honey

"Come on, just one drink," Yunho pleads. He's looming over your spot on the couch, offering you a sweating can of cheap beer as he sways on his feet. "It's Saturday night, ____. And I promise, it won't even be crowded. Mingi said the house only gets crazy on Fridays."

You scoot further back into the cushions, leaning away from his arm. Raising your glass of plain tap water, you shake your head. "You all know I don't do frats. Or beer, for that matter." You take a sip, pointedly raising an eyebrow. "Not gonna happen."

Your living room—usually at least somewhat presentable, despite sharing it with a gymrat like San—has been trashed tonight. The coffee table is buried under cardboard pizza boxes full of greasy pepperoni and sausage slices, and the whole room is doused in the stale tang of the lukewarm beer Yunho picked up from a friend's dorm on his way over. Your three best friends had originally told you they were pregaming at Yunho and Yeosang's place, fully aware you'd opt out to study but extending the courtesy invite anyway. Apparently, those plans had changed without anyone bothering to inform you, because the trio is now sprawled out around your couch, getting progressively tipsier by the second. 

Taking advantage of the short moment of distraction while Yunho doubles over laughing at something Yeosang yells from across the room, you quickly slide your phone out. You shoot off a lightning-fast text and bury it beneath your thigh before anyone notices. 

"It won't be that bad this time, I swear," San grins from his spot on the floor, where he's resting his back against the couch. While everyone is dressed to go out, San clearly spent a little extra time in front of the mirror, as per usual—he's wearing a fitted black tank top paired with matching jeans. His only apparent defense for the freezing temperature outside is an expensive leather jacket with a borderline ridiculous number of decorative zippers. Reaching up, he tosses a half-eaten pizza crust back into the open box beside you. "Tell her, Yeosang," he urges, jerking his chin toward you. "Didn't you say it sounded fun?"

You blink, your gaze shifting over the man quietly nursing his beer on the opposite end of the couch. "San, I really don't believe Yeosang would ever say that."

But Yeosang sighs, a defeated smile playing on his lips. "Look, Mingi swore tonight's going to be relaxed. The semester's almost over, so..." He shrugs. "I figured it wouldn't kill me to show face for a little while. But the second it gets crowded," he warns, shooting a pointed look down at San, "I have no shame in being the first to leave."

You snort, grabbing another slice out of the box by your side and handing it up to Yunho before he starts pacing around the coffee table again. "I hope that's true. Because I have a feeling Mingi is a liar."

"Hey! Don't call my boyfriend a liar!" Yunho laughs, throwing his head back as he tilts his can to drain the last stubborn drops. The moment he sets the empty aluminum down on the table, though, he freezes. You watch as a tipsy epiphany flashes across his face, your stomach sinking as he then points a finger right at your nose and snaps repeatedly, his buzzed brain scrambling to catch up with his mouth. "Wait—where's Hongjoong? He should be here!"

You choke on your water, sputtering a cough and wiping your chin with the back of your hand as Yunho whips around to face San and Yeosang with ecstatic eyes.

"I forgot to tell you guys!" he blurts. "She said yes! She's letting us hang out with him!"

Yeosang's eyes widen over the rim of his can. San's head snaps toward you so quickly you're surprised he doesn't accidentally give himself whiplash.

"No way, really?" he shouts, his zippers clinking as he nearly drops his drink onto the carpet. 

"Yeah!" Yunho beams, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I met him on Thursday morning, and he—"

"What? You met him before me?" San interrupts, looking betrayed. He scrambles to his feet, almost tripping over Yunho's discarded shoes, and jabs a finger at you. "____, what the hell?" he demands. "We live together! We share a bathroom! Why the fuck did Yunho get to meet him before I did?"

"Calm down, it wasn't like I planned it!" you shoot back, already feeling your cheeks burning. "Yunho trapped me! He cornered us on our way to lunch."

"Doesn't matter," San pouts, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "I'm your roommate. And the one who called it from day one. I knew this whole thing was gonna happen since Yunho's birthday."

"We all called it, San. You're not a psychic," Yeosang cuts in. He leans forward, setting his beer down on the cluttered table. "But seriously, ____. If you're finally ready for it, why isn't he here tonight? We're already pregaming. You should've invited him over."

"Because look at you guys!" you counter, throwing your hands up at the state of your living room. "Yunho can't even stand still for two seconds without drifting sideways. And we—we have work to do. We need to study. I'm, um..." You clear your throat. "I'm going over to his place. In a little bit."

Yunho's eyes narrow. "Studying?" he repeats. "Again? Didn't you study all night on Thursday, too?"

"Yeah," San nods, tossing the pizza box to the floor so he can plop down onto the couch beside you, wedging himself in. "I didn't hear the door unlock until almost three in the morning."

At that, you feel the tips of your ears burn. "Well... there's a lot I need to catch up on before the final!"

"Uh-huh."

You roll your eyes at Yunho.

"Maybe you don't have to study, but I do! There's an insane amount of grammar to review," you stammer. "And there were a few... specific chapters we didn't get to finish."

The second the excuse leaves your mouth, you regret it. The three boys fall silent. Slowly, a grin spreads across Yunho's face. Yeosang bites his lip like he's trying his hardest to suppress a smirk. It only takes San a second before he snorts.

"Well," he grins, "maybe the chapters didn't get finished, but I have a pretty good idea of who did—"

"San!" you shriek, lunging for a crumpled napkin abandoned on the couch and whacking him across the forehead with it. He ducks with a bark of laughter, throwing an arm up to shield himself. "This is why I'm scared of him meeting you!"

He only laughs harder, catching the napkin and teasingly waving it in front of your face while you try to swipe his hand away. "Weren't you two studying in the library?" he asks innocently. "Do flashcards make you guys horny or something?"

"No!" you shout far too quickly, cringing as you finally rip the napkin from his grasp and throw it to the floor. 

"Okay, okay," Yeosang chuckles as you both settle down. "Listen, ____. Tomorrow night, we're staying in. Bring him over to our place."

"But tomorrow is Sunday," you argue. "We all have early classes on Monday morning."

"Exactly!" Yunho says, nodding his head so vigorously that a few drops of his freshly opened beer slosh over the rim and splash onto the floor. "Which means none of us will be tempted to drink, and we won't do anything stupid! I promise I'll be on my best behavior. And you already know Yeosang will be, too."

You let out a reluctant sigh, your gaze sliding over to the third man in question, the wild card sitting right next to you. He's grinning mischievously, chewing on a rogue piece of pepperoni he plucked off a slice.

"I'll be an angel, I swear," he promises, pressing a hand on the center of his chest, right over his heart. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

You shove his shoulder, huffing. "Why do you always get so corny when you drink?"

"Is that a yes?" Yunho bounces in place, his eyes practically sparkling. "Tomorrow night?"

You glance between the three of them, weighing it. As tempting as it may seem, you know you can't keep Hongjoong hidden forever. And despite all their teasing, deep down, you know they'll love him—and he'd probably know how to handle them better than you could, anyway. Letting out one last sigh, you run a defeated hand through your hair.

"I'll... I'll ask him if he's free."

"And if he is?" San presses.

You roll your eyes, though now, it's paired with the faintest hint of a smile you'd rather die than let them fully see.

"Then... fine," you say at last. "Sure. Whatever. He'll be there."

The room erupts. Yunho and San jump up, shouting in victory as they clink their cans together in a toast, sloshing more beer to the floor. From the other side of the couch, Yeosang chuckles, raising his own can toward you. 

You stay seated, watching the tipsy trio with a resigned shake of your head. 

As always, their departure is anything but quick. It takes another ten minutes of mirror-checking, shoe-tying, and last-minute cologne-spraying before the three of them finally bundle up and head toward the front door. They tumble out into the hallway amidst loud, overlapping goodbyes, leaving the dorm deafeningly silent as the door shuts behind them.

The moment they're gone, you immediately scramble to fish out your phone from beneath your thigh. Your fingers fly across the screen as you pull up your texts with Hongjoong. 

You: Okay, they finally left. You can come up now.

You shove your phone in your pocket and immediately set to work cleaning up the mess your friends left behind. Within seconds, your arms are full of pizza boxes stuffed with abandoned crusts and a tower of empty beer cans. You're carrying the pile toward the kitchen, dumping everything into the trash when—not even thirty seconds later—a quiet knock rattles the front door.

Quickly shoving the last of the garbage into the bin, you pad across the hardwood in your socks and open the door. 

Hongjoong is waiting in the hallway, greeting you with a soft, slightly nervous smile. He looks ridiculously cute, bundled up in a hoodie and gray sweatpants layered under a comically large winter coat. A dusting of white snow clings to his dark hair, and you notice his knuckles, gripping the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder, have turned a frostbitten shade of red from the walk over.

You look him up and down and have to clap a hand over your mouth to smother your laugh. "Oh—It's already snowing out there?"

He nods quickly, his shoulders shivering. "It—It doesn't get this cold in Korea," he mutters through chattering teeth.

Laughing softly, you step back and swing the door wide to let him inside. The second he catches sight of the living room, he makes a beeline for the couch, dropping his backpack onto the carpet beside the coffee table. He starts rubbing his hands together, blowing warm air into his cupped palms to thaw them out. Watching him with a smile, you cross the room to reach for the collar of his damp coat and help him shrug out of it. After sliding it off his shoulders, you carry it to the kitchen and drape it over the back of one of the barstools to dry.

Shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets, Hongjoong follows after you as you head into the kitchen area, his eyes curiously scanning your dorm for the very first time. 

"I like it here," he decides after a minute.

You scoff. "You don't have to lie, Joong."

"I'm not lying."

You shoot him a skeptical look over your shoulder as you pull open the pantry door, scanning the shelves for hot chocolate mix. "I know it's not as nice or modern as your big, fancy international dorm," you tease, "but it's cozy."

You shove aside a box of granola bars and locate two unopened packets tucked in the back. Grinning, you bump the pantry door shut with your hip and reach up to grab a small saucepan from the upper cabinet.

"Seriously, I mean it." He leans against the island with his hands still buried in his pockets, his gaze following you as you pull a carton of milk from the fridge—though you can't help but wrinkle your nose at the smell of leftover takeout San has probably left rotting in the back corner for at least three days. "See?" He chuckles at your reaction. "It's charming. But... where do you keep all your records?"

"I told you, I don't even have half as many as you do. You're gonna be disappointed." You pour the milk into the saucepan and turn the burner on. "Besides," you add, reaching into the cabinet for the bag of marshmallows, "they're in my room. Which you are not seeing today."

A little smirk spreads across his face. "Why not?"

"Because my tutor decided to keep 'rewarding' me instead of actually teaching me anything last time I tried to study," you say, emphasizing the word with air quotes. "So tonight, I need to take things seriously. And the couch is already bad enough. Studying on my bed would be the point of no return."

His eyes dance with amusement. "Don't blame me for that. It's not my fault you were being such a good—"

Ripping open the plastic bag, you pluck a marshmallow out and hurl it right at his head, hitting him squarely on the left lens of his glasses.

"No more talking about it!" you scold, though you can feel your own cheeks heating up. "I'm not failing my final, okay? We need to focus. Seriously."

Hongjoong just smiles, reaching to pick the marshmallow off the countertop and popping it into his mouth. "Okay," he hums, chewing happily. "Then we'll focus. Seriously."

You give him one last warning glare as you tear open the hot chocolate packets, emptying the powder into two ceramic mugs.

"How did you get up here so fast after I texted you, by the way?" you ask, keeping a watchful eye on the saucepan to make sure the milk doesn't scald. "They didn't see you, did they?"

"They didn't," he chuckles. "I was waiting outside the main entrance. When they left, I managed to catch the door before it locked behind them so you wouldn't have to come all the way down to buzz me in. Honestly, I think they were a little too tipsy to even register a stranger walking in."

You giggle, clicking the burner off and pouring the milk into the mugs. "They probably just thought you were any other student. San and Yeosang have no idea what you look like yet anyway."

Dropping a generous handful of marshmallows into each mug, you pick them up by the handles and walk over to him, holding one out. "Be careful, it's hot."

He takes it from you with a soft, grateful smile. His free hand naturally finds its way to your lower back, guiding you out of the kitchen and over to the couch where he'd dropped his backpack.

"I would like to meet them, though," he reminds you gently as the two of you settle down side-by-side, both blowing on the steaming hot chocolate.

"I know," you sigh, staring into the swirling marshmallows in your mug. "Actually... they brought it up before they left."

Hongjoong raises his eyebrows, silently prompting you to continue. 

"Um... if you're free tomorrow night... they wanted to know if you'd want to come over to Yunho's dorm. We could just order some food and hang out. No drinking or anything crazy, just..."

"That's perfect," he interrupts softly.

"Are you sure? We can always push it to next weekend if you're busy. I really don't want to mess up your schedule." You remember him mentioning last week that his Sunday nights are usually reserved for preparing his demos for the upcoming week.

He smiles, sets his mug down on the coffee table, and turns to look at you fully. "I'm sure, ____. I'm always free for you."

You nearly inhale your hot chocolate, sputtering a cough as a laugh bubbles out of your chest. "Oh my god, why is everyone being so corny tonight? I expect it from San, but from you?"

Hongjoong laughs loudly at your reaction, though the tips of his ears immediately turn red. "I have to practice flirting in English! I can do it in Korean. I learned from all the movies and dramas I watched growing up. But English is still hard for me."

You can't help but smile. It's undeniably dorky, but seeing how hard he's trying to be a good boyfriend completely melts your heart. Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, which only succeeds in turning his face an even deeper shade of pink.

To make him feel less embarrassed, you lean back and fix him with a playfully serious look. "Well, Mr. Kim... if you're always free for me, I guess I'll just have to keep your schedule fully booked for the rest of the semester."

He lets out a flustered huff of a laugh, reaching up to nervously adjust his glasses. "I told you that you're not allowed to call me that, didn't I?" he asks, attempting to summon an authoritative tone, though he looks way too flustered for it to land.

"Why not?" you ask, blinking innocently.

Hongjoong's gaze drops to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Because," he says, "I thought you said you wanted to focus tonight."

A nervous little giggle escapes you, your own face suddenly burning. You tear your eyes away from his lips, clearing your throat. "Right. You're right. I did," you manage, setting your mug down next to his. "Okay. Let's get to work. We still have two more sections to cover, don't we?"

Hongjoong nods, smiling fondly at you as he reaches down to unzip his backpack.

For the next half hour, true to your word, the two of you actually manage to stay on task. You fly through the remaining sections of the textbook with surprising speed, but despite your best efforts, neither of you can seem to fully shake the cheesy, flirty tension humming between you on the couch.

Every time you successfully conjugate a notoriously difficult verb, Hongjoong insists on leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek, murmuring that it's a "preview of your actual reward" and making your skin flare. And every time he gets a little too cocky, you sneak a "Mr. Kim" into your next question and watch him get just as flustered as you are. A few times, you catch his eyes dropping to watch the movement of your lips instead of actually listening to the vocabulary you're reciting. Whenever he realizes he was caught, his mouth curves into a shy, guilty smile before he clears his throat and tells you to start the sentence over. 

As you work together, you find yourself unsure how much grammar is actually sticking in your brain versus how many times you come dangerously close to throwing the textbooks to the floor and pulling your tutor down on top of you for a kiss.

Suddenly, a loud knock rattles the front door.

Both of you freeze. Hongjoong's pen halts mid-stroke over the lined paper of his notebook, and your fingers lock around the corner of the textbook page you were just about to turn. You stare at each other, wide-eyed and unmoving in the silence of the dorm. 

Are they already back? Did someone forget their wallet? Lose their ID? It hasn't even been an hour since they left. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The second round is louder, more impatient. 

You scramble to your feet, your stomach giving a sudden lurch. Hongjoong slowly unfreezes, setting his pen down onto the coffee table. He looks up at you from his spot on the cushions with a smile that is trying very hard to be reassuring but failing miserably.

"Well," he whispers as if the three men waiting outside might hear him through the door, "I guess I'm meeting the family a little sooner than expected."

Despite everything, you let out an anxious laugh as you glance toward the entryway. "Yeah... I guess you are." Taking a steadying breath, you look back at him. "Okay. Stay right here. Let me tell them you're inside before they come barging in and start yelling, okay? I don't want them to freak you out."

Hongjoong lets out a faint chuckle, but you don't miss the way he's subconsciously wiping his sweaty palms against the cotton of his sweatpants. He's nervous. And that only makes your pulse race faster.

Taking another deep breath, you force your legs to carry you toward the front door. With every step, the twisting sensation in your gut pulls even tighter.

Just as your fingers graze the handle, another loud, more aggressive knock bangs against the wood. You jump, tossing one last look over your shoulder at Hongjoong. He offers an encouraging smile, and you do your best to return one of your own before swinging the door open, plastering the most casual smile you can manage onto your face.

"Okay, before you guys come in, I really need to tell you—"

The words die in your throat.

Your heart plummets past your stomach, crashing somewhere near your shoes as an icy, paralyzing wave of vertigo washes over you. The fake smile vanishes from your lips, the blood draining from your face.

Because instead of your three best friends stumbling drunkenly down the hallway, you're standing face-to-face with the most terrifying sight imaginable.

The cruel, wicked smirk of Jung Wooyoung.

"I knocked three times," he says lightly, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement as he looks down at you. "You busy or something? You know, most girls run to the door the second they hear my footsteps coming down the hall. But that's right..." He tilts his head. "You're different, aren't you?"

Your hands tremble as you grip the doorframe, your knuckles turning a bloodless white. "Woo—Wooyoung... what the hell...?" you manage to whisper, frozen in place.

He clicks his tongue, lazily shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. "Aw, nervous to see me again, baby? Don't worry, I'm only stopping by for a minute. Unless you want me to stay." A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. "I'm more than happy to cancel my plans tonight for a... third date."

Your breathing turns shallow as you stare at him, panic wiping your mind blank. "What—What are you doing here, Wooyoung?" 

Your eyes sweep over him. He's dressed for a humid night out in late August, not a freezing December evening. He’s wearing a black tee and jeans—the same outfit you've seen him in every time you've been together. His hair is gelled and styled exactly the same as always. Nothing about Wooyoung has changed in the slightest.

He catches your gaze tracing over him, and his smirk deepens. "So you did miss me. I knew you would." But when his eyes lock onto yours, the teasing edge vanishes: he's dead, chillingly serious. "I'm here for my jacket."

Your heart plummets into what feels like an endless freefall.

The jacket.

Your eyes flash to the kitchen barstool where that stupid leather jacket had rested like a cursed object for nearly a week—a week where everyone in the dorm had been too afraid to even touch it. But it isn't there anymore. Hongjoong's winter coat is draped over that very stool instead.

The wind is knocked out of you as you realize that Hongjoong is here, sitting on the couch right behind you. With how you've barely cracked open the door, shielding the entryway with your body, Hongjoong probably still assumes you're talking to one—or all—of your friends.

Terror grips your throat. You can't let them see each other. If Wooyoung sees Hongjoong, it's over. If Hongjoong finds out who is standing at this door, he'll discover everything. He'll know you lied to him about your past. Think, ____, think, you scream at yourself, your head spinning faster and dizzier by the second as you stare blankly at the man in the doorway.

Oblivious, Wooyoung laughs. 

"You know, I thought I'd lost the damn thing," he continues, his voice dripping with condescension. "I searched my place for days. I must've been too drunk that night to realize I let you take it. I thought someone stole it at the bar or some shit. Even went out and bought myself a new one before I finally remembered." His eyes filthily trace your body, from the top of your head down to your socks and back up again, making your skin crawl. "Yeah. It was stolen. By you."

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to breathe, but he keeps talking.

"You been wearing it? It's nice, right? I bet it looked so cute on you that night. If only I could remember anything that happened." The cruel curve of his lips returns. "I was just gonna forget about it. Let you keep it. A little souvenir to remember me by, yeah? To remind you of how much fun we had." He pauses, feeding off the way your stomach twists at his words. "But the new jacket's missing one thing. The inside pocket for my camera. And I plan on taking a lot of pictures tonight."

He suddenly takes a step forward, trying to peer over your shoulder and into the dorm.

"I need my jacket back, baby," he murmurs. "Let me in."

You remain rooted in the doorway, every muscle in your body locked as the panic finally spills over and chokes the breath out of your lungs. 

"Wooyoung, I... I don't know where it is," you stammer.

He pauses. One eyebrow arches. "You don't?"

You shake your head, your terrified mind scrambling to construct any lie that'll keep him out of your dorm and clinging to it for dear life. "San took it," you blurt out. "He put it away somewhere, but I have no idea where. Just—just come back later when he's here. He'll find it for you."

The lie sounds flimsy to even your own ears, and judging by the look on his face, he knows it too.

Desperate, you throw your weight forward and attempt to push the door shut, but Wooyoung is faster. His palm slams flat against the wood, stopping it dead in its tracks. Slowly, his eyes narrow.

"Well, if you don't know where it is..." His gaze snakes past your shoulder again, drinking in the narrow sliver of your living room visible from the hallway. "...maybe we should look for it together."

Wooyoung suddenly shoves the door inward. You stumble backward with a choked gasp, your socks slipping across the polished hardwood as he steps inside and kicks the door shut behind him.

"Wooyoung—"

He ignores you, already turning down the hallway, heading straight in the direction of San's bedroom. But on only the second step, he freezes.

Your hands are still suspended uselessly in the air from where you'd tried—and failed—to block him from coming inside. Your stomach drops so hard and fast that you feel like you're about to faint. 

Everything falls silent.

Wooyoung is standing in the center of your living room, staring straight at the couch. And standing perfectly still amid the messy notebooks and open textbooks, Hongjoong is staring right back. 

At some point, Hongjoong rose to his feet. His posture is rigid, his shoulders squared as he stands between the coffee table and the cushions. His eyes sweep over Wooyoung with a piercing glare. It's almost as if, in a matter of seconds, he's already deciphered exactly what kind of person this intruder is, all without a single word being exchanged.

You open your mouth, desperately trying to force a sound out—Hongjoong's name, Wooyoung's name, an explanation, an excuse, a plea, anything—but your vocal cords have been locked in place by the fear gripping your throat.

You can only watch, helplessly pinned in place, as Wooyoung's eyes drag over the man standing across the room. He takes his sweet time, lingering on Hongjoong's crooked glasses and tousled hair, before his gaze drops to the table. He stares at the scattered Korean textbooks, the vocabulary worksheets covered in red corrections, and finally, the two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sitting side by side in the center of it all. 

As the reality of what he walked into dawns on him, a horrible, bitter smirk curls at the corners of Wooyoung's lips.

"Holy shit," he murmurs, a breath of malicious disbelief.

For a moment, the entire dorm goes quiet.

Then an ugly bark of laughter rips from his throat.

Wooyoung throws his head back and erupts into a fit of dark, hysterical laughter. "Holy shit! Holy fucking shit," he cackles, clutching his stomach as he spins to look at you, eyes glittering with vindictive delight. "You're kidding me, right? Tell me this is a fucking joke."

Still laughing, he turns his attention back to Hongjoong, openly raking his eyes up and down his body with blatant disrespect.

Hongjoong's expression hardens. His breathing grows shallow, mirroring the rise and fall of your own chest, as he slowly tears his gaze away from Wooyoung and looks at you instead.

"____." His voice is practically a growl. You watch the gears turning behind his eyes: he knows. He knows something is wrong. "Who is this?"

You can't speak.

You stare helplessly back at Hongjoong, your vision blurring as tears begin to well in your eyes, stinging your lash line. 

It's over. 

You should've just told him the truth.

Hongjoong sees the shiny glaze of tears brimming in your eyes, and his posture stiffens. His lips part in a quiet breath of disbelief, a devastating combination of confusion and betrayal already bleeding into his eyes before he even fully understands what he's looking at. 

Wooyoung wheezes with laughter, bracing himself by slapping a hand down onto the nearest kitchen stool—landing right on top of Hongjoong's snow-dampened coat.

"Fuck, ____, this has to be the funniest thing I've ever seen," he gasps, shaking his head. "Seriously. Holy shit, you're actually with him? You're dating the fucking tutor?"

The first tear spills over, cutting a humiliating path down your cheek.

Seeing it fall, Hongjoong snaps his gaze away from you, his expression shattering. His eyes flick toward the wall, betrayal flashing across his features before he suddenly manages to bury it, squaring his jaw and turning back to Wooyoung.

"Who are you?" he demands when you can't work up the courage to give him the answer.

However, this only seems to amuse Wooyoung even more. "She didn't even tell you about me?" he laughs mockingly, pouting his bottom lip. "Damn. What a shame."

He closes the distance between them, swaggering over to the couch and extending a taunting hand for Hongjoong to shake. "Jung Wooyoung," he says, his grin widening. "Hongjoong, right? I can't believe I'm actually getting to meet you. I'm a big fan."

Hongjoong doesn't even glance at the outstretched hand, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone looks like it's ready to snap. 

"Not kidding," Wooyoung continues without flinching, dropping his arm back to his side. "I've been dying to ask you what your secret is."

The two men stare each other down from opposite sides of the coffee table. Wooyoung is grinning; Hongjoong looks ready to kill.

"My secret?" Hongjoong repeats.

Wooyoung nods, leaning in closer with a wicked smirk. "Yeah," he sneers. "How the fuck did a guy like you get her into your bed?"

A deafening tension crashes over the room. 

Hongjoong's eyes narrow as a furious, bewildered scoff escapes him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

A cold shudder crawls down your spine, pinning you in place against the front door. You've seen Hongjoong angry before, you've seen him frustrated, and you've heard him mutter Korean curses under his breath. But you've never heard him swear in English. 

Wooyoung laughs again, cruel and bright. "Guess she really didn't tell you. Well, she's always been a little shy about these things. Haven't you, baby?" He flashes you another grin over his shoulder before turning his back on Hongjoong, sauntering toward San's room, still chuckling to himself.

You feel sick. The room is spinning so fast you have to press your hand against the doorframe just to stay on your feet. You need to get Wooyoung out of here. You have to stop him before he digs any deeper. 

"Wooyoung," your shaky, fragile voice manages to force out just as his hand reaches for San's doorknob. He pauses, glancing back at you with an arched eyebrow. "It... it's in the bathroom," you whisper. "In the storage closet. San... San put it there."

His hand drops from the knob. Turning around, he looks you up and down, taking in your trembling state before scoffing. "Thought you didn't know where it was?" he asks. "What happened? Suddenly remembered?" His mouth curls. "Or are you leading me on again? Huh, I guess some things really never change."

You flinch. Your eyes remain glued to his back as he changes direction and disappears through the bathroom door.

You don't look at Hongjoong. You can't.

You don't want to see the impending heartbreak taking shape in his eyes, don't want to witness the moment he pieces the ugly puzzle together and realizes how much you've hidden from him. So, like a coward, you decide to delay the devastation, to avoid his gaze, for as long as you possibly can.

From down the short hallway, the loud and destructive sounds of Wooyoung's search begin. You can hear him rustling through the cramped storage closet, carelessly shoving boxes aside and tossing towels to the tile floor as he digs around for his jacket.

You keep your tear-filled eyes locked on the empty doorway, nails biting into your palms. If you stare hard enough, maybe Hongjoong will disappear. Maybe the consequences of your own lies will fall solely onto your shoulders, sparing the man you finally managed to start something real with.

Wooyoung emerges a minute later, shrugging the leather jacket over his shoulders. He smooths the collar into place with a grin.

"Well, I'm heading out. Got a party to get to," he announces cheerfully. "You two enjoy your little date night, yeah?"

He nods mockingly in Hongjoong's direction, smirking as he makes his way toward the front door—the door you're still weakly barricading with your body. Stopping mere inches in front of you, Wooyoung looks down with an amused raise of his eyebrow. His fingers slowly wrap around yours, peeling your trembling grip away from the doorframe. 

A repulsive shiver rips through your body as he holds your gaze, his grin widening. 

"She's a great student, isn't she?" he calls out over his shoulder, addressing Hongjoong even though his eyes never leave yours. "I taught her a few things myself last month. You should ask her about the knife. Or the fork." Your blood turns to ice as the smile on his face turns mocking. "She really has a thing for cutlery."

Dropping your hand, he gives you one final, bitter sneer before yanking the door open and stepping out into the hallway. The door slams shut behind him, and he's gone, sealing you inside the silence of your own destruction.

You stand paralyzed in the entryway for what feels like an eternity.

You've always known Hongjoong to be a brilliant man—how could he not be, as someone who is quite literally paid to teach you? But the intelligence you're seeing now has nothing to do with grammar or vocabulary. From your spot against the door, you're forced to watch him click every single ugly, disjointed piece of the puzzle named Jung Wooyoung into place in his mind.

Slowly, as if he's fighting his way through water, Hongjoong lowers himself onto the couch. A stray pen falls off the cushion, onto the floor, without him even noticing. His previously rigid posture collapses in on itself as he sinks back into the cushions. The color drains from his face, leaving his skin an unrecognizable, sickly pale, and his hand trembles as he raises it to push his crooked glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You don't know what to do. You don't know what to say. You don't even know if there's anything you can say to make a difference. So you just stand there with a burning ache in your throat as shameful tears continue to well and threaten to spill over your lashes, watching your boyfriend sift through every last humiliating second he'd just been forced to witness.

After a long time, Hongjoong finally turns his head. When he speaks, his fragile voice breaks your heart in two.

"When we studied together for the first time... in the library," he begins shakily. "His name... Wooyoung... it came up on your phone. You told me he was just a friend. That... that was a lie, wasn't it?"

Your breath hitches in your chest as you stare at him. You try to explain, but your voice breaks on the way up. You can't answer him. You can't.

But your silence is answer enough.

Hongjoong inhales sharply. He rises to his feet, his entire body shaking as he takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between the couch and the entryway. The closer he gets, the clearer you can see the glossy sheen of unshed tears pooling behind his glasses.

"Y—You told me you've only ever slept with one person." His voice cracks as he stops just a few feet away from you. "You said you were seventeen. With your ex, back in high school." His eyes plead with yours to deny it, to give him the answer he wants. "Was that a lie, too?"

A single, damning tear slips down your cheek. 

Hongjoong watches it fall. He stares at you for a long moment, the last trace of hope draining out of his face. He gives a faint, defeated nod, breaking eye contact just as his own tears finally begin to spill over.

"He said he... he taught you. Last month. Last month, ____," he breathes, looking back at you with so much betrayal in his eyes that it hurts to meet them. "But you told me you liked me since the first time you saw me. Since the beginning of the semester. Was... was that another lie? While I was... I... you were... with him...?"

You frantically shake your head, your chest caving in. "Joong, n—no, I—"

"He asked me how a guy like me got you into my bed," he continues, cutting you off as more tears track silently down his pale cheeks. "I know... I know I'm not experienced. I know I've never done this before. I know I'm not the kind of guy who... who you would normally look at twice—"

"Joong, that's not true—!"

"But," his voice cracks, ignoring your pleas. "I thought... I thought..."

He stops, unable to finish the sentence. He shakily reaches up, pulling his glasses off his face to roughly press the heels of his palms into his eyes, wiping away the falling tears. When he finally lowers his hands, he turns away from you and stares at the wall across the room.

You don't try to speak. You gulp down your tears, giving up on trying to defend yourself. There's nothing that feels capable of fixing this. Not words, not explanations, not anything you could possibly say. 

"He said you led him on," Hongjoong says quietly. "Is that what you're doing to me? Am I just..."

A choked sob finally rips from your throat. Without thinking, you reach a hand out to grab his sleeve, to ask for forgiveness, to show him you care. But he flinches, jerking his arm away like your touch burns.

You freeze, your hand falling numbly to your side as the outline of his body becomes a blur.

"How many times, ____?" he asks, his voice cracking. He can't even bear to look at you anymore. "How many times did you sleep with him?"

Your heart stops. He stands there, holding his breath, waiting for the truth. 

"It... it was twice," you whisper.

Hongjoong lets out a gut-wrenching, wounded sound, biting down on his trembling lower lip as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"But... but the second time wasn't... I—I stopped it, Joong," you plead, willing him to just open his eyes, to understand what happened. "I only went out with him to end it. To... to tell him that I didn't want him, that the whole thing was a mistake—"

"He was your first, wasn’t he?"

The question is quiet.

You stop rambling. Hongjoong's eyes open, and when his gaze finds yours again, you watch the realization wash over his pale features. 

"It wasn't your ex," he whispers, his throat bobbing. "It was him."

You go silent, tears falling down your cheeks, unable to deny it. 

And for Hongjoong, that's all the answer he needs.

A strangled sob tears its way out of his throat. He abruptly turns away, hurrying back over to the couch, refusing to look at you again. Panic surges through you, and you hurry after him, your voice cracking as you beg him to listen.

"Please, just let me explain, Joong!"

Hongjoong grabs his backpack from the floor and starts shoving his textbooks inside, his eyes fixed blankly on the coffee table, avoiding your face at all costs. 

"Explain what, ____?" he asks. His voice is flat, and that emptiness is somehow a million times worse than if he'd turned around and screamed at you. "Explain which version of you is the real one? The one I started falling in love with... or the one who looked me in the eye and lied to me about letting him—"

He chokes on the words, his jaw clenching as he yanks the zipper of his backpack shut.

The one I started falling in love with.

The words shatter what little is left of your heart.

"I wanted to tell you!" you choke out, stepping closer, though you keep your hands glued to your sides, too afraid to try and touch him again. "I wanted to tell you the truth, but I was so scared! Joong, I... I liked you from the very first day we met. That was never, ever a lie. But... you were my tutor! I never in a million years thought you'd look at me as anything more than your dumb student who couldn't even pronounce her own name. I didn't think you'd ever look at me the way I looked at you."

Hongjoong stops moving. His hands clamp around the straps of his bag. He doesn't turn to face you, but you can see the tension snapping across his shoulders and can hear the uneven sound of his breathing. He's listening.

"I was so stupid," you confess, your voice cracking as you furiously wipe the tears from your cheeks. "I was... I was horrible. I tried to use him. Wooyoung. My friends told me he didn't do relationships, that... that hookups meant nothing to him. I thought... I thought maybe I could drown out my feelings for you by doing something reckless. Maybe doing something meaningless with him would make me forget about how badly I wanted to mean something to you."

You take a shaky breath, your tears blinding your vision. "But it didn't work. After that night... I felt terrible. About everything. I... I couldn't stop imagining what it would've been like if it were you instead. He told me he wanted more. I guess he actually liked me, or at least he thought he did, but... he couldn't give me a single, tiny fraction of what you already had, even back when we'd barely spoken outside of tutoring. I felt so much for you, Joong. So, so much. I always knew it, even if I was too scared to admit it to myself."

Hongjoong remains still, his back turned to you as he listens.

"That's why I went back the second time," you plead. "To end it. To tell him it was a stupid, one-time mistake because my heart belonged to someone else. But he... fuck, Joong, I was so stupid, and he was so manipulative. Yes, we did it again, but I... I cried. I pushed him away. I made him stop. And... and that's when he realized. He'd heard my friends teasing me about my crush on my tutor, and he... he realized they weren't joking. You saw it, just now: he's mad. His ego is destroyed. He thinks I chose you over him, but... it was never a choice in the first place. I was always yours. From the very beginning."

He doesn't move, his head bowed as he stares down at the bag crushed in his hands. You choke out another sob, desperate for something in your confession to break through to him.

"And then, in your bedroom..." you whisper, the memory tearing you apart. "When you said it was your first time... when you told me how scared you were of making a mistake... I panicked. How could I look at you, after everything you just confessed, and tell you that I let some asshole like him take my virginity only a few weeks ago? I wanted to be the perfect girl for you, just like how I tried so hard to be the perfect student. I was so ashamed of what I'd done, of how I'd been so reckless for the first time in my life! I was scared that if you knew that ugly, mindless side of me, you'd never look at me the same way again. That you'd hate me. So... I lied. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Joong. I... I wish I could change it. I wish I could take it back. I really, really do."

You wipe your face with the backs of your hands, but the tears refuse to stop falling as you stand there, staring at his back, waiting, praying he even has a response. 

After a long moment, Hongjoong turns to face you again. His face has gone completely still except for the single tear that breaks free, trickling down his cheek.

"An exam," he whispers. "Is that what this whole thing was to you? You had to be perfect? You wanted to get an A... in what? In me? In us?"

He takes a hesitant step closer, looking at you with eyes full of heartbreak. "You know I've never cared about your mistakes, ____," he says, his voice cracking as he points a trembling finger at the coffee table, where your textbooks and vocabulary sheets used to lie scattered. "When you mess up a conjugation, we fix it. When you mispronounce a word, I help you say it right. That's what we do. That's what we've always done. I thought you knew... I thought you understood that I was the one place where you didn't have to be perfect right away. That I'd help you get there, no matter how hard it would be or how long it would take."

He looks down at his shaking hands, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the lump in his throat. When he finally looks back up, the disappointment in his eyes is almost unbearable. "You said we'd figure things out together. Those were your words," he continues. "But now I think you were so afraid of failing that you felt like you needed to hide the truth from me. What did you think? That if you hid all these parts of you, if you lied about your past, everything would just magically turn into reality? That you'd just get whatever grade you wanted without letting me help you get there?"

He shakes his head, taking a sharp breath in. "I don't care about him. I don't care that he was your first, or even that it happened so recently. Do you really think my feelings for you are so shallow that something like that is enough to make me walk away?" He drags the back of his hand across his face, but it's useless. His fingers are trembling so badly he can barely wipe away the tears before more take their place. "I care that you looked me in the eye, in my own bed, in my arms, and lied to me. You let me pour my heart out to you, ____! I told you my most pathetic insecurities, the most embarrassing secrets I've never said out loud to anyone, and you... you let me feel safe. You let me believe we were doing the same thing. That we were both being honest with each other, putting all our cards out on the table so we could start something real. How... how could you sit there, comforting me, telling me it was okay not to be perfect, all while knowing it was you who was hiding who you really were?" His voice finally shatters. "How am I supposed to trust anything you've ever said to me?"

"Joong, no, please—" Your voice breaks apart on his name.

You reach your hand out, but he pulls away again. Without another word, he turns his back on you and walks over to the kitchen island. He grabs his coat from the barstool, where you'd left it to dry barely a full hour ago, not even bothering to put it on. Your heart plummets as he swings his bag over his shoulder and stares blankly at the front door, refusing to cast a single glance back at where you're standing no matter how hard you're silently begging him to.

"I didn't ask about your past because I was looking for mistakes," he says quietly to the empty air. "I asked because I wanted to know the girl I was giving my heart to. The girl I wanted to create something real with... for the very first time in my life."

Another tear slides down his jawline as he shakes his head faintly, taking the last few steps toward the door. He doesn't speak again. When his hand wraps around the handle, your tears begin to fall harder.

"Joong, please, that's all I wanted too—" you choke out, your trembling legs moving on their own. You stumble after him, too terrified to touch him, but too desperate to let him walk away. "Please, Hongjoong, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry... I can fix this, I can—"

He turns his head, but he isn't looking at your face. His deadened gaze fixes on the floorboards right next to your feet as his shoulders tremble with the effort to hold himself together.

"You can't fix a lie like this with an apology, ____," he whispers, and you can tell he's given up. "You know that. You fix it with the truth. But I had to get yours from him." He takes a final, shuddering breath. "I... I never would've found out about this if he hadn't shown up tonight, right?"

You take a horrified step back, biting your lip so hard the taste of blood floods your mouth.

He's right.

You would've let this remain a secret forever. 

"Joong..."

But for the first time all night, you have nothing left to say.

Hongjoong shakes his head and pushes the door open. Without another glance back, he steps out into the hallway and gently pulls the door shut behind him, disappearing back into the cold.

@ queenofsa1gon, 2026. please do not steal, copy, or translate my work! thank you <33

He opened his eyes and looked down at his pressed, tailored black slacks, always fitted well and cuffed just above his clean black loafers. And just like every other morning, he rolled his eyes. His fingers moved on their own as he uncuffed the sleeves of his white button-up, pushing them neatly to his elbows before loosening the black tie around his neck. It was always just a bit too tight, like something had pulled it that way while he slept.

In the beginning, he used to jolt awake, his breath coming in sharp pulls that made his lungs ache. He would scour every room on every floor, searching for some kind of clue, some explanation for why he was there. Sometimes he caught a flicker of something, not quite a memory, more like the ghost of one. A faint sense of deja vu brushed against him as he walked the fourth floor, familiar in a way that never lasted long enough to understand.

Now, he only stood with an exaggerated breath and reached for his jacket from the bed, right where it always was. It lay there like he had tossed it aside just for a moment to sit down. Only he never remembered sitting. He only ever remembered waking up.

A quiet sigh slipped from him as he stepped in front of the spotless mirror. His gaze dropped as he brushed at imaginary dust on the front of his black vest, more out of habit than care, before checking the time on his watch.

“Still early,” he murmured to himself, his voice sounding softer than it should in the empty room.

He stepped into the hallway, his footsteps muffled but not completely swallowed by the thin carpet beneath his feet.

Pausing in front of the elevator, he glanced up at the steady red light of one of the many cameras mounted throughout the hotel.

Sometimes he wondered if anyone was watching.

Sometimes he wondered if it would even matter if they were.

The elevator ride from the fourth floor to the lobby took two minutes and forty-three seconds today. About five seconds slower than the day before.

“Odd,” he said quietly.

His eyes lingered on the ticking hands of his watch for a second too long before he stepped out into the spotless, empty lobby that greeted him every morning.

He finally dragged his gaze away from the time and looked up–

“Oh! Hello!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You had been driving for hours at this point, losing count somewhere around the fifteenth hate-fueled billboard sporting whichever twisted Bible verse they had picked for the day. Your low fuel light had come on about twenty miles back, and around mile nine you had started searching for an exit. To your growing confusion, there just... weren’t any?

You had tried using your car’s built-in navigation, but at some point it began freezing every time you opened the map. With a heavy groan, you pulled over and leaned down to fish your phone out from the bottom of your purse, which had been tossed carelessly onto the passenger-side floor.

It was dead, because of course it fucking was.

“Jesus fucking christ,” you muttered, grateful at least that no one was around to witness your small, unraveling tantrum. You turned the charging cord over in your hand, squinting at it like it had personally betrayed you. You must have mixed it up with your friend’s. The Android charger was completely useless to you.

“That’s it,” you huffed, practically stomping your foot as you glared up at the blazing summer sun. “If you hate me so much, just kill me now, okay?” The words came out a bit more pathetic than you meant them to.

You sat there for a second after, the quiet pressing in, before letting out a long breath.

Fine.

You would just keep driving until you found an exit. There had to be one eventually. And every gas station these days had those cheap, overpriced phone chargers hanging somewhere near the register.

So you kept going, fingers tapping uselessly against the console as you tried, again and again, to get the navigation to respond. It never did.

After what felt like forever, a sign finally appeared.

Exit.

You almost laughed in relief as you veered off the highway a little too quickly. The secondary sign had only read “Lodging– Left,” but that was enough. You followed it, driving just far enough that the highway disappeared behind you completely.

You were just about ready to give up when you saw it.

A hotel stood alone in a cracked, gray parking lot, tall and worn down, like it had been sitting there longer than anything else around it. Only one car rested near the back of the lot, abandoned or simply forgotten. Despite that, a soft glow spilled from the windows, warm and inviting against the otherwise empty space.

Relief hit you fast and heavy. You pulled into the closest spot, your car giving a tired shudder as you parked, and quickly grabbed your suitcase and bag from the backseat.

The front door creaked faintly as you pushed it open, stepping inside with cautious curiosity.

And then you paused, the interior did not match the exterior at all.

The space was beautiful. Warm wood tones blended with sleek white countertops, something distinctly nostalgic about it. It reminded you of old movies you used to watch with your mom, the kind that felt soft around the edges.

For a moment, you just stood there, taking it in.

Then the moment stretched a little too long.

The place was lit. Spotless. Quiet.

…and completely empty.

“Hello?” you called, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You cleared your throat and tried again. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

The silence that followed settled uneasily in your chest. Your grip tightened on your suitcase handle, pulling it a little closer to you as if that might help.

You opened your mouth to call out again when a soft ding broke through the stillness.

You turned immediately.

Above the elevator, a small analog display flickered as it counted down. Four. Three. Two.

You held your breath without realizing it.

The doors slid open.

A figure stepped out.

No, not just a figure. A man.

A very handsome man, if your exhausted eyes were not playing tricks on you. For a moment, he did not seem to notice you, his attention fixed on the watch at his wrist. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted.

And landed on you.

Instinctively, you brightened, slipping into that familiar smile you wore whenever you needed something from someone.

“Oh. Hello!”

****

His eyes widened, his arm dropping to his side.

“Do you know if anyone is working the front desk? I’ve been calling, but I don’t think anyone heard me.”

He blinked, his voice catching in his throat as he looked down at you.

Standing in his lobby.

Your shiny white shoes against his bland wooden floors. Your soft pink dress, bright against the warm, buzzing light. A real person. In his hotel. In his lobby. A woman looking up at him, waiting.

Had he ever met a woman before?

Had he ever met anyone before?

“Wh-where...” he started, the word faltering awkwardly before he forced himself to steady. “I mean... how did you get here?”

You tilted your head as if he had just asked the most ridiculous question imaginable, and for a brief, strange moment, Yunho thought you resembled a cat.

When he did not say anything else, you took it as your cue to explain.

“My phone died on my way back from visiting a friend out in LA, and the drive got really confusing without it, right?”

He nodded without comprehending.

“Anyway, I couldn’t use apple maps, and my car’s navigation just stopped working. Not that it matters anyways unless I can find a gas station, you know?”

He did not.

What he did know was that there was a woman standing in his lobby where there had been no one before. He gathered, vaguely, that you were lost. Stranded, somehow. The rest of what you said slipped past him, unfamiliar and distant.

Apple Maps. Car navigation.

The words felt hollow, like they belonged to something just out of reach.

You kept talking.

He barely heard you.

You could have been a hallucination, and he was not sure it would have mattered. There had been a time, he thought, when people filled these halls. Maybe women like you. He could not quite remember their faces, or the sound of their voices. Only the absence of them now.

He would not pass up the chance to hear it again.

To see it again.

He would take what he was given and ask no questions that might make it disappear. He had waited too long for something to change, and he would not risk frightening you away.

A gentle smile settled over his features as he bent slightly at the waist, lowering himself to your eye level.

“You’re in luck,” he said, his voice smoother now, practiced. “We have a vacancy on the fourth floor. Two nights for the price of one.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The tight coil of anxiety in your stomach loosened slightly. In all honesty, the price was not much of a concern for you. You were well off enough that a couple of nights in a random hotel would not make a difference. Mostly, you were just relieved to have found somewhere decent out here.

This had not been meant to be a solo trip. Your co-pilot and best friend had decided to stay in the city a few days longer, leaving you to make the drive back home alone.

And it was not like you could wait around forever. Your sweet, elderly neighbor would not watch your cat indefinitely, and you did have work to get back to.

“Let’s get you a key, and I’ll show you to your room,” the man said politely.

You nodded and followed him to the reception counter.

“I’ll just need your full name for the time being.”

You glanced around the lobby as you gave it, signing absentmindedly. The pen felt oddly heavy in your hand, though you could not place why.

“What did you say your name was?” you asked, looking back up at him.

“Oh, I didn’t.” He hesitated, something almost shy flickering across his expression. “It’s Yunho.”

He slid an ornate bronze key across the counter toward you.

“Yun-ho,” you repeated, letting the name settle on your tongue before you reached for the key. You looked up at him with a bright, easy smile, the kind that came naturally to you.

For a moment, he looked like he might forget how to breathe.

His eyes darkened slightly as he heard his name from your lips for the first time. The sound of it, paired with your smile, made his throat tighten.

“Cute name,” you said with a small nod, pushing away from the counter as you reached for the handle of your pink rolling suitcase.

His hand tightened against the edge of the counter at that.

Then, just as quickly, he smoothed it over, slipping back into that same pleasant expression. He stepped out from behind the desk, moving a little too fast as he took the suitcase handle from your grasp.

“I’ve got it,” he said, already turning, gesturing for you to follow him toward the elevator.

You blinked once at the suddenness of it, then let out a small, amused breath as you followed after him. “Thank you,” you added, more out of habit than necessity.

The wheels of your suitcase clicked softly against the floor as he pulled it along, the sound echoing just a little too much in the empty space.

Up close, you noticed how straight his posture was. Not stiff exactly, but deliberate. Like every movement had been practiced until it no longer needed thought.

The elevator doors were already waiting.

Open.

You slowed slightly as you approached, your reflection catching faintly in the polished metal interior. For a brief second, something about it felt off. The lighting, maybe. Or the way the space seemed deeper than it should have been.

You stepped in anyway.

Yunho followed just behind you, guiding your suitcase neatly into the corner before pressing the button for the fourth floor.

The doors slid shut with a soft, final sound.

Silence settled almost immediately.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, clasping your hands loosely in front of you before glancing over at him. He stood beside you, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him, though he was not touching you.

“You get a lot of guests out here?” you asked, mostly to fill the quiet.

His gaze stayed forward.

“No.”

The answer came a second too late.

You blinked, a small smile tugging at your lips as if you might laugh it off. “Oh. Well... I guess I just got lucky, then.”

“Yes,” he said, softer this time. “You did.”

Something in the way he said it made your fingers curl slightly into your palms.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Your eyes drifted up to the small display above the door.

2.

You could have sworn it should have said 3 by now.

You frowned faintly, then glanced at the panel of buttons. The fourth floor was lit, just as it should be.

The elevator hummed quietly beneath your feet.

“You’re not from around here,” Yunho said suddenly.

It was not a question.

You looked over at him again, a little surprised. “Is it that obvious?”

He turned his head then, just enough to look at you properly, if you had been paying attention you’d have seen the way his eyes darkened just slightly before that mask of indifference slid back into place.

“Yes.”

There was no teasing in it. No lightness.

Just certainty.

You let out a small, awkward laugh, brushing it off. “Yeah, I figured. I mean, I don’t even know where ‘here’ is, so...”

Your voice trailed slightly as his gaze lingered on you.

Too focused.

Like he was trying to memorize something.

The air felt warmer than it should have.

Or maybe just heavier.

You shifted again, your shoulder almost brushing his this time before you stilled yourself.

The display flickered.

3.

You exhaled quietly, not realizing you had been holding your breath.

“Long drive?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly. “Too long, honestly. I think I’ve been on the road all day.”

He hummed, low and thoughtful, like he was turning the words over in his mind.

“All day,” he repeated.

You smiled, a little sheepish. “Yeah. I probably look a mess right now.”

He did not answer right away and your smile faltered just a fraction.

“You don’t,” he said finally.

Your stomach did a small, unexpected flip at the certainty in his voice.

4.

The number glowed steadily.

The elevator slowed.

Neither of you moved.

For a moment, it felt like the space between floors stretched longer than it should have.

Then, with a soft chime, the doors slid open.

For a moment you stood there, almost afraid to step out, lest some sort of boogy-man be waiting but you stilled yourself and let a sweet smile light up your face as you quickly turned around, smoothly grabbing your suitcase from his hands.

He stiffened at the contact of your fingers but you were too determined to notice.

“Thank you, Yunho but I think I can manage from here.”

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly before giving a small nod. “Yes, of course. Please feel free to ring the front desk if you need anything, miss.”

That was easier than you had thought, you nodded back and turned to head down the hall feeling a bit guilty for feeling uncomfortable around someone being so kind to you.

Yunho watched you go.

Hongjoong's bedroom is dead silent.

You stand frozen in the middle of the carpet, drowning in the oversized fabric of his sweater, eyes locked on him. He hasn't moved in two full minutes. His hand is still clamped around the doorknob. He's breathing heavily, his bare chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as his gaze stays fixed on some empty point on the wall across the room. 

The intense heat from just moments ago—the heat between all three of you—is gone. In its place is this suffocating silence that's already made your stomach plummet. You feel like you have whiplash. One second, everything was burning and impossible to think through; now, everything just feels cold. You suddenly have the awful realization that you just did something you can never, ever take back. 

"Hongjoong...?" you ask quietly, your voice shaking from the anxiety of not knowing what's coming next.

He doesn't respond. For a long moment, he just stands there, staring at that same spot. Then, slowly, his fingers loosen from the doorknob. He pulls his hand off the metal and drags it through his messy hair, pushing the sweaty strands out of his face. 

"You... you can sit."

His voice is flat. Drained of any trace of what happened between you just a few minutes ago.

Your knees practically buckle, and you drop onto the couch before you even realize your body has moved. The cushion dips beneath your weight as you pull your legs together, your fingers twisting nervously around the hem of his sweater.

He still won't look at you. You can't tear your eyes away from him, though every second of it makes the knot in your stomach twist harder. Your anxious gaze runs down his bare chest. Every muscle is pulled taut under the dim light of his bedroom. Seeing your normally composed tutor like this—half-naked and visibly tense—feels surreal.

What just happened? How did the plan derail so fast? It was supposed to be a fake date with Seonghwa to make Hongjoong jealous. To force a reaction. In a way, you guess it worked. But it was never supposed to escalate that far.

Or... was it? Was this Seonghwa's plan all along? Was trusting him a huge mistake? You chew on the inside of your cheek, terrified. Is Hongjoong regretting it? Is he furious with Seonghwa for pushing things too far? Is he disgusted with you for surrendering to it so easily?

Finally, he turns his head.

You brace yourself, preparing for the anger you're certain is coming.

But it isn't anger staring back at you.

It's shame. 

Hongjoong pushes himself away from the doorframe and walks toward the couch. He doesn't sit beside you; he claims the farthest cushion possible, leaving a wide stretch of space between you. He leans forward, elbows dropping onto his knees. You don't dare move. You hardly dare to breathe.

When he finally speaks, his voice is rough.

"I'm sorry." 

The word knocks you off balance. Sorry?

You stare at him, your lips slightly parted as a dozen different responses pile up on your tongue, stacking up behind your teeth—but none of them make it out. You look at the empty stretch of couch between you. He's sitting so far away. Just five minutes ago, there wasn't a single millimeter of space between you, his skin burning against yours, his hands all over your body. Now, he's closed himself off again. 

Does he regret touching me? you wonder, a cold ache settling in your chest. Does he really believe it was that big a mistake? The cruelst, most insecure part of your mind whispers an even worse fear: Did he even want me at all, or was he just doing it to 'win' against Seonghwa?

You swallow hard, forcing your paralyzed vocal cords to work. "Why..." Your voice cracks. You wince and try again. "Why are you sorry?"

Hongjoong's hand reaches up to grip the back of his neck, roughly massaging the tense muscles there before he exhales. He still refuses to look at you. His eyes stay glued to the carpet. 

"I'm your tutor."

Your stomach sinks.

You gaze at the side of his face, your heart breaking completely.

Your tutor.

As if the last thirty minutes could be reduced to a single line of professional misconduct.

When you don't answer, he shakes his head faintly.

"I crossed a line, ____," he says quietly, your name slipping from his mouth like it hurts to say it. "I'm sorry." 

You sit perfectly still on the edge of the cushion, your mind scrambling to understand what he means. What exactly is he trying to say? That it was all just a lapse in judgment? That tearing you away from his best friend, crashing his mouth against yours, fully claiming you—that all of it was nothing more than a mistake he wishes he could undo? 

A stinging heat builds behind your eyes.

You drop your gaze before he can see it, staring down at your lap instead of his face. Your fingers tremble as they curl into his sweater, tugging the sleeves down until they swallow your hands. 

"Did you..." you start, hating how small you sound. You force yourself to finish the question, even as your words threaten to shake apart. "Did you only do it because... he was there?"

Hongjoong flinches.

His head snaps toward you, making you jump. For the first time since the door shut, he actually looks at you, and the devastation in his eyes makes you crumble. 

"Is that really what you think?" he asks. A bitter sound escapes his throat, not quite making it to a laugh. "You think I don't know what the two of you planned?"

Your eyes go wide.

Before you can even question how he knew, he abruptly pushes to his feet. He turns away, crossing the room in a few long strides, pacing the short length of the opposite wall.

"I didn't do it because he was there." You hold your breath as you watch his shoulders tense, the words forcing their way out of his mouth. "I did it because I couldn't stop myself anymore."

Your heart stops. You track the rigid line of his spine, your focus dropping to his hands at his sides. They're trembling.

"I've spent every Thursday sitting three feet away from you," he says through gritted teeth, "pretending I don't feel anything while I watch you trip over your pronunciation again and again. Acting like I'm just doing my job. Then I go home and sit on that couch, staring at the wall, wondering what's wrong with me for feeling this way about my own student."

Slowly, reluctantly, he turns back to face you. When his eyes finally meet yours again, they look even more shattered than before. 

"Your plan worked," he breathes, looking at you from across the room. "Seonghwa pushed me, and I used it. I let the jealousy take over because... because..."

His voice falters. He breaks eye contact, turning his head toward the wall, his jaw locking so hard a muscle jumps beneath his skin as he refuses to finish the sentence.

The room goes still. You can't speak. A tremor runs through your entire body from where you sit, paralyzed on the couch. You hadn't forced this out of him. You hadn't asked for a confession. And yet, he's unraveling anyway, pulling apart every boundary he just tried to rebuild.

"Because I'm weak," he finally forces out. The words are quick, tossed aside with a self-deprecating ease, but the sentence doesn't land right. You can tell that it isn't what he originally intended to say. "I knew what you two were doing. From the moment you told me he 'answers your texts,' I realized the whole thing was a game. And I still let myself lose, because..."

He trails off again. For a second, it almost seems like he might actually say what he means this time, but he doesn't. His head turns toward you, but the vulnerability from a second ago is now hidden.

"Was a game all it was to you?" he asks, his gaze pinning you to your spot on the couch. "You and him... laughing about how easy it was to make me lose my mind for you?"

You quickly shake your head. Everything is spiraling, going wrong. Another hot wave of tears blurs your vision as the words tumble out.

"No, Hongjoong, I—"

"Why are you still here?"

His voice slices through yours.

The words snap your mouth shut. You stare at him, stunned. You don't recognize this exposed, unstable version of Hongjoong at all—he's nothing like your careful tutor or even the possessive man you first met thirty minutes ago. He takes a step toward you, and though it isn't much, the distance doesn't quite feel controlled anymore.

"You got what you wanted," he continues, deadly quiet. "You pushed, and you made me snap. You made me say those... those things back there." He looks away like the memory is something he can't stand to hold. His voice breaks. "What... what else do you want from me?"

You can't move. A tear slips free, falling silently down your cheek.

He knows. He knows what you want from him without you ever having to say it out loud. And still, he won’t give it to you.

His eyes catch the tear tracking down your skin, and suddenly, all the anger drains out of him at once. He stops in his spot near the edge of his bed, no longer pacing. His eyes drag over you, absorbing the wreckage piece by piece. The tear sliding down your cheek. His oversized sweater swallowing your body. Your bare legs tucked defensively beneath you. And finally, the bluish-purple marks he left scattered across your neck.

He stares at the evidence of his loss of control. Slowly, he lifts a shaking hand, readjusting his glasses as he exhales through his nose. 

"Look at you," he says quietly. His voice isn't angry anymore. "You're a mess because of me."

You look up at him through your blurred vision, your heart doing a confused flip. There’s nothing in him you can read clearly right now, no emotion that stays still long enough for you to make sense of. He holds your gaze for one excruciating second longer before a sigh leaves his lips, and he turns his head away to stare elsewhere, shutting you out.

But watching him look away again finally breaks you.

Before you even fully register what your body is doing, you're lifting your arm, using his sleeve to wipe your damp cheek. You push yourself up from the couch on unsteady legs.

"It wasn't a game to me, Hongjoong."

Your legs are shaking so badly you feel like you might collapse, but your exhausted voice finally finds its footing. 

"Is that really what you think?" you ask, forcing him to listen even if he refuses to look. "That I'd let Seonghwa touch me like that... that I'd let you do what you just did to me... as a joke?"

Hongjoong's jaw locks tight, his chest heaving as he desperately tries to pull his walls back up.

"Then why?" he grits out after a moment. "Why him?"

"Because you weren't doing anything!"

The words spill out of you, all the months of agonizing tension, mixed signals, and silent pining finally reaching their breaking point.

"You ignored me for an entire week!" you snap, your frustration bleeding into every syllable. "You disappeared and left me with some shitty backup tutor because you were too scared to show your face after kissing me!"

Hongjoong's head whips back toward you, startled. His lips part, a defense already forming on his tongue, but you refuse to let him speak.

"I was there. I sat across from you every week, too," you continue, shaking. "I tried so hard not to feel anything. I fought it just like you did. But I couldn't help it. I tried to understand what you were thinking, what I meant to you... But every time I thought we were getting somewhere, you went right back to being professional."

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he forces his expression into something unreadable.

You keep going.

"But then... everything," you breathe out, your hands still balled into fists inside the sleeves of his sweater. "Offering to help me outside of our sessions. Asking for my Instagram. Replying to my story. The design. The songs. All the little things told me I wasn't imagining everything. All of it confirmed that you feel the same way I do." 

Hongjoong doesn't interrupt. His eyes are guarding whatever thoughts are in his mind, making it impossible to tell what's breaking through and what he's still holding back.

You take a step toward him, your legs no longer shaking now that you're finally letting it all out. "You invited me to your apartment, Hongjoong. You kissed me on Monday! And just ten minutes ago, you—"

You cut yourself off as your throat tightens so painfully that you can't even force the rest of the sentence out. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

"It wasn't a game," you say again, quieter. "I was desperate. I wanted you to stop avoiding me. I wanted you to admit what you feel—to me, and to yourself." You lift your chin, gathering every last ounce of strength you have to lock onto his eyes. "I don't care that we crossed a line tonight. I just want you to be honest with me." You pause, your voice wavering. "I just want you to tell me how you feel."

He's quiet for a long moment. The breath he'd been holding in eventually escapes him as he turns his body fully toward you, his shoulders squared yet unsteady.

"You said I was scared?" he asks shakily. "Yeah, ____. You're right. I'm terrified of how easily you make me forget every rule I've ever made for myself."

He reaches out before he seems to fully think about it, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. Without meaning to, you lean into the empty space between you. But before his skin can make contact with yours, he catches himself. His hand falls back to his side, his fingers curling into a tight fist against his thigh.

"I didn't ignore you after Monday because I didn't feel anything," he confesses. "I ignored you because I felt too much."

Your heart flutters involuntarily as you listen. 

"I... I don't know why, but since the first time I saw you, I’ve been thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t have. And Monday... Monday was when it stopped being something I could only imagine." His throat bobs as he swallows. "Ever since then... every time I've thought about you, I’ve had to stop myself from walking over to your dorm and doing exactly what I did tonight."

You suck in a sharp breath. His gaze drops slowly to drag over your body once more, taking in the sight of you in his sweater, standing in the middle of his bedroom.

"And now you're right here," he says, the words rough. "In my room, wearing my clothes, telling me you actually wanted this." That bitter, breathless sound escapes him again. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me, ____? Do you really want me to tell you the truth? The truth is that if I actually tell you how I feel... you'll never be just my student again."

You hesitate as you realize what's happening. Though trembling, you take another step forward, leaving only one step left between you, forcing him to look down. Close enough that there's nowhere left for either of you to hide. You study his face instead of answering straight away, absorbing the desperation written plainly across his features.

"Then stop trying to make me just your student," you whisper. "Because I haven't felt like 'just your student' since you brought me that strawberry Milkis all those sessions ago."

Hongjoong quickly looks away. A string of muttered Korean spills from his lips—words spoken too hastily and quietly for you to hear. 

But when he looks back down at you, the final wall has crumbled. The look in his eyes is nothing short of devastating.

"I've never done this before, ____," he says, his voice so quiet that you have to lean closer just to hear it. "I don't know how to be someone who... feels things like this." His hands flex at his sides, his fingers curling before releasing helplessly. "I don't even understand it myself. When I'm around you, everything changes. I get nervous. I get jealous. I say things I could never bring myself to say in English."

His gaze drops, lingering on your lips with a hunger that makes your skin prickle before snapping back to your eyes.

"In Korean, it's easy. I can say whatever I want because I know you won't understand. I can tell you exactly how much it hurt watching you walk into my apartment with someone else tonight." He searches your eyes nervously. "But if I say it in English..."

He pauses, trailing off, caught between hesitation and longing. 

"If I say it in English, then I can't pretend I didn't mean it. You... You'll finally know the truth," he whispers. "And the truth is... I don't have the words in your language to explain how badly I want you. English is too small. It doesn't come close to the way I've been thinking about you for months—about how you could be more than just my student. Every lesson, I've been forcing myself to stay professional, to keep that table between us... but there isn't a single word in the English language for what you do to me."

You look up at him, your heart swelling as the reality of what he's admitting washes over you.

"Then stop trying to find the words," you whisper.

You take that final, inevitable step, closing the last inch of distance between you until your chest is nearly brushing his bare skin. 

"If English isn't enough... then show me. You've been teaching me how to speak for months, Hongjoong. Now, teach me how you feel."

The vulnerability in his eyes makes it almost impossible to breathe out your final words.

"Teach me in a language we both know." 

Hongjoong doesn't move.

He stares down at you, letting the silence stretch until it feels heavier and somehow louder than the desperate challenge you just threw at him.

For a moment, you worry he's about to step back again. That you pushed him too far. 

But you're wrong.

This time, he doesn't rush. There's no desperate grasping hands, no reckless clash of teeth like before.  

He slowly leans in closer.

Both of his hands reach for you. There's a faint, barely-there tremble in his fingers as they hook under the hem of your sweater. His knuckles graze the sensitive skin of your hip, sending shivers over your body. 

"Then pay close attention," he says, his voice shaking. You see something shift behind his eyes as his grip on the fabric tightens. "Arms up."

You obey without hesitation, lifting your unsteady arms above your head.

He slowly draws the sweater up your body. He lets the thick fabric drag along your skin, brushing up your stomach, over your ribs, and catching on the curve of your chest before slipping over your head. He tosses it somewhere behind him without even looking. It hits the floor with a soft thud.

The cool air of the bedroom hits your bare skin, making you shudder. But Hongjoong doesn't close the gap between you just yet. He remains motionless, his eyes tracing the length of your body, drinking you in as though he's committing the sight of you to a forbidden memory. When his attention settles on the faint, blooming bruises across your collarbone and the curve of your neck, his eyes darken. 

His hands lift again. His fingertips are warm when they find you, the calloused roughness of his skin brushing along the line of your collarbone. The pads of his fingers glide upward, trailing the delicate bone of your neck until his palms bracket your jaw. He tilts your face up, his thumbs swiping over your cheekbones, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"Look at me," he says softly. He leans in, the hot, shaky flutter of his breath brushing over your lips. "You want me to show you how I feel? Then look at what you do to me."

His thumbs drag across your face one last time before his hands descend. They trace the pulse at your throat, over the slope of your bare shoulders, trailing down your sides until his fingers splay across the small of your back.

He pulls you against him.

A gasp leaves your lips as your skin meets his. But what completely knocks the breath out of you is the frantic beat of his racing heart against yours. And lower, pressing against your bare stomach through the thick cotton of his sweatpants, is the hard, undeniable proof of his arousal. 

He doesn't need to explain it with words. You can feel exactly how desperately he wants you.

Hongjoong bows his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His nose brushes right over the marks left behind by his and Seonghwa's earlier battle—but this time, he doesn't use his teeth. His lips part, and he presses a tender kiss directly over the darkest bruise on your collarbone.

The wet heat of his mouth sends your hands drifting up of their own accord, your fingers weakly curling into the muscles of his shoulders just to keep yourself standing. 

"Breathe," he murmurs against your skin. He kisses another mark, his tongue swiping soothingly over the damaged skin. "천천히." Slowly. He leaves another lingering kiss, mapping the shape of your throat as he begins to walk you backward. His grip on your lower back is firm, guiding your legs step by step across the floor. You don't even look behind you; you surrender to his lead, trusting the pressure of his palms on your waist as he soothes every last bruise he left before. 

The backs of your knees hit the edge of his mattress.

You expect him to follow you down, to pin your wrists to the sheets and hover over you like he did earlier. But instead of letting you fall back, Hongjoong's hands slide from your waist to grip your bare hips. He holds you steady as he sits you on the very edge of the bed.

Without breaking eye contact, Hongjoong lowers himself, dropping to his knees right between your parted legs. 

Slowly, he lifts one hand, his fingers hooking around the frames of his glasses and taking them off, reaching blindly to the side to set them on his nightstand. Without them, his gaze is piercing—the look of a man who has finally found the courage to take what he's wanted for months. 

"Open wider," he instructs quietly.

You let your knees fall further apart. He shifts closer, slotting his broad shoulders perfectly between them. His eyes drop. He takes in the sight of your bare cunt completely exposed to him, his pupils blowing wide as he breathes you in.

He leans forward. You suck in a soft gasp as you feel his breath fan over your already soaked core. Your hands grip the edge of the mattress behind you.

"Shh," he murmurs, the sound vibrating right against your most sensitive flesh. "괜찮아." You're okay. "This isn't like before. I'm going to take my time." 

His tongue drags up the length of your slick slit in one long stroke. 

A choked whine tears from your throat. Your hips jerk forward on instinct to chase the friction, but Hongjoong's hands immediately clamp down on your thighs, his thick fingers digging in to lock you in place, denying you any say in the pace.

"움직이지 마. Don't move," he reprimands, looking up with an eyebrow raised. "Hwa got to taste you before I did. That doesn't seem fair, does it?"

You shake your head, your voice lost.

"No," he hums, massaging your hips with his thumbs. "It's not. So now, I'm going to fix that." 

He dives back in, and suddenly every nerve in your body is electrified. He's methodical, his tongue rubbing circles and lapping at your folds with a torturous rhythm. He learns your body inch by inch: which stroke makes your walls clench, which angle makes your hands grip the bedsheets tighter, and how much pressure drives a whimper out of you. It's overwhelming. It feels so good you can barely stand it, the pleasure building so heavily your head falls back.

Hongjoong stops abruptly.

"____."

Your name is spoken sharply enough to snap your head forward. Your eyelids flutter open, finding his lips glistening with your juices from his place between your legs. 

"내 눈 피하지 마," he growls, his grip on your hips hard enough to bruise. He pauses, watching your pleasure-hazed brain struggle to translate, and repeats it in a low English rasp. "Don't look away from me." 

"I... it feels..." you stammer, your mind too far gone to form a sentence.

"I know." His eyes are gleaming at how undone you already are for him. "Why do you think I didn’t let you look at Hwa when he did this? Why do you think I made you keep your eyes on me while he had his hands all over you?" 

You stare at him pathetically, your nails leaving little indents in the bedsheets. 

"Because I'm the only one I want you to see when you break."

He leans in again, and keeping your eyes on him while his mouth absolutely wrecks you is impossible. He sucks hard on your clit, sending a blinding rush of pleasure through your core. You cry out, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Every time you try to squirm away from the intensity, his grip on your hips tightens, reminding you of what he instructed.

"Please," you beg, tears of frustration and pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes. You're already so sensitive from before. He's quickly pushing you past your breaking point. "Hongjoong, I can't—"

"You can," he breathes against your wet skin.

To make matters worse, he slips two thick fingers deep inside you, stretching you open as his tongue continues to lap at your clit. You moan, a tear spilling over your cheek.

The sight of you crying makes his lips curl.

"That's it, cry for me," he groans, thrusting his fingers in and out of your tight pussy while his mouth devours you. "Show me you wanted this just as bad as I did."

Your mind is too far gone to even think of asking him to slow down. The combination of his degrading praise, the fullness of his fingers, his relentless tongue, and his hungry eyes watching your every twitch pushes you over the edge. 

You sob his name, your body bowing off the mattress as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers. You try to clamp your shaking thighs shut around his head, but he holds you open as he swallows down every last drop of your release until your body finally stops trembling.

When he finally pulls back, his face is a mess of your arousal. You're a wrecked, teary mess on the edge of his bed.

Your tears won't stop falling. The overstimulation, the humiliation, the months of waiting for this very moment—it all spills out of you in choked breaths. You try to turn your head, lifting your shaking hands to shroud your face, overwhelmed by what's just happened to you.

But Hongjoong's hands wrap around your wrists, easily pulling them away. He pushes forward, his body caging you in as he rises up over your thighs, forcing your back flat against the rumpled sheets. He hovers over you, his knees settling on either side of your hips.

"Don't hide from me," he murmurs huskily, releasing one wrist just in time to wipe away a fresh tear rolling down your cheek. He watches you with dark, hungry eyes, absolutely intoxicated by you. "씨… You're so pretty when you cry for me. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to make you look like this?" 

You whimper, and a smile of pure disbelief creeps onto his lips.

"So responsive," he whispers. He brushes your hair out of your face, his touch gentling. "You're such a good listener. You always have been."

Your heart flutters as his praise melts the last of whatever's left of your brain. 

He slowly lifts his hand. The strong scent of your own arousal hits you right as he brushes the damp pads of his middle and index fingers against your bottom lip. 

"Open," he commands.

Your teary eyes meet his as you just barely part your lips.

"You made such a mess," he purrs. His thumb presses down on your chin to gently force your jaw open wider. He slides the two wet fingers into your mouth, his eyes turning pitch black as they come to rest on your tongue. "Clean them for me. Taste how sweet your cunt is."

You let out a muffled whine, your cheeks burning crimson as you obediently close your lips. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, sucking the slick taste of your own climax directly off his skin.

A low groan vibrates deep in Hongjoong's chest. He watches your mouth work, his jaw clenching as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your mouth, making you suck on him to the same rhythm he just used on your cunt.

He slowly withdraws his hand, letting his wet fingers drag over your swollen bottom lip. A thin thread of saliva strings between his skin and your mouth for a split second before it snaps.

Hongjoong studies your flushed, thoroughly ruined expression one last time before he pushes himself off the mattress. He stands tall at the bedside, his eyes locked on yours as his hands drop to the waistband of his sweatpants. In one impatient motion, he shoves them down his thighs and steps out, kicking the fabric aside to join the discarded sweater on the floor.

You’ve seen his length already tonight, but seeing him like this—right in front of your face, with his entire focus pinned solely on you—is entirely different. He isn't ridiculously long, but he's overwhelmingly thick; the mere sight of his girth makes your pulse jump into your throat. 

"이리 와. Come here," he orders. He points to the edge of the mattress, right in front of where he's standing. "On your knees."

You scramble forward, your thighs sliding over the rumpled sheets until you reach the very edge. You gently drop to your knees in front of him, the height difference forcing you to crane your neck back just to look up at his face.

He strokes his length, looking down at you silently with a dark, expectant gaze.

You part your trembling lips, leaning forward to take him into your mouth. You whimper softly, your tongue swirling tentatively around his tip. But as you try to sink down further, you can't. He's just too thick; you can barely wrap your mouth around his girth, your lips and jaw stretching uncomfortably. When you try to force a deeper swallow, you choke, pulling back with a wet gasping sound to catch your breath.

Hongjoong's eyes narrow. Before you can recover, his hand reaches into your hair. His fingers tangle deep into the roots at the back of your head, his grip tightening into a fist against your scalp. A startled moan breaks from your lips, and the moment your mouth opens, he pushes his hips forward, using his grip on your hair to guide his thick cock past your lips.

"Is this the best you can do?" he murmurs, holding your head exactly where he wants it. "You played all these little games tonight, begging for my attention. Now you finally have it, and you can't even suck me off properly?"

A stifled whine breaks around his length, tears pricking your eyes from the stretch of your jaw. 

"You're usually such a fast learner," he grunts, his hips rolling forward to push himself deeper down your throat. "Prove you can follow instructions. Stay still."

You try to relax your throat, forcing yourself to swallow down the mass of him as he sets a meticulous pace into your mouth. The lack of oxygen makes your head spin. The overstimulation from your orgasm rushes back tenfold, twisting into a throbbing ache between your legs that makes you desperate for his touch all over again.

Needing any kind of relief, your trembling hand drops from his thigh, reaching down between your own legs. You press your fingers against your aching clit, desperate to rub away the maddening tension building in your core.

You don't even get to swipe your fingers once.

Hongjoong's free hand snaps down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. He yanks your hand away from your center so fast you nearly gag on his cock.

"Did I tell you to touch yourself?" he asks coldly. He pulls your arm up, forcing your hand to press flat on the mattress beside your knee. "Keep your hands on the bed."

He thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt and holding his length against the back of your throat for three long seconds. You choke, tears spilling out of your eyes, before he finally pulls back to grant you a second to drag a breath through your nose.

The strict denial shatters you. The empty, pulsing throb between your thighs is torture.

"Please," you gasp wetly against his slick skin, another sob tearing from you. "Hongjoong, please..."

"Please what?" he demands, his fingers tightening in your hair, forcing your teary, flushed face to tilt back up toward his. 

"Please fuck me," you beg, looking up at him with wide, wrecked eyes. "I need you inside me again... please, Hongjoong, just fuck me." 

His eyes flare at the sound of your begging. He stares down at you while a smirk cuts across his face. He releases his punishing grip on your hair, his hands dropping to your shoulders as he hauls you up from your knees.

"일어나." Get up.

He pushes you further back on the mattress, but he doesn't lie you down. Just across from the bed stands the same headless mannequin from Monday, draped in a half-finished suit jacket and blocking the view of the wall. Without ever taking his eyes off you, Hongjoong reaches behind him and shoves the mannequin aside. The base scrapes loudly against the floor, revealing the sliding closet door behind it.

The entire door is a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. 

You choke out a panicked sob as you catch sight of your reflection. You look ruined. Your hair is a mess, your lips are swollen and slick with his precum, your chest is heaving, and the dark bruises from earlier stand out starkly against your flushed skin. You look desperate, practically begging for him to touch you, and seeing that hunger on your own face is just too humiliating to bear.

"Please... no," you whisper, your heart dropping to your feet as he sinks onto the bed behind you.

With an embarrassed sound, you bring your shaking hands up, once again burying your face in your palms as you try to twist your head away from the glass.

Hongjoong snatches your wrists, yanking them down.

"봐." Look.

You try, but the shame is too much. The second his grip on your wrists relaxes, you squeeze your eyes shut and duck your chin to your chest, trying to escape your own reflection. 

An exhale leaves his lips. "좋아," he says simply, his tone chillingly calm. Fine.

Before you can react, he wrenches both of your arms firmly behind your back. You squirm, trying to pull away, but he easily traps both of your wrists in one hand. With his free hand, he reaches down over the edge of the bed, grabbing a leather belt from a pile of discarded clothes underneath.

Anticipation spikes in your chest. "Hongjoong—"

"You wanna keep hiding your face?" he cuts you off calmly as he loops the leather around your wrists. You squirm harder, wriggling your fingers helplessly, but he pulls the strap taut and fastens the buckle, locking your hands securely together against your lower back. "You asked me to fuck you. We're both going to watch exactly what that looks like."

He moves closer behind you, his chest pressing against your bound arms. His hand comes around to grip your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces your head up. He makes sure you stare straight ahead, your humiliated eyes locking with his unblinking ones in the reflection.

"You lost your hand privileges when you decided not to follow directions," he murmurs right against your ear, his gaze pinning you down through the glass. "You don't get to hide anymore." 

He pushes you forward. Unable to catch yourself with your hands bound, you stumble clumsily, your knees hitting the mattress as your upper body bends forward. The angle forces your hips up into the air and arches your back, leaving your chest completely bared and exposed to the mirror.

The leather belt pulls your shoulders back, thrusting your chest out and painting a graphic picture of your submission. Behind you, Hongjoong settles into place on his knees. In the reflection, you watch his hungry eyes track the movement of his own hands as they grip the soft flesh of your hips tight enough to leave more marks. 

"Look up," he says. 

You force your teary face up, locking your eyes on the glass just as he aligns his thick length with your soaking entrance. He doesn't prep you or tease you with a slow entry; he knows you're ready to take him. He drives his cock forward in one thrust, sinking into you fully. 

A breathless moan tears from your throat. Your toes curl into the mattress, your calves cramping from the unbelievable stretch of him. He's so impossibly thick, filling the empty ache inside you so perfectly that your eyes involuntarily roll back in your head.

A sudden resounding smack echoes through the bedroom. 

The stinging slap of Hongjoong's hand against the side of your ass jolts your eyes wide open, making you cry out.  

"쳐다봐," he snaps, his eyes burning holes into your reflection. Look at me. "Eyes on the mirror. Don't you want to watch me take what we've both been imagining for months?"

You whimper pathetically, forcing your gaze back to the glass just as he pulls his hips back. You gasp at the wet, embarrassing sound of him sliding out before he thrusts into you again. 

The visual is somehow more intoxicating than the physicality. You watch his torso collide with your smaller frame, seeing the throbbing mass of his cock stretching your folds open before disappearing inside your cunt over and over again. He sets a deep rhythm, burying himself completely with every thrust, making sure you witness every single second of it. 

The loud smack of his hips connecting with yours echoes relentlessly through the bedroom. Every single time Hongjoong drives his hips forward, your bound hands shift against your lower back, making your face flush in humiliation as you watch his cock bury into you through the mirror. The fullness, the stretch, the lack of control—it all builds into a sensory overload that fries your brain.

Fresh tears spill over your lower lashes. You let out another sob, your knees trembling. "Hongjoong, please—it's too much, it's—"

"Too much?" he murmurs, though his tone lacks any real sympathy. In the reflection, you see the satisfaction in his eyes as he watches your tears fall. "I thought you wanted me to teach you how I feel. Are my feelings too much for you to handle?" 

He slows his pace anyway, his hands sliding from your hips up to your waist. With one tug, he pulls your torso upright, straightening your spine until your bare back is pressed against his chest.

The sudden shift in angle forces his cock to angle upward inside of you, hitting a spot so deep you let out a high, piercing moan. Because your hands are bound, you have absolutely zero balance. You slump back against him, your trapped wrists resting uselessly between your lower back and his stomach, leaving you reliant on his frame to keep you from collapsing.

Hongjoong keeps his left arm wrapped tightly around your waist, locking you against him. His right hand comes up to your face, his fingers wrapping around your jaw with strict pressure to keep your head perfectly straight.

"Pay attention," he breathes against your ear.

He begins to thrust again in the new, upright angle. With every thrust, his length drags against your sensitive walls, but the angle completely misses your aching clit. 

You squirm desperately, your wrists twitching as you try to adjust your hips, practically whining to get the external friction you need so badly to tip you over the edge again.

Hongjoong's arm flexes around your waist, his bicep tightening to keep you in place, denying you the angle you're begging for. "가만히... 있어," he reprimands between thrusts, his grip on your jaw tightening enough to keep your tear-stained face glued to the glass. Stay still. In the mirror, his jaw is clenched, his muscles flexing with every powerful thrust as he fucks you, his gaze locked on your reflection.

"Look how pretty you are when you listen," he praises darkly, his hips snapping forward, shaking your entire body with the force. "그래서 네가 내 최애 학생이야."

You cry out as he hits that deep spot again, your mind too hazy to even try to translate it.

"이해 안 돼?" You don't understand?

You shake your head helplessly. 

He grunts, calming his thrusts for a split second as he leans closer to your ear. "I said..." He thrusts again, hard and deep, his thumb slipping past your parted lips to press against your tongue. "This is why you're my favorite student." 

You moan on his finger as he continuously hits that same, devastatingly deep spot, unable to hide your face from him. It's becoming too much again. The relentless pressure is building a fiery tension in your lower stomach, even as he denies you the external friction you crave.

Your whines turn frantic, and you suck harder on his thumb as your head falls back onto his shoulder. Your inner walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock as the intensity of the overstimulation pushes you right to the very edge. 

"P-Please, Hongjoong, I'm gonna—" you cry out, your voice muffled by his thumb. Your thighs tremble as you squeeze your eyes shut, chasing the release that's about to crash over you.

In the mirror, Hongjoong's eyes narrow as he feels your walls rapidly contracting around his cock. The realization that you're about to climax flashes across his features.

"아직. Not yet," he groans, abruptly pulling out. You whine at the sudden loss, but he doesn't give you a second to breathe. His hands drop to your shoulders, spinning your body around before lowering you flat onto your back.  

He quickly unbuckles the leather belt and throws it to the floor, granting you a split second of false hope that your hands are finally free. But instead, Hongjoong keeps his hold on your wrists, dragging them above your head and pressing them into his pillows, binding you in his grip once again. His knees cage your trembling thighs as his large frame hovers over you, his free hand trailing down your body. 

"Please," you whisper, your hips squirming to settle the ache between your legs. "Please, I need—"

"You need what?" he asks while aligning himself with your entrance again, letting the thick head of his cock brush against your swollen folds, but refusing to push inside.  "Ask properly." He presses the tip just barely past your entrance to tease you. "Remember what I taught you. Use the right title. Who am I to you? Who's taking care of you right now?"

You shut your eyes, his strict teasing burning through your foggy mind. You desperately search through your vocabulary, your mind landing on the one word you knew you'd never use unless you destroyed every last boundary between you. "오...오빠," you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Please, 오빠... please let me cum..."

Another satisfied grin spreads across his face as he lightly pats your cheek. "잘했어." Good job.

He brings his hips forward, burying his length deep inside your soaking cunt. You moan as your walls stretch to accommodate him all over again. The second he bottoms out, his hand shoots up, wrapping firmly around your throat. He doesn't squeeze hard enough to cut off your air, but the pressure of his fingers pins you securely to the mattress.

"Look at me," he commands, pressing his thumb against your racing pulse.

You look at him through your blurry vision. "오빠!" you cry out, feeling him starting to lose control, his jaw locked tight as he thrusts deep into you. "Please, 오빠, I wanna... I wanna..."

He leans down, his body pressing you deeper into the sheets. His lips finally crash into yours, hungrily tasting the flavor of your mouth. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours to explore inside. You moan into his lips, feeling his hard cock twitch and pulse inside of you as he gets closer to his own climax.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing wetly over your jaw and down to the crook of your neck, where the bruises still stain your skin. 

"We left... such a mess on you earlier," he breathes against your collarbone between thrusts, his tone dripping with possessiveness. "Let me fix it."

He presses open-mouthed kisses right over the worst of the bruising, soothing the abused skin, but the softness doesn't last for long. His teeth graze your neck, finding an unblemished patch of skin right above your collarbone. He bites down—not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough stinging pressure to make you gasp out loud—and sucks hard. He leaves a fresh mark of his own, ensuring it overshadows the others.

"내 거야," he murmurs against the new bruise. Mine. "You won't let him touch you again, will you?"

You shake your head quickly, tears spilling into the tangled mess of your hair. "No," you cry helplessly, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. "I—I promise! Only you... please, I—I'm so close—"

His fingers flex around your throat, tightening as his pace turns deeper. He looks down at your wrecked, desperate expression, his eyes dark.

"좋아," he praises against your ear. Good. "Show me you belong to me. Cum for me, 자기야." 

The permission shatters you. You scream his name, your back arching off the mattress as a violent orgasm tears through your body. Your inner walls flutter wildly, clamping down viciously around his cock.

Hongjoong's eyes roll back into his head the second he feels your tight pussy milking him. "씨발," he hisses. "미치겠네... 너무 꽉 조여..."

Breathless curses tear from his throat as he shakily thrusts into you three more times, chasing your climax with his own. He lets out a final groan, burying himself to the absolute hilt and holding his hips against yours as he finally spills deep inside of you, filling you with hot, heavy pulses of his cum.

Your desperate sounds slowly fade, leaving only the ragged ones of your shared breathing to fill the room.

Hongjoong hovers above you for a few lingering seconds as he rides out the last of his high. Slowly, the tension begins to drain from his muscles. He pulls out softly, and the sudden loss leaves you shivering against the damp sheets. Instead of pulling you with him, he collapses onto his back on the empty side of the mattress, staring at the ceiling as he gasps for air.

You slowly untangle your trembling limbs, your body feeling utterly spent and beautifully boneless. Your hazy brain can't even begin to process what just happened.

For a few long minutes, neither of you says a word.

Eventually, Hongjoong is the one who breaks the silence.

"So..." he breathes out, his voice hoarse.

You swallow, your throat dry and aching from screaming his name. "So..." 

Another stretch of silence passes. You turn your head on the pillow to look at him. His eyes are impossibly wide, locked in a dead stare at the ceiling above. You watch the strict dominance that just possessed him completely evaporate into a dawning panic.

You can practically see his brain rebooting, the realization of every single boundary he just demolished crashing down on him at the same time.

"Are you okay?" he blurts out suddenly, his head snapping to look at you. "Does anything hurt? I wasn't too... I mean, I know I was..." He cuts himself off, his hands coming up to aggressively rub at his face. "Do you want water? You probably need water. I should get you water."

"Hongjoong, no," you say weakly, barely able to move. "I'm okay."

He doesn't look convinced. He sits up frantically, his hands patting blindly at his nightstand until his fingers find the metal frames of his glasses. He hastily shoves them onto his face, blinking through the lenses, and immediately pushes them up the bridge of his nose.

He quickly readjusts them.

A second later, he readjusts them once again.

His panicked gaze lands on you after his eyes adjust. He takes in your wrecked expression, the mess of the bedsheets, and the bruises he left all over your neck and collarbone. He swallows hard.

A cool draft from the air conditioner suddenly hits your bare skin, and you shiver.

Hongjoong sees it immediately. "Are you cold?" he asks, already moving to scramble off the bed. "I have sweatpants. Or a hoodie. You can have the sweater you were wearing earlier, or a clean one, I have plenty—"

"Hongjoong," you interrupt gently, stopping him before he bolts to his closet. "I'm cold, but don't worry about clothes. I'll just get under the blanket."

"Right. Yes. The blanket. Okay."

He practically dives to grab the thick, crumpled duvet from the foot of the bed. He tugs it upward, clumsily trying to drape it over you to cover your body. In his frantic attempt to make sure you're tucked in and comfortable, he leans over you, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders as he smooths the blanket up to your chin.

Suddenly, he freezes.

You're staring up at him, and he's staring down at you. It's the same position as earlier—him hovering over you, trapping you beneath him—but now, it's so much different. It's not strict or possessive; it's intimate, it's gentle, and it's overwhelmingly vulnerable. The spiraling panic in his expression slowly melts away as he looks at you. This time, the silence between you shifts to something soft. Warm. You watch his eyes trace your features, a quiet debate noticeably flashing behind his lenses.

He swallows again, his throat bobbing. Then, slowly, he leans down. He presses a gentle kiss to the very center of your forehead.

He lingers there for a moment, letting out a shaky exhale against your skin, before he pulls back. He finally collapses into the space beside you, pulling his half of the duvet over his own bare waist.

Your heart flutters as the quiet settles over the room again. You turn your head to look at him, and he looks significantly calmer, the nervous tension finally draining out of his shoulders.

After a few more silent moments, he speaks again.

"____?"

"Yeah?"

A pause. You watch his nervous hands fidget with the blanket.

"I know I said a lot of things earlier," he begins, his voice incredibly soft and sincere. "And I know I told you that I wanted you. But I need you to know... it wasn't just about tonight."

He turns his head on the pillow, his eyes locking on yours. 

"I like you," he confesses quietly. "I think I have since our very first session. I spent a long time trying to convince myself that I was just being a good tutor by offering you private lessons, but the truth is... I just wanted to be near you. I wanted to get to know you better. I know it's wrong of me. I know it's completely unprofessional. But I don't think I can hide from it anymore. I... I really like you, ____. I always have."

Slowly, an uncontrollable grin breaks across your face. Your heart swells so violently it aches, all the anxiety and desperate pining of the last few months completely washing away in an instant.

When you don't say anything, Hongjoong's newfound confidence visibly falters. His eyes dart over your features nervously, mistaking your silence for hesitation.

"Say something," he adds, his voice pitching up with a hint of that earlier panic. "Please."

Your grin only widens. "I like you, too, Hongjoong," you whisper softly. "I have since the first time I saw you."

The relief that washes over his face is instantaneous. His tense posture completely dissolves, and finally, a smile breaks through, pushing his cheeks up and crinkling the corners of his eyes behind his lenses.

He shifts closer, hesitating for only a second before sliding an arm under your pillow to pull you closer to him. He leans in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, incredibly sweet kiss, a silent promise that the games, the jealousy, and the professional boundaries are finally, officially gone. 

His bedroom feels entirely different now. You lie tangled together beneath the duvet in a warm, comfortable silence. Hongjoong is flat on his back with you tucked against his side, his arm wrapped around your bare waist. Your head rests against his chest, and beneath your cheek, you can hear his steady heartbeat. His free hand is buried in your hair, his fingers lazily mapping the shape of your scalp in soothing circles. 

It's domestic. It's romantic.

You can't believe it's actually happening.

Am I dreaming? you wonder, tracing a mindless pattern over his ribs with your index finger. Did I fall asleep at dinner with Seonghwa, and this is just the desperate fantasy my brain came up with? You try to reconcile the gentle man currently playing with your hair with the man who just completely ruined you in front of a mirror. He was so effortlessly dominant, reading your body's reactions with accuracy that you assumed only came from years of experience.

"Hongjoong?" you ask softly, breaking the quiet.

His fingers pause in your hair. "Yeah?"

You hesitate, your hand flattening against his chest. "I know you said earlier that you... um, never felt like this before... but then... how were you so..." You trail off, biting your swollen bottom lip as heat rushes to your cheeks. You can't even say it out loud without feeling another pulse between your thighs. "...so, um... in control?"

You feel his entire body freeze beneath you. A sudden, surprised chuckle rumbles against your cheek. 

"I... I've been thinking about it. How it would go. How... how I would do it. A lot," he admits, his voice shy and extremely embarrassed. 

You blink, pulling back a little, your brow furrowing slightly. "Thinking about it... like, in general? With others? Or..."

Hongjoong shifts before you can finish the thought. He props himself up on one elbow, the duvet falling lower on his waist as he looks down at you. You shift too, looking up at the sudden, breathtaking devotion in his eyes.

"____," he says so quietly and seriously that your heart skips a beat. "Think about all the covers I posted. All the songs I've been writing. All the clothes I've designed in the past few weeks."

He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing a tangled strand of hair out of your eyes and tucking it behind your ear.

"All of it was for you. You're my muse." He lets his hand drop to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips. He looks at you like you're the only thing in his room—the only thing in his entire world. "Even my fantasies are made for you." 

His confession sends a fierce blush rushing straight to your cheeks. You bite your bottom lip, shyly breaking the intense eye contact. 

Your sudden bashfulness seems to break the spell. Hongjoong blinks, realizing what he just admitted. A matching flush creeps up his neck, painting the tips of his ears red. He drops his hand from your jaw, his gaze nervously darting down to the tangled duvet at his waist. 

"I meant what I said earlier, though," he murmurs as his fingers pick nervously at a loose thread on the blanket. "I... I've never actually done any of this. I've never slept with anyone before."

Your chest aches with how much affection you feel for him in this moment. "I know," you say softly, trying to reassure him. 

Hongjoong completely freezes. His head snaps up, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. 

A second too late, you realize that probably wasn't the best thing to say. 

"You knew?" His voice cracks as he starts to panic. "Was it obvious? Did I... did I hurt you? I knew I shouldn't have been so rough... I'm sorry. I just—I got so caught up in you, I didn't mean to hurt—"

"No! No, Hongjoong, wait," you stammer, quickly pressing your palm against his chest to stop his spiraling. "You didn't do anything wrong! I mean... yes, you were... um... rough. But..." You swallow hard, feeling your face heat up all over again. "...I liked it."

Hongjoong blinks rapidly at you. "You did? I mean, I figured you did by the way you were... uh..."

You both blush again as he trails off, deeply embarrassed. You simultaneously avert your eyes.

"Yeah," you mumble, suddenly finding his collarbone incredibly fascinating to look at. "I... I liked it when you told me what to do. When you kept pushing me, even when I said it was too much. And... I really liked it when you talked to me in Korean. Especially when I didn't understand. It all... it felt like..." You trail off, avoiding his eyes, struggling to find the words. 

"Like... tutoring?" Hongjoong offers quietly, his voice a little shaky.

You blush even harder, nodding against his skin. "Y-yeah. Like tutoring," you whisper. 

An awkward, incredibly flustered silence falls over the two of you.

But then, Hongjoong slowly looks back down at you. His expression is confused, his panic receding just enough for logic to kick in. "If I wasn't doing anything wrong... then how did you know?"

You bite your lip, wincing apologetically. "Um... Seonghwa told me."

Hongjoong goes incredibly quiet. He sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth and abruptly looks away from you, his gaze snapping back up to the ceiling.

"Hongjoong?" you ask tentatively, shifting a little closer to him, suddenly remembering the fear you shared with Seonghwa right before dinner. "Are you mad at him? Are you... mad at me?"

He lets out a breath, his eyes closing for a brief second. "I'm not mad at you," he says, his voice tight. "I know... I know I haven't really been fair to you. I've been running from my feelings for months, and you were getting tired of waiting. I get it." He pauses, his jaw ticking again. "But Hwa? Yeah. I'm mad at him. He barely even knows you. What makes him think he has the right to tell you these things? To take you out to dinner? To do... everything he just did with you?" 

You know exactly what he means. You think back to everything that happened between the three of you. Now that your brain is finally clearing from the heavy fog of pleasure, the questions start filling your mind.

"If you were, um, this jealous..." you begin hesitantly, "why did you let him stay with us? Why didn't you just bring me here in the first place?"  

He goes quiet again, staring blankly ahead. 

"Because I was scared," he admits, the bitterness bleeding out of his voice. "I was so jealous. It was killing me to watch him touch you, thinking about what would happen if I let the door to his room close without me in it." He finally turns his head, his eyes shimmering with insecurity. "But... I wasn't ready to be alone with you like this. I was so nervous, ____. I didn't... I didn't think you'd want me anymore if you knew I had no idea what I was doing."

Your heart softens. You shift your body, propping yourself up slightly to look at him better, hesitating before sliding your hand up to cup his cheek warmly. 

"No, Hongjoong. Of course not," you say, meeting his gaze directly. "If anything... I wanted you even more when I found out I'd be your first." 

Hongjoong's breath hitches. He searches your face, looking for any sign of pity or deceit, but all he finds is honesty. 

You watch the last remnants of his anxiety melt away. While a part of him is undoubtedly still furious with Seonghwa, the relief that washes over his face is clear. You knew you were his first. And you still wanted him. 

He turns his head, pressing a soft, shy kiss to the center of your palm, which makes you smile. For a few minutes, you both rest there. He holds you close as the quiet of the room wraps around you both.

But you know Hongjoong well enough by now to know that his brain is never quiet for this long. Now that his lack of experience is out in the open, you can practically hear his thoughts racing at a million miles an hour. 

"Have you..." he starts, his voice hesitant as his fingers trace absentmindedly over your waist. "Have you dated a lot of guys?"

"No," you answer honestly, letting your hand slide from his cheek as you settle your head back against his chest. "Just one, really. I dated a guy in high school."

"How long did it last?"

"Almost a year," you recall with a small shrug. "It was the typical high school romance. We went to prom, studied together, hung out with the same friends... it wasn't anything crazy." 

"Why did you break up?" he asks. "Did you end it, or...?"

"Yeah, I broke up with him."

"Why? What did he do wrong?"

You let out a tiny, amused exhale at his interrogation. "It wasn't that he did anything wrong," you explain. "He didn't cheat on me or anything like that. I just... I knew we weren't going to last. The spark wasn't there. It just wasn't right."

"Oh," Hongjoong murmurs. He nods slowly, his thumb resuming its strokes against your side.

You look up at him as he bites his lip. He goes quiet for a long moment. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are suddenly wide and terrifyingly hopeful. 

"Have you..." he swallows hard. "Have you ever... done this before?" 

Your entire body freezes. 

Wooyoung.

The name crashes back into your mind. The memory of lying in different, tangled sheets in a different man's arms just a few weeks ago suddenly comes rushing back. You hadn't thought about that night in so long, but now... 

Your heart rate spikes. How on earth are you supposed to answer this? How can you look at Hongjoong—who just confessed everything to you, who was terrified you wouldn't want him because he was a virgin—and tell him the truth? How can you admit that you lost your virginity to someone like Wooyoung?

And worse—how could you possibly explain that it happened so recently? While you already had feelings for Hongjoong? While he already had feelings for you?

Hongjoong tilts his head, his thumb stopping on your waist again. "____?" 

You take a deep breath. If you confess the truth now, it wouldn't just be about losing your virginity recently. He'd realize that you recklessly let a guy like Wooyoung fuck you while actively falling for someone else. Worse, he'd realize that you're a liar. He'd know how easily you looked him in the eye that day in the library café and lied about celebrating Yunho's birthday, when in reality, you were going to Wooyoung's place. He'd immediately piece together that session in the library when he saw Wooyoung's name pop up on your phone, remembering when you brushed it off and said he was just a friend.

The web of lies is already too tangled. If Hongjoong found out the truth now, he'd be heartbroken, yes—but he'd also despise you. 

"I..." Your voice trembles slightly. You force yourself to swallow the lump of guilt lodged in your throat. You avert your eyes, unable to meet his hopeful gaze. "I have. Once."

You feel his chest fall as his shoulders drop just a fraction. When you briefly dare to peek at him, the light in his eyes has dimmed slightly as he realizes you aren't each other's firsts.

"How... how long ago?" he asks, his voice a little quieter. "How old were you?"

The dread gnaws at your insides, making you feel physically sick, but you have no choice. You can't let him find out about Wooyoung. 

"A few years ago. I was seventeen," you lie, forcing your voice to stay as steady and casual as humanly possible. "With my ex."

Hongjoong stares at you for a long moment. You know he notices your averted eyes and your sudden stiff posture, but maybe because of his total lack of experience, or because he's so caught up in his own feelings, he misinterprets it. Maybe he assumes you're just shy. Maybe he thinks you feel guilty for talking about an ex in his bed.

Either way, he lets out a breath, accepting your answer with a visible sense of relief. Even though you weren't a virgin like him, your first time is safely locked away in the past. It isn't a threat.

"Okay," he murmurs softly. "Okay. Thank you for telling me."

You close your eyes, accepting his relief while your stomach twists into anxious knots. Your secret is successfully buried. Wooyoung will no longer play any role in your feelings for Hongjoong. 

But as Hongjoong pulls you closer, you realize that you can never, ever take this back. Not even an hour after finally confessing your true feelings to the man you want, you've already built your foundation on a lie.

You try to focus on the warmth of his skin and the steady sound of his breathing, forcing your racing heart to slow down. You shove the guilt into a dark corner of your mind and lock it away. But as the quiet drags on, you can feel the energy in his bedroom shift. The relief that had briefly settled over his features begins to morph back into that tight, nervous tension. He stares up at the ceiling, chewing on his lip.

"I'm sorry for asking so many questions," he murmurs, letting out a sigh. "I'm just... I'm terrified of making a mistake."

You lift your head from his chest. "Hongjoong—"

"I don't know what I'm doing, ____," he interrupts softly. "I'm used to knowing all the answers. But this... these feelings, you... It's all completely new to me. I'm scared that I'll do something wrong and mess this all up." 

You shift closer, a small, affectionate smile spreading across your face.

"Hongjoong," you say quietly. "You probably are going to make a mistake." 

He blinks, startled, not expecting you to be so blunt.

"And I will, too," you add, your voice softening. "We're going to mess up. We're going to overthink things, we're going to be awkward, and we're going to get stupidly jealous. But it's normal to not be perfect. You don't have to be my tutor right now. There are no right answers for this. We're just going to figure things out together."

You can feel the anxiety unspool from his muscles as he exhales.

"Figure it out together," he repeats softly, testing the words on his tongue. "Okay. Yeah. I can do that."

You grin, tracing a teasing circle over his collarbone. "I promise, things will figure themselves out. As long as you actually show up for tutoring from now on."

He winces, dropping his forehead against your shoulder to hide his face.

"I'm sorry about last time," he mumbles, his warm breath tickling your skin. "I was such a coward. I just... I didn't know how I could do it. Seeing you across from me, smelling your perfume, staring at the lips I kissed a few days ago... I panicked just thinking about it." He turns his head, shifting so that he's looking down at you again as a frown pulls at his lips. "But I was so anxious the entire time. I was so jealous that another guy got to sit there and listen to you talk so innocently in his native language. And now that I know how rude he was to you... Well, he'll be lucky if I don't contact the Language Center tomorrow to have him fired."

You let out a startled laugh. "Fired? Hongjoong, he was probably just in a bad mood because he had to work on a Thursday night. It's okay."

"It doesn't matter. It's his job," he argues. "I told him exactly what to say to you, and exactly what you'd say back. And he still messed it up. Clearly, they need to replace him." He pauses, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Maybe I'll recommend Hwa. He can meet a different girl to take out to dinner."

You shake your head, completely endeared by how petty and sweet his jealousy is. "But Seonghwa just got that new job at my favorite café."

"Right. I forgot he did that." Hongjoong rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, his jaw ticking. "The café is your favorite?"

You nod.

He huffs, muttering under his breath, "저 씨발새끼 일부러 그랬네." 

You blink. "What does that mean?"

Hongjoong quickly turns his frown into a smile. "I said I'll be sure to drop by often to see both of you, then."

A warm, fluttering sensation settles in your chest at the thought. "Okay. I'd like that."

He pulls your waist a little closer then, letting out another deep, contented breath as he settles against you.

"So," you continue, raising an eyebrow. "You won't skip tutoring this week?"

"I'll be there," he promises. His expression softens as he reaches out, gently running his fingertips through your tangled hair. "I won't ever miss it again. Even if it kills me to sit across that table from you and pretend I'm not thinking about what we just did."

A warm blush spreads across your cheeks at his words, your heart doing a happy flutter.

Hongjoong chuckles, his eyes dropping to your lips. He leans in, his voice dropping to a quiet rasp. "지금은 너무 떨려서 여자친구 해 달라는 말을 못 하겠지만, 곧 할게. 약속할게."

You blink up at him, a helpless smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Now what does that mean?"

Hongjoong's grin widens. He pulls you against his chest, completely closing the distance to press another sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. 

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are shining with adoration.

"You'll have to wait until our next session to find out." 

@ queenofsa1gon, 2026. please do not steal, copy, or translate my work! thank you <33

small disclaimer: i am not a therapist, but i definitely go to therapy! a lot of the dialogue in that scene may or may not reflect your own therapy experiences, but some of it is directly pulled from conversations i've had with my therapist. that being said, i'm not a doctor, please don't take any of my suggestions on how to cope with trauma literally. be safe out there. <3

The waiting room for your new therapist’s office is cold today, but all of Seoul is cold today. You tuck your cardigan tighter around yourself and nervously bite the inside of your cheek and then take a long sip of water to stop yourself, your hands fidgeting together as you try to just look at the painting across the room. 

It’s a wash of swirling hues of blue. 

It’s probably supposed to make you feel calm, but all you can picture is rough ocean water, and you look back down at your hands. 

Your phone lights up in your lap and you tap the screen. 

Deep breaths, babe. — Mingi’s message softens your tense shoulders immediately. 

You tap out a quick reply — I’m breathing. 

Just remember, last session you came home saying how much you liked her — Yunho’s replies into the group chat. 

True — You tap back.

  We love you, and I’m picking you up something special for when you get to the studio — Mingi says, and you can already picture a box of sweet confections, you know exactly how he spoils you after living with them for even just a few weeks. 

Thank you, baby — You reply. 

I’ll pick you up after, okay? Just text me if you need anything — Yunho’s message comes through right as the door to your left opens, and you take one quick second to add a heart to his message so he knows you read it before looking up. 

“y/n,” Dr. Kang says as she steps back from the door and opens her palm to welcome you into her office, “come on in,” 

You thank her with a bow of your head and slip into the office, still getting used to this new space. Settling in on the plush, dark blue velvet sofa, you find yourself already reaching for one of the throw pillows to set on your lap so you have something in your hands while your insides are pulled out and examined. 

She eases into the armchair across from you and gives you a kind expression. 

Something about her starts to ease your tension already. Yunho was right, your new therapist is good, and you do like her already. After trying to make therapy work for three sessions with one that didn’t feel quite right and having your tentative progress derailed, Yunho had helped you find another with no questions asked and you ended up with Dr. Kang. 

It’s only your fourth time meeting her, but it’s your first of two sessions this week. You booked an emergency session the second you had a moment alone after your heat spike, a knot deep in your gut telling you that this wasn’t something you could just talk through with your partners. 

Now you’re sitting on her couch first thing Monday morning, swimming in Yunho’s hoodie and picking at the skin around your nails as she settles into her seat across from you, crossing her legs and resting her hands on the leatherbound notebook on her lap. 

She’s a sharp and inquisitive woman, and unlike some therapists, she doesn’t just ask you how you feel about something until you twist yourself into verbal knots coming up with an answer that will appease by the end of the session. She’s quick to interrupt, to dial things back, and to press you harder in ways that are uncomfortable. You wonder if that’s her style with everyone, or if she picked up on the fact that you need that to be able to get out of your own head about these things. 

Her calm voice gently interrupts your thoughts, “y/n,” she gives you a gentle, empathetic look, “why don’t you tell me a little bit about why you’re here today?”

“Right,” Your hands drop to your lap, “well, I called your office to see if you could fit me in before work today,” 

“Mm,” She nods, “I know how you scheduled, I meant, what made you feel like you needed an additional session this week?” 

You nod along with her working yourself up, “It’s kind of a long story,” 

“We have plenty of time,” 

“Okay,” You tuck your hands under your thighs to keep yourself from fiddling with your cuticles even more, “well, my best friend went into heat and I had to help get his boyfriend, or his… partner, well, actually I’m not sure what they’re calling themselves yet,” 

“This is,” She glances at her notebook, “Wooyoung and Yeosang, yes?” 

“Yes,” You exhale, relieved that she remembered so easily. 

“And how was that experience?” 

“Oh,” You shake your head, “fine, they’re fine, but I think being around all those scents, it triggered a heat spike for me.” 

Her eyes sharpen, “I see,” 

“Yeah,” 

“Can you tell me where this spike occurred? Were you with Wooyoung and his pack, or did this happen later?”

”I was with my partners, Yunho and Mingi,” you explain, “my alphas,” 

She nods, but leaves the floor open for you to continue. 

“It hit out of nowhere, it was like zero to sixty, I was fine, and then I was right in the middle of it,”

“That sounds disorienting,” She offers. 

“Very,” You sigh. 

“How did your alphas handle the situation?” 

That makes you soften, “Really well, honestly,” 

She nods again. 

“They calmed me down, took care of me,” You pull the pillow closer to your chest, a light heat building in your cheeks when you think about how they had you knotted between them, “it was honestly really good,” 

“That’s good to hear,” She smiles this time, genuinely, “from everything you’ve told me so far, your alphas have been prioritizing your recovery and your safety, I’m glad to hear they were able to handle an unexpected heat spike in a way that felt good for you.” 

“I was scared,” You clarify, “but they helped me work through that.” 

“That’s good,” 

A strange flutter rocks in your chest and your eyes flick down, “It was honestly great,” you feel the words coming faster, “we spent the day in bed, and tried a bunch of new stuff. Yunho and Mingi got closer too which I feel like is really good, that’s good for us, and then we all, you know, together, which was great, honestly great.” 

“y/n,” Dr. Kang gently but firmly interrupts, “can you tell me what is making you feel anxious? It sounds like there’s more to say about the encounter,” 

You grimace, hands tightening on the pillow, “It’s not that,” 

“Alright,” 

You look back up and meet her steady gaze, “If I’m having a heat spike, that means my real heat is around the corner.” 

She nods, “Most likely, yes,” 

“I’m,” Emotion catches tight in your throat, “I’m not ready for that.” 

“Say more,” 

“My heats are hard,” You explain, even though you’ve told her this before, “I get really hazy sometimes, really hazy. The first heat I had with Yunho and Mingi, I don’t remember a good bit of it.” 

“Mm,” She nods, “I’m not an omega, but I work with many omega clients as you know. Discomfort or fear surrounding the gaps in memory during heat is a common conversation with many of those clients.” 

“Last time,” You feel your heartbeat picking up in your chest at just the thought of it, “I would come to in the middle of a knot, I could hear myself saying things, doing things, I wasn’t even… it’s like something took over my body.” 

“Mm,” She hums sympathetically.

  “I think because Yunho and Mingi are my scent matches it’s even more intense,” You admit, “biologically speaking.” 

“That makes sense,” She nods, “studies show that the effects of heats and ruts are much more intense for scent matched omegas and alphas.” 

Your eyes flood suddenly with nervous tears, “So how am I supposed to have this heat?” 

  “y/n,” Dr. Kang softens, “there are safe places for omegas to experience unassisted heats, or there’s always medical intervention, though I’ll be honest I don’t recommend it.” 

“I’m not putting myself in a coma for four days,” You shake your head, “fuck that.” 

“I agree, especially in your case. I think that would be retraumatizing; however, it’s important to me that you understand all options available to you so that you can make an informed decision.” 

“Fair,” 

“Is an unassisted heat something you are unwilling to do as well?” She asks, as carefully as she can. 

You nod, “I did that when I was younger, I’m not doing that again. I think it would be worse,” 

“Then your heat is coming,” 

“And I have to figure out how I’m going to do this.” 

Dr. Kang sets her notebook to the side and takes a sip from her nearby coffee, “Well, I have some thoughts, but why don’t you tell me what you’ve been thinking so far.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek for a moment as you consider your words, “I’m not sure I’ve figured much out, that’s why I booked today.” 

“Hmm,” She relaxes back into the cushions of her chair, “I understand, but I’m not able to tell you how to go about your heat. I can help process the things you’re feeling about it, and offer my guidance on how to communicate with your partners, but I can’t give you a blueprint for avoiding your triggers or for how to come out of your heat feeling a particular way.” 

Your hands tighten around each other.

  “y/n,” She says, “you know as well as I do, that anyone controlling or dictating how an omega experiences a heat is unnatural. No one knows what you need in heat better than you do.” 

You let out a long, tired exhale, “I know,” you admit, “but I was kind of hoping someone could just tell me what to do,” 

“Mm,” She nods, “but I’d offer this — I think the last thing you need right now is less agency,” 

Your eyes flick down to your clasped hands again. 

“Alright,” She picks up her notebook again but doesn’t reference it yet, “tell me, what was good about your first heat with Yunho and Mingi, let’s start there.” 

A smile pulls at your lips the second you think of it, and you nod, “It was kind of a mess, I went into heat unexpectedly in the locker room of the studio, and Mingi found me and he and Yunho took me home. We had only known each other for a few months then, but they were… so careful, gentle with me. We talked about everything before we did anything sexual,”

She nods, but doesn’t interrupt. 

“It was a hard one, I was off suppressants, but they took care of me. It was more than just knotting, they were treating me like I was already their omega.” 

“You mentioned before you had moments of low lucidity,” She prompts you gently, “can you tell me about that?” 

“I mean,” You breathe, gesturing with your hand, “it was okay, when those things happened they slowed things down and we were careful. Even in moments where one of them started to get too intense or lost in it, the other would pull them back. It was a little scary, but it was safe. They’d never hurt me,” 

She nods again, “You’re sure of that?” 

You meet her steady gaze with something firm, a flickering anger in your belly at the idea they’d do anything but keep you safe, “Yes. Of course I’m sure,” 

“You trust them,” She comments, “implicitly.” 

“Yes.” 

“y/n,” She gives you another empathetic, close-lipped smile, “I think you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that this heat is going to be scary and difficult to navigate,” 

Your gut tightens. 

“But,” She adds, “at the same time you need to remind yourself who you’re with. If you’re sure that Yunho and Mingi would never intentionally hurt you, if you trust them, then two things can be true. This heat can be scary but also a part of the healing process, especially when you have two alphas that you trust to aid you through it safely.”

You swallow, nodding, “I just want it to be like it was,” 

She nods. 

“I don’t want to be scared,” 

“That’s natural,” She murmurs, “but it’s important to remember that part of processing trauma isn’t about making sure you’re never triggered or scared again, it’s about finding ways to respond differently to those triggers and move through that fear safely.” 

You can feel the echoes of panic in your gut, the way your body locked up, the way you felt trapped inside yourself, voices muffled through the thick fog of headspace. 

You remember Mingi’s hands entwined with yours, braced on Yunho’s chest during your first time together after the attack, his tender voice in your ear reminding you who held you. 

You remember the room full of mirrors, no broken glass, no blood, just a room. 

With another swallow, you look back up at Dr. Kang, “How do I do that?” You ask, “How do I respond differently?”

“With tools in your toolbox,” 

“Like?” 

“Breathing exercises for one,” She begins, “and finding safe ways to communicate that you need to slow down or stop what’s happening.”

You make mental notes as she continues. 

“For those moments of lower lucidity, finding grounding points that you are able to hold onto, whether that be an item in the room, a sound or song that makes you feel safe, a phrase or a particular mantra that your alphas can use to help root you in the moment,” She offers, “and while I know you and your alphas are regularly having sex and that doesn’t seem to be heavily tangled with triggers, a detailed discussion of sex acts prior.” 

“We’ve done that before,” You interject, “kind of,” 

“How so?” She gestures with her hand towards you for you to continue. 

“For my first heat with them, we talked about what level of touching was okay, if knotting was okay,” You explain, “and then after the attack, the first time we had sex we talked about what things we knew triggered me and how to avoid them,” 

“Good,” She nods, “that’s excellent.” 

“So we’re definitely clear on stuff like that,” 

She raises her hand slightly to interrupt your thought pattern, “Ah,” she says, “no, I’d argue you were clear on previous encounters.” 

“Isn’t it all the same?” 

She shakes her head, “Not necessarily. You may still feel the same exact way as your first heat, or those triggers you were avoiding, but maybe not. Or there might be additional things you want to do or not do this time. Consent is not something that’s given once, it’s a continuous and evolving conversation.” 

She lets that sink in a moment, and you think it through, “So this boils down to talk to them?” 

She shrugs, “That’s part of it, definitely, but from everything you’ve told me about your partners, it sounds like they would be receptive to strategizing and talking this out beforehand. I would encourage you to do that together to give you all a firm feeling of safety entering into what is admittedly a very overwhelming time for a pack.” 

“Okay,” Your shoulders relax a little, “I can do that.” 

“I would also recommend providing my office’s contact information to them. Once your heat begins, I would recommend they reach out to me to schedule an additional session on your behalf for the day after,” She says. 

You nod again. 

“I’ll offer one particular method that I think may be beneficial for you,” She takes her notebook again, back to the page that is clearly tabbed for your session. 

“Okay,” 

“Have you ever heard of the traffic light system?” Her head cocks to the side just a little with her question. 

You shake your head. 

“In BDSM, the traffic light system is regularly used to make sure that consent and comfort is prioritized,” She starts off. 

Your eyebrows raise at BDSM, your hands stilling in your lap, “Uh,” you laugh a little awkwardly, “we’re not exactly the whips and chains type of pack,” 

She smiles and shakes her head, “y/n,” she says, “you don’t have to engage in traditional BDSM sex acts to find value in some of the methodologies the community employs. You may have also heard the term ‘RACK’, which refers to ‘Risk Aware Consensual Kink’,” 

“Not specifically,” Your eyebrows draw together in confusion. 

“Two key components in BDSM are awareness and consent,” She continues, “the traffic light system is used to ensure that everyone participating in the pre-negotiated scene or play have the ability to communicate their level of consent and their needs without needing to spell it out or put a damper on the heat of the moment,” 

You blink. 

“It’s simple,” She says, “You use the three colors of the traffic lights, ‘green’, ‘yellow’, and ‘red’ to indicate to your partners how comfortable you are with what is happening. ‘Green’ means go, ‘yellow’ means slow down and assess, ‘red’ means full stop.” 

“Okay,” 

“For partners engaging in kinks like BDSM, where maybe part of the allure is struggling, pain, or resistance, something like the traffic light system provides a safe and clear mode of communication, like a more nuanced safe word.”

“That makes sense,” You nod, “but I’m not sure what that would do for us, if I said ‘stop’, they’d ‘stop’, that’s not really my concern,” 

“The traffic lights are also easy to remember,” She adds, “they’re in place because during intensive acts of dominance and submission, it can be difficult to find coherence and lucidity. You may not be able to articulate that you are starting to feel overwhelmed in so many words, but you can easily reach for ‘yellow’, a word you wouldn’t say otherwise and is simple and clear in your mind. People have used ‘green’, ‘yellow’, and ‘red’ since primary school. In moments of haziness, for many people, those words can still be recalled.” 

“Oh,” Your eyes flick up to hers. 

“You and your alphas may not be experimenting with bondage,” She smiles, “but many submissives experience headspace, subspace, even betas and alphas if they’re submitting. Colors are accessible for them and help them, so it’s just one method to consider as you work on strategizing for your heat. 

You nod, “That makes sense,” 

“If you choose to use it,” She adds, “something you can also do is ask that your alphas prompt you to provide an answer in the form of your color. It’s an opportunity to verbally have that evolving consent conversation in a way that isn’t unsexy or confusing when your emotions or hormones are heightened.” 

“So, they say ‘what’s your color?’ and I answer?” 

She nods, “Sure, I’d encourage you to find what works and make it your own, but that’s a common method, yes.” 

“So then,” You think through her explanation, “in real BDSM relationships, what happens if someone says ‘yellow’ or ‘red’?”

She smiles, and you know you’re asking the right questions, “The specifics would be up to you and your partners, but typically ‘yellow’ would be a pause and verbally reassess together moment, and ‘red’ would be a hard stop that ends whatever is happening in that moment.” 

“Got it,” 

“It’s certainly not something you have to use if it doesn’t feel right for you and your partners,” She continues, “but I’ve seen it be effective for other omegas who have similar concerns around their heats, it can lend a feeling of control to an otherwise very out of control time.” 

You don’t have anything to say, you just have to let that sink in. 

“We can keep talking and strategizing in our session later this week,” She adds, “and in every session we have together until your heat.” 

“I’d like that,” 

Dr. Kang’s eyes glance up to the clock, it’s subtle and practiced, and she smiles, “We’re just about at time,” she says, “your homework for the next few days is to think through the specifics of what feels good and does not feel good to you for your upcoming heat. Consider talking that through with your alphas as well, but if you’re not comfortable with that quite yet we can discuss strategies for talking to them when we meet on Thursday.” 

“Okay,” You breathe.

  “y/n,” She smiles, starting to stand to signal it’s the end of the session, “you are going to be just fine, and I will be here every step of the way to help process all of it.” 

“Thank you,” You manage, “I really appreciate you fitting me in,” 

“Of course,” She softens, “and remember to be kind with yourself. Even in a few weeks you’ve made excellent progress, you should be proud of that.” 

You’re not exactly sure you’re at proud of yourself territory quite yet, but you’re getting there. 

When you walk out of her office, your thoughts are swirling. Yunho’s car is idling close to the entrance of the building, and when he sees you walking out he smiles at you through the windshield. 

You give him a quick wave, quickly making your way over through the chilly air and then climbing into the passenger seat. His soothing scent wraps around you as you settle in and turn to him, “Hi, baby,” you murmur. 

“Hey,” He replies, smoothing a hand over your thigh, “how was your session?” 

“Good,” You manage, “a lot to think about,” 

He nods, giving your knee a squeeze, but he doesn’t push you for details, “Buckle up, sweetheart,” 

You smile as you clip the seatbelt in place, and he pulls the car forwards. 

“Anything you need to talk through?” He checks as he merges into traffic and starts off towards the studio. 

“Maybe tonight,” You answer, you’re still parsing through all the things you talked through with her, “but I’m okay,” 

He nods, his hands smoothly spinning the wheel as he takes a turn, letting it slide back with ease in his grip. Once he’s steady on a straight road, he reaches back over and twines your fingers with his, never breaking his gaze ahead, “We’re here for whatever you need, okay?” 

“I know,” Your thumb passes over his knuckles. 

He gives your hand a squeeze, focusing on the road, but after a minute he glances your way, “I’ve got a packed day with New World meetings,” he says, “probably working a little late,”

  Your nose crinkles, “Concept meetings all week, right?” 

“Mm,” He nods, looking not even a little excited at the prospect of a week spent in board rooms instead of actually moving his body in the studio.

  “I’m sorry,” You add, “that sucks,” 

“It’s okay,” He shrugs, “but if you and Mingi need to get home early, take a taxi. I’ll pay for it, you don’t have to hang around just for me,” 

“Kay,” You lift his hand, pressing a kiss to the back, “we’ll get dinner going for you,” 

He softens and smiles, squeezing your hand once more before he pulls it back to the wheel to take the turn into the KQ parking garage, “I’ll never say no to dinner,” 

Here, you can both sink into routine. 

Yunho walks you inside, both of you nearly hip to hip. It’s instinct now, the way he stays close enough to touch you without crowding you. His hand hovers at your lower back, the warmth of him bleeding through your sweatshirt, and the steady comfort of his scent is a guiding force when your mind feels like it’s fraying. 

You barely make it five steps through the main studio doors when you realize how alive it is today. You can hear New World’s next comeback thumping through the wall of the main studio room where they film their content, and your fellow dancers are all on the move towards their own respective studios or offices to get on with the day. Someone laughs loudly from down the corridor, the sound bright and sharp, immediately undercut by the sound of one of New World’s members calling eight counts. 

You don’t have to look through the rooms to know who’s not here. 

You’ve talked through every angle of his cycle, and Wooyoung’s heat is still sure to be in the thick throes of it. You can practically feel the empathetic echo of it in your own body just thinking of him. The pain, the aches, the slick heat, the endless wanting. You know exactly what he’s feeling right now. 

And yet, your eyes glance through the first open door as you walk up the hall, “They’re not back yet?” You murmur, almost to yourself. 

Yunho glances down at you, and then follows your line of sight, “Hm?” 

“Just,” You shake off the question, you already know the answer, “Woo, Hwa, and Sannie.” 

He hums, nodding, and this time his hand does rest on the small of your back, “No, not yet.” 

Your chest tightens a little. 

You think of the way you left them, Yeosang disappearing into uncharted territory and San and Seonghwa’s eyes fixed on him in a way you’d never seen from them before. They looked at him with such an exacting expression, not quite like a threat, something more akin to prey, their alphas stirring close to the surface and awareness flickering awake under their skin at someone new in their dynamic. You hope to hell that things fell into place once they all made it to Wooyoung’s nest, but you just don’t know. 

You know how fast a heat can turn, how overwhelming it can be, how out of control. 

There’s always medical intervention.

You shake that thought off as fast as it comes, but your stomach dips anyways, an uneasy curl in your belly. 

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Yunho adds after a long beat of your silence, reading the shift in you as you make it to the back office door. 

“They are,” You agree, because they are, they have to be, “I just…,” 

Yunho watches the way you trail off, the way your eyes go a little unfocused. 

I think you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that this heat is going to be scary and difficult to navigate. 

Your therapist’s voice bubbles up again, and your eyes flick down and away from your alpha in a flash. Your body feels like a ticking time bomb, Wooyoung’s heat only making your own impending one seem properly tangible now. Scary and difficult to navigate is an understatement, an impartial third-party’s divorced way of saying that your worst fears are right. 

That’s unfair, you know it is, but you hate this. Your body feels wrong, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re close enough to taste your heat or if it’s psychosomatic, a self fulfilling biological prophecy. Every twinge in your back, every ache of your muscles, could be nothing or could be a whispered preview of what you already know is coming. 

You watch Yunho’s hand tighten and release, but his voice is infinitely soft, “You can tell me anything.” 

“I know,” The words are a reflex, and they roll easily off your tongue.

He watches you for a moment more and then lets it drop, and because the studio always seems to keep moving around you, you shift focus and ground yourself in the only thing you can. 

While Yunho is stuck in New World concept meetings, your day, your life all the time really, is starting to be fully consumed with the impending debut of the girl group. It’s still seven months away, but in this industry that practically feels like tomorrow, especially for a debut. 

Yunho catches your hand before you leave the office and pulls you back for a moment, pressing your water bottle into your hands, freshly filled, “Hydrate today, okay?” 

You’re staring down the barrel of multiple dance practices and run throughs, and your body will be moving hard all day. You nod, giving him a slight smile, “I will,” 

“I’ll find you for lunch if I can too,” He adds, “you need to eat,” 

“Yunho,” You start, but at the sound of someone in the hallway you turn your head to catch Mingi walking towards you. 

“Hey,” He grins at the sight of you, his pace picking up to meet you at the door and press a kiss to your lips, “Morning, baby,” 

“Hi,” You soften. 

“Stay one second,” He says, stepping into the office and dropping his bag on the desk to pull open the top zipper, “how was your session?” 

“Good,” You answer automatically. 

“Yeah?” He says as he pulls a white pastry bag from his duffle, “That’s good,” 

“What’s this?” You take the bag he offers and smiles, starting to unroll the top. 

“A treat,” He smiles, and then finally looks over to Yunho, “all good?” 

“Mm,” Yunho nods, “busy day,” 

“Yeah,” 

Inside the bag is the cutest pastry, flaky layers of croissant and matcha cream, sliced strawberries and jam, and pink little bear adorning the top. You smile up at him, “Mingi,” you reach into the bag, “is this from that place I like?” 

He nods, “Thought you could use something sweet after this weekend,” 

Studies show that the effects of heats and ruts are much more intense for scent matched omegas and alphas.

The words echo once again in your mind, and you try not to let your face fall. Your stomach does an anxious somersault, and you leave the pastry in the bag, wrapping the top back up, “Thank you,” you tell him as you set the bag aside on the desk, “I’ll have it in a bit, I’m late to get this session started with Dahan,” 

There’s the barest twinge of Mingi’s eyebrows, just a split second where you see that he’s questioning things, and Yunho’s eyes are still locked on you, but they don’t push. 

“Alright,” You take a sliding step back towards the hall, “well, I’ll see you later,” 

You don’t wait to hear their next words. Instead, you hurry down the hall for the booked Studio room, and try your best to put it all out of your mind. 

The trainees for Violet Prism, the new girl group, are all ready and waiting when you make your way into the room, stretching and preparing for a long day of work. Dahan is already set up by the time you make it in, scrolling through something on the desktop computer in the corner, and before you know it, you’re in the thick of the day. 

The girls are working hard, that much is clear. They have a hunger and a drive that you only ever see in trainees and rookies, a willingness to push themselves to the absolute limit at the expense of their own health, but they’re also still unrefined, still learning. 

“Five, six, seven, eight,” The count leaves your lips automatically as you clap your hands sharply, trying to snap their attention back to center. The music pulses, the song you’ve been working on with them looping again, and the cluster of girls scramble back into their positions. 

Their maknae bows quickly in apology at spacing out, but you shake your head to dismiss her concerns. 

“It’s okay,” You assure, “let’s just reset from the top of the chorus,” 

The girls step into formation while you give them a little room, moving towards the mirrored wall. A dull twinge flares up your back, and your jaw tightens. You’ve been on your feet for hours, it’s surely just that, but after this weekend, the hyperawareness sits in your chest. 

“Ready?” Dahan calls from the other side of the studio. 

The girls nod and so do you and the music starts again. 

You force your focus on counts, spacing, and the sharpness of their lines instead of the unpleasant ache in your back and the anxious sensation low in your abdomen. It’s easier when you’re working, and when there’s something tangible for you to correct. 

“You’re all missing the timing on the second turn,” You call, “run it back.” 

You go again, and again, and again for good measure. You show them what they’re missing in the steps, in the synchronicity of their timing. 

Lunch passes, and you ignore your phone on the back table even though it’s sure to be buzzing with texts and reminders from your alphas to care for yourself. 

The studio lights feel warm, or maybe it’s your skin. It’s hard to tell after this long, and your shirt sticks unpleasantly to your back. You reach up to tighten your ponytail a little higher, and the movement pulls at your spine enough to make you wince. 

Your heat is coming. 

Your therapist’s voice whispers, a blunt reminder of what you already know. 

“Let’s take fifteen,” Dahan calls the stop before you do, “that run was much better, we’re getting there.” 

The girls collapse into heaps, groaning, exhausted, and chugging down water. 

A bead of sweat rolls from your neck down your chest, and your breath starts to feel tight. 

“I’ll be back,” You move quickly, but calmly, grabbing your water bottle on the way out the door. With precision you make a beeline for the bathroom and shut yourself inside, bracing yourself on the closed door and flicking the lock closed so you can have a moment alone. 

You drag in a breath to steady yourself, to try to search your own sensation out to see what’s anxiety and what’s more.

A quick knock on the door startles you, and you stammer out a reply, “Just a second!” 

Yunho’s voice comes through like a salve, “Baby? It’s me, let me in,” 

You fumble with the lock and pull the door open, “What are you doing here?” 

He steps in and shuts the door behind him, his hands coming to your face so he can get a good look at you, “I was in the hall, you pushed right past me,” 

“Oh,” You blink, you didn’t even see him. 

His brows are pulled together in concern, and he lifts your water bottle, “Drink,” 

You take a long sip, hoping that the cold water might settle the restless buzzing underneath your skin, but if anything it just makes you more aware of yourself. Your body feels loud, you can feel the thump of your pulse and the knots in your stomach, and you hate it. 

“You’re pushing yourself too hard today,” Yunho says. 

You glance up at him, “You’re not even in my session today,” 

“I don’t need to be in the session to know that, y/n,” 

Annoyingly, you know that’s true. Your eyes flick down again, “I’m fine,” 

“When you say that,” Yunho points out gently, “that usually means the opposite.” 

A tiny flicker of heat prickles behind your eyes, and you press your lips together hard enough to stop yourself from reacting to the concern threaded through his voice. You don’t want to do this here, today, and you can’t go back to a rehearsal room and see your composure cracking in the mirrors when you have work to do. 

You especially don’t want to do this when your omega already feels close enough to the surface that every protective note in Yunho’s scent catches against your ribs and begs you to climb into his arms. 

“I said I’m okay, Yunho,” You manage, “I just needed a minute.” 

He studies you for a long moment, but just like this morning, he relents. With a sigh he nods, “You’ll tell me when you’re not?” 

“Yes,” You meet his gaze, “I promise.” 

His eyes flick over your expression. 

“I just can’t really think about this right now,” You tell him honestly, “I don’t have room for it.” 

“Alright,” He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I understand.” 

“I have to get back,” You take another sip of water, mostly to appease him, and wait for him to move out of the way of the door. 

Yunho makes space, and you hurry back to practice. 

Work resumes, but your body still feels tense, and the next two hours crawl by. 

You normally love this part of the dance process. The repetition, the gradual sharpening of each detail, watching the moment when a dancer finds it and commits it to muscle memory. Today, everything just feels slippery in your hands. Your concentration is drifting too easily, your body aching in strange little flashes that you can’t help but spiral about, and it doesn’t help that Yunho keeps finding reasons to stop by the studio room. 

He disguises it well, picking up items he’s left, dropping off items for New World who has the room booked later, even just passing by outside the door and peering in through the glass. 

Halfway through demonstrating an arm pathway, showing the girls exactly how the line of their body should extend and arc in the mirror, a cramp tightens in your lower stomach enough that you have to disguise the hitch in your breath as a cough. 

From the back of the studio, you watch Yunho watching you. No one else notices the real source of the discomfort, but he does, and he narrows his eyes the second he sees the expression on your face. 

You shake your head, but the look he gives you in return promises that this conversation is far, far from over. 

By the time rehearsal ends, your nerves feel sanded raw from sheer hyperawareness. 

Yunho is locked in meetings at the KQ Offices for his afternoon, giving you a blissful moment to just breathe into the sensations of your body and try to figure out if you’re on edge because of the panic or because of your impending heat. 

So this boils down to talk to them? 

Your question from earlier today flits through your mind, “Fuck,” you curse softly, rubbing at your tired eyes. 

You find your phone where it’s been sitting, face down on the desk, and read the string of text messages. 

In your pack group chat, there are three messages waiting: 

I should get home around 8 if these meetings wrap up on time. – Yunho

Yep. I’ll start dinner. – Mingi

Babe I’m ready in the office when you’re good to go. – Mingi

You tap back a quick reply and let him know you’re packing up, and then you see the single direct message from Yunho, just a private note from him to you. 

You worked hard today, you did well today. Please eat something substantial with some protein, drink your water, and don’t forget to stretch. I love you. 

Your chest tightens a little, and you send back a heart, before finding your other Alpha and getting out of the studio for the night. By the time you step out into the cool early evening air, the sharpest edges of your anxiety have dulled, but it’s still there like a weight in your gut. 

Mingi fixes the loop of your scarf while you wait for the car that will take you home. 

“Tired?” He asks gently. 

“A little,” 

For a moment you wonder if he’ll ask about your session, if he’ll poke and prod and fuss over you like Yunho did, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, Mingi reads you like he always does, “How was rehearsal?” 

The anxiety softens a little more and you lean into his side, “Long,” you sigh. 

Mingi talks about work the whole way home, and when you tell him you’re going to decompress in the shower, he lets you go with ease. As you pass your nest, the door ajar, your stomach tightens. Somewhere in the back of your mind you file that away, just like you file away the sudden urge to move the fluffy pillows from the right side to the left side of the room. 

Instead, you reorganize the bathroom medicine cabinet while you wait for the shower to heat up. 

The water runs hot, and you take an extra twenty minutes under the steady beat of the water to try and relax your muscles, to let the day sluff off, and to calm your omega, but it only sort of works. After, when you’re dressed in softer, cozier clothes, you pad out into the kitchen with your mind still hitching over and over on your therapy session like a skipped record. 

In the kitchen, Mingi’s focused, touching a clean fingertip to the sauce he’s mixing before swiping it off with his tongue, tasting it to gauge its flavor. He lets the flavor sink in, and then he reaches for the sesame oil to add a dash more. 

You lean against the door frame, watching him move about the kitchen with ease, but then he glances to the side and sees you. 

“Hey,” He waves you in, setting an onion onto a cutting board, “come chop for me,” 

“‘Kay,” You slide into position as his sous chef and pull a knife off the magnetic strip on the wall.

Mingi steps away to check on the chicken that’s parboiling on the stove and you cleanly slice through the onion and remove the papery husk to start chopping. 

“Dakdoritang?” You ask, glancing over the ingredients. 

“Mhm,” Behind you, you hear the musical sound of the rice cooker as he queues it up, “this time I double checked the salt, I promise,” 

You smile, your knife sliding cleanly through the onion again and again. 

Mingi shifts back to your side, “Tch,” he makes the sound with his tongue against his teeth, “careful, babe,” 

You lift your knife, glancing up at him, and he covers the hand that rests over the onion, prompting your fingers to curl so that when you cut the side of the knife only brushes your knuckles, no chance of cutting your fingertips. You roll your eyes a little, “It’s harder like this,” you grumble, but keep your hand in that shape as you continue to chop. 

“Yeah,” Mingi shrugs, “but this way I’m not calling Yunho to tell him dinner’s cancelled because our omega sliced off a finger,” 

“Mingi,” You sigh, but the smile doesn’t leave your lips. 

“Humor me,” He says, pulling a few carrots and potatoes out to queue those up for you to chop next. 

“Mm,” You murmur, and keep working on the vegetables while Mingi finishes the sauce. Everything’s relaxed for a few minutes, just the smooth slice of your knife and the bubbling pot on the stove. 

When he gets the sauce mixed in with the chicken to simmer and you’re almost finished with the carrots, Mingi’s fingers brush down your spine, “You’re quiet today,” he comments gently. 

“Am I?” You murmur. 

“Mm,” He nods, “you’re stressed,” 

“I’m alright,” You reply, biting the inside of your cheek, letting the knife come down a little too firmly through a carrot with a sharp sound. 

Mingi hums softly, his warm chest pressed against your back now, and he reaches around to still your hands and slide the knife away, “You are,” he counters gently, “you smell bitter, and you’ve been fidgeting all day.”

His words pull a long, tired exhale from you, and you lean back into his arms, “Yeah,” 

“You can tell me anything,” He says, his lips pressing to the crown of your head. 

“I know,”

“So what’s going on in your head?” He prompts you. 

Your body starts to slowly relax into his, and you finally let the words come, “My heat’s coming,” you confess, “fast,” 

Mingi stiffens a little, craning his neck to look down at your face, “How fast?” 

“I’m not sure,” You say honestly, “but I caught myself wanting to nest before I got in the shower, and with the spike, I think I’m ahead of schedule,” 

“Okay,” His arms tighten, and he drops his chin onto your shoulder despite how much he has to bend over to do it, “you know we’ve got you, right?” 

“I do,” You nod, “but I… I still don’t think I’m ready for it.” 

“You’re afraid,” Mingi observes. 

Your fingers curl against the counter, emotions tugging at your chest and you nod, “Yeah,” 

“Come here babe,” Mingi gently spins you so that you’re facing him, his hands ginger on your jaw as he tilts your face up.

“I’m okay,” The words leave your lips but the tone of your voice, the haziness in your eyes, it all betrays you. 

“Oh, baby,” His brows draw together in a sympathetic expression, his glasses slipping down his nose a little but he makes no move to fix them, “no, you’re not.” 

You swallow tightly, your throat constricted with the threat of tears and you shake your head, just a little. 

“What happened in your session?” Mingi’s thumb brushes tenderly along your cheek. 

“Uh,” You clear your throat, pulling away a little to wipe your eyes with the sleeves of Yunho’s crewneck sweatshirt that you stole out of the laundry, “we talked, I mean, the session was good, but it’s making it really real,” 

Mingi studies your face for another moment, and then he nods, “Alright, hold on,” 

Your brows knit together as you watch him quickly get the food to a place where it’s just simmering on its own without needing him to pay close attention. He works efficiently, completely focused, before wiping his hands off on the towel slung over his shoulder and coming back to stand in front of you. 

“Mingi?” You look up at him. 

Without a word, he reaches for you and picks you up by your waist, dropping you down onto a clean spot on the counter and stepping forward between your open knees. 

You brace yourself on his shoulders, a little squeak of surprise bubbled from your lips when he drops you. 

“One more second,” He leans forward and presses a close lipped kiss to your lips and then pulls out his phone. 

He opens up your pack group chat and taps out a quick message – @Yunho come home.

“He’s working,” You shake your head, reaching for his phone, but Mingi just clicks send and then holds it out of your reach high above your heads. 

“I don’t care,” Mingi shrugs, “something’s wrong with our omega,” 

A little piece of you melts, but you sigh and rest your hands on his chest, “It’s not an emergency,” 

One of his eyebrows raises. 

“It’s not,” You insist. 

Mingi exhales, tucking his phone in his back pocket and resting his broad hands on your thighs, “Maybe it’s an emergency, maybe it’s not,” he concedes, “but your heat is coming and it’s scaring you. We’re your alphas, and we are not going to shrug that off, okay?” 

You manage a nod, “Okay,” 

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Mingi watches you carefully, and you take the moment to breathe. You listen to the bubbling pot on the stove and the way fresh rain has started tapping sharply against the apartment windows. 

“Your session,” Mingi finally asks, “you talked about your heat?” 

You nod once. 

“And?” 

Your hands close on the cuffs of Yunho’s sweatshirt. “We talked about a lot of things,” You start, searching for the right words to make this make sense to him, “we talked about control, I guess.” 

Mingi’s expression stays open, patient, and he nods, “That’s a scary word when it comes to heats,” 

You release a humorless little laugh, “Exactly.” 

He waits. It’s one of the things that Mingi does best when you get overwhelmed. Where Yunho tends to push gently forwards, nudging you to speak before you disappear too far into yourself, Mingi waits you out instead, he lets the thoughts untangle themselves at their own pace. 

“I just keep thinking about last time,” You admit softly. 

His hands still, now just resting on your thighs, “Minseok?” He asks carefully. 

“No,” You shake your head, “no, my heat,” 

Understanding settles in his eyes, “Oh,” 

“Bits of it are blurry,” Your throat tightens, “not all of it, I remember some of it, but there’s pieces that feel…,” you search helplessly for the right description, “floaty,” 

Mingi listens without interrupting. 

“Logically, I know that’s normal,” You keep going, “and Dr. Kang said it’s normal for instincts to take over during intense heats and ruts, especially scent matched ones, but, it’s just,” 

His eyes flick over your face, and when you can’t find the word this time, he fills in, “It doesn’t feel normal to you, though,” 

“No,” You sigh, “it doesn’t,” 

“Yeah,” His hands smooth up and down your thighs again, encouraging you forward. 

“In my session,” You manage, “she asked me if I was afraid of going into heat, or afraid of losing control during my heat.” 

“And?” Mingi asks gently. 

You shake your head, eyes finding the ceiling when you can’t quite look him in the eyes, “I’m terrified,” you confess, “I’m so scared of not remembering things,” 

“Baby,” Mingi’s face softens, his body leaning towards yours like a gravitational pull guiding him closer. 

“I know how intense things get,” You keep going, letting it all out now that the words finally come, "Instincts come over, and then you’re in the haze of it, but what if I go too deep? What if I disappear into all of that and I don’t know what’s happening around me? To me?”

Mingi’s jaw flexes once as he takes in your words. 

“What if I lose time?” The question hangs in the air, exposing all your innermost fears, and then you look up at him, “What if I wake up after and feel like my body made choices without me?” 

Mingi’s brows draw together, a pained expression raw on his face now, and he slides his hands up to cup your hips, “Is that what’s been eating at you today?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“You were so ‘on’ at work today,” He observes, “intense even,” 

Heat floods your face immediately, “You noticed that?” 

“Mm,” He nods, “baby, I know you. You’re my omega, I notice everything,” 

Your head dips, “God,” 

“And me and Yunho do talk,” Mingi smiles a little, drawing your gaze up with his hand gently on your chin, “we are doing our best not to be overbearing, but we knew something was up.” 

“Yeah,” 

His thumb smooths along your jaw, his eyes going soft again, “You want to know what I think?” 

Your eyes lock to his. 

“I think you’re trying really hard to stay anchored to yourself right now,” 

A tight sensation curls in your chest. 

“I think that somewhere in your brain you decided that if you organize enough things, control enough things, stay disciplined and vigilant and push through the things your body is trying to tell you, maybe this heat won’t be able to sweep you away.” 

The sensation in your chest throbs, a deep ache, “I…,” you shake your head, your voice a soft whisper, “Mingi, I don't want to disappear,” 

“You won’t,” He murmurs, his hand sliding forward to cup your neck, his thumb still tender on your cheek. 

“How can you possibly know that?” You breathe. 

“You didn’t disappear last time,” He offers. 

Your brows pull together and you open your mouth to tell him all the reasons why this is different, but this time he doesn’t let you spiral. 

“No, listen to me,” He shakes his head, “your last heat with us, we were practically strangers. Your body was under an incredible amount of stress, and you placed your trust in us without a whole hell of a lot to go on.” 

“I–,” 

“Your instincts took over,” He keeps going, “and your omega was right at the surface. You needed things from us, you acted without thinking, but you were still you. You were always you, even in the haze,” 

You blink at him. 

“You may not remember every second of your heat, but I do, baby,” He presses, “me and Yunho know exactly what happened in that room,” 

“But I–,” 

“You were with us,” He holds your gaze on him, “you made choices. You said what you wanted and said what you didn’t. You communicated the whole time, even when you were floating. Despite the situation and how scary that probably was for you, trusting us to hold you like that, you didn’t disappear. You were never just a body, or just an omega, never.” 

Emotion catches in your throat, “But that was before Minseok tried to…” you can’t say it. You both know what he did, what he would have done after, “I’ve panicked with you both after that, it’s different now,” 

Mingi nods, “I know that,” he says without an ounce of defensiveness, without dismissing you, “I’m not saying we pretend that fear doesn’t exist, or that trauma hasn’t changed you and us,” 

The tension behind your ribs relaxes just a little. 

“You are expecting yourself to handle this perfectly,” He murmurs, shaking his head a little, “and you and I both know that you would never expect that from anybody else that you love.” 

Tears prick at the back of your eyes, hot and tight. 

With a gentle hand, Mingi smooths your hair back from your face and steps a fraction closer between your open knees, “If you panic during your heat, we will help you through that. If you get overwhelmed, we will slow down.” 

The hand on your hip slides up to cup your waist, and Mingi rests his forehead against yours. 

“We were made to keep you safe, baby,” He whispers, “and we will move heaven and earth to do that,” 

You reach for him, your hands knotting into his t-shirt, and when you inhale it’s with a soft, wet sound, “But what if get lost in my own head, Mingi, I can’t go there again, I can’t,” 

“Honey, look at me,” His voice breaks as he pulls back, cupping your face, “if you go away again, we will come get you.” 

Tears slip down your cheeks, “Mingi,” 

“There is nowhere you could go,” He promises you steadily, “not even inside your own head, that we wouldn’t follow you.” 

You sink into his chest, a sob caught on your lips, cheeks hot with embarrassment, with shame, but Mingi just gathers you closer and cradles you to his chest. 

“Baby,” He murmurs against your hair, “hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m here,” 

Your forehead presses against his sternum and you shake your head, “I hate this, I hate being this scared.” 

“I know,” He soothes. 

“I know you’d never hurt me,” The confession tumbles out, messy and tangled, “I know you’d keep me safe, but I don’t want to lose control like that. I don’t want to be locked inside my head, I don’t want to f-feel him on top of me again, I… I can’t,” 

“Breathe,” Mingi holds you tighter, “breathe with me right now,” 

You suck in a staggered breath against the wet cotton of his shirt. 

“It’s okay to be scared, and I know you are terrified, but he is never, ever going to touch you again, never.” His words are firm, unequivocal, “and if your body gets confused, we will find a way through it. But honey, your heat is coming, and suppressing your instincts and pretending your omega doesn’t need things is going to make this worse, not better.” 

“I just want this to be normal,” You admit softly, still steadily breathing with him. 

“When have we ever had normal,” He kisses your hair, “hmm?” 

You let out a wet laugh into his chest. 

Mingi gently uncouples your bodies enough to look down at you, wiping away your tears gently with the pad of his thumb, “I want our not normal,” he says, “I want our hard days just as much as our good ones. As long as we’re together, we will be okay, I can promise you that.” 

You wipe away the remnants of your tears, nodding and letting out a shaky exhale, and then you sink forward and lean your forehead on his again, tucked close together in the warmth of the kitchen. Your heart rate starts to settle, the knot inside you relaxing again, and you nuzzle Mingi’s nose with yours, “You really like me that much, huh?” 

He huffs a light laugh with an exhale through his nose, shaking his head, “Shut up,” 

“I’m just saying,” You tease him gently, leaning back and fixing him with a look, “that was kind of a declaration.” 

“You’re my mate,” He says simply, the corner of his lips pulled up in the slightest smile, “there’s nothing casual about how I feel about you, and you know it.” 

“Good,” You tug him forward with your fingers fisted in his shirt and lock your lips to his. 

Mingi leans into you, strong arms wrapping around your back. He hums against your lips, a steady vibration that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. 

“I love you,” You whisper against his lips. 

“I love you too,” He says in a breath, kissing you again and holding you close. 

Just as you feel your body start to unspool with the relief of giving your fears to him to hold, the sharp sound of your front door banging open breaks you both apart with a start. 

Mingi tenses, his lips breaking from yours as he turns, but then you hear Yunho call out, “Mingi? y/n?” 

You let out a breath, smiling with a little relief that it’s just Yunho. 

The door slams shut equally as hard though and you and Mingi exchange a quick, worried glance at each other. 

“Baby?” Yunho calls again, clear concern threaded through his tone.

“We’re in here,” Mingi calls out, “in the kitchen,” 

Yunho’s there in a flash, his expression tight and his eyes scanning you both like he’s searching for a threat, for an injury. 

“Hey–,” you start to say, but Yunho muscles his way past Mingi and wraps you tightly in his arms, yanking you off the counter and crushing you to his chest. 

“You’re alright?” He checks, his hand cupping the back of your head, his heart hammering against your chest where you’re pressed together. 

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?” The words are muffled by his shoulder. 

“She’s fine,” Mingi assures, one hand landing on Yunho’s back. 

He releases a shuddering breath, reaching back with one arm to find your other alpha, “Min,” Yunho manages, his voice hoarse, “you’re good?” 

“I’m fine,” Mingi smiles, patting Yunho’s hand where it landed on his waist, “are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

“You texted ‘come home’,” Yunho pulls back enough that he can see your face, studying you once more like he just has to be sure, before letting you back down on your feet and stepping back to face you both, “and then you didn’t answer any calls,” 

Mingi grimaces, “Shit,” he reaches for his phone, “sorry, no we’re fine,”

Yunho’s jaw tightens and releases, “You scared the shit out of me,” 

“I’m sorry,” You soften, reaching for him, “we didn’t mean to worry you.” 

He lets out a long, relieved exhale, and drops his head, shaking it, “Fuck,” he says, “you two are going to put me in an early grave,” 

“We’re okay,” Mingi reiterates, squeezing Yunho’s shoulder, “and you know I’ve got her, she’s safe with me,” 

Yunho’s brows draw together as he lifts his head, “I know that,” he sighs again, an echo of the adrenaline still humming off him, “I just… I don’t know what I thought, I was worried,” 

“I’m okay,” You promise. 

“After today, with everything going on,” He shakes his head, clearly rattled, and then he takes in your expression fully, “you’ve been crying,” 

“We’re okay,” You reiterate softly. 

Yunho searches your face before wrapping you up in his arms again, only this time with your back pressed to his front, pressing a long kiss to your hair, “Talk to me, what’s with the text?” 

You feel bad now, the idea that he rushed home, likely leaving a meeting just to make sure his pack was still whole, still well. The briefest flash of the practice room echoes back to you, Yunho’s face above yours, his face stricken and terrified. 

“I texted because we need to talk,” Mingi says, crossing his arms and looking between you both, “as a pack.” 

“Mingi,” You complain weakly, “don’t scare him,” 

“Too late,” Yunho says, his arms still wrapped tightly around you from behind, the frantic edge that came through the front door is still lingering under his skin, adrenaline and his alpha instinct tangled together in a sharper, more heady scent than his normal cedar and rain. 

“She’s been spiraling since therapy,” Mingi sums up, “and we talked, but there’s things we all need to talk about together,” 

Your lips press closed. 

Yunho’s nose brushes slowly against your temple as he curls around you, “What happened in the session?” 

“We talked about my next heat,” You say after a moment, brushing your hand along his forearm to keep him calm. 

Mingi adds the rest, “The spike probably means her real heat is closer than we thought,” his voice is gentler now, guiding Yunho into the conversation.

Yunho’s quiet for a moment, and then he exhales slowly through his nose. You feel his posture adjust, it’s subtle, but present, his attention now fully attuned to you as his omega, not just as his girlfriend. 

“How fast?” Yunho asks carefully. 

“I don’t know,” You shake your head, “but I’m feeling my omega more,” 

Mingi nods, “Nesting urges,” 

Yunho’s head lifts up, “Already?” 

“A bit,” You concede. 

He’s quiet, and you twist a little in his hold to look up at him. His expression is calculated, the same face he gets when he’s in rehearsals or choreography meetings and he’s already five steps ahead trying to solve a problem before anyone else even realizes it's there to begin with. 

After a moment he nods, “We’ll handle it.” 

“The other part though,” Mingi says, “is that the closer it's getting, the more she’s thinking about last time.” 

Yunho’s hand slips under the hem of your sweatshirt and rests on the bare skin of your waist, “You’re worried about the haze, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, your throat tightening at how quickly he knows that, how closely he must be watching you to know that without having to hear anything at all. 

He presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head. 

“It scared me before,” You explain, “not knowing where parts of it went, the way it came back to me in pieces,” 

Yunho’s grip tightens a little, something instinctive and protective in the way he holds you, but he just nods and says, “I know, sweetheart,” 

You lean your body weight into him, letting out a slow exhale. You remember so many little flashes of your heat with them, and your mind trips over static images in a sudden rush. Yunho holding your wrists gently against his chest to keep you focused on the beat of his heart, Mingi murmuring steady softness into your ear, coming back to yourself in slow, disconnected pieces, their scents wrapped around you so thick it was impossible to think about anything outside of their arms. 

“Just,” You let your head fall back against his chest, “Yunho, what if this time it’s worse?” 

“What if this time it’s better?” He counters gently. 

Mingi smiles softly, but you shake your head, “Yunho,” 

“You’re safe with us, you’re in love with us, this time we’re going into this as a pack,” He points out, “your next heat will be different in good ways too.” 

“Good point,” Mingi leans against the counter next to you both, “he’s right about that, babe,” 

That hadn’t occurred to you at all. Your first heat after a scent match is supposed to be a beautiful thing. The way a pack moves together, breathes together, in complete sync and safety, you hadn’t even let yourself entertain that as an option. 

“I’m sure Mingi said this,” Yunho slides another hand under your sweatshirt, his hands spread wide over your ribs, your stomach, the direct comfort of skin on skin for your both, “but we will get you through this heat, sweetheart. We’re yours, you’re ours, this is what we do.” 

“I know you will,” You sink into him, your eyes flicking up to meet Mingi’s gaze. 

“And,” Yunho adds gently, “if your instincts are telling you that you need something, you need to trust it. Your omega is a part of you, just our alphas are a part of us. Acting on that part of yourself isn’t the same thing as losing yourself,” 

You go still in his arms. 

“I know you’re scared,” He murmurs, “but we have you.” 

Mingi steps closer, reaching for you both, cupping your cheek with one hand and resting the other at the back of Yunho’s neck. 

“We do,” Mingi says, pressing a kiss to your forehead and giving Yunho a squeeze, before he leans back again against the counter. 

“Now,” Yunho shifts you both so that you’re all facing each other when he asks his next question, “What did Dr. Kang say? Did she give you anything more concrete to work with?” 

You can practically hear her in the room talking about all the tools in your toolbox, or maybe it’s exactly the same language that he uses with his own therapist. 

Either way you smile, “A few things, mostly some grounding strategies,” 

Yunho nods, fully focused now, “Good, like what?” 

“She said familiar sensory things can help if I start getting too out of it,” You explain, “music, phrases, touch, routines, things that would anchor me into my conscious thoughts.” 

While Yunho catalogues it all, Mingi nods, “We can definitely do that.” 

“Maybe we can talk about that stuff tonight?” You offer gently. 

“We’ll make a plan,” Yunho agrees, “did she give you anything else to think about?” 

Heat creeps slowly up your neck as you remember the session, “Just, ah,” you trail off, trying to find the right words, “some communication stuff.” 

Yunho’s brows knit together slightly, “What kind of communication stuff?” 

You make a soft, non-committal noise, eyes flicking down to the edge of your sweatshirt sleeves, “Oh, you know,” 

Yunho smiles, still confused but a little amused, “No, I don’t,” he gently nudges you, “that’s why I’m asking, baby.”

“Right,” You breathe, gathering a little resolve, “well, okay, this is going to sound weird,” 

“How weird could it be?” Mingi quips before he can think better of it and you glare weakly at him. 

“It’s just us,” Yunho says. 

It takes a minute, while you work out how to say it, but in the end the words just spill out, “Do you know anything about BDSM?” 

Mingi’s eyes widen before he blinks once, caught completely off guard by your question. Yunho’s eyebrows just lift, the confusion in his brow clearing entirely as pieces slot together for him. 

Your cheeks heat, “Oh my god, nevermind,” 

“No, no, no,” Mingi says quickly, taking your arms in his hands, “don’t deflect yet, I’m just trying to catch up,” 

“It’s not–,” You start to say. 

“Because, babe,” Mingi smiles, a little hint of teasing in his eyes, “I don’t know what this has to do with your heat, but if you want me to like, tie you up or make you bark or something, I’m open minded.” 

You make a strangled noise, “Mingi!”

“What?” He laughs, “I’m being supportive!”

“And you went straight to barking like a dog?” You burst into laughter, “What do you think BDSM is?” 

“I mean some people are into that,” Mingi shrugs, before adding, “probably,” 

Yunho finally breaks, laughing under his breath and shaking his head, “You are not helping,” 

“And you do not seem surprised enough by this conversation,” Mingi points out. 

“Oh my god,” It’s your turn to be surprised at Yunho’s lack of reaction, and you’re starting to wonder what your boyfriend’s internet search history looks like. 

Yunho clears his throat, “Anyways,” he tries to refocus, “I’m assuming Dr. Kang was talking about consent frameworks?” 

Your mouth falls open a little before you can recover, “Yes…,” 

“Did she suggest something specific?” Yunho ignores the shocked look on both your faces. 

“The traffic light system?” You offer. 

To your utter surprise, he nods, “That’s a really good idea, actually.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Mingi blinks. 

“Jesus,” Yunho blushes this time, “I don’t know all that much, and what I do know is mostly theoretical, calm down,” 

“Mostly,” You point out. 

“This is definitely not the main takeaway from this conversation,” Yunho groans. 

“Yeah,” You smile, “but it is terribly interesting information,” 

“Mhm,” Yunho crosses his arms. 

“Relax,” You reach up to him, craning on tip toe to cup his cheek, “I’m not judging, I’m glad you know what the fuck you’re doing, even theoretically, okay?” 

He sighs, dipping forwards, kissing you softly, and then wrapping his arms back around you, “Okay,” 

Mingi hums, “Someone’s going to have to clue me in,” 

“Tonight,” Yunho says, “with how close your heat might be,” his hand runs a comforting line up and down your back, “we need to figure this out soon,” 

Your body softens into him again, “Thank you,”

“We’ve got this,” Mingi says, “we’ll figure everything out.” 

“Of course we will,” Yunho nods.

There’s a pull in your gut telling you what to do, and you resist the urge to push it down and keep it to yourself, “Can we talk in the nest?” 

“Of course we can,” Yunho smiles softly, “I think that’s the perfect place.” 

“I’d feel comfortable there,” You admit, “and I need to do a little rearranging before it drives me insane,” 

“I’ll get some of our shirts too,” Mingi adds, knowing exactly what you’ll need to start slowly preparing your nest the right way. 

“Please,” 

“Before any of that,” Yunho straightens up, running a hand down your hair, “you haven’t eaten a thing, have you?” 

“It was a busy day,” You offer as an excuse.

“Mm,” Yunho shakes his head, but lets it pass, “let’s eat, it smells amazing in here,” Yunho says, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Mingi’s cheek before heading for the stove. 

Mingi’s cheeks redden, a gentle smile on his lips. 

“Both of you go sit,” Yunho shoos you away when you start to reach for a bowl, “you cooked, I’ll take care of the rest.” 

He’s fussing, you can see that in the way he’s taking care of you both. You know deep down he’s worried about your heat the same as you are, he’s thinking of every possibility and every solution so he’s ready, and if caring for you now while you’re in the beginning stages of your pre-heat helps settle him, you want nothing more than to give that to him. 

Your heat is coming, a biological inevitability, but as you tuck yourself onto Mingi’s lap and watch Yunho prepare the banchan and bowls of warm rice, you know there’s another inevitability to contend with. They love you, and there’s nothing they wouldn’t do to keep you safe, to keep you whole. 

This will be hard, but you’ll survive it. 

“today’s top story, yet another heroic endeavor by spiderman in supporting law enforcement efforts to shut down a lethal drug trafficking ring in the northern borough of the city.”

the news reporter’s voice drowns out beneath the bar patrons’ commentary, meshing with the sound of ice in cocktail shakers and glasses shuffled off of the bar counter. you glance up at the tv screen, a clean dishcloth between your fingers as you wipe down the sticky residue of someone’s espresso martini.

“spiderman is just so cool,” one of the girls in front of you swoons, stirring her drink by its thin, black straw. “i wonder what he looks like.”

“he has to be hot,” her friend chimes in after a sip of her own drink. “you can just tell.”

“oh, brother,” you mutter under your breath, tossing the now-soaked dishcloth into the dirty pile while you reassess your ingredients and look back up at the girls with a feigned smile and a renewed kindness in your tone. “how we doing, ladies? can i get you anything else right now?”

“one of those,” they joke, pointing up at the tv screen. you sigh and glance over your shoulder, the news still plastered with videos of spiderman swinging across rooftops and the blur of blue and red in the night sky. a still image is displayed while the reporters continue to discuss spiderman’s great success, the whites of his mask narrowed into slits at the camera.

your heart sinks like a rock to the pit of your stomach. it had been several weeks since you’d discovered yunho’s secret identity as spiderman. the fact that he’d pushed you away so much to the point that you would break up with him and move halfway across the city. a futile effort, considering he’d landed on your rooftop and snuck his way back into your life, regardless.

ever since you’d found out, your nights were sleepless and you were dying to vent to someone. it was a frustrating situation to be put in, torn between needing sound advice on how to handle your breakup with yunho while respecting him wanting to remain hidden behind spiderman’s mask. it was the only thing you could think about when you weren’t working late nights at one of your local bars.

of course, he just had to ruin that, too.

“why wouldn’t you tell me?” you stare back at him, drawn into a newfound fear for his safety. 

“why would i?” yunho threads a hand through his hair, more exasperated than you’d ever seen him as he finds comfort in staring out of the window instead of you. “for you to become collateral?”

“so, you made the choice for me?” you ask, equally as frustrated. “treating me like garbage and pushing me away made you feel better?”

“it did,” he answers coldly, his eyes narrowed into slits as he glares back at you. “at least i’d know you were safe, even if you hated me.”

you shake the memory from your mind and return your focus to an order for another round of shots for the guys celebrating one of their birthdays in one of the reserved booths.

it’s well past two in the morning by the time you wrap up your closing shift. despite your poor sleep schedule, you were beyond exhausted from tonight’s crowd and were more than ready to take a nice, hot shower and slip into bed. the bar becomes eerily quiet by the time you leave, greeted by the sound of passing cars and drunken groups of friends stumbling to their apartments for the night. your feet ache with every step towards your own place a few blocks down as you fish for your water bottle in your tote bag.

“yo!” a voice calls out from behind you.

closer this time, “hey, slow down!”

a chill runs across your skin as your fingers curl tightly around the straps of your tote and your pace quickens. the sound of footsteps behind your own become louder with every breath you take, the scent of vodka and cheap cologne becoming more evident as you hear the men chuckle behind you. one of them finally catches up to you and falls into your pace, his steps matching yours as a drunken smile stretches across his face. his friends flank you on either side, equally as intoxicated. you quickly recognize them as the group of guys you were serving at the bar and grimace, your eyes glued forward without a word in response.

“what’s wrong, baby?” one of them says sleazily through a slur. “we just want to say hi.”

“i’m good,” you say, clipped as you try to steady your racing heart with a deep inhale.

“c’mon,” another urges as he circles you to stop you in your tracks. “you don’t wanna have a little fun tonight?”

“i said, i’m g—”

you can barely get the words out when a whoosh echoes through the streets and silky, webbed strands envelop the man to your left to yank him backwards. the rest of the guys freeze around you, their eyes wide and lips parted as he’s thrown into a row of trash cans with a resounding clatter. you turn to the noise, your hand already reaching for your pepper spray when a figure emerges from one of the alleyways.

“she said, she’s good,” a low voice warns beneath a deep red and blue suit. you arch a brow at the sight of spiderman and resist the urge to roll your eyes while the men around you cower in fear and dart down one of the adjacent streets.

a heavy silence settles between the two of you. it’s impossible to see yunho’s eyes beneath his mask, but you’re sure that he was staring back at you. the sound of the men stumbling away grows faint and you don’t say a word, not so much as a ‘thank you’ before turning on your heel and returning to your route home.

you feel your blood boil when footsteps remain in sync behind you and curse under your breath.

“go away,” you snap without turning around. he doesn’t answer and continues at a safe distance behind you as you come closer to your apartment. “seriously, go away.”

“why?” he asks, muscles flexing beneath the woven fabric of his suit. you hear the amusement in his voice and it only irritates you more. “can’t a friendly neighborhood spiderman make sure a young lady gets home safely?”

“i didn’t need your help.”

“well, you got it, anyway.”

you give up on trying to send yunho away and focus on getting home. as much as you didn’t want to admit it, there was a sense of comfort knowing he was with you for the rest of the way, especially at such a late hour. he doesn’t say much otherwise, just follows you until you make it to the main doors that lead into your building. you don’t say anything or look at him as you fish for your keys and head up to your apartment.

you’re barely able to make it into your bathroom and have the hot water running when the sound of your fire escape clanging captures your attention. fear creeps back along your skin, evading any logical answer like rats running along the rusted iron or a landing bird. you peer around the edge of the doorframe into the living room and nearly pass away when a male figure is seated on your couch.

“are you out of your fucking mind?” you ask, storming towards yunho with knitted brows.

“hey, i just wanted to check on you.”

“first of all, this is breaking and entering,” you scold, arms folded across your torso. “i’m sure the city police would be thrilled to hear that their golden boy, spiderman, was acting like a criminal.”

“i don’t think i—”

“and second,” you continue, “i’m fine. checking on me is a privilege you lost a long time ago, yunho.”

only then does he reach for the mask and tug it off, the fabric crumpled between his fingers as he looks up at you. he looks exactly as you left him, with hair falling over his big, brown eyes and that same boyish charm that had drawn you to him in the first place. there’s a cut that sears through the corner of his lips, blooming red as the bruise heals.

“you seriously can’t be upset with me for not wanting you to be in danger,” he argues, an edge in his voice you don’t quite recognize.

“you shut me out until i broke up with you,” you correct him, “not to mention, you never bothered to ask me if i cared about you being spiderman. you just assumed i’d get in the way.”

“i never said you’d—”

“i’m not having this conversation again,” you scoff. you don’t spare a passing glance in his direction as you storm towards your bedroom and slam the door behind you. it creaks open seconds later with yunho following you closely.

“so what, you’re just never going to speak to me again?”

“yes!” you cry out in sheer exasperation. “if you’d have never landed on my roof, if you never left your shit in this apartment, i’d have been fine!”

yunho doesn’t answer.

“you’re the one that wanted me to stay away from you.”

“i did.” you blink in surprise as yunho agrees, eerily calm. “and then i landed here. and then you showed up at my place for the first time in what felt like forever. and—” he swallows. “—i still think you need to keep your distance. but, i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since then. i never have, actually.”

you stare at him for a long, drawn-out moment until a dry laugh slips past your lips. “so, what? your plan was to show up with this confession of yours and act like i’d come running back into your arms?” yunho glares at you, taking a step closer so that you could meet his gaze.

“oh, and you’re acting like i’m the only one that feels this way,” yunho counters, arching a brow. “you can be as angry as you want, i know how you really feel.”

“and how do i feel?” you ask as you dig your fingernails into the heel of your palm with a pointed glare up at him. “enlighten me.”

“you’re not mad at me,” he answers, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “you’re mad at the fact that you still want me.”

“i don’t want you,” you answer. you can already tell he’s picked up on how quickly you defended yourself and bite your tongue.

“you don’t want me?” yunho repeats, his smile growing until his voice lowers. “say it again.”

“i don’t want you.” you struggle to keep your voice as steady as you can with yunho closing the distance between you. the scent of his cologne envelops you, even with his suit still on.

“say it again,” he breathes, almost begging as he ghosts his lips over yours. every bone in your body aches to back away, to shut him down right then and there so that he could feel every ounce of hurt he’d left you with over the last few months.

“i don’t—i don’t want you.” you stumble over your words and your eyes flutter shut against your will, your body melting under his touch when he brushes a thumb against your cheek.

“liar,” he groans before biting down on your lower lip and threading his hand through your hair to yank your head back. a strangled gasp slips out of your mouth when his lips trail down to your neck. he breathes against your skin, the tip of his tongue gliding from your collarbone to the shell of your ear before he mutters in an even more strained voice, “say it again.”

your breath dissolves into a muffled whimper as you purse your lips to silence yourself. yunho backs you towards your bed until you’re laid beneath him. with a knee, he pushes your thighs apart and settles between them with a hum before reclaiming your lips in a hungry kiss. just as you’re about to reach for his shoulders, you hear a familiar whoosh and gasp when your wrists are bound to the headboard in one swift motion. yunho leans back onto his haunches, a smug expression etched across his face as he presses a kiss to the inside of one of his wrists.

“seriously?” you flex your wrists beneath their restraints, the silky rope of the spiderwebs wrapped tightly against your skin.

no matter how hard you yanked against them, you were tethered to the bed. you glare at yunho as he pulls at the hem of your shirt until your torso was exposed. you shudder as he trails his hands along your skin before pulling your legs around him. the length of his cock, already rigid, presses against your clothed entrance and you let out an involuntary moan at the sudden friction. yunho twitches in pleasure and bucks his hips against yours to earn another sound from you.

his muscles flex beneath the suit and your hands are itching to glide over every inch of him. irritation fuels the way you thrash against the webs on your wrists as yunho continues grinding against you, his face buried in your neck to stifle his own moans. desperate to regain control, you press your heel into the small of yunho’s back to pin his weight against you.

quick to sense what you’re doing, he stills and stares at you for a moment. his eyes trail over you, the way your chest heaves in an attempt to steady your breathing while you try to bring your thighs back together. with a huff, he hooks a finger around the waist of your pants until they’re tugged off and you’re left in your panties.

before you can say anything, the sound of him shooting webs to tether your ankles to the sheets in a similar fashion to your wrists has you seeing red. yunho seems pleased by the way you become more and more enraged, his smile still fixated on his face as he rubs your thighs with broad hands.

“what’s wrong?” he asks teasingly. the jest is gone from his voice almost immediately, replaced with something darker. “you don’t want me to make you feel good?”

“i don’t care,” you quip, disappointed by the shakiness in your voice. yunho nods once and shifts away from you so that he has enough room to drag his suit down by its collar. he’s able to shove it onto the floor, left only in his boxers before he moves to settle in the armchair beside your bed. “what are you doing?”

“why does it matter?” yunho asks with a devilish glint in his eyes. he lowers a hand to his waist, then the hem of his boxers before he palms himself through the fabric. his mouth falls open, more dramatic than usual so that you were well aware of what you were subjected to staring at. you watch with hungry eyes as he frees his length and wraps his hand around it firmly, pumping long, languid strokes that have him dropping his head back with a sigh.

“yunho.” you say his name sternly, all too aware of the way your limbs were all restricted. you scold yourself mentally for the way heat rushes to your core at the sight of him touching himself while he looks at you through half-lidded eyes. he was undeniably delicious and you were undeniably desperate to feel his touch again. “yunho.”

“yes, baby?” he asks in a breathy voice. he pumps faster, coaxing another moan from his lips as his hips twitch against his hand.

“stop.”

“why?”

your pride gets the better of you as you swallow, growing more and more irritated by the fact that you couldn’t even press your thighs together to satisfy the heat between your legs. yunho recognizes your hesitation and moves his hand faster with a blissful sigh until you let out a frustrated groan.

“stop,” you repeat, feeling the way that color rushes to your cheeks as you avert his gaze. “i want you to fuck me.”

“what was that?” yunho lowers his hand as he readjusts his boxers back over his length and approaches the bed slowly. “couldn’t hear you.”

“i want you to fuck me,” you mutter again beneath your breath, a bit louder this time. he scoffs and settles back between your legs, lowering just enough to whisper against your ear.

“good girl,” he mumbles, his breath hot. “wasn’t so hard to tell the truth, now, was it?”

you whimper when he slides two fingers into your mouth, gliding your tongue over them so that he could move your panties to the side to finger you. you gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching off of the sheets as he falls into a steady rhythm against your walls.

“fuck,” you exhale with your head thrown back against the sheets. the fact that you weren’t able to feel yunho, to drag your nails across his skin and feel the way he tensed under your touch had you near spiraling. you tense your legs against the webs wrapped around your ankles, unable to break free and groaning at the realization.

“easy,” yunho chuckles, adding a third finger inside of you to stretch you out even further. he doesn’t pay attention to the whine that escapes you as he continues, “let me make up for lost time.” his free hand reaches to cup your breast, massaging the soft tissue and sending another jolt of pleasure down your spine.

“ngh—right there,” you mewl when you feel the brush of his knuckles with a curl of his fingers, your stomach in knots as he repeats the motion against your most sensitive spot.

“you like that?” yunho picks up his pace, his eyes locked on yours as his hand continues to roam over your torso while the other fingers you relentlessly. you can feel your breathing become shallow, coming in low, staggered gasps as pleasure rushes to your core quickly enough that your vision blurs. “come for me, baby.”

your orgasm crashes over you as a drawn-out moan drags you across your high. yunho continues to pump his fingers in and out of you until you settle, your chest heaving with every breath until he removes his hand and brings it back to your mouth. you take in each of his fingers covered in your release and whimper against his knuckles as you taste yourself. yunho arches a brow, clearly turned on by the way you looked at him with his fingers stuffed in your mouth.

“god, i need to fuck you,” yunho growls, tugging off his boxers and positioning himself at your entrance without another word. he brushes his tip against your clit, already sensitive and causing you to jerk your hips towards him. with a deep exhale, he sits back onto his haunches and reaches for each of your ankles, tearing through the webbed binds with superhuman strength so that your legs were once again free to move.

you welcome the unexpected freedom, allowing yunho to angle your legs so that they were pushed back to either side of your head against the sheets. you watch as he drinks in every last drop of you with feral eyes fixated on your entrance, dragging the tip of his cock between your folds until he was slick with your wetness. 

“would you just fu—agh!” your protests are cut short when yunho suddenly bottoms out inside of you, his length filling you and stretching against every nerve ending against your walls. you let out a blissful sigh in unison, the feeling of him something you hadn’t realized you were craving for so long.

with a hand pressed to your ankle to deepen his thrusts inside of you, yunho begins to move. his hair is more disheveled than ever, falling over his face as he pants through swollen, parted lips in an attempt to swallow down air. your wrists twitch against the remaining restraints, your own breathing staggered as he fucks you into the mattress.

yunho lowers himself back against your ear, his voice coming out between grunts, “i know you missed this, pretty girl.” he pounds into you harder, the bed creaking against the aged wooden floors. “let me hear it.”

you no longer answer in coherent sentences, caught in a symphony of moans that he mirrors when he presses a forearm against your waist to steady you. his lips meet yours again in a mess of open-mouthed kisses, his tongue entangled with yours as you feel another climax threatening to spill over. yunho senses this, lowering his hand to massage his thumb against your clit in tight circles. he grins against your mouth, drunk off of fucking you as he brings you closer and closer to your high for the second time.

you clench around yunho, sucking him in until you feel every inch of his length dragging along your inner walls while the pressure from his thumb nearly has you seeing stars. instinctively, you try—and fail—to pull your arms free from their restraints as yunho’s pace begins to falter, his hips bucking violently against yours until he cums and fills you to the brim as your own orgasm rocks your body.

yunho pulls out of you as he fights to catch his breath, reaching for his discarded boxers and hurrying into your bathroom for a towel to help clean you off. all the while, he leaves you tied to the bed beneath his spiderwebs and you glare at him from the sheets.

“hello?” you ask, wriggling your arms for emphasis. yunho glances over his shoulder as he sits beside you, feigning ignorance.

“what’s wrong?”

“yunho, i swear to fucking—” you’re cut off when he tears through them in a similar fashion to the way he handled your ankles earlier, finally allowing you to rotate your wrists to regain much-needed circulation.

the room falls into another silence as it was before, heavy and laced with tension. only now, there was an added layer between you that made the situation all the more complex. at the end of the day, yunho was your ex. it didn’t matter that you were still getting over him. it didn’t matter that you’d learned about his secret as the friendly neighborhood spiderman. it didn’t matter that he’d just fucked you senseless. he’d spent months, pushing and pushing until you were left with no choice but to walk away.

“so …” you trail off, avoiding yunho’s gaze entirely as he stares at you. there’s something longing in the way he looks at you, something that you don’t notice as you continue to distract yourself.

“so.”

there was little to be said before a faint beep echoes throughout your bedroom and yunho’s body freezes beside you. quietly, he picks up his suit from beside the armchair and steps back into it without a word until he glances at the attachment on his wrist that flashes with an incoming notification. he looks at you from across the room, the moonlight pouring through the window illuminating his silhouette.

you stare at him, at the way his hands clench and unclench beside him into tight, nervous fists. he holds his mask in one of his hands, ready to tug it back over his head and disappear into the night. he looks toward the window nervously, already plotting how he could make his exit.

"Captain," your first mate called, breaking your reverie. "We've spotted them. Just as you predicted, anchored in the cove."

A slow wicked smile spread across your face, the kind that made even your most hardened crew members exchange nervous glances. They didn't understand your fixation, this relentless pursuit. They attributed it to rivalry, to your legendary stubbornness. None suspected the fire that ignited within each time you caught sight of the enemy captain through the spyglass.

"Prepare our crew," you commanded, your voice carrying across the deck like thunder. "We attack at nightfall."

Your quartermaster raised an eyebrow. "This is the third time this month we've crossed paths with them. Some might think you're hunting them specifically."

"Some might be wise to hold their tongue," you replied, but there was no real malice in your voice. You turned your back to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

The truth burned within you like rum in your stomach. Captain Hongjoong had become your most exquisite fixation and torture. You had first seen him up close six months ago during a skirmish that ended in stalemate. While both of your crews battled, you and hongjoong swords had locked, bringing them face to face. At that moment, something shifted. His eyes, fierce and knowing, had pierced through your defenses. His lips had curved into a challenging smile that haunted your waking thoughts.

Below deck, you unrolled the maps that you had stolen from a merchant vessel. The charts were merely an excuse. What you sought was the pattern of their movements, the whispered rumours of their next port. You had become an expert in anticipating their course, engineering these "chance" encounters that left your own crew baffled and his increasingly irritated.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first time Captain Hongjoong hears your name, it’s because you ruin a perfectly planned raid. Weeks of preparation. Merchant routes tracked. Storm currents calculated down to the hour. He and his crew finally intercept the fleet at sunrise. Only to find… Nothing. The cargo isn’t sunk. It isn’t lost in battle. It’s simply gone. In its place, drifting lazily across the water, is a ship with black sails and a very familiar flag. Your ship. You’re leaning against the railing when Hongjoong and his crew boards. Boots hitting your deck with purpose.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound carries over crashing waves and the creak of strained wood. Grappling hooks latch onto your railings with a sharp clank, ropes pulled tight as his crew begins pouring onto your ship behind him.You don’t move. Your sword hangs loosely in your hand, the blade angled lazily toward the deck. Your thumb runs absentmindedly along the guard, spinning the hilt. The metal hums softly each time it turns in your grip.

Your eyes aren’t even on him at first.

You’re staring at the blade instead, watching sunlight catch along the edge while pirates shout around you. Steel clashes somewhere behind him. Only when his boots stop a few paces away do you finally look up. His sword is already drawn and he looks furious.

You smile, “Captain,” Your voice carries easily across the deck despite the chaos.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightens immediately, “You stole my cargo.”

You tilt your head, the motion slow and deliberate, “Did I?”

“My crew tracked that fleet for two weeks. You interfered with my raid,” His voice comes booms out but you just shrug. 

Hongjoong exhales sharply through his nose, clearly not buying it for a second. His grip tightens around his sword as he points the blade toward you.

“Coincidence?” he repeats.

His boots step closer across the deck until he’s only a few paces away. “You expect me to believe you just happened to arrive at the exact same merchant fleet I’ve been tracking for two weeks?”

You glance lazily at the blade hovering in your direction.

“Strange how the sea works sometimes.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, “You should know not to mess with me or my crew.”

You smile wider. The sword lifts slightly higher, the tip now hovering near your chest.

“I should run you through right here,” Hongjoong says coldly. “End this little rivalry before you sabotage anything else I plan.”

Your grin only widens. You laugh.

“You could try.”

Your gaze drifts over his shoulder, eyeing the pirates gathered behind him. Slowly. Deliberately. You wink at Seonghwa.

“Let’s see how that works out for you and your… crew.”

The wind tugs at the sails overhead. Ropes creak as the ships shift against one another.

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow down at you, “You think this is a joke?”

You lean back against the railing, folding your arms like he hasn’t just threatened your life.

“I think you’re very dramatic.”

His eye twitches.

“You are insufferable.”

You push off the railing and step closer. Close enough that he can clearly see the glint of amusement in your eyes.

“And yet, you keep coming back.”

For a moment, neither of you move. Steel clashes around you. Pirates shout. Boots scrape across the deck. But right here—the air feels heavier. Hongjoong finally exhales in defeat laced in frustration.

“Next time we meet,” he says quietly, “I won’t be so patient.”

You smile like that’s the best news you’ve heard all day.

“Good.”

He turns abruptly, coat snapping behind him as he whistles sharply to his crew.

“We’re leaving.”

Several of his men blink in confusion.

“Aye? What do you mean—”

“Now.”

A chorus of 'aye aye's' are heard before grappling hooks are pulled loose. Ropes whip back across the gap between the ships as his crew retreats. Hongjoong jumps back onto his own deck without looking at you again. You lean against the railing, watching them pull away. 

Just before the distance grows too wide, you call out across the water.

“See you soon, Hongjoong.”

Your voice follows him across the waves and judging by the way his shoulders stiffen—you know he heard you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Night fell across the water like black silk. You changed from your practical sailing attire into something that would catch the light—and his eyes. Your reputation as a merciless captain was well-earned, but tonight you were a woman with a different kind of conquest in mind.

"You're playing a dangerous game," your first mate warned as your crew prepared to board.

You laughed, checking the pistol at your hip. "Danger is the only game worth playing."

What your crew couldn't see was how your heart thundered against your ribs, how your skin tingled with anticipation. You would never admit, even to yourself, how many nights you had lain awake imagining those strong hands that commanded his ship doing entirely different things. How many times you had wondered if his lips tasted of salt and rum. How desperately you wanted to hear him sinning in your ear.

As the two ships drew closer in the moonlight, you could feel the familiar flutter in your stomach, that delicious tension between hatred and desire. Your crew moved with practiced efficiency, preparing grappling hooks and boarding planks, but your eyes remained fixed on the silhouette visible on the opposite deck.

Hongjoong stood tall at his helm, his black and silver coat catching the torchlight like flickering flames against the night. He had spotted your ship long before you made a move—this much was clear from the battle-ready formation of his men. What you couldn't know was how his pulse quickened at the sight of your flag, how his fingers tightened around his sword hilt not entirely from battle-readiness.

"They're expecting us this time, Captain," your quartermaster warned, voice low with concern.

"Of course they are," you replied, the corner of your mouth lifting in satisfaction. "He's finally learning."

The first cannon blast split the night air, a warning shot from them that sprayed water mere yards from their bow. Your crew tensed, but you merely laughed, the sound carrying across the water. You knew it would reach him. Hongjoong heard that laugh and felt something stir deep within him—a mixture of frustration and something far more dangerous. His first mate Seonghwa approached, expression grim.

"That's the third time she's found us this month. This is becoming more than coincidence."

"She's relentless," Hongjoong agreed, burrowing his brows in frustration. "And predictable."

What Hongjoong didn't reveal was how he had begun to anticipate these so called ‘chance’ encounters, how he had started to recognize the patterns in your attacks. How sometimes he deliberately chose routes he knew you might discover. The game between them had evolved beyond mere piracy.

The ships collided with a groaning of wood, and chaos erupted. Steel flashed in the moonlight as pirates leapt between vessels. You carved your path through the melee with singular purpose, dispatching Hongjoong's crew with efficient but non-lethal blows. You weren’t here for bloodshed tonight. Boots pounded against the deck as the battle surged around you. A blade came swinging from your left—clang—you caught it mid-strike, twisting your wrist and shoving the attacker off balance before sweeping his legs from beneath him. He hit the deck with a heavy thud, his weapon skidding away across the wood.

Another pirate rushed forward. You ducked beneath the swing, the wind of it brushing your hair as your sword knocked him aside with a sharp ring of steel. The ships groaned against one another, ropes snapping overhead as bodies clashed in tight quarters. You moved through it like water—dodging, disarming, pushing opponents aside. Your eyes were fixed on one person, Hongjoong. When you finally cornered him near his quarters, you were both breathing hard, sweat glistening against the moonlight. 

"We meet again, Captain," he said, his voice like rough velvet. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy my company."

"Don't flatter yourself," you shot back, circling him slowly. "Perhaps I simply enjoy watching you lose."

His laugh was deep and knowing, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Is that what's happening here? Because from where I stand, you seem rather... distracted."

He wasn't wrong. The way his shirt clung to his chest, damp with exertion, was indeed distracting. The way his dark eyes held yours with equal parts challenge and heat made it difficult to remember why you had drawn your sword in the first place.

Hongjoong noticed your momentary lapse and seized it, closing the distance between the two of you in one swift move. Your blades met with a metallic kiss, bringing your faces inches apart. He could smell the jasmine oil in your hair and even the rapid pulse at your throat.

"Tell me the real reason you hunt me across these seas," he demanded, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you.

Around them, the battle continued, but you and hongjoong had created your own world in this narrow corridor, locked in a private dance of attraction and denial. Neither willing to admit what was becoming increasingly obvious to both.

"Perhaps I simply want one thing" you replied, your breath hot against his cheek.

"And what might that be?" His free hand boldly caught your wrist, thumb pressing against your racing pulse.

The tension between them crackled like lightning before a storm. Both of you knew as you stood at a precipice, carefully maintained enmity threatening to transform into something far more complicated, far more consuming. You shoved him back with a twist, blade flashing; but instead of retreating, he pressed closer. The steel found the hollow at his jaw, dimpling the tanned skin there. A single ruby droplet welled up, trembling against the metal. His lips parted, eyes darkening as he leaned into your blade rather than away. 

"Will you do it?" 

The ship pitched beneath your feet, wooden boards groaning as your free hand shot out to brace against the wall. 

"I could," you whispered, not removing the blade but letting it slide teasingly along his jaw, leaving a thin scarlet trail in its wake. "But killing you would end our little game too soon."

His eyes narrowed, hand suddenly shooting up to grasp your wrist. With a single violent motion, he grabbed your arm making you drop your blade, putting you in a compromising position. Now it was his blade pressing against your throat, your back against the wall, his breath hot against your ear.

"Game?" Hongjoong snarled, pressing closer until your bodies aligned from chest to thigh. "You've sabotaged three major raids, stolen a royal bounty from under my nose, and sunk one of my supply vessels. You call that a game?"

You laughed a breathless, throaty sound that made his grip tighten reflexively. "And alas here you are, not killing me either."

"I want answers first. Why do you hunt me? What do you truly want?"

The ship lurched again in the rough waters, forcing him to brace his free hand against the wall beside your head. Your eyes locked with his, and something electric passed between you. Without breaking his gaze, your fingers moved to the front of his breeches, working at the laces.

"What are you—" His voice caught as understanding dawned.

"Isn't it obvious, Captain?" You smiled, all predatory hunger now that your true intentions were laid bare. "I want you."

His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief as your hand slipped inside the loosened fabric. Hongjoong's sword arm faltered, the blade hitting the floor with a loud thud. Instead, his hand came around to grip your throat as he claimed you with bruising force. The line between enemy and lover dissolved completely as you matched his ferocity with your own, neither willing to fully surrender.

With his other hand, he reached for his pistol. Pressing the cold barrel of the pistol against your cheek, you turned your head to run your tongue along the metal, feeling him shudder against you.

"Gods, what on earth are you?" he breathed, equal parts horrified and entranced.

"Your match," you gasped as he drove deeper, the edge of pain making the pleasure sharper, more acute. 

"My match," Hongjoong repeated, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "We'll see about that."

Hongjoong pulled you away from the wall, dragging you into his private quarters as he slammed the door behind him. Without another word, you sank to your knees before him, the wooden planks rough against your skin. His eyes widened as your fingers deftly worked his breeches open. Pulling down any remaining fabric revealing his thick cock standing tall. You salivated instantly, mouth watering fast you had to swallow hard.

“You’re so big, captain,” you coo’d. 

His words choked off as you speared him with defiant eyes, your tongue darting out as you slapped his tip on your tongue—licking the salt from his skin like a wildcat tasting blood. Your tongue traced the throbbing vein from the base to his angry hot tip with excruciating slowness, his sharp intake of breath a symphony to your ears. 

The legendary captain, scourge of the seven seas, was struck dumb as you engulfed him, inch by agonizing inch, your lips a tight, wet vice. His hands hovered, then grasped your hair, not guiding but clutching at you like a drowning man.

"I've dreamed of tasting you," you mumbled, breath scorching his flesh before consuming him deeper, feeling him throb against your tongue. 

A strangled sound tore from his throat—half curse, half supplication. His fingers tightened, hips jerking forward as you hollowed your cheeks, creating a vacuum that threatened to pull him apart. You took him to the hilt, swallowing around him, feeling his thighs quake against your palms.

"F-fuck you," he groaned, pain lacing his voice as his grip turned brutal. "You think you can ruin me like this?"

Your response was to take him deeper still, your nose pressing against him, hands gripping his thighs like a lifeline. The vibration of your soft moan around him sent him into violent shudders.

You took him deep again sucking faster around his warm cock, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. His hips jerked forward—once, twice—shallow, helpless thrusts into your throat. A choked groan finally escaped, immediately cut off as he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. Hand fisted tighter in your hair, not pulling you off but pushing you down. You moaned around him, vibrating again. His thighs shook. Abs clenched so hard the buttons on his shirt strained. 

“Fuck—” The word slipped out—barely audible, as he came, pulsing down your throat in hot thick heavy spurts. 

You swallowed greedily—every drop—while he shuddered above you, silent except for the harsh, uneven breathing he couldn’t quite control. When it finally stopped, Hongjoong wrenched you up by your hair, a primal satisfaction gleaming in his eyes at your gasp. He slammed you against the map table, navigation tools clattering to the floor in a chaotic symphony.

"No one," he hissed, face inches from yours, "makes me lose control."

He shoved you onto the table, the cold wood biting into your feverish skin. Before you could breathe, he was on you, tearing at your clothing and undergarments, the fabric shredding like tissue under his hands.

"Is this what you wanted, hm?" he demanded, pinning your wrists with one hand, the other tracing down your exposed throat like a blade. "To reduce me to this?"

You laughed, a sound that mocked his very soul. "Captain Hongjoong, undone by a woman’s mouth. How the mighty fall."

His eyes turned black with fury. He drew his pistol, the warm metal pressing against your lips hard enough to bruise. 

"Perhaps I should silence that clever mouth permanently," he threatened.

You parted your lips, tongue darting out to lick the length of the barrel, tasting metal and death. You took the tip into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you had done moments before on his cock.

Hongjoong's expression morphed from rage to lust. "Just what kind of succubus are you?"

You released the gun with a wet pop. "Not a succubus, I'm just a pirate who knows what she wants."

"Gods help me," he muttered, holstering the weapon before seizing your throat. His thumb pressed against your pulse point as he positioned himself between your legs, spreading them wide. 

"I'm going to make you regret playing this game with me." 

With a huff, he spits on his hand and coats his cock—already sheen from your saliva and his release. He taps his cock against your stomach, a smirk lingering on his lips. It excites him to see the way his tip reaches up so far, he’s certain that you’ll be so full of him.  

Hongjoong pushes your legs close to your chest, lining himself up with your dripping cunt. Your eyes closely watching him, breath shaking with anticipation. He fists his cock and guides it to your hole, he feels you clenching around nothing—almost desperate to take him in. He finally pushes in, you softly whimper at the contact. 

Although he would never say it to your face, Honjoong loves how feisty and sharp you are. Your quick wit, clever remarks and the way you can outsmart a tavern full of seasoned pirates was always fascinating to him. Sure it fucked with his missions and left his crew in shambles but thats what made you so dangerous. 

“What happened, sweetheart? He murmurs as he fucked you rough and hard into the table, each thrust was urgent and fuelled by desire. “Where’d my silver tongue captain go?” 

“F-fuck you Hongjoong,” your voice cracks, unable to keep the confident and dominant illusion. 

“There she is.” 

You feel his weight on top of you, the way he’s pinning you down against the table. His hips pistoning into you as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every inch of his cock stretches you out wide, the burn mixing in with the sweet sensation makes your eyes roll back. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his scarred skin, you’re certain that even through his shirt it’ll leave marks. 

Hongjoong doesn’t even flinch, he just growls low in his throat, pushing harder making sure that you’re stuffed full until there’s physically no space left between the two of you. The table creaked beneath you, maps tearing under your sweat-slicked bodies. Hongjoong's hand remained at your throat, tightening each time you dared to match his pace or take control. You bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood when he drove into you with particular force. He retaliated by flipping you onto your stomach, one hand pressing your face against the wood while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints.

“I’m the only one across the seas that can make you feel this good, y’hear me?” Each word was a thrust that sent the table sliding across the floor. 

You underestimated him. Hongjoong's cock was a weapon, tearing you apart, but you gave no quarter, answering every savage thrust with a spine-tingling gasp that was equal parts defiance and reckless invitation. Your brain wants to argue, but any argument dies on your tongue—replaced by your loud moans and whimpers. 

It was so obscene, so utterly perfect.

The world beyond the cabin ceased to exist—there was only the wet slap of flesh, the bite of his fingers digging into your hips, the splintering screech of wood under your bodies. Your breath came ragged, each exhale a declaration of defiance. Every sound you made was a gauntlet thrown, daring him to break his resolve.

Hongjoong leaned in until his chest smothered your back, sweat soaking the linen and searing through it. His teeth grazed your ear, lips catching the curve as he snarled. 

"Say it," he whispered, voice hoarse from effort and fury. "Say that you’re mine and—shit—only I can fuck you like this." 

“Mmmh fuck hongjoong, o-only you— can fuck me this good, holy shit!” 

“Fuck I need to see this, need to see you baby,” he groans out. 

He loosens his grip on your throat as he slides his hands to your waist. He pulls out for a moment as he flips you back onto your back, both of you harmonising in moans at the loss of him inside you. 

Without any hesitation he slams back into your tight hold, you scream out strings of curses that would shame you away from the heavens above. Your body arches up into him even though the sensation makes you want to squirm away from his grasp. You clench even tighter around him; your thighs braced and shaking, hips rising to meet him, hungry for the punishment he meant as domination. The plap plap plap of wet, sticky skin echoing in the room. His cock drags along your walls so perfectly it makes your vision blur. All you can feel is him, he’s buried so deep in you hitting your sweet spot again and again. A pathetic whimper escapes your lips, broken and needy for him.

Hongjoong notices his effect on you almost immediately. His hand reaches down and cups one of your tits. He groans as he pinches and toys with your hardened nipples, his hand kneading the surface. Then he himself dips down and takes your other tit in his mouth, his tongue swirling around your nipple—a cry escapes your lips as the stimulation from his cock and mouth drives you crazy.

He pulls away from your tit and kisses you hard, teeth clashing and fighting for dominance. He bites down on your lower lip, an easy distraction to let his tongue freely explore your mouth. His fingers find their way back up to your head as they tangle themselves roughly in your hair, yanking your head back with just the right amount of force to make you gasp. 

“Look at me,” he rasps, voice raspy as if he’s fighting through something brutal. 

His grip tightens as he holds you steady as your eyes lock on with his. Your pupils are blown out, wide, dark filled with lust. He watches it happen in real time, he watches the desire take over your eyes until it’s just a hazy stare reflecting back at him. Hongjoong’s face twists, his brows furrowed deeply and his jaw so tightly clenched you can see the vein pop out in his neck. His eyes half lidded and beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, a sign of his hard work of fucking the attitude out of you. His breaths sound more and more ragged.

“Fuck that’s it,” he moans, the word dragging out low. 

The way his cock drills into you over and over, you feel the familiar feeling tighten in your stomach. 

“Hongjoong—fuck ‘m so close, ‘m gonna cum p-please,” you whimper.

His free hand digs into your hips, leaving bruises in its wake as he slams down harder and harder—chasing his release as well as your own. 

“You want to cum for me baby?” He mumbles in between his delicious thrusts, "Gonna cum all over my cock, hm?" you nod frantically.

You see it in his eyes, bliss mixed with strain, you knew he couldn’t hold it in any longer. The way his pupils dilate as he looks at the treasure laid out so beautifully before him. His sounds get louder, groans get deeper, guttural moans vibrate through his body right down to yours. 

“Shit! ‘M cumming joongie,” you whined as you reached your peak.

“Fuck.. your taking me so well,” he hisses, his voice about to shatter. 

The hand at your throat tightened until your vision tunnelled, the other toying with your sensitive bud with merciless precision. His face contorts, eyes squeezing shut as the feeling of your warm cum coat his cock becomes too much for him. He timed it so you both reached the breaking point together, your body bucking in tandem with his, the world going white behind your eyes, convulsing around him. He emptied his hot and thick release into your sopping cunt with a curse, hips snapping as if the force could embed you into the wood forever. He doesn’t stop moving, he moves slower now chasing and riding out his high. Your body trembles with him overstimulating all of your senses. 

Outside, the sounds of battle had mysteriously quieted. The unmistakable rhythmic thumping against the cabin wall had drawn attention from both crews. First one pirate, then another lowered their weapons, heads tilting toward the captain's quarters. 

"Is that...?" Seonghwa whispered, eyes widening.

Your first mate coughed awkwardly, sheathing her sword. "Perhaps we should... give them some privacy."

But no one moved away. The sounds coming from within the cabin were too captivating—your cries mingling with Hongjoong's groans, punctuated by the crash of furniture and breaking glass. Inside, oblivious to your audience, you finally surrendered not in defeat, but in mutual conquest.

When it was over, Hongjoong held you caged against his chest, both of you panting, sweat and blood mingling on each other. You could feel the mess between your legs, the sticky evidence of his possession. He pulls out of you and you moan at the emptiness while he groans at the sight of both of your cum leaking out of your pussy. He takes a finger and scoops the remainder back into your cunt, you try to swat his hand away but he grabs your wrist in protest. 

“Asshole,” you muttered.

For several moments, only the sound of ragged breathing filled the cabin, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. He surged forward, cupping your jaw with his hands as his lips found their way back to yours. This time his kiss was less violence than starvation, consuming you as though he could devour the insolence from your skin. You bit back and when he pulled away you were both bleeding anew. He pressed his forehead against yours, breath mingling, heartbeat a cannonade in his chest. He never thought that his enemy could so easily break his resolve.

"You are a crazy woman," he said, voice hoarse.

Before you could answer him, a sudden hush fell over the ship. Both of you froze, your bodies still pressed together, hearts hammering against each other's chests. The sounds of battle had ceased entirely. In their place came something else, the unmistakable awareness of listening ears.

"Did you hear that?" Hongjoong whispered against your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

You tilted your head, catching the distinct shuffle of feet outside the cabin door, the barely contained whispers. How long had the fighting stopped? How long had your crews been listening to the entirely different kind of battle raging within these walls?

"They're all out there," you breathed, a mix of horror and thrill washing over you. "our crews."

You straightened up and gathered what remained of your clothing and dressed yourself again then you turned to face him, letting him take the lead out of the room to find what chaos remained on board.

When you stepped onto the deck, you were both met with complete silence. Both crews stood frozen, weapons lowered, staring at you with expressions ranging from shock to poorly concealed amusement. Your hair was a tangled mess, your clothing hastily fastened, and a vivid mark bloomed on your neck and chest where Hongjoong's mouth had been. Hongjoong emerged behind you, equally disheveled. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain some semblance of captainly dignity.

The silence stretched for one heartbeat, two—then someone from your crew wolf-whistled. Another pirate began a slow, deliberate applause, quickly joined by others until both crews were hooting and cheering.

"Hey, that’s enough!" Hongjoong barked, though his ears had turned noticeably red.

Your first mate stepped forward, shaking her head with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Well, Captain, I suppose this explains the past six months of 'coincidental' encounters."

Beside you, Hongjoong straightened his collar, looking every bit the dignified captain despite the bite marks visible above his shirt. 

"I trust this means hostilities between our crews are suspended?" he called out, his voice carrying across both ships.

More cheers answered him. Someone tossed a bottle of rum from one ship to the other. Another sailor began playing a fiddle. The battle had transformed into an impromptu celebration.

"Suspended," you agreed, turning to face him with narrowed eyes, "but not ended. Don't think this changes anything, Captain Hongjoong."

He caught your wrist as you turned to walk away, pulling you back against his chest. 

"This changes everything," he murmured against your ear, low enough that only you could hear. "The next time I hunt you across these seas, it won't be for your ship."

You pulled away, maintaining your composure despite the heat blooming in your core at his words. 

"Bold of you to assume you'll be the hunter and not the prey."

The festivities around you faded as you held each other's gaze, the promise of future encounters hanging between you like a physical thing. This was not surrender—merely a new battlefield, with different weapons and higher stakes.

Your quartermaster approached, breaking the tension. "Orders, Captain?"

You snapped back into reality, once again the fearsome pirate captain your crew knew and loved. "Prepare to cast off. We've wasted enough time with these bastard men."

Hongjoong's laugh followed you as you strode across the deck, your crew scrambling to obey. "Until next time, Captain," he called after you.

You didn't turn, but allowed yourself a small smile where he couldn't see it. 

"Until next time," you whispered to yourself, already plotting your next encounter on the endless sea that had brought you together.

No new notifications.

You've read the same three words so many times today that the phrase is burned into your retinas by the glow of your phone screen. For the past hour, you haven’t moved a muscle from your hollowed-out spot on the couch. In fact, you haven't even left your dorm all day, other than to grab a quick dinner at the dining hall. You glance at the time at the corner of the screen: 9:07 p.m. You've wasted the day away, alternating every few hours between the rumpled sheets of your bed and the cozy cushions of the sofa until your eyes have begun to ache and blur from the relentless exposure to the blue light.

You curl tighter into the corner of the cushions, knees tucked to your chest, and swipe down again to refresh. You watch the little silver wheel spin, and...

No new notifications.

You sigh. Your thumb hovers, already twitching to repeat the process. It’s reached a level of pathetic that you don’t even want to acknowledge. A self-imposed loop of agony where you dissect every syllable of that walk home with Hongjoong. Having no classes on Fridays or Saturdays has proven to be a curse; without the structure of a schedule, you’ve simply let yourself rot in what-ifs. You have a mountain of assignments due, an endless list of vocabulary to memorize, but your motivation is gone: you're stuck wondering if his promise of "sometime this week" was really just a polite way of saying "never again."

You swipe down again.

1 new notification.

You bolt upright, your spine snapping straight as your heart picks up speed. You scramble to unlock the phone, but your Face ID fails—once, then twice—and you're not sure if it's because the lights are turned off or because your expression is too desperate for the sensors to even recognize. You tap the screen with trembling, nervous fingers, punching in your passcode until it finally unlocks.

Your eyes fly to the banner:

Amazon Shopping: Still interested? Korean Grammar in Use: Beginner is an item you recently viewed. Take another look now!

A groan leaves your throat as you hurl the phone onto the cushion beside you. You bury your face in your hands, the heat of your palms pressing against your tired eyes. You know it's humiliating and pathetic to let the lack of a text message dictate your mood, but you want things to move forward. You don't want to take the same two steps back into the safety of the student-tutor routine. 

Just as you reach out to retrieve your phone—the masochistic urge to refresh it just one more time already winning—the click of a key in the lock breaks the silence of the room. You whip your head around, frowning as you wait to see which of the two people who possess your spare keys has decided to interrupt you.

As the door swings wide, it turns out you don't have to choose. It’s both.

Yunho bursts through the entrance first, looking effortlessly handsome in a dark button-down and slightly wrinkled pants that suggest he's been ready for at least an hour. Yeosang follows closely behind, his face fixed in a mildly annoyed expression as he checks the watch on his wrist. They both smell like a mixture of the crisp night air and expensive cologne, a scent that makes your current state of wallowing in self-pity feel significantly more dismal. 

"San, we're here!" Yunho announces loudly through the small common area. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, his eyes sweeping over your oversized hoodie and the nest of blankets you’ve built around yourself.

Yeosang doesn’t even wait to greet you. He looks toward the hallway, his voice echoing. "Is he seriously sleeping? San! If we aren't at that entrance in thirty minutes, we probably aren't getting inside at all!"

You blink, squinting painfully as Yunho flips the overhead light switch, practically blinding you. "He's been asleep since I got back," you mutter, shielding your eyes. "That was two hours ago."

"Are you kidding?" Yeosang groans. He marches straight over to San's door and knocks on it with enough force to rattle the hinges. "San! Get up!"

A muffled, panicked shout erupts from behind the wood, followed by a loud thump that sounds suspiciously like a human body rolling directly onto the floor. A moment later, the door creaks open, and San peeks his head out. His hair is messy, sticking up in all sorts of directions, and his eyes look dazed. 

"I'm up!" he insists, though he looks like he's still half-dreaming. "I just needed a quick nap. I need energy if we're going to be out all night."

"Yeah, well, that strategy is gonna land us a night full of begging people to let us leave our stuff at their table," Yeosang retorts, crossing his arms. "Hurry up. Ten minutes, San. Or we leave you here."

San scrambles back into his room, the sound of dresser drawers slamming following close behind.

Yunho, however, hasn't moved. His full attention is fixed on you. He leans against the back of the sofa, eyes narrowing as he catches the subtle movement of your foot trying to discreetly kick a pillow over the phone you just tossed aside.

"Absolutely not," he says, his voice flat and final.

"I didn't say anything," you mutter, trying to sink deeper into the couch cushions.

"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face. You're still waiting for him to text?" 

You frown, rolling your eyes and choosing to turn away from him. You told Yunho about everything that happened during yesterday's study session in the café, but now? You're sincerely regretting doing so. 

"____, I say this with love. This is pathetic." You look up at him with a glare as he steps around the couch, nudging your knee with his. "Get up. You're coming with us. There's a new bar opening tonight, it's Saturday, and the anxiety vibrating off you is making me nervous. You need a drink. Or ten."

"I really don't," you resist, sinking back further. "I'm tired. I don't even like bars. It’s going to be loud and sweaty and everyone is going to be on top of each other—"

"And it's going to stop you from staring at a blank screen for the forty-eighth hour in a row," Yeosang chimes in, walking back from San's door and leaning against the living room wall. You shoot Yunho an accusing look, but he just shrugs.

"After everything that's happened in the past week, I'm going to be sharing the details of your love life with Yeosang and San more often. Just in case," Yunho defends. You roll your eyes again, but you can feel yourself starting to cave.

Yeosang nods in agreement. "Even if Hongjoong texts right now, do you really want to be the girl who was just sitting in the dark, rotting, while she waited for it?"

The words sting, and you shoot a second glare toward Yeosang, but his gaze is unimpressed.

"If he wants to text you, he'll text you," Yunho adds, his tone softening but remaining firm. "Staying here won't make it happen faster. It’ll just make you more miserable. Now, are you going to get up on your own, or do I have to drag you off this couch myself?"

You look from Yeosang’s blunt honesty to Yunho’s stubborn insistence, then back down at the pillow where your phone is hidden. They're right. You are being pretty pathetic. 

"Fine," you huff, finally swinging your legs over the side of the couch and standing up, grabbing it. Your muscles feel stiffer than you thought they were. "But it's gonna take me way more than ten minutes to look okay again."

Yunho’s face lights up with a triumphant grin that makes you immediately think you should regret your surrender. Yeosang actually chuckles, telling you, "Don't worry about it. You can take as much as thirty, probably. I only said ten so that San would hurry up and put on some pants."

You let out a genuine laugh as you head toward your room. You motion for Yunho to follow so he can act as a second pair of eyes for your closet while you scramble to work on your face. He follows you in, leaning against the doorframe as you plop down at your desk, reaching for your makeup. 

The small room is silent for a few minutes, save for the click of your blush palette and the hum of the heater. Yunho begins rummaging through your closet, the hangers clinking together as he slides them along the rail. He’s taking the job seriously, pulling out fabrics and holding them up to the light, but your focus is still elsewhere. Your phone is sitting face-up on the vanity, and every few seconds, your hand instinctively reaches for it.

You tap the screen.

No new notifications.

You apply a quick coat of mascara, then tap the screen again.

No new notifications.

"Okay, two options," Yunho says, turning around. In his left hand, he holds a beaded, asymmetric black top; in his right, a sequined taupe camisole. "It's pretty cold, though, so you'll need a jacket."

You barely glance at him through the mirror, your eyes glued to the reflection of your phone screen. "The black one should be good."

Yunho frowns slightly, tossing the top onto your bed and pulling out two pairs of jeans—one black, one light denim. "And pants? If you do the black ones, you should probably—"

You grab your phone, swiping up to check your notifications for the hundredth time. "Sure, yeah. Black sounds good." 

The hangers go still. You hear a heavy sigh, and before you can check your empty lock screen again, a large hand reaches over your shoulder and gently flips the phone face down.

"____, stop."

You look up through the mirror, meeting Yunho’s reflection. He isn't smiling anymore.

"I know a lot has happened this week," he says softly, his hand lingering near the phone as if to guard you from it. "And I know how badly you want that text. But please, for just one night, try to forget about it. You're stressing yourself out for no reason. Please?"

You realize how much energy you're wasting on waiting for a text from someone who might not even be looking at his phone right now. You let out a long breath and finally set the phone at the very edge of the desk, away from your reach.

"Okay," you say, giving him a small, tired nod. "I'll try." 

"Good." Yunho's grin returns. He holds up the black jeans again. "Now, look at these jeans and tell me if they'll look right with the top. I'm really just pulling stuff at random."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I'm sure they'll look fine, Yunho. You have better taste than I do."

You take the clothes from him, retreating to the corner of the room to swap your oversized hoodie for the beaded top and the black denim. After sliding into a pair of kitten heels that give you just enough height to be visible to your friends in a crowd, you return to the vanity, nodding with satisfaction when you see the girl in the mirror starting to look decent again.

As you start sectioning off your hair to get all the knots out of it, Yunho hovers nearby, leaning against the dresser. He’s quiet for a second, watching you work, before he clears his throat. "Oh, by the way. I invited Mingi, too. He should be meeting us there later."

Your hands pause mid-air. A wave of guilt suddenly washes over you. Between the spiral of waiting for Hongjoong and the dark cloud named Wooyoung you’ve been living under all week, you realize you haven’t checked in on Yunho once. You hadn't even asked how his talk with Mingi went.

You drop your arms, looking at him through the mirror with wide, apologetic eyes. "I'm a terrible friend. I never even asked—how did it go? Did you give him the snacks? Did you talk to him?"

Yunho lets out a chuckle, waving off your apology with a flick of his wrist. "You’re not a terrible friend. Honestly, with everything you’ve had going on this week, I would’ve been concerned if you did find a second to ask about it."

He moves closer, leaning against your desk now, his expression warming as he thinks back. "But yeah. I did what you suggested. I gave him the snacks and just told him that I wanted to take things more seriously." 

You turn in your chair, completely abandoning your hair for a moment, your eyes searching his. "And?"

A slow, boyish grin spreads across Yunho's face, and for a second, he actually looks a little shy. "And... yeah. It was good. It wasn't too much. I didn't overwhelm him, at least." He pauses, his gaze dropping to his shoes before snapping back to yours. "He agreed. He said he wanted us to be serious, too."

You break into a grin, nudging his shoulder lightly. "Yunho! I told you it would work! So, does that mean you're, like, official now?"

He ducks his head, a faint dusting of pink creeping up his neck, but the pride in his smile is unmistakable. "Yeah... yeah, we are."

You giggle at his embarrassment. "I'm happy for you," you say, and you truly mean it. Your heart swells for your best friend; he deserves that kind of certainty with the man he likes. But as you turn back to the mirror to finish your hair, a quiet, bittersweet ache settles in your chest.

Will it ever be that simple for me?

For Yunho, the path was pretty much a straight line: you have feelings, you buy the snacks, you say the words, and you get your answer. But as you think about Hongjoong, about the cryptic silences, the unanswered texts, and the confusing tension, you start to realize things will never be that easy for the two of you. 

You finish your hair and start shoving all your makeup back inside your drawers, slamming them shut. You look over at your phone, still face-down on the edge of the desk, but quickly avert your eyes before the urge to check it can win.

"Okay," you say, standing up and smoothing out your jeans, forcing a bright smile for him. "Let's go make me a third wheel."

Yunho laughs, looping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you toward the door with a playful squeeze. "Trust me. Official or not, Mingi’s still the one who’s going to be third-wheeling us."

Yeosang's car is technically a five-seater, but it feels half that size with the four of you packed inside. The scent of three distinct colognes and your own perfume swirling together in the confined space is enough to cause a headache, and to make things worse, you're shoved into the cramped backseat next to San—practically a broad-shouldered wall of muscle that takes up more than his fair share of the bench. 

"I said ten minutes, San," Yeosang says from behind the wheel. His eyes are fixed on the road, but his voice is dripping with dry judgment. "You took thirty-four. I watched the clock."

"I had to find the right socks!" San defends himself, shifting so much next to you that the leather seats creak. He’s a complete 180 from the sleepy mess who rolled onto the floor earlier; now, he’s practically vibrating with newfound energy. "The ones I'm wearing match the buttons on this shirt. I needed them."

You can't help but laugh, pressing yourself closer to the window to get another inch of space. "Thirty-four minutes just for socks? I literally did a full face of makeup, and I still beat you to the door."

"It's a longer process than you think!" he protests, looking genuinely offended. "There's my skincare, getting my hair right, picking my outfit, everything."

"San, I'm gonna be honest with you. Tonight's outfit really just looks like you were running thirty-four minutes late," Yunho chimes in from the shotgun seat, glancing back with a teasing grin.

"Agreed. Not your best work," Yeosang mutters. He takes a sharp turn that sends you sliding hard into a frowning San’s shoulder. "An outfit that probably made us miss the first round of drinks and a table."

The banter bounces around the car, and for a few minutes, the easy laughter is enough to fill the gaps in your thoughts. But as Yeosang shushes everyone to navigate a particularly busy intersection, the car settles into a brief lull. Your hand, acting on a muscle memory you haven't quite broken, slips into your purse.

You slide your phone out, keeping it low against your thigh. The screen stays dark, but you just want to check. Just one tap.

Just as your thumb reaches for the glass, a passing streetlamp catches the screen, reflecting the light. In the rearview mirror, you see Yunho shift. He twists around in his seat, not saying a word, but simply raising one eyebrow, his expression screaming: I'm disappointed, but not surprised.

Your heart does a guilty little hop. "Oops," you mutter, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Habit."

You pointedly drop the phone back into your bag, closing it.

"Habit's just a better word for addiction, you know," Yeosang remarks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror for a split second. "We’re less than a minute away. If that phone comes out again before you have a drink in your hand, it's going in the glove box. And I’ll lock it."

"He'll do it, too," San confirms, leaning closer to the middle of the car. "He did it to me once when I kept playing Clash Royale on the way to get pizza. I didn't get it back until we were on the way home."

You let out a breathy laugh, finally leaning your head back against the seat. "Okay, Mom. I get it. No more phone."

"Good," Yunho says, reaching back to give your knee a supportive pat. "Just relax and forget about him tonight. Now, look. We're here." 

Yeosang kills the engine as he maneuvers the car onto a patch of dry, uneven grass at the far edge of the lot. The designated spaces have long since been filled by a sea of metal and haphazardly parked SUVs. It's opening night, and while you expected a crowd, this is an introvert's nightmare. 

"Is the entire city here?" Yunho asks, leaning forward to peer through the windshield at the number of people pushing to get inside. "How are this many people supposed to fit into that tiny building? It’s gonna be standing room only. And barely that."

"Great," Yeosang sighs, though there's a spark of challenge in his eyes as he pockets his keys. "Maybe if we'd left thirty-four minutes earlier, we'd at least have an actual spot to park in."

San opens his mouth to fire back a retort, but the sound is cut short by the synchronized thud of Yeosang and Yunho laughing and slamming their doors shut. You look at your roommate, shaking your head in mock pity before grinning and following them out into the cold, pulling your jacket over your arms. 

The moment your feet hit the ground, the muffled thump of the bass vibrates through the soles of your shoes. The air outside is cold, but it’s charged with the energy of the massive crowd funneling toward the entrance. The horde of strangers and the roar of a thousand overlapping voices is overwhelming, and you suddenly feel like shrinking back into the quiet safety of the backseat.

San must have sensed your hesitation, because before you can even take a full step ahead, he's there, draping an arm over your shoulders. He pulls you closer to his side, acting as a barrier against the growing mob.

"Stay close to us tonight," he says, his voice losing the playful edge it had in the car. He leans closer to be heard over the rising music. "Don’t let any weird guys come up to you. We’re not doing a repeat of last time. Tonight is about having fun and leaving all of Wooyoung's bullshit behind."

Just outside the front door, he comes to a halt. His dark eyes scan the perimeter before softening as they land back on you. "If any guy won't take a hint, tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’ll handle it, okay?"

You let out a soft laugh, the knot of tension in your chest loosening. "I think I’m more than capable of handling myself, San."

You try to play it off as a joke, but as you look up at him, the sincerity in his expression makes you feel much safer than you did two minutes ago. 

"I mean it," he adds, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before finally letting go.

The moment the four of you push through the entrance, you realize just how packed the building really is. The music is so loud it rattles your ribcage, making it impossible to hear anything but the relentless beat. There's barely any standing room, let alone a clear path to the bar.

Tables are scattered across what used to be a dance floor, but they aren't being used for drinks; people are standing on top of them, cheering and dancing recklessly. The actual bar is buried under a three-person-deep swarm of bodies, so crowded you can’t even catch a quick glimpse of the bartenders. It feels more like a frat party than an opening night, which is exactly the kind of environment you usually avoid. The space is already small enough to begin with, and with the sheer volume of drunk, sweaty people crammed into every available square inch, you start to feel claustrophobic. 

Fortunately for you, Yeosang seems to be on a mission. He immediately begins to carve a path through the crowd, ignoring the indignant shoves of guys and the drunken protests of girls whose personal space he's invaded. You quickly fall into step behind him, followed closely by San, with Yunho at the rear. 

You spot it first: a small, semi-circular booth tucked near the far perimeter, right where the sticky floor of the dance area meets the dark wood buffer of the bar. It’s a miracle it’s still empty, though it's likely because the previous occupants were just swallowed by the growing mosh pit. You instantly hook your fingers around Yeosang’s elbow, steering him in its direction before anyone else can claim it. 

The booth is still very much in the middle of the chaos, but it offers a few inches of breathing room. More importantly, it offers a somewhat safe place to leave your belongings. 

"I'll take it," Yeosang says with a nod of satisfaction. He slides into the far corner of the curve, with Yunho and San on either side. You take your spot on the very edge next to San, preferring the end—more air, less sweat, and a clear view of the neon exit sign just in case your claustrophobia ends up becoming too overwhelming. 

Yunho, however, stands right back up, tossing his wallet carelessly on the table after pulling out a few twenties. You can tell he's in his element. The heat and the noise that usually drain your battery only seem to fuel his. He grins down at the three of you, already scanning the three-person-deep barricade at the bar like it's nothing. 

"Stay here! I'll be right back!" he shouts over a sudden beat drop. "First round is on me. The next five are on San!"

"Hell no they're not!" San objects instantly as you reach forward, catching the edge of Yunho's sleeve before he can get away.

"Yunho, wait." Your heart does a little anxious flutter as you look up at your best friend. "Actually come back this time. Don't get distracted."

Your mind is racing back through the countless nights out where Yunho had promised to "be right back" with a tray of shots, only to end up disappearing completely. You'd usually find him in the dead center of the floor three hours later, hair soaked with sweat and shirt half-unbuttoned, surrounded by total strangers and completely oblivious to the fact that you were thirsty and worried. Tonight, with how crowded the place is, the thought of him going missing feels less like a funny memory and more like actual danger.

But Yunho is Yunho. He flashes you an over-the-shoulder wink that he knows you can't stay mad at. "No promises!"

Then he's gone, his tall frame swallowed by the sea of college students in an instant. You sigh and turn to the two men you're left alone in the booth with. In this environment, San and Yeosang are complete polar opposites: San is sitting with perfect posture, his chest puffed out as he watches the crowd with a restless energy, his fingers drumming excitedly against the sticky tabletop. Meanwhile, next to him, Yeosang has his head leaned back against the leather seat, looking around with a frown. 

"This is really more crowded than I thought it'd be," Yeosang says flatly, his voice surprisingly clear over the roar of the speakers. 

San shifts his weight as he leans forward, grinning. "It's perfect," he counters, an eager glint in his eyes. "The more people there are, the easier it is to get lost in the music and have a good time. Right, ____?"

You level a sharp side-eye at him, a look that says you absolutely do not agree.

His smile only broadens, his eyes crinkling with infuriating amusement. "Come on, look at everyone having fun!" he laughs, pointing toward the churning crowd of bodies ahead of you. "Stop being so serious. Both of you. After the first drink, you won't even notice the crowd."

Yeosang offers a slow, skeptical blink, his head still tilted against the back of the booth. "If you say so," he murmurs. 

Suddenly, a passing stranger's elbow clips your shoulder, causing you to jump and quickly recoil, looking around with an irritated frown. San pretends not to notice, leaning over to jab an insistent finger into Yeosang’s arm.

"I do say so," he insists, undeterred. 

While San is busy trying to poke Yeosang into having fun, you take advantage of the momentary distraction. Slipping your hand into your bag, your fingers find the cold glass of your phone. You slowly slide it out, keeping it hidden well below the line of the tabletop, the screen lighting up in your lap. You frantically swipe the brightness down as you squint your eyes, reading:

No new notifications.

Impatience begins to spike in your chest. It's only Saturday, you internally reason. He said he'd text me sometime next week. Not this early.

But your doubt persists over reason. Forty-eight hours is plenty of time for a man to overthink. Plenty of time for him to realize that starting to officially cross the line between a professional relationship and this—whatever this unspoken thing is—is a mistake. The thought of retreating to square one prickles genuine irritation in your gut. You're getting tired of all the pretending.

"You're not as slick as you think you are, you know." 

You jump, nearly dropping your phone to the floor before clumsily pinning it face down against your thigh. You look up to find Yeosang's knowing gaze fixed directly on you. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you say, feigning a look of innocence.

"Right. Because the lock screen-colored light coming from your lap is just completely normal," he counters, his tone bone-dry.

San tries to hold in his laughter as he ducks his head, peeking under the table at your white-knuckled grip on your phone. "You're seriously checking it again? We haven't even been here for ten minutes!"

"I was just responding to a friend!" you say, slightly proud of how easily the lie slipped out.

Yeosang doesn't blink. "____, your entire social circle is currently sitting in this booth."

"Hey! That's both offensive and not true!" you shoot back, narrowing your eyes.

San's grin turns mischievous, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Yeah, Yeosang, give her some credit. Yunho's technically over at the bar."

The two of them devolve into a fit of giggles as you press your lips into a thin, hard line, fighting the traitorous urge to join in.

"I have a life outside of you three!" you insist, though your voice is shaky with threatening laughter.

"Name one," Yeosang challenges, crossing his arms over his chest with a grin. "Name one person, excluding the three of us, who would be texting you at eleven on a Saturday night."

Your mouth opens, a protest ready to fly. "I—"

Graciously, you're saved from having to invent an imaginary friend by Yunho suddenly plopping down into the booth. He's breathing hard, a few strands of hair already damp and clinging to his temples. Despite the havoc he just navigated through, he's miraculously balancing four full condensation-slicked glasses in his large hands.

"No shots?" San asks, his bottom lip jutting out in a little pout as Yunho begins sliding a different, colorful concoction in front of each person.

"You're not allowed to complain. I nearly had to throw hands with some guy when I asked for them," Yunho explains, shaking his head. "Complete asshole. Claimed he was there before me while literally standing a foot behind my shoulder. The bartender told me they were out of clean shot glasses anyway, so I had to guess what you'd like. Funnily enough, the guy started swearing at me in Korean—probably assumed I didn't understand a word." 

Yunho’s lips quirk into a little smirk, proving he's more entertained than upset. You look suspiciously at the glass he sets in front of you. It's a murky, iridescent violet, the ice cubes clicking softly against the rim as you lift it to your nose. It smells like a blend of gin and something more tangy.

"What did he say?" Yeosang probes, already halfway through his own drink in one impressive gulp. 

Yunho grins, taking a sip of his own. "Called me a 씨발 새끼."

A laugh jumps out of your throat as you set your glass back down without taking a sip, the only other person at the table who doesn't need a translation.

"The hell does that mean?" San asks, his head whipping between you and Yunho.

"It means Yunho's a fucking son of a bitch," you say too happily for the meaning, still giggling.

All three of them break into laughter as Yunho continues his play-by-play. "Then he went on this whole rant about how he just wanted to get his roommate shots for finally leaving their apartment, and how I was ruining his night. There was more, too, but I couldn't translate it all on the fly." He pauses to take another sip. "I just let him have the last tray of shots. Wasn't worth the drama."

Yeosang nods, wiping condensation from his thumb. "We'll get some later. No point in catching a charge over it."

"Right. He did have nice hair, though," Yunho adds, looking back towards the bar like he'll catch sight of the man again. "Long, silky, dark..."

"You sure you didn't wanna ask for his number instead of fighting him?" San grins. 

"He's a taken man now, San," you interject lightly. "No more hookups for Yunho." 

"Not that he was exactly racking up the numbers anyway," Yeosang comments dryly, dodging the playful punch Yunho throws at his arm. 

The table dissolves into bickering, and you finally take a hesitant sip of your drink. It hits your tongue with a burst of blackberry and a surprising spicy finish of ginger. It's absolutely delicious.

But the taste triggers a memory you don't necessarily want to relive: the blur of a different bar, where your third drink of the night just appeared in front of you. You stared at it, then at him, feeling the heat of the room rise.

The image flickers behind your eyes. Wooyoung’s hand slides drink after drink toward you, each one more tailored to your palate than the last, while his eyes watch for your reaction with that smug, satisfied grin—

No.

You take a much longer, more desperate gulp of the drink Yunho brought, letting the icy liquid numb your throat and douse the memory. Tonight wasn’t about Wooyoung nor Hongjoong. You wash the memory away, turning back to the conversation your friends are having.

"What's in this drink, Yunho?" Yeosang questions, his nose wrinkling as he squints his eyes at it. "There's so much sugar."

"For you, I just asked for something with a lot of grenadine," Yunho laughs, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. "I went easy on you and ____. San, on the other hand, is pretty much drinking jet fuel. He'll be dancing on a table in no time."

As his name is mentioned, San suddenly stands up, nudging your shoulder to usher you out of the booth so he can squeeze past. "I gotta warm up first," he retorts, smoothing down his shirt. "Now, who am I gonna have to fight over there to get a second round?"

The air of the dance floor is filled with the overwhelming haze of cologne, sweat, and spilled beer. Usually, the proximity of so many bodies would have you running for the exit, but the two drinks you’ve managed to down have softened the edges of your anxiety, turning the crushing crowd into background noise.

Yunho lasted exactly two and a half songs before his height gave him a clear view of Mingi across the room. With a celebratory shout that was swallowed by the bass, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stuck between San's energy and Yeosang's surprisingly fluid movements. 

While San jumps around, shouting out half-remembered lyrics and pulling startled strangers in to sing along, you and Yeosang are content to stay in your own bubble. You're both swaying loosely, a rare, relaxed smile playing on your lips as you sip your third drink of the night. He stays glued to your side, his shoulder bumping yours every couple of beats to keep you from being swept away by passing groups of rowdy students. 

But even with the music thumping in your chest, you can't stop feeling a phantom vibration in your pocket every now and then.

Taking a quick sip of your drink, you use your free hand to slip your phone out. You keep it low, squinting through the darkness to read.

No new notifications.

You sigh softly, not surprised in the slightest. Before you can lock the screen, Yeosang's slender hand reaches out and gently plucks the device from your fingers. Without a word, he slides the phone back into your jeans pocket and taps it twice, as if sealing it shut.

Through his jumping, San somehow notices. He lets out a loud, "Hey!" and lunges forward, grabbing your free wrist and spinning you into the center of their little circle. He whirls you around with a dimpled grin so infectious that you can't help the bubble of laughter that finally breaks through your chest.

For a while, you truly do forget about everything. The three of you dance like idiots, a mess of tangled limbs and spilled ice, shouting over the music and laughing together.

But the mayhem of the bar eventually does what it does best. A group of girls in birthday sashes suddenly swarm San, shrieking when they recognize him from class. At the same time, some guy even taller than Yunho stumbles between you and Yeosang, splitting your little circle apart. In the shuffle of the shifting crowd, you find yourself pushed closer to the bar area—not secluded enough to be alone, but suddenly more off to the side, where the laughter of your friends is lost to the bodies now standing between you.

You take a tentative half-step back to dodge a more reckless group of dancers, but your heel suddenly snags on someone's shoe. You stumble, the liquid in your glass sloshing over the rim and landing squarely on a dark sleeve.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" you gasp, the alcohol in your system making your voice a pitch higher than usual. You reach out instinctively, hovering your hand over the damp fabric of the stranger's jacket. "I can make it up to you—let me find some napkins, or—"

The man turns, and the words instantly die in your throat. He's striking, with sharp, elegant features and a pair of soft, deep eyes that quite honestly make your legs feel weak. He’s dressed in a dark, textured denim jacket over a black shirt, looking polished among the disheveled crowd. But it’s his hair that truly catches your attention: long, dark, and silky, just slightly brushing the tops of his shoulders. He looks like he could be a model.

You freeze. The hair... It's so distinctive. And it's exactly how Yunho described the man he fought with earlier. Could this possibly be him? 

But the man doesn't look angry in the slightest. Instead, he pauses, his gaze unabashedly sweeping over you, making a flush creep up your neck. When his eyes finally settle back on yours, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"It's all right. Don't worry about the napkins," he says, his voice surprisingly soft and velvety over the roar of the music. He pauses, watching you with curiosity. "But you could make it up to me by joining me for a dance?"

You blink, your tipsy brain struggling to keep pace. You left San and Yeosang for all of ten seconds and have already been intercepted by—not to mention flirted with—a stranger who looks like he just came straight from the runway. He's confident, yet there’s a gentleness in his posture that feels strangely calming. 

"I—" you start, but the words blur together in your head. You let out a small, airy laugh, the alcohol stripping away your usual filters. "What's your name?"

"Seonghwa," he replies, his smile deepening until it reaches his eyes. 

"Seonghwa," you repeat, letting the syllables roll off your tongue. It feels elegant. You glance around, noticing the empty space surrounding him. "Why are you here all alone, Seonghwa?"

"I brought a friend," he says softly, his shoulder shifting in a slight shrug. "But he doesn't like to dance much."

You raise an eyebrow, his situation sounding eerily similar to your own. "If he’s not a dancer, why drag him to a place like this on a Saturday night?"

"He never leaves our apartment," Seonghwa explains, looking genuinely entertained by your questions. "I have to force him out into the world sometimes."

Ha, you think, the realization dawning with full clarity. This is definitely the guy from Yunho's story.

A part of you wants to laugh—to run back to the booth and tell Yunho that his "complete asshole" at the bar is actually a soft-spoken charmer. But you stay. You’re allowed to talk to a handsome stranger, aren't you? You're not here to stress about your love life. You’re just a girl in a bar, enjoying a conversation with a man who seems genuinely interested in what you have to say.

"Trust me, I know the type," you say, leaning in closer so he doesn't have to raise his voice. The scent of him—sandalwood and something smoky—fills your senses. "My friends had to drag me out of my room tonight, too." 

"Is that right? Well, at least you're actually out here," Seonghwa says, his dark eyes sparkling. "My friend is tucked away at a table in the back, probably still staring at his screen. He’s a bit of a perfectionist. He doesn't know how to shut his brain off, even in a place like this."

You smile, the description hitting a little too close to home. "Is he working?"

"Working?" Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a small step closer. "That's the million-dollar question. He's spent the past two days staring at his phone. He’ll type something out, delete it, sigh, and start all over again. I assumed it was an assignment, but I really have no clue. I finally told him that if he didn't put the phone down and come get a drink, I was going to throw the thing off our balcony."

A sudden heat, one that has nothing to do with the alcohol, rises to your cheeks. You think of your own phone, silently hidden in your pocket. Maybe Seonghwa would think you're just as pathetic as his friend if he knew what you'd been stressing about all night. "Wow," you murmur. "He sounds very dedicated." 

"That's one way to put it," he agrees, nodding. He makes a show of looking around before he drops his voice to a conspiratorial murmur as if he’s sharing a secret he's scared of his friend overhearing. "I’ve never seen him quite like this. If you ask me, something threw him off balance this week. He’s been a restless mess since Friday morning." 

He offers you his hand. His fingers are long and elegant, and the way he looks at you—with such undivided, soft attention—makes you blush again.

"But enough about my roommate. I didn't come over here to talk about him," he says, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "I came over because I saw a pretty girl who looked like she needed some help having a good time."

You look down at his hand, your heart racing. Seonghwa is captivating—charming, funny, and handsome enough that you want to say yes just to see where the night goes. But is it fair? Is it right to dance with him when you've spent the whole night stressing about Hongjoong? Would this just be another mistake, another distraction, the same thing that happened with—

Buzz.

The magnetic thread pulling you toward Seonghwa violently snaps. 

You freeze, your breath hitching as your free hand flies to your pocket. A dangerous hope flares in your chest. Is it him? Is it finally Hongjoong?

Your movements are frantic and uncoordinated as you pull your phone out. In this moment, you don't really notice or really even care that you're being rude to the man waiting for your answer; your entire world has narrowed to the notification you just received. Your wide eyes lock onto the screen:

Wooyoung: I need to talk to you. 

Your heart skips a beat. A cold, sickening sense of dread fills your lungs. You stare at the name, the letters blurring as your mind reels. The high of Seonghwa's company evaporates instantly, replaced by a visceral, pulsing anxiety. You feel paralyzed, caught in a situation you thought you’d left in the past. 

"Is everything okay?" Seonghwa's soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his brow furrowing as he watches the color drain from your face. He’s still waiting there, hand half-extended, his elegant features now clouded with concern. 

Before you can even force a lie past your lips, your phone jolts again. 

Wooyoung: Where are you right now?

You suddenly feel a frantic urge to hide, to disappear into the crowd, the bathroom, the floorboards, anywhere but here. Your fingers tremble as you shove the phone back into your jeans. Ignore it, you command yourself. This is a night for forgetting. San, Yeosang, and Yunho are all here with you. You're completely fine.

You look back at Seonghwa, forcing an apologetic smile. "Yeah," you breathe, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans. "It's fine. Just work. I'm sorry." You look down at his outstretched hand again, wanting to attempt to reclaim the moment, to let him pull you away from Wooyoung, but the atmosphere is now gone. 

Buzz.

The third vibration sends a genuine shock of panic through your nervous system. Why now? Why tonight? Why is this suddenly happening? Why is he texting you out of nowhere, after almost a week? How is it possible that he waited for the exact moment you let your guard down to remind you of what you left behind with him?

You draw a shaky breath, all but forgetting about Seonghwa yet again as you pull your phone out one last time, your vision barely able to focus. 

Wooyoung: Ignoring me? Wooyoung: Look to your left. 

If there was ever a moment in your life where your heart fully stopped, it's this one. A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, and your neck feels stiff as you slowly begin the agonizing pivot of your head. You scan the bar, your eyes cutting through the mass of swaying, oblivious bodies, until your eyes lock onto exactly what they're terrified of.

There, dressed in all black, perched at the edge of the bar, leaning back with a drink in his hand, is Wooyoung.

A girl you've never seen before is leaning into him, her mouth moving with an animated desperation to be heard, but he is utterly focused on you. Even across the distance, you can read his expression easily: a blend of wounded pride and bitter jealousy. He isn’t only watching you, he’s watching the man you're standing next to.

Panic hits you. The guilt you’ve been suppressing for days surges up, mixing with a sudden, overwhelming sense of nausea. The walls of the building feel like they're closing in, your claustrophobia and anxiety twisting together until it's hard to breathe. It's all too overwhelming. You break eye contact, immediately looking around for the nearest exit. You need to get out of here. Now.

"I—I’m so sorry," you stammer, turning back to a bewildered Seonghwa. You practically shove your drink into his hands, the liquid sloshing over his fingers. "I have to—could you hold this for me? I’m so sorry about your jacket."

"Wait—" Seonghwa catches the glass with a startled reflex, his eyes wide as he reaches out to steady you. "Is everything—wait, I didn’t even get your name!"

"I'm sorry!" you call out, the words probably inaudible to him as you spin away on your heel. 

His voice is lost to the blaring speakers as you hurry into the crowd, your ears ringing. You don’t look back at the bar to see if Wooyoung has stood up. You don't stop to look around for San or Yeosang or Yunho. You don’t look to see if Seonghwa is still watching you. 

You aim for the front of the building, but the instinct to hide in the bathroom dies as quickly as it was born—Wooyoung would expect you to run there. Instead, you make the split-second decision of rushing through the exit doors, the frigid night air shocking your sweat-slicked skin. 

You scramble toward the side of the building, ignoring how you're jacketless and shivering because it's absolutely nothing in comparison to the hammering of your heart.  

After you round the corner, the bar's thumping music finally dissolves into a muffled thud against the alley's damp brick. You practically collapse back against the wall, your eyes snapping shut as you struggle to breathe in the frigid air. 

Of course he's here. It's the newest spot in the city; it was arrogant, borderline delusional, to be so utterly unprepared to run into him. 

But as your shock finally begins to recede, a million uneasy questions take its place. What does he want? There wasn't a trace of warmth in those texts, and the look he gave you from across the bar was even colder. Is he here to apologize? Or is he looking for a way to settle the score after you'd so thoroughly bruised his ego? To your anxious mind, the latter feels almost certain.

You fumble for your phone and attempt to call all three of your friends, but the effort is futile. No responses. Last time you saw San and Yeosang, they were completely lost in the music and their drinks, and there's no chance Yunho even knows where his phone is at this stage of the night, especially if he's with Mingi. But going back inside means risking a collision with Wooyoung—or worse, dragging Seonghwa's kindness into the middle of it. You're trapped outside, pinned by your own indecision.

"Running away? Am I really that scary?"

The sudden voice does in fact scare you, making you jump so violently that your shoulder blades hit against the brick. Your eyes fly open. Wooyoung is standing just a few feet away at the corner of the building, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

He looks identical to the night you met—the same leather jacket and hairstyle—but the energy rolling off him has changed. His playful, seductive magnetism is gone, replaced by what feels dangerously like anger. 

Wooyoung takes a slow step towards you. Your heels scrape against the pavement as you recoil, pressing your spine harder against the wall until there’s nowhere left to go.

He stops, his lips twisting into a scoff as he rolls his eyes at you. "Relax," he says dryly. "I just wanna talk."

"Talk about what?" you manage to ask, your voice thin. You shift, a cautious attempt to put more space between your bodies. "I don't think there's anything left to say, Wooyoung."

"You don’t?" Another scoff breaks from his throat. He shakes his head as he looks away from you, off into the distance of the dark alley. "I don’t know about you, but I’m personally not the biggest fan of where we left things."

You both go silent, the air thick with the words he isn't saying out loud. You search his face, wondering: Is this the prelude to his apology? Or is he baiting you, waiting for you to fill the hush with an apology of your own?

His eyes snap back to yours. He looks over your body, tracking your shoulders' involuntary trembling from the cold. With a small huff that puffs white into the air, he shrugs off his jacket, leaving him in nothing but a thin black t-shirt. He holds it out to you.

"Here," he says flatly, looking at you expectantly. 

You stare at the jacket, then at him, confused.

He rolls his eyes again and motions the jacket forward again. "You're shivering. Just put it on." 

You gulp before reluctantly reaching out and taking it from him. His body heat is still radiating off the leather as you slide your arms into the sleeves. He sighs, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets and leaning against the wall next to you, turning his profile to you as he stares at the rusted chain-link fence across the way.

"I'm sorry I left you there," he says quietly. Your head whips toward him, eyebrows arching in genuine shock, but he refuses to meet your eyes. "I’ve been trying to think of what to say to you for days. All I could come up with is that I was an asshole. I just thought you wanted everything. I thought you felt the same way I did."

When he finally turns, he pins you with a stare so intense it makes your throat ache. But he doesn't continue. He's said all he wanted to.

You aren't naive; you can tell what he wants. He's waiting for a "me too." He's waiting for you to tell him you made a mistake, that your "boring" life isn't for you, and that you truly do belong in his world.

You aren't falling for it this time.

"We already had this conversation, Wooyoung," you say, taking a shaky breath. He stares at you, his expression blank, a completely unreadable mask. "I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I made my feelings seem... different than they were."

You pause, choosing your words carefully, knowing you're walking a thin line between honesty and unnecessary cruelty.

"I like you," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "I like how confident you are. I like that you're fun, and I like how you're so bold with everything you do. And somehow..." A faint laugh catches in your throat. "I even like that your ego is ten times the size of anyone else's. You really do make me feel free. And it does feel good to just... let go sometimes."

Wooyoung's eyes flicker, a spark of hope—or perhaps just pride—igniting.

"But," you whisper.

The spark immediately dies, extinguished by a single syllable.

"Every time I let go, I end up feeling worse about myself afterward. I’m not like you, Wooyoung. I like having control. I find peace in the safety of a plan. I’m not a project for you to fix, or a girl you can mold into a version of yourself just because that's what you're used to. I never want to change who I am just to fit into someone's life."

You search his face for a sign of emotion, but there's nothing there. He's standing there like a shell of the Wooyoung you know: the same body, but a new, terrifying stillness.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you," you continue softly. You drop your gaze to your feet, unable to bear staring into his eyes any longer. "But I stand by what I said."

Silence crashes over you again. Wooyoung goes quiet, looking back ahead towards the fence absently. You stood rooted to the spot, holding your breath, waiting nervously for his reaction. Had you been too harsh? Not harsh enough?

After what feels like an eternity, he pushes off the wall, slowly turning to face you. He looks down at his shoes for a heartbeat before snapping his gaze up to yours, terrifyingly calm. 

"I don't usually do this," he says, his voice dropping to that same low register he used the night he kicked you out of his car. "I don't chase people. But I genuinely tried with you. I gave you my best, ____. And I was under the impression that I was doing a pretty good fucking job of it."

He takes a step closer, his shadow stretching and swallowing yours. You feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach as he looks down at you. "So tell me one thing. Honestly."

You can only nod, your heart racing.

"Did you want him the whole time?"

Wooyoung doesn't even need to say his name.  

Of course he still thinks it's all about Hongjoong. You're beginning to think he's blind to the possibility that a woman could simply not want him. Yet... he isn't entirely wrong. You did want Hongjoong. The only difference is that in the beginning, it was more of a quiet longing for something you thought was surely impossible; by the end, you realized that even if Hongjoong didn't exist, it wouldn't make you and Wooyoung any more compatible.

You blink at him, feeling small under his perceptive gaze. He had always been able to read you with a terrifying accuracy, and the fear that a lie would only ignite his temper further keeps the words trapped in your throat. You need to tell him the truth, but a version of it that won't hurt his pride. 

"I don't have a good answer for that," you whisper honestly. "He... he was always on my mind, yes. But you knew that. San told you about him the very night we met."

Wooyoung lets out a raw, ugly laugh. "He wasn't fucking competition. Never in my life—" He chokes off the sentence with a scoff of disbelief, his head shaking bitterly. "Never in my life did I think I'd have to worry about some fucking tutor. What is it? Does the 'nice guy' act actually work on you? I gave you too much credit. I thought you were too smart to fall for that shit."

You freeze. The volume of his voice is rising with each word; you clearly miscalculated your answer. Wooyoung is too angry to talk things out rationally, whether you tell him the truth or not. This conversation isn't going anywhere. "Wooyoung, I don't think this is—"

"And what about that guy inside?" he interrupts, motioning toward the bar's entrance as his voice gains a new crazed edge. "Things didn't work out with the tutor, huh? You move on that fast?" 

You flinch, stuttering. "H—He had nothing to do with—"

"Answer my fucking question, ____!" His shout cracks the silence of the alley, and you go still. He doesn't move any closer to you, but the force of his voice feels like a shove nonetheless. "Did you want him the whole time? Yes or no?"

"It's not that simple!" you argue back, your hand swiftly slipping into your pocket. Your fingers curl around your phone. Even though he stays rooted to his spot, you take another nervous step back. You silently hope that if you end up needing to call for help, at least one of your friends will pick up.

"I didn't think anything was possible with him," you admit, your voice trembling. "But I knew... Well, you made it clear that you wanted me. Yeosang warned me that you didn't do relationships. I didn't think you'd ever... become serious about me."

"So because of what Yeosang said about me, you just fucking used me?" Wooyoung's eyes go wild, a mix of rage and a bleeding wound he can't hide. "I was what? A distraction? You used me to have some fun while you waited for him because you didn't think I'd actually like you?"

You flinch as if he's just slapped you.

He's right.

You admitted the same truth to Yunho just days earlier. You did use him. You tried to drown your feelings for Hongjoong in Wooyoung, and it became the core of your guilt for days.

"Wooyoung... I..." The words die in your throat. You reach for a defense, a justification, something, but all you can think of is the hard reality of your own selfishness. "I didn't mean to—"

"What the hell? What are you doing out here?" 

You look past Wooyoung's shoulder as he whips around, and you see them—San and Yeosang, side-by-side near the corner of the building. San is storming down the alley, looking nearly twice his usual size. Beside him, Yeosang walks with a slower deliberation, his eyes locked on Wooyoung with suspicion. 

San doesn't slow down. He marches straight up to Wooyoung, planting himself so close their chests nearly collide. Without a word of greeting, he brings a hand up, shoving Wooyoung’s shoulder with enough force to send the smaller man stumbling back a half-step.

"You've got some nerve cornering her out here after what you did," San sneers with a protective fury you've never heard from him before. 

Wooyoung doesn't back down. If anything, the physical contact only riles him up more. He squares his shoulders, his own expression twisting. "After what I did?" he repeats, his voice cracking with indignation. "What about what she did?" 

A vein pulses in San's temple, and for a second, you genuinely think he's going to hit him. San is obviously wasted, and the alcohol has stripped away all of his patience. 

"What she did?" he practically growls, his eyes flashing. "Are you fucking kidding me? You left her in the middle of nowhere, Woo! Alone, in the dark, in the middle of a goddamn parking lot!" 

"I texted you to come get her!" Wooyoung retorts, throwing his hands up defensively. "You had her location! She was fine! I knew you'd come!"

"And if I didn't?" San reaches forward, his fingers curling into the collar of Wooyoung's shirt. He bunches the fabric in his fist, hoisting it upward until Wooyoung is forced onto the balls of his feet. "If I hadn’t looked at my phone? If some creep had pulled over before I got there? What if she’d been hurt, or kidnapped, or worse?" 

Despite the slight slur in his words, San's conviction is sharp; he towers over Wooyoung. "Are you a fucking idiot?"

"Fuck, dude!" Wooyoung snaps back, his hands coming up to grab at San’s wrists, struggling against the grip despite not taking a swing. As you take a step back to put distance between yourself and the confrontation, you can see desperation move through Wooyoung's eyes—the look of a man who knows he’s lost the moral high ground but is too proud to surrender it. "I know I messed up! I fucking know! I already apologized!"

"You think an apology covers that?" San’s face is inches from Wooyoung’s now, staring at him with pure disgust. "It doesn’t matter what she did to you or how mad you were. You put her in danger."

"She used me, San! She just told me she wanted someone else the whole time I was fucking her!" 

Wooyoung spits the words out with a venom that makes you feel sick. Suddenly, some realization seems to spark behind his eyes, and he snaps his head toward you. "Is that what it was? Were you picturing him while you were with me?" 

He wrenches himself free from San with a violent jerk and crowds into your space. As he looms over you, the scent of whiskey fills your nose; he's way drunker than you realized. Maybe even more than San. "Didn't seem to be thinking about him when you were moaning my name, baby," he sneers, the nickname landing like an insult. 

You stumble back, holding out a desperate hand to put space between you. "Wooyoung, what the fuck? Of course I never—"

"You think he can fuck you like I can?" His voice drops lower, his eyes wide with rage yet laced with a raw hurt he can’t hide. He stumbles slightly, his balance betrayed by the alcohol, but his gaze remains pinned on you. "You think some fucking nerd can make you feel the way I did? You think his dick can compare to mine?" 

A hot wave of shame floods your face, your skin burning with the humiliation of having what happened between you dissected so crudely in front of your friends. You take another shaky step back, your mouth opening to defend yourself, but San beats you to it. 

His hand hooks into the back of Wooyoung's shirt, jerking him back. "Shut the fuck up, dude!" San all but yells as Wooyoung, looking one second away from throwing a punch with his fists clenched as tightly as they are. "What makes you think you can talk to her like that?"

Seeing the situation get closer to its breaking point, Yeosang finally moves. He steps between the two men, his hands locking around San's bicep to pull him back from Wooyoung. "San, calm down," he commands steadily, forcing a gap between them. "You're both wasted. You aren't fist-fighting in the middle of some alley. Get a grip. Both of you."

"Why are you telling me to calm down?" San looks at him incredulously. "He's the one who's stalking her or some shit!"

"I'm not fucking stalking her!" Wooyoung snaps, his composure cracking more with every passing second. "I just noticed her at the bar. I got distracted for one second and saw her basically spreading her legs for some asshole when I looked back!" 

Your eyes narrow as the words leave his mouth. You know he’s drunk, but he’s going too far. The humiliation is already burning through you. He's projecting his rejection onto you like a weapon; he won't stop until he feels he's gotten revenge. 

San shoves Yeosang’s hands off his chest, but he doesn't lunge again. He stands his ground, glaring at Wooyoung, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. "Really, Woo? You’re so pathetic that just because a girl doesn't want you, you're gonna act like a dick?" 

"Well, it's not like it isn't the truth, right?" Wooyoung’s lips curl into a smile that never reaches his eyes. He ignores San, fixing his attention entirely on you. "Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Probably would've let that guy take you right there on the bar if I hadn't interrupted."

He pauses. For a moment, something flashes across his face. Uncertainty, maybe even a hint of regret, as if he knows he's taking it too far. But then his jaw tightens. 

"You really have a thing for doing it in public, huh? I mean..." His mean smirk snaps right back into place. "I would certainly know." 

You freeze on the spot. He’s bringing up the restaurant—right here, in front of them. If he goes any further... if he mentions the things he said about the two of them joining in... You feel the color drain from your face.

Wooyoung watches the blood leave your cheeks and grins as if he can read your mind. You see his game clearly now: he’s trying to weaponize the one thing he thinks he still has over Hongjoong—your body—and he's using it to humiliate you in front of your friends to salvage his own bruised ego.

"Wooyoung, no," you finally find your voice, glaring back at him and refusing to give him that satisfaction. "I was just talking to him. That's it."

Yeosang shakes his head, his expression shifting from suspicion to disappointment. "Woo, you need to stop. I know you're drunk and lashing out because you're hurt, but come on. You're crossing a line. You can't say stuff like that."

Wooyoung just lets out a sharp laugh, looking away and shaking his head as if he’s the only one in the alley who knows the truth. "You guys have no idea. You’d be surprised if you heard about the shit she’s actually into, Yeo. She's—"

"We don't fucking care what she's into!" San growls, his entire body tensing. Yeosang immediately moves back in front of him, bracing for another lunge. "You're the only one who gives a shit about any of this! I know sex is all you think about, but for the rest of us, not everything is about who's fucking who!"

Wooyoung flinches. His drunken boldness flickers out, revealing his true, pained self. 

"You really think that's all I wanted her for?" he asks, voice cracking as he turns to you, searching your face desperately. "Did she tell you any of it? Did you tell them what I said? That I actually really fucking liked you? That I wanted you to be my first goddamn girlfriend?"

Your mouth drops open, but you quickly clamp it shut, stunned. His first girlfriend. 

The guilt you've been trying to forget about all night suddenly amplifies. You really hurt him. There's no denying that he's crossing vicious, unforgivable lines right now, and the alcohol is clearly fueling his worst, most toxic impulses... but the foundation of his rage is what you did. 

"She told us, Woo. She told us everything." Yeosang breaks the silence quietly. 

Wooyoung turns to him, his shoulders slumping as the last of his fight ebbs away, replaced by a crushing defeat. Yeosang doesn't look away. He steps past San, moving with the weary calmness of a man who knows Wooyoung better than everyone else. After years upon years of friendship, Yeosang knows exactly what's going through his mind. 

"Maybe what she did was wrong," he continues, his voice devoid of judgment, but firm with the truth. "Maybe she shouldn't have gone out with you. You have every right to be hurt and upset." He pauses, reaching out to place a non-threatening hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. "But you don't have any right to follow her into a dark alley, wasted out of your mind, and spit this insane shit at her just because you're getting rejected for the first time in your life. Everyone goes through this at least once, Woo. It just happens to be happening to you at twenty instead of ten." 

Wooyoung remains motionless, staring at Yeosang blankly, with no expression for you to dissect. You watch his throat move as he swallows hard, his gaze finally drifting back to yours. He gently brushes Yeosang’s hand aside and begins to walk toward you—slowly this time, his predatory stare replaced by plain vulnerability. Behind him, San jumps to move forward, but Yeosang's arm shoots out, stopping him.

Wooyoung stops just inches away. He looks down at you, his face a blur of confusion, hurt, and lingering anger.

"Fuck, ____," he whispers, dragging a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the last few minutes. "I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry. I've never..." He glances back at Yeosang, then back to you, the words catching in his throat. "I’ve never felt like this before. I’m really... fuck."

He can’t even finish the thought. You watch him carefully, keeping your own expression neutral. He’s clearly never been told no, and you can't help but feel bad for being the one to do it first. But even as your heart aches, you can see the truth he’s still blind to. He doesn't like the girl you really are. He just likes that you're a new and interesting type of challenge. You’re at fault for leading him on, but you're also the only one who sees these "feelings" for what they really are. 

"Can we try this again?" he finally asks, his voice solemn and hopeful. "When I’m... more sober?"

You take in a sharp breath, not knowing what to say. Is there even anything left to talk about at this point? Could a sober conversation fix feelings that were always toxic to begin with?

But San and Yeosang cut in before you even open your mouth. "No," they say in unison, with a finality that leaves no room for negotiation. 

Wooyoung immediately turns toward them, a defiant eyebrow arching even as he sways on his feet. "I think that’s her decision to make—"

"You’re done seeing her, Woo," San cuts him off coldly.

Yeosang looks sadly at his friend, but gives him a slow nod. "You’ve both said what you needed to say. You’re hurt, and you blame her. She was figuring out her feelings, and though she’s sorry for how she handled it, she doesn't want you. There’s nothing else to talk about. You both need to deal with this on your own."

Wooyoung’s lips tighten into a thin line. He pointedly ignores them, turning his full attention back to you. He offers a casual, nonchalant shrug, though his eyes remain searching behind the facade. "So?" he asks again. "Can we try this again or not?"

You stare up at him, trying to peel back the layers of alcohol and ego to find the man underneath. Even through the haze of his intoxication, his emotions aren't being faked. You know his pain is real, but you also understand that Yeosang is spot on with his words. 

"Wooyoung, I'm sorry," you say quietly. "Yeosang's right."

His expression falls instantly, rejection crossing his face. For a moment, you feel a strong urge to take it back, to promise him one last talk, one more night to smooth things over. But you know that’s a trap. It would always end exactly here: Wooyoung feeling hurt by what you did while refusing to let go, and you drowning in guilt while knowing you're better off apart. There is no clean ending to this conversation. And there never will be.

"I’m sorry," you repeat, and this time, the finality in your voice is unmistakable. You mean it.

He watches you for one final second before nodding slowly. "Alright," he says, his posture shifting as he pulls his head up. He shoves his hands into his pockets with a forced nonchalance, his usual persona sliding back into place. "All good."

He turns to head back toward the bar’s entrance, but he stops when he reaches San and Yeosang. He looks at them calmly, his lips twisting into a clearly artificial smile. "I wasn't here for either of you, by the way. I don't know why you two think you're her fucking bodyguards, but this was between me and her."

"Fuck you, Woo," San says lowly, his feet planted, refusing to step back an inch. "You wanted her alone so you could talk her into giving you what you want. That shit might work on your hookups, but I’m not about to let it work on her."

Wooyoung stares at San for several silent seconds. You wait, holding your breath, watching the two men face off. But eventually, Wooyoung chooses not to respond; his pride won't allow a shouting match he's already lost. He turns his head—not looking at you, but directing his final words squarely at you.

"I'll see you around," he says, his voice distant and devoid of all emotion. "Hope it all works out with him."

He walks away without another glance, disappearing back into the bar. You’re left standing in the ringing silence of the alley, cold and shivering even with his leather jacket still draped around your shoulders. 

The quiet is broken by the pop of Yeosang's jaw. You look over and realize he's finally let his calm composure slip. A cold, simmering anger has taken over his features. 

"I'm gonna go get him and take him home," he says lowly. "I don't like how that ended. At all."

You simply nod, unable to find your voice as you look between him and San. Yeosang’s eyes soften when they land on you, though his brows remain pulled together in a grimace.

"____, I hate to ask this, but are you good to drive? I know San isn’t."

"I'm fine," you murmur, nodding again. You’re sobered up now, the adrenaline having burned through the buzz you had earlier.

Yeosang reaches into his pocket and tosses you his keys. Along with the metal jingling in your palm, he hands you your own jacket and bag. You realize then that he must have grabbed them from the booth when they realized you had disappeared.

"Take my car and go home. Don't wait for Yunho. I’ll come get it in the morning," he says, his voice tinged with regret. "I... I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner. And I’m sorry we dragged you out tonight. We should’ve known he’d be here."

Without waiting for a response, he turns and heads back toward the entrance, going after Wooyoung.

The alley feels even smaller now that it’s just you and San. He hasn't moved an inch. He’s still standing with his feet planted, his hands curled into fists at his sides, and his face twisted into a frown. 

"Fucking asshole," he mutters. He zips up his jacket to his chin, his shoulders hunched as he stares off toward the bar. "I can’t believe he's supposed to be one of my best friends."

You stay quiet. You really don't have anything left to say. Instead of answering, you take a steadying breath, your fingers curling tightly around Yeosang’s keys as you turn toward the parking lot.

"Come on, San," you say, not waiting to see if he’s following.

He trails after you anyway, but the brief silence doesn't last. He continues to ramble as he stalks along the pavement. 

"I don’t like how he was talking to you," he says, the alcohol making his thoughts loop. "So fucking manipulative. He knows your head is a mess—acting like he doesn't know that. 'It’s her decision,' my ass. Does he talk to everyone he hooks up with like that? No fucking wonder he’s never had a real relationship. And 'bodyguard'? Like it's wrong for me to give a shit about my friends? I can't believe—"

"San." Your voice stops him as you reach the car and yank open the driver’s side door. "Sit in the passenger seat, San."

He blinks, pausing mid-sentence as he realizes he was about to follow you right into the driver’s side. He nods sheepishly, the fire in his eyes dimming as he realizes his rambling is only piling more weight onto your shoulders. He rounds the car and climbs in quietly.

You slide in and slam the door shut, finally sealing out the muffled music and the cold chill of the night. You peel Wooyoung’s jacket off and toss it carelessly into the backseat, wanting its weight off you. For a moment, you just sit there, hands gripping the steering wheel, basking in the silence of the car.

Just for the hell of it—out of a habit that is really just a self-inflicted wound at this point—you pull your phone from your pocket one last time. San notices but averts his eyes, saying nothing. You hold your breath, hoping the universe might have spared one small kindness for you tonight.

No new notifications.

Still nothing from Hongjoong.

The screen goes dark, reflecting your own tired expression back at you. You shove the phone into the center console, turn the key in the ignition, and, without another word, you start the car.

@ queenofsa1gon, 2026. please do not steal, copy, or translate my work! thank you <33