hidden vulnerabilities.

you knew exactly what he was doing. you kept repeating it like a prayer to keep yourself sane: he doesn't want you. he doesn't want you. he was just a predator who hated that one specific prey wouldn't run into his trap. he was a perfectionist, and your coldness was an ugly smudge on his immaculate record of floor wide adoration.

by monday morning, the internal friction had left you entirely exhausted, the dark circles under your eyes barely hidden by makeup. the bright lights of the office hit your eyes like a physical blow. it was already buzzing with the usual post weekend energy, typing and mindless small talk filling the air. you kept your head down, your shoulders hunched as you walked to your cubicle, feeling incredibly small, like a soldier walking back into a minefield with a cardboard shield.

and then, you saw him. he was standing by the central filing cabinets, completely surrounded. he was wearing a crisp, dark navy shirt today, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his pale forearms. he was currently leaning over to look at a folder held by jake from accounting, his hand resting heavily on his shoulder, squeezing it in a gesture that looked entirely supportive and friendly. but you watched the way jungwon’s eyes moved — sharp, analytical, tracking the supervisor who was walking past them. the second the supervisor glanced over, jungwon shifted his posture, offering a bright smile that made him look like the hardest working, most compliant employee on the entire payroll.

twenty minutes later, jungwon was at the reception desk. you watched, your heart hammering a painful rhythm against your ribs, as he leaned over the counter to speak to the new temp. his hand rested casually on the edge of her desk, his thumb making a slow, absentminded circle against the wood — the exact same gesture he had used on your knuckles friday night. the temp was completely flushed, her eyes wide as she nodded along to whatever he was whispering. you watched how he helped her carry a heavy box of promotional materials, his body intentionally brushing against hers as they walked through the narrow aisle. it made your stomach turn over in a violent wave of disgust and profound anxiety. he was doing it right in front of you. he didn't even care about hiding his promiscuity or his transactional nature anymore. in fact, it felt like he was putting on a performance specifically for your benefit. he was showing you how easily he could buy anyone on this floor, men and women alike, with a single smile or a well timed touch, using them up until they were empty and then moving on to the next.

you clutched your coffee mug so hard your knuckles turned white, a toxic mixture of anger and panic rising in your throat. you felt like you were suffocating under the weight of your own awareness. you were the only one who saw the rot beneath the golden boy facade, and the sheer isolation of that knowledge was driving you insane. you were terrified that if you kept watching the casual ease with which he dismantled people’s boundaries, the gravity of his control would eventually pull you under too.

"y/n." his voice came from directly behind your chair, low and entirely smooth. your entire body went rigid as iron and your breath trapped itself in your lungs. the sudden rush of adrenaline made your ears ring. jungwon stepped around the edge of your cubicle, holding a stack of laminated division charts. he didn't touch you, he didn't even lean over your desk. he stood just far away enough to keep up appearances for the rest of the floor, but his presence felt massive, completely blocking out the light.

he looked down at you, his dark eyes wide and entirely hollow of the warmth he had just been flashing at the marketing team. his face was a mask of perfect, professional indifference, but the sharp line of his jaw was tight. "the department head requested the updated logistics flow by noon." he said softly, his public voice neat and polite. but then, he paused, his gaze slowly dropping to your hands, watching the tiny, uncontrollable tremor in your fingers as you tried to set your coffee mug down. the corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, with a quiet satisfaction.

he leaned in just an inch, his voice dropping into that private register that belonged only to the dark corners of the office. "did you have trouble sleeping over the weekend, y/n?"

the question was a psychological knife, twisting right into the center of your internal turmoil. he knew. he knew he had occupied your thoughts for forty eight hours. he was taunting you with the fact that even when he wasn't there, he was still successfully invading your space, still slowly breaking down your mental walls from the inside out.

you swallowed the bitter taste of panic, forcing your eyes up to meet his chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking into his eyes. you drew a sharp breath, pulling your corporate wall up with every ounce of strength you had left. "i'm fine, jungwon." you whispered, your voice thinned out but completely cold, completely detached. "the logistics flow will be in the system by eleven thirty. you can check it then."

jungwon stayed perfectly still for a second, his dark eyes burning into the side of your face, analyzing the rigid posture, the tight set of your mouth, the desperate pride you were clinging to. he didn't push, he didn't need to. he just tapped the laminated charts against the edge of your divider with a quiet, hollow click. "perfect." he murmured, his raspy tone thinning back into his polite, public persona. "i'll be looking forward to seeing your work."

as he turned and walked away, immediately falling into an easy conversation with a passing manager, you let out a trembling breath, your hands shaking so badly you had to press them flat against the desk to make them stop. you were safe for now, but the suffocating realization settled deep into your chest — the game was only getting heavier, and the cost of keeping your walls up was starting to tear you apart.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

by the time the mandatory department dinner rolled around on thursday night, the tension inside your chest had turned into a living, breathing thing.

the restaurant was loud, suffocatingly warm, and thick with the heavy scent of grilled pork and cheap soju. green bottles were already multiplying across the long wooden tables like a plague. everyone was shedding their corporate skin with a sloppy speed, the supervisors shouting over the sizzle of the meat, your colleagues giggling too loudly as they mixed beer and liquor.

you sat near the end of the table, actively trying to dissolve into the background. you were drinking faster than usual. it was a stupid, dangerous mistake, but the alcohol was the only thing capable of dulling the exhausting edge of your hyper-vigilance. you just wanted to numb the looping thoughts of him, but alcohol also made your walls sluggish. and across the grill, through the rising smoke and the chaotic haze of the room, yang jungwon was putting on a masterclass.

he looked disgusting in his perfection. he had stayed sober enough to maintain his position as the table's golden savior — expertly flipping the meat for the senior manager, laughing at the supervisor’s terrible jokes, pouring drinks with a practiced tilt of his wrist. he was the perfect employee, the perfect junior colleague, distributing his easy warmth so seamlessly that the entire top end of the table was practically vibrating under his influence.

but every time he leaned back to let a manager speak, his dark eyes would cut straight through the smoke, locking onto your face. his gaze was heavy, tracking the rhythmic movement of your glass as you emptied it again and again. there was no warmth in his face when he looked at you. just that quiet, analytical hunger.

"y/n, you're being way too quiet tonight." jay from project management slid into the empty space on your left. “seriously, you're always so locked away in your cubicle." he laughed, leaning in to bump his shoulder against yours. it was a clumsy, drunken gesture, but it felt normal. "you need to hang out with us more. let me pour you another one."

"maybe i should." you giggled, the sound light and loose even to your own ears. the alcohol made you sloppy, made you want to lean into the easy comfort of someone who didn't have a hidden agenda. you picked up your small glass and held it out with both hands, giving him a bright, genuine smile. "you're right. i work too hard."

jay beamed, his eyes crinkling as he filled your glass. he let his hand linger against yours for a second too long as he set the bottle down, his arm casually settling over the back of your wooden bench, his fingers lightly brushing the fabric of your blouse. you didn't pull away. instead, you tilted your head up, laughing at a stupid joke he made about the logistics manager, completely letting your guard drop. it felt intoxicating to be normal. to prove to yourself — and to the person sitting across the grill — that you weren't trapped in his little bubble.

but across the table, the atmosphere had silently shifted. jungwon was suddenly drinking too tonight. he wasn't perfectly sober anymore. his tie was long gone, the top three buttons of his navy shirt undone, and there was a faint flush spreading across his neck and the sharp lines of his collarbone. 

it happened so fast you almost missed it. jungwon had been in the middle of nodding politely to a story the senior supervisor was telling. when you looked at him again, his entire posture was dead rigid. his jaw set so hard the muscle in his cheek twitched violently. for a terrifying second, the golden boy mask shattered completely, leaving a look of such icy malice on his face that your breath trapped itself in your throat.

he didn't make a scene. he was too smart for that. instead, he stood up smoothly, a polite, apologetic smile instantly snapping back onto his features as he addressed the supervisor. "i'll go grab a few more bottles of the premium plum wine from the front." jungwon murmured, his public voice light and accommodating. "the department head mentioned he wanted to try it."

you watched him walk away, your heart violently hammering against your ribs. you thought you were safe. you thought the distance would give you room to breathe.

but less than three minutes later, the chaotic seating arrangement of the table shifted as a group of managers left to use the restroom. when a space cleared out directly opposite you and jay, a shadow fell over the wood.

jungwon sat down. he placed three new bottles on the table with a quiet, hollow click. he didn't look at you. he focused entirely on jay, his face twisted into an expression of intense camaraderie that felt entirely too sharp to be real.

"jay." jungwon said, his voice smooth but dropping into a lower cadence that somehow cut through the noise of the restaurant. "you're taking care of our quietest team member? that's really responsible of you."

"jungwon! man, you're the best." jay cheered, completely oblivious to the danger sitting three feet away from him. he pulled his arm off your chair to reach for his glass. "i'm just telling y/n she needs to loosen up!"

"is that so?" jungwon murmured. he picked up a fresh bottle of soju, his long, pale fingers wrapping around the green glass with an unyielding grip. he leaned forward, his dark eyes locked onto jay’s face. "well, if you're going to keep her company, you have to keep up with her. let me pour you a proper drink."

what followed was a brutal, quiet execution. jungwon didn't let jay breathe. using his fake nice, attentive persona like a weapon, he continuously filled jay’s glass the exact second it touched the table, egging him on with soft compliments and subtle challenges that jay’s drunken pride couldn't refuse. jungwon was pouring double shots, mixing combinations, acting like the ultimate hype man while remaining entirely sober himself.

it was horrifyingly calculated. jungwon was weaponizing the floor compliance against jay, using his popularity to entirely dismantle the guy right in front of your face. and he was doing it with a terrifying, quiet ferocity.

within twenty minutes, jay’s head dropped heavily onto his folded arms on the table, his eyes rolling shut as he muttered an incoherent string of nonsense before completely passing out cold.

the noise of the restaurant seemed to swell around your ears, the shouting and laughter of the remaining coworkers forming a thick barrier of isolation around your corner of the table. jay was asleep on your left. the manager on your right was entirely engrossed in a loud argument about quarterly logistics.

you were left completely alone with him.

jungwon slowly set his empty glass down. the bright, helpful coworker expression vanished from his face like smoke, leaving his features cold, sharp, and ravenous. he leaned forward across the low wooden table, his chest almost touching the edge, his dark eyes wide as they pinned you to your seat.

"he touches everyone, you know?" jungwon whispered, his voice dropping into that raspy, private register that made your skin prickle. "jay. he does it in the hallways too. he's very careless with his hands."

you clutched your small soju glass, your fingers shaking so badly the clear liquid sloshed over the rim. the alcohol in your system was making your head spin, making your internal turmoil twist into something heavy and desperate. "he was just... he was just being friendly. unlike you."

jungwon let out a low laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "friendly."

before you could register his movement, his leg shifted beneath the low table. his thigh pressed firmly, violently against your knee, locking your legs together under the shadow of the thick tablecloth. the sudden heat of his body against yours sent a violent jolt of adrenaline straight down your spine. you tried to pull back, but he angled his leg, anchoring you into the wooden bench so tightly you couldn't move an inch without drawing the attention of the entire table.

"you let him touch your shoulder." jungwon murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his jaw setting as his voice became thick with a suffocating jealousy. he reached his hand under the table, his long fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist, his thumb digging hard into the soft skin right over your jumping pulse. "you sat here and let a sloppy, useless drunk put his hands on you. but when i touch you, y/n... you look like you're about to lose your mind."

"let go." you breathed, a panicky whisper that was completely swallowed by the roar of the restaurant. your teeth bit into your lip, your eyes darting to the supervisor just three seats away, terrified of a scene, terrified of what would happen if anyone looked down. "jungwon, stop. someone will see."

"let them look." he whispered back, his grip on your wrist tightening until it was almost a bruise, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against your skin. his face was inches from yours now, his breath warm, smelling faintly of the plum wine. "they won't see anything. they only see what i want them to see. you know that better than anyone, y/n."

he leaned in just a fraction further, his eyes tracking the chaotic, terrified rise and fall of your chest. he was entirely consumed by his own control, entirely irritated that someone else had crossed the boundary he had marked for himself.

"i told you on friday night, y/n." he murmured, his raspy voice vibrating straight through your bones as his leg pressed harder against your knee. "we have time."

the words hung in the space between your faces, heavy with the sweet, stinging scent of plum wine and the absolute certainty of his control. your mind was screaming at you to pull away, to make a scene, to slap his hand away from your wrist. but the alcohol had turned your blood to lead, making your body feel too heavy, too responsive to the solid pressure of his thigh against your knee. you were trapped between the suffocating heat of his gaze and the hidden reality of his hands beneath the table.

"hey, jungwon! y/n! what are you two whispering about over there?" the sudden voice of the senior manager cut through the noise of the restaurant like a blunt axe. the spell didn't just break, it evaporated. before your heart could even finish its next frantic thud, the shift in jungwon was instantaneous. his fingers slid off your wrist with a terrifyingly casual slowness, his leg smoothly retracting from yours under the cover of the tablecloth. by the time you managed to look up, blinking past the dizzying fog of the soju, jungwon was already leaning back in his seat. his face had instantly transformed back into the picture of polite, boyish innocence — the dark hunger wiped clean from his eyes as if it had never been there at all.

"just making sure y/n is doing okay, sir." jungwon said, his public voice smooth, light, and perfectly pitched to carry over the chatter. he offered the manager a dimpled smile. "i think the logistics data has her a bit worn out this week. i was just offering to take over her morning reports tomorrow so she can catch her breath."

"ah, look at our jungwon! always taking care of the team." the manager cheered, raising his glass in a sloppy toast. "a true asset to the department!"

you sat there, your hand still trembling against the cold wood where his fingers had just been pinned. the unadulterated fraudulence of it made you feel physically sick. he had just systematically dismantled jay, pinned you to your seat with a terrifying display of drunken jealousy, and threatened you into absolute silence. and within three seconds, he had the entire top end of the table practically singing his praises. 

to your delight, the dinner dissolved into the chaotic logistics of departure shortly after. managers were pouring into taxis, people were laughing loudly on the sidewalk, and jay was being thrown into the back of a coworker's car, still completely dead to the world.

you stood on the pavement, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin, making the alcohol hit your head in a dizzying wave. you felt completely hollowed out, your internal walls not just cracked, but entirely reduced to ash.

you're going to sit here and look at me like you want to kill me, even when you're completely burning up underneath my hands.

his words from the cubicle, mixed with the phantom weight of his hand on your knee tonight, looped through your mind like a toxic rhythm. the worst part — the absolute most humiliating, terrifying part of the entire night — was the realization that you had burned. when his hand had tightened on your wrist, when his thigh had locked yours into the bench, a hidden part of your chest had given a shameful lurch. you hated his fake nice routines, you hated how he ruined people for his own convenience, but the raw, unfiltered gravity of his attention when the mask came off was becoming completely addictive.

you were terrified of him. but you were starting to be much more terrified of yourself.

"your taxi is here, y/n." his voice came from the shadow right beside you. jungwon had his hands slid casually into his slacks pockets, his jacket slung over his shoulder. he stepped forward, opening the door of the yellow cab for you with the textbook gallantry of a good coworker. but as you moved past him, your shoulder brushing against his chest, he didn't back up. he stayed entirely too close, his eyes locking onto yours in the dim light of the street.

"get some rest tonight." he murmured, his raspy voice dropping low enough that the driver couldn't hear. his thumb slowly traced a firm line across the leather of the car door, right next to your hip. "i'll see you in the office early tomorrow. don't be late."

you slid into the backseat without a word, your fingers curling tightly into your palms as the door clicked shut between you. as the taxi pulled away into the traffic, you looked back through the rear window. jungwon was still standing on the curb, completely alone in the yellow glow of the streetlamp, watching your car disappear with a look of absolute, calculating patience.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the hangover wasn’t just a physical ache, it was a psychological weight that made the 6:45 am sunlight feel like an interrogation. you had deliberately arrived a full hour before the rest of the department, desperate to find a moment of absolute isolation to gather the shattered pieces of your composure. the office floor was an eerie ghost town of dark computer screens and silent corridors. the only sound was the mechanical hum of the industrial printer in the copy room at the far end of the hall. you stood in front of it, watching the updated logistics charts slide smoothly into the tray, one by one.

eleven thirty? no. you were going to leave it on his desk before the clock even struck eight. you needed to reclaim some semblance of control.

the heavy glass door of the copy room clicked, making your heart skip a painful beat. you didn’t turn around immediately, your eyes freezing on the shifting reflection in the dark glass window of the courtyard outside.

jungwon stepped into the room. he didn't rush toward you. he closed the door with a slow, deliberate click, his dark eyes instantly locking onto the back of your neck. he had already shed his suit jacket, his white dress shirt crisp and immaculate, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms with casual neatness. he looked entirely rested, completely untouched by the poison of the night before.

"you're early." he murmured. his voice was already in that register. there was no marketing team here. no senior managers. just the heavy thrum of the printer and the suffocating gravity of his presence.

"i told you it would be ready." you said, your voice tighter than you intended. you reached out to grab the stack of papers from the tray, keeping your back turned to him, desperately using the documents as a shield.

you heard the slow, measured sound of his dress shoes against the linoleum. he stopped just a step behind you. he didn't touch you yet. instead, he leaned forward slightly, his shadow completely engulfing yours as he looked over your shoulder at the printer tray. the heat radiating from his chest was immense, close enough that you could feel the faint movement of his shirt fabric against your back every time he took a breath.

"the logistics flow." jungwon mused softly, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin behind your ear, making the tiny hairs on your arms stand up. "always so efficient, y/n. always running away into your work the moment things get too heavy."

you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the paper tray until your knuckles turned white. "i'm just doing my job. you can take the files and go."

"is that what you want?" he asked. the question was low, quiet, and laced with a terrifying patience. he reached out, his long fingers slowly sliding into the tray right next to yours. he didn't grab the papers. instead, the side of his index finger brushed against yours, a light, almost imperceptible contact that sent an electric jolt straight down your spine.

you flinched, trying to pull your hand back, but jungwon was faster. his hand turned, his fingers trapping your wrist against the plastic edge of the tray. he didn't squeeze. he just held you there with the weight of his palm, his thumb resting directly over your pulse point, feeling the erratic thudding of your heart.

"you're still shaking." he whispered, his tone dropping into something dark and dangerously satisfied. "just like last night. did you think the morning air would make you forget how it felt?"

you refused to turn around, keeping your face fixed on the blinking light of the copy machine, but your breathing was already turning shallow. "jungwon, stop. someone will come in. the cleaning staff-"

"the cleaning staff finished thirty minutes ago." he interrupted smoothly, his voice a calm barrier that shut out the rest of the world. he took a half step closer, his chest fully pressing into your back now, the solid weight of his body anchoring you against the counter. "we have time. i told you that, didn't i?"

he slowly let go of your wrist, but before you could draw a breath of relief, his hand moved up to your shoulder. his long fingers settled over the fabric of your blouse, his thumb tracing the exact spot where jay's hand had lingered the night before. the pressure was firm, heavy, and intensely possessive, as if he were systematically erasing anyone else's touch from your skin.

"tell me, y/n." jungwon murmured, his jaw brushing against the side of your hair as he leaned in, his voice a raspy vibration that rattled through your bones. "when you were sitting across from me last night, letting him lean into your space... were you thinking about how much harder i would touch you when we were alone?"

the question hung in the warm, enclosed air of the copy room, heavy and explicit. your heart hitched, a fractured sound escaping your throat before you could stop it. you squeezed your eyes shut, hating how instantly your body reacted to the proximity, hating the dizzying rush of heat that flooded your veins despite the icy hangover. "i wasn't thinking about you." you lied, the whisper thin and trembling against the steady hum of the printer.

jungwon let out a low hum against your neck. it wasn't a laugh, it was a sound of pure, clinical amusement. he didn't call you a liar, he didn't need to. instead, his hand slid slowly down from your shoulder, his palm tracing the rigid line of your spine through the fabric of your blazer. the movement was agonizingly gradual, every millimeter of his touch deliberate, testing your resistance, feeling the way your muscles locked tight under his hands.

when his palm reached the small of your back, he paused. he leaned his weight into you just a fraction more, the solid plane of his chest flattening completely against your shoulder blades. the sheer heat of him seemed to melt straight through your corporate layers. "you're so tense." he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin right below your earlobe. you shivered violently, your hands blindly gripping the edge of the printer counter behind you. "relax for me, y/n. we aren't at the table anymore. there's no senior manager to save you this time."

his other hand came up, his long fingers sliding under your chin. he didn't force you to turn around yet. he just tilted your head back slightly, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat. his thumb stroked the soft skin right over your jumping pulse, his touch agonizingly light, a stark contrast to the crushing weight of his body pressing you into the counter. "look at the glass." he murmured softly, a quiet command.

your eyes automatically opened, flickering to the dark reflection in the courtyard window directly ahead. through the dim glass, you could see the two of you — completely tangled together in the shadow of the industrial machine. your head was tilted back against his shoulder, your face flushed and eyes wide with a desperate panic. jungwon was looking at your reflection, his dark eyes hollowed of all his polite warmth, filled instead with that sharp satisfaction. he looked entirely in control. he looked like he owned the very air you were breathing.

"see that?" jungwon whispered, his thumb moving up to trace the trembling outline of your lower lip. "this is exactly how you looked in my head all weekend. desperate. trapped. completely at my mercy." he slowly turned your face toward him, forcing you to break eye contact with the reflection and look directly at his actual features. up close, the golden boy mask was entirely gone. his jaw was set, a heavy intensity clouding his eyes as his gaze dropped to your mouth. he didn't kiss you. he just hovered there, his breath hot and shallow against your lips, letting the tension build until it felt like a physical wire snapping between you.

"jungwon." you breathed, your voice a desperate plea, though even you didn't know if you were begging him to stop or begging him to finally end the torture.

"i'm listening." he murmured, his raspy voice dropping into an even lower register as his hand slid from your chin down to the collar of your blouse, his fingers lightly brushing the exposed skin of your collarbone. "tell me what you want, y/n. tell me to stop. let me hear you say it."

“c-can’t.” you said between pants, feeling too overwhelmed by his presence to remember how to breathe properly. 

“you can’t or you won’t? come on, we both know you can. this is a safe space, y/n.” jungwon spoke in a mocking tone, his fingers trailing lower until they hooked into the top edge of your camisole, pulling the silk taut against your skin. “it’s just you and me. no one is going to walk through that door and catch you admitting it.”

the condescending arrogance in his voice hit you like a bucket of ice water. he wasn't just trying to touch you, he was trying to break you. he wanted the satisfaction of hearing you completely dismantle your own walls for his ego.

you swallowed down the panic, forcing your hands flat against his chest. you didn't lean into him. instead, you locked your elbows, pushing back against the solid weight of his frame with every ounce of strength you had left. "i can't because it's pathetic." you said, your voice cracking slightly but carrying a sudden coldness. you forced your eyes up to meet his, refusing to let him see you blink. "you're pathetic, jungwon."

the mocking smile vanished from his face instantly. his dark eyes went wide, then narrowed into two dangerous, icy slits. the absolute stillness that came over him was terrifying. "what did you say?" he murmured, his voice dropping so low it was almost entirely swallowed by the hum of the printer.

"y-you heard me." you breathed, your chest heaving against his palms, your fingers curling into the crisp cotton of his shirt as you fought to keep the distance between your faces. "you spend all week playing the perfect, golden boy coworker, but you're so deeply insecure that the second someone else touches my shoulder, you have to lock me in a room just to force yourself into my head. you didn't lock this door because you're in control. you locked it because you're terrified i'll walk right past your cubicle and not play your little game."

the silence that followed was suffocating. the air in the copy room turned completely hostile. you could feel the violent thudding of his heart beneath your palms — rapid, uneven, and entirely unmasked. you had ripped the skin right off his pride, and for a split second, you saw a flash of genuine fury in his eyes.

his hand at your collar didn't loosen. it tightened, his knuckles digging hard against your collarbone as he slammed his other hand flat on the counter directly over your papers, the heavy bang echoing off the concrete walls. he leaned his entire weight forward, completely crushing your attempt to hold him back, his chest pinning your hands right against his own sternum.

"you think you know me?" jungwon rasped, his face inches from yours, his breath ragged and hot against your mouth. the polite cadence of his voice was completely gone, replaced by a gravelly edge that made your spine freeze. "you think i'm doing this because i'm insecure?"

"let go of me." you demanded, your voice rising, your thighs straining against the solid line of his legs as he anchored you into the machine. you twisted your wrist, trying to tear yourself out of his space, but he didn't give you a single inch of air.

"i told you to say the word 'stop', y/n." he whispered, his jaw setting so hard the muscle in his cheek violently pulsed. his lips brushed against yours with a bruising friction as he spoke, his grip on your waist beneath your shirt turning tight enough to leave marks. "but you didn't say it. you used your mouth to bite at me instead, because you know exactly what happens to those neat little walls of yours the second you actually let me touch you."

your breath caught, the bruising friction of his lips leaving a stinging, electric heat behind. you wanted to spit another insult directly into his face, wanted to tear at the pristine cotton of his shirt just to force his heavy frame off yours, but the sheer physical mass of him was completely overwhelming. he was breathing heavily, his chest expanding and compressing violently against your pinned hands, forcing you to feel every single furious heartbeat.

"i don't want you touching me." you choked out, your voice dropping to a whisper as you tried to wrench your waist out of his grip. you twisted your hips, a sharp effort to break his hold, but his fingers only dug deeper into your skin. his palm slid completely beneath the hem of your shirt, his bare, burning skin making direct contact with the small of your back. the unmediated warmth made you flinch, your spine arching instinctively into his touch even as your mind screamed at you to pull away. he anchored you so firmly against the metal counter that you could feel the hard line of his thigh locking your knees together.

jungwon let out a low, rough sound from the back of his throat. the territorial anger in his eyes didn't vanish, but it shifted, darkening until his pupils practically swallowed the brown of his irises. he liked the fight. he liked that you were clawing for control, because it meant you were entirely consumed by him. "then tell me to stop." he murmured, his voice dropping into that breathless cadence that sent a terrifying ache straight down your lower stomach. he leaned his head down, his lips dragging slowly along the tense line of your jaw, down to the sensitive skin right beneath your ear. "say the word, y/n. tell me you hate this. tell me you want me to let go and go back to my desk."

you bit your lip so hard the iron taste of copper flared on your tongue again. you couldn't say it. the word was physically stuck in your throat, choking you, because deep beneath the suffocating layers of your panic and your rage, the leaden weight in your veins was turning into a pulsing heat. the absolute restriction of your corporate clothes — the tight pencil skirt restricting your movement, the stiff fabric of your blouse pinned against his chest — only made the raw reality of his bare hand on your waist feel a thousand times more scandalous.

"see?" jungwon whispered, his hot breath blooming against your skin as his teeth agonizingly grazed the soft lobe of your ear.

a violent shudder racked your entire frame, and he caught it instantly. his grip on your hip shifted, his palm sliding slowly up the curve of your ribcage, his thumb tracing the spaces between your ribs with a slow pressure that made your breathing fail completely.

"your mouth says one thing," he rasped, his nose dragging across your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look at you. "but your body is begging me not to listen to you."

"i'm not... begging you for anything." you gasped out, your hands finally curling into his shirt, using the grip to try and violently shove him back. when he didn't budge, you tried to bring your knee up, a clumsy attempt to force some space between your lower bodies.

jungwon anticipated it instantly. he shifted his weight, his heavy thigh sliding higher, crowding directly between yours under the cover of your skirt and pinning your legs completely against the lower panel of the printer. the sudden, deep pressure of his leg against the most sensitive part of you sent a violent shockwave straight up your spine.

your eyes flew open, a broken gasp tearing from your throat before you could stop it, your fingers tightening into the cotton of his shirt so hard the seams strained.

jungwon froze. his dark eyes snapped back up to yours, wide and completely wild, his own breath hitching loudly in the quiet room. the mocking arrogance was entirely dead, replaced by a raw, desperate hunger that made his features look sharper, darker, and completely undone. he looked down at your parted lips, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle violently throbbed.

"y/n." he rasped, his voice breaking on your name, the sound so private and broken it made your chest ache. his hand on your ribs slid higher, his thumb lightly brushing the underside of your breast through the silk, his touch no longer calculated, but shaking with the exact same tremor he had mocked you for just minutes ago. "look what you do to me. look at what you're making me do."

your eyes past his shoulder, completely freezing on the frosted glass pane of the door. the sheer terror of a shadow appearing out there made your entire chest lock up, your lungs refusing to expand. "jungwon, the elevator." you breathed, the words a frantic stutter against his chin. "i-i heard the chime. early shifts start at seven. someone is on the floor. let go, please, someone is going to-"

he didn’t even flinch at the mention of the corridor outside. if anything, the risk only seemed to strip away the very last of his restraint. his hand beneath your shirt slid lower, his long fingers hooking directly into the waistband of your skirt. with a slow pressure, his palm slipped completely underneath the fabric, his bare skin making direct contact with the sensitive curve of your hip. you let out a strangled gasp at the sudden touch, the sound instantly muffled as he crowded his chest harder against yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "let them walk in." he whispered, his voice a dark vibration that rolled straight through your skin.

his lips dragged heavily along your throat, sucking lightly at the soft skin right over your pulse point until you shivered so violently your fingers lost their grip on his shirt. your knees completely gave out, your lower body turning to lead. but you didn’t fall as the solid mass of his thigh wedged deeply between yours, riding high against your crotch under the cover of your tangled skirts. he shifted his weight, the blunt, agonizingly slow friction of his leg pressing directly into the aching center of your heat.

and then, through the heavy thrum of the printer, you heard it. the distant, rhythmic click of dress shoes on the floor down the hall. someone was walking toward the supply wing. panic flared white-hot in your stomach, a chaotic rush of adrenaline that made you violently struggle against him. you shoved your palms against his hard chest, twisting your hips in a desperate effort to tear yourself away from his leg before the footsteps could get closer. "jungwon, they're coming down the corridor.” you whimpered, your voice cracking with a very real, suffocating terror. "stop, please, the lights are on, they'll see our shadows through the glass-"

instead of pulling back, jungwon grabbed both of your wrists in a single, iron grip, forcing your hands down and pinning them flat against the cold metal counter behind your hips. you were completely exposed, your back arched over the machine, your chest heaving past your open blouse as he looked down at you with ravenous eyes. his free hand slid down from your hip, his fingers disappearing entirely beneath the hem of your skirt. the fabric hitched up past your thighs as his palm moved upward, tracing the bare skin of your inner thigh with a terrifyingly deliberate speed. you tried to lock your legs together, to bite down on the heat, but his knee pushed harder between yours, forcing you open, anchoring you so tightly against the counter that you couldn’t move a single inch.

the footsteps outside grew louder, pausing just a few meters away near the central cubicles. "jungwon, please." you cried out in a breathless plea, tears of sheer panic pricking the corners of your eyes as you stared at the door, expecting the handle to turn at any second. 

he leaned down until his lips were hovering a millimeter away from yours, catching the frantic, terrified pants breaking from your mouth. his long fingers slid past the lace edge of your underwear, his knuckles brushing against your damp skin, finding the slick, embarrassingly hot reality of how ruined you already were for him. "then don't make a sound." he murmured, his jaw clenching as his fingers slowly slid inside you, making you give a helpless lurch against his hand. his dark eyes burned into yours, completely unhinged, as he whispered into your lips. "if you breathe too loud, y/n, they're going to hear you."

the words died in your throat, instantly choked out by the agonizingly deep, slow stretch of his fingers moving inside you. a sharp tremor racked your lower body, your hips lifting off the counter in a desperate reflex to escape the overwhelming intrusion. but jungwon wouldn't let you move. his iron grip on your wrists clamped down harder against the metal, the cold surface biting into your skin while his heavy thigh pinned your knees wide apart, keeping you utterly trapped against his hand.

outside, the distinct sound of a drawer opening cut through the heavy silence of the floor. a binder was pulled out, the plastic rings clicking open, just on the other side of the thin wall. tears of sheer panic spilled over your lashes, blurring your vision as you stared at the door. your mouth parted to let out a ragged sob of fear, but jungwon immediately leaned down, sealing his lips over yours to capture the sound before it could even form. the kiss was bruising and desperate, an unyielding barrier that completely swallowed your frantic pants.

beneath your skirt, his hand began to move with an agonizingly slow, rhythmic friction. each stroke was a deliberate torture, his fingers sliding deeply into your aching heat before curling slightly, deliberately targeting the sensitive walls within you. your core clenched violently around his touch, a shameful wetness coating his knuckles as your body betrayed your terror, adapting instantly to his rhythm.

jungwon let out a shuddering breath through his nose, his forehead pressing hard against yours as he kept his mouth locked over yours. you could taste the faint hint of mint and the raw heat of his desire, his jaw working against yours as his thumb found the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. he pressed down firmly, moving in a tight, heavy circle that sent a devastating jolt of pure pleasure straight up your spine.

you buckled against him, your fingers spasming within his tight grip, trying to claw at the counter to find some anchor. a muffled, high pitched whimper leaked into his mouth, your chest heaving violently against his sternum as the edge of an inevitable climax began to tighten in your lower stomach. you twisted your face away from his, trying to breathe, trying to beg him to stop before you lost control entirely.

"please." you mouthed against his jaw, your voice nothing more than a silent puff of air. "jungwon, they'll hear."

the rustle of papers outside paused again. the heavy sound of a sigh carried through the quiet corridor, followed by the slow, turning scrape of dress shoes. they were moving again, their footsteps pacing closer to the copy room door this time, the shadow growing larger against the frosted glass pane.

jungwon's eyes snapped open, dark and completely wild with the illicit thrill of the risk. he didn't pull his hand back. instead, his fingers drove deeper, hooking into you with a possessive speed that made your hips violently jerk against his thigh. his mouth came right back to your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive lobe as he whispered in a ragged tone.

"hold it in." he breathed, the words a cutting command against your wet skin. "if you make a sound right now, they're going to open this door."

the shadow on the frosted glass stopped directly in front of the entrance. the silhouette was sharp, the distinct outline of a hand reaching out toward the silver handle visible through the pane. panic turned into absolute, paralyzing ice in your veins. your eyes stretched wide, staring at the shifting metal of the handle, waiting for the distinct click of the lock to draw their attention. you wanted to vanish into the floor, wanted to claw your way out of his grip, but your body was entirely failing you.

beneath your skirt, jungwon didn't give you a single second to process the terror. his thumb pressed down with a heavy force against your core, while his fingers drove into your slick heat with a sudden, relentless pace. the friction was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure fracturing your mind completely and turning the fear into something dangerously volatile.

a suffocating sob rose from your chest, your mouth opening in a silent, desperate scream for him to stop, to let you breathe, to save you from the imminent ruin. but jungwon caught your face with his free hand, his palm clamping hard over your mouth to stifle the sound before it could leave your lips. his long fingers dug into your cheeks, forcing your head back against his shoulder as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

you buckled violently against his palm, your hips jerking upward as the intense contraction of a climax slammed into your lower stomach. it was an agonizing, silent explosion. your core clamped down ruthlessly around his moving fingers, pulsing in tight waves that had you trembling from head to toe. the sheer intensity of it made your vision go dark at the edges, your body shaking helplessly against the hard metal counter while every single muffled gasp was completely crushed into the skin of his hand.

outside, the door handle gave a sharp, sudden rattle. someone was trying to push it open, but jungwon didn't pull back. he let out a ragged groan against your collarbone, his jaw clenching so hard the bone looked sharp as his fingers curled deeply inside you, absorbing the violent spasms of your release. his dark eyes flickered to the rattling handle, a dangerous, completely unhinged intensity clouding his features as he listened to the muffled voice outside mutter an annoyed curse about the door being jammed.

the footsteps finally turned away, the heavy sound of dress shoes retreating back down the long corridor toward the main elevators.

only when the silence of the office floor returned did jungwon slowly slide his wet fingers out from beneath your skirt. his palm remained firmly over your mouth for a few seconds longer, catching the broken pants that tore from your throat as your legs turned to water. you collapsed heavily against his chest, completely ruined, with nothing but the mechanical hum of the printer to fill the space between you.

he slowly lowered his hand from your mouth, his fingers brushing lightly against your wet lips. you immediately turned your head away, drawing in a ragged breath that trembled in your chest. the silence of the copy room returned, thick and suffocating.

you tried to smooth down your skirt with shaking hands, your fingers catching on the wrinkled fabric. the reality of what had just happened — and how close you had come to being caught — settled heavily in your stomach. a sharp knot of anxiety and resentment tightened in your throat.

"let me go." you whispered, refusing to look at him as you pushed weakly against his chest. "someone else will be here soon. the department starts filling up in ten minutes."

jungwon didn't move. he stood perfectly still, his chest expanding slowly against your palms as he looked down at you. the sharp, mocking arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, heavy intensity that felt far more dangerous. he looked at your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, and the way your chest was still heaving. he was breathing heavily too, his usual immaculate composure slightly frayed, his tie shifted slightly to the side.

"you're still burning up." he murmured softly, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register. he reached out, his long fingers catching your jaw and gently but firmly turning your face back toward him. "and you're still looking at the door."

"because this is insane!" you gritted out, a tear of frustration finally slipping down your cheek. "you locked me in a copy room. anyone could have walked in. you could have ruined everything."

he didn't answer right away. he just stared at you, his dark eyes tracking the tear down your cheek before his gaze dropped back to your mouth. the silence stretched between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. there was a quiet weight to his presence, an undeniable gravity that made it impossible to truly step away even though his grip on your wrists had loosened.

slowly, his hand slid from your jaw down to the open collar of your blouse. his knuckles brushed against your collarbone, making you flinch, but you didn't pull away. your body was still humming from the release, completely sensitized, and the cool air of the room against your damp skin only made his touch feel warmer.

"i didn't ruin it." he whispered, his thumb lightly tracing the center of your lower lip. his other hand settled on your hip, his fingers digging into the fabric of your skirt, pulling your lower body back flush against his thigh. "and we aren't finished."

the quiet certainty in his voice made your heart skip a beat. you glanced at the frosted glass of the door again, the terror of being seen mixing with the pulsing ache that was already rebuilding in your lower stomach.

jungwon reached down, his fingers working efficiently at the buckle of his belt. the metallic click sounded incredibly loud in the small room. he didn't make a scene, he just looked at you with a calm, dark focus that made your knees feel weak all over again. he unzipped his slacks, his thick, rigid length freeing itself against your thigh. he hooked his hand under your knee, lifting your leg slightly to anchor it against his hip, his eyes never leaving yours as he guided himself directly against your wet opening.

"quiet, y/n." he murmured, his breath hot against your face as he leaned his weight forward. "keep your eyes on me."

he sank into you slowly, a deliberate pressure that made your eyes stretch wide as he filled you completely. a choked gasp caught in your throat, your fingers instantly digging into the hard fabric of his shoulders to keep from crying out. the stretch was immense, a burning ache that immediately sent a trembling wave of heat straight to your core.

jungwon let out a low, shaky exhale against your lips, his jaw tight as he paused, letting your tight walls adjust to the thick length of his cock. he didn't move for a long moment, simply holding you pinned against the printer, his gaze locked ruthlessly onto yours. you could see the subtle fracture in his calm facade — the way his pupils were completely dilated, the rapid pulse jumping in his neck, the sheer heat radiating from his skin.

"look at me." he whispered again, his voice a gravelly thread.

you forced yourself to keep eye contact, even as a distant telephone began to ring out in the main bullpen, a stark reminder that the office was slowly coming to life. every second he stayed inside you felt like a countdown to absolute disaster.

slowly, jungwon began to move. he pulled back just far enough to tease, before driving back in with a deep thrust that tilted your hips back against the counter. the friction was agonizingly perfect, hitting the exact spot his fingers had ruined just minutes before. your back arched instinctively, a desperate, muffled whimper escaping your lips before you could stop it.

instantly, jungwon’s hand came up, his palm pressing firmly over your mouth to stifle the sound. he didn't stop his rhythm. he kept the pace slow and bruising, his hips grinding into yours with a steady desperation that left you entirely breathless. under the cover of your hitched up skirt, the wet, sliding sound of his entry felt dangerously loud in the quiet room.

“shhhh. see how easy it was? mmh?” the vibration of his low voice hummed right against your ear, the condescending edge returning but wrapped in a breathless desperation that betrayed how deeply he was actually unraveling. you shook your head against his palm, a muffled protest dying against his skin as he drove into you again, harder this time. the blunt force of his hips bottoming out against yours made your vision blur, the intense internal friction striking a cord of pure pleasure that threatened to snap your remaining restraint.

he liked the resistance, but he liked your body's compliance even more. his fingers shifted slightly on your face, his thumb digging into the soft flesh of your cheek to keep you looking directly at him while his lower body maintained that punishing rhythm. the slick friction between your thighs was getting louder with every thrust, a scandalous sound that made your face burn with a fresh wave of shame.

outside, the distinct whine of the main printer network warming up echoed through the wall. someone had just logged into their computer at a nearby cubicle. the floor was officially waking up.

jungwon noticed it too. his eyes narrowed, a dangerous thrill flashing through his gaze as he leaned in even closer, his chest completely crushing your pinned hands against his sternum. he pulled out almost completely, a cruel, agonizingly slow withdrawal that left you feeling hollow and aching, before he slammed back in all the way to the hilt.

a loud, broken gasp was completely smothered by his hand, your hips jerking helplessly against his heavy thigh as a sudden wave of heat coiled tightly in your lower stomach.

"you're shaking." he murmured against his own palm, his breath hot and damp over your mouth as his pace finally began to quicken, losing its calculated restraint. his jaw was set so hard the muscle violently pulsed, his own breathing breaking into uneven pants against your neck. "look at you. you're so tight around me. tell me how pathetic i am now, y/n."

he didn't wait for an answer, nor did he give you the room to form one. he lifted your leg a fraction higher, anchoring you ruthlessly against his hip as his thrusts became faster, deeper, and entirely unmasked. every heavy push drove you closer to another ruinous collapse, your fingers clawing uselessly at his shoulders as you fought to keep from making a single sound that would bring the office crashing down around you.

your teeth sank directly into the meat of his palm, a desperate, vicious bite to keep from screaming as another brutal thrust hit your core. jungwon let out a gravelly hiss against your ear, but he didn't pull his hand away. if anything, the sharp pain only made his grip on your face tighten, his fingers digging into your jaw with a bruising force that kept your head pinned back against the metal machine. his hips didn't slow down for a fraction of a second, they slammed into yours with an unhinged speed that had the heavy industrial printer rattling faintly beneath your lower back.

the wet, sticky friction between your thighs was unbearable, a visual and physical ruin that made your mind spin with a sickening blend of terror and intense pleasure. outside, the heavy click of a ceramic mug hitting a desk sounded just feet away from the copy room door.

"jungwon... mmmph." you tried to speak against his skin, your words muffled into an unidentifiable whine as your hips violently buckled. you were getting too close, the coiled heat in your stomach tightening into a knot so sharp it made your knees completely lose their strength. you were going to fall apart right there, right into his hands, with half the marketing team just beyond the frosted glass.

he pulled his hand down from your mouth just a millimeter, his eyes wild and dark, entirely consumed by the sight of your ruined, weeping expression. "say it." he rasped, his voice an unraveled mess as he drove himself into you to the absolute hilt, over and over. "tell me what you want me to do before someone opens this door, y/n. tell me."

"please." you choked out, your voice a pathetic whisper, your fingers tearing at the crisp fabric of his shirt as the impending wave crashed over you. "hurry... jungwon, please, they're right outside."

a low, triumphant growl tore from the back of his throat. he didn't play the mocking gentleman anymore, he just grabbed your other thigh, completely lifting you off the counter as his thrusts became deep, blind, and ruthlessly heavy. your core clenched around him in violent contractions, a silent climax shattering your posture as you buried your face into his neck, biting his collarbone to swallow the ragged scream tearing from your lungs.

jungwon gave two more desperate shoves into your pulsing heat, his whole body locking up as a low groan escaped his lips. he buried his face in your hair, his length twitching deeply inside you as he filled you completely, his chest heaving against your crushed ribs.

the silence that followed was heavy and deafening, save for the frantic synchronicity of your breathing. he kept you lifted against him for a long moment, his body trembling slightly from the sheer force of his release as his weight anchored you firmly to the edge of the metal counter. outside, the murmur of two coworkers talking about their weekend plans drifted through the drywall, their voices casual, entirely unaware of the absolute ruin taking place just inches away.

slowly, the tension began to drain from jungwon’s rigid frame. he let out a shuddering exhale against your temple, his forehead resting heavily against yours as his grip on your thighs loosened just enough to let your heels touch the floor again. your knees immediately buckled, your legs feeling like jelly, and you had to clutch the front of his shirt just to keep your balance.

"stay still." he murmured, his voice incredibly low and rough, stripped entirely of its usual smooth cadence.

he didn't pull out of you immediately. instead, his hands slid up from your thighs to your waist, his thumbs tracing the small of your back beneath your shirt as he waited for the aftershocks of your climax to finally subside. every tiny, involuntary twitch of your inner muscles made his jaw clench, a lingering heat still humming between your lower bodies.

the internal turmoil in your chest was suffocating. you felt exposed, completely unraveled, and the sharp sting of shame was already beginning to fight its way through the fading haze of pleasure. you had begged him. you had completely dismantled your own walls and given him exactly what he wanted just because you were terrified of being caught.

"let me down." you whispered, your voice raw and completely spent, your eyes fixed strictly on the silver buttons of his vest. you couldn't bring yourself to look at his face, not with the sticky reality of what you had just done settling between your thighs.

jungwon didn't argue. with a careful shift of his weight, he slid out of you. the sudden absence of his heat made you shiver, a cold drop of moisture tracing its way down your inner thigh as the fabric of your underwear snapped back into place, damp and ruined.

he stepped back just half an inch, his fingers lingering on your hips for a split second before he reached down to fix his trousers. the click of his belt buckle sounded agonizingly permanent, signaling the immediate return of the corporate world you had both just violently stepped out of. jungwon reached around you without a word, his long fingers smoothly pressing the button on the top console of the copier. the machine came alive with a loud whir, instantly printing the remaining pages of your presentation, the rhythmic thumping of the paper tray filling the tense silence between you.

it was a clean, jarring transition back to reality. you immediately smoothed down your pencil skirt, your hands still trembling so violently that you could barely straighten the hem over your knees. you tucked your blouse back into the waistband with clumsy movements, your heart still hammering against your ribs from the sheer panic of the hallway voices. the dampness between your thighs was a humiliating reminder of what had just happened, but you forced yourself to ignore it, turning your back to him to gather the freshly printed documents from the tray.

behind you, the rustle of fabric signaled jungwon fixing his tie. when you finally turned around, the wild animal from moments ago was completely gone.

he was standing by the door, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine white shirt, his expression perfectly unreadable. his jaw was no longer clenched, his breathing had completely evened out, and the immaculate, polite golden boy facade was back in place as if it had never left. if it weren't for the slight flush lingering on his neck and the faint scent of your shared heat in the small room, you could have easily convinced yourself you imagined the whole thing. he reached for the silver handle, unlocking the door with a practiced click that felt devastatingly casual.

"the quarterly reports for the marketing team are on your desk, right?" he asked, his voice returning to that smooth, pleasant tone he used during morning meetings. there was no trace of the gravelly whisper that had just ruined you against the counter.

you swallowed the thick lump of shame in your throat, clutching the stack of papers against your chest like a shield. "yes. i'll review them before the noon briefing."

"perfect. let's make sure the formatting is correct before we present to the board." he replied, giving you a polite, professional nod.

he opened the door, stepping out into the bright, bustling corridor without a single backward glance, immediately greeting a passing manager with his charming smile. you stood alone in the dim room for a second longer, your legs still shaking, forced to step right out behind him and pretend the neat little walls of your corporate life hadn't just been completely shattered.

the transition was so seamless it made your stomach turn. you stepped out into the hallway a few paces behind him, the fluorescent lights of the main floor hitting your eyes with a punishing brightness. the office was alive now. the low hum of chatter, the sharp clacking of keyboards, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as if the world hadn't completely shifted on its axis over the last twenty minutes.

you walked past the central cubicles, your thigh muscles tightening painfully with every step, a constant, physical reminder of his weight pinning you down. it was terrifying how normal everything looked. you could feel the damp silk of your underwear clinging to your skin, a secret weight, while jungwon walked a few meters ahead of you with a perfectly straight spine, smoothly dropping off a folder at the reception desk.

he didn't look back at you. not once.

when you reached your desk, you sat down a little too quickly, a small gasp catching in your throat as your sensitized skin made contact with the cold chair. you immediately pulled the stack of warm printer papers in front of you, staring blindly at the columns of numbers. your mind was a chaotic, spinning mess of internal noise. how is he doing that? you thought, your fingers trembling as you gripped your pen. how is he just sitting there?

across the small divider, you could see the top of his dark head as he settled into his own desk. he adjusted his monitor, clicked his mouse, and reached for his pen with the exact same calm precision he displayed every single morning.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

in the weeks that followed, the absolute silence between you became a far more brutal punishment than any of his condescending words in the copy room.

the facade didn't break. not that day, not the next, and not during the endless string of standard departmental meetings that dragged on through the middle of the month. jungwon went back to being the perfect golden boy of the floor. he passed you files with a polite, entirely blank nod. he answered your emails with professional efficiency. if your fingers accidentally brushed over a shared document during a briefing, his hand would retract instantly, his expression remaining so utterly detached you started to wonder if you had hallucinated the entire thing again.

but the physical memory of him refused to fade. every time you walked past that specific frosted glass door in the morning, your stomach would drop, a phantom warmth blooming low in your belly. you hated how your eyes automatically tracked him through the glass partition of his cubicle, how you caught yourself memorizing the slight roll of his sleeves or the sharp line of his jaw when he leaned over his desk.

you were drowning in the quiet, agonizing space he had put between you, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, but jungwon simply refused to acknowledge it. your biggest fear had actually come true and you couldn’t do much about it.

until a rainy tuesday three weeks later. the rest of the team had already left for a corporate dinner you had skipped, leaving the floor dark and empty save for the steady hum of the fluorescent lights above your desk. you were typing a final report, your shoulders tense, when a shadow suddenly fell across your papers.

you snapped your head up. jungwon was standing on the other side of your partition, his trench coat slung over his arm, his briefcase already in hand. he looked exactly like he did every evening — immaculate, composed, completely out of reach.

"i'm locking up the main floor." he said, his voice carrying that pleasant cadence that had kept you at a distance for twenty one days. "are you finishing up soon, y/n?"

you swallowed hard, your fingers freezing over the keys as the sheer, suffocating weight of his presence hit you all at once. the weeks of forced indifference, the stolen glances, and the burning shame of that morning in the supply closet flared hot in your chest. "i have ten minutes left." you managed to say, forcing your voice to stay even, refusing to let him see how much his simple proximity was making your pulse race. "you don't have to wait for me."

jungwon didn't move. he stood perfectly still in the dim aisle, his dark eyes fixed on your face. for a long second, the silence stretched between you, thick with the unspoken reality of what you had done against that counter.

then, very slowly, his gaze dropped to your mouth. it was the first real break in his mask in a month. his jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek giving a sharp pulse, and the familiar, dangerous intensity flooded his eyes, clouding the brown until they looked almost entirely black. he wasn't looking at a coworker anymore. he was looking at you the exact same way he had right before he pinned your wrists to the metal.

"ten minutes." he murmured, his voice dropping into that low register that made your spine instantly freeze. he didn't step closer, and he didn't touch you, but the territorial, heavy grip of his eyes felt like a physical weight against your skin. "i'll be by the elevators." he turned and walked away before you could breathe, his dress shoes clicking sharply against the floor, leaving you trembling in the empty office with the terrifying realization that the walls you had spent weeks building hadn't actually kept anything out.

after those agonizing ten minutes quickly passed, the elevator doors slid shut with a synchronized click, leaving the two of you entirely alone in the descending steel box.

the silence was thick, pressing heavily against your eardrums as the floor numbers ticked downward. you stood in the corner, clutching the strap of your bag with white-knuckled intensity, your eyes glued to the polished metal doors. you could feel the suffocating friction of his presence just two feet away. your mind was a chaotic, spinning mess of internal noise, replaying the dark look he had just given you across your desk. did he mean it? is he going to do something? you glanced at him from beneath your lashes, your heart hammering against your ribs.

jungwon was leaning casually against the handrail, one hand slid carelessly into his trouser pocket while the other held his briefcase. his eyes were fixed on the digital display above the door, his expression completely blank, perfectly smooth, and utterly nonchalant. the raspy voice from three minutes ago might as well have belonged to a ghost. his jaw was loose, his breathing perfectly rhythmic.

a sickening knot of realization twisted sharply in your stomach. he doesn't care. the thought hit you like a physical blow, draining the residual heat from your veins and replacing it with a hollow ache. the fierce, territorial grip of his eyes back at your cubicle hadn't been a confession or a break in his mask — it was just a reflex. a passing thought. he was just playing with you, testing to see if he still had that terrifying gravity over your body, and you had shown him your absolute ruin in a single second. you had let him see how easily he could freeze you when you had vehemently swore it could never happen, while he didn't even have the decency to let his composure slip for more than a heartbeat.

the elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal the dim, echoing expanse of the underground parking garage. jungwon straightened up smoothly, stepping out onto the concrete without waiting for you. his easy strides carried him toward his sleek sedan, his coat swinging slightly with the movement. he looked so effortlessly out of your reach, a pristine corporate entity who hadn't spent the last three weeks drowning in the memory of your slick heat coating his knuckles. to him, it was just another day. it was just an empty office floor.

"drive safe, y/n." he called out over his shoulder, his voice carrying that entirely detached cadence as he unlocked his car with a distant beep. he didn't look back to see your expression. he just slid into the driver's seat, closing the door with a definitive thud that echoed through the empty garage, leaving you standing under the flickering lights, completely hollowed out by his indifference.

you didn’t move until the taillights of his car disappeared up the concrete ramp, leaving the garage in a darker quiet. the bite of the underground air finally pierced through the numbness in your chest, forcing a shaky breath from your throat. you hated him. you hated him so deeply in that moment, but more than anything, you hated the pathetic way your skin still felt too tight, still humming with a desperate, unearned adrenaline just because he had looked at your mouth.

it was a game, you reminded yourself as you unlocked your own car, your fingers stiff against the steering wheel. just a power trip. you had spent three weeks thinking you were sharing a suffocating secret, drowning in the memory of his fingers, while he had probably forgotten the exact color of the underwear he had pushed aside.

the next morning, you arrived early, your spine perfectly straight, your eyes cold. you had spent the entire night rebuilding your own walls, cementing them with the raw humiliation of his easy departure.

and jungwon made it incredibly easy for you to believe the lie.

over the next two weeks, you watched him play his part with a terrifying, flawless precision. he still was the department's golden boy, the immaculate genius every higher-up adored and every intern whispered about. you sat at your desk and watched him smile charmingly at the new girl from hr, leaning just close enough to make her blush while he explained the expense report system. you heard the rumors through the office grapevine — how he had been seen leaving a lounge downtown with a senior designer from product development last friday, his jacket slung over his arm, looking effortlessly smooth.

he still was methodical. he still was calculated. he picked them apart, charmed them, used them, and then returned to his desk on monday morning without a single hair out of place. you were nothing special to him. you were just a checkbox in his sick need for control, a momentary lapse where he wanted to see if he could break the one person who didn't look at him like he hung the moon.

so you needed to stop looking. you treated him like a piece of office furniture — functional, necessary, and completely uninteresting. when he passed you files, you didn't look at his eyes. when he emailed you, you replied with one word confirmations. you forced yourself to believe you were completely over it.

but because you were the only one who actually saw past the perfect golden armor, you were the only one who noticed the tiny, almost invisible cracks.

it started with his posture. jungwon always sat perfectly straight, but lately, whenever jay came over to your desk to laugh and linger a little too long, jungwon’s broad shoulders would turn entirely rigid behind his partition. his keyboard would go dead silent. he wouldn't turn around, he wouldn't break his perfect facade, but his pen would stop clicking, hovering over his paperwork until jay finally walked away.

then came the morning briefings. he would sit at the head of the conference table, smoothly delivering metrics to the team with his usual pleasant, charming tone. everyone was captivated. but your eyes were fixed on his hands. while his voice was perfectly steady, his thumb was repeatedly tracing the silver band of his watch — a restless motion he only did when he was deeply unsettled. and once, just once, when you leaned forward to grab a printout, his eyes flickered down to your collarbone, his jaw tightening so hard the muscle violently pulsed before he smoothly transitioned to the next slide.

on friday afternoon, right before clock out, the office was buzzing with the energy of the weekend, people packing up their bags and making loud plans. jungwon was surrounded by three girls from marketing, holding court near the elevators, offering them that effortless, dimpled smile that always made them giggle. from your desk, he looked completely unbothered, entirely back to his usual routine of being the untouchable favorite.

you quietly zipped your bag, sliding your chair back to leave through the side exit, wanting to avoid the elevator crowd entirely.

as you walked past the main copy room — the very room that still made your stomach drop every time you glanced at the frosted glass — the door suddenly clicked open a fraction of an inch.

you paused, your heart skipping a beat. jungwon was inside, dropping off a stack of recycled papers. he hadn't seen you yet. he was completely alone, away from his audience, and for a split second, the charming golden boy was entirely dead. his head was down, his chest heaving in a slow breath that looked incredibly heavy. his fingers were gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles were stark white. the exact spot where he had pinned your wrists.

you took a step back, your shoes scuffing lightly against the floor. jungwon’s head snapped up. through the gap in the door, his dark eyes locked onto yours. the pleasant, fake sweet mask he had been wearing at the elevators just two minutes ago was completely shattered, replaced by a hollowed out frustration that made your breath hitch. he didn't move, and he didn't say a word. you both just stood there, the heavy silence of the copy room bleeding out into the hallway, cutting straight through the distant chatter of the office.

his eyes didn't leave yours. the unhinged intensity you thought you had imagined was right there, clouding the brown of his pupils until they looked almost black. his knuckles remained white against the counter, his broad shoulders rising and falling with that same heavy breath. it was a silent confession he couldn't take back, a glaring proof that while he was out there playing the untouchable prince, he was secretly rotting in the exact same memory that had been torturing you for weeks.

he’s losing, the realization hit your chest with a dizzying jolt. he’s pretending just as hard as i am. but then, almost as quickly as it had shattered, his mask began to piece itself back together. you could see the exact moment his calculating mind took over. his fingers slowly uncurled from the edge of the counter, his spine straightening into that familiar, impeccable posture. he let out a dismissive breath through his nose, his jaw tightening into a smooth, even line as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.

by the time he took a step toward the doorway, it all was gone, replaced once again by the flawless colleague. "going home?" he asked, his voice sliding effortlessly back into that casual tone that made your stomach turn. he didn't lean in, and he didn't look at your mouth. he just stepped out into the hallway, pulling the copy room door shut behind him with a definitive click.

"yes." you managed to say, your voice flat, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. you hated how your heart was still hammering against your ribs, how your body still reacted to his proximity even when his eyes were completely blank again.

"good. enjoy the weekend, y/n." he replied, giving you an entirely standard nod that you would see him give any other staff member.

he turned on his heel and walked right back toward the elevators, smoothly slipping back into the crowd of marketing girls who were still waiting for him. as you walked away through the side exit, your chest ached with a burning confusion. he was still that same fake, dangerous boy, completely unreachable, but you were pretty sure of what you saw. the immaculate armor had a leak, and for the first time in a month, you didn’t seem to be the only one suffocating.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

you spent the entire weekend trapped in the memory of those three seconds. no matter how hard you tried to push it away — whether you were cleaning your apartment or staring blindly at the television — all you could see was the unraveled frustration in his eyes before his mask snapped back into place. it changed everything. you had spent weeks drowning in shame, convinced you were the only one broken by what had happened, while he just smoothly moved on to the next person. but now it seemed like his nonchalance was just as fake as his charming, dimpled smile.

by monday morning, the office atmosphere felt different, charged with a quiet, invisible current that only the two of you could feel. you sat at your desk, keeping your head down, but you didn't feel like a victim anymore. the dynamic had subtly shifted. when jungwon arrived, he was back to his usual routine — laughing politely at a manager's bad joke, offering a sweet, effortless greeting to the receptionist. but as he walked past your partition to get to his desk, you didn't look away this time. you kept your eyes fixed on your screen, perfectly still, letting your deliberate indifference hang in the air like a wall.

you heard the distinct slide of his briefcase hitting his desk, followed by a sudden silence. he didn't sit down right away.

for a long, tense minute, the only sound between your cubicles was the low hum of the air conditioner. you could feel his gaze burning through the small gap in the divider, heavy and demanding, practically begging you to look up and give him the validation he always took from you. but you didn't give him a single inch. you casually reached for your ceramic mug, took a slow sip of your coffee, and clicked on your email spreadsheet. the keys of his keyboard suddenly rattled under his fingers with a force that was just a fraction too aggressive for his usual methodical rhythm.

around eleven, jay strolled over to your desk, leaning his hip against the edge of your partition with a lazy grin. "hey, y/n. a few of us are grabbing lunch down at that new bistro by the plaza later. you should come. i'll even cover your dessert if you help me look over the Q2 projections afterwards."

you offered jay a genuine smile, leaning back in your chair. "sure, jay. that sounds really nice, actually. let me just finish up this report."

"perfect. it's a date, then." jay joked, giving you a playful wink before turning to leave.

the exact second jay's footsteps faded down the hall, the quiet clicking of jungwon's keyboard completely stopped. the silence from his cubicle was suffocating, thick with a sudden, icy hostility that made the hairs on your arms stand up.

a moment later, your inbox chimed with a new notification:

From: Yang Jungwon To: Y/N Subject: Q2 Presentation Formatting Please bring the physical drafts of the marketing presentation to the main archive room on B1. There are inconsistencies in the data layout that need to be corrected immediately before the afternoon briefing.

your heart gave a violent thud against your ribs. the archive room. that windowless, isolated space in the basement where almost no one went during the day. you stared at the text on your screen, your fingers freezing over your mouse as the internal turmoil flared white-hot in your chest all over again. he was pulling the strings, falling back on his authority because his perfect, fake sweet persona wasn't working on you. he was desperate to get you behind a closed door, desperate to find out if he still held that volatile gravity over your body.

you slowly printed out the sheets, the rhythmic thumping of the machine sounding like a countdown. you gathered the warm papers against your chest, your knees feeling slightly weak as you stood up, forced to walk toward the elevators and find out exactly how much further his flawless armor was going to crack.

the basement air hit you first — cool, damp, and smelling faintly of dust and old paper.

the heavy steel door of the archive room clicked shut behind you with an echoing thud that made your chest tighten. it was completely isolated down there, rows of high metal shelves stretching out under the harsh buzz of fluorescent tubes. you walked down the center aisle, the physical drafts clutched tightly against your chest like a shield, your heels clicking softly on the smooth concrete.

jungwon was already there. he was standing by a long metal sorting table at the back of the room, casually flipping through a thick folder. his suit jacket was off, draped neatly over the back of a nearby chair, and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up to his elbows with that effortless precision. 

"you said there were inconsistencies." you said, your voice cutting through the silence. you kept it flat, professional, and entirely devoid of the breathy panic you knew he was used to extracting from you. you stepped up to the opposite side of the wide metal table, sliding the stack of papers across the cold surface between you.

jungwon didn't look up immediately. he slowly finished the line he was reading, tapped his pen against the table twice, and then finally raised his eyes.

the forced nonchalance in his gaze was breathtakingly thin, but he held it together. the pleasant, fake nice colleague was perfectly intact. "slide four." he murmured, his voice smooth, though it carried a quiet weight that felt incredibly heavy in the small room. "the formatting doesn't match the logistics ledger. we can't present sloppy work to the board."

"it's not sloppy." you replied smoothly, leaning your palms against the edge of the table, deliberately matching his unbothered posture. "jay reviewed the data layout with me last week. he said it was perfect."

the mention of his name hit the air like a live wire. jungwon’s fingers tightened around his pen for a fraction of a second, his knuckles turning pale before he relaxed his grip. he didn't snap, and he didn't raise his voice. instead, he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the metal table, looking at you with a calm, analytical focus that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"jay doesn't sign off on your department's metrics." jungwon said, his tone dropping into a slightly lower register that sent a phantom shiver down your spine. "i do. if he wants to audit your work, he can do it through the proper channels. until then, i need you to align these numbers."

"i'll fix it at my desk, then." you said, reaching out to pull the papers back toward yourself, desperate to break the suffocating gravity of his presence.

but jungwon didn't let go of his side of the papers. his hand clamped down flat on the top sheet, trapping the documents against the metal. his dark eyes locked onto yours. the silence stretched between you and you could see the faint pulse jumping in his neck, the slight tightness in his jaw.

"we have an hour before the briefing, y/n." he murmured, his voice losing just a bit of its polished edge. "do it here. i need to verify it in real time."

you swallowed hard, your internal turmoil flaring white hot. you wanted to push back, wanted to call him out on his transparent power play, but the sheer, addictive thrill of having his unmasked attention kept you rooted to the spot. without breaking eye contact, you slowly pulled your laptop out of your bag, setting it on the cold metal table.

for the next ten minutes, the only sound in the archive room was the rhythmic clicking of your keyboard. you sat on a metal stool, keeping your posture rigid. jungwon remained directly across from you, ostensibly reviewing his ledger, but you could feel his eyes tracking every minor movement of your fingers, the way your collarbone shifted when you breathed, the tension in your shoulders. it was an agonizing tug of war, a silent battle of attrition to see who would fold first.

"done." you finally said, your voice sounding a little too thin in the quiet room. you pushed the laptop an inch forward. "the metrics are aligned."

jungwon closed his folder. instead of leaning over the table to look at the screen, he walked around it. every step he took felt impossibly loud. he didn't stop until he was standing right beside your stool, so close that his thigh brushed against your shoulder. his expensive scent entirely crowded out the musty smell of the basement, sending a treacherous wave of heat straight to your lower stomach. you froze, your hands resting rigidly in your lap, refusing to look up at him.

he leaned down, planting one hand on the metal table right next to your laptop, the other resting on the back of your stool, entirely caging you in. "is this what jay taught you?" jungwon murmured, his voice a mocking rasp right next to your ear. he wasn't even looking at the screen. his gaze was fixed on the side of your neck. "because the margins are still off."

"the margins are standard." you gritted out, your fingers curling into fists in your lap to keep them from trembling. the forced proximity was destroying your composure. "he actually knows how to work with the team, jungwon. unlike some people, he doesn't just use everyone around him for a power trip."

the air in the room completely stalled. jungwon let out a slow, sharp breath that fanned across your cheek. he didn't pull away. instead, he leaned in a fraction closer, the polished golden boy facade finally cracking.

"you're trying so hard, y/n." he whispered, his voice dark and utterly devoid of his usual corporate charm. "ignoring me in the hallways. sending one word emails. letting jay buy you coffee just to see if i'll react."

"i'm not trying to do anything." you shot back, finally turning your head to glare at him. it was a mistake. his face was mere inches from yours, his dark eyes completely consumed by that familiar intensity. the memory of his hand over your mouth, his hips crushing yours against the counter, suddenly screamed in the silence between you. "i just don't care about you anymore."

"liar." the word was a soft, cruel accusation. his eyes dropped to your lips, tracking the way they parted on a shaky intake of breath. his hand shifted from the back of your stool, his long fingers lightly grazing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck beneath your hair. "you care so much it's eating you alive.”

you wanted to shove him away. you wanted to slap him. but as his thumb brushed over your pulse point, feeling the hammering rhythm of your heart, a humiliating ache bloomed in your chest. the fight drained out of you, replaced by a suffocating yearning that you had spent an entire month trying to kill.

"then stop playing games." you whispered, your voice cracking, a raw confession slipping out before you could stop it. "stop looking at me like that if you're just going to go back upstairs and pretend i don't exist. or are you just doing all this to humiliate me and keep your ego intact?"

jungwon’s jaw locked. the muscle jumped violently beneath his skin, his eyes darkening into an absolute void as he stared down at you, the agonizing space between your lips separated by nothing but a few inches of cold basement air. the silence stretched for a long second, the harsh buzz of the lights above ringing in your ears like a warning.

"my ego." he repeated, the words tearing out of his throat in a harsh whisper. "you think my ego is intact."

his hand slid from the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling violently into the roots of your hair as he forced your head back. the movement was sharp, possessive, snapping the very last thread of your composure. he stepped right between your parted knees, the metal legs of your stool scraping loudly against the concrete as he dragged you inches closer to the edge of the table.

the solid warmth of his body pressed flush against your inner thighs, sending a blinding wave of heat straight to your center. you let out a choked gasp, your hands flying up to grip the lapels of his shirt, entirely unsure if you were trying to push him away or pull him closer.

"i haven't slept a full night in a month." he breathed against your mouth, his chest heaving against yours. the immaculate, calculating golden boy was completely gone, dissolving into someone desperate, unraveled, and entirely out of control. "i sit at my desk and watch you look right through me, and it takes every single ounce of my self control not to drag you under it and remind you exactly what you sounded like choking on my fingers."

your heart was hammering so violently it physically hurt. you stared up into his dark, ruined eyes, the resentment that had protected you for weeks crumbling into dust under the sheer weight of his confession.

"you want to know why i pretend, y/n? you want to know why i walk away?" jungwon continued, his voice dropping into a venomous growl, his thumb digging bruisingly into your jawline.

a hot tear of sheer, overwhelming frustration finally broke free, tracing down your cheek. "why?" you whispered pathetically, your walls completely dismantled.

"because if i let myself drop the act," he rasped, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flickering back up, pitch black and starving. "if i let myself actually think about how slick and ruined you were for me... how perfectly you clamped down on my cock while you begged me to hurry... i wouldn't just lock you in a copy room. i would bend you over every single desk on that floor and fuck that cold attitude right out of you until you couldn't drive home."

he didn't give you a chance to breathe, let alone answer. his mouth crashed down onto yours with a devastating force. it wasn't the teasing, mocking kiss from before. it was messy, filthy, and completely starved. his lips parted yours violently, his tongue driving deep into your mouth to swallow the broken sound that tore from your throat. he tasted like black coffee and unadulterated need.

the fight instantly drained out of your muscles. your hands, which had been clenched against his chest, completely surrendered, your fingers sliding up to fist into the crisp fabric at his shoulders. you kissed him back just as desperately, your body arching into his heat, chasing the exact friction that had been torturing your memory for weeks.

a low groan vibrated deep in his chest. he let go of your hair, wrapping both of his arms tightly around your waist and physically lifting you off the stool. the papers on the table scattered onto the concrete floor as he slammed your back down onto the cold metal surface, his heavy frame immediately settling right between your legs.

"open for me." he growled against your lips, his hand already sliding ruthlessly up your thigh, pushing your skirt out of the way. "let me see if you've been aching for it as badly as i have."

his hand didn't bother with being gentle. his long fingers dragged up your inner thigh, snagging on the lace of your underwear. he hooked two fingers under the damp fabric and shoved it aside with an almost violent tug. the cool basement air hit your exposed core for a fraction of a second before his blunt fingers pressed directly against your slick heat.

a shuddering breath tore from his lungs. he let his forehead drop against your shoulder, his chest heaving as he felt exactly how ready you were for him. "fuck." he rasped, his voice vibrating against your collarbone. he slid one thick finger deep inside you, the wet, obscene sound echoing loudly in the quiet room. "you're completely soaked. you were sitting at your desk acting like i didn't exist while you were dripping wet for me, mmh?"

"jungwon-" you whimpered, your hips jerking instinctively upward to chase his hand. the humiliation of being so easily exposed was entirely drowned out by the blinding relief of finally having him touch you again.

"we have twenty minutes until the briefing." he muttered, his dark eyes snapping back up to yours, feral and unyielding. "i'm going to ruin you so badly you won't be able to look at that projector screen without shaking." he didn't waste another second. his free hand dropped to his waist, the sharp clink of his belt buckle sounding like a starting gun. he tore his zipper down, freeing his erect cock before gripping your hips with bruising force. he dragged you to the very edge of the sorting table, your lower half completely suspended off the metal as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist to anchor yourself.

he didn't tease. he just lined himself up, gripped your thighs tightly, and sank into you with one deep, ruthless thrust that buried him to the absolute hilt. a loud, broken scream tore from your throat, but he swallowed it instantly, his mouth crashing back down onto yours. the stretch was agonizingly perfect. the contrast of the freezing metal table biting into your shoulder blades and the burning heat of him completely filling you made your mind entirely short circuit.

he broke the kiss just to catch his breath, his jaw clenched so tight the bone looked sharp enough to cut. "fuck, y/n." he groaned, his head falling back as his hips locked against yours for a second, absorbing the suffocating grip of your inner walls. "you're so tight."

and then he started to move. there was no methodical pacing, no calculated restraint. he fucked you with a frantic, punishing desperation, his hips pulling back only to slam into you with a heavy, wet slap that echoed obscenely off the metal shelves. the heavy sorting table actually rattled under his weight, every brutal thrust driving you backward, forcing your hands to claw helplessly at the ruined fabric of his shirt.

"jungwon, p-please. it's too fast." you choked out, your vision blurring with white hot tears as the friction immediately dialed up to an unbearable intensity. your core was already so sensitized from weeks of yearning that every time he bottomed out inside of you, a violent tremor shot straight through your stomach.

"it's not fast enough." he growled, his hand sliding up to grip your throat — not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to assert his absolute control, his thumb resting heavily over your racing pulse. he stared down at you, his immaculate hair falling messily over his forehead, his dark eyes tracking every single expression that crossed your ruined face. "let go for me. fall apart right here, before we have to go back upstairs and pretend."

you couldn't hold on even if you tried. the ticking clock, the danger of the basement door, and the overwhelming reality of him finally taking what you both wanted completely shattered your restraint. your nails dug into his forearms, a high, desperate whine leaving your lips as your internal walls began to violently contract.

"that's it." he rasped, his pace turning blind and relentless as he felt your climax begin to milk him. "take it. take all of it."

you completely broke, a ragged sob tearing from your chest as the climax rippled through you, your core clamping down on his rigid length in relentless waves. jungwon let out a deep, guttural groan, his control instantly snapping as he gave one final brutal shove before burying his face in your neck, spilling hotly deep inside you as his entire body locked up against yours.

the absolute silence of the basement returned with a deafening weight, broken only by the frantic synch of your breathing.

he stayed buried deep inside you for a heavy moment, his chest heaving against you, his pulse hammering a violent rhythm against your neck where his face was still buried. the heat radiating from his skin was staggering, a stark contrast to the freezing metal table biting into your spine. inside you, the last of his frantic twitches subsided, leaving behind a pulsing warmth that made your head spin with a sickening cocktail of euphoria and crashing panic.

ten minutes. your mind violently jolted back to the clock. we have ten minutes.

slowly, the rigid tension began to bleed out of jungwon’s frame. he let out a shuddering exhale against your skin, his forehead coming to rest heavily against your shoulder. when he finally pulled back, the physical separation felt brutal. he slid out of you with a wet friction that made your inner muscles helplessly twitch, a drop of moisture immediately coming down your inner thigh just like the first time.

the transition back to reality was instant, cold, and utterly terrifying again.

jungwon didn't say a word. he stepped back just half an inch, his long fingers lingering on your hip for a fraction of a second before he reached down to fix his clothes. you watched him through blurred vision as he pulled his sleeves back down, buttoning his cuffs with steady movements. his hair was messy, a few dark strands falling over his eyes, and a telltale flush covered his cheeks, but his expression was already shutting down. the feral man who had just pinned you to a metal table was being buried alive once again, brick by brick, right before your eyes.

"fix your skirt." he murmured, his voice incredibly low, still carrying a rough edge that he was clearly trying to smooth over. he didn't look at your face. he was looking at his watch. "we have less than ten minutes to get to the conference room."

the casual nonchalance of his tone made your stomach violently turn. you scrambled off the table, your legs shaking so violently that your heels nearly buckled the moment they hit the concrete floor. you immediately turned your back to him, your hands trembling as you tucked your blouse back into your waistband, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your skirt with silly, panicked movements. the sticky reality of what he had just left inside you was a burning weight between your thighs, but you obliged yourself to not think about it, desperately trying to swallow the thick lump of shame and yearning clogging your throat.

he's doing it again, you thought, your chest aching with a raw, suffocating turmoil. he just used me to vent a month of frustration, and now he's putting the mask back on.

when you forced yourself to turn around, the illusion was almost perfect. jungwon had donned his jacket, straightened his collar, and run a hand through his hair to guide it back into its immaculate style. once more, you could have convinced yourself it all had been a hallucination.

he picked up the scattered presentation slides from the floor, tapping the edge of the papers against the table to align them perfectly. "the data layout looks completely standard now." he said, his voice sliding effortlessly back into that tone he used for the board of directors. he extended the stack of papers toward you, his hand perfectly steady. "make sure you hand these to the department head as soon as we walk in."

you took the papers, your fingers brushing against his for a fraction of a second. you expected him to pull away, expected the ice — but his fingers tightened subtly over yours, pinning the pages between you for one agonizing heartbeat.

his eyes locked onto yours, pitch black and harboring a quiet promise that completely contradicted his polite posture. i'm not finished with you, his gaze whispered, loud and clear, before he smoothly let go.

"let's go." jungwon said, offering you a polite nod as he turned toward the heavy steel door. "we can't be late for the briefing."

he pushed the door open, stepping out into the hallway without a single backward glance. you stood alone in the dim archive room for one second longer, trying to steady your breath, before you stepped right out behind him — forced to walk into a crowded elevator and pretend your entire world hadn't just been ruined in the basement. 

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the briefing passed in a blinding blur. you sat three chairs down from him at the long mahogany table, your knees locked tightly together, trying to focus on the projector screen while the slow warmth of what he had left inside you cooled against your thighs. jungwon was flawless. he pointed at the data slides with his silver pen, spoke in that bright, capable way the executives loved, and didn't look at you a single time.

that afternoon was the first brick laid in a structure that would systematically hollow you out over the next four weeks. the basement hadn't been a momentary break in his mask. instead, it became the blueprint for a toxic, unspoken routine that established itself entirely through the company’s internal server. neither of you ever spoke a word about it out loud. there were no late night texts, no lingering looks, and absolutely no acknowledgment of the ruin you shared. jungwon kept the boundary line thick and visible, and you, out of a desperate, clawing need to save your own pride, matched his stride.

you learned to read the language of his casual invitations. it always started with a generic email notification flashing on your monitor. the subject lines were always pristine, completely invisible to anyone else — archival cross-reference, logistics ledger review, updated q3 formatting. but the timing was calculated with a terrifying precision. it was always 7:15 am, before the front desk receptionist clocked in, or 8:30 pm, when the main floor lights auto dimmed and the cleaning crew was still three levels above.

the locations shifted, but the suffocating friction remained the same. a vacant corporate lounge on the 14th floor, a narrow, windowless supply vault behind the server racks, the deep corner of a private office after the heavy blinds were twisted shut against the city. 

and every single time, the pattern was a torturous loop. you would walk into the designated room with your jaw clenched, your heart hammering an angry rhythm against your ribs, determined to prove you were just as detached as he was. jungwon would be waiting, looking immaculate, his expression completely blank as he gave you some casual instruction. you would pretend you didn't care. he would pretend he didn't care.

then, the air would stall. the forced nonchalance would burn away into that unhinged intensity, and he would drag you against a desk or pin you against a wall. he was filthy in the dark, using a venomous rasp to whisper things that made your blood boil with a sickening mix of shame and desperate desire. he would take everything your body pathetically yearned for, running the clock down to the absolute last second.

and the exact heartbeat his release was over, the ice returned.

he would slide out of you, fix his trousers, and adjust his silk tie in the mirror without saying a single word. by the time you stepped back out into the hallway, he would already be five paces ahead of you, his hands slid carelessly into his pockets, ready to greet a manager with a charming nod.

that was the part that was slowly driving you insane — the terrifying precision of his dual reality, and the rotting hurt it left in your chest.

during the day, you had to sit at your desk and watch him play the department's golden boy. you watched him lean over the reception desk, giving the new girls that fake sweet look that made them stammer. you heard all the gossip about who he did or did not fuck. to the rest of the world, he was pristine. you were nothing special to him, just a hidden variable in his daily schedule, a convenient way to vent his corporate frustration because you were the only one who didn't look at him like that.

you wanted to scream at him. you wanted to slap the casual, empty smile right off his face in the morning briefings. you wanted to ask him if you were just a tool, if he even remembered your name when he wasn't burying his face in your neck. but the rules of the game you had both entered meant you couldn't say a single word. to voice the hurt would mean admitting that his effortless shifts between the office prince and the private monster were breaking you. it would mean admitting that while he was just having a casual, physical release, you were drowning in him. if you showed a single crack in your composure, he would win. he would see your ruin, give you that polite, standard nod, and walk away entirely. so you swallowed the pain until it tasted like battery acid, cementing your face into the same blank indifference he wore so well.

by the end of the month, your internal mess had stretched your nerves to a breaking point. the careless act was getting heavier, the unspoken friction between your cubicles turning into an icy wall that made the entire floor feel unsafe.

it was a thursday evening, the clock creeping just past 8:45 pm. the department was dead silent, the only sound the steady drumming of rain against the floor to ceiling glass windows.

your monitor flashed white in the darkened space:

From: Yang Jungwon To: Y/N Subject: Late Invoice Discrepancy Please bring the physical Q3 budget folders to the archive room immediately for verification.

your fingers shook against the mouse. there was no discrepancy. he was just stressed from the executive board meeting he had endured that afternoon, and he wanted to use you to burn it off.

you slowly stood up, gathering the heavy folders against your chest like a shield. your knees felt weak, your blood running thick with that familiar adrenaline as you walked down the darkened hallway toward the archive room.

through the glass partition, you could see his silhouette. jungwon had his jacket off, his white shirt slightly loosened at the collar, his hands slid deep into his trouser pockets. he looked completely composed, a picture of solitary corporate elegance. you pushed the heavy door open, stepping into the room. the quiet click of the latch closing behind you sounded like a definitive thud in the silence.

jungwon didn't turn around. he let the quiet stretch between you, the casual indifference of his posture practically mocking the storm raging in your chest.

"close the door, y/n." he murmured smoothly, his side profile showing the faint, dangerous ghost of a smirk. "and lock it."

you didn't move. the plastic folders were cold against your chest, a brittle barrier between your hammering ribs and the quiet expanse of the room. your thumb hovered near the edge of the first tab, freezing. for a whole month, your hand would have already reached backward, blindly finding the lock, twisting it shut without a second thought because the pathetic craving inside you always won. but tonight, the ache in your throat felt heavier than any other ache. 

"i said," jungwon murmured, his tone dropping just a fraction, the smooth corporate tone beginning to fray at the edges as he slowly turned his head to look at you. "lock the door."

he was waiting for you to fold. he was waiting for the familiar routine to click into place — the cold glances, the sudden slam against the wall, the filthy whispers that would temporarily numb the hollow feeling in your chest. he looked so infuriatingly untouched, standing there with his sleeves rolled up, entirely confident that you would slide right into your designated role in his schedule.

"no." you said. the word was small, barely a whisper against the relentless drumming of the rain outside, but it felt like a gunshot in the dead silence of the room.

jungwon’s brows twitched, his head turning fully toward you now. his hands stayed in his pockets, his posture still maintaining that unbothered stance, but his dark eyes sharpened, tracking the slight tremor in your shoulders. "what?"

"i'm not locking it." you said, your voice growing steadier, though the raw edge of it was impossible to hide now. you walked forward, but you didn't stop close to him. you slammed the folders down on the edge of the table, the loud smack echoing off the metal shelves. "the metrics are on page twelve. if there's a discrepancy, find it yourself. i'm leaving."

you turned on your heel, your chest burning, ready to walk out before the humiliation of your own tears could fully expose you. but jungwon was faster. the casual nonchalance vanished in a heartbeat. his hand shot out of his pocket, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with a bruising grip that violently pulled you back into his space. the expensive scent of his cologne crowded your senses instantly, a suffocating reminder of every single desk, wall, and floor he had claimed you on over the last four weeks.

"what is this?" he growled, his voice dropping into that venomous rasp, his face mere inches from yours. his pupils were blown, the feral, starving frustration finally breaking through his mask. "you don't get to just walk out, y/n. you received the email. you came down here. don't start playing games now."

"i'm not playing games, jungwon!" you choked out, the resentment finally fracturing your voice as you tried to violently wrenched your wrist from his grip. he didn't budge. his fingers only tightened, pinning you against his chest until you could feel the furious thudding of his own heart. "i'm done. i can't do this anymore."

"can't do what?" he muttered, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his breathing turning shallow and ragged as he leaned in closer. his hips subtly pressed forward, trying to force your body into the familiar, addictive submission it always succumbed to. "you want this just as badly as i do. you're shaking right now. let me lock the door and-"

"no!" a hot tear finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing a humiliating path down your cheek, and the sight of it made jungwon instantly freeze. your chest heaved, the walls you had spent a month building completely crumbling into dust right in front of him. "i can't keep pretending. i can't watch you smile at the interns in the morning, listen to them talk about who you went home with on friday, and then come down here in the dark just so you can use me to burn off your stress."

jungwon’s jaw locked, the muscle pulsing violently under his skin. his grip on your wrist didn't slacken, but he stopped pushing into you, his dark eyes staring down at your face with a jarring intensity that looked almost like panic.

"it's ruining me." you whispered, your voice cracking completely, the raw truth tasting like ash on your tongue. "you get to slide right back into your perfect little suit and walk away like nothing happened, and i'm left sitting at my desk feeling entirely hollowed out. if it's just a casual release for you, fine. find someone else. because it's breaking me, and i'm not going to let you do it anymore."

the silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of the rules you had just permanently shattered. jungwon didn't move. he didn't give you a polite nod, and he didn't let go of your wrist. he just stared at you, his chest heaving. for a fraction of a second, he looked genuinely caught off guard, but then, the tension in his jaw completely vanished. the momentary panic in his dark eyes melted away, replaced by a calculating amusement that made your stomach violently drop.

jungwon let out a low, breathless chuckle. he didn't pull you in aggressively. instead, his grip on your wrist softened, his thumb slowly stroking over the hammering rhythm of your pulse.

"ruining you." he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with a terrifyingly casual drawl. his gaze dropped from your tear stained eyes down to your chest, watching the way you were desperately trying to catch your breath. "you're acting like i'm dragging you down here against your will, y/n. but we both know that's a lie."

"jungwon-" you tried to step back, but his hand slid smoothly from your wrist to your hip, his long fingers completely encompassing the curve of your waist, holding you in place with effortless dominance.

"you hate that i smile at the interns? you hate that i don't look at you in the boardroom?" he murmured, leaning in until his lips were hovering just an inch from your ear. his suffocating scent wrapped around you like a vice. "that's just your pride talking, because your body tells a completely different story. you say this is breaking you, but you're shaking so hard you can barely stand. i haven't even touched you properly yet, and you're already completely soaked for me, aren't you?"

a hot, humiliating flush spread across your neck. you wanted to deny it, wanted to push him and scream that he was wrong, but your core was already pulsing with that familiar heat, reacting to the sheer proximity of his body just like a trained animal.

"i'm just giving you exactly what you need." he whispered nonchalantly, his free hand reaching up to casually brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "because we both know you sit at that desk all day, completely distracted, crossing your legs trying to chase the friction. you need me to pull you into these dark rooms. you need me to use you like this, because nobody else is ever going to fuck you the way i do."

he took a deliberate step back, creating a cold space between you. he slid his hands back into his trouser pockets, his expression returning to that flawless, untouchable corporate mask. "so go." jungwon said smoothly, gesturing toward the heavy metal door with a slight tilt of his head. "walk out, go home. but when you're lying in bed tonight, completely unsatisfied, touching yourself to the memory of what i did to you on this exact desk last tuesday... don't send me an email tomorrow begging me to fix it. because if you walk out that door right now, i'm never touching you again."

the silence in the archive room became deafening. you stared at him, fresh tears stinging your eyes, your mind screaming at you to run. he was so utterly callous. he was stripping away every last ounce of your dignity, reducing all your emotional bleeding into a basic, pathetic physical craving. he was gaslighting you, offering you an out that he fully knew you were entirely too weak to take.

because he was right. the thought of going home, of the cold sheets, of never feeling his heavy frame press you into a desk or hearing that venomous rasp against your neck ever again, felt physically agonizing. the addiction was already too deep in your veins. you couldn't survive the withdrawal.

a pathetic sound caught in your throat. the fight completely drained out of your muscles, the resentment suffocated by that blinding, toxic yearning.

you didn't say a word. you just turned around, your legs feeling extremely weak, and walked toward the door. you didn't open the handle. instead, your trembling fingers reached out, blindly finding the deadbolt, and twisted it until the familiar click echoed through the quiet room.

behind you, jungwon let out a dark, satisfied sigh.

"good girl." he murmured, the sharp metallic sound of his belt buckle clicking open signaling the absolute end of your resistance. "now get over here and hike that skirt up."

That includes knowing who to follow on Instagram, who not to approach in the hallway, who to invite in group projects, and who to sit with in lunch. He goes by what makes sense and knows who the hell doesn’t belong in his circle, who rightfully has his phone number, and who can comment on his Instagram posts. 

Except when it comes to substances. He’s not a drug addict but he does enjoy good weed. 

He did listen during chemistry lectures, which basically means he knows a thing or two about pharmaceutics — at least the important parts like which produce larger surges of dopamine and intense euphoria. So while they get drug orientations every start of the school year and the addition of the entrepreneurial mindset of a businessman his father has passed down to him; Riki’s a fucking a jackpot. He simply believed every structure had blind spots, and if someone was smart enough to notice them, then maybe they deserved to profit a little. 

Maybe that made him a hypocrite. He knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of his own judgment, the thought would occur to him that he was not exactly living inside the moral boundaries he pretended to respect.

So with all of these in mind — weed-seller and social scale follower — imagine his surprise seeing a text from you.

You, an A-tier cheer captain with perfect grades and perfect friends and a perfect boyfriend and someone he doubts even has ever touched weed within a 10 feet radius because of how goody-two-shoes and slightly more socially-conformed you are, texted him: 

you: hi you sell right

The kind of surprise a priest might feel if the Virgin Mary asked to borrow a dildo.

Riki stared at his phone for a full thirty seconds. Not because he was shocked by the question itself — he’d gotten worse, far more incriminating messages from people with nothing to lose – but because of who it was from. Your name sat there, attached to a profile picture he never thought would sit on his chat log. Someone who followed the rules so well she barely seemed to touch the ground and practically flew up the school field with the school banner.

This was not how the structure worked. Nope.

He knew you didn’t look at people like him unless it was to borrow a pen or unwillingly get assigned to a lab partner. You definitely weren’t supposed to be asking him this. 

Riki leaned back in his chair and rethought the logistics. He wasn’t paranoid – paranoia implied irrationality. This was risk assessment, you’re high visibility, you’re a liability, you’re a cop in disguise, you’re a prig who’ll ruin his cloak and dagger, you’re holier-than-thou. You’re interesting.

riki: ???? is this a test loll

you: ? its a question

riki: u fr????

you: js tell me if its a no i have money

riki: 3pm behind the science building

you: ok thanks

But more than whatever you are, he knows this was stupid. This was the kind of deviation that got people caught and into the most flouting position he’ll ever be, therefore ruining his very wish to stay within a lawful system. It was, unequivocally, a very bad idea.

And yet he finds himself at the back of the building while he reevaluates the measures of bad-ness in the idea. If math really has been on his side along with his really athletic stature, he can run when you pull out as witness to his little dissenter mood. It halts when he sees you rounding the corner in your cheer uniform — ponytail perfect, knee tape slightly crooked, eyes darting like you weren’t sure you belonged back here — he realizes something his knees will give out before he can even try to walk away.

You stop a few feet away from him, awkward, out of place, glowing like a wrong answer circled in red. You stare at him with your arms crossed, hyperaware when his eyes follow the silhouette of your frame like he’s finding a covert surveillance device underneath your pleated skirt.

Riki talks calmly, like this wasn’t insane at all, like he hasn’t been in his head for the past hours: “So,” he starts, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. “What do you need?”

The question should’ve been easy. You’d rehearsed it in your head on the walk here, timed it with your steps, told yourself not to sound like an idiot. But standing this near — near enough to notice the faint, clean smell of cologne and something green and earthy — you blank.

You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest. “Um. Weed.”

Riki blinks once, and immediately he knows what this is. He studies you the way he did with lab results that didn’t line up with the predictions — or maybe it did exactly, and he can’t believe it was that easy.

“…Okay,” he said. “What kind?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

“What kind.” he repeats.

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Just… normal?” you say, immediately hating yourself. “Like. The kind people use?”

A corner of his mouth twitches before he can stop it. Then he licks the inside of his cheek, shaking his head when he realizes that yeah, his guess is right. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” he says. 

You bristle. “So?”

“You don’t even know dosage. Or strain. Or why you want it.” His eyes flick up to yours. “Do you?”

Your confidence wobbles, the polished composure you wore so easily in hallways cracking just a little now. He pulls out a small, neatly labeled bag and holds it between his fingers instead of handing it to you. “This is low THC,” he explains. “Won’t make you freak out. But I need to know what you specifically need so you don’t… panic.”

This was supposed to be transactional, quick, something you could tuck away and forget about. Yet every risky glance you take, he doesn’t look like someone who’d hold anything against you.

Riki sighs, about to put the bag away. “Look, let’s just forget —“

“I just,” you start, then sigh because there’s no cool way to say it. “I don’t know. I had a bad week. I wanted to try something.”

When you finally look up, he’s watching you differently. Not like you’re stupid or embarrassing, though you feel plenty of that on your own. His brows have lifted slightly, the faint amusement in his mouth fading into something quieter as he takes you in properly: your tight grip on your own arms, the way your eyes keep darting away.

And it makes it worse.

You meet his eyes for half a second before looking away with a small huff, embarrassed by the sudden attention. 

He puckers his lips slightly, staring at the thing in his hand like he’s thinking. At first, you think he might be deciding if you’re worth the trouble, but then he nods once. “Okay,” he says. “So you’re not becoming a stoner. You’re just trying a new cuisine.”

You blink at him, then laugh under your breath before you can stop yourself.

His mouth twitches, but hides it. He steps closer, just enough that you can see the smoothness of his skin, like he owns expensive skincare. He’s very tall, in a way that surprises you maybe because you’d just never stood this close before.

Really, you never spent time looking at Riki Nishimura. You’ve known the name, because who can ever look past the opulent sound of it, but to know the man behind it didn’t matter. After texting him, you don’t know what you expected either, maybe someone grubbier and smelled like smoke, someone with dry lips from all the ash. You thought he’d smell like one of those hippie guys who sold sketchy shit while wearing the same beanie for three years. 

But no, he smells like a familiar perfume your father owns in his fragrance wardrobe.

And his clothes are annoyingly nice, like the hoodie is probably more expensive than it looks and the loose pants are intentional, not lazy. 

Also, he’s 6’1.

“This,” he taps the bag lightly, “will help you relax. Body high, mostly. You’ll still be functional. But since it’s your first time, better not fuck around too much.” 

He’s still standing in front of you, close enough for you to notice the way his lashes lower when he looks at the bag in his hand, and you feel deeply, horribly stupid for only realizing now that he looks like that. 

Your gaze lingers, and he catches it. Riki clears his throat, spine straightening a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say too fast.

He only hums. You tighten your arms across your chest. “Just give me the thing.”

He finally hands you the bag, and you eye it once you feel its weight in your palm; leafy and green and brown and not you — but it doesn’t look so bad right now. It looks enticing, even, which you won’t try to admit out loud.

“Twenty,” he says, not planning to converse himself with the sudden discount. 

You dig into your bag, finding for the vintage pink wallet that screams the contrast of cannabis in your palm right now. “You know,” you say, hesitant but honest, “I don’t know. It’s weird how we’ve never talked before.”

That gets him. He chuckles even if there’s nothing funny about what you said, but there is something humorous about the fact he remembers shit you obviously forgot. He’s quick to question the lack of indifference, because he remembers it well that this is definitely not the first time you two talked.

“We were partners in freshman year,” Riki says.

He watches your face blank in real time, and something about it makes his mouth lift again, but not kindly enough to be mean. More like he expected it and still finds it a little funny that you are proving him right.

“English lit,” he adds. “The mythology presentation.”

For a second, he looks at you like someone who’s always known you, and you look at him like you’re seeing him for the first time. He sees it flash in your eyes, that maybe you remember him more than just some guy who sells weed to irresponsible decision-makers.

“Oh,” you say.

Riki nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh.”

Until your phone buzzes to drag you back from this little bubble you’re in – your boyfriend’s name lights up the screen and Riki notices it too.

“Oh,” you say again, clearly out of your own head. “I — sorry.”

Something shifts, like the structure rebuilds and reasserts itself back into proper footing. You pull the bills from your wallet and press them into his hand. “Thanks,” you say. “For, um. The stuff.”

He closes his fist around the money, nods once. “Yeah.”

You hesitate like you might say something else, so you just tuck the bag away and step back. “I’ll go,” you say.

You turn the corner first. Riki exhales only when you’re out of sight, and chews on his bottom lip before hitting the side of his fist against the wall without real effort. He turns the other corner, parting from the rendezvous kept between eng lit and discounts.

The thing is, Riki knows you before whatever you are now. Miss Perfect who buys weed from Mister Lowkey Weed Seller — it’s a whole tangle in his brain in which he can’t exactly comprehend, but while he smokes a joint and music blasts through the speakers from the house party he’s dragged into, your picture’s pinned with red strings. 

He’s known you since third grade. You’ve been part of the cheer team before puberty, and since then you’ve accumulated likable girls your age into your circle, then the guys from the football team after. It becomes a whole coupling session when the age came right, which Riki is convinced is just some orgy labeled friendship goals in curated Instagram. He thought you were mean mostly because that’s what someone like you would be — but he does know a thing or two about you, other than the assumption of character. You’ve been in the same group projects against your will, sometimes you’d stand next to each other by the queue lines in the cafeteria, sometimes you’d bump against him in the hallway when you’re chasing time.

Is it weird he kept tabs? Maybe.

He always noticed, obviously, why wouldn’t he? You are not exactly unnoticeable. You’re nicer than your friends, you say sorry when you accidentally bump into someone, you say thanks to the staff, you say good morning to strangers, you’re pretty, you’re talented, you’re smart, you laugh at his jokes, you bought weed from him, you’re pretty, you’re perfect, you’re funny, you’re ridiculously pretty —

Riki takes another puff, too fast and too harsh, earning a rough cough from his throat. Heeseung chuckles, giving him an aggressive pat on the back when he leans his elbows against his knees. “Geez, first time?”

Riki shoves his arm away with a laugh, unsure where this is coming from. Because on top of every other noticeable trait you have, you have a boyfriend. So. Yeah. He knows better than to think about you.

He sinks deeper into someone else’s couch — leather, cracked at the seams — while the bass rattles the walls and bodies blur together in the dim lights. Smoke hangs thick in the air, clinging to his clothes, his hair, his thoughts. He takes another drag, slower this time, lets it sit in his lungs until the noise dulls around the edges.

Across from him, someone’s laughing too loud, then a couple is making out like it’s an Olympic sport. Heeseung steals the joint from his fingers and flicks the ash into an empty cup.

“You look fucked,” Heeseung says.

“I’m not,” Riki replies automatically.

“Mhm.”

Riki pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly restless. He just wants a drink — something cold, something that doesn’t make his head spiral because even the thought of weed pulls him back to this cheerleader. So he goes to the kitchen, instinctively saying half-assed sorry’s to strangers without meaning them. 

Until he bumps into someone.

For half a second, he genuinely wonders if the side effects are finally catching up to him, because his head feels several feet away from his eyes and the kitchen lights look more hazy than they should.

But it’s you, he knows that because your kind voice apologizes; the way you always do, the way your friends don’t. Your shoulder knocks into his chest and you’re already stepping back, eyes wide a fraction of a second when you look up. Riki freezes too, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or where to look without threading too close to the sternum your lowcut top exposes. Up close, under dim kitchen lights instead of school hallways, you look unreal — hair loose, lips parted like you’ve been laughing. 

“Riki,” you say, breathless, like his name slipped out before your brain could catch it.

His name on your mouth does something stupid to him. 

“Hey,” he says, too softly. He’s just thankful you don’t notice the slight roughness of it.

You smile, small and polite — but there’s something else underneath it now. Recognition that shouldn’t exist, not in the structure where you’re meant to forget that you know; one where he looks up at you from beneath your echelon, now he’s standing close enough that you have to tilt your chin to look up at him.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I didn’t either.”

You glance past him, toward the other room, toward where your friends probably are — or your boyfriend. Then back at him, polite in a way he’s sure is because you’re you and not because he’s him.

“I don’t usually see you in… parties,” you say. 

He puts both hands in his pant pockets, shoulders loose, eyes on yours like the noise around you doesn’t have enough authority to interrupt.

“You don’t usually look,” he says.

It’s not said rudely, just calm, like he’s stating something obvious enough that both of you should stop pretending around it.

Your fingers tighten around your cup. “That’s not true.”

Riki tilts his head, eyes moving over your face. “Yeah?”

You hate how it sounds coming from him, low and slow and almost amused, like he knows you’re lying before you do. You scoff a quiet laugh, eyes looking away because you can’t keep looking at him. 

“I mean, I know you exist.” You look back up at him when you say it, bottom lip catching between your teeth before you can stop yourself.

His eyes drop for half a second, then he smirks and looks away, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to say something.

When he looks back, his face is calmer. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

The question is casual enough that it almost sounds harmless. You glance elsewhere instinctively, like you’re going to find him close. “Somewhere.”

“Specific.”

“He’s with his friends.”

Riki just nods, doesn’t wanna push, even though he’s pretty sure you don’t actually know where he is. Leaving is the smarter and normal thing to do. The thing a girl with a boyfriend and a reputation and a phone full of unread messages from her friends would do.

Instead, you stay there. And Riki’s got that tabbed already.

You hesitate, fingers worrying at the rim of your cup. “I, um. I haven’t — used it yet.”

Riki blinks. “The stuff?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “I just… don’t really know how.” It’s weird being this honest with someone you barely know, yet your bones don’t buzz with the prompt demand to pause. It must be the slight slosh, it’s the only real thing to excuse why you’re not pulling away.

For a second, he just looks at you. Then his mouth curves, slow and amused. “You bought weed without knowing how to use it?”

Your face warms, but you try not to look embarrassed. “Okay, well.” You lift your cup a little, like that somehow helps your argument. “You can teach me.”

Riki grimaces immediately, playful but clear. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

You blink. “Wow. Rude." You huff, looking away, but you’re smiling a little because he doesn’t sound scared of you. Or impressed by you. Or desperate to keep you there. He just sounds like he already knows better and hates that he has to be the one saying it.

He sighs, looking away for a second. “Fuck, fine.” his jaw clenches. “But not here.”

You try not to smile and fail almost immediately. You take one step back, still looking at him. “I’ll text you. Maybe later?”

Someone calls your name from the other room and you exhale, dragging back through the fracture. The music spikes and someone bumps into you again, closer this time, and Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, hovering over your waist without touching. 

Your eyes flick down, then back up to his. “Nice seeing you,” you say finally, voice softer now. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”

You step around him, brushing past just close enough that he catches your scent — which is bad, because now he’ll have to remember that too. When you disappear back into the crowd, Riki stays rooted in place for a beat too long.

He exhales, rubs a hand over his face, and laughs quietly to himself.

He really, really knows better.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Riki glances back to see you’re sitting on the couch now, legs tucked in, your boyfriend’s arm slung easily around your shoulders. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which makes you smile and ease back into him. Riki turns away to open the fridge and grabs the coldest beer he can find. He lifts it and downs it in one go, throat burning at the coldness and bitter taste.

He shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t.

Later, in that strange lull when the party has gotten worse and louder — you text him.

You: bathroom upstairs

The bathroom is cramped and clean but gross in concept: flickering light, foggy mirror, the smell of cheap air freshener. You’re perched on the edge of the sink when he slips inside and locks the door behind him, eyes bright, a little nervous, because being in a bathroom with you feels worse than any sketchy deal he’s made.

“Okay,” you whisper, like you’re conspiring. “So. Teach me.”

He winces, glancing around. “This is… not ideal.”

You just grin. He laughs despite himself and sets the weed down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing when he starts rolling paper against it. Once he’s done, he holds the roll up to your mouth and he tells you to lick it. You follow through, leaning down and sticking your tongue out to lick the side. He clears his throat, trying not to think about the way you looked doing that, trying not to imagine anything else.

He’s careful, not clinical or a lecture when he instructs, just calm and reassuring like he’s trying to keep you comfortable more than correct. When he hands the final roll to you, your fingers shake a little as you take it.

“Like this?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Slow.”

You cough immediately after trying, sharp and sudden, bending forward with a surprised laugh. “Oh my god — why does it — ”

“Hey,” he says, too fast, stepping closer, hand hovering at your back. “You okay?”

You wave him off, still laughing, eyes watering. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

He watches you like you might disappear if he looks away. You’re laughing, which isn’t comforting Riki even in the slightest because the last thing he needs is to not be a conformist and end up in jail for accidentally supporting your homicide.

You try again, better this time. You still cough, laugh, cough again, but way more manageable as time goes by.

“Sorry,” you say, breathless.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “You’re doing fine.”

You keep at it, stubborn in that way of yours, until the coughing eases and something in your shoulders loosens. You lean back against the wall, head tipping gently, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s… actually really nice.”

Riki lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a nervous laugh slipping out. He leans back against the wall, hand through his bangs, exposing the skin of his forehead. “Jesus fucking Christ,”

You nod slowly, smiling to yourself. “My brain’s quiet.”

He watches you for a moment: relaxed, unguarded, glowing in this tiny bathroom because you don’t belong here at all, holding a joint Riki himself rolled for you. Really, you never belonged anywhere that tried to put you in a box, and he wasn’t going to make himself an exception to that opening.

He tries thinking about who you really are, beyond what most people would take you as. Though he knows not to fantasize a tale where he saves the damsel from her golden label. He takes you with memory and not assumption: cheer girl, disciplined afternoon drills, academically smart, socially competent, good. But tonight, while you lean against the cracked sink and stand diagonally across him, he sees a side he never thought he’d secretly behold.

Your eyes flick to him. “You’re a good teacher.”

He swallows. “You’re an easy student.”

Riki rolls another one for himself, hands steadier now that you’re settled, and lights it with a quiet flick. The bathroom fills with a softer haze this time, the kind that wraps instead of hits like a downer high school series. He takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling, letting the room reek with shouldn’ts and endorphine boosters.

You smoke more confidently now, less harsh and rough when you let the smoke run down your throat. Your eyes are a little red, lashes heavier, the sharp edges of you blurred into something warmer and looser, less polished and picture perfect the way your boyfriend would like. Riki thinks — stupidly — that he’s never seen you look better.

You lean your head back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling like it’s just told you a secret. He doesn’t stare, actually. He keeps his eyes narrowed to the broken tile in front of him like he’ll discern the reason it’s cracked (maybe someone opened the door too hard, maybe someone once stood there trying to look normal while his heart acted stupid over a girl, which was especially humiliating when the whole point of being high was to feel less insane). Sometimes he’ll permit himself to glance, but even the very glimpse of your smudged lipstick makes him look away and inhale the fuck outta that weed.

Then, suddenly, with eyes still trained to the dim bathroom light — “I thought you were,” you start, then laugh, a little too loud before clapping a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I thought you were, like… this weirdo.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Wow. Honesty hour already?”

“No — ” you groan, waving the joint like you’re conducting an orchestra. “I mean it nicely. You always stayed away from everyone. I figured you were judging us.”

“Us?” he repeats, amused, cocking a brow when he glances at you.

“You know. People like me.” You squint at him, trying to focus. You gesture at yourself ineptly, clearly out of the ordinary intellectual capacity you clench tight, not when rickety makes up for your feet.

He quickly looks away, trying not to smile. 

“Loud. Annoying.” you clarify, hand gesturing around.

He tilts his head, considering. “Was I supposed to be friends with people like you?”

You blink, like you’re thinking about what he said and calculating the rationale behind his causes. It was a hit, one that steadies a thought in your brain.

“Is that so bad?”

The question knocks the breath out of him, especially when you look up at him like that, eyes bright and wide. He blinks, and then he laughs, coming out quieter this time, looking away because he can’t keep eye contact with you. “I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“Why not?”

Because there’s a system. Because there’s levels to this shit. Because you have a boyfriend. Because you’re untouchable. Because you’re perfect and he’s whatever this was. Because people like him didn’t get pulled into your orbit unless it was transactional. Like weed exchanges and favors on the toilet. 

For now, he shrugs. “Seemed like you already had your people.” 

You hum, nodding slowly, then smile. You tap the joint, watching some ash fall to the tiles. “They’re loud.”

He smiles back despite himself. “Yeah. They are.”

The bathroom feels like it’s floating away from the music that pumps loud through the pipes, a constant reminder that there’s more than the stinky bathroom you two share as a secret. It’s risky because it’s merely wood that separates the crypticity of Mary Jane from the Average Joe you two function in individually.

You glance at the joint, then at him. “You’re not weird, by the way.”

“Oh?” he says, eyebrow lifting. He even scoffs, because he (un-admittedly) finds you adorable. 

“You’re just… quiet. You keep to yourself, but that doesn’t make you… eccentric.” You grin lopsided, cheeks warm but you ignore that. “You’re nice.”

That one gets him, more than he’d ever admit to anyone. Riki looks over, and for half a second, his gaze slips lower before he forces it back to your face. You’re already looking at him, all soft eyes and honest mouth, like you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

He looks away first, rubbing the side of his jaw like that might help. “You’re high,” he says.

“Maybe,” you confess. “But I mean it.”

He’s been called quiet and nice all his life, but that was never the full truth. He just knew who deserved access to the rest of him, and most people didn’t. It wasn’t personal. He could talk when he wanted to, laugh when something was actually funny, keep a conversation going if he cared enough. He just didn’t feel the need to prove he had thoughts by saying all of them out loud.

Riki takes a drag, exhales slowly, looking over the tiles of the bathroom while he rethinks the decision he’s about to drop. He clears his throat before speaking, “You’re not mean either.”

Your eyes widen a little, gaze recklessly steady at his side profile. “You thought I was?”

“Everyone did,” he says honestly, smiling a little.

You make a face, frowning at him even though he refuses to look at you. “That’s rude.”

He laughs, really laughs this time, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, you’re smiling up at him like you’ve discovered something new and decided to keep it. For a moment, it feels like maybe there was always a version of this where you talked in bathrooms and shared smoke and didn’t belong where people expected you to.

You take another small drag, then suddenly straighten when you decide to take him in. He’s wearing a jacket over his hoodie, simple sweats loose around his hips. Only a few strands of his dark blonde hair graze over his forehead, leading down to the sharp features you only really notice now.

You never thought Riki Nishimura was ugly. Now, you can’t help but think that he’s… kinda hot.

You’re high, you’re just gone. That’s why. It also explains why you nudge closer than you have been before, letting your skirt brush slightly against his pants, thighs grazing slightly against his.

You’re both still smoking — slow now, like the room itself has decided to breathe with you. The bathroom feels even smaller than before, shrinking with every second the music downstairs gets louder but muffled through the wooden door keeping you a secret. Your head feels light, buoyant, like you’re floating a few inches above your body. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the half-drinks you’d taken before this. Maybe it’s neither.

He stares at the tile beneath his boot like it holds the secrets of the universe, or like it had the equations for him to understand gravity’s intentions and how it led to him feeling your softness against him.

“Is there something on the floor?” you laugh.

He just huffs, shaking his head because that’s all he can do right now. You’re still leaning back and he’s still standing just a little too close. Your knee brushes his again, accidental but not corrected.

He looks down at you then. The red in your eyes, the crooked smile, the way you’re leaning just a little toward him like gravity’s doing something new. You lean closer because you’re completely zooted and smart-Riki who knows better, leans away and only lets his chest tighten. His eyes drop traitorously down to your lips, and he’s not fast enough to look back up. You notice, of course, which makes you both look away and straighten back on your feet instead of the wall. 

Riki clears his throat, smoking the last of his before he rids of it against the sink. “You gotta go?” he asks out of the blue, which makes you frown a little. It wasn’t exactly a statement, but you know when things are implied and telling, so you shove back the nerves and remember that he’s different from you.

You’re not his type of person. He probably likes more chill people who actually know how to roll this shit — not the sheltered ones who’s clueless with THC or terms alike it.

“Yeah. I guess.” you smooth out your clothes even though nothing’s wrong with them.

He realizes what he just did, especially now that you’re not even looking back at him. He tries correcting himself, to backtrack, but the moment you glance back up, he’s silenced. You put your unfinished joint in his hand. “See you.” You say just before unlocking the door, slipping through it, and accidentally slamming it too hard.

Riki reels in from the solitude of the silence, like he’s now just realizing the ruins he broke himself. He sighs in resignation, head falling forward in defeat. “Shit.”

He stares at the thing in his hand, unfinished and yours, half-burnt and still warm.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He can still feel the ghost of your skirt brushing his leg, the way you didn’t look back because he gave you a reason not to.

But the bathroom still smells like you — sweet perfume tangled with smoke — and the joint is there, remaining as an accusation wrapped in paper. He turns it between his fingers, thumb brushing the spot where your lipstick smudged faintly against the edge.

Riki exhales, then lifts it.

He wraps his lips around it carefully, stupidly aware of the fact that yours were there first. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, heat creeping up his neck and pelvis as he takes a slow drag.

He closes his eyes as he exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, heart thudding too loud for a room this small. For a split second, he imagines you still there — tilted smile, red-rimmed eyes, saying his name like it belongs to you, all while your boyfriend waits in the living room.

He laughs shakily under his breath. It’s so wrong.

After that, you two haven’t really talked for weeks. 

That part isn’t weird. You both have lived the majority of your lives settling with the insouciance despite recognition, and one night in a bathroom, smoke and secrets and red eyes, isn’t enough to reroute that kind of muscle memory. Riki tells himself that over and over, like it’s a theorem he’s already proven.

He hasn’t been worried. He still goes to class, still shows up on time, still hands in assignments with some effort. The only difference — although barely worth mentioning — is that he’s been dipping into his stash more often than usual. A little before bed. A little after. 

Riki exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, telling himself — again — that this doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t have anything to do with the cheer girl he kinda had a moment with in the bathroom.

It’s so fucked, even if you don’t think being his friend is bad, because you’re not meant to be a part of this. He was simply curious that Miss Cheerleader bought weed from him and kinda trusted him way too fast and that wasn’t just some everyday occurrence — that’s the only best psychological explanation why you’re here even when you’re not.

You have a boyfriend. He’s not about to be a homewrecker. Yet it’s not helping.

No talking for weeks, reaching a month even. That says enough. He has to stop.

“Probably about Little Miss Perfect.”

Riki flinches like someone just snapped a rubber band against the back of his neck. He sits up, glaring at Heeseung. “What the fuck,” he blurts. “How do you know that?”

Jake slowly looks up from his laptop, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.

“Oh my god.” Sunghoon’s grin spreads and Heeseung laughs, clapping like he’s won because technically he did, at the mental betting at what keeps Riki Nishimura downing his marijuana greenhouse.

“Ohhh,” Heeseung says, taunting and annoying. “So it is about her.”

Riki blinks. “No.”

“That was the weakest no I’ve ever heard,” Jake says immediately, pointing a finger at Riki. “You’re a guilty man, aren’t you?”

Riki scoffs, scrambling, fingers rubbing against his temple in attempts to cool. “You’re literally insane. Why would it be about her?”

Heeseung shrugs, casual. “I saw you two talking at that party.”

Riki’s stomach drops. “You — what?”

“Relax,” Heeseung says, laughing. “I wasn’t spying. You two just kinda had a freeze frame by the kitchen. Wasn’t so hard to notice.”

Riki opens his mouth, just to close it. Then he runs a hand through his hair with the irritated slant of said illegality stamped in your name. “We were just talking. Nothing happened.” Riki snaps, defensive again, hands up like he’s caught. 

Jake squints at him. “Then why are you acting like that?”

Riki looks away. Usually, it’s enough answer to more teasing and mocking, but maybe not this time. Because now, it raises actual questions that regard his very bearing at this monumental association with you — a damn unicorn of a scene snatched out a comedy fantasy movie.

Heeseung asks carefully, “Are you, like, her boy toy or something?”

Riki whips around with the flush of unpredictability and utter shock. “What? No!”

Heeseung grins again, gentler this time. “Okay, not her boy toy. What now?”

Riki exhales, long and slow, falling back supine against the floor with the decency of a man with boundaries and the understanding of someone brilliant to keep himself away. “Nothing. She has a boyfriend. She lives in a different world.”

It’s realistic. He thinks he’ll drag the shit out of his stash to get his mind off this, because Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means.

You’re where you’re supposed to be.

You laugh at the jokes while dawdling down the hallway with girls you actually consider your friends, your boyfriend’s arm heavy around your shoulders like it belongs there. You learned how to roll your own joints now, practiced with irritated little shrieks until it stopped being embarrassing, until they came out neat and perfect between your fingers. You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone, actually. Independence always looked good and natural on you.

Then Riki walks past with Heeseung and Jay.

Backpacks slung low, shoes dragging lazily against the floor, laughing about something stupid like someone’s terrible quiz score. Riki’s eyes stay forward like always, keeping his business private from everyone. Especially from you.

You don’t acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum of peripheral awareness of two classmates that happen to be in the same class and two planets in the same orbit. Your boyfriend tightens his arm around you, leaning down to murmur something about lunch plans. You nod, glossed lips wrapped around a lollipop, sugar sweet and cherry-flavored on your tongue. You should be listening, you’re sure you are, until he passes.

Your eyes follow Riki — not openly, just enough to catch the back of his neck, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the same boy who leaned against a bathroom wall while you were high and laughing too much, knees brushing his because the room was small and neither of you moved away.

The lollipop slides down your tongue: all artificial sugar because the substance stays at home in the back of your secret drawer, while some of it just passed you down the hallway.

“I’ll catch up,” you say lightly, lifting your boyfriend’s arm off your shoulders. “I forgot something.”

You slip away before anyone can think too hard about it, weaving through the hallway with your lollipop still between your lips. You keep enough distance to make it look accidental, watching as Heeseung and Jay split off with quick fist bumps and loud voices. Riki keeps walking and pushes open the door to an empty lecture hall before disappearing inside.

You stop outside, remembering that this is probably the part where you’re supposed to turn around. Where the perfect, reasonable version of you remembers her boyfriend, her friends, her place in the hallway. Where the status quo reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into line.

Well, you push the door open.

Riki is near the front row, one hand still on the strap of his bag when he looks up from his seat, legs spread wide, thumbs midway to scroll through his phone. His eyes widen slightly, posture going still like he did not think you’d actually follow him.

For some reason, it thrills you. Because now he’s looking at you.

You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twirling the stick between your fingers as the door clicks shut behind you. “Hey.”

His eyes flick briefly to the door behind you. “You lost?”

This isn’t a bathroom of some random houseparty. There’s no smoke, no music, no excuse, just you, Riki, and an empty lecture hall in the middle of the school day — which means you came here on purpose.

“You should roll a joint for me again,” you say, like it’s so simple. “One of these nights.”

Riki blinks once. Then he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “What, you haven’t learned since last time?”

You step closer anyway, slow and unhurried, allowed to exist wherever you want. He leans back against his seat, still careful and invisibly (but truly) restless. “I did.” you answer, then you smile small and lazy. “You’re just better at it.”

That gets him (because you’ve been knowing what to say to get him). His eyes lift to you, amused now, something low and unreadable settling there which sets you on fire because you have no idea what he’s thinking, not even a little hint. 

“Flattery,” he says, then scoffs.

You hum and step closer, close enough that his knee is almost in front of your thigh. Riki leans back in his seat, one arm loose over the desk beside him, phone forgotten in his lap. 

“There’s another party this weekend,” you say. “At McKay’s. You and your friends should go.”

He tilts his head. “Should we?”

“I think so.” You shrug. “Good music, large pad, beer games.” 

He chuckles, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting yours again. “And you’ll be there.”

“Probably.”

“And you’ll want me to roll one for you.”

You pull the lollipop from your mouth, tapping it lightly against your lower lip as you think. “If you’re offering.”

“I’m not,” he says, but his mouth twitches.

You lean back against the edge of the desk beside him, copying his ease like you have any right to be comfortable around him. From far away, it would look casual, just two classmates talking before class. Except there’s only you standing between him and the empty rows, him sitting back in his seat, looking up at you with that unreadable expression while you try not to smile too much.

He should probably feel insulted that you only do this when nobody can see — maybe he does, if he still believes in self-respect. It’s just hard to stay offended when you’re looking at him like that.

Riki nods once. “I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied, you push off the table and head for the door. “Cool.”

When the door shuts behind you, he thinks about red eyes and smoke, about how your usual crowd will be there, your boyfriend’s arm around you just before you sneak away to Riki’s. 

You’re trouble, which makes Riki smile. ‘Cause he knows damn well he’s going to that party.

-

McKay’s house is already vibrating when Riki gets there with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon — bass rattling the windows, someone yelling about cups, someone else yelling back about something incomprehensible. Riki isn’t a frat boy at all, and he doesn’t really go to parties, but the perfume layered on top of alcohol is basically familiar territory.

“This place is a fire hazard,” Jake mutters, stepping over a discarded heel.

Riki scans the room pretending he doesn’t mean to, observing layouts and people, when really he’s actually looking for one specific designer wardrobe of a person.

He doesn’t see you, but he sees your usual crowd scattered around the room, posing with red cups they barely drink from and laughing a little too loud whenever someone points a camera at them. You’re not there, nor is your boyfriend, and that usually speaks for itself already.

Heeseung nudges him, already mischievous with the smile Riki can’t see. “Little Miss Perfect?”

“Fuck off,” Riki replies, flat.

Jake’s halfway to disbelief when he narrows his eyes at Riki. “You’re already staring.”

“She’s not even here,” the former hisses.

“Looking for her, though.” Sunghoon teases, practically grinning widely.

Riki pushes past them. “I’m getting a drink.”

He doesn’t get a drink. He goes through hallways and in between bodies that nudge abruptly into him, half-assed apologies going through one ear and out the other while he properly finds footing again and again. When he gets to the bathroom and finds it locked, he groans and leans back against the wall. For now, he flicks the light on his own joint and smokes away while he waits — for you, for the bathroom, for anything to make him think going here was worth it at all. 

Too many girls brush against him, too many of them apologizing with tilted heads and lashes batting. He has no interest in rewarding the performance, not tonight, not when the party is already crawling under his skin, all bass-heavy music, sticky floors, smoke in the air, perfume clinging to his throat, and people packed so tightly he can’t move without touching someone. It’s too much at once; too loud, too hot, too bright, too dark. Then he sees it, and everything in him goes still.

Your boyfriend has another girl pushed against the bedroom wall. 

Riki sees this through the crack of the door, just slightly opened enough for him to see how he moves his hand underneath her skirt really fucking aggressively. They’re kissing too, and it’s not at all sweet or even arousing; it’s just straight out gross. He chokes, coughing so rough and loud and forward he has to lunge himself off the wall and straight through the crowd because his first instinct is you.

Your boyfriend is cheating on you.

What the fuck is happening? Why’s your boyfriend fucking a girl like someone who knows nothing about clits? Now, Riki isn’t an expert about pleasing women but he’s watched porn enough to know that Exhibit A over there was straight-up persecution. 

He finally spots you near the kitchen, talking to one of your friends with a cup in your hand. He starts toward you, but someone shoves past from behind, and he bumps lightly into your shoulder. You turn, already halfway to apologizing until you see him, your face already changing before you can stop it.

“You came,” you say, eyes flicking around before coming back to him.

He’s kinda out of breath, from the smoke and from hurrying, but he smiles too. “Yeah.”

While you’re still smiling, Riki clears his throat. It’s casual like he’s asking for a lighter, not like he’s abput to derail your night, ‘cause truth be told, he’s not sure he knows how you’ll react to the information. To be honest, he thinks about how it’s only fair — maybe — because he doubts your boyfriend knows you sneak into bathrooms with another guy. And sure, his hand isn’t performing DJ on your pussy, but the shared secrecy of eye contact with loaded tension is much more intimate than whatever the hell that was.

“Uh,” he says, hand rubbing on his jeans. “Can we talk? Like. Somewhere quieter.”

You blink. Then you nod, already stepping closer so he has to lean down to hear you.

“Bathroom or outside?” you ask, half-teasing.

“Outside,” he says easily.

The night is cold enough to make everything feel quieter, like it’s only the two of you standing under someone’s porch light while music leaks through the walls behind you. It’s strange, because you’re not even friends, not really, but the little space between you feels private in a way Riki doesn’t know what to do with. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the second he walked into the house, then leans back against the railing and looks at you standing across from him.

He tries finding the words first, but the way you’re looking at him tightens his chest faster than his brain can work out. Is this karma for your cheating boyfriend? Is he the instrument God has given you to slam notes back to the guy you’re practically cheating on too? 

Then Riki clears his throat, casual as hell. “I saw something inside,” he continues, tone still chill but eyes a little sharper now. “Your boyfriend.”

Your smile falters. “What about him?”

“He’s, uh.” Riki taps ash off the joint. “He was fucking a girl. On a wall.”

You stare at him for a while, and he’s half-expecting you to lash out, on him, on the crowd, on your boyfriend, on something. 

Instead, you laugh this small, amused breath that slips out of you before you shrug, like he told you your boyfriend spilled punch on his shirt and not that he had just seen him with another girl.

What the fuck is happening?

It feels a lot like you don’t care and that surprises Riki leading him down a rabbit hole of introspection. He was already expecting you to cry and sob or scream in the party about how much of a dick he is, how you trusted him and gave him everything — all things they do when they find out their boyfriends are cheaters.

No, you just, “Wow.” then huff a laugh. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He blinks once, watching you carefully while you regather your thoughts as a woman who’s been said something paltry rather than an admission of an affair. To be honest, Riki doesn’t understand, so now he just stands there and looks stunned. And confused. Very confused, actually.

Riki squints at you like he’s trying to solve a trick question. “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s your reaction?”

You shrug, lifting your cup to your lips for a sip. “I mean. It’s been happening. “We’re just sorta together for our parents. They’re friends so… but that’s a story for another night.”

Oh. He never thought fake relationships were a thing.

That makes sense. How come Riki didn’t know? Was he so out of touch from school gossips hat he genuinely didn’t know that you’re actually not the perfect couple he thought you two were? Is that why Heeseung and Jake and Sunghoon didn’t react so badly? Has this been a thing? Oh my God, Riki’s ecstatic and he hasn’t even finished a joint yet.

He lets out a quick, unguarded sound. “Jesus.”

You lean back against the railing across from him, far too relaxed for a revelation that should have ruined someone’s eyeliner. Riki watches you for a second, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the sharp inhale before you turn and storm back inside. But you just stand there, cup in hand, looking more inconvenienced than heartbroken.

That’s when it hits him, slow and weirdly humiliating, that you might not care about the relationship at all.

“But,” you say lightly, “thanks for telling me.”

He blinks, then shakes his head a little. “Yeah.” His voice comes out slower than usual. “No worries.”

You glance at the joint between his fingers, your eyes lingering a second too long on the veins along his hand. “You always this heroic when you’re high?”

“No,” he says, deadpan. “It’s just who I am.”

You laugh, and despite everything, his mouth twitches. He looks back toward the door, half-expecting your boyfriend to come out and make the night complicated. When no one does, he relaxes, shoulders easing, but not completely.

Because this is new information.

Someone inside screams the chorus to a song, and the night’s way too cold for the silence that buzzes. Riki offers the joint without looking at you, just holds it out between two fingers like it’s nothing.

You hesitate for half a second. But you take it.

“You have a car?” you suddenly ask while you take a puff.

Riki blinks once, then lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his thumb along the bridge of his nose. Right, so this is his life now. He sells you weed one time, and somehow he’s standing outside a party while your boyfriend (?)  cheats inside and you look mildly bored about it.

It’s stupid. It’s also the most interesting thing that’s happened to him in months.

So he just sighs and slumps back a little. “Yeah. I do.”

“Let’s go,” you say, completely not a question, flicking the finished joint on the pavement and trampling it beneath your heel. “I wanna smoke.”

He lets you trail after him through the side yard like this is already something you do, like he isn’t silently praying no one sees you following him away from the party. Gravel crunches under your shoes, the bass growing duller behind you as you cross the street toward his Supra, parked sleek and dark under the streetlamp. Riki unlocks it without looking back, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for you like it’s nothing.

You notice. You just don’t say anything.

Inside, the car actually smells clean and like coffee, for someone you’ve assumed is mad about marijuana and sorts alike (well, again, he’s proven how neat he is just for smelling so fucking good). He slides into the driver’s seat and just sits there for a second before turning the engine on, heater clicking low. 

The silence settles, but it doesn’t feel awkward, which Riki finds suspicious. Maybe it’s because you’re not acting like the version of you he’s used to, all neat edges and perfect timing. Now your heels are on the floor of his car, your hair is loose around your face, and you’re curled into the passenger seat of a Supra you’ve never sat in before like your body decided to trust him before your brain could argue. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the warmth at the back of his neck, but you only glance at him like you don’t notice. The hem of your skirt rides up consequently, and he tries his hardest not to look.

“Thanks. For caring.”

He shrugs, one hand resting loose on the steering wheel. “Didn’t feel right not to tell you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

The radio flicks on — some pop song bleeding through the speakers. He then pulls out pre-rolled joints from his pockets, which he sheepishly apologizes for hygiene and, well, it’s a bit delated, although you just smile and take one. He lights yours up and you two stay there, settled in his warm seats, dissolving the chill with cannabis down your system like two people who doesn’t give a shit about the system and fucking power dynamics and popularity status.

Again, weird. Hanging out in his car like you’re old buddies who smoke in free time on the usual. 

If he told himself a month ago that he would be smoking weed with the team cheer captain, he would have laughed his ass off about inhaling too much narcotics that totally screwed mental frameworks. Yet now, he’s stealing a few glances at you beside him, getting high off his greens, and he doesn’t feel completely off-center about it. It’s the weed obviously, but he feels steady. It’s charged because you’re not talking but your thoughts are everywhere, and even if you protrude the profile of indifference — he knows you care. Then again, what does he know about you, right? You are the odd in the equation, the alternative hypothesis that proves the difference in variables, and talks about the impact on the situation.

Now, conformist Riki Nishimura, who has spent his whole life respecting the ladder, is starting to wonder what happens if he climbs high enough to stand beside someone like you.

He stares through the windshield the second before he speaks. “You’re not what people think you are.”

You blink, caught off guard as you turn to him. “Is that good or bad?”

He huffs. “Depends who’s thinking it.”

You smile a little, your eyes moving over him before you can pretend they didn’t. Riki isn’t brawny in that loud, gym-mirror way, but he’s taller than he should be, broader than he looks from a distance, and unfairly very put together. His throat moves when he breathes in, and you catch yourself watching it for one embarrassing second too long.

You chew on your bottom lip. “And what do you think?”

Riki shifts in his seat, hand fidgeting against the wheel like he’s weighing how honest he’s allowed to be. “I think you’re quieter than your reputation.” 

You study him now — the calm posture, the way he never overdoes anything, the way his voice stays even like he’s learned not to tip his hand. 

He glances at you, then back ahead. “Makes it easier.”

You look at him for a second too long. “Easier for who?”

“You tell me.”

The car feels smaller and the windows are fogged enough that the streetlamp outside is just a blur of light now, like you’ve been sealed off from everything else. Away from the reality that boxes you two into something that makes sense rather than accepts. 

You laugh once, but it comes out softer than planned. “You always psychoanalyze girls in your car?”

“No.”

“Just me?”

His mouth twitches. “You asked.”

You turn your head toward the window, trying to keep your face normal. “You don’t know me that well.”

“I know.”

Riki finally turns to you, one hand still resting loose on the steering wheel. His eyes are a little low, a little unreadable, but not careless — that might be the problem.

“I’m not saying I do,” he says. “I’m saying people don’t either.”

Your fingers fidget with the joint, rolling it carefully between them even though you’re barely paying attention to it anymore. The tip glows faintly, forgotten for a second, and Riki reaches over without thinking to tap the ash into the tray before it can fall on your skirt.

You look down at his hand, then back at him when he hands it to you.

“Don’t you think that’s weird?” you ask. “Like, what kind of girl is cheer captain and smokes weed? Who gets into a fake relationship because of her parents? Doesn’t that sound kind of fucked?”

He looks at you for a moment.

Then he leans back, eyes returning to the windshield. “I sell weed.”

He says it from the driver’s seat of a spotless car that smells like coffee and cologne. It’s stupidly funny, actually, the whole contrast of him that kinda looks like you.

You laugh before you can stop yourself. “That’s different.”

“How?” he snickers.

You open your mouth, then close it again because you don’t actually have a good answer. “I don’t know,” you admit, laughing a little. “It just is.”

He hums like he expected that. Then he glances at you before back through the windshield. “I don’t think you’re weird,” His eyes flick over your face. “I think you’re bored.”

Obviously, that makes you furrow your brows. Obviously, you let him continue speaking.

“Of your boyfriend. Your friends. Your parents already knowing what you’re going to do.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Probably bored at being good at the same shit every day.”

You should probably deny it. It surprises you that you don’t, even though you’ve sworn hatred towards men that think they can assume your personality because of one little circumstance.

“That’s why you’re here, right?” Riki’s eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face. 

Your throat tightens.

“With me,” he adds.

He doesn’t smile like he won, he just sits there with one hand loose on the wheel, like he already knows the answer and is kind enough not to make you say it.

The air between you feels worse, like the moment before a storm cracks open into his car, and electrocutes you with a spark you’ve never experienced in your life. Which is eccentric considering you’re not the type of girl who’d be in Riki’s car instead of a party dominated by your friends, getting high off shit that would make your parents pass out. 

You scoff and look away, shaking your head like the whole thing is ridiculous. “You talk like you know everything.”

“I just guessed one fucking thing.”

You roll the joint between your fingers again, slower now. “Maybe I just wanted to try something.”

“With me?”

Your eyes cut to him, and you see there’s a slight curve to his mouth, like he heard the shape of your answer before you even made it. 

You huff. “You’re so annoying.”

Neither of you moves. Just suspended there, breathing the same warm air, the song on the radio dissolving into background noise, the world narrowed down to inches and intent and maybe weak will and strong urges. The tension’s palpable, solid enough that you could feel it grow between your thighs.

You’re probably one more joint away from being zooted, and Riki knows this of course, which is why he keeps his eyes narrowed across him and not the woman who’s audibly shifting in her seat. 

He’s high too — faster than usual — and it makes the moment stretch in this you know kind because he’s thinking bad. He keeps his gaze trained somewhere between the fogged windshield and the blur of your reflection in it, like it’s the only thing keeping him at bay.

For the record — you’re both twenty, obviously adults, even if the world still insists on calling you kids. Which is also the very age people let you experience the paradox of being too grown and too immature for anything consistent, so the underestimation you endure as an adult, smart woman, cheerleader, and a kinda-child — wow you’re in deep detestation for that system.

So you take control of things you can handle.

You’re a conformist, no doubt. Except in areas you loathe men’s freedom in yet expect restraint for women. So… in diminutive ways, you indulge. Like weed. Like running council. Like wearing short skirts. Like Riki Nishimura.

You glance at him sideways, voice light, almost bored. Almost. “So,” you say, like you’re asking about his major or what song’s playing on the radio. “I will ask you something kind of personal.”

Riki exhales a quiet laugh. “You’re already in my car smoking my weed. I think the line’s gone.”

You smile, satisfied, then tilt your head back against the seat. 

“Are you a virgin?”

The question hangs there. Unembellished and very dangerous in its simplicity. Also, of course, bold, which makes Riki actually freeze — a half-second pause where even his breathing stutters. Then he scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you just dropped that between the heater hum and the low bass leaking from the house.

He blames the weed, though part of him wishes it isn’t from that.

“You always ask things like that?”

“I’m curious,” you say easily. “And a little high.” you gesture with your thumb and forefinger.

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to you now despite himself. “Why?” he asks. “Does it change your opinion of me?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I asked.”

He huffs a soft laugh. He admits to embarrassment, even if it doesn’t cover his entire skin with flush and heat, he’s never found himself in this position. But honestly, nothing from the past few weeks has ever been something he prepared for — which he has you to blame, of course.

“Yeah.” he licks the corner of his lips, refusing to meet your eyes while he taps the steering wheel. “I am.”

Your eyebrows lift, impressed but not shocked. “Huh.”

Riki looks over. “Huh?” he mocks.

You bite back a smile and turn toward the window, but the reflection gives you away. “I just didn’t expect that.”

He scoffs, looking back at the windshield. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, still smiling a little. “You sell weed. And you drive this car.”

“And?”

“And you look like that.”

For one second, Riki’s fingers still on the steering wheel, and he learns to shut up. He lets out a quiet laugh after, but it sounds different this time, lower and almost embarrassed. “You’re so fucking high,”

That makes him quiet, makes him adjust on his seat. He’s touched a woman before, but no one’s ever sat on his dick, nor has he ever been in anyone. So maybe he’s half a virgin, maybe he’s just a sore loser. He watches you as you move, as you turn in the seat, knees pressing into the leather, facing him fully now. The space changes instantly, the air recalibrating around your movement and maybe even pushing you further toward him.

Riki stiffens — just suddenly very aware, and perhaps a little scared. “Uh,” he says, brows knitting. “What are you doing?”

You tilt your head, resting your hands casually on the seat, perfectly balanced. “Bored, like you said,” you say. “And my boyfriend’s cheating on me. Again.”

He swallows. His gaze drops, then snaps back up to your face, like he’s trying very hard to stay respectful and failing in slow motion because you’re especially gorgeous tonight. “That’s… not a great combo,” he says.

“Not really,” you agree.

You lean in just enough for him to feel it — not touch, not yet. Just close enough that he can smell your gloss, the faint sweetness still clinging to you, and the cannabis that if he warrants himself the scary concept, is his mark on you.

“At least you don’t think I’m boring.”

Riki exhales, a real one this time, like he’s surrendering to the moment instead of fighting it because what can a simple guy like him do, right? His eyes flick to your mouth again — longer now — and when he looks back up, there’s a decision there, from someone who’s tired of conforming.

You close the distance then, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn’t, your lips meet in a kiss that’s brief and soft at first. Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, stopping just short of your waist, hovering there like he’s giving you the choice.

When you kiss again, you’re pressing harder, with the very intent to steal the air from his lungs. So that is what happens, you inhale and climb over the console and close your knees around his waist and he’s breathing shakily against your mouth, fighting for the oxygen he’s willingly giving away. 

Your cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and when you roll, he pulls away like he’s burnt. 

“W-wait — this isn’t — we can’t do this.” He shakes his head insistently, looking down your joined thighs while he regains composure.

You frown. “Why not?”

He looks back up at you, eyes wide and glossy from the taste of your cherry gloss and his greens in your mouth. He looks like he can’t handle this. You’re high, he’s high, this isn’t a good idea. You’re perfect, he’s not, this isn’t a good idea. You’re pretty and he sells weed, this isn’t a good idea.

“Because you have a boyfriend.” he says weakly.

You smile, fingers brushing into the hair at his nape. “Not really.”

He stares at you before he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, like the whole situation is so stupid he has no choice but to let it be funny for half a second. You’re in his lap, his car is fogged, your party is across the street, and apparently your boyfriend is more of a family arrangement than an actual person you care about. 

“This is so fucked,” he mutters.

Still, he kisses you anyway. His hand finally settles at your waist, firm enough to make your breath catch. His fingers press into your flesh just before he pulls you closer and his hips thrusts up underneath you.

His bulge presses hard against your clothed cunt, and a small whimper slips out his mouth. Your thighs practically clench around him, your core tightening as you rub yourself on him. Beneath the jeans secured around his hips, the start of his v-line peeks, in which you softly graze with your thumb.

“F-fuck,” he whispers, resigned while he lets his head fall back against the headrest.

When you kiss him again this time, it’s slow and languid and licking into his mouth, and your hips start rolling against his while he unconsciously bucks into you. You gasp at the feeling of his growing erection despite the jeans, and you can’t help but feel rushed because it’s been way too long. 

His body’s hot and he doesn’t understand why he can’t even talk properly. “Are you okay?” you ask, kissing his cheek. He just nods.

“This is so wrong,” Riki says softly and raspy.

You just smile and kiss him again, feeling how sloppy he’s starting to become when your tongues meet. You set the pace, careful with how you bite and suck, more of a learning curve with what you like best rather than devouring. Riki realizes this and slows down too, relaxing underneath your thighs while his cock remains bulging against you. Your soft fingers slither at the back of his hair, tugging and caressing, while he finds the courage to sneak his tongue into your mouth.

When you pull to breathe, he’s practically panting. “You can touch me.” you whisper.

His gaze practically flicks up to look up at you, silently asking for clarification. You don’t use words, you instead take his wrists and start dragging his hands from your waist to underneath your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin against his, watching intently as you guide his hands further beneath your cotton top, until his fingers slightly grazes the soft swell of the underside of your breasts.

“Shit.” Riki mutters, his breath unstable when you let go. He looks for your eyes, asking for instructions, except you just smile and lean in to kiss him again with your hands on his jaw. 

So he takes it upon himself to move by his own. His fingers grazes the soft skin, careful and learning, testing the underside swell by gently squeezing. After that, he gains confidence, hands going further up until they touch your nipples. 

You gasp, pulling away to breathe when he starts gently pinching them, rolling them against the pads of his fingertips. He plays with them for a little while, watching your reactions when you sigh heavy, when your eyes close, when you lean further against his touch. It’s so good, he doesn’t even notice how painfully hard he is when he can feel just how sensitive your nipples are, when he can feel the weight of your breast as he cups them.

After a while, he finally stops, hands gliding down your ribs instead, thumbs still grazing slightly at the curve. Your kissing eases, reduced to pecks and softness. At rest and caress, you giggle and he chuckles, finally reeling in from the moment at how high he feels.

From your taste, your softness, your clothed pussy still pressing against his hard-on.

“You’re good for a virgin.” you say.

At that, Riki huffs and leans his head back against the rest, caressing your waist while he watches your face. You’re very pretty, even when your lipsticks smudged and you’re clearly teasing him, not touching him at all. 

He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he’ll mind for a long time. “I’m trying to make decent decisions.”

You tilt your head. “And kissing me is one?”

His jaw tightens a little, but he smiles. “It’s a very bad decision.”

“Mm.” You lean closer, but you don’t kiss him this time. “You stopped.”

“Because I don’t want to be your rebound,” 

The teasing fades just a little. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing the back of his neck, slow, and now you look at him too, at the way he’s looking at you like something cliche is about to happen now that he’s tasted something better than marijuana.

“You think I’d use you?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You study him for a moment. His nose and ears are still pink, which admittedly does something to you. It makes him look shyer somehow, less untouchable, like all that quiet control has slipped just enough for you to see he’s not as unaffected as he wants to seem.

He looks back at you, thumb moving once at your waist. “Let me take you out.”

You stare at him. “You’re asking me on a date right now? While I’m sitting on you?”

His mouth twitches despite himself. “Not my best timing.”

You laugh, soft and surprised, but he doesn’t laugh with you right away. You lean in again, slower and softer, just lips meeting and staying there, but his breath still hitches. You lets it last for a few seconds before you pull back, still close enough that your noses nearly brush.

“Ask me when we’re not high.”

Then he laughs once, quiet and disbelieving, his hand flexing at your waist. “Fine.”

Riki drives you home that night and you arrive at around 3 am, friends completely unaware of where you are or who you’re with — but you don’t care, even when your phone’s blown out of weird proportion. You laugh when he insists on walking you to your front porch, just to make sure you don’t slip and fall and he wouldn’t lose his favorite weed customer. 

“You’re ridiculous, Riki Nishimura.” you shove at his arm weakly.

“And you,” he leans down enough that his nose nudges yours. “are so pretty.”

You laugh harder, admittedly a little flustered the way you never have been before. He tells you to eat something real when you head in, and you mock him for it but he just smiles and nods,  agrees with the idea he is so, very stupid and funny for you.

Riki thinks the universe is testing him. Because ever since last night, every single thing reminds him of you. 

The cherry gloss taste still ghosting his mouth when he wakes up, the faint perfume lingering on his hoodie, even the stupid heater smell in the car feels different now, like the seats remember the way you climbed over the console and kissed him until his dick ached for you.

“Dude,” Jake says, throwing his duffel bag. “You look like shit.”

Riki drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

Jake doesn’t push it, which Riki appreciates for about three seconds before he sees where the cheer team is practicing. On the other side of the gym court, you’re standing with your friends, ponytail tied high, hands on your hips while you go over counts as the captain. You’re not doing anything special, occasionally laughing at something one of the girls beside you says, but Riki still feels his attention pull toward you like it has no discipline left.

He looks away first.

PE is already starting by the time he reaches their side of the court. He pulls his sleeveless shirt down properly and rolls his shoulders once, mostly because he needs something to do with his body. His hair keeps falling near his eyes, and he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck before class has even properly started.

He tells himself not to look. But then he looks.

You’re already looking too.

It only lasts a second. Your eyes meet his, then drop briefly to his arms before you turn back to your friends like nothing happened. Riki presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks at the ball in his hands, suddenly way too aware of himself.

Jake notices, but all he does is glance between the two of you. “Since when do you know her like that?”

Riki bounces the ball once. “I don’t.”

Jake gives him a look. Riki doesn’t look back. “Not like that.”

“Okay.”

The drill starts, and for a while, it’s just run, catch, dribble, pass, move. Riki focuses on the court, on the PE teacher’s whistle, on the ball against his palms. It works for half the time, until your voice cuts across the space, counting with the rest of the cheer team, and he misses a pass by half a second.

“Pay attention,” Jake says, not even laughing.

“I am.”

“You’re really not.”

Later, when the class breaks for water, Riki walks toward the drinking fountain and finds you there already, refilling your bottle. Your friends are a few steps away, talking among themselves, close enough to notice if either of you makes it obvious, far enough that neither of you has to pretend not to see each other.

He stands behind you to wait for his turn, and from afar, it doesn't look scandalous. You take your time refilling your bottle, eyes forward, one hand steadying the plastic under the stream. He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of you, jaw working once, because he knows exactly what you're doing when you lean a little farther than necessary and let the silence stretch.

Your skirt shifts when you bend, showing the backside of your thighs and the slight swell of your ass, and he sighs through his nose like he's deeply disappointed in both of you. Then he looks away completely.

You bite back a smile.

When the bottle finally fills, you straighten and cap it slowly, still not moving right away. He doesn't meet your eyes when you step aside, he just moves in, bends toward the fountain, and presses one hand against the edge for balance.

Then it's your turn to look away. But you don't, not even shamelessly. Because you’re the girl who got things her way and never got scared of the repercussions.

His sleeveless shirt pulls against his shoulders when he leans down, arm tense from holding himself there, the veins along his bicep showing under the gym lights. Water hits his mouth, and you watch the way his hair falls near his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. It's stupid, actually, how normal he's being and how much worse that makes it.

Riki finishes drinking, straightens, and wipes the water from his chin with the back of his hand. Only then does he look at you.

You're still staring. And for a second, neither of you says anything.

His expression barely changes, but something in his eyes does, like he caught you and decided not to make it easy. "What?"

You blink, then lift your bottle a little. "You took forever."

He looks at you, calm, unreadable, except for the faint color rising at the tips of his ears and the slight lift on the corner of his mouth. "You're one to talk."

Your friends laugh at something behind you, and the sound snaps the moment thinner, not enough to break it, but enough to remind you both where you are. You glance over your shoulder, then back at him, only to find he's still watching you. Not obviously, just enough to show that he knows exactly what that night did to you, and worse, exactly what this day is doing too.

And that he’s enjoying the view.

You tuck your bottle against your chest and step back. "Try not to miss another pass."

His mouth curves. "Then don't distract me."

The second he says it, your smile gets bigger, like a shared inside joke between you two now. Then you turn back to your team, and he stays by the fountain for one extra second, pretending the afternoon heat is the reason he can't stop feeling warm. In the locker room, he pretends it’s celibacy that’s making his cock hard again, and not the picture of you bending in front of him, the fat of your ass presenting itself to him so adorably.

In the cafeteria, while pages turn and keyboards clack for an upcoming test for biology, you try your best to stay focused the way you can on the usual. Riki was right about you — you were smarter than what people thought, and the merit beside your name is shocking to a whole lot when it’s pasted on the board. 

You think you’re no longer smart. Not when you’re staring at the open reviewer in front of you, color coded with little sticky tabs but you’re still distracted.

You grab your coffee and drink, just to try if that could help with your lost concentration. Something about protein synthesis and cell division. Something about how Riki’s hands looked wrapped around the steering wheel that one night while he called you weird and interesting in the same breath.

This is so inconvenient.

“Babe.”

Your boyfriend slides into the empty chair beside you like he owns the furniture, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the cafeteria lighting could barely offend a bitch. His hand settles automatically on your thigh beneath the table, casual and familiar, and you almost flinch.

“You disappeared last night,” he says casually.

You lean back in your chair. “I told you I left.”

“Yeah, but where?”

You think briefly about Riki’s car parked under the streetlamp — fogged windows, heated air, cherry gloss smeared on his mouth, plump lips smirking in restraint, hands squeezing you in the right place, keeping you in place.

“I just went home,” you reply smoothly.

Your boyfriend hums, clearly unconvinced, but also has about three seconds of emotional stamina left for the topic, so he lets it go and steals one of your fries instead. “My parents want dinner with you this weekend.” he says instead.

He continues talking about it but you’re staring at the flashcards and reviewers in front of you, imagining what your parents would say if Riki would’ve showed up to a family dinner instead. Maybe he’d appear in different clothes, a white button-up just to sit there and attempt to look polite in ways he isn’t with you — which makes your heart jump a little. 

Dinner drags on for three excruciating hours.

Three whole hours of crystal glasses and polished silverware and your boyfriend’s parents discussing investment portfolios. The restaurant is one of those stupidly expensive places where portions are microscopic and every waiter looks vaguely judgmental — you don’t complain, you’re rather very grateful for his parents (sometimes).

You sat there in a pretty dress your mother picked out. Your boyfriend talks over you twice when you try contributing to the conversation, his mother asks about your grades before asking how cheerleading is going, like academics and aesthetics are the only two things remotely interesting about you. At some point, your boyfriend likes another girl’s Instagram story right beside you at the table and everything about the night is just bad.

You just feel tired, especially on the way home. 

Tired in the way performances always leave you feeling like you’ve spent hours acting inside a role you got stuck with years ago — because it mostly worked in your favor, until that one time you decided to jump out of your comfort zone and try weed. It’s the worst thing you have done, but it’s the only thing that made you feel good.

Your heels click quietly against the marble floors when you enter your house and you make it halfway upstairs before the pressure behind your eyes finally cracks. Obviously, you don’t sob out of sadness, just frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks while you struggle with the zipper of your dress. “Fuck,” you mutter.

Your makeup’s ruined now; mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, lipstick mostly gone except for traces still staining your mouth. 

Before you can think too hard about it — which is kind of bad — you open Riki’s contact, and your fingers move faster than your dignity can intervene.

you: he actually sucks so bad like genuinely i think talking to drywall has more nuance

You exhale through your nose and laugh weakly at yourself because obviously Riki probably has better things to do than babysit you after 9PM, not when you’re just another weed customer and smoking buddy he had. You toss your phone onto the bed and sit in silence for a second, still in your dress, earrings discarded somewhere.

You try not to think about anything for the minutes you’ve spent staring at the ceiling: not about Riki, or your dumb boyfriend, or your (im)perfect life, or the way Riki kissed you, or the way he looked at you, or the way he thought about you. 

Because that's the part that bothers you most. Not the kiss itself, not even the fact that you wanted it, but the way he seemed to actually think about you before touching you. Like you weren't just pretty or convenient or someone people liked because you made sense beside them. Riki looked at you like he was trying to understand you, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything you've ever had.

And maybe that makes you painfully average.

Maybe you’re not special at all, maybe you’re just another girl in the long, embarrassing history of girls who developed feelings for the first boy who looked at them like they were a person. Congratulations, really. Very original and groundbreaking, for being part of the emotionally confused teenage girls.

You turn onto your side and press your face into your pillow, immediately hating yourself for how dramatic that feels.

Until something taps three times against your window.

Your brows furrow immediately because your bedroom is on the second floor and nobody normally knocks on windows like some suburban horror movie, you don’t even try to look because of what could be there. For a second, you genuinely think you’re hallucinating from emotional exhaustion and expensive restaurant food and maybe (you did not do prior research) the possibility of the long term hallucinations of marijuana.

Then it happens again. Three deliberate taps.

You sit up slowly from the edge of your bed, the strap of your dress slipping off one shoulder while your heels remain abandoned somewhere near the door. When you turn to the window, your heart practically falls from your chest when you see Riki standing outside like a fucking delinquent moron. He’s standing on the roof of the first floor near your window, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, while one hand steadies himself against the frame. 

You burst out laughing while fumbling with the lock of your window. Riki’s entire expression softens the second he hears you laugh and that does something unhealthy to him.

Because he drove for twenty minutes thinking about you crying over some guy who doesn’t even look at you properly, wondering if climbing a house at this hour officially qualifies as insanity (he’s never done that before, and it doesn’t sound so conformist right now either). Riki’s usually good at self-restraint, at risk assessment, at understanding what makes sense and what doesn’t.

For the record, this doesn’t make sense. Yet here he is anyway.

 “Hi.”

You stare at him in disbelief once you finally open your window. “What the fuck are you doing?” you whisper-yell.

“You sounded sad.”

“Is that supposed to be an answer?”

“What?” he says defensively while climbing inside carefully. “You said your boyfriend sucks. That sounded shitty.”

The second he lands properly inside your room, he looks at you before anything else. He’s used to seeing you fixed with perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect posture, like you just stepped out of a university brochure about good conduct and that the school cheer spirit is something one definitely needs for personal development.

This version of you feels familiar, and traitorously and selfishly, he thinks it’s for him.

Your dress is wrinkled now, your jewelry sits slightly crooked against your skin, your makeup’s smudged enough to expose the eyebags underneath, and your hair’s started falling from whatever expensive style you wore to dinner.

Riki swallows once before he can stop himself. “You were crying?”

Immediately, you look away, a bit embarrassed when you realize what you look like. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird,” he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively. “I just.”

He cuts himself off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how to navigate this. Girls usually don’t text him while being miserable and summon him to their bedroom windows like some modern romance movie directed by a bad romcom enthusiast. Nothing is romcom-y about this.

So instead, awkwardly, he holds the backyard vegetation toward you.

“I got you these.”

Flowers. They aren’t roses and lilies, especially not the peonies your boyfriend orders because it looks better in pictures. They’re not anything arranged like the bouquets your boyfriend’s family sends during competitions and birthdays and events where impression matters. They usually screamed ‘I have money’ so I had my manager fix these for you.

Riki brought you wildflowers, which are tiny white, yellow, and purple ones bundled unevenly together like he picked them himself on the side of the road and decided, yeah, these ones are perfect. They’re crooked and asymmetrical and a little pathetic, and it weirdly looks a lot like you.

You take them carefully, looking down at the tiny flowers bundled together with what suspiciously resembles a broccoli rubber band.

“Oh my God,” you laugh quietly. “These are so ugly.”

He looks offended immediately. “Okay, first of all, fuck you.”

You laugh, open and loud. “They’re literally weeds.”

“I mean. Matches us, no?” he argues.

You’re still smiling when you bring them closer to inspect, and he notices your eyes when you admire them because he notices everything when it comes to you now, apparently.

“He made you cry?” he asks quieter this time.

You look up at him, flowers resting against your chest while you slump a little. “Not exactly.”

He raises his brows. “That means yes.”

You sigh, gaze dropping to the petals between your fingers. “He’s just…” You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I’m really sick of it.”

Riki stays quiet — not because he doesn’t have thoughts, but because he has too many.

The thing is, he understands that social hierarchy is basically one giant theater production and he’s spent his entire life studying how to survive inside it correctly — he’s admitted to live in it quite comfortably. Which people to talk to, which ones to avoid, what behavior keeps life stable and uncomplicated, who not to sell weed to.

You were supposed to be part of that stable world, the part that he shouldn’t have had any associations with. Instead, you’re now standing barefoot in front of him holding ugly flowers with watery eyes while confiding in him like he’s become something safe. Now he’s giving a girl weeds for flowers, while his own cannabis has become untouched for quite a while now.

You narrow your eyes up at him suddenly, a teasing smile on your lips. “You could’ve used the front door.”

“And say what?” he snorts. “‘Good evening, your daughter texted me so I’m here to comfort her?”

You laugh again and Jesus Christ, he thinks he’d probably climb ten more roofs if it meant hearing that sound a second time.

Which is not good at all.

He looks around your room now, and he finds that is not in the dramatic movie sense where he’s overwhelmed by femininity and candles or whatever bullshit directors think teenage girls do in bedrooms. It’s just your space and that feels undeniably you in a way he’s never gotten access to before — never thought he would, actually. There’s a stack of annotated reviewers on your desk beside skincare products, then a half-folded cheer uniform hangs over your chair. Your bookshelf is organized by color at first glance, but he notices that some books are stuffed sideways and doubled-up like gave up halfway through organizing.

You’re contradiction after contradiction. Which feels fitting considering Riki’s currently inside the bedroom of a girl he once categorized under absolutely not my problem.

This is exactly why social structures exist. To prevent situations like this where a guy who sells weed ends up standing in the bedroom of a girl who looks expensive enough to kill him.

You set the flowers carefully on your vanity like they’re not random plants held together by produce rubber. Riki watches how gentle your hands are, watches the way your dress slips slightly higher on your thigh when you move.

You step closer to him after, eyes peeking through your lashes, and he starts to feel drunk from your perfume.  “You really came all the way here because I was sad?” you ask softly.

Riki opens his mouth automatically with something sarcastic prepared because that’s safer, because joking is easier than admitting the truth. But then he looks at you looking at him like he’s become something important frighteningly fast.

Honesty slips out before he can stop it. “Yeah.”

Your eyes soften in a way that completely wrecks him, because nobody’s ever looked at him like this before — like he did something meaningful instead of useful.

You step even closer now until there’s barely space between you. “You’re really bad at being casual,” you murmur.

He huffs a laugh. “You climbed into my lap the first time we kissed.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I was high.”

“And what’s your excuse now?”

Your lips twitch and his gaze drops there instinctively.

Big mistake, because now he’s thinking about kissing you again and suddenly being in your bedroom at midnight feels significantly more dangerous than it did when he drove here. Riki clears his throat and looks away first. Usually he’s good at eye contact, good at keeping composure, good at staying levelheaded even when situations become complicated, because he knows emotional regulation keeps things orderly, predictable, and safe.

You are none of those things anymore.

Standing this close to you feels like someone slowly dismantling every sensible thought process he’s ever had and replacing it with bad decisions and pretty girls in wrinkled dresses. 

Riki swallows, eyes still not fully on yours. “Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

You sigh, shoulders dropping a little as you look away. “I don’t know.”

Riki nods, though he doesn’t look surprised. “Well,” he says quietly, “you aren’t happy.”

The honesty in his voice catches you off guard, because it isn’t dramatic or possessive or demanding — it’s actually the complete opposite. He says things carefully. Your boyfriend never talks to you carefully. 

You study Riki for a second — the slight flush across his cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fact he literally climbed your house because you sounded sad over text. 

Clearly, he’s lost the plot somewhere. He might find it in your room, but why would it be there?

You look at the boy who notices everything about you, who reads you better than anyone ever did. And maybe that’s pathetic, but after a long time of performance and image, you can’t quite find irrationality when something finally sees you so clearly. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying again until his expression changes. The tears just spill over quietly, slipping down your cheeks before you can catch them, and for a second, you don’t understand why his eyes drop there with so much concern because you aren’t sad, nor overwhelmingly happy.

His hand lifts and his fingers touch your cheek lightly and carefully. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it reaches your jaw. Then the other hand comes up too, steadying your face with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten worse than the crying did. You stare up at him while he wipes your face like it’s something important, his hands warm, his touch steady even though his breathing isn’t. He just keeps his palms against your cheeks, thumbs soft under your eyes, focused on you.

Riki’s thumb slows beneath your eye, his gaze moving over your face with something almost pained. “You’re too pretty to cry over him,” he says quietly.

Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist to keep him there. His skin is warm beneath your palm, and for a second, his whole body seems to still when you touch him. You look up at him because he’s so tall this close, broad enough to block out half your room, and he’s holding your face like you might bruise if he moves wrong.

“I’m not crying over him,” you say, and your voice comes out quieter, “I think I’m crying because I want someone else.”

His hand stays against your cheek, but his thumb stops moving entirely. He has no immediate answer right now, no dry comment waiting in the back of his throat, no clever way to make the moment smaller than it feels. He just looks at you, like he heard you perfectly and still needs another second for it to reach the rest of him.

He shifts closer, but only slightly, careful enough that you notice the restraint. “Are you sure?”

You let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Yes.” 

Then your gaze drops from his eyes, not because you’re embarrassed exactly, but because looking at him straight on feels like standing too close to something bright. Your eyes settle on his chest instead, on the front of his hoodie rising and falling with a breath he’s clearly trying to control. His hands move from your cheeks, careful and slow, until his palms settle just beneath your jaw while his fingers slip behind your ears, curling gently at the back of your neck. 

For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Actually, you know he is. You can feel it in the way his breathing changes, in the way his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there this time, no pretending it was an accident. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne and whatever terrible decision-making brought him to your window.

Then something in you panics — not because you don’t want him to.

That’s the problem. You want him so much it feels insulting to every sensible part of your life (even though you’ve made many irrational choices that have shamed them anyway). You want him in your room, in your space, in the middle of all the pretty, curated pieces of yourself nobody else gets to see messy. You want him, and it would be so easy to lean up and let that be the answer. But there is still one stupid, technical, irritating thing standing between you and that, so you pull back a little.

He freezes immediately, hands dropping like he thinks he did something wrong. “What?”

“I need to do something.”

His brows pull together. “Right now?”

You turn away before you can lose your nerve, moving toward your bed where your phone is half-buried in the sheets. Your hands are unsteady when you pick it up, which is annoying because you are not the kind of girl who fumbles — you are the kind of girl who answers essay questions with proper structure, corrects formations instinctively, and pretends she’s fine so convincingly that people believe it until it becomes inconvenient not to.

Calling your boyfriend while Riki Nishimura stands in your bedroom after midnight is, admittedly, not your most elegant moment, but there’s a kind of clarity to it too.

He stays behind you, quiet, watching as you scroll to the contact you have ignored for most of the night. His name on your screen looks strange now.

The call rings twice.

Riki moves closer, though not touching you yet, just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. It makes focusing much harder, which is extremely inconsiderate for someone who climbed into your room to be supportive.

Your boyfriend answers with your name, voice already irritated. “It’s late. I’m busy.”

You close your eyes for half a second. “I’m just letting you know. We’re done.”

There is a pause. “What?”

You swallow, your grip tightening around the phone. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Behind you, Riki goes very still. Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“After everything? After tonight, you’re just gonna call me and say that?”

You stare at the wall in front of you. It’s absurd, actually, how little the anger reaches you. Maybe you should be shaking or crying harder or preparing a speech that starts with all the ways he hurt you — instead, you feel strangely calm.

He starts talking again, louder this time, something about your parents, his parents, how you’re overreacting, how you both agreed, how you don’t get to act innocent either. Until Riki’s hand appears beside you, and he takes the phone from your hand.

Your eyes widen. “Riki.”

He looks at the screen, hears your boyfriend still talking, then tosses the phone onto the bed, where it lands face-up against the sheets, the call still running, your boyfriend’s voice now small and furious through the speaker.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

His eyes stay on yours. “You already broke up with him.”

On the bed, your ex says your name again, sharp and confused, but neither of you are looking at the phone. 

Riki lifts one hand, not touching your face yet, just brushing his knuckles lightly near your jaw like he’s giving you one last chance to move away.

That is all he needs before he kisses you. It is not rushed, not messy from panic, just a little harsh from jealousy. But it’s slow enough to make your knees feel unreliable, steady enough that your whole body seems to understand before your brain does. You grab the front of his hoodie and he exhales against your mouth, the sound going straight through you. His hand settles at the side of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw while his other hand finds your waist, careful but sure. 

The phone is still there, your boyfriend is still talking. It should ruin the moment, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel worse in the way your heart is pounding too hard, in the way Riki keeps kissing you like he’s trying not to prove a point and failing anyway, in the way you know this is a terrible way to end a relationship and still cannot bring yourself to care.

Riki pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching yours. “He talks a lot,” he says quietly.

You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he kisses you before you can even finish a thought he physically cannot hear another word about your boyfriend tonight, earning a gasp from your mouth. It’s soft at first, his mouth catching yours that makes you go still for half a second, surprised, and then your hand tightens around his wrist as you kiss him back. He exhales through his nose, quiet and shaky, and his fingers press a little more firmly into your nape, not pulling you in too hard, just holding you.

You make this soft startled sound against his lips and he swears it nearly kills him on impact. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead bumps lightly against yours. 

“I don’t wanna talk about him anymore,” he says quietly.

His voice comes out rougher than before. You stare at him for a second, and your lips twitch.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He kisses you again almost immediately, and this time you kiss him back just as fast, your chests pressing against one another until you can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his hoodie. His hands find your waist, the weight of them warm and steady through the thin fabric of your dress, like he’s grounding you and keeping himself grounded too.

You tilt your head up to meet him properly, rising slightly onto your toes without meaning to, and he bends down into you like the movement pulls something out of him. His fingers press carefully at your sides, thumbs shifting once against your waist. The kiss deepens then, your hand sliding up the front of his hoodie until you’re holding onto him too.

Riki exhales against your mouth, almost shaky, and his grip tightens for one second before he loosens it again, like he’s reminding himself to be careful.

Without so much as a few words, your gaze meets his. But that’s not enough for him, not when he needs to hear that you want this too. The zipper you struggled with earlier starts undoing when his hand finds the back, before he leans in just enough for his voice to drop between you. 

"Words, baby," he whispers.

He isn't teasing now. His voice is low, but careful, like he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself want anything more.

You swallow, fingers tightening lightly in his hoodie. "I want you."

Riki watches your face for a second, and when he sees the true genuineness and want in your eyes, he lets himself have it. He dips down to your height, capturing your lips in a kiss again, before fully pulling the zipper down to the small of your back. With barely any effort, the dress slides off your body and pools around your feet on the floor. 

Too busy getting drunk on his plump lips, you don’t even notice his hands roaming over your skin, his fingertips memorizing the arch of your spine, before gliding up to the curve of your ribcage. You don’t notice how close he really is until his fingers find the underside part of your breasts. You pull away with a gasp, seeing him smile coyly when you finally realize you’re naked in front of him, and how he’s massaging your mounds in his hands.

He lets his thumbs brush your hardened nipples, watching your face scrunch and melt with fluster. He holds you so well, heat rushing all over your skin with the way he studies your body, eyes carefully taking in every detail about you. He continues stroking your nipples and massaging your breasts when he bends down again, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing over to your jaw. He presses open mouthed kisses on your pulse next, sucking and biting to leave love bites there.

You moan, all breathy and heavy, and his cock twitches in his sweats. For a man that’s been so cautious with you, he can’t help but fight the urge to pound into you recklessly right now.

“On the bed,” he prompts softly, taking a step forward. 

You obey with no fight, pathetically stepping backward until you sit back on the soft mattress. You adjust a little to get on your knees, eyes finding his through your lashes again. He’s looking at you with half-open lids, hand already reaching up to the back of your head, fingers tangling with your hair. He likes you like this, on your knees and your face so fucking close to his bulge, he can practically see it.

And because he has been so kind to you, you want to recompense for all of it. Your fingers hook at the hem of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze steady on his face to watch the way he reacts when he realizes what you’re about to do. You drag his pants down, enough for it to slip down his legs. 

His cock bulges in his briefs, begging to be set free. You cup it gently and he lets out a low moan, deeper than his usual, and when you look up, he’s just watching you. You lean in, only to lick a stripe from the bottom to top — his grip on your hair tightens, and you feel him pull you closer. Since you both don’t hold any godly kind of willpower, you waste no time lowering the fabric.

Riki’s stupidly long cock springs forward once you remove his briefs, and everything about it just makes sense. It isn’t excessively thick in girth, but it’s length makes you wonder if it can even fit at all. It’s pale at the base and turns pink towards the tip, the slit lathered with pre all over the head, all for you.

You bite your lip, not being able to help the thrilled grin on your face, eyes bright at the sight of it. He clears his throat, caressing the back of your head gently. “You good?”

You snicker, reaching up to wrap your hand around the base. He chokes out a gasp, stilling completely yet his hips buck forward. He watches you handle him so delicately, even the way you start pumping his dick, watching the way pre-cum leaks out the tip. You lean forward, tongue flat against the head, tasting him. 

“O-oh, s-shit —” his breathing becomes heavy, arm flexing involuntarily as he keeps rubbing the back of your head.

You giggle, tilting your head a little to press soft pecks all over his length. “Watch me, sweet boy. Okay?” 

You’re a fucking tease. That’s all he manages to come up with before his brain completely blanks out when you tilt forward and let your mouth close around the head of his dick. You start to suckle on it, tongue playing with the slit a little. Then you push forward, enough the tip touches the back of your throat and your cheeks hollow around his length.

And he’s still too fucking long. 

You start choking a little, tears touching your waterline. You stroke the part you can’t reach, and he can’t help but smirk arrogantly.

Heavy breaths turns into deep groans, trying to keep his sounds to himself but the way you look as your head bobs on his dick, practically choking as you suck on it, and his hand flexing a tight grip on your hair — this has got to be better than any fucking narcotic ever. He bets morphine won’t ever feel this good. “Y-you’re fucking sublime, baby,”

You retract your mouth, going back to suckle on the tip, before taking him all back down your throat. His hips jerk forward, you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control. 

And it’s too good, because twenty years of chastity has started to reach him faster than the way you rub him. He feels his abdomen tighten, and fuck does his balls feel tense. So as any illogical, preposterous, unsound idiot ever, he pulls you away from his cock. He holds you by your hair, slowing you down as you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused, lips wet from your saliva and his fluids.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, catching your breaths. 

Riki licks his bottom lip, and you can see every restraint holding him back from breaking you. The tips of his ears are red, and his eyes, once so tender and meticulous, looks down at you like he just can’t wait to fuck you senseless. They’re sharper than they ever have been, and once since this night began, you’re scared.

“Easy,” he drawls, hand withdrawing from you completely. He takes a step back, just enough to admire the way you look, panting and on your knees, breasts exposed and perky. Then with a small smirk, he pinches the edge of his hoodie. “You always this impatient?”

He slides the hoodie over his arms, the cloth revealing flesh that practically glow from your vanity lights. His chest and shoulder width is broad and wide, flat in that boyish way you love, expanding to the chiseled arms. You can feel yourself salivating at the muscles, at his taut abs, delicate grooves that trace down to a sharp v-line. Even his obliques and traps are so defined.

“Get on your back.” he rasps, and you don’t let yourself react before lying down, head against your soft pillows. He kneels in between your legs, eyes trailing over your body. He hooks his fingers over the elastic of your panties, just before he slowly pulls them off you, slow enough to make you embarrassed.

“Riki,” you murmur sheepishly, but he ignores you, keeping his eyes narrowed to the way your cunt glistens, your own fluids leaking out of you. She’s perfect, and his already frustrated cock twitches. 

Blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and his eyes are dark when your gaze meets again. He hovers over you, caging you against the bed before he leans in, kissing you again. Your lips part for him, breaths mingling, getting hot and heavy as his hand finds your ass. He squeezes the fat there, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re making it hard to think, pretty girl.”

You manage a giggle, though it quickly turns to soft moans when he kisses your jaw and presses his cock against your cunt. 

“Riki, please,” you can see how swollen his cock has gotten.

“I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he breathes, his arms tensing as he keeps himself up. He strokes himself a bit, just before he aligns the tip with your aching hole.

Your brain has gone hazy, not being able to process anything other than the way he kisses your neck when the head of his cock pushes through your folds, and immediately your arms come to his back, nails digging into his muscles. He tenses too, giving a sharp exhale when his length slides past the tight muscle and rubs against your gummy walls.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face against your neck while your teeth bite down your bottom lip. “G-god, that’s so good,” 

His hips closes against your pelvis, while his tip brushes against your cervix so good he’s pretty sure you’re sucking him in. And you feel stuffed, more than you ever have been, by Riki’s long cock. “Good fucking pussy, shit —”

Your legs are open wide for him, pressing flat against the mattress. And that’s enough for him, just to see you so spread beneath him, cunt squeezing him so tight; enough for him to pull back and watch the way your fluids wrap slick around his cock. Your hips wiggle for him, and that’s all he takes before slamming his hips back into you.

Riki’s jaw hangs open, a low moan gushing out him, strained and heavy into your ears. 

“R-Riki — f-f-fuck —”

The sounds of squelching pussy and skin slapping echoes throughout your entire room, walls so tight around his cock as you gasp. The pace is set already, quick and fucking drilling into you even though you’ve known him for his care and caution — yet he pounds into you like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything but his pleasure.

“S-s-so good — ugh, Riki — fuck,” you scratch his back muscles, tensing underneath your nails. His pelvis and abs are tight, slamming himself so hard against your cunt like he can’t keep himself apart from you.

He continues groaning, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he admires the way your tits bounce every time he rocks his dick deep into your cunt. His lips part to moan your name, and you love how he almost whimpers when you squeeze around him. 

Then he stills, though only fast enough before he slides an arm beneath your waist and gathers you closer, like he’s scooping you into him without fully lifting you. 

“W-what are you —” 

“On your stomach.” 

You can only blink and nod, before turning around, suddenly feeling empty when his dick slips from inside you. You settle on your hands and knees, then lie on your chest, face pressed to the soft pillow. “Fuck, my good girl.”

You can’t see him anymore, and you’re not sure with how you feel about it — not until you feel his warm body press against your back, his chest hovering slightly over you. He presses a hand on the back of your thigh, gently adjusting your knee higher, the position immediately spreading your folds more than you would have thought. 

“Lift your hips for me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and strained.

You obey, pussy clenching around nothing when he whispers quiet praises as your ass perks up and your folds glisten for him again, slick oozing out from you. You get on your hands a little, just enough to lift yourself and look over your shoulder. Without much of a warning, he pushes his cock back deep inside you again, walls welcoming him with a dirty squelch, your breath catches, then escapes in a quiet gasp.

“There, just like that —” Riki moans, his v-line pressed tight against your ass.

Then he continues, retracting his hips only to slap back inside you. The new positions doing fucking wonders to you, stretching you a whole lot more, his dick fucking you so raw that you can’t help the screams you let out. He presses his hands against your waist, fingers ingrained to lift your ass up and pound into you right after, grip so tight it’s already bruising.

You fuck yourself against him too, slapping back against his hips, cock choking in your tight walls. His eyes are almost rolling back, if not for how obsessed he is watching your ass shake and tits bounce every sloppy stroke, his hand sliding under you to grope your mound. He fondles with it, pinching your nipple and loving the weight of it against his palm. 

Sweat’s getting hot and the air’s smells too much of sex, he can feel it when his balls clench and how desperate he’s starting to get.

You look over your shoulder and he meets you halfway, leaning over to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. It’s full of saliva and it’s warm, messy in a way that tells how close you both are.

Then with so little strength (can’t compare to Riki Nishimura, really), your weight falls back to the pillow, face and chest pressed against the softness while your ass stays up. If not for his large hands keeping you up and still, you would’ve fallen over completely. 

Your abdomen clenches and pressure builds in there, and he continues rutting into you while you become a puddle of sweat and moans. “R-right there — fuck, Riki — !”

“I-I’m gonna fucking cum, s-shit – I’ll blow a fucking load in you —” his hips drive into your pussy with a new kind of intensity, faster and deeper somehow, his tip hitting your cervix that has you throbbing around him.

“Cum all over me, baby, please —” he whines, face pressed against your shoulder. 

You feel hot spurts of him fill you the same time your cunt clenches around him one final time, legs twitching while his hips come to a stutter. Cum settles in your hole, warm and full and sticky and practically seeping out of you. He collapses on top of you, unconsciously maybe, his heavier weight pressing over your body.

Your vision goes white for a bit, then it comes back, only for you to see hair all over your face, stuck with sweat and saliva. He’s still on top of you, but you can feel him carry himself a little, making sure not to crush you right after cumming in you.

Quiet beats stretch out the moment, and you don’t even notice his arm tucking underneath you to massage your tit, a tired laugh leaving your mouth when you do. When you both muster enough strength, he straightens just enough to lift himself off of you, while you manage to get on your hands. By the time you look over your shoulder, he’s already leaning in, his mouth finding yours again, a hand still fondling with your breast.

“Riki,” a small sheepish smile curves on your lips, all while he presses soft pecks against your mouth and jaw. 

“Hm?” he hums, tired and spent, clearly having nothing else to do but to kiss you. His breaths are still shallow, eyelids heavy before shutting completely.

You giggle, putting your hand over his on your breast. “Get off me,” you say with a playful grin. “You’re so heavy!”

WIth a quiet groan, he listens. He slides out of you, unplugging you to let your fluids out. Then he lies down, and he hasn’t realized how strained his muscles are until he sinks into the softness of your bed. He relaxes inevitably, while you stay up just to admire him for a bit.

Riki Nishimura is never going to be insecure about his looks, but the way you stare at him with dilated pupils that match his, especially post-sex, he can’t help but grow a bit bashful. 

He huffs out a laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze your waist because you feel so far. "So do you have a no-cuddle policy, or," he murmurs.

You laugh before you can stop yourself because he's so stupidly funny for someone trying to sound serious. Instead of answering, you shake your head and lean more of your weight against one hand, the other resting against his chest as your fingers trace lazy, thoughtless shapes.

He watches you do it for a second, his expression going quiet in that way that makes your stomach turn. Then you glance up at him. "Can you roll one for me?"

He sighs so heavily it almost sounds personal. Before you can even react, his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you down against his chest, firm and immediate, like the idea alone offended him. Your hand lands against his abs to catch yourself, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder as he keeps you there.

“Throw that shit away,” he says, voice low near your ear. “I swear to God.”

You blink, caught against him. “What?” His arm stays around you, warm and unmoving. “Why?”

Riki looks at you with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and a little strained, like even answering takes effort. “Because,” he murmurs, his grip softening at your waist, “after tonight, I think I found something better.”

Your jaw actually falls open. For one second, all you can do is stare at him, because there’s no way Riki Nishimura just said that to you while looking half-asleep and impossibly calm, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire stomach turn over and tighten all over again.

Then you smack his chest lightly. “Riki.”

He chuckles, low and tired, the sound vibrating against your palm. His arm stays around your waist, keeping you close even when you try to lean back enough to glare at him properly.

“What?” he murmurs, eyes barely opening more. “Use my dick instead, I won’t get mad.”

You smack his chest harder, earning a yelp from him. “Riki!”

He laughs under his breath, but before you can pull your hand back, his fingers wrap around your wrist. His eyes open a little more as he looks at you, still tired, still amused, and then he tugs you. 

You land over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips as his arm settles around your waist to steady you. For a second, neither of you moves. Your hand stays pressed to his chest, his heartbeat is faster than he's pretending. "Careful," he murmurs, like he wasn't the one who pulled you.

"You're so annoying," you whisper again, but it comes out softer this time, a quiet breath as you lean down to him. You're close enough now that your noses brush, close enough to feel his smile fade against your mouth.

Riki's gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. Your fingers stay flat against the broad hardness of his chest while his hand stays warm at your waist, slowly smoothing over the curve of your ass.

“Ride me?” he whispers against your lips.

You sigh, rolling your eyes while your mouth curves to a grin, back straightening. You act like you think about it, only for your exposed cunt to start grinding against his cock — which, obviously, because he is a very simple man, erects again.

A simple man such as he, all he knows is that he is yours.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

for a long time, you had thought you were just waiting for the right kind of soft.

you had tried, too. you had allowed yourself to be taken out to quiet dinners, had sat under warm porch lights, listening to men talk about their lives with gentle, earnest eyes. you had let them hold your hand across small wooden tables, feeling the steady warmth of their palms, and you had waited. you had waited for that sudden shift in the air, that secret hum in the gut that people spent their whole lives writing songs about.

but every time someone leaned in, every time warm lips pressed against yours in the cool night air, it had felt like nothing at all. dry skin against dry skin. a strange, mechanical stillness. it was like watching a match strike through a thick sheet of glass. you could see the heat, could acknowledge the flame, but not a single spark ever managed to reach your skin.

the panic had been quiet at first, a slow burning ache in the back of your throat, before it turned into something suffocating. it wasn't that you were picky. it wasn't that you were holding out for some cinematic ideal. it was the lonely realization that the mechanism inside you was simply broken. your chest was an empty room, dark and quiet, while everyone else seemed to be burning alive.

eventually, you had stopped trying to force a pulse out of stone. you had accepted the dull safety of your own mind.

working at the dive bar had made it easier to forget. the place was always loud enough to drown out the quiet inside your head — sticky floors, the sharp tang of spilt rye, and the dense humidity of too many bodies packed into a low-ceilinged room. you moved through the crowds with a tray tucked under your arm, brushing off clumsy jokes and easy smiles with a polite curve of your lips that never quite reached your eyes. you watched people fall apart over each other every weekend, tangling their fingers together in the dark corners, and you felt like a ghost observing a world you weren't allowed to touch.

watching them was a quiet kind of grief. there was something raw and messy — and violently alive — about the way strangers reached for each other under those flickering neon lights. a bruised knee knocking against another beneath a booth, teeth catching on a lower lip, two people leaning into each other’s space like the air everywhere else was unbreathable. they looked desperate. they looked reckless and stupid and completely undone.

and every time you wove through the narrow aisles with a tray of empty pint glasses, you felt the cold weight of your own detachment settle deeper into your marrow.

you wanted to hate them for it. you wanted to pretend you were above the embarrassing, chaotic urge to give yourself away to someone else. but you weren't above it. you were just locked out.

you had been entirely immune to it all, safe behind the glass, until thursdays started feeling different.

it hadn't happened all at once. it began with the heavy thud of sound equipment being dragged through the alley door, the sudden smell of rain and cheap tobacco cutting through the stale beer. you hadn't even looked at the stage the first night his band played. you had just been standing by the service well, wiping down a greasy counter, when a low, dirty frequency had bled out of the speakers. it was a vibration so deep it didn't just rattle the floorboards under your sneakers, it had settled directly into the hollow space behind your ribs, making your breath hitch in the dark.

you had looked up then. through the shifting haze of blue stage lights and the dull fog of the bar, your eyes caught on the guitarist.

he wasn't trying to pull the room's attention. he didn't have that loud need to be perceived that ruined most musicians who played there. he was just leaning over his instrument like it was the only thing in the room keeping him anchored, dark hair falling across his forehead, casting shadows over sharp features. he wasn't putting on a show. he just played.

when the song ended, he didn't bask in the scattered applause. he just turned his head, exchanged a low, private word with the drummer, and offered a fleeting curve of his mouth that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

and there, standing by the soda gun with a damp rag clutched in your fist, you felt it.

a crack.

it wasn't an explosion. it wasn't a roaring fire. it was just a tiny fracture in the thick glass that had kept you numb for years. a sudden rush of heat that bloomed at the base of your throat and travelled all the way down to your fingertips. you had swallowed hard, your pulse suddenly loud in your own ears, completely paralyzed by the sheer shock of simply feeling something.

you didn't know his name. you didn't know anything about him. but for the rest of your shift, you couldn't stop your eyes from drifting back to the stage.

it started like that. a silent, harmless curiosity.

but as the thursdays bled into each other, the curiosity hardened into something heavier. you learned his name was jay only because you overheard the bartender shouting it over the noise to hand him his tab. you learned that he drank his whiskey neat, that he had a habit of rolling his sleeves up just below the elbow, and that he existed inside a quiet, untouchable bubble.

he had a pull to him, a natural magnetism that drew people in, but he never seemed to entertain it for long. you watched people try their luck after sets — sliding up to the edge of the stage, offering glossy smiles and lingering touches. he wasn't cold, exactly. he would offer a polite nod, maybe a brief response that you couldn't hear over the music, but he never seemed to let anyone in. he always stepped neatly out of their gravity, turning back to pack up his pedals or heading out the back door to smoke with his bandmates. he was polite, but entirely walled off. a mystery that didn't want to be solved.

and slowly, you found yourself sinking into it.

it was a quiet kind of admiration. the kind that crept up on you in the dead spaces of your shift. you found yourself tracking him in your periphery, anticipating the exact moment he would walk through the front door with his guitar case. you memorized the way his hands moved over the frets, the way his jaw set when he was concentrating, the low, raspy pitch of his voice when he occasionally leaned into the microphone for backing vocals.

you made peace with the silence of it. you didn't need to be the person who walked up to him, you were content to stay behind the bar. it didn't matter that he barely looked your way, or that to him, you were probably just a passing blur in an apron clearing empty pint glasses from his table.

it was a one-sided devotion, completely hidden in the dark. but after years of feeling nothing at all, the sweet ache of simply wanting him was a relief. you finally had a pulse, and you guarded that secret bruise with everything you had.

it became a rhythm you lived by. the rest of your week felt like empty space, a dull stretch of days you just had to wade through until thursday rolled around. you started noticing intricate things. like how the faulty neon sign in the window cast a reddish glow over his leather jacket when he stood by the door. or how he tapped his boot against the base of the mic stand before the first song. the heavy silver rings on his right hand too, dull and scratched under the stage lights.

you felt hyper-aware whenever he was in the building, walking through the room like your skin was suddenly too thin. every time you had to walk past the stage to serve the front booths, your shoulders stiffened and your breath turned shallow. you wondered if everyone could see it — this glaring spotlight of a crush burning inside your chest. but no one noticed. especially not him.

the first time he actually spoke to you, it was entirely mundane.

it happened on a night when the heating in the bar had broken. the air was stifling, thick with humidity and the smell of warm beer. he had just finished his set, leaving his guitar on the stand, and instead of heading out to the alley, he walked straight toward the narrow stretch of the service well where you were refilling the garnish trays.

you didn't hear him approach over the sudden noise of the jukebox filling the silence. you just turned around with a plastic container of sliced limes, and he was suddenly there, leaning a casual arm against the dark wood of the bar.

up close, the sheer gravity of him was suffocating. you could smell the faint trace of tobacco clinging to his clothes, mixed with something clean and sharp beneath it. your heart gave a panicked lurch, hammering against your ribs so hard you thought he might hear it.

"hey." he said. his voice was raspy from singing, carrying that same effortless cadence he used with everyone. "could i just get some water?"

you froze. the container of limes suddenly felt heavy in your hands. out of all the desperate, ridiculous scenarios you had accidentally imagined, simply handing him water hadn't been one of them.

"yeah." you managed to say, but your voice came out thin, strained.

you felt the heat rush violently to your cheeks as you spun back around, fumbling for a clean glass. your fingers were suddenly clumsy, stupid, completely betraying you. you dropped an ice cube on the rubber mat and nearly missed the glass with the soda gun.

he didn't seem to notice your quiet spiral. or if he did, he didn't care. he just waited, looking past you, his dark eyes casually scanning the row of liquor bottles on the shelf, completely untethered, completely calm. to him, this was nothing. just a pit stop.

you set the glass down in front of him, a little too abruptly, water sloshing perilously close to the rim.

"sorry." you mumbled, wiping your trembling hands hastily on your apron, wanting nothing more than for the floorboards to open up and swallow you whole.

he didn't bat an eye. he just pulled the glass toward him, offering that same polite nod he gave everyone else, treating you exactly the way he treated the sound guy, the bouncer, the rest of the world.

"thanks." he murmured.

and then he turned around and walked back to his bandmates, taking all the air in the room with him.

he hadn't lingered. he hadn't really looked at you. the interaction had lasted less than thirty seconds. but as you stood there, gripping the edge of the service well with white knuckles, your chest was heaving like you had just run a marathon.

you felt pathetic. utterly ruined by a man who was just thirsty. but those thirty seconds sustained you for a month.

you hated yourself for it. you spent the following weeks dissecting the interaction until there was nothing left but the humiliating reality that you had practically trembled in front of him, and he hadn't even perceived you as a person. you were just a function. a pair of hands that delivered his glass.

but then, it became a routine.

the next thursday, after the first set, he didn't go to the alley. he didn't go to the wider, less crowded side of the bar where the other bartender was standing idly. he walked straight through the crowd and stopped at your cramped corner of the service well.

he didn't say hey this time. he just leaned his forearms against the sticky wood, his dark eyes fixed on the dirty mirror behind the liquor shelf, and tapped his silver-ringed fingers once against the rubber bar mat.

you didn't ask what he wanted. you just reached for a clean glass, your chest tightening painfully, and poured the water.

he took it, gave that same detached nod, and walked away.

it turned into a brutal, silent arrangement. every week, he would come to your exact corner. he never asked your name. he never asked how your shift was going. to you, it felt like you were entirely invisible, just a convenient fixture in the background of his night. he would stand there, chest heaving slightly from the performance, smelling of smoke and sweat, taking up all the oxygen in your immediate radius.

sometimes he would drink it right there, turning his back to you to lean against the bar and survey the room. you would stand inches behind him, trying to remember how to breathe, wiping the same spot on the stainless steel counter over and over just to have something to do with your hands.

it was toxic, this tiny sliver of proximity. you were starving, and he was dropping crumbs without even looking down to see what was eating them.

you rationalized it, of course. it was obviously just convenience. he was a creature of habit. he came to your well because he knew you wouldn't bother him, wouldn't try to touch his arm or shout over the music like the people who hovered near the stage. he came to you because you were practically a ghost. you offered no resistance, no annoying conversation. you were just a silent dispenser of whatever he needed.

but god, you started living for those quiet, devastating minutes.

you started making sure you were anchored at the well right before his set ended, ensuring you wouldn't be called away to a table. you started wearing a little more perfume on thursdays, putting on a darker shade of lip balm, hoping that maybe, just once, his dark eyes would snag on you for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

they never did. his gaze always slid right past you, completely blank, completely untethered.

the worst part was the accidental touches. it didn't happen often — maybe three times over the course of two months. you would slide the cold glass across the wood, and his large fingers would reach out to take it, the rough pad of his thumb grazing your knuckles.

it was always an accident. it had to be. he would pull the glass away with that same maddening expression, completely unaffected, while the brief contact sent a violent shockwave straight up your arm. your skin would burn for hours where he had touched you for less than a second.

you would spend the rest of the night clutching your serving tray against your ribs, nursing the humiliating agony of knowing that you were completely consumed by a man who couldn't even pick you out of a lineup. you were letting him ruin you, and he didn't even know he was doing it.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

it was a rainy mid-november thursday, past two in the morning, and the bar had emptied out into the storm outside. the jukebox was off, leaving only the low hum of the beer fridges and the rhythmic patter of rain against the grimy back window. the other bartender had gone to the back office to count the drawer, leaving you alone to wipe down the sticky surfaces.

he hadn't left with his band. he was sitting on a high stool at the far edge of your well, his leather jacket damp from the rain, spinning a wooden match between his fingers.

you were trying to keep your hands busy, rinsing glasses in the sink, your pulse doing that familiar dance against your ribs just knowing he was sitting three feet away. you kept your head down, tucked behind the shield of your hair, praying your face wasn't as flushed as it felt.

when you finally moved to clear the counter in front of him, you reached out to take his empty glass.

his fingers were still loosely curled around the base of the heavy tumbler. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, your breath catching, before carefully reaching for the rim. but as you pulled it toward you, the back of your knuckles brushed against the side of his hand. a tiny, accidental touch.

you froze, expecting him to pull away like he usually did. but he didn't move. instead, he slowly lifted his head. for the first time in months, his heavy lidded eyes travelled up from the wood of the counter and locked directly onto yours.

the world narrowed down to the space between you. up close, in the dim red light of the neon sign, you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the intoxicating weight of his focus. it was like breathing in smoke.

he didn't look angry, or amused, or bored. he just looked at you, his gaze steady and quiet, taking you in while your lungs completely locked up.

"you got a light?" he asked. his voice was a low rasp, stripped of the stage's volume, vibrating softly in the empty room. it hit you right in the center of your chest.

"uh…" you stammered, your voice pathetically small. "yeah. yeah, under the register."

you turned around too fast, your hands trembling so violently you almost knocked over a bottle of bitters. you fumbled beneath the counter, your heart hammering against your collarbone like a trapped bird, before your fingers finally caught a small cardboard matchbook.

when you turned back, he was watching you. not with impatience, but with a slow quiet that made your skin prickle with heat.

you reached across the bar, extending the matches. instead of taking the book by the edge, his calloused hand closed around yours, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of your fingers to take it from your grip. the heat of his skin was shocking, a searing contrast to the cold glass you had been washing.

he didn't let go instantly. for two agonizing seconds, his fingers lingered against yours, holding the matchbook — and your hand — between you.

and then, he pulled back.

you stood there, gripping the edge of the sink behind you with white knuckles, unable to move, unable to think. you watched as he struck the match. the sharp tang of sulfur filled the space between you, the tiny orange flame illuminating the sharp planes of his face for a split second before he brought it to the tip of his cigarette.

he took a slow drag, blew a thin trail of smoke toward the ceiling, and tossed the matchbook back onto the wet wood of the bar.

"thanks." he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours for just one more endless beat.

he slid off the stool, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, and walked toward the alley exit without another word. the heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet bar with the smell of sweet tobacco and sulfur hanging thick in the air.

you sank against the counter, your knees weak, pressing your burning palm against your chest. you didn't know what it meant. you didn't know if he was just being polite, or if he even remembered your face now that he was out in the rain. but as you stood there in the dark, gasping for air, you knew one thing for certain — the quiet bruise of wanting him had just turned into a fire you had no idea how to put out.

you took the matchbook off the wet bar before you locked up that night. you tucked it into the breast pocket of your apron like a stolen secret, your thumb smoothing over the damp cardboard all the way home on the late night bus. in your small, quiet bedroom, you put it on your nightstand, next to your bed, staring at the charred tips of the few burned matches inside until your eyes burned. it was pathetic. it was the most humiliating thing you had ever done — practically building an altar out of a stranger’s trash.

but the next thursday, the air in the bar felt fundamentally altered.

the invisible line had been crossed, and even if you tried to convince yourself it was all in your head, you couldn’t help feeling hopeful. when his band took the stage, you couldn't even pretend to do your job properly. every muscle in your back was locked, your skin humming with a terrible awareness.

and then, halfway through their third song, it happened.

jay was leaning into a slow riff, his dark hair falling over his face in a beautiful way, when his head tilted. he didn't look at the drunks by the stage. he didn't look at his pedals. his dark, hooded eyes swept straight across the crowded room and locked onto you, standing frozen by the ice well.

it lasted two seconds. maybe three. just an unblinking hold through the blue stage smoke before he looked back down at his guitar.

your breath hitched so hard you choked on it. you backed into the stainless steel counter, hands gripping the edge, telling yourself you were delusional. he was just looking at the clock behind you. he was just scanning the room. he doesn't see you. but it all tasted bitter in your mouth, because the heat in your face was real, and your heart was hammering a desperate rhythm against your ribs.

when the set ended, he didn't wait for the bar to clear out.

he walked straight to your well while the room was still loud and chaotic. he stepped right up to the narrow gap in the counter where you were standing, taking up every inch of space, leaning his forearms over the wood until he was lingering directly in your personal bubble.

up close, the smell of him — stale rain, sweet tobacco, and warm skin — was an absolute sensory assault.

you didn't wait for him to speak. with trembling fingers, you quickly reached for a clean glass and filled it from the pitcher, sliding it toward him without meeting his eyes. "here." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the jukebox.

but he didn't take the glass.

instead, he just leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours across the narrow divider. he placed his silver-ringed hand flat on the bar mat, right beside your trembling wrist. close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"didn't even have to ask." he murmured. his voice was a low rumble meant only for you, dropping beneath the noise of the bar. you looked up, trapped, your eyes flying to his.

he was watching you with a quiet intensity. it felt like he was invading your space completely, casually asserting himself over you, letting the quiet weight of his presence suffocate you while you stood there, utterly helpless.

"you always know what i want, y/n?"

the sound of your name on his lips sent a sickening thrill straight down your spine. you hadn't told him your name. you had never introduced yourself. he had simply taken it, learned it in the dark, and was now holding it against your throat like a blade.

"i-" you swallowed, your throat completely bone dry, your mind spinning into a panicked blur. "it's just... you always order water."

a faint, almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his mouth. not a smile, but something darker.

he finally reached out and grabbed the glass, taking a slow sip as his eyes never left your flushed face, just to set it back down right in front of you. as he turned and walked away into the crowd, you gripped the edge of the sink, gasping for air, completely shocked at the terrifying realization that maybe you weren't a ghost to him anymore.

you spent the next ten minutes in the back room, leaning your forehead against the cool painted cinderblock, violently dismantling every second of it.

you were actually delusional. your nametag was pinned right to the strap of your apron, faded white plastic with your name scratched into the corner. of course he had just read the tag while waiting for his drink, using it to be vaguely polite, and you had turned it into some profound revelation.

the humiliation was a heavy weight in your stomach, but as you picked up your tray to finish closing, you still couldn't stop the embarrassing flutter in your chest.

by three in the morning, the bar was nearly pitch black, saved only by the dim red glow of the exit sign and the streetlights bleeding through the front glass. the doors were locked, and you were clearing the last of the back booths near the stage, desperately trying to hurry so you could escape into the rain.

you didn't realize he was still there until you rounded the corner of the booth.

jay was sitting alone in the dark leather seat, a half empty glass of amber liquor in front of him, his long legs stretched out into the narrow aisle. his jacket was off, draped over the back of the seat, his dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his beautiful skin. he was staring down at his phone, the blue light catching the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

you froze, the heavy tray clattering loudly against your thigh. right then, you tried to pull back, to turn around before he noticed you, but your sneakers squeaked against the slick tile.

he didn't jump. he just slowly raised his head, locking those heavy lidded eyes on you through the gloom.

"sorry." you blurted out, the word tumbling out of your mouth way too fast, way too high. "i-i thought everyone was gone. i'm just clearing tables. i mean, obviously you're here. i can come back later. when you're done." you sounded pathetic, babbling, and completely transparent.

jay didn't move. he just watched you scramble over your own words, his expression completely unreadable. he took a slow sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass, taking his sweet time while you stood there burning alive under his gaze.

"i'm done." he said softly. his voice sounded even lower in the empty bar, a lazy purr that seemed to coat the inside of your ears.

you nodded frantically, stepping forward to reach for the empty beer bottles on the far side of his table. but to reach them, you had to lean slightly into his space, your apron brushing against the wooden edge of his booth. you were so terrified of touching him that your hands were shaking again, your fingers fumbling uselessly around the neck of a glass.

"you always seem to be in a rush, y/n." he murmured. it wasn't a question, it was a slow statement.

"i'm- i just have a lot to clean." you stammered, your eyes fixed firmly on the sticky tabletop, refusing to look at him. "and the bus stops running at three thirty. so. yeah."

"is that why you're trembling?"

the question hit you like a drop of ice water down your spine. you snapped your head up, your mouth falling open slightly.

he was leaning back against the leather, his head tilted, watching you with quiet curiosity. he didn't look mean. he didn't look cold. he just looked like a man who had caught a small animal in a trap and was casually watching it squirm.

"i'm not-" you swallowed hard, your throat locking up. "it's just cold in here."

a dry breath slipped past his lips — not quite a laugh, but close enough to make your face burn with a sudden heat.

he reached out, his long fingers casually picking up the last empty glass on the far side of the table — the one you had been struggling to reach without leaning over him — and slid it across the wood, setting it directly onto your tray.

his fingertips brushed against yours as he let go. just a brief, heavy whisper of skin.

"there." he rasped, his dark eyes holding yours with a suffocating intensity. "now you won't miss your bus."

you couldn't even mutter a thanks. you just clutched the tray against your chest, offered a jerking nod, and practically ran toward the back kitchen, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs you thought it might burst right out of your chest.

you were an idiot. a complete, tragic idiot, mistaking a hot guy messing with his waitress for something else. but as you leaned against the sink in the back, listening to the quiet sound of his footsteps heading toward the exit, your skin was still screaming where his hand had brushed yours.

you stood there for five long minutes, pressing the cold water tap against your burning wrists, trying to force your pulse to slow down. it was actually embarrassing. you were an open wound, bleeding out in front of a man who was just bored, amused by how easy it was to throw you off balance. you told yourself to get a grip, to untie your apron, pack your bag, and leave before you made a bigger fool of yourself.

you put your coat on, shoved your hands deep into your pockets, and pushed through the heavy metal back door into the alleyway.

the rain was coming down hard now, slapping against the pavement and washing away the grime of the night. you ducked your head, pulling your collar up around your throat, preparing to sprint the three blocks to the bus stop.

you took two steps before you saw him.

jay was leaning against the damp brick wall right beneath the narrow tin awning, protected from the downpour. you stopped dead in your tracks, your heart dropping straight to the soles of your shoes.

"you missed it." he said softly. his voice didn't carry over the sound of the rain — it sat beneath it, low and raspy, vibrating in the narrow space between the brick walls.

"what?" you stammered, your voice catching in your dry throat.

he didn't answer with words. he just raised his left arm, tapping the face of his watch with his thumb. the faint red glow of the streetlight caught the hands.

three thirty four.

"oh." you breathed. the last bus was gone.

you stood there, exposed in the cold rain, water instantly soaking through the canvas of your sneakers, feeling small and completely stranded. you should have turned around. you should have walked back inside, called a cab, or walked the forty minutes home in the freezing wet. but your feet were glued to the pavement. you were starving, so pathetic and desperate for the heat radiating off him that you couldn't move a single inch away.

jay took a long drag of his cigarette, his dark eyes never leaving your wet face. he didn't offer a ride. he didn't offer an apology. he just watched you drown in the rain, taking up all the dry space beneath the awning like he owned it.

then, without taking his eyes off you, he stepped back an inch, dropping his shoulder slightly toward the brick wall. it was the smallest, most dismissive invitation in the world. a silent command.

your body moved before your brain could stop it. you stepped out of the pouring rain and under the narrow awning, sinking right into his space.

the sudden heat off him was staggering. you could smell his familiar scent, taking over your senses so violently you felt dizzy. you were standing mere inches from his chest, your soaked shoulder almost touching his arm, your breath coming in ragged puffs that misted in the cold night air.

"you're soaking wet." he murmured.

he lifted his hand — the same hand that played those dirty riffs on stage — and brought it to your face.

you flinched, your eyes wide, your lungs seizing up entirely. but he didn't pull back. his knuckles pressed gently against the side of your neck, his thumb deliberately wiping a drop of rain off your cheekbone. the touch was so hot it felt like a brand, sending a exquisite shiver straight down your spine.

"you're freezing too." he rasped, his thumb dragging down to the side of your jaw, pressing just hard enough to feel the frantic hammering of your pulse against his skin.

you wanted to tell him to stop. you wanted to push his hand away and call him cruel for playing with you like this, for holding you under his thumb when you meant absolutely nothing to him. but you couldn't speak. you were drowning in him, your body betraying you so completely that you tilted your head a fraction of an inch into his palm, desperate for a heat you knew you couldn’t have.

the moment you yielded, the moment your skin pressed just a fraction of an inch heavier into his palm, a terrifying heat rushed straight down to your core.

it was heavy and sudden, a warm pull in your lower belly that made your knees feel completely useless. you had never felt this before — this raw, desperate spike of arousal just from a thumb brushing your jawline. you were completely swallowed up by the sight of him. you took in the sharp line of his throat as he tilted his head, the rain-dampened strands of hair falling over his forehead, the beautiful shape of his mouth. he was a walking disaster. he smelled like dark tobacco and rain, and he felt like the one thing you had been starving for your entire life.

he held his hand there for three agonizing seconds. you could feel the rough calluses on his fingers holding you in place while your breath hitched erratically. he was studying your face, taking in the dilated state of your pupils and the pathetic parting of your lips.

a low hum vibrated in the back of his throat. and then, with agonizing slowness, he dropped his hand.

the absence of his touch was like a physical blow. the freezing alley air slammed back against your wet skin, and a quiet gasp slipped out of your mouth before you could bite it down. your body actually jerked forward a fraction of an inch, subconsciously chasing the heat of his palm, before you caught yourself and stiffened.

you prayed he hadn’t noticed. he probably hadn’t noticed.

jay lifted his cigarette back to his lips, taking a slow drag. he leaned his head back against the brick, watching you shiver under the awning. he looked entirely untouched by the rain, completely in control, while you were falling apart at the seams. it was intoxicating. the fact that he could reduce you to a trembling, aching mess without even trying made you want to press yourself directly against his chest and let him ruin you completely.

"so what's the plan, y/n?" he rasped, blowing a thick stream of smoke over your head. "you're just going to stand here and freeze?"

you wrapped your arms tightly around your own waist, hugging your damp coat against your body, trying to hide the way your chest was heaving. "i don't... i don't know. i'll figure it out."

"the buses are done." he stated, his tone flat. he wasn't looking at you with pity. he was just observing a fact, watching you squirm under the weight of it.

"i know." you swallowed hard, your voice shaking. "i can walk."

his dark eyes flicked down to your soaked canvas sneakers, then slowly dragged back up the length of your body, lingering for a fraction of a second on the frantic pulse at your throat. a faint scoff left his chest.

"you're not walking." he murmured.

he didn't ask. he didn't offer to be a gentleman. he just dropped his cigarette onto the wet concrete, crushing the orange ember beneath the heavy heel of his boot. he stepped away from the wall, his broad shoulders shifting as he adjusted his leather jacket.

"my car's parked on fourth." he said, his voice dropping into that authoritative cadence.

he turned his back to you and stepped out into the freezing rain. he didn't look over his shoulder to see if you were following. he didn't hold out a hand or wait for you to agree. he just walked into the dark, projecting a quiet gravity, seemingly knowing with absolute certainty that you had no willpower left.

and as the pulsing ache in your stomach twisted even tighter, you stepped out from under the awning and followed him into the rain without a second thought.

the walk to his car was a blur of cold rain and slick pavement. you kept your eyes fixed on the broad line of his shoulders, terrified that if you stopped for even a second, you would wake up and realize you were still alone in the alley. he stopped next to a dark sedan, unlocking it with a sharp click that cut through the sound of the storm.

you slipped into the passenger seat, the heavy door shutting behind you and instantly swallowing the noise of the rain.

the silence inside the car was deafening. the interior was pitch black, but it smelled exactly like him — worn leather, lingering stale smoke, and that sharp scent that made your head spin. a second later, the driver's side door opened, and he folded himself into the seat beside you, bringing a gust of cold air with him.

he didn't put the key in the ignition. he didn't start the engine. he just sat there in the dark, his large hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, staring out the rain-slicked windshield.

you sat rigidly, your damp coat clinging to your skin, your knees pressed tightly together as you tried to suppress a violent shiver. the proximity was suffocating. in the narrow space of the front seat, his physical presence felt massive, a heavy gravity pulling on every nerve ending in your body.

"you didn't even hesitate." he said suddenly. his voice was low, filling the enclosed space until there was no room left to breathe.

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the damp fabric of your jeans. "what?"

"i told you i was parked on fourth, and you just followed me into the dark." he turned his head slowly, the dim amber glow of a distant streetlight casting sharp shadows across his face. "you always this trusting, y/n?"

the word hit you directly in the stomach, a hot pull that made your thighs ache. "i was freezing. and you offered to drive me."

he didn't say anything to that. he just watched you for a quiet moment. then, he shifted in his seat, leaning across the center console.

your breath hitched. your body instantly braced for the heat of his touch, your chest tightening in desperate anticipation as his broad shoulder eclipsed your vision. but his hand just brushed past your trembling knee, his knuckles grazing your wet denim, to flick a dial on the dashboard.

the heater roared to life, blasting warm air over your freezing legs.

he leaned back into his own space, leaving you entirely bereft. you hated how badly you had wanted his hand to land on your thigh. you hated how obvious the sharp intake of your breath had been.

"you shouldn't get into cars with guys you don't know." he murmured, his voice a lazy drawl over the sound of the fan.

"i know you." you tried to sound steady, but your voice came out breathless and weak, betraying exactly how rattled you were.

jay let out a quiet sound — a rough exhale that vibrated deep in his chest. "you know my drink order, sweetheart. you don't know me."

the nickname made your stomach drop, somehow feeling more condescending than sweet. the words hung heavy in the warm air, because you couldn't argue with him. you didn't know his last name, didn't know where he lived or what he was like when he wasn't dragging those heavy riffs out of his guitar. you didn't know anything real about him at all.

but you knew the exact shape of his hands. you knew the way his throat moved when he swallowed. you knew that you were sitting in his passenger seat, soaking wet, practically vibrating with need just because his eyes were on you. it was a terrifying, blind obsession, and you were completely powerless to stop it.

he watched you fall silent, his dark eyes dropping slowly to the frantic pulse jumping beneath the wet collar of your shirt. he watched it beat for a long second, the silence stretching so tight you thought it might snap. he didn't mock you. he just observed you, taking in the absolute mess he had reduced you to with nothing more than his proximity.

he finally reached down and turned the key in the ignition. the engine rumbled to life, a deep vibration that rattled the floorboards and shot straight up your spine.

"so," he murmured, resting his arm casually on the back of your seat, his fingers brushing the wet ends of your hair. "where am i taking you?"

you rattled off an address that was fifteen minutes away across town, the name of the street barely making it past the nervous knot in your throat.

he didn't say a word. he just pulled the gearshift down, his knuckles brushing dangerously close to your knee, and eased the heavy car out into the empty streets.

the drive was excruciating. you pressed yourself as far into the passenger door as you could, staring out the window at the blurred city. but you couldn't escape him. the car was entirely his domain, saturated with his scent and the brooding quiet he carried everywhere. looking out the window didn't help either — the wet glass just acted like a mirror against the dark night, reflecting the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed slump of his shoulders, the careless way he drove with one hand resting at the bottom of the steering wheel.

his other hand was still resting on the center console. right in the narrow space between your seats, mere inches from your thigh.

the hypnotic sweep of the windshield wipers was the only sound in the car besides the low roar of the heater. the warm air was slowly thawing your frozen skin, but the heat pooling low in your stomach had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.

he stopped at a red light. the car idled with a deep purr that vibrated up through the floorboards.

jay shifted his hand on the console, his long fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the dark plastic. every time his hand moved, your eyes darted toward it, completely hypnotized by the heavy silver rings glinting in the dim amber light of the streetlamps.

he caught you looking. his eyes flicked from the windshield to you, catching your gaze in the reflection of the glass before you could tear it away.

"you pay a lot of attention." he murmured into the quiet.

you flinched, your fingers tightening around the damp canvas of your coat. you didn't look at him. you just stared straight ahead at the rain hitting the glass. "what?"

"on thursdays." he clarified softly, his voice a gravelly hum that seemed to wrap itself right around your throat. "you always stand in the exact same spot by the ice well. you don't talk to anyone, you just watch. right?"

your heart gave a sickening lurch, hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break out. he knew.

the panic seized your chest, but beneath it, a dark wave of arousal rushed straight down your body.

because he was right. you did watch. you had spent months completely consumed by the way he played, memorizing every microscopic detail. you knew how his large hands slid down the neck of the guitar, fingers pressing effortlessly into the frets. you knew the exact moment his eyes would slip shut during the bridge of that one slow song, lost in the dragging rhythm. you knew the way his hips moved when he leaned into the microphone, a slow sway that made your mouth go completely dry.

every thursday, you stood in the dark and let the deep bass of his guitar rattle around in your chest, imagining what those heavy hands would feel like mapping out the shape of your waist instead of the instrument. you had spent hours agonizing over what that kind of intense focus would feel like directed solely at you, letting the thought pool hot and heavy between your thighs until you could barely stand the friction of your own jeans.

but you couldn't just tell him that. "it's a small bar." you lied, your voice wavering pathetically. you swallowed hard, trying to sound indifferent, trying not to let him hear how badly you were shaking. "there's nowhere else to look."

jay didn't argue. he didn't call you a liar or push you to confess. he just let out a quiet exhale that sounded entirely too much like a laugh.

the light turned green. he looked back at the road and hit the gas, the sudden acceleration pressing you deep into the leather seat.

he didn't take his hand off the center console. instead, he shifted it just a fraction of an inch closer, his knuckles grazing the damp fabric of your coat where it spilled over your leg. he just left his hand there, hovering in the agonizing space right beside your thigh in absolute silence.

when the car finally rolled to a stop near your apartment building, the deep rumble of the engine stayed alive between you. you gripped your bag tightly, your knees pressed together under your wet coat, desperate to escape before your body gave you away completely.

"this is me." you murmured, your voice breathless. "thanks again. for the ride."

you reached for the handle, but before your fingers could pull it, his voice cut through the dark.

"you didn't ask why i was out there."

you froze, your hand hovering over the cold plastic latch. "what?"

jay shifted in the driver's seat, resting one wrist over the top of the steering wheel. the light from the streetlamp caught the sharp angle of his jaw, his heavy eyes fixed entirely on you.

"in the alley." he said, his voice a low rasp. "you just stepped under the awning like you were expecting me to be standing there."

your heart gave a sickening thud against your ribs. a sudden rush of heat pooled low in your stomach, heavy and aching.

"i- i wasn't expecting you." you answered, the words tripping helplessly over your tongue. "i thought you were just smoking."

"i finished my cigarette ten minutes before you walked out the back door." he murmured.

the air left your lungs in an instant. your mind raced into a dizzying tailspin. did he wait for you? why would he wait for you? you tried to convince yourself it was a coincidence, that he was just killing time, but the deliberate way he was watching you made your throat go completely bone dry.

"then... why were you waiting?" you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it, pathetic and fragile in the quiet car.

jay didn't answer right away. he slowly leaned across the center console, taking up all the air in the vehicle, bringing the suffocating heat of his body right into yours. you braced your back against the passenger door, your chest heaving, your pulse hammering violently in your ears.

he didn't touch you. he just rested his forearm against the top of your seat, his fingers trailing so close to your shoulder that you could feel the heat radiating off his leather jacket.

"why do you think, y/n?" he rasped softly.

the proximity was agonizing. up close, you could see his beautiful features and the dark intensity in his eyes. you wanted so desperately to say something — anything — to bridge the inch between you, to tilt your head up and sink into him. you were starving for it, completely undone by the mere possibility that he wanted you back.

but the fear was bigger. the humiliating certainty that you were just reading into things, that he was playing with a clearly anxious woman who didn't know how to handle him.

"i don't know." you stammered, your eyes dropping helplessly to his lips before darting back to his eyes.

jay stared at you for two endless beats, taking in the flushed heat on your face, the breathless parting of your lips, the absolute ruin he had made of your composure.

an imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his mouth. "liar." he murmured softly.

before you could process the word, his hand moved, his thumb casually reaching out to drag over the sharp line of your collarbone — just a fleeting stroke of skin that sent a shockwave directly down your spine — before he reached past you and clicked the door handle open.

the cold night air rushed into the car, snapping the suffocating heat between you like a twig.

jay pulled back into his seat, his large hands settling back onto the steering wheel, completely unbothered, his face a mask of calm composure.

"go inside." he said quietly, looking back out at the rain-soaked street. "you need some sleep."

you sat there, paralyzed, your body throbbing with an unfulfilled ache, your heart slamming against your chest. he had left you completely exposed, dangling on the edge, and pulled back without a second thought.

"goodnight, jay." you choked out.

you scrambled out of the car into the freezing rain, your knees so weak you practically stumbled up the steps to your building. as you fumbled with your keys in the dark doorway, your skin still burning where his thumb had touched you, the sound of his engine faded into the night — leaving you alone in the cold, utterly consumed.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the seven days between thursdays felt less like a week and more like a slow fever.

your sleep schedule was done for. every time you closed your eyes, you were back in the dark interior of his car, feeling the phantom heat of his thumb dragging over your collarbone, hearing that soft liar echoing in your ears. the humiliation of bracing for a kiss he never gave you burned like an open wound, but the sickening hunger it left behind was a thousand times worse.

by ten o'clock the following thursday, the bar was a suffocating wall of heat, noise, and smoke. you spent the entire set doing everything in your power to avoid looking toward the stage. you kept your head down, aggressively wiping down the wooden counters, restocking glasses, pretending you were entirely immune to his presence. but your body betrayed you at every turn. the heavy rumble of his guitar vibrated straight through the floorboards, shooting directly up your spine and settling in the pit of your stomach.

the second their last song ended, you grabbed an empty ice bucket and escaped down the dimly lit back hallway toward the heavy stainless steel ice machine.

the back hallway was quiet, smelling of damp concrete and cold metal. you shoved the bucket under the chute and hit the lever, the loud avalanche of crushing ice filling the silence. you leaned your forehead against the cold material, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath to force your pulse to slow down.

"you missed the solo." the voice came from the dark shadows behind you — low and entirely unhurried. you snapped your head up, your heart leaping straight into your throat.

jay was leaning his broad shoulder against the damp brick wall a few feet away, his arms folded loosely across his chest. he had just come off stage; his dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his usual black shirt was unfastened at the top, revealing the sharp line of his chest. he looked completely relaxed while you instantly unraveled.

"i was working." you stammered, your fingers tightening around the edge of the metal bucket until your knuckles turned white.

"you were working last week, too." he murmured, his voice a smooth rasp. "didn't stop you from staring then."

a hot wave of heat rushed up your neck, burning your cheeks. you tried to swallow, but your throat was bone dry. "i wasn't staring."

jay didn't argue. he just pushed off the brick wall with effortless grace, taking two slow steps toward you.

the space between you vanished in an instant. the sheer size of him in the narrow hallway was suffocating. he brought a staggering wall of heat with him — saturated in that intoxicating scent of distortion, fresh sweat, tobacco, and warm skin that made your head spin. it felt like your senses were made to betray you, every instinct sharpening and blurring at once until all you could register was him standing there, stealing the air from your lungs without saying a word.

you pressed your back flat against the cold metal of the ice machine, completely trapped.

"you're terrible at lying, y/n." he murmured softly.

he didn't touch you, but he reached past your waist, his long fingers resting casually on the edge of the ice machine right next to your hip. he leaned in slightly, his broad shoulders blocking out the hallway light, casting his sharp features in deep shadows.

"i'm not lying." you whispered, though your voice cracked pathetically on the last word. up close, the sight of him was overwhelming. you took in the dark fringe of his eyelashes, the faint sheen of moisture on his throat, the beautiful shape of his lips. you were practically vibrating, starving for him to bridge the inch between you, desperate to feel those heavy hands on your body.

jay tilted his head, his dark eyes slowly sweeping over your face. "why didn't you look at me tonight?" he asked softly, his tone completely neutral, as if he were asking about the weather.

"you told me i watch too much." you choked on the words, your eyes helplessly dropping to his mouth before darting back to his. it was becoming a bad habit at this point.

an almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his sharp mouth. "i said you pay attention." he corrected, his voice dropping an octave, slipping over your skin like velvet. "i didn't tell you to stop."

the words hit you directly in the stomach, a hot pull that made your inner thighs press tightly together beneath your apron. your mind completely short-circuited. you stood there, paralyzed, drowning in the absolute control he held over you.

he lifted his other hand — slowly, agonizingly slow — and let his knuckles lightly graze the side of your neck.

the touch sent a blinding shockwave straight down your spine. a soft gasp slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. you tilted your head just a fraction of a millimeter into his hand, completely surrendered, silently begging him to take more, to press you against the cold metal and ruin you right there in the dark.

but he didn't pull you closer. instead, his thumb lightly dragged up over your jawline, holding you captive in the dark for one more breathless second.

"your ice is overflowing." he rasped softly, his breath fanning hot against your mouth.

and then, he stepped back.

the sudden absence of his touch was a physical blow. the cold hallway air slammed back against your skin, leaving you feeling entirely breathless and humiliated.

you looked down with wide, unspooling eyes. the ice machine was overflowing, cold cubes spilling over the rim of the bucket and clattering onto the concrete floor around your shoes.

jay stood there, entirely unbothered, his composure completely intact as if he hadn't just brought you to the absolute edge of sanity. he casually shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.

"see you around, y/n." he murmured indifferently. he turned his back to you and strolled down the hallway, disappearing back into the crowded bar without a single glance over his shoulder.

you slid down the front of the ice machine until your knees hit the cold floor, clutching your arms around your waist, shivering uncontrollably. your skin was still burning, your body throbbing with a desperate feeling you had never experienced before.

he was playing you like an instrument. the anger didn't arrive all at once, starting as a bitter burn in the pit of your stomach while you picked ice cubes off the floor, tossing them one by one into the drain.

he was doing it on purpose. the thought took root, cold and ugly, pulling you up off your knees. it wasn't an accident. it wasn't just a string of awkward coincidences or a series of moments where you happened to misread the room. the deliberate way he moved into your space, the exact second he chose to drop his touch — it was calculated. he pushed just far enough to watch you break, to feel your pulse go erratic against his skin, and then he pulled away the second you offered yourself up to him.

he was entertaining himself. you were just a pathetic waitress at a bar, practically begging a stupidly hot guitarist to notice her, giving him an ego boost on his walk out to the alley.

and yet, as you hoisted the heavy bucket back up to your hip, a sickening wave of doubt crashed over your anger, drowning it out.

what if he wasn't? what if you were completely insane? what if he was just an indifferent, naturally invasive man who stepped into people's personal space without thinking twice about it? what if every single drop of tension you felt was a pathetic fantasy you had constructed inside your own lonely head?

the thought made your face burn hotter than the humiliation. you were torn straight down the middle — half of you furious at him for being a sadistic bastard, the other half utterly disgusted with yourself for being delusional enough to think he gave a damn.

by two in the morning, the main floor had finally drained of people.

you were behind the counter, desperately praying you could just finish up and escape into the cold night air. right in that moment, jen, the server who was supposed to lock up with you, rushed out of the back hallway, clutching her coat.

"y/n, i am so, so sorry." she breathed, looking panicked. "my sister just called. her car overheated on the highway and she's stuck on the shoulder. can you please finish wiping down and lock the back door? the drawer is already counted."

"yeah... go ahead." you murmured, forcing a small smile despite the sudden drop in your stomach. "drive safe."

she thanked you three times and bolted out the front entrance, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

you were alone. or at least, you should have been.

you couldn't set the alarm or lock the rear exit because jay was still inside. the rest of his band had picked up the heavy amps ten minutes ago, their voices long faded down the alley, but jay hadn't left.

he was sitting on a tall stool in the far, shadowy corner near the empty stage, a single overhead amber light allowing you to see him. he had his electric guitar resting against his hip — unplugged, raw, and quiet. his fingers were sliding over the frets, dragging out lazy riffs that vibrated through the empty room.

the sound was hypnotic. it echoed softly against the bare brick walls, that dragging rhythm that always shot straight down your spine.

you were supposed to be cleaning, but you were completely paralyzed. you stood behind the bar with the damp rag clutched in your hand, mesmerized by the effortless way his fingers moved over the dark instrument. you hated him for it. you hated how easily he held you captive without even looking at you, how a few lazy notes from his hands could make your knees feel hollow.

and then, the music stopped. a single string vibrated into silence. slowly, jay tilted his head back, his dark eyes locking onto yours across the empty room.

a lazy, mocking smirk spread across his lips. "still paying attention, sweetheart?" he rasped. his voice carried effortlessly through the quiet bar, laced with a condescending warmth. "thought you said there was nowhere else to look."

a stinging heat rushed up your neck, burning your cheeks. you gripped the rag tighter, your jaw setting in a rigid line. "i'm waiting for you to leave so i can lock up."

"are you?" he slowly unstrapped his guitar, resting it against the stool with agonizing slowness. he didn't look bothered. he didn't look tired. he looked like a predator who had just spent the last two hours watching you squirm in a cage he built for you.

he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and began walking slowly toward the bar. every step he took sent your heart hammering violently against your ribs. you stood your ground behind the mahogany counter, trying desperately to look cold, distant, and unbothered. but as he drew closer, the sheer physical weight of his presence started stripping away your meager defenses.

he didn't stop on the other side of the counter. without taking his eyes off you, jay reached down, unlatched the small wooden gate at the side of the bar, and stepped straight into your space.

the sound of his heavy boots against the floorboards behind the counter was a shockwave. people weren't allowed back there. it was the one physical barrier that kept you safe from him, and he had just shattered it without a second thought.

"jay-" you stammered, your composure instantly fracturing as you backed up until your thighs slammed against the low liquor display behind you. "you can't be back here."

"make me leave, then." he murmured smoothly.

he didn't stop until he was towering directly over you in the narrow aisle, blocking out the amber light, trapping you between his broad chest and the glass bottles behind you. the sudden heat coming off his body was overwhelming.

he looked down at you, his eyes utterly ruthless as he took in your heaving chest and the pathetic way your breath was hitching in your throat.

"you look annoyed, y/n." he rasped, a mocking chuckle vibrating deep in his chest. "what's the matter?"

the words hit you like a slap, raw and humiliating, laying your most embarrassing secret completely bare. your mouth parted in a sharp gasp, your eyes wide with shock. "i- i’m not-"

"lying again? mmh?" he purred softly, cutting you off before you could even build a defense.

he reached out, his fingers taking the damp rag out of your trembling hand and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder onto the sink. your hands were left completely empty, completely exposed.

"you've been standing in the dark watching me for months, haven’t you?" he rasped, stepping half an inch closer until the front of his unbuttoned shirt pressed directly against your apron. "you practically shook out of your clothes when i put my hand near your leg in the car. and when i touched your neck by the ice machine, you tilted your head right into it. aren’t you such a desperate little thing?"

every single word was a cruel sentence, destroying any remaining delusion that it had all been in your head. he had known the entire time, and he was taking immense pleasure in watching you drown in it.

you felt a tear of overwhelming frustration sting the back of your eyes. "you're being an asshole, jay." you choked out, your voice trembling with a mixture of intense anger and something else you didn’t want to accept.

jay didn't flinch. his smile only widened, turning dark and entirely devoid of mercy. "maybe." he murmured softly.

he slowly raised his hand, his calloused palm sliding up your throat, his fingers wrapping firmly around the back of your neck. his grip was warm, heavy, and absolute, tilting your face up until your lips were mere millimeters from his. "but you're still shaking for me, from just playing a few notes." he rasped, his thumb pressing deliberately over your frantic pulse, feeling the absolute ruin he had reduced you to. "you hate it, but you want me so bad you can barely stand up. don't you?"

your mouth parted, but no sound came out. you wanted to deny it, to tear his hand away from your neck and spit some lie about how he was conceited, how you didn't care. but his thumb was pressing so firmly against your throat, feeling the chaotic rhythm of your heart betraying every single thought. you were completely exposed, pinned against the low display shelf, with his dark-clothed body trapping you in.

"i..." you choked out, your eyes darting helplessly to his lips before flying back to his mocking eyes.

"that's what i thought." he murmured, his voice a low purr of absolute victory. he slowly let his hand slide down your neck, his knuckles dragging over your collarbone with agonizing slowness before he stepped back, taking that heat with him. you felt a cold shiver run down your spine at the sudden loss of his touch.

he looked down at you, his gaze sweeping over your flushed face and your trembling hands, a slow smirk playing on his lips.

"you're a mess, y/n." he rasped softly, his tone laced with a teasing warmth. "i have my amp setup at my place." he murmured, leaning his hip against the bar, looking entirely relaxed while you were practically vibrating. "since you like watching so much, come back with me. i'll play for you. privately."

the condescending arrogance of his voice should have made you scream. he was being an absolute asshole, treating you like some easy toy he could wind up and watch spin. you knew you should say no. you knew that going to his apartment was walking straight into a trap where he would keep pulling the strings.

but the hunger inside you was a physical sickness. it had been building for seven long days, for months of thursdays in the dark, and you were too weak to fight it.

"okay." you whispered, your voice pathetically small.

jay's smirk widened, dark and possessive. "mmh. grab your coat."

the drive was a silent torture. the rain lashed against the windshield of his car, the steady scrape of the wipers doing nothing to ease the suffocating tension in the small space. jay drove with one hand, looking completely unbothered, while you sat frozen in the passenger seat, your hands knotted tightly in your lap, your mind spinning in a dizzying loop of anticipation and shame.

when he finally unlocked the door to his loft, the darkness of his space swallowed you whole. it smelled heavily of tobacco, old wood, and the warm scent of his skin.

he didn't take his leather jacket off. he just walked over to a low leather couch, leaving the lights off except for the dim streetlamp glow filtering through the wet windowpane. he picked up his electric guitar, plugging it into a small amp on the floor. the heavy hum of the electricity filled the room, making your pulse spike.

"sit." he commanded softly, gesturing to the edge of the low table right in front of him.

you slowly crossed the room, your knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your footing. you sat down on the edge of the wood, your knees practically touching his denim-clad thighs.

jay didn't wait. his fingers settled over the strings as he began to play.

it wasn't the loud music from the stage. it was a slow, dragging, incredibly dirty riff. the distorted notes vibrated right through the floor, straight up through the table, settling like liquid fire directly between your thighs. the sound was hypnotic, wrapping around your senses until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, your eyes locked onto the effortless movement of his hands.

he looked up through the dark fringe of his hair, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he kept playing, his fingers sliding over the frets with agonizing precision.

"look at you." he rasped over the low hum of the guitar, a toxic smile curving his lips. "you're practically dripping just from the sound of it, aren't you?"

"jay, i..." you whispered, your chest heaving, the friction of your own jeans against your aching core becoming completely unbearable. the music was winding you so tight you felt like you were going to snap.

"what is it, sweetheart?" he teased, his fingers plucking a deep chord that sent a literal shiver straight down your spine. "you wanted me to play for you. you've been dreaming about this. watch my hands, y/n. tell me what you want them to do to you."

the agonizing teasing was too much. you leaned forward, your hands gripping his knees, your eyes wide and pleading in the dark. "put it down. please."

jay didn't put the guitar down. instead, he stopped playing, the last distorted note echoing into the dark corners of the room before dying out. he looked down at your hands clutching his knees, his dark eyes glinting with a slow amusement that made your stomach twist.

"put it down?" he murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp. "why would i do that when you're paying such close attention?"

he slowly raised his right hand. pinched between his long fingers was his guitar pick — a small, thin piece of black plastic, still warm from his grip.

you stared at it, your breath hitching as he brought it toward your face. he didn't touch you with his hand. instead, he used the flat edge of the pick to trace the line of your lower lip. he dragged it slowly, deliberately, pulling the sensitive skin down just enough to force a quiet gasp from your mouth.

"you want my hands so bad." he whispered, his eyes locked on your parted lips as he slid the pick down your chin, tracing the sensitive skin of your throat. "but you haven't earned them yet."

the sharp edge of the plastic felt like fire against your heated skin. you shivered, your eyes fluttering shut as he dragged the pick further down, slipping it past the collar of your shirt, tracing the valley between your breasts, and then down, down, until he pressed it firmly against the seam of your jeans.

an agonizing throb bloomed between your thighs. you whined, your hips instinctively twitching upward, begging for the pressure, but jay immediately pulled the pick away, letting out a soft chuckle.

"so impatient." he teased, his voice dropping into a velvet purr. "since you love my music so much, i think we should let the guitar do the work."

before you could process his words, jay reached out. his heavy hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he easily lifted you off the edge of the table.

you thought he was pulling you onto his lap. you thought you were finally going to get the friction you were starving for.

but as he sat you down, he didn't pull you against his thighs. instead, he guided you right over the solid body of his electric guitar.

your breath left your lungs in a violent shock. you were straddling the hard wood of the instrument, the cool finish pressing directly against your soaking wet center through the thin fabric of your jeans.

"jay-" you gasped, your hands flying to his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

"shhh." he murmured, his hands wrapping firmly around your hips, pinning you down so you couldn't pull away. "stay right there."

he reached around your body, his long fingers settling over the fretboard and the strings behind you. you were completely caged by his arms, trapped on top of the instrument, your face buried in the crook of his neck. you could smell the intoxicating scent of his warm skin, so close you could taste it.

and then, jay struck a low, heavy chord.

the electric guitar was plugged into the amp on the floor. the distorted sound didn't just fill the room — it vibrated violently through the solid wood of the guitar's body, shooting a physical shockwave of vibration directly into your pelvic bone, straight to your sensitive core.

your back arched off him, a helpless cry tearing from your throat as your head fell back. the unexpected intensity of the vibration sent a blinding wave of pleasure straight to your brain, making your inner thighs tremble uncontrollably.

"do you like that, sweetheart?" jay rasped in your ear, his voice laced with a cruel warmth.

he struck another chord, a slow, dragging rhythm. the vibration hummed continuously against your wet denim, winding you so tight you felt like you were going to snap. you began to move, your hips instinctively grinding down against the hard wood of the guitar, desperate to chase the friction.

but jay's hands tightened on your hips, holding you perfectly still.

"i didn't tell you to move." he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "just take the music."

"please, jay, let me move." you sobbed softly, the denial of friction becoming a literal torture. your core was throbbing, practically weeping against the hard instrument, desperate for any release. "please, i want to slide, let me-"

"tell me what you want." he commanded, his fingers plucking a resonant note that made your entire body shudder against the wood. "say it, y/n. tell me what you're riding."

"your guitar." you cried out, your pride completely shattered, your face burning with a mixture of intense shame and overwhelming arousal. "i'm riding your guitar. please, jay..."

a dangerous chuckle vibrated against your chest. "good girl." he murmured, his grip on your hips finally loosening just a fraction, allowing you to slide. "now show me how desperate you are. ride it for me."

with his hands guiding your hips, you slowly began to shift, dragging your aching center over the vibrating wood of his guitar. every time you moved, he plucked another deep chord, the physical vibrations combining with the friction of your jeans to push you closer and closer to the absolute edge of sanity. you clutched his shoulders, your eyes rolled back, completely ruined, riding his instrument in the dark while he watched your undoing with a victorious smile.

you shifted against the smooth finish, your head thrown back as the continuous vibration of another low chord hummed straight through your pelvic bone. every friction-filled glide of your jeans against the wood was sweet torture, but you couldn't get close enough. you were chasing a release that remained agonizingly out of reach, completely trapped in the rhythm of his hands.

jay watched the desperate tilt of your hips, his eyes dark and dilated in the shadows. he let out a rough hum, the sound vibrating against your chest where your bodies brushed.

"look at you." he rasped, his voice dripping with that toxic satisfaction. "ruined for me. and i haven't even touched you yet."

he kept his left hand on the fretboard, casually holding down a rumbling note that kept the wood buzzing against your wet heat. but his right hand left the strings.

you opened your eyes, blinking past the tears of frustration, and saw him holding that thin, black guitar pick again.

your breath hitched, your hips freezing for a split second. "jay..."

"i didn't tell you to stop, y/n." he murmured, his tone a mocking warning. "keep moving."

you swallowed hard, forced to slowly drag your aching core over the vibrating wood again, your eyes locked onto his fingers.

jay slowly brought his hand down between your bodies, his fingers reaching the button of your jeans. with agonizing slowness, he popped it open. the sound of your zipper being dragged down felt incredibly loud in the quiet room.

he didn't slide his hand inside to cup you. he didn't give you the warm touch of his palm that you were begging for.

instead, his knuckles brushed your stomach as he slipped his hand just inside the parted denim, the cool edge of the plastic pick sliding past the damp lace of your underwear.

the second the thin plastic pressed directly against your swollen clit, you let out a broken sob. your back arched, your fingers digging violently into his shoulders as a blinding jolt of pleasure shot straight to your core.

"so wet." jay whispered, his voice a dark purr right against your ear.

he didn't move his hand away. as you instinctively tried to push your hips forward into the pressure, his fingers held the pick perfectly still, letting the flat edge of the plastic press firmly against your sensitive bud. at the same time, his other hand plucked another deep chord on the guitar.

the double assault was completely overwhelming. the wood vibrated violently against your pelvic bone while the thin plastic pick teased the most sensitive point of your core.

"slide for me, baby." he commanded softly, his grip on your hips tightening just enough to guide you. "rub yourself right against the pick, y/n. let me feel how much you actually want it."

you cried out, the humiliating filth of his words sending a fresh wave of heat down your thighs. but you couldn't stop. you were entirely unraveled, completely at his mercy. you slowly shifted your hips, dragging yourself over the vibrating guitar body while the hard edge of his pick scraped and teased over your dripping heat with every agonizing movement.

"please, jay." you wept, your forehead pressing into his neck as you frantically chased the edge, your inner thighs shaking so hard you could barely hold yourself up over the instrument. "please... it's too much."

"it's exactly what you wanted, sweetheart." he rasped, his eyes watching your face with possessive intensity. he dragged the flat edge of the pick slowly up and down, parting your sensitive folds, coating the plastic in your own slick moisture while the guitar kept humming beneath you. "show me how much you can take before you break."

he brought the slick guitar pick back down, but he didn't slide it. instead, he pressed the very tip of the plastic right against the swollen center of your pleasure. he began to vibrate his hand with the same rapid motion he used to shred on stage, turning the plastic pick into a dizzying blur against your clit.

the sensation was so sharp, so violently intense, that your vision literally went black at the edges. you screamed, your hips bucking frantically against his grip, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. but his hands on your hips were like iron bands, locking you down, forcing you to take every single agonizing vibration.

"jay! please, please- i'm going to-" you cried out, your fingers clawing desperately at the leather of his jacket, tears finally spilling over your hot cheeks.

"mmh? " he teased as he kept his hand vibrating against you, pushing you closer and closer to a messy peak.

in a fleeting second, he stopped his hand, holding the pick perfectly still, pressing it hard against your throbbing bud. you gasped, hovering on the very brink of your orgasm, your body trembling, completely suspended in mid-air.

"fuck, jay!" you wept, your voice breaking, completely ruined, any ounce of your dignity long gone, scattered on the floor of his dark loft. "please let me. please, jay."

jay stared up at you, his dark eyes flashing with a heavy hunger that finally burned away the mocking amusement. his chest was heaving now, his own breathing ragged as he took in the sight of you — completely stripped of your defenses, crying and begging for him, entirely his.

but he didn’t budge. he kept his hand absolutely still, holding you hostage on the very peak of the cliff, your body trembling so violently the guitar strings beneath you hummed a chaotic note.

he leaned forward, his face close enough that his warm, tobacco-scented breath brushed your wet cheek. the dark smirk on his lips was entirely devoid of pity.

"crying over a guitar pick. you’re so easy it’s almost boring, y/n." he whispered, a low chuckle scraping against your ear.

a sob caught in your throat, your fingers clenching the leather of his jacket. the sheer humiliation of his words burned, but the ache between your thighs was a screaming demand, drowning out every shred of your dignity. "jay... i can't... i need-"

"what do you need?" he interrupted smoothly, his silver-ringed fingers gently tapping the side of your neck, right over your throbbing pulse. "tell me exactly how pathetic you are right now. let me hear it."

you shook your head, trying to hide your face in his shoulder, but he caught your chin in a firm grip, forcing you to look into his ruthless eyes.

"say it." he commanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet purr. "tell me you're just a desperate slut begging for whatever crumbs i feel like giving you."

"i'm... i'm desperate. i’ve been waiting for so long, jay." you wept, the words tasting like ash and fire on your tongue. "please, please let me come..."

his dark eyes flared with a predatory satisfaction. "my patient girl. that’s it." he rasped, the praise dripping with toxic sweetness.

he didn't remove the pick. instead, he gripped your hips with bruising force, pinning you down, and struck one final chord on the guitar. at the very same instant, his hand holding the pick flicked sharply, dragging the flat edge hard against your overstimulated clit.

the dual explosion of the violent vibration and his sharp touch shattered you. a loud, broken moan tore from your throat as your body bucked wildly against his hands. a violent orgasm crashed over you, your inner thighs spasming uncontrollably as you flooded the hard wood of his instrument. you clutched him like a drowning person, your face buried in his neck, sobbing through the exhausting intensity of the release.

jay didn't move. he just held you tightly against him, letting you shiver and break, listening to your ragged gasps with a quiet hum.

when the worst of the tremors finally began to fade, leaving you hollow and completely spent, he slowly let go of your hips. he reached down, casually tossing the wet guitar pick onto the table, before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you off the instrument.

he set the guitar aside, letting it clatter carelessly against the floor, and pulled your limp body directly onto his lap. you slumped against his chest, too weak to even lift your head.

jay slowly ran his fingers through your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle, though his voice remained laced with that same mocking warmth.

"look at the mess you made of my guitar, sweetheart." he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed a possessive kiss to your temple. "i guess you're going to have to clean that up, too. but first..."

his hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the bare skin of your hip, pulling you flush against the hard bulge of his jeans. "you're going to have to thank me."

you shivered against him, your forehead still pressed into his neck as your chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. below you, the thick ridge of his jeans pressed right against your freshly ruined core.

the contrast was absolute torture. every tiny twitch of his thighs sent a jolt of electricity straight to your overstimulated nerves, making your hips shudder helplessly on his lap.

"i'm waiting, y/n." jay murmured. his large hand slid up your thigh, his calloused thumb digging deliberately into the sensitive flesh of your inner leg, forcing them wider. "where is my thank you?"

you swallowed hard, your throat tight with a humiliating mixture of tears and burning lust. you wanted to fight him. you wanted to claw at his chest and scream at him for being so unbelievably cruel. but you were too far gone. he had stripped away every single defense you had, leaving you completely raw.

"thank you..." you whispered, your voice cracking pathetically. "thank you, jay."

a condescending chuckle vibrated against your chest. jay tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a look of pure triumph. "is that it?" he rasped, his hand sliding further up, his fingers brushing the wet warmth between your thighs, making you gasp and arch into his hand. "sounds a little half-hearted. especially after you made such a disgusting mess of my gear."

"jay, please." you begged, your hands clenching the leather of his jacket as you desperately ground your hips down against his hand, trying to force his fingers inside you. "i can't... please, i need you. inside me. now."

"you're so greedy." he purred, his fingers teasing the very edge of your wetness but refusing to slide in, intentionally keeping you hovering on the edge of madness. "you spent months pretending you weren’t even looking at me, and now you’re begging like a dog on my lap. do you want to feel how big i am compared to that little plastic toy? is that it?"

"fuck, jay. please." you begged, completely abandoned to the filth of his words.

that did it. the last thread of jay's mocking restraint finally snapped. his dark eyes flared with a vicious hunger, his breathing turning incredibly heavy. in one swift, incredibly rough motion, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, slamming your back flat against the leather couch. the impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, but before you could even inhale, jay was hovering over you, his heavy body pinning you down.