enhypen is 7

"...in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, do you promise to be faithful? To love him and to honour him all the days of your life?" "I do."

You'd waited for it since you were a young girl. To walk down the aisle, daylight seeping through stained-glass, in a dress of pure white. You'd imagined your hand in his, fingers intertwined, warmly encompassed in safety and certainty—your shared kiss in the chapel, a declaration of your promise not only to him, but to God. A husband, a family, love. The life every good girl prayed for. You prayed for it too, with your hands folded, head bowed, voice steady. But what you imagined most, in the silence after the amen, was the thing no prayer could sanctify. "...But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death."

Your Sunday school teacher had read the verse aloud with the patient severity of someone delivering a warning she hoped you'd never need. She'd looked at you, it seemed, and said that desire was a seed planted in the heart, that what began as a thought could grow into something monstrous, that a woman who let lust take root would one day reap a harvest of ruin. You'd nodded, hands neatly folded on the desk, terrified by the image of something dark and living growing inside you. You'd tried not to think about the heat already stirring in places you had no name for, the tiny seed you could already feel pressing against the soil of your heart, waiting to split open.

The truth was that while other girls spoke of their desires for true love, for the miracle of childbirth, and motherhood, you desired something too shameful to say aloud. Your mind always drifted to the impure. Instead of exchanging vows, you dreamed of how your future husband would lay you down the night after your wedding. You'd thought of how his hands would feel pressed against your bare skin, always hidden under long skirts and sleeves—his lips, worshiping you in places no good girl should dream of. How he'd relieve that ever present ache between your legs that never seemed to dissipate and claim your innocence. You'd thought of it so much, it began to rot you from the inside.

Many times, you'd held back tears during Sunday service, ashamed of the filth that plagued your mind in the holy place of worship of all places. The hymns would rise around you—Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth—and you'd mouth the words while your thoughts drifted to the heat of an imagined touch, the weight of a body you'd never felt. You'd clench your thighs beneath your Sunday dress and beg God, silently, desperately, to scrub your mind clean.

In your sleepless nights, to avoid temptation, you'd rise from the bed, hands clasped together in prayer before your bedroom window. You'd leave it wide open, in hopes that the frigid wind would cool down the heat inside you. And though you trembled in your nightgown, goosebumps on every surface of your skin, it could never quite quell the fire that never burned out.

At first, you prayed for it to stop. You prayed for purity. Then, you prayed for numbness, believing you'd rather feel nothing at all. Alas, God granted neither, and you began to question which of the two dawning terrors was more catastrophic: the possibility that He wasn't listening at all, or the possibility that He simply did not care.

You knelt until your knees were bruised, you whispered prayers until they turned into sobbing pleas for mercy. There was only so much you could take until you began to lose faith—not just in God, but in yourself.

It was only then, in a moment of desperation, of utter helplessness, that you pleaded for something else:

"I beg of you," you whispered into the night, and whether it reached God, or for something else entirely, you did not care anymore. "If you cannot make this feeling stop, then I beg for relief." Through the white curtains, you felt a presence. There was no face, no silhouette, no sound other than the howling wind. Yet, you looked up, as if to meet someone's gaze. As if something stood there, watching you. A chill ran down your spine, and not as a result of the winter air seeping into your bones. You don't remember a voice. You do, however, remember a silent promise: relief, in exchange for you, eternally. Eternity. You knew what it meant. Heaven. Hell. The soul's unending life before God or in exile from Him. You were old enough to know better. Desperate enough not to care.

Every night, then after, he came to you in dreams. You envisioned bits and pieces: a tall silhouette, cold fingertips, an ever-present stare. You saw visions of your own blood dripping down your neck, staining your night clothes. You felt his sharp teeth pierce your flesh as he ravaged you, corrupted you, made a sin of your body and had you begging for more every single time.

Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, your fingers curled around your bedsheets, and when it finished, you awoke in a cold sweat. You, alone. Your window, closed. And your body, still untouched, still sacred despite the obscene wetness between your thighs, and the way your body trembled from the aftermath of your high.

Relieved, you were, to no longer repress your lustful urges. Horrified, you were, to realize you'd given into your darkest desires, pleasure coaxed out of you by the hands of something sinister.

"Look at you. My beautiful wife." Jake hovers atop you, the cross at his neck hovering just above your face. Everything was as god intended. Two untouched children of the lord, about to make love on their marital bed, in a home they should hope to raise a family in. For the first time in many nights, the moonlight didn't feel so unholy. "My beautiful husband," you mirror his adoration, heart beating so fast you fear it might leap out of your chest. "I love you." His fingers lace with yours, his palms clammy and shaking. He's nervous, as are you. He'd told you as much before you even reached the bed. "I love you, too," he whispers.

He leans down to kiss you, different from the kiss you shared in the chapel. No longer did you have to settle for quick, chaste pecks. You feel his tongue, his desperation, years of pent-up desire reaching its limit.

Hand still interlocked with yours, he enters you slow and restrained, a gasp leaving his lips, as it does yours.

Everything is as it should be. As God said it should be. You should be overcome with joy. The world should still around you, heaven should open, and some sacred part of you should be remade forever.

It doesn't. The reality is much quieter. A body receiving another body, and nothing more.

Instead, you feel discomfort—sharp and immediate. And it’s not just the physical kind that mothers warn their daughters about before their wedding nights. Your skin crawls, your stomach tightens, and suddenly the world is collapsing. Everything aches. Your head, your heart, the space between your thighs where your body refuses to yield, refuses to feel, refuses to let you forget even for a moment that you belong to something else.

You can't help but think that your husband, basking in his euphoric glow, deserves someone untainted.

Tears stream down your cheeks before you can choke them back, and at the immediate sight of it, he pulls out of you. Cradling you in his arms, he soothes you, gently asks if he’s hurt you. If there’s anything he can do. You shake your head, your sobs turning to whispered apologies.

He holds you close all night, and you cling to him like you're trying to crawl under his skin, hoping Jake will shield you from the inevitable terrors of the night. Because you know, deep down, even after all of this, you'll still feel its presence in your dreams. Its cold, harsh grasp, its teeth, its predatory gaze.

But tonight, the boundary between dream and waking feels thin. As you lie awake, Jake softly snoring at your side, you feel it. That presence. That feeling you've never been able to explain, something better described as an instinct or a sixth sense. Through the window, half-lidded and drifting, you search for reassurance. Instead, you find a pair of eyes in the dark. A shadow, watching you. You jerk upright, heart hammering, but in the blink of an eye, with a flicker of movement, you find nothing.

“Sweetheart?” You hear Jake's groggy voice at your side, an arm tugging at yours, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just…” Your breath rises and falls, watching the tree branches drift with the howling wind, watching the snow pile up on the edge of the window. “Thought I saw something.”

He pulls you back down to the bed, kisses pressed to the back of your neck. You allow yourself to relax in his arms, the weight of slumber pulling you under.

You make it through the night. You always do. And this time, you wake up in a pair of warm, loving arms, rather than the shivering cold of your childhood twin bed, which you'd been accustomed to for years. You're thankful at least that in spite of your nightmares, your husband is a daydream.

A week was all you had for a honeymoon, if you could even call it that.

You'd told each other you didn't need a vacation. A honeymoon seemed frivolous when you already had everything you wanted: a house, a ring, a future together. You told each other there would be time for travel later. You have forever, after all.

So, straight into your new home you were, ready to build your life together. Your two weeks of time together were mostly spent unpacking boxes and pretending to help your husband build IKEA furniture. Really, you were mostly there to gawk at how attractive he looks when he gets mad at poorly designed instruction manuals.

Though the time slips through your fingers, and suddenly there are no more late mornings tangled in his arms, slow afternoons with nowhere to be, and evenings fumbling in the dark, learning the strange and sacred shape of intimacy.

You'd come to depend on the safety of his presence, the way his breathing beside you kept the dreams at bay. Selfishly, desperately, you did not want to lose it.

"Please don't leave," you whine like a child, rising from the bed.

He adjusts his tie in the full-length mirror at the corner of your bedroom, and your hands snake around his waist from behind, fingers clawing into the fabric of his shirt. You bury your face into his back, just breathing in his presence before you knew it'd inevitably slip away.

"And miss my first day at the office?" He chuckles, an amused smile playing at his lips.

Finished with his tie, he takes your hands, twirling you once before pulling you against him. His mouth finds your neck, then your jaw, then your lips. You melt into the shape of him, this body you're still learning, still marvelling at. But he pulls away all too soon.

"I can't support my wife and our future kids if I get myself fired."

"I know," you pout, following him out of the room, into the hall, hand still grasping his. "But what am I supposed to do here all alone?"

The question is smaller than the fear beneath it. While it is true that here, alone in a new neighbourhood without any real housework to be done yet, you're at a loss with what to do with your time, you both know the real reason why you're gripping his fingers like a child at the school gates: Your terrors, your anxieties and your skittish nature, once soothed and coddled by your parents, had now become Jake's responsibility to tend to, and you are petrified of being alone with your thoughts for the first time in your life.

"You could call your family?" He glances back at you as you both descend the stairs, his hand sliding along the banister.

"My mom has called me every day since the wedding," you deadpan.

He huffs a laugh and turns into the front hall. You reach the coat rack before he does, fetching his coat while he sits on the bench to lace his boots.

"You could go into town?"

"By myself?" You try to make it sound like a joke. It doesn't work.

He stands. You hold the coat open behind him, and he slides his arms in with a small, grateful sound. Then his gaze drifts past you, through the glass of the front door, to the house across the street. A mother is sending her children off, their school bags bright against the white, snowy morning.

"What if you go around and meet the neighbours?"

It isn't a terrible idea. In fact, trying to make new friends in the neighbourhood is what you should be trying to do, as a new couple looking to start their life there. And though ideally, you'd prefer to have your much more socially competent husband alongside you to do the task, you suppose it's about time you start facing your fears alone.

One messy kitchen and a batch of cookies later, you're wrapping up a small bag for each house on your small, quiet street, smiling behind your wool scarf as you ring the bell to the house across the street.

The first house is easy. A middle-aged couple, grateful and brief. The second is an elderly man who mistakes you for a door-to-door salesman. The third, a woman with six cats and one furious white Persian that hisses at you through the screen door until you retreat.

It all blurs together until you reach the end of the street, with only one bag and one house remaining.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't saved this house for last. Something about it triggered that feeling inside you that you'd grown used to. A dark curiosity that you'd come to fear.

It isn't just the architecture either. Every home on this street is old. That was part of the appeal, why you and Jake had chosen to live here. You preferred something real, something with history. This one, however, feels like the kind of history you don't want to pry into. The kind of spookiness that children sense from the sidewalk and dare their friends to go up to, just to knock on the door and run before anyone answers.

It towers over the neighbouring roofs as if to assert its dominance, shouldering them aside. You don't like the way the entire premise was encompassed by a black, metal gate, and you like it even less now as the sun begins to set—one of the many unfortunate parts about winter; how the sun sets late afternoon, allowing the dark to creep up on you too soon. You hate the dark.

It's all just in your head, surely. Every house in this neighbourhood has an older look and feel, and you're certain that the people living in there are nothing but normal—perhaps even kind. All you have to do is ring the bell, give them the cookies, and leave. It's no big deal.

You nearly laugh at yourself out loud. You're a grown adult, for god's sake, there is no reason to be scared.

With a falsely confident stride, you push past the gates, walking across a jagged cobblestone path. Though you tremble with each step.

Something doesn't feel right, but you remind yourself it's as real as your nightmares—which is to say, not real at all. Your nightmares, the years of psychological torment, it's all in your head. It always has been.

With the sun just about dipping below the horizon, you ring the doorbell, standing before the heavy double doors. You then knock and, for a second, you are relieved to hear nothing back until the doors open with a loud groan. Though you don't see anyone at all, eyes carefully scanning the dimly lit entryway. Your hands curl around the bag in your hands.

"Hello?" You call out, not yet taking a step. "I'm the new neighbour from across the street.”

Silence.

“I… I made cookies.” Your voice echoes into the hall, and you swallow your nerves. “But, if you don't want to be bothered, I totally understand. I can just leave here and be on my way."

You wait a few seconds, hovering in the doorway, and the silence stretches.

You want to leave. Every part of you is screaming at you to turn on your heel and run far, far away. But they'd opened the door for you. You'd made your presence known already. You're standing right there with the cookies in your hand, for God's sake. You can’t just leave now.

Briefly, you wonder what Jake would do. He'd probably walk in with a confident stride and a smile. He'd charm them easily, have them laughing in minutes and get swept up in conversation for hours.

Stupid, you think. You're fine. Completely fine. Just go inside.

You glance around again. The shoe room is empty, save for a small table that stands just beside the door, close enough. And in a split second, you devise your plan: You’ll set them down and immediately leave with your obligations fulfilled, and avoid seeming like a rude, doorbell-ditching neighbour. It’s perfect. Foolproof. Simple.

You step forward, arm extending toward the table, already planning your retreat.

Then the door slams shut behind you.

"Welcome."

The voice comes from directly behind you. You spin, a strangled sound catching in your throat, and there he is—a silhouette pooled in the darkness beside the doorframe, so close you don't understand how you missed him. He must have opened the door. He must have been standing there the whole time, shielded by the shadow of the door, watching you step past him.

"My apologies," he says, stepping aside, the candlelight giving you a proper view of his face. "I've just woken up, and my eyes are sensitive to the sun. I did not mean to startle you,"

Though your heart is pounding through your chest, and you feel like your legs will give out at any moment, you are oddly comforted by his the sight of him. A young man, tall and pale, not much older than yourself and quite strikingly beautiful. You've never seen his face before, though you think it looks strangely familiar, as if you've known him a long time. You’re staring. And though you are aware of it, you don’t tear your gaze away.

"Are these for me?" He looks down at your hand, where you hold your cookies close to your chest.

Wordlessly, you nod, extending your hand. Though you don't expect him to lower his head, his face dipping towards your outstretched hand, the tip of his nose barely grazing the pulse at your wrist.

He inhales.

The sound is soft, barely audible, and his eyes close for a fraction of a second.

They open again, and they find yours, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There’s a sharpness to his gaze, and it cuts straight through the cold, a dull, traitorous warmth blooming in your lower stomach.

"Smells delicious."

"Thank you," you squeak, shrinking under his gaze.

"My dear," his head tilts, brows furrowing, "You're trembling. You must've been out in the cold a while."

"Yes, well..." You glance toward the door. "Well, I—"

"I would hate to send you back out there." He takes the bag from your hands before you can finish, the motion smooth, unhurried. "Why don't you stay for tea?"

"Oh! Gosh, no, I couldn't possibly impose—"

"I insist."

As if he were commanding you, you find yourself staying, seated on an old-looking couch, the fireplace cackling, warming your chilled hands. Though it does nothing to ease your trembling. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks every second.

Soon, a small teacup is set down in front of you, as he pours both of you a cup from the pot. You look up as he sits himself across from you, face to face, and your palms dig into the couch cushion.

"I must admit, I'm quite delighted to have a visitor," he crosses one leg over the other, his posture upright, poised. It makes you straighten yourself out, embarrassed by your poor manners. "It's been a very long time. You said you moved here across the street?"

"Ah, Yes. My husband and I just moved." You raised your hand to show your ring finger. "Actually, we also just got married."

"Newlyweds. Congratulations," his voice is smooth, "What made the two of you move here?"

"Well, we're not from too far. Just across the southern river. And we looked at houses closer to home but... Something about this neighbourhood felt right. So we decided to start our life here." you smile briefly at the memory, "It's quieter here. Better for raising children—well, eventually, of course. Hopefully."

You falter, the mention of children suddenly feeling far too intimate for a conversation with a man you met three minutes ago. There's a brief, expressionless pause before his mouth curves into a smile.

"It is a nice neighbourhood." He hums in agreement, "Very safe."

"Exactly."

The conversation lulls, and you use the moment to glance around the room. It's grand, immaculate, every piece of furniture polished to a dark gleam. There's no clutter. No photographs on the mantle. No second mug drying on the drainboard. The silence of the house surrounds you, deep and undisturbed.

Your eyes drift back to him. His hands were folded neatly around his teacup. Pale, long-fingered, ever so still. No ring.

It catches you off guard. A man like this, who is wealthy, well-spoken, and irrefutably beautiful in a way that makes your stomach feel strange, and yet he lives alone in a house like this. There should be a wife. There should be children.

Unless there's something wrong with him.

The thought surfaces before you can stop it. You're being judgmental. He's been nothing but polite. He invited you in from the cold. He made you tea. If he's a bachelor, that's his business. Maybe he's shy, maybe he prefers solitude, maybe he's simply never found the right person.

You don't ask. A married woman doesn't comment on another man’s status. The whole line of thought is dangerous, a door you shouldn’t open.

His eyes are on you now, steady and watchful. Too watchful.

You drop your gaze to your untouched teacup to distract yourself, and the grandfather clock ticks.

Then, he laughs. Sheepishly, you watch as he takes a sip of his tea.

"I did not poison it, I promise,” he says, setting the cup down with a clink.

"Oh!" You gape, "No, no. I did not think—I mean, I did not mean to offend you, Mr. ...?"

"Please, call me Sunghoon."

"Sunghoon, then," you let out a sigh, "I'm sorry. I'm easily startled or, as my husband would say, 'a bit of a scaredy-cat,' but I really do appreciate you inviting me in."

"No offence taken. I understand. This is a pretty scary house," he laughs lightly, his voice dropping ever slightly, "and you are a vulnerable young lady."

You laugh nervously at his last comment, certain that he intended well. But it only makes you feel uneasy. Instinctively, your hand goes to the dainty cross at your neck. A habit you'd developed over the years.

"That is to say, you have every right to have your suspicions. And if I were your husband, I wouldn't take your safety so lightly." You don't miss the way his eyes move from you, down to your neck, "He is a very lucky man."

His eyes remain on your throat. You can feel them there, cool and steady, like a fingertip resting just above your pulse. The cross seems to warm under his attention—or perhaps that's your skin, flushing with a heat you don't want to name. Your fingers stay wrapped around the little gold chain, clutching it as if it can shield you from something you can't quite see.

Stop it, you tell your body. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

You hold it so tightly the edges bite into your palm. A penance. A reminder. You are a woman of God. You are pure. You are—

"A woman of faith, I see."

The fire pops, and a log shifts, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. You flinch. He doesn't react. In fact, you aren't sure that you've seen him move at all, his body as still as a statue.

"Of course," you reply as naturally as you can sound, "...aren't you?"

"If I say I am not," he raises a brow, "What then?"

You pause, drawing a breath that feels too shallow and force your lips into something resembling a smile.

"Well," you swallow, "God did say to love your neighbour."

"Ah, Mark twelve, verse thirty-three." Sunghoon's smile doesn't waver. "To love him with all your heart, with all your understanding and with all your strength, and to love your neighbour as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices."

The verse hangs in the air, complete and precise, and the tension in your shoulders eases, if only a little.

"So you are a believer."

"I believe in many things." His voice is soft, almost musing. "I believe in life after death. I believe in sinners and saints. I believe some of us, while we may try to convince ourselves otherwise, do not belong in the light."

He then pauses, and you swear you watch his smile curl into something wicked, before he continues.

"I believe prayers can be answered. Especially the ones laced with shame, whispered breathlessly in the night."

Your teacup rattles, the sound too loud in the quiet room. You set it down, but your fingers are shaking so badly the porcelain nearly slips. The cold that has been hovering at the edges of you since you walked through the door now settles deep in your bones.

You look at Sunghoon, your eyes meeting his lingering, far too intense stare. The horrible ache inside of you, the one you've come to know all too well, the one that has haunted your dreams for years, begins to wake from its slumber.

Something is wrong. His demeanour. The way he doesn't seem to breathe or blink or move at all. His presence. The way he looks at you like he owns you, and how that look makes your thighs clench, an inexplicable heat overtaking you.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the grandfather clock strikes the sixth hour.

"Oh!" You laugh nervously, an attempt to conceal the small yelp that escaped you. "Look at the time! I should really go."

"So soon?"

"Yes! My husband should be arriving soon, so..."

You are scrambling for the door, heart thumping in your chest as he follows close behind. Picking up the pace, you grab your coat from the rack near the door. But before you can grab the knob and swing the door open, you feel his presence behind you, cold and seemingly lifeless. You turn.

"It was lovely meeting you," he takes your trembling hand in his, "I hope to see you again, soon."

He lifts your hand as if to kiss it. Though he doesn't. Not yet.

You hear the soft sound of an inhale, barely there, but unmistakable, a slow, shuddering breath. His eyes flutter half-closed, and you blink, frozen in fear, wondering for a brief second if your mind is playing tricks on you, or if he really just sniffed you like some kind of animal.

He then kisses your hand, his lips just barely grazing your knuckles, featherlight. You should feel horror. You should feel disgust. Both are there, you suppose, but beneath it lies something far more shameful.

In the still, empty silence, you let out the tiniest, neediest whimper.

It lingers long enough for both of you to process what exactly you had just done.

He looks up at you through his lashes with a grin, like the most beautiful predator you'd ever laid your eyes on. And, though you can't quite tell in the dim candlelight, you think the canines peeking out the edge of his smile look rather sharp.

With that look permanently etched into your mind, you run. No other words exchanged, no farewell. You’re sprinting back down the street to your place, as fast as your feet can take you, not sparing a single glance behind.

A sigh of relief, though it sounds more like a sob, escapes you when you see Jake’s car in the driveway.

Your hands tremble so violently the keys skitter against the lock, and when the door gives, you throw yourself inside, slam it shut, press your spine to the wood like you're holding back a flood. You breathe in and out. In and out. Chest rising and falling with every breath. Exactly how Jake had taught you to do every time your fears crept up on you too quickly.

"Jake?"

The house is completely dark, and only the silence whispers back. You take off your boots, your coat, throwing them to the side without care as you move. The floorboards creak beneath your feet, and the panic you had only just quelled begins to rise again.

"Jake, where are you?" You try again, this time a bit louder.

You check the living room. The dining room. The kitchen. Then, on shaky legs, you carry yourself upstairs, hand sliding against the railing as you make your way to the bedroom. Still, not a soul to be found. Your hands grip the doorway, nails digging into the wooden frame as you choke down your heavy breaths, blinking away the tears that threaten your eyes.

A pair of arms wrap around you from behind, and the scream that leaves you is almost inhuman.

"It's just me!"

You thrash around in his grasp, and Jake immediately lets go.

He steps back, palms raised, face slack with shock and guilt. You're shaking violently now, heaving as a single tear falls from your eyes.

"Just me, sweetheart." His voice drops, taking your hand in his and guiding you to the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have scared you like that. That's my fault, I'm—"

You don't let him finish. You collapse into him, and he catches you without hesitation, his arms folding around your trembling form as you curl into his lap. He presses his lips to the crown of your head.

"Don't ever do that again."

"I won't." He murmurs into your hair, "Cross my heart, I never will."

You're sobbing into his chest as he whispers I'm sorries and I love yous—Over and over, until the words blur into a rhythm as steady as his heartbeat beneath your ear. You latch onto him like he's your lifeline. He is warm and solid and alive, and you cling to him with a desperation that should embarrass you but doesn't.

Only when your breathing steadies do you finally find the strength to speak.

"I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too."

"I missed you more." Your voice cracks on the last word, and you feel the tears threatening again.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm right here. It's okay." He smooths a hand down your hair, your back. "What happened, sweetheart? Did something happen? Why were you outside?"

"I..." you trail off, unsure how to even proceed as you sniffle. "I went to meet the neighbours... and... the house at the corner. The man there, he..."

It sounds ridiculous when you try to rationalize it in your head, and would probably sound even more ridiculous if you tried to say it out loud.

Sunghoon didn't technically do anything wrong. He only looked at you in ways that made you feel wrong. He said some things that could be interpreted as threatening, though he said it in a polite tone. He kissed your hand and had maybe sniffed you, if you even remember it properly, or if that's just your terrified, panicked brain making things up. He also made you whimper, but that certainly isn't something you can tell your husband.

The memory of it makes you let out another sob, feeling utterly pathetic and ashamed in his arms.

"Hey, talk to me," his voice drops, "What did he do?"

Swallowing your guilt, you pick up the pieces of the truth you can stomach to say aloud.

"The way he was looking at me, it was—he kissed my hand, and—" you stammer, "I don't know. I don't know how to explain."

You can feel Jake exhale.

"Okay," he says calmly, matter-of-factly, taking in the information, "A creepy neighbour tried to hit on you? Is that it?"

Hitting on you. The phrase doesn't quite capture the feeling of being hunted, like a lamb who wandered aimlessly within a predator's reach.

You don't correct him, though. You nod your head, breathing heavy into his grasp as he smooths down the back of your head, holding you tight.

"I'm sorry," you feel the vibration of his voice against his chest. "You want me to talk to him? Scare him off, a bit?"

You picture that predatory gaze, the eyes of something sinister—something demonic. Then you look to your husband: warm and bright and too good for this world. Your husband is the safest, strongest, and most capable man you know. Still, you are strangely terrified at the thought of letting him go there alone.

"I just want you to stay here. With me." You say, simply, "That's all I want."

"I'll always be here. Forever," he hums, circling your wedding ring, dragging your palm flat along his chest until it rests just above his heart, "That's what I promised to you. 'Til death do us part."

You close your eyes. You try to let the steady thrum of his heartbeat drown out everything else. Safe, you tell yourself. I'm safe. He's here. I'm safe.

It doesn't work. What exactly are you safe from? From a man who only looked at you? From a feeling that had started long before you ever set foot in that house?

The heat is still there, coiled low in your belly, waiting. It doesn't care that you're in your husband's arms. It doesn't care that you want it gone. It's been awakened, and it won't be going back to sleep.

You press your thighs together. You're still hot. Too hot. Jake doesn't notice right away, holding you in his arms, his hand still covering yours above his heart.

Your husband pulls back, cupping your face in his hands.

"You're burning up." He says gently, brows furrowed in pure-hearted concern. "You're really warm. Are you getting sick? You were out in the cold for a while, weren't you?"

You open your mouth to answer, but he beats you to it.

"Maybe we should just order takeout tonight. You should rest. I'll warm you a bath, and we can rent a movie. How does that sound?" His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, his eyes searching your face for clues he doesn't know how to read. "I can call in sick tomorrow, and—"

"Jake."

Your eyes drop to his lips. You're still curled in his lap, your breath shallow, your thighs pressed together beneath your skirt. It takes him a second or two for his expression to shift.

Your mouth is on his before he can speak, hot and heavy, desperate to suppress the dark, deviant desire that refuses to leave you alone. You can't help yourself. Not when you're sitting in his lap like this, your arousal and guilt unrelenting.

He goes rigid, a startled sound catching in his throat. This isn't how you kiss. You never kissed him like this before you were married, and you certainly hadn't after, either.

Every night you've shared so far has been nothing but gentle and loving, always handling you with the care one would give a porcelain doll. He had learned of your fragility and your fears long before he ever learned your body, and made love to you the only way he knew how: carefully, tenderly. As if your pleasure was a gift to be earned and not a hunger you already carry.

Tonight, though, you kiss him with the kind of hunger a sexually repressed Catholic boy can only dream of—the kind he was taught to repent for, to pray away. You moan against his lips, the sound raw and almost wounded, clawing open his shirt and grinding against his hips like it's the only thing you need right now.

"Hey—hey, slow down." His hands close gently over yours, stilling them. His eyes search your face, wide and careful. "We don't have to—are you okay? You were just crying, and I don't want you to feel like—"

You shake your head. All you want is that horrible ache inside you to be gone, fucked away by the man you love, the man you married. You pull your hands free and push him back onto the bed. He goes willingly, propped on his elbows, still watching you with that tender, uncertain concern.

"Baby, I'm serious." Jake's voice cracks. His hands hover at your waist, twitching and uncertain. "I don't need—ah—are you sure you want this right now?" The words tumble out of him, broken and breathless, even as his hips rise to meet yours. His body knows what it wants. His mind is still catching up. "You don't have to do this for me—"

"It's for me." Your voice is low, almost like a growl, and his eyes widen.

You reach for the hem of your own dress first and pull it over your head. The fabric catches for a moment on your ear, on your elbow, and the clumsiness of it makes you want to scream. Then it's gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, and you're working at the clasp of your bra while Jake stares up at you with parted lips and dawning disbelief.

He reaches up again, hand hovering a moment before moving to yours, trying to still or slow your moments, but this time you slap them away. Your hands make quick work of his pants, as you do your own, and without a second to spare, you're staring down at his half-hard length, holding the weight of him in your clumsy, still inexperienced hand. You carefully watch his expression, brows knitted, lips parted, and when you tighten your grip ever slightly as you stroke him, he's thrusting up into your hand.

"Shit." He breathes.

You shift forward, lining him up with your entrance. Your underwear is still on—you realize this too late, and the awkwardness of shoving the damp fabric aside makes your face flush. But you don't stop. You sink down onto him, and the stretch steals your breath.

You sigh at the stretch, not used to taking all of him so quickly—not used to being on top, either, and your eagerness momentarily subsides, taking a moment to adjust. Then, with the awkwardness you'd expect of two adults who only started having sex a few weeks ago, you start to move, hands pressed down against his chest. He gazes up in awe, hands twitching at his sides before moving to your hips.

"Holy shit," he manages, the words repeating in broken moans, desperately containing himself from falling apart right there as he watches you, his gorgeous wife, take him with a newfound hunger. He looks wrecked already, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back. "If you keep moving like that—"

His hands tighten, slowing you. He's trying to pace you, trying to protect you from yourself, and the unbearable, oblivious tenderness of it is the last thing you can stand.

"Jake." Your voice comes out sharp, breathless, a frown tugging at your lips. "For God's sake. I'm not going to break. Just fuck me."

There's a moment of pure shock that lingers, and he goes still. Very still. A part of you almost regrets it. Maybe you frightened him. Maybe you've shown a side of yourself that you were never supposed to show, and now he'll never look at you the same.

He exhales a long, shaky breath.

His hands slide from your hips to your waist, then down to your thighs, gripping with an ownership he's never allowed himself before. He thrusts up into you once, testing, and when you gasp, he does it again. Harder. Your head falls back. A moan spills from your lips, and the sound seems to unlock something in him. "Fuck," he breathes. His fingers dig into your skin as he moves you, setting a rhythm that is no longer careful, no longer restrained. You try to match it, but you're still clumsy, still learning, and after a few desperate, off-beat thrusts, he makes a low sound in his throat and flips you onto the mattress.

Your face falls into the pillow. His hand presses between your shoulder blades, arching your back, and then he's inside you again—deeper this time, fuller. The moan you let out is almost a sob. He pulls back and slams into you, and you feel the curve of his grin against the shell of your ear.

"You like this?" His voice is low, but still laced with that concern he always wears. There's a genuine curiosity to his question, a disbelief that lingers. "You like it rough?"

"Please," your desperate voice is muffled in the pillow, "harder, please."

He makes a sound, something between a laugh and a guttural groan, and his hand spreads warm across the small of your back.

"Look at you," he murmurs, almost to himself. "God, look at you. My wife."

He pulls back slowly, letting you feel every inch of him leaving you, and the anticipation is its own kind of torment. When he thrusts back in, it's deep and full, and the gasp you let out is his name. He does it again. And again.

His hand fists the sheets beside your head. His forehead drops to the curve of your neck.

"Fuck—" His voice is ragged, almost disbelieving. "You're really—I can't—"

His thrusts grow deeper, harder, his hand pressing into the arch of your back as he drives into you with an indulgence he's never allowed himself. You can feel the tension, the pressure building. His name falls from your lips in fragments, and he answers with his body—faster, deeper, more.

"That's it," he breathes, and the pride in his voice is new, too. He's proud of this. Proud of what he's doing to you. Proud of you. "I've got you."

You clench around him, crying out when he hits that spot inside you just right, clawing at the pillows beneath you. The orgasm seizes you and doesn't let go, and he feels it. Every pulse, every shudder. His rhythm falters and then breaks entirely.

His voice cracks, high and wrecked, and he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his whole body going rigid against your back. Then he's coming, too. Deep inside you, his hips jerking with each pulse, his groan a long, ragged thing that vibrates through you. He keeps thrusting, fucking his cum back into you, riding it out until he's shaking, until he's spent, until his forehead drops to the nape of your neck and his breath comes in great heaving gasps against your sweat-damp skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. He's still inside you, and you can feel his cum between your thighs, still draped over you, his chest pressed to your back so you can feel the hammer of his heart. Your body hums. The world is quiet. The only sound is your breathing, slowly finding the same rhythm.

Then he laughs.

It starts as a breathless little thing against your neck, almost disbelieving, until it blooms into something utterly delighted. His arms slide around your waist, and he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his side, still buried inside you, his face pressed to the curve of your shoulder.

"Who are you," he breathes, "and what have you done with my wife?"

He's grinning. You can feel it against your skin. His hand is flat across your stomach, holding you close, and he presses a kiss to the crook of your neck.

"Seriously. What was—what's gotten into you?"

You turn in his arms, just enough to see his face. He's flushed, pleased, his eyes half-lidded and warm.

You snuggle into his chest, pressing your cheek to the warm plane of his sternum, and his arms fold around you automatically.

"Missed you," you whisper.

"Clearly." The word is thick with satisfaction, his voice still rough and low. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "Must've been real lonely, huh? Waiting for me to come home."

“Never leave again. Please."

He laughs softly, pulling you tighter against his chest. The sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. His hand moves in slow, soothing strokes down your spine.

"Sweetheart, if this is what I come home to, you couldn't drag me out that door." He presses a kiss to your hair. "I'll quit tomorrow. Become a stay-at-home husband. Live right here in this bed forever."

His breathing deepens, slows. His hand stills on your back. Within minutes, he's asleep, his lips still curved in the ghost of that grin, his body warm and heavy and trusting against yours.

You don't sleep. You can't. The satisfaction is already fading, replaced by the old familiar ache—a low thrum beneath the surface, waiting. You know the dreams will come tonight. You know what waits for you in the dark. But for now, you let yourself be held. For now, his heartbeat under your ear is louder than the guilt. For now, that's enough.

Like clockwork, the dream arrives. Tangled in your husband's arms, you glance to the window, feeling that same presence you always do, tainting your mind with lustful images you could not escape.

Except that tonight, the shadow has a face.

You've never seen a face in your dreams before. For years, the presence has been nothing but sensation—cold hands, sharp teeth, a voice without sound. A silhouette at the edge of your sleeping vision, tall and still. Never eyes you could look into.

Sunghoon's face materializes out of the dark. First the eyes, dark and depthless, then the sharp planes of his face, then the mouth that curved against your knuckles and made you whimper. He looks exactly as he did in the candlelight. Beautiful. Predatory. Waiting.

Why him? You wonder, visions of his lips at your neck invading your mind. Why now?

Though in your dreaming state, you don't have much time to ponder such questions. You're too consumed by the image of those sharp canines that you swore you saw, sinking into your flesh, his hands wandering the length of your body. You don't flinch. In the dream, you arch toward him. You offer him your neck. You come undone with his name on your lips, only a whisper in the night.

You wake with a gasp, still tangled in your husband's embrace, slick between your legs. Though Jake doesn't stir. His breathing is deep and even, his body warm and trusting against yours.

The ghost of your dream lingers, and you press your palm to your mouth to hold back the sob building in your chest.

Dawn comes pale and grey through the curtains, but you're already awake. You couldn't go back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried. So you stop trying. You slip carefully from the bed and pad barefoot to the shower.

You rinse yourself under scalding hot water as if scrubbing every inch of yourself could wash the dream away. You fold Jake's work clothes into a neat pile on the dresser—a reminder that you are a loving, faithful wife and not whatever your dreams make you out to be.

In the kitchen, the coffee machine clicks and hisses. You stand at the window with your empty mug in your hands, and before you've made the conscious decision to look, your eyes have found it. The house. His house.

Just looking at it makes your blood run cold.

You can't help but wonder why every curtain remains drawn, despite the large, beautiful windows. You wonder why he mentioned having "just woken up," though you'd visited him late afternoon—almost evening—yesterday. You think of the way he looked at you, sharp, calculated, like a predator who'd caught its prey. And those teeth, which now that you're thinking back, most certainly had to be sharp, like the ones in your dreams.

Curtains drawn. Cold hands. Sharp teeth.

"Morning, baby," Jake's groggy voice is heard from the hallway, heavy footsteps pattering into the kitchen.

You turn to greet your husband with a broken smile. He chases your lips for a kiss, hands at your waist as they slide down the length of your nightgown with a newfound ease—remnants of last night's confidence still lingering in his touch. You jump in his grasp, a sound of surprise caught in your throat, but you both turn your heads at the beep of the coffee machine.

He pours you a cup first, and you try to focus on his words, you really do. However, his complaints of a passive-aggressive boss and abundantly vague emails fall on deaf ears as your hands tighten around the warmth of your coffee mug, eyes unwillingly and unhelpfully drifting to the window every few seconds.

You hear your name on his lips, but only process it once his hand reaches out to rest atop yours.

"You're spacing out." His thumb moves in slow circles over your knuckles, "Everything alright? Or am I just talking your ear off?"

"Just... tired."

"That makes two of us," he smiles, the two of you sharing a playful look. But he's still watching you, still reading the tension in your shoulders. "Talk to me, sweetheart. I'm here."

Your thumb traces the rim of your mug, and then, before you can talk yourself out of it.

"Do you believe in supernatural things?" You start hesitantly, "Not just God, obviously, but... other things...?"

Your husband takes a slow, pensive sip of his coffee.

"This is about your dreams again, isn't it?"

He gives you that look. The same one your mother and father used to give you at the mention of your nightmares. Sympathetic, but doubtful.

You look down, and he sighs, lifting your hand to his lips. The kiss is gentle and warm, though you shudder regardless.

"Remind me. How long have you been having these dreams, again?"

"Years."

"Years," he echoes, "And how many times, in all these years, have any of your dreams ever hurt you? Really hurt you?"

You sigh, shoulders slumping, a quiet relief blooming in your chest at the sight of his easy, gentle smile. The sunrise peeks through the window just enough to cast a golden glow across his face. His brown eyes and honey skin, now illuminated, were warm and familiar like the fresh cup of coffee in front of you that you had yet to touch.

"They haven't."

"Then I think it's safe to say that whatever it is you're afraid of, that's just your extra creative brain coming up with new reasons to freak out." he taps your head, and you roll your eyes, cracking a smile of your own. "None of it is real. It can't hurt you."

You kiss him goodbye at the door, your worries soothed momentarily as you watch his car disappear around the corner. But soon after, as you're reaching into the sink to work on a day-old pile of dishes, you can't help but watch the house at the corner. You watch all morning. Not a single soul exits or enters the home.

The town library is exactly what you'd expect. The air is stiff, the scent of old books and dust, and an old woman behind the front counter glares at you over the rims of her glasses, like she’s waiting for a reason to shush you.

You hadn't meant to come here. You were going to do errands. That's what you told yourself, anyway. But your feet carried you straight past the grocery store and straight through the heavy oak doors of the town library. And now, you wandered aimlessly through the aisles, unsure of what exactly you're looking for.

Dreams. You find a nonfiction book on dreams. You pull it from the shelf and flip to a chapter on nightmares. The author theorizes that our deepest fears materialize in our sleep, that the subconscious paints faces onto the things that frighten us most. A stranger who unsettled you. A presence that made you feel unsafe. The brain takes what it can't process during the day and works through it at night.

It makes sense. It's rational. He frightened you with that unsettling look in his eyes and his words, and your dreams gave him a form. It's a natural psychological response.

Then the book goes on to list common nightmare archetypes. The falling dream. The dream of being chased. The dream of being naked in public. Nowhere does it mention the dream where a stranger touches you between your legs, their lips on yours, then at your neck, or why you might envision them sinking their teeth into your flesh and drinking your blood. Nowhere does it account for the way your body responded.

Snapping the book shut and shoving it back on the shelf, you continue drifting with a little more purpose now. Past Town Records. Past Local Histories. Past a whole shelf of sermon collections by long-dead Reverends. Your fingers trail the spines, but you don't stop.

You turn down a narrow aisle in the back corner, away from the windows, away from the light.

The titles swimming into focus are older, darker, their spines cracked and their pages yellowed. Supernatural Histories. The Undead: A Historical Overview. Vampires Among Us.

Your hand reaches for one before your mind can stop it, failing to notice the pair of legs, long and lanky, stretched across the aisle, which blocks your path.

"Oh—!" You nearly trip, steadying yourself against the shelf.

A teenager is wedged between the shelves and the wall. He doesn't even look up. His head is bowed over a thick, hardcover book that looks older than time itself, and the sound of heavy drums and electric guitar bleeds from the headphones clamped over his ears. His school uniform is rumpled, tie loose, blazer nowhere in sight. His hair is jet-black except for a single bleached strand.

You clear your throat.

Nothing.

You clear it again, louder.

He turns a page.

"Excuse me…." You say a little more sternly this time, hands at your hips. "Shouldn't you be in school...?” You pause, glancing at his open backpack, at the name on his notebooks. "…Niki?"

He takes his time glancing up, eyes dragging over you with the lazy, unimpressed scrutiny only a teenager can manage. He takes in the sensible skirt. The ironed blouse. The cross at your neck. One pierced eyebrow lifts a fraction. He pulls his headphones down to his neck, his music a low hum.

"Shouldn't you be in the erotica section, or something?" He retorts, rolling his eyes.

"What?" You gape.

"Just saying." He gestures vaguely at you. "You've got the whole... repressed housewife look."

"You—" You give up halfway through your sentence, deciding your time shouldn't be spent exchanging comebacks with a boy who hasn't even graduated yet.

He goes back to his book, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You step over his legs, which he doesn't move an inch, and try to ignore him, scanning the shelf in front of you until you find the book you had your eyes on before. Locating it, you reach.

"Isn't the occult, like, the devil to you people?"

Your hand stops mid-air, and you turn. He's watching you now, the book in his lap forgotten.

"I'm just looking."

"Sure. Just looking." He closes his book finally, giving you his full attention for the first time, and you immediately wish he hadn't. "Listen, lady. Vampire smut's two aisles down. No judgment. I'm not your pastor."

"I already said—" The flush crawls up your neck. "I'm not—I would never—"

"You'd never," he repeats, flat. "Right. So what are you looking for in this section? A cookbook?"

Your hand is still frozen in the air, fingers hovering over the spine of a book with a lurid, painted cover. A woman in a torn nightgown, fainting into the arms of a dark figure with glowing eyes.

"I wanted to... research something.”

"Research.”

You nod weakly.

He pauses a moment, like he’s analyzing you. Then his whole expression shifts.

"Wait. For real? You're not just messing with me?" His eyes are wide now, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It makes him appear even younger than he is, his mood brightening with childlike excitement. "You're actually researching vampires? Like, the lore? The real stuff? You're not just looking for sexy billionaire novels?"

"I don't know anything about sexy billionaires—"

"Oh my god." He scrambles to his feet, all gangly limbs and sudden, startling height, and you take an instinctive step back. His face is absolutely alight. "Oh my god, that's sick. That's actually so sick. Nobody in this town cares about this stuff. Everybody here just thinks I'm some freak who—" He stops himself, clears his throat. "Okay. Okay. So. What do you want to know?"

He's already pulling books off the shelf before you can come up with an answer, scanning spines with the practiced eye of someone who has memorized every title.

"Okay, so. First of all, don't touch that one." He jabs a finger at the book you'd been reaching for. "Complete garbage. The guy just makes stuff up. Zero sources."

"You've read it?"

"I've read everything on this shelf." He says it with pride and a slight shrug. He pulls down a thick volume bound in dark blue cloth, its cover embossed with a faded silver symbol you don't recognize. "You want this one. Written by a Victorian occultist. Genuine primary sources. He gets into the super niche stuff most modern books ignore."

"Niche stuff?"

"Yeah, like. The running water barrier—they can't cross it. Like rivers and lakes. Which is wild. And the mirror thing? It's not that they don't have reflections, it's that old mirrors were backed with silver, and silver's purifying. So the reflection was there, just corrupted. Sort of." He's talking faster now, words tripping over each other. "And then there's the soul-contract stuff, which is the real deep lore. Most people don't even know about it."

"Soul-contracts?"

"Oh, you have to hear about this." He grins, clearly delighted to have an audience. "Okay, so—vampires need blood, right? And most of them have to hunt for it. Every meal. Every night. That's a lot of work. So some of them, the older ones, the smart ones, they figured out a more... efficient system."

He flips through the book, looking for a page.

"They find a human who's desperate. Like, really desperate. And they make a deal. The human offers themselves up—their blood, their life force, whatever—and in exchange, the vampire gives them something that they want."

Your stomach tightens.

"Oh! That's..." You struggle to find your words, but force your voice to stay steady. "What kind of something, exactly?"

"Anything. Revenge, protection, a cure for some disease. Whatever the human needs so badly, they'd trade their soul for it." He finds the page, runs a finger down the text. "But the key thing is, the vampire can't just take. The human has to give permission. Willingly. Otherwise, the bond doesn't form. Hence, the contract part of the soul-contract."

"The bond?"

"Yep. The bond is formed only if it is totally, one-hundred percent mutual. The vampire is tied to the human just as much as the human is tied to the vampire. It's not a master-servant thing. It's..." He pauses, searching for the word. "Permanent. The connection can never be broken, like some eternally messed-up, toxic situationship."

Your hand has found the cross at your throat. You don't remember reaching for it.

"What I don't get," he continues, frowning at the page, "is how the whole thing starts. Like, how does the vampire hear the human in the first place? The book says it answers a call. Not literally a call, though. The words are weird. It says: 'A plea uttered from the deepest well of the soul, often in a state of such desperation that it transcends the mortal sphere.'"

"What kind of plea?" Your voice comes out as a whisper.

"Doesn't say exactly. But the book keeps comparing it to..." He squints at the footnote, then pauses, turns the page. "Huh. That's weird."

"What?"

"The language it uses. It says 'a prayer inverted.'" He traces his finger down the margin. "'Not all prayers reach the kingdom of heaven. Some are intercepted by hungrier ears.' Spooky, right?"

You can't breathe.

The cross burns against your palm. You press it harder, trying to ground yourself, but the world narrows to a single point: a memory. Your bedroom window. The winter wind on your wet cheeks. Your knees bruised against the floorboards.

I beg of you. If you cannot make this feeling stop, then I beg for relief.

"Hey." Niki's voice cuts through the static in your head. "You good? You look like you're gonna, uh... hurl. Or pass out."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, no." He sets the book aside, straightening up, eyes narrowing. "You're definitely not fine. Was it something I said? I have a habit of—I mean, my mom's always telling me I don't know when to shut up, so if I—"

"You didn't do anything." You shake your head, swallowing hard. "I just need some air."

“Wait!”

You step back, your heel catching on the leg he's stretched across the aisle again. You stumble, and he scrambles to his feet, catches your elbow—a quick, awkward gesture.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to—I just—" He pulls back immediately, shoving both hands in his pockets like he's been burned. He drops his voice to a whisper, then he stares straight at you. “You’ve met a vampire, haven’t you?”

You blink.

"No." You shake your head too fast, an unconvincing laugh escaping your lips before you ramble on, "What? No. That’s ridiculous. Vampires aren't real. Aren’t you too old to believe in these things? Please.”

“But—”

“I'm just... I'm bored. And…” You swallow, “I need to get home before my husband is back."

There’s a pause. A long one.

"Oh… I get it.” He gives you a knowing look. “You can't tell anyone. Vampire confidentiality. Right?" He shifts his weight, suddenly looking less like a brooding delinquent and more like a kid who's spent too many lunch periods eating alone. You open your mouth to protest, but he continues. "Then, if you do see one. Hypothetically. Could you... ask something for me?" You take in his wide-eyed, hopeful stare. "The garlic thing. Is it true? Everyone's always arguing about it, but I think it's just complete crap.”

You let out a sigh.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He beams, looking like he’s about to jump up and down with joy, but quickly reins himself in, dropping his voice an octave and shrugging the excitement away. "Cool... cool. Alright. I'll see you later, then, vampire research lady. I'm always here, so come and find me whenever you wanna, like. Hang out or something...You'll come back, right?"

You don't process any of it. Still shaken, you turn and walk. Past the shelves. Past the desk, where the old librarian still watches you with narrowed eyes. Past the heavy oak doors and into the cold, gray afternoon.

Not all prayers reach the kingdom of heaven.

You pull your coat tighter and start walking, not home just yet. You need to let yourself breathe before you go back to the house with the kitchen window that faces his door, before you have to look your husband in the eye and pretend the conversation you just had never happened.

Teenagers believe anything. You tell yourself with every heavy step, fresh snow crunching underfoot. None of it is real. It can't hurt you.

A thick snowfall arrives on a Friday afternoon, the following week. Schools and stores close, and a company-wide email advises everyone to stay inside. Jake stood at the bedroom window when he read it, watching the storm howl past the glass, and felt two things at once: a quiet disappointment that winter is nowhere near its end, and a much louder, much more immediate gratitude that he doesn't have to leave you today.

He's been worried about you. That's nothing new, actually. He's been worried about you since the day you met, when you laughed at one of his jokes only to screech at the sound of a twig snapping under your step two seconds later. He recognized something in you then. To call it skittishness would be an understatement. There was a weight behind your wide-eyed stare. The look of someone who has been carrying something heavy for a very long time and has never asked anyone to help her hold it. You told him about your night terrors a month into the relationship. Sat him down, explained it like a warning, as if it could ever scare him off from pursuing you. He wanted to be the one to help. He still does. It's the quiet purpose of his life.

He was foolishly optimistic back then. The reality of what it means to live with you, alongside your fears, is not an easy responsibility to carry. You smile when you're sad. You deflect when he asks questions. You say I'm fine and change the subject and slide into his lap, and he lets you, because he loves you, because he doesn't always know the right thing to say, and maybe because some part of him is afraid that if he pushes too hard, he'll be devastated to find there's far more he doesn't understand about you than he realizes. He holds you in the ways you ask him to. He soothes your fears without knowing what they are. He plays the role he's resigned himself to—husband, protector, warm body in the dark—and tries not to notice the moments when your eyes go distant, when your hands tremble for no reason, when you stare into nothing like something else is there, staring right back.

It wears on him. He doesn't resent it. He could never resent you. But there are nights when he wakes up beside you, listening to you stir in your sleep and feels a loneliness he can't explain. Sometimes it feels like there is a part of you he cannot reach, a room inside you where he is not invited.

So he does what he can. He goes to work. He comes home. He holds you when you let him. He prays for you, even on the days when his own faith wavers. And when you reach for him, pulling him into bed with that desperate, devouring hunger that has become the new rhythm of your marriage, he gives you everything you ask for. He gives you more. Because in those moments, you are fully present—your attention is on him and not lost somewhere else. In those moments, he is not your caretaker or your protector. He is simply yours.

It's a relief he didn't know he needed. To be wanted. Not needed—wanted. There's a difference.

Jake's always been good at being needed. Being helpful. At smiling, nodding and letting others feel heard. It's something he carried into adulthood. Into his faith. Into his marriage, where his wife's fragility gave him a role he recognized: the steady one. The unneedy one. The one who holds and is never held.

But desire—real, shameless, take-me-now desire—was never something he imagined being on the receiving end of. He was taught that sex was a service a wife provided to her husband. A duty. A kindness. Something to be accepted with gratitude and restraint. He was prepared to be grateful. He was not prepared for you.

These past weeks, you've become something else entirely. You pull him in by the belt before he's shrugged off his coat. You beg him to be rough, to be merciless, to stop treating you like something fragile. The first time you said it, after the initial disbelief subsided, he nearly wept from relief. From the sudden, staggering realization that you wanted him the way he had always secretly wanted you. That the hunger was mutual. That he was allowed to be hungry at all.

He's been enjoying it more than he probably should. He knows that. Some old, stubborn guilt stirs in him every time he pins your wrists above your head, every time he hears you moan his name like a prayer. He used to repent for thoughts far milder than the things you do together now. But the guilt is quieter than it used to be. Quieter than the sound of your breath hitching. Quieter than the way you say harder and please and fuck me right now.

He assumes it's a side effect of your clinginess. You spend all day alone, trapped by the cold, left to the mercy of your own thoughts. Of course, you reach for him the moment he walks through the door. Of course, you want to be touched, held, filled with something other than the silence of an empty house. He's happy to be that for you. He's happy to be whatever you need.

He doesn't understand the whole of you. He'll never understand what keeps you up at night, and why it does. But he understands the curve of your hip, and the sound of your laugh, and the way your body answers his in the dark. And for now, with the snow piled high against the windows and the fire crackling in the next room and you warm and real and wanting in his arms, that is enough. It's more than enough. It's everything he didn't know he was allowed to ask for.

The neglected part of his heart that spent years believing desire was something to be managed, not felt—that accepted loneliness as the price of being steady, that tucked itself away in the front pew and never asked for more—that part is wide awake, and it reaches for you helplessly.

All of that to say is: being holed up with you inside on a cold evening, he does the only thing that makes sense. He finds you in the kitchen, wraps his arms around your waist from behind, and presses his lips to the curve of your neck.

You giggle, leaning back into him, the wooden spoon still in your hand.

"You want me to burn dinner?"

"I want you," He punctuates each word with a kiss to your shoulder, your jaw, then your neck. "Want you all the time. Everyday. Every second."

"You're insatiable." You swat at his arm, but your voice is fond. "And a distraction."

"What's wrong with being distracted?"

"Jake." You roll your eyes, your tone playful but stern, "Go find something else to do."

"Like what?" He pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the pot.

"Maybe, shovelling the driveway?"

He groans. "I'll do that in the—"

"Morning? You sleep like a log. Besides..." You turn in his arms, your free hand coming up to toy with the collar of his shirt, and a suggestive grin tugs at your lips, "You won't have the energy to."

"Oh?" His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Well, if that's the case..."

He presses a kiss to your cheek and pulls away.

"Don't miss me too much," He calls out as he makes his way down the hall, dreading having to bundle up for the cold.

"No promises."

He dreads it even more once he's actually outside, scrunching his nose as the icy cold hits him, like little needles against his skin. But seeing you move about the kitchen from where he shovels makes it all worth it. It's always worth it.

He's watched you sleep enough nights to know how hard you fight just to stay still. The way you squirm and pant and clutch at him, sweat beading at your brow, tortured by something he can't see and you can't name. He's learned not to wake you—it only makes it worse. So he holds you instead.

But morning always comes. You always smile at him over coffee, tired and brave, pushing through the day like the night never happened. Like you haven't spent eight hours running from something he can't fight for you.

So, really, the least he could do as a husband was shovel the driveway without complaining. Even if his back was beginning to ache as if he were a middle aged dad. He can clear a path. He can make one thing easier for you, even if it's just the driveway.

"Hello."

Jake lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched scream and nearly topples over into the snow, managing to brace himself with his shovel. He turns, letting out a sigh of relief when his eyes land on the tall, pale-looking man, who greets him with a closed-mouth smile.

"Man, you scared the crap out of me," Jake laughs, which dissolves into nervous laughter when he notices how the man does not laugh with him. He stands still, almost statuesque.

"My apologies. Jake, yes?"

"That's me." He adjusts his grip on the shovel and extends his free hand, tilting his head. "Do we know each other? I'm sorry, I'm terrible with faces."

"Sunghoon." The hand that meets his is cold, even through both their gloves. The grip is brief and precise. "A pleasure. I live at the corner. Your wife made my acquaintance last Monday."

Jake pauses a moment, his hand freezing mid-shake.

The house at the corner. The weirdo. The hand-kissing, too-long-staring, made-you-uncomfortable neighbour you'd come home crying about last week.

His brows furrow at the realization that this was the guy you were talking about. Although he was imagining someone much older and creepier. Not a polished, perfectly composed, and frankly quite handsome—if Jake is being honest—guy his own age.

"You're the neighbour, huh?" Jake deadpans, shoving his shovel into the snow and standing up straight. He looks Sunghoon up and down, taking his time, letting his gaze drag. Sizing him up. He's taller. That's annoying.

"Yes. We had a lovely conversation. I wish to extend my gratitude."

"How kind. But not necessary."

"Oh, but it is."

"But it really isn't."

"I insist."

"Okay. Look, man. I'll give it to you straight," Jake frowns, eyes narrowing, "I know my wife is beautiful and perfect and all. That's why I married her. You got that? So, I think it's best if you leave her alone."

Sunghoon stares, wordless and expressionless, for a moment. Jake holds his ground, though the silence is starting to get uncomfortable. Maybe he'd been too confrontational. Too harsh. Of course, you and your safety are his number one concerns, but from the way the man's face softens so earnestly, the fear of having possibly misjudged the entire situation starts to creep up on him.

"My apologies. It seems I gave you the wrong impression," His tone is bashful and all too disarming, and he clears his throat as he reaches for his pocket. "You see, ever since I lost my wife, I've become a bit of a hermit. But for a pair of friendly neighbours, I thought I might try getting myself out of my shell."

Jake's frown drops. He stands there in the snow, feeling like a complete and total asshole. He'd been ready to defend your honour, all puffed up and protective and righteous, and instead he'd just threatened a lonely widower who was only being kind. His mother would be appalled. His pastor would probably have words: Lord, we lift up Jake, who apparently forgot every single thing we taught him about loving thy neighbor.

Sunghoon extends an envelope, wax-sealed and dignified, held out with a leather-gloved hand.

"Oh." Jake takes it, and the wax seal feels like a personal indictment. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to—really, I just—I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago." Sunghoon waves him off with a gentle grace that makes Jake feel even worse, somehow. "I take no offence. I was also quite protective in my first year of marriage."

Jake nods, grateful for the absolution, and sighs.

"When you really love someone, it’s like you'd do anything for them. You know. Move mountains. Fight a bear. Or—" He gestures at the shovel, at his own puffed-up posture. "Accost a stranger in your own driveway, apparently."

"It's true." Sunghoon's mouth curves. "I once threatened a man on the street because he looked at my wife too long. She was mortified. I was unrepentant."

Jake laughs. "And she scolded you for it, I'll bet."

"Absolutely." Sunghoon's expression is something fond, something distant. "But you know..."

"The wife is always right," they say in unison.

"But we love them anyway."

"We do."

Jake smiles. It's the first time since moving here that he's felt something like this. The kind of easy conversation he used to have with friends back home, before the marriage, the move, the new job.

Sunghoon. An odd neighbour. He speaks as if he could be from another generation, hands out wax-sealed letters, and lives in a mysteriously large house all on his own.

Jake could understand why it might be off-putting. But Jake also remembers when you used to scream at the sight of your own shadow. When you'd cling to him at social gatherings in college and glare at every person in the room like they were trying to hurt you.

You've always been afraid. Of the dark. Of strangers. Of everything. He's learned to calibrate for it, to filter the world through the lens of your anxiety and adjust accordingly.

It's not intentionally dismissive. He listens. He tries to. But this time, he should've known that when you crawled into his arms crying over a neighbour who only did so much as look at you, that it would be what it always is: another false alarm.

A part of him still ponders what he could possibly mean by "a long time" when the man before him doesn't look a day over thirty. And even if he were, say, in his mid to late thirties... late thirties...? That's still too young to have lost a wife and had plenty of time to get over it. He does not dare to ask, though. You know, considering he's already accused the guy of hitting on his wife. Following that up with so, exactly how long has your dead wife been dead? feels like it might not improve the situation.

Sunghoon's gaze drifts. Past Jake, over his shoulder. Jake follows it to the kitchen window, where the curtain twitches. There's a flash of movement, quickly stilled. You've been watching the entire time.

"She mentioned being a bit timid," Sunghoon smiles a little, gaze torn away from the window. "If not both of you, perhaps just yourself? I would be glad to host regardless."

"He's weird, sure. But he went out of his way to invite us. I think he's just trying to be friendly in his own, you know, awkward sort of way." Jake rambles to himself over dinner. "A lot of the other couples on this block are a lot older than us. It would be nice to make friends with a guy my own age."

The dinner invitation sits open between you on the kitchen table, its wax seal broken, its cursive script elegant and old-fashioned. You stare at the words on the page, and all you can see is the way he looked at you through the window. The slow, knowing smile. The way his eyes had found yours through the glass, like he'd known exactly where you'd be.

"I think we should accept." Jake's tone of voice is unfortunately optimistic. And a part of you cannot believe half of what you're hearing, but the other part of you knows this is who you married: Jake, a man who assumes the best in everyone, who never enters a room expecting danger, who extends undeserved kindness to every stranger he meets. "Worst case, we learn to stay away. Best case, you have nothing to worry about. Either way, it will put your mind at ease."

Put your mind at ease. You nearly snort aloud. As if an evening in that house with that man could do anything but the opposite. Jake doesn't notice. He's already picturing the dinner party, already imagining a new friendship.

"...I'm not sure. Maybe we should think on it."

His smile falters. You know that look. It's the closest Jake ever gets to exasperation.

"Come on." He sets his fork down, and you feel the weight of his stare. "He lost his wife, and he lives in that creepy mansion all alone. Don't you feel a little bit bad?"

You offer no response, picking at your food. He gives you a few seconds, letting the tension-filled silence linger, and when it becomes clear you're not going to budge, he sighs.

"Well." He picks up his fork again, his jaw set with a gentle stubbornness. "You can think on it. I'm going."

"What?" Your fork is clattering against the table. "No. You can't go alone."

He blinks at you, fork hovering halfway to his mouth, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and the beginnings of a laugh. His brow furrows.

"Didn't know I needed supervision." The words come out light, almost teasing, but his eyes are still searching your face. He's trying to find the joke. When the smile doesn't come, the teasing edge fades from his voice. "I'm just going across the street, baby. What do you think is going to happen to me?"

"I'm just being cautious."

"Cautious?” He scoffs, “What, you think he’s an axe murderer or something?”

He waits for you to laugh, to roll your eyes, to admit you're exaggerating.

"Sweetheart.” His voice drops, frustration building up. “Be realistic. Seriously."

"I am realistic. He told me I looked vulnerable. Like it was a threat. Like I was in danger, I...” Your words are tumbling out faster now, more frantic, “He sniffed me. That's not normal, Jake. He—”

“Sure he did.”

It lingers in the air a moment, and you stare, suspended in disbelief at how he’s looking at you as if you are a child describing a monster in the closet.

“You think I’m making it up.”

The dismissal is worse than the doubt. He's not even taking it seriously enough to disbelieve. Your hands are trembling. You press them flat against the table.

"I didn’t mean it like that,” He starts, “Sweetheart—”

“You don’t believe me.”

"I believe…" He stops, taking a moment to reel in his thoughts. He lowers his voice to a tone that's more gentle and patient, acutely aware of how your breathing is growing uneven. "Maybe these nightmares are warping your perception of the people around you. Which is making you act a little judgmental."

He reaches across the table. His palm hovers over your knuckles, an offering. But you swat his hand away before it lands. It's a small gesture, but the impact of it lingers.

"You don't believe me." You repeat.

His frown is no longer patient.

"Do you even believe yourself?"

Jake looks at you, searching for something neither of you can name. For an answer. For understanding. For anything at all. You can't help the shame that creeps up on you, rotting you from the inside.

You don't know what you believe. All you know is that your dreams have a face now. The face lives at the end of your street and has invited you to dinner.

It would be so easy to say you're afraid of him. It wouldn't be a lie. But the truer explanation is also the most shameful: you want your neighbour. You've wanted him since he looked at you in the candlelight and made you feel like prey that was begging to be caught. But admitting that would mean admitting that the rot inside you was never his fault—That all of this has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the woman you've been trying not to be since you were old enough to know better.

You don't let yourself finish the thought. You never do.

Through the corner of your eye, through the kitchen window, a passing car's headlights reveal the sight of something in your yard. Something red, in contrast to the stark white snow, and you freeze.

"Listen, I’m not trying to argue. I'm really not. I'm just trying to help. You can’t be afraid of every stranger you—"

"I just saw something." The words leave your mouth before you've decided to say them. "Out there."

Jake stops. His eyes follow yours to the window, where the dark has settled back over the yard like a curtain drawn shut. When he looks back at you, his frown is firm.

Holding Jake's hand, you walk with him through ankle-deep snow, his flashlight flickering ever so slightly. The beam is weak but steady enough to catch the trail he's tracking: small animal footprints, evenly spaced, leading toward the hedge at the edge of the yard.

"There," you whisper, though you don't know why you're whispering. "Behind the bush."

He angles the light. For a moment, the snow is just white and clean and untouched. Then the beam catches it. A bright splash of red, vivid against the pale. It's fresh. Still wet.

"Oh my god." Your hand flies to your mouth.

Jake crouches, his jaw tight, and pushes aside the lowest branch. The cat lies curled beneath the hedge, its fluffy white coat matted with blood. Its neck is torn, and two small punctures sit just above the collar, neat, precise, too deliberate to be random. You'd seen it in movies. You'd seen it in the book Niki flipped through at the library.

That night, after Jake calls the old woman across the street and breaks the news that her beloved house pet lies lifeless in your front yard, you find yourself curled up against Jake's chest. Your violent shaking and panicked breathing had now simmered down into quiet breaths and subtle trembling.

"There were no other footprints around."

"Hm?" His voice is thick with the sleep he's been fighting off.

"The cat."

Jake doesn't sigh, but the way his chest rises and falls tells you he was hiding his frustration for your sake.

"It was dark." His hand resumes its slow circles on your back. "We probably just missed it."

"I know what I saw."

"What do you think it was then, hm?" He teases lazily, thoughtlessly. "A scary cat-killing monster with no footsteps?"

He means it as a joke. Mostly. But you don't miss the edge in his voice, how it's sharper than it would have been an hour ago, before the argument at the kitchen table, before the cold trek through the snow to find a dead cat in your yard.

"A vampire."

The word lands in the dark between you and just sits there. Jake goes still. Then, slowly, he shifts upright, disentangling himself from you. The loss of his warmth is immediate.

He looks at you. Really looks at you.

"Okay. What is going on with you?"

"You don't think it could be?" You try, “Two marks, side-by-side, at its neck. What kind of wild animal does that?”

"Is that a serious question?" He blinks at you, "Baby. Look at me. Please tell me you aren't serious."

You don't answer.

This time, he does sigh loudly, and with a small "come here," he's pulling you in his arms again. He settles back against the pillows, tucking you against his chest.

"Let's pretend, hypothetically, that your little conspiracy theories are real. All the vampires and the cat-killing monsters and the creepy neighbours with sharp teeth..." His voice is warm and tired and almost teasing. But mostly just exhausted. "Then I promise I'll protect you from all the big, bad, scary things out there. Okay? Does that make you feel better?"

It should. But all you can think about is the cat beneath the hedge. The two neat punctures above its collar. The way Sunghoon looked at Jake, curious and patient, eyes at his neck when he wasn't looking.

You don't need Jake to protect you. You need him to stay the hell away from that house. You need him somewhere the monster can't reach.

But he won't stay. He's made that clear.

"Jake?"

"Mm?" He's already drifting, the exhaustion finally pulling him under.

"I'll come with you."

You walk the short distance to the house at the corner hand in hand with your husband, his palm warm and steady around yours. The snow has stopped falling, leaving the street hushed and still, though you feel anything but peace. Jake's thumb traces small circles over your knuckles, a nervous habit he doesn't seem to notice.

"You're squeezing," you murmur.

"Am I?" He loosens his grip, shooting you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I just want this to go well."

You know why. It's not just about making a good impression or redeeming himself for the confrontation in the driveway. He's trying to give you peace of mind, even if he has to manufacture it. A successful evening means a normal neighbour. A normal neighbour means your fears were just fears. He needs that to be true. For you and for himself.

The gate groans when Jake pushes it open, the iron scrollwork black and wet with melted frost. The cobblestone path is uneven beneath your boots, the same path you fled down some time ago with your heart in your throat and the phantom heat of a stranger's lips still burning on your knuckles. The house looms above you, every window dark, the curtains drawn against the fading afternoon light.

"Nice place, right?" Jake says under his breath. It's such a desperately optimistic read of the looming dark house in front of you. You'd call it a generous lie if you didn't know your husband any better.

The heavy double doors open before Jake can knock.

Sunghoon stands in the shadow of the threshold, tall and pale and composed. His smile is closed-lipped, polite, his eyes moving from Jake to you with an unhurried grace.

"Welcome." He steps aside, gesturing you in. "Please, come in out of the cold."

"I'd shake your hand, but my fingers are still thawing." Jake laughs, "Seriously though. Thanks so much for having us."

"The pleasure is mine. It's been a very long time since this house has had guests." Sunghoon guides the pair of you inside, and you don't miss the way his hand brushes your back. His gaze flicks to you, and the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. "Welcome back."

You murmur something that might be thank you. The warmth of the foyer wraps around you as the door swings shut, but it does nothing to stop the chill working its way down your spine.

"Man, this place is insane. You could fit our whole house in this entryway." Jake is still shrugging off his coat, glancing around the foyer with wide, earnest eyes.  He elbows you gently, grinning. "Why didn't we buy a creepy old mansion, babe?"

You don't answer, shedding your own coat, avoiding Sunghoon's stare.

"It's too much house for one person, I'm afraid. But it does have its charms." Sunghoon turns, gesturing toward the hall ahead. "Shall I give you the tour?"

"Yes, please." Jake nods enthusiastically, following him into the hall.

You trail behind.

Each room is just as beautiful as the last. The parlour with its heavy velvet drapes and furniture draped in dusty sheets. The study, lined floor to ceiling with books, a massive oak desk sitting dark and unused in the center. The dining room, where a long table has been set for three—candles flickering, silver gleaming. The formality of it all makes you feel like you've stepped into another century.

"My wife had a fondness for entertaining," Sunghoon says, noticing your gaze. "I'm afraid I've let the tradition lapse. You'll have to forgive me if I'm out of practice."

"Are you kidding? This is incredible." Jake claps him on the shoulder, already at ease. "Our dining table is just a couple of sad IKEA chairs."

It's in the music room that Jake stops dead in his tracks.

The grand piano sits in front of the large, draped windows. It's an ancient-looking thing, the legs intricately carved and the body engraved with winding patterns, with candelabras on either side, their wax frozen mid-drip. The ivory keys are yellowed with age, but the dark wood gleams, suggesting it's been properly maintained over the years.

Jake drifts toward it. His hand lifts before he seems to realize it, hovering just above the closed lid.

"No way," he breathes. "You play?"

"Occasionally. Though my wife was far better. It belonged to her." Sunghoon comes to stand beside him. "And you?"

"No, no. I just..." Jake runs a reverent hand over the closed lid. "I used to play guitar. Nothing fancy. Mostly in youth group, you know? Worship nights, that kind of thing."

"Ah, yes." Sunghoon's smile deepens. "A man of faith. Your wife mentioned it."

"Born and raised." Jake glances back at you, his expression bright with the pleasure of finding common ground. "Actually, I used to sing in the choir too, back when I was a kid. Drove the conductor insane because I could never remember the Latin verses."

"A church choir. Now that brings back memories." He hums, soft and almost wistful, "I sang as a child, too. Soprano, if you can believe it. Before my voice dropped and they had no more use for me."

"No way." Jake laughs, delighted. "Small world, huh? What denomination?"

"The details blur after a while." Sunghoon waves a hand, "Though I'm afraid my faith hasn't weathered the years as well as yours."

"Hey, I get it. Life has a way of testing you." Jake's hand finds yours, squeezing, as if to say, see? He's just a guy. A normal, lonely guy. "But the door's always open, right?"

"So I've heard."

You stand a few paces behind them, your hand limp in Jake's grip, listening to the easy rhythm of their conversation. It should be a comfort—your husband, making a friend, building the life you'd both imagined for yourselves in this new town. But all you can feel is the way Sunghoon's gaze keeps drifting toward you even as he speaks to Jake. The way his smile never quite reaches his eyes.

You drift away, taking in the rest of the room while their voices fade behind you.

The bookshelf is built into the far wall, floor to ceiling, packed with old volumes in dark, cracked leather. You let your eyes trace the spines without really seeing them—something to do, somewhere to look that isn't the two of them. Most of the titles are in languages you don't recognize. Latin, maybe. Something older.

Then your gaze snags.

A book bound in dark blue cloth, its cover embossed with a faded silver symbol you recognize instantly. You've seen it before. In the narrow library aisle, in the hands of a bored teenager. Instinctively, your hand reaches.

"Have you read it?"

The voice comes from directly behind you, close enough that you feel the words stir the hair at the nape of your neck. You flinch, spinning on your heel, and find Sunghoon standing less than an arm's length away. You hadn't heard him move. You hadn't heard anything at all.

You look around frantically. Jake. Where is Jake? Where did he—?

"It's local history, mostly. Folklore. Old superstitions." He reaches past you, his sleeve brushing your shoulder, and pulls the volume from the shelf. He turns it over in his hands, long pale fingers tracing the embossed symbol. "You don't strike me as the type to believe in such."

"I don't." You say too quickly, "I just find it interesting. The stories. The history."

"So you have read it."

His eyes meet yours. The candlelight catches them strangely, deepening the dark, and for a moment, you can't look away. You don’t want to. Nor do you want to keep trying to convince yourself that the way he looks at you is anything normal.

"What about you?" You tilt your chin up. "Do you believe any of it is real?"

"I think I’ve told you before. I believe in many things." He slides the book back onto the shelf. "They say curiosity is a dangerous thing. It can be. Though I think a curious mind, who is drawn to things they cannot explain, is putting themselves in far more danger by resisting their nature."

"One might call it resistance. One might also call it none of your concern."

The words come out sharper than you intended. Sunghoon smiles, slow and knowing.

"The scaredy cat has claws." He doesn't step back. His gaze doesn't waver.

Against your will, your mind flashes back to the cat in your front yard, lying bloody and lifeless in the snow. A shudder runs through you.

Jake's footsteps echo in the hallway, and Sunghoon steps back, the space between you reasserting itself as if it had never closed.

"Anyway." Sunghoon's voice lifts, smooth and easy, perfectly timed to Jake's reappearance in the doorway. "It's quite an interesting read, even for a skeptic."

"Sorry about that." He says, expression half sheepish. "I kind of got lost on the way to the bathroom. This house is—yeah. What'd I miss?"

"Your wife was admiring my library," Sunghoon replies. "She has excellent taste."

The three of you sit at one end of the long dining room table, silverware grasped in your unsteady hands, your wine glass untouched. Sunghoon brought out the first course—something rich and dark, red wine sauce pooling on porcelain. It smells delicious, and you watch Jake dig into it thoughtlessly. You move the food around your plate instead. Your mother would scold you for bad table manners, but you don't owe this man any manners. Not when he’s charming your husband to his face, and cornering you when he’s out of sight.

"So only a few weeks," Sunghoon says, refilling Jake's glass with a bottle that had no label. "Married, moved in, new job. You've been busy."

"Busy doesn't even cover it." Jake is already reaching for his glass, his shoulders loosening with each sip. "I barely have time to do anything like this anymore. Socializing, I mean. As much as I love being cooped up with my other half..." He shoots you a wink. "This is nice. Really nice."

"It is." Sunghoon hums in agreement. "I remember what it was like. The demands on a new husband can feel endless. The pressure to build something lasting, to be enough for someone who's given you everything."

"Yeah." Jake exhales, something in his posture softening. "Exactly. It's a lot sometimes."

Sunghoon's gaze drifts to yours.

"Of course, it's hard on the wives, too. I'm sure." He says. "The adjustment can be difficult. Old habits. Old fears. They don't disappear just because there's a ring on your finger."

Jake doesn't seem to notice how you shift in discomfort. He’s already nodding, already raising his glass in a loose, tipsy agreement. He doesn't hear the implication. He doesn't see the way Sunghoon's eyes haven't left your face. He doesn’t listen to you when you tell him to stop drinking, either.

One bottle turned into two, and you don't know how many glasses you've watched your husband down, but you know with certainty that he's far gone as you sit in the living room, stiff and silent while the men chat away. You don't listen. You're too busy noticing how your heart beats faster than the ticking grandfather clock in the corner, eagerly waiting to leave.

The fire has burned down to embers, a low red pulse that makes the shadows stretch along the walls. The record crackles to life, piano drifting through the air. Something slow and minor.

"My wife adored Chopin's nocturnes, but I preferred his sonatas. Though one could argue that everything he composed was excellent." Sunghoon places the record sleeve down, the edges worn. "I used to listen to this one to clear my head."

Jake stirs against you, lifting his head with visible effort.

"Oh yeah?" His voice is thick, syrupy. He squints at the record sleeve in Sunghoon's hands, then back at you. "I know someone who could use that."

He looks straight at you. His eyes are glassy, fond, and painfully oblivious. You glare.

"I'm just teasing, baby." His hand finds your thigh, squeezing. A drunken peace offering. It doesn't help at all. "Just teasing."

"Careful." Sunghoon's voice is closer now, light and teasing as he slides into the couch across from you two. "You'll end up sleeping on the couch tonight."

Jake snorts, and you watch something loosen in his shoulders—watch him lean into the camaraderie of it, the easy, too-easy understanding that passes between them. He gestures with his glass, the dregs of wine sloshing against the crystal.

"She wouldn't let me. Who else is going to protect her from all the scary monsters and the dark?" He rolls his eyes, affectionately dismissive.

"Jake." It comes out as a whisper, a plea.

"You're scared of the dark?"

"She's scared of everything." Jake interrupts, his words slurring. "Scared of the dark. Scared of being alone. Scared of herself, even." He raises his hands in surrender, palms out, the gesture loose and exaggerated. "Don't ask me why. Nobody knows why. I've been trying to figure it out since we met, and I've got nothing."

He lets his hands drop, gazing at you with a sad, broken look in his eyes. Something only alcohol could drag out of him, and something he'll hate himself for in the morning.

"I don't know how to help." He continues, "I don't know what to do. I never know what to—"

"Jake, stop it."

He blinks at you, the awareness that he's crossed a line he definitely shouldn't have dawning on him all at once. His shoulders hunch, invisible weight pressing down on him.

"Right. I should shut my mouth. I know, I know." He sets his glass down on the side table, clumsy, the stem rattling. His hand finds your knee and pats it twice, a sloppy apology. "I don't know what I'm saying. I'm not trying to be mean, sweetheart. I just… don't understand you."

"I know."

"I try. I promise, I try."

"I know you do." You soothe him, feeling his weight press against you. You turn to Sunghoon. "I think he's had too much to drink. We should probably—"

"I try, just..." He exhales, long and slow, the last of the fight going out of him. "Just... can't..."

His head dips forward. His shoulders go slack. The weight of him against your side becomes dead weight, heavy and still.

"Jake?" Your hand moves to his chest, shaking gently. Nothing.

His breathing remains deep and even, but there's no flicker of consciousness beneath his eyelids, no reflexive squeeze of his hand where it lies slack in yours.

"Your husband." Sunghoon hasn't moved from his chair. The firelight catches the pale angle of his jaw, the dark gleam of his eyes. "He's lovely."

"He is." The words come out defensive.

His gaze then drops to your throat.

Your hand twitches up. Beneath your blouse, the cross rests against your heated skin. You wore it like this on purpose, tucked away so you wouldn't be tempted to reach for it, so he wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing you clutch it like a shield. Still, your muscle memory betrays you.

"Though, not quite as lovely as you."

You dart your gaze away immediately, redirecting your attention to Jake. You shake him with less care and more urgency.

"Jake." You hiss his name under your breath, a prayer and a plea. "Jake, wake up."

He returns nothing. Not a twitch. Not a flicker of consciousness.

"Please." Your voice is rising now, shedding its careful composure. "Please, Jake—"

"He's not going to wake up."

Sunghoon's voice is certain.

Your hand stills on Jake's shoulder.

"What did you do to him?" Your voice is low. Gone was the politeness you'd faked for your husband's sake.

He smiles.

"Nothing. He drank my wine. Enjoyed good company. That's all." Sunghoon states plainly, "He's exhausted. You've noticed it, haven't you? The dark circles. The way he collapses the moment he's home."

Your gaze drops to Jake's face. To the shadows pooled beneath his eyes. The way his hand, even in sleep, rests on your thigh like he's still trying to anchor you. Your throat tightens. You've done this to him. Your fears. Your clinging. And—

"And the nightmares," Sunghoon continues, his head tilting. "The things you call nightmares. They must be so tiring for him to tend to."

A slow, creeping horror spreads through your chest as you stare back at him.

"But they're not really nightmares." His voice drops, low and intimate. "They never have been."

You move before you can think.

"Jake." Your hand closes around Jake's arm. You pull, trying to drag him upright, trying to haul his dead weight off the couch. "Jake, get up. We're leaving. We're leaving right now—"

His body is heavy and uncooperative, slumping against you, and you're not strong enough, but you try regardless. You try because you can see Sunghoon start to rise from where he's seated from the corner of your eye.

You reach to set down your wine glass. You need both hands. You need to grip Jake properly and drag him out of this house, even if you have to crawl. But your hands are shaking, and the glass comes down too fast.

It shatters.

The sound is obscene in the quiet—a bright, crystalline burst, shards scattering across your hand, across the coffee table and onto the carpet.

Immediately, the pain rises through your palm, and you hiss, jerking your hand back. You watch the blood well up—dark in the low light, beading along the cut and spilling over, sliding down the curve of your wrist.

A single drop falls to the carpet.

Then you hear it. A low, ragged inhale, shuddering and deep, as if the air itself has become something to be devoured. Your head lifts before you can stop it.

He's already above you, his presence caging you into the couch, and the expression on his face has changed. His eyes are dark. His lips have parted. His whole body is still, but it is not the stillness of composure. It is the stillness of a predator in the moment before the strike.

He reaches down. Takes your wrist. The motion is nothing gentle, but there is a restraint in his grip that makes your pulse hammer against his fingers. He draws your bleeding hand toward his face, eyes fixed on the red tracing its way down your palm. He lowers his mouth to it.

"Sunghoon—"

He inhales, and the groan that escapes him is low and guttural, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. It is pure hunger, pure want, and it makes your thighs press together where you sit, a traitorous heat blooming low in your belly that you cannot control.

"What are you?" Your voice is a mere whisper, weak and trembling. "What do you want from me?"

"You know what I am. You've known me a very long time." His fangs catch the firelight, sharp and unmistakable. He turns your wrist over, watching a bead of blood trace down your palm. "As for what I want... All I've ever wanted is what you promised me all those years ago."

The memories come back to you all at once: The dreams. The cold hands on your bare skin. The sharp teeth sinking into your neck while you begged for it, night after night, year after year. The presence at your window that was never a nightmare at all.

It's always been him.

"For so long, I've waited." He shudders, and the sound is almost pained. "For even just a taste of what is mine."

You watch, frozen, as his lips close around your fingers. His tongue moves against your wounded hand, lapping at the blood with a hunger that feels obscene. His eyes flutter shut. A tremor runs through him, and you feel it echoed in your own body.

Your husband lies sleeping three feet away, a monster is drinking from your hand like a man dying of thirst, and you cannot speak. You cannot do anything but watch and feel the shameful heat pooling between your thighs, the ache you've spent a lifetime trying to pray away now so acute it nearly doubles you over.

A whimper catches in your throat. You try to swallow it back, but it escapes anyway, small and utterly pathetic. His eyes open at the sound, fixed on yours as you watch the slow movement of his throat as he swallows. Your breath is coming short, and you nearly forget how to breathe entirely when his knee comes up to the couch, just between your thighs as he leans over you. Your free hand is pressed flat against your thigh to keep it from reaching for him.

When he finally pulls his mouth from your fingers, a thin strand of saliva, stained with your blood, connects his lower lip to your skin.

"Just a taste..." he breathes, the words ragged. His grip on your wrist tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to make clear he is holding himself back by a thread. "It's not enough."

"Please," You shake your head. "Please, I don't—"

"Don't you remember? The way you kneeled before me. How I answered your call." His voice drops. "I promised you relief—in exchange for you. For your blood. Your flesh. Your soul. Your innocence. We made a deal."

The soul-contract.

Permanent. Mutual. Even if the vampire dies, the connection doesn't break.

You had hoped it was all folklore. Even after you saw his fangs, after he tasted your blood. Some small part of you clung to the belief that the promise you made at your window was nothing more than a desperate girl's cry into the dark.

But the deal was real. Your marriage, your faith, your husband's gentle love—none of it could change what you'd already given away.

"Why now?" Your voice cracks. "Why me. Why—"

"You have no idea how torturous it was. To be bound to someone I could not reach." His voice is ragged now, stripped of its usual composure. "To feel your wanting every night. Your dreams, your shame. To be unable to touch you. To be unable to drink you. Unable to even stand at your window and watch you."

His eyes find yours, and the hurt in them is so raw, so genuine, that for a moment you forget he's a monster.

"And then you moved across the river. Across the street. I thought—finally. Finally, she's come to me." His expression hardens. "But you came with him. You let another man touch what was already mine. How could you do that to me?"

The running water barrier—they can't cross it.

You remember when you viewed the house in this neighbourhood. The unmistakable, almost unsettlingly strong pull you'd felt. You'd taken it as a sign from God that this place was right. That your future belonged here.

So you left your childhood home behind. You crossed the southern river. You brought yourself within his reach, and you brought your husband with you.

God. He hadn't been the one to answer your prayers. He hadn't guided you on the right path, either. Perhaps you'd let him down too many times. Perhaps your faith was too bleak, too fragile. Or perhaps he'd stopped listening altogether the night you knelt at your window and begged for something He couldn't give.

"I felt everything. Every touch. Every kiss. His name on your lips." His gaze cuts to Jake's sleeping form, a strange sort of understanding surfacing beneath his frown. "I even felt your love for him."

He is quiet for a long moment, and so are you. Then, his gaze returns to you.

"I cannot understand how you could love someone else. Though, I also cannot blame you for needing someone in my absence."

His mouth is at your throat now. You feel the graze of his fangs against the thin skin over your pulse, the place where your blood beats closest to the surface.

"But I am here now. Do not deny me any longer." His voice is a murmur against your neck, each word a brush of cool lips. "I've been so patient, my love."

Your pulse is racing, warm and alive under his cold touch. Your blood sings to him, practically begging to be taken. Though he doesn't bite.

You remember why before you can question it: The soul-contract requires permission.

Your body is screaming for you to give in. Your hand wants to curl into his hair and press him closer to your neck, to offer yourself and enjoy every second of it, the way you have done so in every dream you've ever had of him. You are trembling with the effort of holding yourself still as you imagine the pleasure, the relief.

Then you look to Jake, the peaceful look on his face, his soft breathing.

"Don't."

His hand stills. Then it withdraws entirely. The loss of contact is almost worse than the touch—your skin aching where his palm had rested, your pulse hammering against nothing.

His expression shifts, tenderness replaced with something wounded.

"That night." Your voice trembles, but you force the words out. "It was a mistake. I was young. And desperate. That's all it was."

"You can lie to your husband. You can even lie to yourself. But you cannot lie to me." He frowns. "I can smell your desire from down the street. It reeks."

"I don't desire this. I don't. I don't want it. I just want to be left alone." You shake your head as the words fall out, painfully unconvincing. The tears come before you can stop them, spilling over your cheeks. "Please. Please leave me alone."

He watches you weep, ever so still and silent. Then, his hand rises, near your face. For a moment, you let yourself lean into the possibility of the touch, the cold comfort of his fingertips.

"These tears." His voice is barely a whisper as a single finger traces the track of your tears. "You only cry because you continue to deny yourself."

You sniffle. Blink. Meet his gaze through the wet blur of your lashes.

"You've tormented me for years." You try to sound angry. Your voice doesn't obey. "You've ruined me. And now you're ruining my marriage."

"Tormented?" His brows furrow, and he studies your face—the parted lips, the flushed cheeks, the wet gleam of your eyes. His hand remains at your cheek. His touch is cold. It soothes, momentarily, the all-consuming heat inside you. "You have it all wrong. I've loved you for years."

"Love." You'd laugh if you weren't crying, "You're not in love. You're hungry."

"Hunger is the purest form of love. It doesn't think. It doesn't negotiate. It simply wants." He tilts his head. "You know that. You've been hungry your whole life. You hunger for something only I can give you. Something only we can share."

You think of the ache. The one that never goes away. The one you've tried to pray away, fuck away, hide away in the deepest part of yourself. It pulses now, insistently, and you know he could make it stop.

You pull away regardless. Your body screams, but you ignore it. You will not give in to temptation. You will resist.

"Stay away from me."

His expression doesn't change, but the air between you feels as if it does. He looks at you for a long, unreadable moment. Then he inclines his head.

"Very well."

The firelight catches his face—his terribly beautiful face. It hurts to even look at him.

"You're stubborn." His hand drifts from your neck, his gaze longing. "So was I."

He brings his palm to your forehead, and your eyelids grow heavy. The weight of slumber threatens to pull you under, and you try to fight it, but your body is no longer yours to command. It hasn't been for a long time.

"But you know, my dear..." His voice is the last thing you hear, "A vampire still needs to feed."

His gaze shifts past you. Toward the couch. Toward Jake.

You aren't able to protest. The record still plays, the second sonata in its third movement, and it lulls you, allowing the darkness to swallow you whole.

You wake slowly, your body rising before your mind can follow. The first thing you register is warmth. The second is wetness, a slick, shameful heat between your thighs that tells you the dreams have come again even if you can't remember them.

The third is the press of your husband's body against your back. Hard. Insistent.

"Shit, baby." Jake's voice is rough, his arm tightening around your waist. "You're killing me."

Your husband.

You lurch forward, twisting in his grip, your hands finding his shoulders and pushing him flat against the mattress so you can climb over him. Your heart is pounding from the images that linger at the edge of your memory like a flickering candle flame. His face. His teeth. Your blood on his lips. The way your husband slumped against the couch, and how he moved towards him.

"Jake!" The name tears out of you. Your hands cup his face, thumbs pressing into his cheekbones, tilting his head left and right. "Jake, you're alive."

He blinks up at you, squinting against the pale morning light. His hair is a mess, flattened on one side, and there's a crease from the pillow pressed into his cheek.

"Ugh. Barely." He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "How much did I drink last night? I feel like I got hit by a truck."

Your hands are still on his face, your eyes still searching.

"Do you... do you remember anything?"

"Uh..." He hums, his brow furrowing with the effort of recollection. "The meal was amazing. And the wine. A lot of wine. And..." He shifts, adjusting himself with a wince. "I remember thinking our neighbour's a really cool guy."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"I could see myself being friends with him."

Friends. With him. With that monster. You bite your tongue.

"Do you remember anything else?" You ask a little quieter this time.

"Should I be remembering something else?" He props himself up on his elbows, his expression shifting from groggy to concerned. "Did something happen?"

"Do you remember passing out on his couch?"

His eyes widen.

"I did? Shit. That's... so embarrassing." His hands come up to his face, a half-groan, half-laugh leaving him. "It was fun, though. You had a good time too, right?"

You don't answer. Your gaze drifts to his neck, to the skin just below his jaw. There they are. Two small punctures, red and slightly raised, the skin around them faintly bruised.

A vampire needs to feed.

You reach, your fingertips brushing the wounds. Jake flinches.

"What is that?" He twists away from your touch, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stumbling toward the mirror above the dresser. He tilts his chin, squinting at his reflection. "Huh. Looks like mosquito bites or something. Weird time of year for bugs."

"Vampire bite."

Jake's eyes meet yours in the mirror. For a moment, his expression is unreadable—caught somewhere between confusion and a smile, like he's waiting for the punchline. Then his face settles into something flatter. Tired.

"Ha. Yeah, right. Very funny." He turns from the mirror, reaching for a T-shirt on the floor. "Don't tell me you're still serious about that."

"I am serious."

He pauses, one arm in his sleeve, the other still free. He turns to look at you over his shoulder, his expression wholeheartedly, genuinely, bewildered with disbelief.

"Baby." He pulls the shirt the rest of the way on. His voice is groggy, too tired to give your seeming absurdity any real argument. "Come on."

"You don't understand, you—" At the fuzzy recollection of the previous night—the glass shattering in your hand, and the wound he licked clean, you scramble to show Jake your hand, holding out your right palm. "Look. I cut my hand and he..."

Your voice trails off, seeing your hand. You turn your hand over, flexing your fingers. You know you didn't imagine the pain of the glass piercing your skin. You know you watched him devour the blood from your open wound. And yet, there isn't a single mark. Not even a faint scar. Not a trace of proof to show him.

"Sweetheart. Look at me." Jake says slowly, calmly. "Are you actually suggesting that our neighbour—who, by the way, invited us into his home and made us dinner—is a vampire?" He waits, watching you. Watches how you don't answer, how you ignore him and continue to inspect your hand for proof that isn't there. "You can't be serious. Vampires aren't real. They're Halloween costumes. They're shitty movies. They're— "

"Jake. Just—look at your neck." You gesture, and his hand flies up instinctively to the wound. "It's literally right there. We're both looking at it."

"These are—I don't know what they are. An allergic reaction. A spider bite. I don't know. But it's not..." He stops himself, shaking his head. "You believe this. You actually, genuinely believe that Sunghoon is a vampire?"

"He is."

Neither of you moves.

Jake stares at you. You stare back. And for a long, strange moment, you're both just standing there in your bedroom looking at each other like you've each just discovered the other is speaking a foreign language.

"I don't..." He passes a hand over his face. "I don't even know what to say to that."

"Say you believe me."

"I don't." He exhales, long and slow. "Baby, you're asking me to believe in actual, literal monsters who drink blood and sleep in a coffin and turn into bats."

"He doesn't turn into a bat, or—"

"Oh, well, that's reassuring. Thank you for clarifying." He scoffs. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. I can't—it's too early for this."

"Jake," you plead, "I know it sounds crazy. But I know what I saw."

"What did you see?"

The question hangs in the air between you. He poses it the same way he always does, when he asks about your nightmares. And you realize, with a sinking, gut-wrenching clarity, that there is no answer you can give that he will believe. You could describe the fangs—sharp and white and gleaming in the firelight. You could describe the sound he made when he smelled your blood, animalistic and starving. You could describe the way his mouth closed around your fingers, the way his tongue moved against your skin as he drank from your hand. You could spend hours, talking in circles, trying to explain it. It doesn't matter. Jake didn't see it. He would only look at you with those patient, loving eyes and say you had a nightmare or you were scared and the wine got to your head. "Hey." His voice softens. He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand finding yours. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad."

"I know."

"Where is this coming from?" He asks, "The vampire talk. Is it your dreams?"

You nod. It's true, even if not the whole truth.

"Tell me about them." His thumb traces your hand. "I know you don't like talking about your dreams. But I can't help you if you don't tell me."

Jake waits. When nothing comes, he squeezes your hand.

"Please. I want to understand. Please give me something." His fingers lace through yours, intertwined with his hand, "I'm your husband. You can tell me anything."

The words are right there. My dreams, my sins, the things I prayed for in the dark,  the monster that answered. But they don't come. Saying them out loud means admitting what you'd done, what you brought into your marriage and haunts the space between your thighs when you wake in the dark. What you still, in the deepest and most secret part of yourself, want.

He wouldn't see the woman he thought he married. He'd see filth. Sin. Your rotting, corrupted soul. A woman who begged evil to touch her.

"I don't think my dreams are just dreams anymore." The words come out barely a whisper. You can't bring yourself to tell him the rest. "I'm so scared, Jake."

The sob that follows is ugly and raw. You crawl into his lap like you did a few weeks ago, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, your face pressed to the warm hollow of his throat. And he holds you. Like he always does. Like he's come to expect.

"Okay," he murmurs into your hair. "Okay. I've got you. It's okay."

But it's not okay. Even now, with his arms around you and his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you feel it. That hunger. A ravenous void inside you, hot and insistent and utterly indifferent to the tears still drying on your cheeks. It never leaves. It's always there.

Your hand moves before you can stop it. Sliding up his chest. Curling into the collar of his shirt. Your mouth finds his.

He lets you kiss him, his lips parting under yours, a small sound of surprise caught in his throat. His hands come up to your waist, steadying you, and for a moment it's like every other time—the familiar heat, the familiar hunger, the familiar way your body presses into his like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

You climb deeper into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. You roll against him, a slow, desperate grind, chasing the friction that might quiet the ache for even a few seconds.

You need him to be enough. You need him to be the answer, the cure, the thing that scares the monster out of you.

"Baby." His voice is breathless, his hands tightening on your waist. "Slow down."

You don't—you can't. Slowing down means thinking, and thinking means remembering the cold hands, the sharp teeth, his mouth on your fingers while your husband slept three feet away. So you kiss him harder. You grind down against the pressure in his underwear, a desperate little sound escaping your throat.

"Hey." His grip shifts, trying to tame you. "Hey, slow down. Just—"

Your hand drops to grasp him, but he's quicker than you. He closes around your wrists, and your back hits the mattress, his weight settling over you, his knees bracketing your hips. He keeps your hands pinned down on either side of your head, breathing heavy above your form.

You thrash. Not playfully, either. Not with a smile or a giggle or a pout. It's a full-body thrash, fuelled by a sharp and sudden frustration, verging on genuine anger. You twist beneath him, trying to free your hands, trying to arch up into the heat of his body.

"Stop." His voice is quiet. "Just stop. For a second."

You thrash again. You hiss his name, and you even try to kick him, but he shifts his weight enough to keep you fully restrained. He doesn't budge. His grip on your wrists is secure, his weight solid and unmovable.

It's only when you feel your tears sliding from your temples into your hairline that you realize you're still crying. You must look insane. You must look like exactly what you are: a woman trying to fuck her way out of her own damnation.

"Please." The word comes out broken, barely a whisper. You don't know if you're asking him to let go or to never let go.

"No." He shakes his head. "We're not doing this."

"Why not?"

"Every time you get scared, or something upsets you, you climb into my lap and kiss me. I don't know what you're trying to do or why, but..." His voice isn't quite as steady as it usually is. A hitch in his breath, a flicker of something else. He swallows. "I can't just fuck the hurt out of you. It's not right."

"It helps." Your voice cracks. "Please. Just help me."

He stares down at you. His eyes are so tired. So unbearably, impossibly tired. And beneath the exhaustion, there's something you've never seen before.

"Sweetheart." He whispers. "You're scaring me."

Your body goes slack beneath him, but his grip doesn't loosen. He still holds your wrists against the mattress, still keeps his weight braced above you, still watches you with those wide, careful eyes. Like you've gone rabid.

He shouldn't have to hold me down, you think. A good wife doesn't need to be restrained.

A good wife doesn't claw at her husband while she's still crying. A good wife doesn't grind against him like a bitch in heat, chasing a relief he can't give her, chasing a hunger that has nothing to do with love. A good wife doesn't show her burning desire. Desire belongs to the husband. It's his to wield and use, and for her to accept it.

But here you are. Pinned to your own marriage bed for all the wrong reasons, your face wet with tears you can't explain, your body still aching with a want he didn't ask for—a want to be consumed, to be devoured without shame, without guilt. Of course he doesn't know what to do with it. You crave something he cannot give you.

The fight drains out of you all at once, leaving nothing but the hollow ache and the shame and the terrible, traitorous thought that rises up before you can stop it.

Sunghoon wouldn't stop.

Sunghoon wouldn't be scared. He would see the hunger on your face and recognize it. He would give you exactly what you were asking for. He would pin you to the mattress and sink his teeth into your throat and make the ache disappear. He wouldn't try to save you. He would let you drown.

"Baby?"

Jake's voice cuts through the dark. You blink, and the fantasy recedes, with Sunghoon's face dissolving, the cold hands retreating, the sharp teeth fading back into the shadows where they belong.

Your husband is still there. Still hovering over you with that furrow between his brows, that gentle, worried look he's been wearing for weeks. He's been talking. You haven't been listening.

"I think I know what's going on."

You look up.

"We haven't been to church in weeks. Either of us. Ever since the wedding, we've just... let it slip." His voice is so certain. "You're losing touch with God, and it's scaring you."

Losing touch.

Your eyes land on the cross around his neck, catching the pale light from the window. It's the same one he was wearing when you met him all those years ago. You've never seen him without it.

Jake is a good Christian. He always has been. His faith has never wavered, never faltered, never turned its back on him the way yours turned its back on you.

Foolishly, you'd once hoped that his goodness might rub off on you, that marrying a man who loved God so easily might help you remember how to do the same. Now you wonder if you're doing the opposite. If you're the one dragging him away from the light.

"I'm not saying it's the whole answer. I'm just saying... maybe it's a start." He presses a kiss to your head. "Let's go. Together. It can't hurt, right?"

The hope in your chest is as steady as a single lit candle in the wind. Somehow, it still burns—It flickers, it wavers, but it still burns. You don't know if it's because you're too stubborn to let it go out, or if you only cling to it because it's the only thing you know.

"Yeah," You nod. You try a smile, though it feels stiff against your cheeks. "Let's go."

The church is small and quaint, an old-fashioned-looking chapel. Stained glass windows filter in colour from the grey winter light, and the air smells of incense and old wood and the faint, sweet perfume of the elderly women who fill the front pews.

You sit near the back, and Jake holds your hand throughout the opening prayers, his thumb tracing those same familiar circles. When the choir rises to sing, he glances at you with a small, encouraging smile. See? the smile says. This is where we belong.

You try to feel it. You close your eyes. You bow your head. You let the Latin verses wash over you, the same ones Jake joked about forgetting as a boy—Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis—and wait for the peace that is supposed to follow.

The prayers feel hollow in your mouth, words without meaning. The hymns rise and fall, but they bring you no peace. The stained glass saints stare down at you with flat, judgmental eyes, and you feel the weight of their disapproval.

You don't belong here. You are sitting in the house of God with the stain of your dreams still fresh on your skin, with the memory of a monster's eyes and sharp teeth and the wet heat of your own arousal clinging to you beneath your skirt. You are filthy.

Jake squeezes your hand, and you flinch.

"You okay?" he whispers.

You look at him, his smile, his earnest concern.

You don't belong. You are filthy, you are damned. But you are trying. God help you, you are trying.

Returning the squeeze of his hand, you nod.

The service drags on. The priest's homily is about faith in times of trial, about holding fast to belief when the world grows dark around you. You sit with your hands folded in your lap, your spine rigid, listening to the words but taking in none of it.

When the final blessing is given, and the congregation rises to leave, you feel like you've been holding your breath for an hour and only just now remembered how to exhale.

"See?" Jake says, his arm slipping around your waist as you walk toward the doors. "That was nice, right?"

"Hey, lady!"

The voice echoes through the vestibule, bright and unmistakable, and you freeze. Jake turns, his arm still around you, and you watch his expression shift from confusion to surprise as a lanky figure in a rumpled button-up shirt comes bounding toward you through the thinning crowd.

Niki. From the library. The collar of his shirt askew. His hair looks like it hasn't seen a comb since last Sunday. And he's grinning like you're the most exciting thing to happen to him all week.

"Hey, lady! And sir—" He glances at Jake, giving him a quick, awkward nod. "Lady's husband. Hi."

"We need to go," you say quickly, your hand tightening on Jake's arm. "Sorry, Niki, we're—"

"What's this?" Jake's free hand has already reached out, plucking a slim paperback from the boy's grip before either of you can react. He turns it over, reading the cover. "Vampire lore, huh?"

Jake turns the book toward you. The cover shows a shadowed figure with glowing eyes, looming over a sleeping woman. The Old World Vampire: A Study of Belief, Burial, and Blood.

"I keep it in the Bible during service," Niki grabs it back, oblivious to how Jake's expression flickers with all the shock, scandal, and the distant horror of a youth group alumnus at the thought of someone tucking something so unholy between the pages of Scripture. "Please don't tell my mom. She'd kill me if she knew I was reading this stuff in church."

Jake doesn't respond to Niki. He's looking at you now, and the lightness in his voice is a thin veneer over something sharper.

"Sweetheart." He waits until you meet his eyes. "How exactly do you know this kid?"

"We met at the library. A few weeks ago."

"Dude." Niki is staring at Jake now with unbearable sincerity. "Your wife is so cool."

Jake blinks, the exhaustion in his face flickering. His brow lifts almost imperceptibly as he glances at you, a question forming at the corner of his mouth. Something in his expression is almost amused.

"She's the only person in this entire town who cares about this stuff. My mom literally tried to get the pastor to purify me one time because of my 'satanic theories' but she—" He jabs a finger toward you, his face alight. "She gets it."

The amusement dies.

"What stuff?"

You can feel Jake's stare now, the weight of it pressing against the side of your face. You don't return it.

Niki opens his mouth to answer, but Jake raises a hand.

"I'm asking her."

The silence that follows has Niki's grin faltering. He looks at you, then at Jake, just catching up to the tension in the room.

"History. Folklore." You swallow, "The occult—"

"Vampires." Jake finishes for you, flatly. Then turns to Niki. "My wife talks to you about vampires, is that it?"

Niki blinks, nodding enthusiastically. "You're so lucky, man. Seriously. I've got no one to talk to about this stuff and you just, like, get to be married to her. That's insane."

"Yeah. Lucky me."

"We should go," you say quickly. "Goodbye — "

"Wait!" Niki is already digging in his pocket, his fingers closing around a crumpled scrap of paper. "I wanted to give you this. My Discord."

He points at the username scrawled across the paper: xX_vampK1_Xx "I kept waiting for you to come back to the library, but you never did, so..." He thrusts it toward you, his expression almost painfully eager. "Message me? Please?"

From the distance, a woman's voice calls out. "Niki! Car. Now."

"That's my mom." He shoves the paper into your hand, his fingers cold and quick. "Okay, bye lady! Bye, lady's husband!"

And then he's gone, swallowed by the crowd of departing church-goers, leaving you standing in the vestibule with a scrap of paper in your fist and your husband staring at the side of your face.

The drive home is quiet.

Jake doesn't speak until you're through the front door, until his keys are tossed onto the hall table and his coat is shed. You shed yourself of your own coat, the small paper Niki had handed you still folded in its pocket.

"When I said go out to town and make friends," he says, his voice carefully level, "I didn't think you'd go befriending... emo teenagers."

You don't answer. You smooth the sleeve of your coat, align it on the hanger and close the closet door with a soft click.

"Kid gave you his Discord in front of me. At church. Ballsy, I'll give him that." A laugh, but there's nothing funny about his tone. "Must've really charmed him with all that vampire talk."

"Don't tell me you're jealous of a high schooler." You turn to face him finally, your back against the closet door.

"You know that's not it." His arms cross over his chest. "You never told me you went to the library. You never told me you were—what, researching? Talking with some kid who hides monster books inside his Bible?"

You push off the door and walk past him, into the kitchen. Away from the hurt in his eyes that you can't quite bear to witness.

"You're keeping secrets from me." He raises his voice ever so slightly, not enough to startle you, but enough to be heard from down the hall. "You're not going to explain yourself?"

His footsteps trail behind you. You reach the sink and turn on the faucet, letting the water run for no reason at all. Just sound. Something to drown out the shame.

"I went to the library to read about vampires. Because I thought—Because I know our neighbour is a vampire." You say, "And I didn't tell you because I knew you would look at me like... this."

Jake exhales, a long, measured breath.

You turn off the faucet, eyes glued to the tub of hot water, but you don't reach for any dishes.

"You don't believe me. So why would I tell you?"

His hands find your shoulders, warm and steady, and he turns you gently away from the sink. Away from the dirty dishes and the pretense that any of this is normal.

"I believe that you believe it." His thumbs trace the curve of your shoulders. "I believe you're scared. I believe something is wrong. I just don't think it's what you think it is."

"That's not the same thing."

"No. It's not."

He's quiet for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he guides you. His hand finds the small of your back. He pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and waits until you sit. Then he sits across from you and takes both your hands in his.

"Don't keep things from me." His voice is low, but it sounds like a plea. "I don't care how crazy it is. Even if you became a madwoman, I would never leave you. Never." He squeezes your hands. "Please. Don't hide. Don't push me away."

"I'm sorry," you look down at your joined hands. "I'm sorry that I'm like this. I'm sorry I can't just be normal."

"Stop. Don't apologize." He lifts one hand to your chin, tilting your face up until you meet his eyes. "I love you. I'll love you 'til the day I die."

You nod, sucking in a breath. You think you would be crying if you hadn't already shed all your tears earlier that morning.

"I love you too."

He nods, but the furrow in his brow doesn't smooth. His thumb traces a slow arc across your knuckles, and you can feel him preparing himself for whatever he's about to say.

"I want you to see someone. A therapist, or a counsellor. Someone who can actually help you work through all of this.” His voice is gentle, but there's no hesitation in it. He's been thinking about this. Maybe for a while. "These fears. The nightmares. It's not healthy. You can't spend the rest of your life like this."

A therapist. Your eyes drop to Jake's neck, where you know a vampire's bite hides beneath his collar.

"It won't help."

"It might." He squeezes your hands, willing you to meet him halfway. "You don't know unless you try. Even if it doesn't, at least we tried."

He lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. His eyes are full of love, but tired. So very tired. You can see it in his movements, in the slight hunch of his shoulders.

You could argue. You could try to explain why it's a waste of money and time. But that's not what he needs to hear.

"Okay." You say. "I'll go."

His eyes widen, like he'd braced himself for a fight and doesn't quite know what to do now. Then he pushes back his chair and stands, pulling you up with him. His arms wrap around you before you've even found your footing, one hand splayed across your spine, the other cradling the back of your head. You feel his breath against your hair, warm and unsteady, and you feel his smile.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Thank you."

He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the bridge of your nose, clumsy and reverent, and you almost laugh despite everything. He's already talking about a counsellor his mother knows, a name he'll look up, a number he'll call in the morning, but the words blur together, lost in the rhythm of his heart against your ear.

Being held is not the same as being saved, but you close your eyes and accept his embrace anyway. His arms are warm, and his heart is steady, and for now, that's enough. It's all you have left.

The call comes Monday afternoon.

You've been at your laptop for the better part of an hour, filling out a self-assessment form for the counsellor Jake's mother recommended. On a scale of one to ten, how often do you feel overwhelmed by daily tasks? Do you experience intrusive thoughts? Have you ever felt disconnected from reality? The last question is taking you longer than it should, when your phone buzzes against the kitchen table. The number is one you don't recognize, and you almost let it ring. But then you look back at your screen, and decide you'd rather do anything else than pick out numbers on a scale that can't measure what's actually wrong with you.

"Mrs. Sim?"

Your hand tightens around the phone. Jake's boss explains something about how he looks terrible, how he nearly collapsed getting up from his desk, how someone needs to come get him immediately.

"I told him he should have stayed home," the boss's gruff voice says over the phone, "He kept saying he didn't want to let anyone down. Is he always this stubborn?"

You find him at his desk, pale and half-slumped, a coworker hovering uncertainly at his elbow. Between the two of you, you get him to the car. He doesn't argue. That's how you know it's bad. And you watch him from the corner of your eye the whole drive home, his head against the window as he fights his own exhaustion.

"It's nothing. Really." His words slur together as you guide him down the hall, his arm heavy across your shoulders. "Probably just a cold. I'll be fine in the morning."

You ease him onto the mattress. He sinks into it, his body going slack the moment his head touches the pillow. His eyes close. His breathing evens out, shallow but steady.

You bring him soup, which he doesn't eat. You bring him water, which he barely sips. You sit on the edge of the bed and watch the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the whole time your mind is spinning through the past few weeks like a reel of film you can't stop.

Every night you've woken gasping from dreams you can't confess to. Every morning he's held you through the aftermath, whispering reassurances into your hair while the shadows under his eyes grew darker and darker. Every time he's said I'm trying, baby, I'm trying so hard—and you've let him. You've let him carry you, let him comfort you, let him pour himself out trying to understand something you can't explain.

And what have you given him in return? Tears. Secrets. A hand squeezing his at church while you both pretended everything was fine. Late nights where he held you instead of sleeping, early mornings where he made you coffee and asked gentle questions and got nothing back but silence.

You look at him now, with his work shirt still half-unbuttoned, his face slack, his fingers twitching faintly against the blanket and feel the guilt settle over you. He's spent every ounce of himself trying to save you from a monster he doesn't believe in.

"I'm sorry," you whisper to the quiet room. He doesn't stir.

The next day, he is worse.

You can't get him to lift his head for more than a few seconds. The medicine you brought sits untouched on the nightstand. His skin has taken on a translucence that makes your blood run cold, and when you press a cool cloth to his forehead, he barely seems to register the touch.

"Just need to sleep," he murmurs, the words slurring together. "Don't worry. You worry too much."

You don't leave his side.

You watch the hours crawl past, the gray morning fading into a grayer afternoon, the light at the window never quite brightening, and try to convince yourself it's a fever. A winter bug that hit him harder than most. But even as you tell yourself these things, your eyes keep drifting to the collar of his shirt, to the pale skin beneath, to the two small marks you know are there, still healing. You don't see any other marks, but the thought lingers.

By the third day, he can barely open his eyes.

You've stopped leaving the room except to refill the water glass he can't drink from. You've stopped pretending this is something you can fix with soup and cold compresses and whispered prayers. You sit in the chair beside the bed, your knees drawn up to your chest, and watch him fade.

It's around noon when you notice it. The sun is high in the sky today, not a single cloud, and the light illuminates the blood stain on his pillowcase, clear as day.

A small stain, rust-brown and drying, near the nape of his neck. Your hands are shaking as you reach for him, as you ease him onto his side and lift the hem of his shirt.

The marks are everywhere. Some are fresh—bright red, the skin around them inflamed and angry. Others have scabbed over, dark and ugly and bruised. Bite marks. Dozens of them. Clustered between his shoulder blades, and trailing down like a map of slow consumption.

You don't realize you're crying until a tear falls, mingling with the dried blood on his skin.

The sound you make must wake him, because his fingers twitch against the blanket, and his voice, thin and weak, drifts up from the pillow.

"Hey." A long pause. He doesn't have the strength to turn his head. "Don't cry."

You help him lie back against the pillows, your hands trembling so badly you can barely manage it. His eyes find yours—still that same warm brown, still impossibly gentle, even now, even after everything—and the tears come harder. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but doesn't. Whether he can't find the strength or the words, you aren't sure. But you aren't about to let him finish, even if he could.

"I have to tell you something." You say quick and certain, though you feel anything but. "Please just listen."

He blinks, slow and heavy. Barely aware, barely awake.

"When I was younger. Before I met you. Before I even knew what I was doing. I prayed for something God couldn't give me. Something sinful. Something—" You swallow, force yourself to continue. "Lustful. Shameful. Every night. Every prayer. It was consuming me."

Jake's brow furrows. His hand moves across the blanket, searching for yours.

"My prayers were answered," you keep going. "But not by God. By something else. Something evil. These nightmares didn't appear out of nowhere. They're the consequence of what I did. It came to me in my dreams. It tempted me. It tainted me. For years. And now..."

You can't look at him. You stare at the blanket, at the pattern of the quilt, at the pale shape of his hand still reaching for yours.

"I've dragged you into the darkness with me." You grip his hand, "I'm sorry, Jake."

Silence. A long, stretching silence, broken only by the rasp of his breathing.

Then his fingers find yours.

"Baby."

You look up. His eyelids are heavy, his brow furrowed with an effort that seems to take everything he has left. The slow, laboured machinery of a mind trying to surface and failing.

"Baby, you are the light of my life." His voice is barely a whisper now, each word an effort. "I know you. I know your heart. It's pure. The purest of them all. Don't say scary stuff like that."

"You don't understand." You shake your head, the tears sliding hot and fast down your cheeks.

"I know." A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. He strokes the back of your hand, the motion so familiar, so tender, that it makes your chest ache. "But you understand me either."

The room is quiet. The light through the window has shifted—the gray afternoon giving way to the pale gold of a winter sunset, slanting through the glass and spilling across the bed.

Jake's gaze drifts to your face, and something in his expression changes. Softens. Opens.

"If only you could see yourself right now." His voice is barely audible, but there is a warmth in it that remains. "The way the light hits you. You're so beautiful." His fingers tighten around yours. It's the last of his strength, poured into a single gesture. "You look like an angel."

Your heart swells.

He doesn't see it. Even as you confess words you'd never dared to even think about out loud, he doesn't see the rot, the sin, the stain that has been spreading through you since long before you ever met him.

"You should see yourself," he murmurs again, his eyes already drifting closed. "So pretty. My pretty wife. I love you so much."

"I love you more." You whisper, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

He doesn't understand what you've told him. Or maybe he does. Maybe the truth is too big, too impossible, too far outside the world he believes in. All you know is that even now, when your sins are quite literally bleeding him dry, he looks at you and sees something worth loving.

You lay your head against his chest, closing your eyes. You listen to the fading rhythm of his heart, like a ticking clock.

You will not let time run out.

"Hello? Who is—wait." A pause. A sharp inhale. "Lady? Is that you? You actually made a Discord!"

Niki's voice crackles through your laptop speakers, tinny and incredulous. In the background, you can hear the faint, distorted blast of music, which cuts off abruptly as he slams a button. A desk chair creaks.

"This is amazing. I didn't think you'd actually call me. I mean, I hoped, but I've been checking my Discord every day since church."

You stare at the Discord interface, feeling decades older than you are. Jake lies down the hall, silent and still. You made sure he was asleep, though that wasn't hard to ensure. He hadn't done so much as open his eyes since the afternoon.

"I need your help."

"Help. Yeah. Okay. Um. Help with what, exactly?" His voice drops to a theatrical whisper. "Is it a vampire thing?"

You take in a breath.

"I need to know how to kill one." The silence on the other end stretches so long you think the call has dropped. Then you add, "Hypothetically."

"Oh. My. God." A drawer opens. Pages ruffle. "Okay. So. Classic methods. A wooden stake through the heart works, but the wood matters—hawthorn, ash, some sources say rowan. Decapitation is more reliable, but that's hard to pull off unless you have a sword, which I'm guessing you don't."

"I don't."

"Sunlight. Direct, full exposure. Not just a cloudy day—like, dawn, clear sky, no shade. Fire works on basically everything, but you'd have to trap it somehow." He's speaking faster now, the words tumbling over each other. "There's also holy water and consecrated ground, but the research on that is mixed—"

"That's enough. Thank you."

"What? No. Wait. I have so much more. I have an entire notebook. I have—" He stops. His voice changes, sharpens. "Wait a second. Why do you need to know this?"

"Goodbye, Niki—"

"No, hang on—You're literally asking how to kill a vampire." His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, the words still returning with a squeak as they come out in a rush. "Holy shit. You do know a vampire. I knew it. Is it in town? Is it drinking people's blood? Did it attack you? Are you in danger?"

You sigh, a hand to your temple. He's talking so fast, you can't find a proper opening to leave, and though you know you should probably just hang up, some part of you doesn't want to leave the poor boy in a state of panic.

"I’m not in any danger. I'm—”

"I can help, you know. I'm not just some kid. I know so much about this stuff. More than anyone. I've read every book in that library twice. I've read books that aren't even in the library. I know lore that isn't even translated yet. You need a vampire taken down? I'm your guy. I mean, I've never done it, but I could probably figure it out."

"That's sweet of you, really, but—"

"And you're just a housewife—not saying that housewives can't kick ass! I'm sure you could. Maybe. But you're not exactly, like, a vampire hunter." He sucks in a breath so sharp you hear it whistle through his teeth. "Wait. Shouldn't your husband be protecting you? Why isn't he—does he even know about this?"

You close your eyes.

"He doesn't know," Niki gasps in horror. His voice drops to a horrified whisper. "That's why you were asking about soul-contracts in the library. That's why you looked like you were going to throw up when I read that passage. You're in a soul-bond with a vampire, and your husband doesn't know."

Your head is in your hands now, his voice rambling through the laptop speaker.

"That's—that's insane. That's literally insane." He sputters, the words tangling in his mouth. "Isn't that like—I mean, a soul-contract, isn't that kind of like—isn't that like cheating? Like, spiritually? Eternally? Your husband thinks he's married to you, but you're already—"

"I have to go."

"Wait!"

You end the call.

The laptop screen glows, Niki's profile picture still visible in the corner—some anime character with a stupid hairstyle, smirking at nothing. A notification pops up. Then another. Then a string of them, rapid-fire, the little red badge counting up.

xX_vampK1_Xx: wait xX_vampK1_Xx: pls dont hang up xX_vampK1_Xx: or die

You don't read them all, closing the laptop instead. Wooden stake. Fire. Sunlight.

You wait for him. Curtains drawn back, the window open. The winter air slips through the gap, cold enough to make you shiver in your nightgown, but you remain there, facing the open night. You wait the way you used to wait—on your knees, on the floor, praying for something that God refused to give you. Down the hall, Jake lies in the guest bedroom. The room you'd once hoped would become a nursery. It seems like a distant dream now, a life that belonged to someone else. You'd moved him there before the sun had set, his body heavy, unconscious, and blissfully unaware. He doesn't know what you're about to do. You hope he never will. When the silhouette appears, it's almost a relief. He steps through the parted curtains, and the moonlight reveals him. He's too pale, too still, his dark eyes already fixed on you before you've even found your voice. He's beautiful. He's always been beautiful, and you hate that he is. It would be so much easier if he were grotesque—if his skin were rotting flesh and his eyes were hollow and vacant pits belonging to something long dead, you could recoil. You could run. Instead, you stare, almost forgetting your true intentions for a moment. "Now, this brings back memories." He looms over you, unmoving. His eyes drift to the bed, where your husband is absent. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "You're killing my husband." He doesn't flinch. Of course he doesn't. He stands there in the center of your bedroom, hands at his sides, and regards you with an expression that teeters on amusement. "Believe me." His gaze drops to your throat, to the cross trembling against your collarbone. A faint smile tugs at his lips. "I would much prefer to have you." There's a silence before you scoff. "Taking the life of the man I love won't make me want you." "Indeed, it won't. You already want me. Yet foolishly, you continue to deny yourself." He is silent for a moment as he watches you clutch helplessly at the cross at your neck. "Look at you. You waited here. Alone, in the dark, to face something that could destroy you in seconds. And you still clutch that thing." His lips curls into a frown. "As if God could ever save you." He takes a few steps forward, leaning down until his lips are at your ear. "But you're a smart girl. You know that He can't." He says, leaning down. One hand reaches for your chin, lifting it to properly meet his gaze. "That's why you prayed to me instead." "I prayed to God." You hiss. "And as always, God did not answer." He drops your chin. Then he moves past you, toward the window. His fingers brush the curtain, and he looks out at the dark street, the bare trees, the distant glint of the river just visible beyond the rooftops. "I was once like you." He says, "I prayed. I prayed for her to heal. I prayed every waking hour at her bedside." His wife. You assume that's who he means. You think of the house he keeps tidy in her memory, the piano that stays tuned for her, but you don't ask. His tone tells you the grief is old, smoothed by the centuries past, no longer a wound but a scar. You swallow the bitter taste in your throat. Selfishly, you dislike the idea of him loving anyone else. The thought is irrational, and deeply shameful, but it surfaces before you can push it back down. "Please do not fret, my love." He says it all too quickly, as if he sensed the shift in you before you felt it yourself. "It was a very long time ago." You open your mouth to protest but the words die on your tongue. He's looking at you with that quiet, knowing expression, and you realize there is no point in lying to a creature who can read your emotions before you've even named them.

"I was merely a fragile human. Hopeful enough to offer God everything. Foolish enough to believe he would answer with anything other than silence." The breeze howls past the window, brushing his hair from his face. "So I found another way. And I have been what I am ever since."

"You were once human, too?" Your voice is soft, curious, and more sincere than you wish it was. He finally turns to face you again, this time with a hint of a smile.

"We are more alike than you know." he holds out a hand to you, and you take it. You let him help you stand, your nightgown catching the wind as you look up at him. "I can smell the shame in you. I've always been able to. It's the same shame I carried centuries ago."

A monster, comparing himself to you. You should feel offended by the way he looks at you, right through you, past the skin and bone, into the soul you've spent a lifetime trying to scrub clean. Though, you suppose he's earned the right. He's been in your dreams for years. He's seen every thought you tried to drown, every aching desire you tried to bury, and how it rots you from the inside. He's seen all of it, and he does not recoil. A man can judge you. A monster cannot. You're horrified to find relief in that thought. "The difference between you and me, however, is that I've stopped pretending to be something I'm not." Your eyes wander to the door briefly, knowing your husband lays peacefully down the hall. "Jake still looks at me as if I'm pure. As if I'm worthy of his love. Even after everything I've done." Your eyes burn, and you blink hard against the sting. "That's all I have, and you're taking it away." "Because I needed to feed. Because you have not given me permission. I cannot take what is mine unless it is offered freely. So I took what was available to me. Your scent on his skin. Your proximity." His eyes hold yours. "Do you understand what that is like? To be bound to someone, to feel their wanting every night, to taste it in the air, and to not be allowed to have them? The blood of animals does nothing. The blood of your husband is unsatisfying. I am ravenous." He steps closer. The space between you shrinks to almost nothing.

"It is not merely blood that you promised me. You offered me your soul. Your life. Your eternal presence. That is what I hunger for—not the taste of you on my tongue, but the whole of you, bound to me as you were always meant to be." His voice drops to a whisper. "Every second I have waited has been a small death. I have died a thousand times since you made your promise."

You know what that hunger feels like. You've carried it your whole life, coiled low in your belly, hot and insistent, never fully quieted. You tried to fill it with prayer. You tried to fill it with your husband's body. Nothing worked. Nothing ever works.

"He is innocent." Your voice splinters. "He doesn't deserve this."

Sunghoon is silent for a long moment. Then he sighs—a soft, tired sound.

"Innocent. Pure of heart. Kind—too kind for a human, if you ask me." He says. "You're terrified of what he'd think. You don't believe his love is unconditional." "How could anyone love this?" A tear slips down your cheek. You had no idea you were on the verge of crying, but you feel it now. The uncontrollable trembling of your body, the sob threatens to escape your throat. Sunghoon's hand rises. His fingers brush your jaw, cool and smooth, tilting your chin upward. You open your eyes. It's the first time you've seen him this close, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. His expression is nothing cruel. It's something almost tender, which is far more devastating. "I do." He says. "I love your scent. Your shame. The way you whisper my name in the dark." Your lower lip trembles, and his thumb traces it, feather-light. In fact, all of you trembles. You've stopped trying to decide whether it's out of fear, want, or the draft of winter air. "You offered me your soul long before you ever gave him your hand. That is a promise no ring can compare to." His eyes hold yours, unrelenting. "I love you eternally." His hand trails down your throat. His fingers curl, lightly, around the column of your neck, just holding it, just relishing your pulse beneath his fingertips. The cross dangles between you, and you feel his gaze flicker to it.

"Please understand. I have only ever wanted you. He was merely the vessel I drank from because I could not drink from you." his voice drops to a murmur. "Give me what you promised me. What you've been promising me every night for years. I'm patient. I've waited long, and I can wait longer. Your husband, however..." his eyes drift to the door, an acknowledgement of his fading life down the hall, "He doesn't have the luxury of patience."

"If I refuse, he dies."

Sunghoon doesn't blink. "Yes."

No hesitation. The truth, cold and simple. You feel your hands tighten into fists at your sides.

"That's not a choice. That's not 'asking for permission.' That's a threat." He only laughs in response. "You made a deal with a monster. Did you expect him to play fair?" Sunghoon tilts his head. "I'd argue I've been rather generous. I could have drained him on your wedding night, when he laid hands on what was already mine. Could have left him in your bed, cold and lifeless. But I didn't. I let him live. I even offered him my wine."

He wears the slightest grin, cruel and merciless, and his fangs catch the light. "Aren't I kind?"

"You are vile." You spit. "You are despicable. Awful. And—"

"And you still want me."

The space between you shrinks as he leans closer, until you can feel the chill radiating off his skin, until you can see the faint gleam of the moonlight on his pupils.

"He is not the reason you will say yes."

His voice is quieter now.

"You will say yes because you have been starving for as long as you can remember. Because you have tried to fill that hunger with prayer and penance and the body of a man who loves you but cannot understand you. Because you knelt at your window and begged for relief, and I am the only one who has ever offered it to you. I am the only one who can give it to you." His fingers brush your jaw. Feather-light. "So, go on." He nods, "Tell me what you want." "I want you to leave Jake alone." You hiss. It only makes him grin. You expect nothing less. "And what else?" "I want you to stop making me feel like this." "How do you want me to do that, exactly?" You open your eyes. He's so close now. Your body is trembling—not from the cold, not from fear, but from the unbearable, humiliating effort of holding yourself back. Your thighs press together beneath your nightgown, a needy, restless friction that does nothing to ease the ache. Your pulse hammers in your throat. Between your legs, you're soaked. You've been soaked since he stepped through the curtains. Every inch of you is screaming for relief. Every inch of you has been screaming for years. It's not really a choice. If you pull away, you're letting your husband die and spending the rest of your life mourning a man you loved but couldn't save. Regardless, your body doesn't want to pull away. It made its own choice the moment you knelt at your window all those years ago. Everything since then has been the long, torturous process of coming to accept it. The prayers. The shame. The dreams you woke from, wet and wanting. All of it leading here. To him. "I want you to touch me," you whisper. The words come out ragged, half a sob, half a plea. "I need you to relieve me from this torment. I can't—I can't take it anymore. Please." His hand tightens just barely at your throat.His hand rests at your throat, cool and steady. His touch remains ever patient, and his eyes flicker from yours to your neck like he cannot decide which is more precious to him in this moment. "Say it properly." And you do. "I give you permission. My blood. My body. My soul. Take it. It's all yours. It's always been yours." He exhales—a shuddering, both reverent and ravenous sound.

His hand tightens around your throat, fingers digging into the vulnerable flesh, feeling the pulse hammering beneath his touch, the rush of blood through your veins. He dips his head into the curve of your neck, and the breath he takes in, the groan that rumbles against your skin—they are not the sounds of a man. They belong to a predator who has caught its prey at last and is trying very hard not to devour it all at once.

Your eyes flutter shut.

"If only you could smell yourself right now." His voice comes out rough, almost like a growl, "Your terror, your desperation. Your arousal." He lifts you in a single, clean sweep, as if you weigh no more than a feather. Your feet are off the ground, your body helpless in his grasp, and you don't have the time to react as he throws you down on the marital bed with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. You barely have time to register the impact before his body is over yours. His knee rises between your thighs, spreading you open beneath him and his hand fists your hair, tilting your head back, baring your throat to the moonlight and his teeth. His gaze drifts down the length of your body, catching on the way your nightgown has ridden up your thighs, on the rise and fall of your chest. He leans forward. "My stubborn, sinful girl. You were never meant for heaven." His fangs press against your pulse, not yet sinking in, but with enough pressure that it makes your breath catch and your body go rigid beneath him. "You were always meant for me." One hand grips your throat, fingers digging into the flesh just beneath your jaw, holding your head in place with a force that borders on bruising. The other rests over your heart, palm flat, enough to feel the frantic rhythm. "So fearful that nobody could love you in the dark, when I have loved you for years." His fangs sink into you, and a cry is torn from your throat, gasping into the dark and your body arches into him without your permission. The sounds he makes are equally as ungraceful and unrestrained— a growl that sounds like it belongs to an animal, a groan that sounds so guttural and almost pained, as if tasting you after all this time is a relief so profound it hurts. You writhe beneath him, but his body holds you steady, his grasp so harsh that it's sure to bruise. The pull of his mouth is rhythmic, hypnotic, each draw of your blood sending a fresh wave of heat spiraling through your core. You are dizzy with it. You are alive with it. You are his, and you have always been his, and the acceptance of that truth is the single most liberating thing you have ever felt. Disgust is a distant flicker, extinguished before it can catch. The pain is already gone. In its place, a pleasure so sharp and bright it borders on agony races through your veins. You shake with it, every inch of you raw and exposed, the sheets a torment against your feverish skin. Your hands find his back and hold on, clawing at his shirt. "What is—?" Your voice is a whiny, pathetic sound, piercing through heavy, laboured breaths. The ache between your legs from before is now throbbing with a sort of want you couldn't even begin to describe. Something unnatural, feverish and all-consuming. "Why do I feel like—?"

"It feels good, doesn't it?" His fangs retract, but his mouth stays, kissing the wound he left behind, lapping up every last drop of your blood. "The venom. It immobilizes prey. Turns pain into pleasure. Though you didn't need much convincing, did you?" A broken sound tears from your throat as his tongue drags down the column of your neck, chasing a stray bead of blood. His hand rips your nightgown higher, baring you to the cold air, and he finds you soaked. You can feel his grin at your neck.

"You were begging to be fucked long before I ever bit you," he whispers, "Long before your nice little husband ever put his hands on you." "Please, Sunghoon," The words tumble out before your pride can catch them. It's wrecked, shameless, and entirely honest. "Just touch me. Please."

He obliges without a word. Your panties are eased down your thighs, the cold air a brief shock against your overheated skin, and then he finds you—slick and aching and desperately ready. A single, long finger slips inside with no resistance at all, and the sound that escapes you is almost a sob. You might cry from just that alone, graciously accepting any kind of touch at this point. You might already be crying, though you don't have the sense to think about it. You're lost in the sensation, clenching around him, your hips rolling forward of their own accord, chasing more. "It feels so much better when you give in." His voice is soft, almost crooning, as his finger moves inside you with excruciating slowness, a rhythm designed to tease rather than satisfy. "When you stop denying yourself." A frustrated sound catches in your throat. Your hips lift, chasing his hand, and he hums in quiet approval. Then a second finger slides in beside the first, stretching you, and the cry that escapes you is louder than before. Your head falls back against the pillow. Your fingers twist in the sheets. And then his fangs are at your throat again—a sharp, searing sting that melts almost instantly into heat. He drinks as his fingers move inside you, a slow, devastating counterpoint: the pull of his mouth, the thrust of his hand, the weight of his body pinning you to the mattress. You are caught between pleasure and surrender, and you have stopped caring which is which. "My sweet little sinner." He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips stained, his breath cool against the wound he left behind. His fingers curl inside you, finding a place that makes your vision blur. "What would he think if he saw you like this? His fragile, innocent wife, offering herself to a monster, begging for more." He thrusts deeper, and your back arches off the bed. "Would it break him? Would it shatter that pure, simple love he carries for you?" The tears come before you can stop them, spilling down your temples and into your hair. A sob tears free, raw and ugly, and you shake your head against the pillow. "No?" His voice is soft, almost tender. His thumb traces your cheek, smearing the tears there. "Use your words, my love." "I don't care." The words rip out of you, jagged and desperate, louder than you intended. Your hips are still rolling against his hand, chasing the climax he keeps just out of reach. "I don't care what he thinks. I just want this." You feel the pressure building, the tightening in your belly, rushing toward the edge faster than you can outrun it.

"Please." The word is barely a whisper now, your voice wrecked and trembling. "Please take me. I can't—I need—please." His fingers still inside you. You cry out at the loss, at the empty ache he leaves behind, and when you open your eyes, he is looking down at you with something like awe. Something like triumph. Something like love, if a monster is capable of love, as he claims. He grabs the front of your nightgown and rips it open. The fabric splits with a sound like a scream. You gasp, arms flying up to cover yourself, but he seizes your wrists and wrenches them away. Forces your hand down between your bodies, pressing your palm against the hard, aching length of him.

He releases you to tear at his own clothes. His shirt. His pants. Then he is bare above you, and the sight is almost too much—the blood on his mouth, the pale plane of his chest, and his eyes, how they devour the sight of you whole, looking at you in all your filth and finding you holy. "I'm going to ruin you." You feel the tip of him at your entrance, and your body stiffens. His eyes hold yours, dark and depthless and full of terrible tenderness. "Just like you begged me to." He sinks into you in one slow, devastating thrust, and your mouth falls open on a sound that might be his name, but before it can escape, his lips find yours. He swallows your cry the way he swallowed your blood, consuming it, claiming it as his own. His tongue sliding against yours, and you taste your own blood on his lips. His mouth never leaves yours, as if he would drink every sound you make, as if there is no part of you he does not intend to devour. You start to cry. Not because it hurts. Not because you're being ruined, though you are, though you've wanted to be. You cry because it's better than your dreams ever were. Because every fantasy you spent years repenting for, every shameful vision that drove you to your knees at the window, was a pale shadow of this. He pulls back to look at you, and the expression on his face is rapture. His hand is wrapped around your throat, holding you steady for each forceful thrust, pinning you to the mattress, to the moment, to him. The rhythm of his hips is relentless and perfect. Every drag of him inside you eases the ache you've carried for so long it has become a part of you, and at the same time deepens it, feeds it, stokes it into something insatiable. The venom only heightens the feeling—pleasure easing your hunger, each stroke pushing you closer to an edge you no longer want to escape. He is the most beautiful creature you have ever seen. You think it without flinching. You think it while tears stream down your temples and into your hair, while your body arches to meet his, while you give yourself over to the monster who answered when God wouldn't. He is beautiful. He is yours. You are his. And you have never felt less like pretending otherwise. He fills you in a way your husband never could. It's terrible and entirely the truth. You have spent weeks trying to use Jake as a remedy—his body, his love, his gentle, faithful hands—and it worked, for a few hours at a time. But the hunger you carry was never something he could satisfy. He was never meant to. That was never the deal you made. This is what you bargained for. What you knelt at the window and begged to feel. You lose yourself in the rhythm of him. The thick, unrelenting drive of his cock. The weight of his body pinning you to the mattress. The way he takes and takes and takes, and still watches you like you are something sacred. His dark eyes hold yours with something that looks like awe. Something that looks like devotion. Something that looks, impossibly, like love. If you even believe that a creature like him can feel love. Though love is the furthest thing from your mind right now. "That's it." His voice is a low growl, rough with pleasure and hunger and the effort of holding himself back. "Cry for me. Let me see you fall apart."

Your nails rake down his back. Your thighs tremble around his hips. The tears are still falling, streaming into your hair, but you don't hold them back. You don't try to hide. You let him watch. You let him see all of it. The surrender, the pleasure, the relief at last. You finish, your high crashing through your body in pulses that leave you gasping, clenching around him, your back bowing off the bed. You cry out his name, and he groans as he feels you break around him, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he drives deeper, harder, more. You barely have time to come down before his fangs find your throat again. The bite is sharp and sweet, and the venom floods your veins anew—reigniting the fire that had just begun to go out, pulling you back toward the edge you just tumbled over. "More," you plead. The word is raw, scraped clean of pride. "More." He gives you more. He gives you everything. And you take it all of it with your eyes open and your soul laid bare beneath him. More. More. More. The night folded in on itself, a long, delirious rhythm of hunger and satiation, of teeth and hands and the slick press of bodies moving together in the dark. He would drink until you grew faint, then pull back, laving the wound with a tenderness that made your chest ache, and wait for your eyes to flutter open, for your hips to lift in silent, desperate invitation. And then he would begin again. You lost count. It didn't matter. Time had become a thing that happened to other people. You remember, dimly, the sound of your own voice sobbing his name into the hollow of his throat. You remember the weight of him, the cold press of his skin slowly warming with each swallow of your blood. You remember his mouth tracing the length of your collarbone, his fingers mapping the dip of your waist, his voice murmuring things against your flesh. The window stood open through all of it. The curtains drifted. The winter air slipped in, cooling the sweat on your skin, but you never felt cold. You felt nothing but him. Nothing but the slow, spreading heat of the venom and the terrible peace of finally letting go.

The pale, gray light starts to rise in the distance. The hush of early morning. The distant, muffled quiet of a world still half-asleep.

He is still inside you. Still moving a slow, grinding rhythm, more reflex now than urgency, the last shivering aftershocks of a night that had no end. His face is buried in the curve of your neck, his lips parted against the wound that hasn't closed, and his hips roll against yours in a lazy, hypnotic pulse that feels less like fucking and more like breathing.

Your hand is in his hair. Your fingers are tangled in the dark silk of it, your thumb tracing the shell of his ear, and the gesture feels so natural, so intimate, that your throat tightens with something you refuse to name. Then the light shifts.

It spills through the open window, pale gold, the first true ray of a winter dawn. It creeps across the floorboards, slow and searching, and climbs the edge of the bed. It touches your bare ankle. It warms the tangled sheets. It reaches, like a blessing or a blade, for the man in your arms. You watch it happen.

It finds his shoulder first. The light glistens, a luminous sheen on the marble of his skin catching the ridge of his shoulder blade, the curve of his spine, the place where your nails have left their marks across his back. He doesn't notice. His mouth is still at your throat, his body still moving against yours, lost in the rhythm of consumption. "Sunghoon." He lifts his head.

His eyes are black, pupils blown, the irises reduced to thin rings of dark amber. Your blood is on his lips. Your blood everywhere. All over your own lips, all over your neck, your chest and the sheets beneath you. And his skin, his beautiful, terrible skin, is beginning to gleam in the morning light. Every plane of his face limned in gold, the sharp angle of his jaw, the impossible symmetry of his features. He looks like something that fell from heaven and landed wrong. He looks at you. And you see the moment he understands. The light is spreading. It touches his temple. The curve of his ear. The column of his throat. And where it touches, his skin begins to change—taking on a strange, crystalline shimmer, like the surface of fresh snow catching the first light of dawn. It starts to unmake him. He doesn't move. He doesn't flee. He just looks at you, old and tired and almost, almost human. Your hand is still in his hair. You don't pull it back. A broken growl, low but softened, escapes him, and his forehead drops to yours. His eyes close, and for a long, suspended moment, you lie there together in the path of the rising sun. It starts at the edges, before the shimmer spreads a slow, glittering dissolution, like diamonds fracturing along the surface of him. The places where the sun touches him turn luminous, iridescent, and then they begin to separate. He is coming apart in fine fragments, a mist of dust that catches the light and holds it, suspended, before drifting upward on the morning air. His eyes find yours one last time. There's no fear in them. No anger. Just that same dark, depthless devotion. That same hunger. Your body is still humming with the aftermath of pleasure, your thighs slick, your throat aching with the memory of his hands around it. You close your eyes. They're too heavy to keep open.

"More." The last thing you feel is his hand returning to your neck, and his teeth sinking into your flesh once more. The last thing you hear is the sound of his growl as he savours his last meal. Tangled with death, you lay, lips parted in pleasure.

It’s in the way he’s always just had to be a step ahead of you. Like that time in the fifth grade when your teacher held a mock election for your government lesson, and he’d deliberately ran against you with the sole intention of annoying you. And when he won, he didn’t even do any of the things he’d promised! All he did was pass out whiteboards, and he always made sure to give you the one with the annoying black scribbles on them.

You went through high school like that, with him constantly one upping you in everything you did. He’d even almost beaten you for valedictorian, but you scored two and a half points higher than him on your AP Physics final and the spot was rightfully given to you. 

He didn't even seem mad about it, which made the entire thing even more infuriating. He’d spent years trying to prove he was better than you and didn't even flinch when it all amounted to nothing? What a tool.

University was supposed to be an escape. Not just from the mean high school girls and the boring small town you came from, but from him as well. You’d finally be able to breathe without him constantly hovering, you’d finally be able to relax without the constant worry that he was going to do something to ruin it.

So when you walked into your first day of classes at Decalis University, fully expecting to see no one familiar, you can imagine your absolute horror to see him sitting front and center like he owned the place.

He was already making good conversation with your professor, you could tell by how the older man was talking so admittedly with his hands and smiling like he couldn’t get enough of whatever it was Heeseung was talking about. 

That’s the thing about Heeseung, everyone around you always seems to think he’s this perfect, charming guy. They don’t see what he really is, not like you do. You seem to be the only person he decides to be his actual evil self with. Why he chose you, you aren’t entirely sure. You don’t think you ever will be.

But that was six months ago, and despite the giant Heeseung shaped stain on your university experience, the entire thing has been significantly better than high school. You don’t see him as much for starters, and when you do he seems too busy to actually try and annoy you. Not for a lack of trying though—those first few months were torture.

You’ve got an eight am class today, which means you have an excuse to make a stop at the coffee shop on campus. It’s right next to your dorm which is insanely convenient and definitely bad for your health, but you're a freshman in college. You don’t think you could name a single person who isn’t surviving off of cheap coffee and gas station noodles.

The line is long, which wouldn’t normally be an issue, but you’re running late and your professors decided he'll dock a letter grade for every tardy. You haven’t had to go through that pain yet, and you really don’t want to change that now.

You rock back and forth on your feet uncomfortably, the line seeming to move slower and slower. You almost consider saying fuck it and just going to class, but then you remember that you’re running off of two hours of sleep and decide you’d rather not fall asleep during your lesson.

It takes another ten minutes before you place your order, and then you’re solemnly waiting off to the side and trying to act like your nerves aren’t tangling up in your stomach.

“Long line, huh?”

You tense. You recognize that voice, and when you look up, the face that accompanies it is enough to ruin your entire morning more than it already has been. So much for not bothering you.

Sharp cheekbones, messy dirty blonde hair, big, beautiful shit brown eyes.

Your eyes narrow, lips curling downwards. At this point, you’re starting to believe your body's natural reaction to Lee Heeseung is immediate disdain. “Why are you talking to me?” You ask bluntly. No point in small talk with him, especially when you know he’s just trying to get under your skin by speaking to you.

He laughs, teeth on display as he does. “Are you this hostile with everyone when you first wake up?”

“Only people who annoy me.”

“I just made an observation, why would that annoy you?”

You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest. He knows exactly what he’s doing–he always has. His innocent act may work on every other person in this university, but not you. You know Heeseung, you know that getting under people's skin is his favorite pastime. You just wish you understood why he loves to do it to you specifically.

“Can you just…not? You know what you’re doing.”

“I promise I don’t.” The smirk threatening to break onto his lips says otherwise.

You take a deep breath and choose not to play into his game anymore. It’s pretty easy actually, because the barista calls out your name and you practically trip over your feet to grab it. You’ve got ten minutes to make it halfway across campus and into your lecture hall before you’re docked an entire letter grade. You’ve made it there with less.

You don’t bother saying goodbye to Heeseung, but you feel his gaze on you as you leave. Your skin prickles from the weight of it, but you don’t have the mental capacity to dwell on that right now. It’s too early for that.

Tonight’s the last game of the football season, which means practically the entire university showed up to the stadium to show their support, if support meant getting drunk off their asses.

You hadn’t planned to go, mostly because sports had never really been your thing, but Yunjin insists you have to come.

“It’ll be fun!” She pleads, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. She grabs your wrist and pulls on it, but you don’t budge from your spot at your desk. You told her that you had a big test to study for and that’s why you couldn’t go. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but you didn’t really need to study, you already knew the material like the back of your hand.

You sigh and pull your arm from her grip, “I can’t do bad on this test, Yunjin. You know what’ll happen if I do.”

“Yes, yes, the big bad Heeseung will score higher than you and your entire life will be ruined. Believe me, I know.” She clicks her tongue and walks behind you so her hands can rest on your shoulders. “But I think Sunghoon would be so sad to see that you didn’t come to support him for his last game.”

You immediately tense, your face going hot and stomach flipping in ways you didn’t know were possible. Even just the mere mention of Park Sunghoon forces a physical reaction out of you. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.

Sunghoon is the kind of boy you read about in romance novels or watch romcoms about. He’s sweet, smart, and the kind of handsome you weren’t aware a person can actually be. And he does it all effortlessly, like being perfect is something he was just born with. It probably was.

It doesn’t help that he’s always going out of his way to talk to you. Study dates, coffee runs after class, texts about nothing in the middle of the night, all things that feel like a relationship but actually aren’t.

Yunjin keeps insisting that you go for it, and you know that it’s probably not going to be as scary as you’re thinking it will be. After all, all it would do is put a title on whatever song and dance it is that the two of you’ve been putting on for the past couple months.

“I doubt he’d notice if I was there or not.” You shrug, doing your best to seem casual and not like the thought of him has hearts forming in your eyes.

Yunjin squeezes your shoulder and spins your chair around so you’re forced to face her. Her red hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her brows furrowed in determination. She looks a little bit like some kind of strange love coach who takes their job way too seriously. “You’re going to this game.” She says firmly.

“I’m not.”

“That’s what you think.”

The stadium is loud, people talking over each other in the hopes their friends will be able to hear them. They don’t, which means people just talk louder. The lights are bright and overwhelming, and you almost feel claustrophobic with how close the seats are to each other, like whoever designed the place did it without any regard for personal space at all.

Yunjin and Jake are on either side of you, both of them way too invested in the game. You are too, but not for the same reasons as them.

Sunghoon got into Decalis on a football scholarship and is the school's best starting quarterback in fifteen years. Even though he has every right to have a big head about it, he’s so humble you don’t think the thoughts ever even crossed his mind. Someone always approaches him about it when you’re out together on campus, and every time without fail his cheeks go bright pink and he gets this bashful smile on his face. It’s one of the reasons you’ve fallen for him as hard as you have, because unlike most guys you’ve interacted with, he doesn’t seem to have much of an ego at all.

It’s a very welcome contrast to Heeseung.

You can see him on the field too, walking behind the players sitting on the bench and getting candid shots of them. Even though you hate admitting it, he’s always been a gifted photographer. His photos were always hanging up in local art shows or featured in your high school yearbooks. Strangely, it’s the only thing he doesn’t brag about, despite it being the only thing he deserves to. 

“Oh, that’s bullshit!” Jake yells, popcorn spilling from his lap as he gestures wildly. “That was our play!”

You give him a side-eye and sink further into your seat. You honestly couldn’t care less about this whole thing; you're just excited to see Sunghoon in his post-game glow as you like to call it. Damp hair, face glowing with a sheen of sweat, his chest still heaving from running up and down the field. The entire thing is admittedly your guilty pleasure.

Yunjin elbows your ribs gently, her chin poking out to the field. You follow her gaze and find Sunghoon with his helmet in hand, drinking out of a green gatorade bottle and laughing at something one of his teammates says. He looks perfect. He is perfect.

And if things go right, he’ll be yours.

By the time the game ends, you’re more than ecstatic to finally get out of your seat and see Sunghoon. Yunjin teases you the entire way down, but you barely notice her. Not when your heart is nearly fluttering out of your chest.

But when you get down there, it’s not Sunghoon you see. No, it’s something much worse.

Heeseung.

He doesn’t notice you at first, and you almost think you’ll be able to sneak around him, but then Jake decides it’s a good idea to open his big mouth and alert the enemy to your presence.

“Heeseung!” He calls, raising his hand in a wave. “What’s good, man?”

Heeseung looks up then, sharp eyes falling onto Jake, and slowly trailing over to you. He grins, all teeth and something akin to mischief, and casually makes his way over to your small group.

“Hey Jake,” he greets, jutting his chin out swiftly. “Yunjin.”

Yunjin returns the greeting politely. “Heeseung.”

She has no reason to be mean to him, but as your closest friend, she understands that she must, by international girl-code law, dislike anyone you dislike, which includes him.

He turns to you then, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes. He keeps the same smile on his face despite the way you glare at him. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi.” You respond shortly. You don’t know why he even bothers trying to be nice to you in public, especially when he knows you're not going to return whatever sentiment it is he has.

He smirks like you’ve just said the funniest thing in the world. “Would it hurt you to be nicer?”

“Yes,” you respond easily. “It would, actually.”

He frowns and grabs at his shirt dramatically, right over where his heart is. “Always so mean.”

“You’ll live.”

He chuckles, reaching out and roughing up your hair. You smack his hands away and rush to fix it, palms smoothing down the parts he frizzed up. “Don’t do that!”

He ignores you and turns to talk to Jake about the game, and you can hear them say something about how the referees almost cost the team that last quarter, but you aren’t paying attention to that anymore.

Because behind Heeseung you can see a familiar head of damp black hair, thick eyebrows, and a perfect smile.

“Hey guys,” Sunghoon grins as he approaches. He’s ditched his football uniform and is instead wearing a black long sleeved compression shirt, and you swear your brain short circuits at the sight.

His attention falls to you first, just like it always does, and his smile widens just a fraction. Not enough for it to seem like anything else but a friendly gesture, but it doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering out of control or your cheeks from heating to near impossible levels.

“Hey!” You chirp a bit too loudly, hand shooting up in a wave.

“Nice game tonight, man!” Jake gushes, his hands moving animatedly. “The way you got that goal right at the beginning was insane! I swear, Penn didn't even know what hit them.”

Sunghoon grins and brings a hand up to his neck, the way he always does when somebody praises him, like he still can’t quite process the amount of attention on him. “Thanks, Jake. Seriously.”

“Those refs were awful though,” Yunjin throws in. 

The three of them end up in conversation about the game, all of them spewing out football lingo that you couldn’t be bothered to understand. Heeseung's still here too, just…lingering.

He’s friends with Jake and Sunghoon, yes, but he’s always on the sidelines. He’s been like that since high school. He’s friends with everyone, but he never lets them in. Doesn’t make any attempts to know them outside of a surface level friendship. 

It’s a little sad, honestly. But you stopped questioning the way his brain worked a long time ago. If he wanted to keep to himself, then that was perfectly fine by you. 

You don’t notice her approach, not until she’s sliding into the spot next to Sunghoon like she belongs there. Short black hair, bangs that frame her face like she was born with them, big brown eyes. Kim Chaewon is as beautiful as she is smart, and unbelievably kind. Not to mention she’d made cheer captain as a sophomore, and has kept the title all the way into her junior year.

“Hey, Hoon,” she says, voice sweet like honey. You know it shouldn’t, but something twists low and deep in your chest at the way she looks at him. Like she knows him. Like he belongs to her.

You expect him to greet her like he does everyone else. Always polite, but without the extra tenderness he saves for you. Without the small quirk of his lips or the subtle softening of his eyes, because that had always been yours. Your look.

Instead, when he looks at her, his lips quirk up, his eyes soften, and he snags a hand around her waist like he can’t imagine it being anywhere else.

You think this must be a joke. Not a very funny one, but a joke nonetheless. A tasteless prank. Because there is no way Park Sunghoon—the same Park Sunghoon that calls you in the middle of the night and insists he walk you home from class—has his arm around Kim Chaewon and is giving her the same look he gives you.

Yunjin looks just as shocked as you feel, but she’s never been as good at having a poker face as you. Her jaw drops, eyes going wide as she stares at the pair of them. “Um,” she laughs uncomfortably, “Sunghoon do you mind maybe… informing us as to who this is?”

Yunjin knows who Chaewon is, you know that. She's doing that thing she does where she tries to indirectly ask someone something without coming off as rude. For once, you're thankful for her weird methods.

Sunghoon clears his throat, his eyes flickering to yours for a split second before they return to Chaewon. “Right, uh,” he swallows, and you watch as his fingers flex at his side. A nervous habit. “This is Chaewon. We’ve been…seeing each other.”

You blink, your mind going a million miles a minute as you try to make sense of what he’s saying. The words are coming out of his mouth, and yet they still feel fake. Like a figment of your worst nightmare where the boy you’re in love with tells you he’s seeing someone.

“Seeing each other?” You repeat, voice raising in pitch. 

Chaewon nods, her lips curling up into a shy smile as she places a hand on Sunghoon's chest. “It was a recent development,” she chuckles.

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Sunghoon smiles at her before removing his arm from her waist so he can gesture at the three of you. “How do you feel about dinner so Chae can get to know you guys? My treat.”

Chae. How long has this been going on for them to already have cute little nicknames for each other?

The thought of sitting at dinner with them sounds like torture. Having to sit there and watch him touch her? Smile at her? You don’t want to sound jealous (you are), but that’s supposed to be you. You’re the one he should be smiling at—you were the one! You can’t wrap your head around how he could suddenly be seeing someone when just last week he was smiling at you like you meant something to him?

Had you imagined it? Convinced yourself there was something there when he was just being friendly? But even Yunjin said he looked at you differently. Was she just feeding into your delusions?

Heeseung's voice pulls you out of your frenzy, and when you look up, he’s looking straight at you like he can read your mind. “Sorry, man,” he says, eyes staying on you for a moment longer before they shift to Sunghoon. “I’ve gotta get these pictures developed before they close the red room.”

Sunghoon waves him off, “don’t worry about it.” He says, “I’ll see you when we get home tonight. What about you guys?”

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to dinner with them. You can’t, like, physically can’t. You think you’ll die if you do.

Instead of saying that, or coming up with some kind of excuse, what comes out is, “I’m free.”

Yunjin's head snaps to you in shock, and then she blurts out a sudden, “same!”

Jake shrugs, “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Great!” Sunghoon grins, “let’s meet at that diner off of fifth? They’re usually open late.”

He walks away after that, hand in hand with Chaewon, and you watch them go while your heart sinks deep into your chest. She’s laughing at something he says, her free hand slapping his arm lightly, and he smiles down at her like she’s the only girl in his universe. The same way you thought he was doing to you.

“Well,” Heeseungs starts, his eyes finding you’d once again, like he can feel the hurt radiating off your body. He probably can. “Since when was that a thing?”

Jake shrugs the way most clueless men do. “No idea.”

The two of them walk away after that, and you’re thankful to be left alone with Yunjin.

“What the fuck?” She says, hands resting on her hips. “That’s gotta be a joke. Or maybe some kind of dare. I don’t fucking know, but there’s no way they’re actually seeing each other! He was literally blowing up your phone two days ago!” She snaps her fingers like she’s made some kind of profound discovery. "It must be some kind of spell. You know, I’ve always thought witches and magic were real–”

“Yunjin,” you interrupt, eyes already glassy and throat closing up with an onslaught of tears. You aren’t going to cry over him–that would be ridiculous, especially since you weren’t even dating, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt. If you’re being completely honest, it hurts like hell.

Yunjin notices immediately, and before you can process it, she’s throwing her arms around you and pulling you into her chest in the middle of the field. “I’m sorry, babe,” she sighs, “I really thought he was going to ask you out tonight.”

She’s not the only one. 

You just shrug, doing your best to mask your hurt, even though you know there’s no point when it comes to Yunjin. You’ve only known her for six months, yet she’s the only person who can read you like an open book. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she mumbles, pulling away from you and placing her hands on your shoulders. “But it will be. Because we’re going to show Sunghoon exactly what he missed out on.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and shrugging her off of you so you can make the trek back to your shared dorm. “What are you talking about?”

She shrugs, “you’ll see.”

You should question her. Should refuse to go anywhere with her until she tells you what her plan is, but you don’t do any of that. You trust Yunjin, and you know that while her methods may be strange, she does everything with good intentions. Besides, you doubt you won’t be able to handle whatever it is she’s cooking up.

The diner off of 5th is the only place that stays open after ten pm and still serves edible food. It’s a campus staple, which means it’s nearly always packed—especially after games. So, you aren’t too surprised that you have to weave through multiple bodies just to find the table Sunghoon had managed to snag for the five of you, and nobody comments when it takes you nearly five minutes just to make it from the front door to your seats.

“I’m starving,” Yunjin groans, her tongue swiping over her lips as she flips through the menu. The both of you know she’s just going to get the same thing she does every time, but she says she finds joy in looking unpredictable.

“Me too,” Sunghoon agrees. 

He looks good. Tired, but good. His hair is falling over his eyes in that dorky kind of way and he’s wearing his glasses—a rare sight. Normally, you’d be the only one doing this much analysis into his look, but when you glance over at Chaewon, she’s staring at him with a dopey grin on her face.

You frown and look down at your menu. You still don’t understand how this could’ve happened. It just didn’t make any sense. When you take out the part where you’re totally in love with Sunghoon, it still makes no sense for him to hide his apparent relationship with Chaewon. Was it a relationship? Are they even dating? Or are they just in that weird space between where you both know it’s going to happen, but they’re still choosing to dance around it?

You’d thought you were there with Sunghoon. You thought it was only a matter of time before he swept you off of your feet and confessed his love for you with some kind of grand, dramatic gesture.

But your life is clearly not a movie, because Park Sunghoon is reaching for Chaewon's hand under the table. His thumb is rubbing small, comforting circles into her skin, and she’s doing a very bad job at hiding her smile.

You shouldn’t have agreed to come.

Jake, for all his strange qualities, has always been observant (except when it comes to possible romantic partners), and he watches the entire exchange with narrowed eyes and bated breath. You’d never talked to him about your relationship with Sunghoon, but he (along with your nemesis) was the guy's roommate, so you assume he must've known that there was something going on between you. Unless you really are just delusional and everything had been entirely friendly.

“So,” Jake starts, wagging his finger towards the couple. “We’re so glad you’re here, Chaewon. Seriously. But I just can’t believe this is the first I’m hearing about…this. I mean, not to sound like a douche or anything, but I live with Sunghoon and he hasn’t brought you up once. He’s talked about–” his eyes find yours for a fleeting moment, before he clears his throat and tries to pretend it never happened. “It’s just kind of unexpected.”

Chaewon giggles, reaching a hand up and swiping her bangs over her forehead. They fall right back into place. “It was a recent development.”

Yunjin snorts, taking a sip from her cup with the kind of casual confidence you wish you had. “Clearly.”

If anybody catches the irritation in her tone, they don’t comment on it. 

“He actually hit me with a football during practice,” Chaewon laughs, bringing her arm up to rest casually behind Sunghoon. You can nearly make out her fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “It was the total opposite of a meet-cute. But it still worked out anyway, because he invited me to coffee as an apology and things just went from there.”

Coffee? He always takes you to coffee. Did they go to the same place you go to? Did he show her the secret menu that’s not really a secret? Did he joke around with your favorite barista like he does when he’s with you?

Your throat feels tight again, but you suck down a gulp from your drink and try to act like you aren’t on the brink of emotional collapse.

Yunjin smiles, but it looks forced. She taps your thigh once, like she’s warning you, but before you can question it, she’s already opening her mouth. “You know, that’s honestly kind of crazy. Two of my friends are getting into relationships at the same time. You’d think I’d get some of that luck too considering I seem to be the common denominator here, but nope!”

You blink. You love Yunjin, you really do, but outside of you the only other person you saw her consistently speak to is her pet gerbil. And even that was leaning into more of a casual situation lately.

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise briefly, but he’s quick to lower them. “Really?” He mumbles. You can practically feel the curiosity radiating off of him. He’s always been way too nosy. “Who?”

The next few moments are still a bit of a blur in your mind. You remember feeling like someone had spilled a bucket of cold water on you, but when you ran a hand through your hair, it was completely dry.

Yunjin smiles, and she looks so innocent you almost believe the lie that rolls off of her tongue like honey. You probably would’ve if it didn't have to do with you. “[Y/N], you’ve been seeing someone recently as well, haven’t you?”

You nearly choke, eyes widening into saucers. You splutter for an answer, blinking rapidly as you do. “What? A relationship? I don’t–well, I mean–maybe–?” It’s not until Yunjin sends a swift heel to your shin do you manage to get out a full sentence. “Yes,” you squeak. “I have been…seeing someone. It’s very recent. Very new. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are that it happened so quickly.”

The table goes silent for a moment, and you suddenly feel very, very exposed. You know Yunjin knows you’re a terrible liar, she witnessed it firsthand when you tried to lie about eating her leftover cheesecake, and yet she thought making you lie in a group setting would make your skills any better? If anything, it just made them ten times worse!

You’re waiting for the inevitable–for someone to give an uncomfortable laugh before attempting to move the conversation forward. Meanwhile, you’re going to pray to whatever is listening up in the sky for the floor to swallow you whole and for this day to have never happened.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, the next few moments are probably the most confusing of your life. 

“That’s good, [Y/N],” Sunghoon says, smiling at you the way he does with everyone else. It’s not the smile you’re used to. Not the curl of his lips that would send butterflies fluttering around in your stomach and make your cheeks burst with color. This one is practiced, easy. Entirely wrong. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You pale, parting your lips to give some shitty excuse. Maybe your delivery man? You met when he was dropping off your amazon vibrator and he complimented you on the brand. A very plausible start to any college relationship, and it’d be easy to hide considering he’s not real. 

But before you can tell your made-up story, Yunjin beats you to the punch.

“Oh, you’re going to lose your mind. I know I did when she told me.” She laughs aloud, and when her eyes find yours, you suddenly wish you’d never even gotten out of bed this morning. Maybe finishing the course with a B wouldn’t have been so bad if it meant you got to avoid this terrible fate.

She leans forward on the table, lowering her voice into that soft teasing tilt she’s perfected. “She’s been seeing your other roommate. The one she apparently can’t stand.”

Jake’s eyes widen, his hands slamming on the table so he can lean against them and get a better look at you. He practically screams when he asks, “you’ve been seeing Heeseung?”

You should’ve just taken the dock off of your grade.

“Yunjin, do not come near me right now or I swear to God you’re going to be missing chunks of hair.”

She winces, hands immediately tugging on the red strands. “Anything but the hair! You know it’s my best feature.” She attempts to joke, but you’re having absolutely none of it.

“You realize they live with him, right? What happens when they ask him about his apparent relationship with me?” You snap, slamming the door to your dorm behind you. The walk here had been completely silent—or, at least, it had been from your end. Yunjin spent the entire time trying to act like she hadn’t just lied to all of your friends that you were dating Lee Heeseung. The one person in this world everyone knows you cannot stand.

She flops onto her bed and stretches her arms over her head. “They’re guys! They don’t talk about that kind of stuff. Jake didn’t even know Sunghoon was seeing Chaewon! Which, can we talk about that, actually? I mean, seriously, what the fuck? One second he’s taking you on these cute little dates and the next—”

“Yunjin,” you groan, rubbing the heels of your palm into your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can talk about Sunghoon without your head wanting to explode. “As much as I’d love to talk about Sunghoon's sparkling love life and my lack of one, I’ve got a nine am tomorrow that I’d rather not have to sleep through because I stayed up all night talking about my nonexistent love life.”

She nods, a small smile on her lips. "No, yeah, of course. But, before you become dead to the world, you’re actually kind of wrong about something.”

“What?”

“Your love life isn’t nonexistent,” she says thoughtfully. “You’re seeing Heeseung, remember?”

You throw the pillow at her so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t mold to her face.

You’ve always enjoyed your nine am literacy analysis lecture. After all, you’re an English major. Literacy analysis is kind of your whole thing.

The only part of the class that is mildly annoying is the fact that you share it with Heeseung. But, surprisingly, he rarely ever bothers you. You aren’t sure if it’s because he’s finally matured and realized it’s stupid to bother you during lecture, or if he’d just gotten bored of the entire thing. Either way, you’d be perfectly fine with whatever the answer was as long as it kept him away from you.

Today though, your nerves are practically fried. Does he know? Did he expose you? You don’t know why he would lie for you, and honestly, you don’t expect him to. He probably laughed out loud before Sunghoon and Jake even asked him about it.

God, you love Yunjin, you really do, but right now you wish she’d stayed home with her gerbil last night. Maybe that way she wouldn’t have been able to open her big mouth.

You don’t look at Heeseung when you enter. You don’t even look in his general direction. You just keep your head down and try to look as normal as possible through the lecture, which is exceptionally difficult when your mind is buzzing with so much nervous energy it could power the entire university.

The usual hour seems to pass by in a blur, and when your professor releases you for dismissal, you’re quick to pack your bags and make a swift exit. You're practically out of breath by the time you make it outside, but you’re relieved you managed to get out without having to make any contact with Heeseung. You aren’t sure you would’ve been able to survive the embarrassment.

You pull the strap of your bag further up your shoulder and pull out your phone, fully ready to call Yunjin and complain to her about the mess she’s gotten you into, but a call of your name forces your head up.

Heeseung makes his way over to you casually, a backwards baseball cap covering up his dirty blonde hair and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He isn’t giving you that usual teasing smile he always wears when he sees you, instead he looks unusually serious. 

You tense, pulse pounding in your ears and alarm bells ringing in your head. You have half the mind to turn and make a run for it, but he reaches you before your feet can move.

“Hi,” he says simply. Casually. Like he’s talking to a friend and asking about the weather.

You hesitate, but return the greeting nonetheless. “...Hi.”

He cracks a smile, but scrunches his nose before it reaches his eyes and his lips fall back down into a straight line. “We need to talk.”

Your blood turns to ice, skin paling before you can stop it. He knows. And if he knows that means he told everyone the truth, and he’s probably already told the entire campus about your stupid lie as well. You’re going to be known as the girl who lied about being in a relationship because she couldn't accept that the boy she likes has a girlfriend, and then you're going to have to transfer somewhere else and start going by a new name. 

God, you are going to kill Yunjin. It’ll be like a final goodbye before you’re forced to move across the country.

You shake your head immediately. “No, uh, we don’t actually. I already know what you’re going to say, so I’ll just start packing my things now. No need for this awkward rejection or whatever–not that I’m being rejected by you. God, I’d rather die before I go out with you. But, Yunjin has a big mouth and I never know how to stop her before she says something stupid, so now my social life is totally dead and–”

You’re rambling so fast it takes a moment for you to register that Heeseung's laughing, and even longer to realize that he’s laughing at you. His shoulders shake from the force of it, and the back of his hand comes up to cover his mouth. If this was anyone else, you might even think he looked cute.

You swallow, unable to help the pout that forms on your lips. “And now you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, taking in a deep breath and trying to find some composure. “It’s just…you’ve always been really good at jumping to conclusions.”

Your brows furrow, mouth parting as you try to process his words. What does he mean you’re good at jumping to conclusions? Why does he always talk like he knows anything about you? You know they shouldn’t, but the words tick you off. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugs, lips curving up into that smile you’ve unfortunately become way too familiar with. The one that screams trouble and always means he’s up to no good. “I have to admit, I was pretty surprised when Jake grilled me for half an hour last night on our apparent relationship–” you visibly wince, but he ignores it and continues– “but, I thought to myself, why on earth would [Y/N] [L/N] tell our friends we were in a relationship? I figured you had to have a reason, so I went along with it.”

Your jaw drops, eyes blinking a mile a minute like maybe that’ll help everything make sense. Newsflash, it doesn’t–if anything it just makes everything feel ten times more confusing. “You what?”

He shrugs, “you have a reason, right? Otherwise, we just became a couple for no reason. Unless that’s what you wanted? Was this whole thing just an elaborate scheme to get with me?” His voice drops an octave, and he takes a step closer, until suddenly he’s in your space and you can smell the fresh linen from his detergent and his cedarwood cologne. “You know, princess, if you wanted to be with me, all you had to do was ask.”

You might be extremely confused right now, but you’ve got enough sense to know that the last thing you want in your life is to be in a real relationship with him. And you definitely don’t want him calling you princess. 

You take a step back, your arms coming up to put space between the two of you. “Ew, no, absolutely not. Like I said, I’d rather die before I dated you.”

He hums, shoving his hands back in his pockets and beginning to walk away. “Okay. I’ll just go tell Jake and Sunghoon that you lied then–”

Your hand shoots out and wraps around his arm before you can stop yourself, and you feel the muscle tense up beneath your fingertips. He stills, his head tilting as he looks back at you.

You swallow, taking your pride down with the saliva. “I’m sorry,” you sigh out, “I just don't know how to go about this without sounding like a total loser.”

His lips curve up and he turns so he’s facing you fully. “You’re going to sound like a loser to me no matter what, so just tell me.”

You glower, your hand dropping back to your side. You try to ignore the warmth lingering in your palm as it balls up at your side. “I’ve had a thing for this guy–”

He nods. “Sunghoon, right?”

Is it really that obvious? You narrow your eyes, “How’d you know? Did he say something about me?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve seen the way you follow each other like lost puppies. I’ve gotta admit, I was surprised when he popped out with Chaewon and not you.”

You don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse. If even Heeseung, the one person you absolutely cannot stand, could see that there was something between you and Sunghoon, then that must mean you aren’t delusional. But, on the other hand, it makes you wonder what made Sunghoon change his mind so quickly.

Were you trying to take things too slow? Did he get bored of the waiting? You thought the dancing around each other was sweet, but maybe he was looking at it differently. Maybe he just got sick of waiting around for you.

Heeseung must notice how your thoughts have wandered, because he waves a hand in front of your face and raises his brows. “You still with me?”

Your eyes snap to him and your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry, um, as I was saying, I’ve had a thing for him for a while. So, when he took us to dinner with Chaewon last night, Yunjin had this bright idea to say that I was also in a relationship with…you. And the whole thing just kind of spiraled from there.”

He’s silent for a moment, like he’s processing your words. “She said we were dating to make Sunghoon jealous? How does that work?”

You groan and run a hand over your face. “I don’t know! I don’t know what she was thinking! I’ve already yelled at her over it!” You feel your frustration building again, but you take a deep breath and force it down. “It was stupid. And now you’re dragged into this entire mess and I don’t know how I’m going to tell everyone the truth.”

There are a lot of things you dislike about Heeseung. He’s rude in that passive aggressive kind of way, and he only ever does it to you. He always forgets a pen and never gives yours back when you lend one to him. He’s wildly selfish and thinks that the entire world revolves around him. He also always manages to catch you by surprise, and you absolutely loathe surprises.

Today is no exception.

His lips part in thought, and for the first time you can actually see him thinking about what he’s going to say before he says it. Usually, he just blurts out whatever's on his mind and deals with the consequences later.

“What if…” he hesitates for a moment. “What if you didn’t tell them?”

“What?”

He splutters for a moment, a nervous laugh bubbling from his lips. “I just mean, what if we let everyone think we’re dating? Not that we actually date. That would be…awful.”

“Why would we do that, though?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not like me having a boyfriend is going to change Sunghoon's mind. And what would you even get out of it aside from undeniable blackmail material?”

He shrugs, “actually Sunghoon looked pretty distraught last night. He kept asking me about you and our budding relationship.”

Your heart skips a beat at that. He was asking about you? It shouldn't affect you like it does, especially when he’s got a girlfriend, but the thought of him thinking about you has butterflies flying around your stomach.

Still, it doesn’t explain why Heeseung would want to help you. He’s never gone out of his way to do it before, so you don’t see why he would now. 

“But, what do you get out of this?” You ask, pointing a wary finger at him. “You’ve never been nice enough to actually help me before.”

He scoffs, “first off, that's not true. What about that science project we did Junior year? The one with the ant colony? I partnered up with you after Stella got that weird illness.”

“You mean the ant colony you released into Mrs. Hong's room? She made us deep clean the room every day for, like, two weeks. And Stella had pneumonia.”

“Yeah, but that was after we’d already gotten an A.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

He sighs and pulls out a creme folder from his bag. He taps it once and hands it to you. You accept it questioningly, looking up at him through your lashes with suspicion. “What is this?”

“My portfolio,” he explains. Just as he said, when you open it there's what you think must be hundreds of photos. Some of nature, some of the people on campus, some of just random mundane things. They’re all breathtaking shots, and it's then that you remember he’s here on a full scholarship after winning some national photography contest. It’d been the only thing he talked about for weeks.

You knew he was going to win the moment it was announced.

“Wow,” you mumble, continuing to flip through the photos. “These are amazing.”

He brings a hand up to his neck and scratches at it nervously. “Thanks.”

One picture captures your attention. It’s a candid shot of Sunghoon in class, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, eyebrows tucked in that adorable way they always are when he’s frustrated. The people around him are blurry, and you assume they’re getting their stuff for dismissal.

“The photography committee on campus is holding a competition,” he continues, “$100,000 and your pictures are featured in international art shows. But, in order to enter, I need a muse. Someone I can get consistent pictures of. If we’re “dating”, no one will question why I’m constantly taking pictures of you, and it saves me the hassle of having to ask anyone else.”

You raise a brow. He wants to be in a fake couple so that he can take pictures of you for a contest? It doesn’t feel like a fair trade to you at all. “Why don’t you ask Jake or Sunghoon? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

He gives you a fixed look. “I already did, but they both claimed they were too busy. You’re my last resort before I start asking random people on campus.”

The explanation still feels weird to you, but you aren’t going to fight him anymore on it. Besides, you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re now in a fake relationship with public enemy number one.

“So…what now?” You ask, closing the folder and handing it back to him. He takes it with steady hands, and when his fingers brush yours, there’s a solid five seconds where your breath catches in your throat and you almost forget about everything you dislike about Heeseung.

“Jay Park’s having a party tomorrow night,” he breathes, lips turning up into that awful smile. “Beer. Dancing. Maybe some weed. Sunghoon and Chaewon will definitely be there, which means you and I will also be there.”

Your nose scrunches at the thought. You’d only gone to one party so far, and the entire experience had been so awful you’d sworn them off completely.

“I don’t really do parties,” you mumble.

Heeseung snorts like that’s the understatement of the century. “We won't stay for long. Just long enough for Sunghoon to see us, and then we’ll go.”

You nod, and the air between the two of you suddenly feels heavy. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and your eyes fall to the floor. “Thank you,” you say sincerely. “For helping me.”

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Just nods casually like fake dating people is something he does daily. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, princess.”

You really need to tell him to stop calling you that.

When you tell Yunjin, she doesn’t even try to act surprised. “I knew it would work out,” she says confidently, staring at a pimple in her reflection. “That's why I said it in the first place.”

You roll your eyes, fingers moving over your keyboard rapidly. You need to finish up your analysis paper before the deadline next week, but every time you sit down to write your brain wanders to dirty blonde hair and that annoyingly perfect smile.

“Whatever.” You mumble, “he’s expecting me to go to some party with him tomorrow night, but I don’t know. I really need to finish this paper, and the last time we went to a party I got so drunk I collided with the wall.”

Yunjin snorts at the memory, and then she’s standing and making her way over to you. She sits crisscrossed on your bed and ever-so-gently forces your laptop closed. You don’t argue with her, it’s not like you were getting anything done anyway.

“So, your fake boyfriend–who by the way, is super hot–is asking you to go to a party with him, and you don’t want to because you’d rather stay at home and analyze Edgar Allen Poe?” She asks, drawing out the sentence so you feel completely and utterly stupid.

“It’s not Edgar Allen Poe,” you mutter, “and, I don’t know, this entire thing just feels so insane! Like, what am I hoping happens? Sunghoon realizes he’s actually in love with me and breaks up with Chaewon?”

“Exactly that, yes.” Yunjin nods, like it’s obvious.

You shoot her a glare. “That’s not fair to either of them. If they’re happy, why should I try to ruin that?”

Yunjin sighs, her hands reaching out to grab yours. She brings them into her lap and squeezes them comfortingly. “If they’re happy, then you being in a relationship with Heeseung isn’t going to matter. But you said he asked about you, right? That means he still cares at least a little bit, and if that’s the case, then it’s not fair to Chaewon for him to stay with her.” She smiles softly, her shoulders bobbing as she shrugs them. “I don’t know what he’s doing right now, but I know that there was something going on between the two of you. And if you care about him, you shouldn’t let that go without a fight.”

When she wanted to, Yunjin could give some seriously killer advice. Your lips curve up, chest feeling lighter and mind not so hazy. “Thanks, Yunjin. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Die, probably.”

You laugh loudly, throwing your head back with it. “Yeah,” you agree, “probably.”

The next night, your nerves are absolutely shot. Heeseung texted you that he’d pick you and Yunjin up from your dorm at seven, which meant you’d spent the entire day stressed out of your mind.

Sunghoon was going to be there, that much was obvious, but the thought of parading yourself around with Heeseung in front of him makes you feel sick. For one, he knows you. He’s always been able to see right through you, and you have half the mind to think he’ll make your little lie before you even step through the door.

You suck in a breath, your hands smoothing out the sides of your skirt. The dress Yunjin lent you is a lot shorter than anything you’re used to wearing, and the black cloth hugs your curves in a way you’re not entirely used to seeing on yourself. Your heels force your back to arch, highlighting the curve of your spine and the plump of your ass.

You give yourself a once-over in the mirror, hands coming down to tug the fabric further down your thighs. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?” You ask.

Yunjin clicks her tongue, and you can see her fighting with the straps of her own dress through the mirror. “Absolutely not. You look amazing. The guys are going to lose their minds when they see you in that.”

You raise a brow and turn around to face her. “Guys? Like, plural?”

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs, “Sunghoon and Heeseung.”

Sunghoon, yes. You’d love for him to notice you. But Heeseung? Absolutely not. You could seriously care less about what he thinks about you. He was there when you didn’t understand how to get rid of your acne and when makeup was more of a suggestion then something you actually did everyday.

“Ew, no,” you gag, “I don’t care what Lee Heeseung thinks about me. The only reason he’s even helping me is for his portfolio or whatever. He’s not doing it out of the kindness of his heart.”

Yunjin hums, smoothing out her dress and giving herself one final look over in the vanity mirror. She looks amazing–she always does. You aren’t jealous of Yunjin, but sometimes you wonder what it’d be like to have her confidence. “You seriously think he’s doing this just for his portfolio?”

“Um, yeah. That’s what he said.”

She walks over to you then, her chin resting on your shoulder. “I think–and don’t go nuclear on me for this–but I think he likes you. Like, like-likes you.”

A laugh bursts from your chest. That is the single most absurd thing you’ve ever heard in your life. Heeseung can barely stand being in the same room as you without having to get under your skin. He doesn’t like you, he just enjoys pissing you off. 

“You’re funny,” you snort, “and so insanely wrong.”

She shrugs and takes a step back from you. “I don’t know, [Y/N]. I don’t know many guys who get into fake relationships with people they dislike just so they can finish their portfolio.”

Your phone buzzes from your bed, and when you pick it up you’ve got a text message from Heeseung saying he’s here. 

“You don’t know many guys in general, Yunjin.” You retort. You quickly grab your purse and stuff your phone inside. “He’s here. Don’t say anything weird in the car, please. I think you’ve embarrassed me enough in the last two days to last a lifetime.”

“No promises,” she winks.

Heeseung's car isn’t super nice. It’s pretty typical for any college student, actually. There’s a scratch on the passenger side door and a dent on the hood, and it looks like it could definitely use a round through the car wash. But, despite that, the sight of it makes you nostalgic.

You remember when he pulled into your first day of Junior year with this thing. He bragged about it to anyone who would listen. He’d saved up the entire summer to buy it, and he treated the run down thing like it was his pride and joy. You wonder if that’s still the case today.

He’s leaning against your door when you step outside. Dirty blonde hair, backwards baseball cap, that same fucking smile. The sight alone is enough to irritate you.

But there’s a brief moment where the smile falters. His eyes trail over you, all the way from your heels to your eyes, and you swear you see his ears go the lightest shade of pink.

You raise a brow, but before you can comment on it the smile is back and he’s acting like nothing happened. “Nice dress,” he clicks his tongue, “I didn’t think you owned anything that didn’t look like it came from a librarian's closet.”

You hate him. You hate him so much it hurts your soul. It envelops your being like an ugly monster.

You want to tell him that, but you don’t, because at the end of the day he’s helping you for whatever reason, and your mother told you that hating people was inherently wrong. So, you swallow down your annoyance and make your way to his car. “Can we try and go one night without you being a dick?”

“I don’t know,” he smirks, “you’re the one dating this dick, princess.”

You frown and try not to think about the double meaning behind his words. “Fake dating,” you correct.

“Right. Fake dating.”

The tension between you is thick, and not in the way you’re used to. Instead, this feels like some sort of gravitational pull towards him. Something you’d kept buried that is trying to dig its way back from the grave.

Yunjin groans behind you. You’d nearly forgotten she was here. “God, can you guys just fuck already and get it over with? Your sexual tension is starting to make me jealous.”

“Yunjin!” You practically screech. Your hands gesture wildly as you attempt to defend yourself. “This is not–there is no sexual tension! That’s not what this is!”

She gives you a look that says: don’t make me call bullshit.

You sigh and run a hand over your eyes. “Just get in the car.”

The party is just outside of campus, in Jay Park's two-story home that he mysteriously pays for by himself. (Everyone knows he’s a trust fund baby.) There’s some stragglers outside, all holding red solo cups and trying to act drunker than they really are. You’ve never understood the appeal for parties. To you, they just look like sweat fests that people gaslight themselves into thinking are fun.

Yunjin gets out of the car as soon as you pull up and quickly makes her way over to some guy by the front door. You watch as she tries to talk to him, and for once he doesn’t look intimidated by her outgoing nature. It’s kind of cute, actually.

You, on the other hand, feel a bit sick. For one, you don’t know what you’re going to do when you see Sunghoon. Is he even going to care? Probably not. He literally has a fucking girlfriend, and here you are trying to show off for him like that’ll change anything.

“Hey,” Heeseung murmurs from beside you, his eyebrows knitted together in what you think might be concern. “You good?”

You blink. “I don’t know.” It’s the most honest thing you’ve said all night.

He’s silent for a moment, before he’s letting out a breath and turning to you. “You look good, [Y/N]. Really fucking good. Don’t let a dress like that go to waste because you’re in your head.” He emphasizes his point with a gentle tap to your forehead. “Let’s go in there and show Sunghoon exactly what he lost, yeah?”

You feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, but you force the words to the back of your mind to be dwelled on later. Right now, you just need to get out of this car and get through tonight without wanting to explode. And, honestly, you do want to show Sunghoon what he’s missing out on. 

“Okay,” you nod.

He grins. “Okay.” 

Inside, the party is practically buzzing with people. There’s a few people you recognize, but it’s mostly randoms that you didn’t even realize you went to school with. That’s the thing about college; you’re always meeting someone new. Your high school was the complete opposite of that–you knew everyone in your graduating class on a personal level.

Heeseung keeps a hand on your lower back the entire time, and for some reason, you’re grateful for the subtle comfort it gives you. Like it’s a reminder that he’s here and that you aren’t going into this mess alone.

You eventually make your way over to the drinks, and Heeseung grabs a can of alcohol for himself and water for you. You raise a brow as he hands it to you. You hadn’t planned to drink, but him handing you water makes you feel like he’s treating you like some little kid.

“Actually,” you clear your throat, pointing towards the other beer can on top of the ice, “I’ll have that.”

He looks caught off guard for a moment, but then he shrugs and hands the can over to you. You open it with a pop and immediately take a swig. It goes down like tar against your tongue, and your nose scrunches in disgust.

He chuckles, “sure you don’t want the water?”

You really do. “I’m sure.”

Your eyes search the crowd for Sunghoon, and sure enough he’s here. He’s playing beer pong with some of his friends from the football team, and Chaewon is at his side cheering every time he scores. They look perfect for each other, and your heart squeezes painfully at the sight. Your hands shake as you take another gulp of your beer.

Heeseung taps your waist once, before he’s tugging you into his side and pulling you towards the dance floor. Alarm bells ring in your head as you weave through the crowd. You can’t dance, anytime you’ve tried you’ve embarrassed yourself so bad you’ve debated never showing your face in public again.

“Heeseung,” you attempt, “I can’t dance!”

“Neither can anyone else here. Besides, we can’t just sit in the corner and expect Sunghoon to care. If he’s having a good time, you need to be having an even better one.” He says easily.

You scoff as he comes to a stop in the middle of the floor, directly in Sunghoon's line of sight. Heeseung has always been able to make confidence look easy–like it’s something he was born with. You, on the other hand, are not like that. Your movements are awkward and you fumble to find a rhythm that doesn’t make you look like you’re on the verge of collapse.

“Wow,” he laughs, whistling lowly when you nearly trip over your own feet. “You weren’t kidding.”

Your eyes narrow as embarrassment flushes your cheeks. “I told you! God, I’m going back to the drinks–”

Before you can walk away, he catches your wrist with his hand and pulls you back towards him. Your chest nearly collides with his, and his face is suddenly so close you can practically taste his breath on yours.

“I’m not making fun of you, princess.” He murmurs, his hands sliding up to rest on your hips, “just…observing.”

His voice is right beside your ear, and the proximity makes your body feel like it’s on fire. Suddenly, the room is too small and all you can think about is him. Sunghoon is a thought so distant in your mind you nearly forget you’d ever been thinking about him in the first place.

He brings his lips to your ear, his grip on your hips tightening the smallest bit. You wonder if he’s able to hear your heartbeat. If he can, does he know it’s beating so rapidly because of him?

“He’s looking,” he murmurs into your hair.

The call back to reality feels like a bucket of ice water against your spine. If Heeseung notices the way you tense, he doesn’t comment on it.

You clear your throat and try to ignore the way your voice shakes. “He is?”

“He was,” he grumbles with a click of his tongue. He pulls back so you can see his eyes, and for a moment you think he almost looks as wrecked as you feel. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Your eyes widen and you nearly choke on your own spit. “What?”

You barely have time to process before he’s bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, the other sliding to your spine and pulling you impossibly closer. You’re so close your noses are nearly touching, and his cedarwood cologne feels like it’s enveloping all of your senses.

“Trust me, okay?” He murmurs.

Later, you’ll say you don’t know how it happened. You’ll tell Yunjin that it all happened so fast and that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. He was just helping you get Sunghoon's attention.

But the truth–the truth is that you want him to kiss you. You want him to take your breath away and for his hands to hold you like he’s afraid he’ll die without you.

And that scares you.

All you can manage is one simple word. “Okay.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is awkward at first, more a peck than anything else, but he slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you closer and suddenly his tongue is in your mouth and he’s kissing you like you’re something precious.

Your hands slide to his chest instinctively, fists balling up the fabric of his shirt between your fingers. His breath mingles with yours, and his tongue licks into your mouth like you’re the best thing he’s tasted in years.

You can’t help the whine that slides from his lips when he pulls away, your own lips chasing his without your permission. It’s like your body's an addict and he’s your drug of choice. 

Heeseung's lips are swollen and his pupils are completely blown, but you doubt you look much better. His tongue darts out to swipe at his lower lip, and then he’s smiling at you. But it’s not the teasing smile you’re used to or the one he gives everyone else. It’s softer. Real. 

Your lips part to say something, anything, but then your thoughts go back to Sunghoon and what comes out instead is a soft, “did he see?”

Heeseungs smile immediately drops, and something akin to disappointment flashes over his face. You don’t know why the sight makes you cringe internally. 

He glances up and nods his head. “Yeah,” he says, using his grip on your hips to turn you around, “he definitely saw.”

When you look, Sunghoon’s cheeks are pink and he’s staring directly at you. When he sees you looking, he’s quick to avert his gaze and try to act casually, but you know Sunghoon. He’s jealous.

This is a complete win.

So, why don’t you care as much as you should?

You should be ecstatic that Sunghoon’s feeling a certain way towards you. That’s the whole point of this stupid deal–to get Sunghoon back.

But when you turn back around and look at Heeseung, all you can think about is the way he smiled at you like you meant something to him. And how you hope he does it again.

It’s been a week since the kiss. A full week of acting like a couple. Holding hands on campus, cheek kisses in class, coffee dates at the cafe you used to frequent with Sunghoon. 

It’s…weird. Somewhere along the way, you stopped hating Heeseung's general presence. Instead of a nemesis, he’s managed to turn himself into someone you don’t really mind having around. A frenemy, maybe. He’s funny, something you never cared enough to notice before, and he’s got this soft side to him that makes your heart melt the smallest bit.

“So,” Yunjin grins, taking a bite of her ramen. “Any word from Sunghoon?”

Your mouth goes dry at the mention of your apparent crush. In truth, you hadn't really thought about him at all. You used to go to sleep imagining it was Sunghoon next to you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and holding you like you were something fragile.

Now when you close your eyes at night, all you can think about is the way Heeseung's mouth felt against yours. The way his hands gripped your hips and held you close to him.

It takes everything in you to remember that Sunghoon is the goal. You’re just feeling this way because Heeseung kissed you. Once you have Sunghoon, you’ll get over it completely.

“Um,” you mumble, sinking further into your blankets, “not yet. But Heeseung said he saw him looking at us in the coffee shop the other day. That’s good, right?”

She turns to you, her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “It is. So why don’t you sound more excited?”

You immediately go on the defensive. “I am excited! I’m just…tired right now. It’s late, and I’ve been up since seven.”

“Whatever you say.”

In truth, you aren’t that excited. It’s nice that he’s thinking about you. It’s the entire reason you and Heeseung are doing this anyway. So why can you not bring yourself to care more?

Your phone buzzes next to you, and you have to dig through your sheets to find it. When you do, the screen is lit up with a message from Heeseung.

Hey, it reads, got time to take some photos tomorrow? There’s this park just a little off campus that I think would be a good spot.

Right. The portfolio. You’d been so busy with yourself you nearly forgot you were supposed to be helping him as well.

Sure, you reply, what time?

It doesn’t take long for him to respond. I’ll pick you up at eleven. Wear something nice, please.

You heart the message and set your phone down. You aren’t sure what something nice is supposed to entail, but you’ll do your best.

The next morning, you’re waiting outside your dorm in an outfit that you deemed appropriate for the park while also being cute. It isn’t something you usually wear–the long skirt feels restricting and the jean vest is more form-fitting then you thought it would be, but Yunjin swore up and down that you looked great, so you’re choosing to believe her.

You rock back and forth on your feet while you wait, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Heeseung is never late, but today seems to be an exception to that.

You sigh, ready to turn around and go wait in your dorm, but the sound of your name catches you off guard.

When you look over, Sunghoon is walking over to you. He must’ve been on a run, because his arms are on full display in his sleeveless tank top. Usually, the sight would send your mind reeling. But now you barely even glance towards them.

“Hi, Sunghoon.”

He nods, coming to a stop a few feet in front of you. He’s close enough for you to see the moles on his face, but far enough that you can’t smell his usual expensive cologne. A complete opposite of Heeseungs soft cedarwood and linen.

Why the fuck are you thinking about Heeseungs cologne right now?

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says shyly, eyebrows knit together. “I’ve…missed hanging out with you.”

Your heart skips a beat, but for all the wrong reasons.

“Sorry,” you murmur with a shrug. “I’ve just been super busy lately. You know how it gets.” It’s not a lie, you have been busy. Just…busy with Heeseung.

He pauses, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He looks like he’s contemplating his next words, which is something you’ve never seen him do. It hurts a bit that your relationship has turned into this. Just a month ago the thought of ignoring Sunghoon would’ve seemed unfathomable. Both of you being in separate relationships (given yours is fake) would’ve been a complete joke. And yet here you are, talking like complete strangers.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, the words quiet and hesitant. “I’ve seen you and Heeseung around campus. I was a little surprised, honestly.”

Your response is dry. Bordering on the edge of annoyance. “Yeah. So was I.”

You both know you’re not talking about Heeseung. For a moment, he almost looks regretful.

“[Y/N]-”

“Hey.” 

You didn’t even notice Heeseung's beat up Honda pull onto your street, nor notice him walk out of it. He’s dressed casually in a Decalis University sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. His camera hangs off his neck and rests against his stomach, and his hand instinctively hovers over it as he approaches.

Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. You don’t know why. It must be some kind of hormonal thing.

Sunghoon takes a step back like he’s trying to put up an invisible wall between you. The two live together, and yet the tension radiating off of them makes you wonder what their living situation must be like right now. Jake must be in a constant state of stress.

“You’re late,” you murmur.

Heeseung smiles, his hand reaching for yours and pulling your wrist to his mouth. He leaves a soft kiss on your inner wrist, and your cheeks flare at the gesture. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your skin. “Traffic.”

You fold immediately. “It’s fine. I was just worried.”

Sunghoon must sense that he’s no longer wanted, because he murmurs a soft goodbye and makes a swift exit. You watch as he jogs away, his forming growing smaller and smaller, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to. It just feels like…nothing. You look back to Heeseung, and any tension you had melts.

“What was that about?” He asks.

You shrug. “Was just saying hello.”

“And?”

You raise a brow. “And what?”

“Did he say anything about me? About our relationship?”

Oh. Right. You’re in love with Sunghoon.

“Oh,” you clear your throat and attempt to act like you hadn’t completely forgotten your deal. “Yeah, he did. I think he’s jealous, but he’s still with Chaewon, so does it even really matter?”

“Trust me, it does.” He snorts, leading you over to his car. “He was talking to Jake last night about how he apparently isn’t feeling any sparks with Chaewon. He wants to break up with her.”

That’s good. That’s what you wanted. You should be ecstatic and your heart should be fluttering in your chest. Instead, all you feel is a cold pang of disappointment.

“Good! That's great. Amazing, even.” You say, attempting to sound the littlest bit excited, but it just comes off flat and dull. Like you’re talking about an assignment and not the boy you’ve been in love with for months.

He gives you a side-eye as he opens the passenger door for you, and you slip in like it’s second nature. At this point, it is. “You don’t sound too excited,” he observes.

You’re not, but you can’t say that. “I’m just shocked, I guess. I don’t understand why he even got with Chaewon in the first place if he didn’t feel anything for her. It’s kind of…mean.”

Heeseung takes a second to respond as he climbs into the driver's seat. He wordlessly hands you his phone and lets you put on your playlist–something you hadn’t even realized was an option. You play Ariana Grande and watch as Heeseung tries to act like he doesn’t enjoy it.

“Sunghoons always been like that,” he says eventually. “He’s impulsive. Doesn’t think about what he’s doing until he’s regretting it and trying to act like he’s not.”

“Why?”

Heeseung shrugs, glancing at you from the corner of his eye for a split second before going back to the road. “Don’t know. It’s just how he is.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek and look out the window. The campus passes by in a blur, people walking to class together, pigeons scavenging for any scraps they can get, the lecture hall you walk to every morning. It’s familiar. Comfortable.

You look back to Heeseung, and instead of annoyance, you get the same feeling you do when you’re looking at campus. Familiarity. Comfort. And it scares you so much your throat nearly constricts.

“Well,” you croak, running a hand through your hair, “that’s stupid. And all it does is hurt the people around him.”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, “it does.”

You don’t talk the rest of the car ride, and you’re thankful for it. Your mind is too alert for conversation right now. You can smell his cologne, can hear him humming along to Needy by Ariana Grande, can feel his presence consuming your very soul. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

You don’t hate Lee Heeseung. Because your mother used to say that hate was just another word for love, and that is the last thing you feel for the boy you grew up with.

When you arrive at the park, you’re entirely too eager to get out of the car. You barely wait for him to park before you’re practically stumbling out of your seat with the ordinance of a baby giraffe. 

Heeseung gives you a look, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Just directs you to where he wants to go with confidence. His hand hovers at your lower back–never touching–just there. Like he’s unsure of what to do with himself when you’re not around your friends and having to keep up your act.

You don’t comment on it.

Eventually, he takes you to a small pond in the middle of the park. There’s white lilies around the water, each of them dancing in the wind while the water flows around them. The sun is bright, shining in your eyes and making you squint slightly. It’s pretty beautiful, actually. You had no idea this place was so close to your campus.

Heeseung directs you on how to pose. How to smile like you have no idea you’re being watched. It’s awkward at first, mostly because the only time you’ve ever had someone take pictures of you like this was during your high school graduation, but it doesn’t take long for the tension to ease into something softer. Easier. 

He tells you to sit on the grass and tilt your head towards the pond–but each shot he gets just doesn’t feel right.

“Maybe lean more towards the left?” He mumbles, hand flying out to gesture at you. You do as he says, but apparently, he’s still not getting the shot he wants. 

He clicks his tongue in frustration, “no–that’s not–just–let me fix you.”

You furrow your brows. What does that even mean? “You don’t need to fix me, Heeseung–”

He interrupts you with a laugh. “Not like that, idiot. God, you’re always so defensive.”

You part your lips to retort, but before the words can get out, he’s walking towards you and your chin is in his hand, and you suddenly forget how to communicate entirely.

He tilts your head where he wants it, the pink of his tongue poking out the tiniest bit. His face is so close that it takes everything in you to not remember how he’d tasted when his tongue was in your mouth.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you let him do what he needs to.

“There, that’s the angle.”

“You couldn’t have just told me to tilt my chin up?”

He smiles and goes back to his camera. “I did, princess. You just don’t listen.”

God, he’s so annoying.

But still, your lips curve up and your heart gets that same feeling it did at the party. The one that you’re not quite ready to name.

“Do we really have to go to this brunch?” You groan, flopping down onto your bed. “Sunghoon and Chaewon are going to be there, and I really don’t feel like watching them be all over each other.”

Yunjin shakes her head, “that’s exactly why we have to go. So that you and Heeseung can do it right back to them.”

“They already saw us kiss! What more do we have to do? Feed each other and do that weird baby talk bullshit couples do?”

Yunjin gags and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what couples you’re talking to, but please tell them I said to stop doing that immediately. But, no, that’s not what I meant. How is it going to look if everyone's there except for you and Heeseung?”

“Um, fine? No one’s going to care.”

“It’s going to look suspicious. Everyone knows you had a thing for Sunghoon before he popped out with Chaewon. You and Heeseung need to prove to everyone–not just Sunghoon–that you’re actually in love.”

You sigh. You know she’s right, you just hate it. Why do you need to prove your fake relationship to your friends? It feels wrong. It feels like lying.

Actually, it is lying. 

“I hate lying to everyone,” you sigh, hugging your pillow to your chest. “Makes me feel like a bad friend.”

“You’re not a bad friend,” Yunjin reassures, rolling her chair over to you. It gets caught on the rug for a moment, but she’s quick to force the wheels to move again. “Besides, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

You give her a look. “That’s like, the worst advice you’ve ever given me.”

She chuckles, “sorry I’m not well versed in the art of therapy for fake dating. I’ll make sure to switch my degree to better accommodate you.”

“That would actually be great, thank you.”

She takes in a breath, her hand reaching for yours. “Just…don’t think of it as lying. Think about it like two friends helping each other out.”

“He’s not my friend.” You scoff, but the words don’t hold any bite behind them. Not like they used to, at least.

Yunjin grins knowingly. “Yeah, he is.”

You don’t bother correcting her again.

Brunch is at noon at that diner off of fifth. The same one you’d gone to when this entire mess started. The same one you’d started falling in love with Sunghoon at. It’s weird now, seeing how much your life has changed in the short amount of time since you were last here.

You have a fake boyfriend now. You don’t talk to Sunghoon. Your life feels like it’s falling apart and coming back together all at once.

You and Heeseung sit next to each other wordlessly, both of you more cautious about touching. It feels like there’s enough space between your leg and his to fill out the Grand Canyon. It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

Sunghoon holds Chaewon's hand under the table, and their shoulders brush every time they move. It’s irritating and annoying and you strangely enough couldn’t care less about it. That sense of jealousy you’d felt the last time you were here no longer spills over your guts like acid, instead you feel nothing.

You try to force yourself to remember what you’d liked about Sunghoon. He’s kind. Smart. Dedicated. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

But he’s not…

“Honestly,” Jake says between spoonfuls of biscuits and gravy, “when Yunjin told us you guys were seeing each other, I thought she was lying. I mean, you guys couldn’t even be in the same room without having some kind of argument.”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear nervously, “yeah. I was pretty surprised too.”

You don’t miss the way Heeseung cracks a smile at that. “It was kind of sudden, but I'm glad it happened.” He says easily, “means I finally get to stop pretending I can’t stand her.”

You can tell he hadn’t meant to say that last part, because his eyes go wide and he tenses for a second. Not long enough for anyone to catch it, but you do. You see the way fear flashes behind his irises for a moment, the way his breath catches before filling out his chest once again.

Sunghoons throat bobs as he swallows, dark eyes darting between the two of you slowly. “Pretending?” He asks cautiously, like he’s testing the words on his tongue.

But you don’t care about Sunghoon. All you can think about is what Heeseung said. I finally get to stop pretending I can’t stand her. Is he being honest? Or is this all just a part of your act? You hate that you can’t tell.

“Uh,” he laughs nervously, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “When we were in school, I didn't know how to get her attention. She was smart and kind and friends with everyone, and I was just…there. She used to do this thing in kindergarten where she’d wait for everyone else to fall asleep during naptime before she did because she didn’t want anyone to have to sit there alone, and I remember thinking she must’ve been sent by some kind of angel.” He laughs then, a genuine one. The kind that lights up his entire face.

You hadn’t even remembered you did that, but it’s true. You did. It always just felt like the right thing to do, but the fact that he remembers it all these years later makes you feel almost dizzy. 

“I think it was in third grade when I figured the best way to get her attention was to piss her off,” he continues. “I don’t know why. But I spent the next ten or more years making sure I annoyed her to the best of my ability. I think I just decided that I’d rather have her hate me than not have her in my life at all.”

The table is silent aside from the people talking around you. They’re all having normal conversations while you're going through the biggest existential crisis of your life. You understand that this is supposed to be fake–but that didn’t feel like something he made up on the spot. It felt like he was finally coming clean about something that’d been sitting on his chest for years. And if that’s true, where does that leave you?

“Heeseung…” You attempt, eyes searching the side of his face. When he turns to you, he looks more sincere than you’ve ever seen him. His hand reaches for yours under the table and he intertwines his fingers with yours. The hold is gentle, soft, right. It feels like you’re exactly where you were always supposed to be.

“Sorry,” he laughs, turning back to the group. “That was kind of sappy.”

“Nah, man, that was beautiful.” Jake murmurs, bringing a hand up to his chest. “I’m happy for you guys, seriously.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods, “you guys are good for each other.” He looks resigned. Like he’s accepting defeat. It makes something click in your brain.

For the first time in your life, you think you’re starting to see Heeseung exactly for who he is.

You don’t notice the way he looks at Sunghoon. Or how he swallows back his pride and comes to terms with what he knows he has to do.

You don't comment when he pulls his hand away from you, you just assume it's because he wants to be able to properly eat his food.

When brunch is over, you say your goodbyes to everyone with a pep in your step. You know that telling Heeseung how you’re feeling might complicate things, but he basically just confessed that he remembered things you did in kindergarten. You don’t remember that kind of stuff unless it means something, right?

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm?” He murmurs next to you, and you nod.

“I’d like that.”

There’s tension in the air as you walk, one that you’re practically dying to address. But Heeseung doesn’t look like he did in the diner. He looks conflicted, scared–he keeps his eyes ahead and his hands shoved into his pockets. Nothing like the bright boy you’d been sitting next to barely an hour ago.

“Are you okay?” You ask, voice soft.

He doesn’t even glance at you. “I’m fine.”

“Then why do you look like a kicked puppy?” You attempt to joke, but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he pauses on the sidewalk, and you barely get a few feet in front of him when you notice he’s stopped.

“What’s going on, Heeseung?” You attempt again, reaching for his hand. He pulls it back so sharply you nearly flinch.

“I think…I think we need to stop.” He says finally.

Your heart drops. “What? Why? Did I–Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?"

“No, no, it’s not–” He runs a shaky hand through his hair, “fuck, it’s not you.”

You raise a brow. He’s not making any sense. He wants to stop now? After what he said in the diner? “Then what is it?” You snap.

He shakes his head like the words are too painful to speak. “You like Sunghoon, [Y/N], and he’s going to break up with Chaewon soon. I got the pictures I needed for the competition. There’s no reason to drag this on any longer than we already have.”

His words shouldn’t feel like a breakup, but they do. God, they do.  They feel like he’s pulling away from you after you’ve finally come to terms with what you feel for him. “What about what you said in the diner?” You ask finally, voice breaking. “I can’t just act like that didn’t happen, Heeseung. Not when I’m finally–I’m finally…” The words get caught in your throat, but you both know exactly what you mean by them.

His hands squeeze into fists at his side. “That didn’t mean anything, [Y/N].” he says lowly, like breaking your heart is something he does daily. Maybe it was and you just never noticed before. “It was just helping the act. Keeping up the lie. That’s all.”

Tears come to your waterline, the back of your throat beginning to ache from the force of it. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he says firmly, but you can see the way his eyes are beginning to turn glassy. “I really do.”

He turns on his heel then, leaving you alone on the sidewalk and turning his back onto whatever fucked up thing it is you’ve built together. 

Your mother used to say that hate and love were synonymous. You know now that she was wrong.

Because what you feel for Lee Heeseung has nothing to do with love, and everything to do with pure, unadulterated hate.

Your phone chimes, and when you check the notification, what you see doesn't make you feel good. It doesn't bring joy to your heart or make you want to skip down the street. Instead, it makes your heart break a little bit more.

Yunjin: Sunghoon just broke up with Chaewon. We’re so in

You should be happy. This is exactly what you wanted, right?

So why do you feel like you just lost the one thing that mattered the most?

You haven’t talked to Heeseung in three weeks. He transferred out of your shared class–something you didn’t even know was possible this late into the semester–and stopped showing up to any group hangouts. Not that you care, obviously. 

The both of you said your breakup was mutual. That the stress of school and work just didn’t make a relationship possible, but there weren’t any hard feelings. Jake had raised a brow at the entire thing, but ultimately accepted it without a word.

But, Sunghoon seeing the both of you being single at the same time again, decided that meant he could shoot his shot. Which is good–it was the entire point of this entire thing, right?

Sunghoon is nice. He holds the door open for you and he pays for your meals and he takes you back to that coffee shop the both of you loved so much.

He is perfect for you in every sense.

But when he sits next to you, you don’t feel that same spark low in your belly. When he makes a joke, you don’t laugh until you swear you’re going to run out of oxygen. He doesn’t look at you like you mean something to him.

Yunjin's not dumb, she knows something's wrong. Just a few months ago you would’ve been ecstatic at the idea of going on dates with Sunghoon, so why do you seem like you couldn’t care less about him now?

“Are you okay?” She asks, voice filled with concern. “You’ve been…distant.”

“I’m fine,” you answer a bit too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don't know, why don’t you tell me?”

You blink, turning to look at her in your mirror. You’re in the middle of getting ready for you and Sunghoons third date. He told you to dress nicely for dinner, but all you can think about is the fact that Heeseung would be presenting his pictures for the contest tonight. You didn’t even get to see them, which is more annoying than anything else.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yunjin.” You lie.

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and making her way over to you. She smooths down the hem of your skirt without a second thought. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me but, if it’s because of Heeseung–”

“It’s not.”

“–If it’s because of Heeseung, then I’d understand.”

You freeze, eyes snapping to hers. You never told her about the last conversation you’d had with Heeseung, because you figured there wasn’t really any point. He’d “broken up” with you, and that was that. It doesn't mean anything else.

You want Sunghoon. You know you do. It’s the entire reason you and Heeseung came up with that stupid plan in the first place. You aren’t going to throw away a good guy because you’d gotten confused.

“It’s not,” you lie again, “I’m just stressed with finals and stuff. That’s all.”

Yunjin obviously doesn’t believe you. You don’t blame her, of course. You’ve always been an awful liar.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you’re already dreading what she’s going to say. Every time Yunjin goes silent, it always means she’s going to say something that you probably don’t want to hear. 

“You know,” she starts, voice soft and low, “I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him.”

You freeze, a shiver rushing down your spine like ice cold water. “What?”

“I just mean–” She backtracks for a moment before deciding to just say it, “you never look at Sunghoon the way you looked at Heeseung. You looked…happy with him. Like, actually happy. Not just because you thought you were supposed to be, but because you actually felt it.”

You go silent at that. You were happy. Even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it–even if you were fighting it for whatever reason. “I’m happy with Sunghoon.” You say with finality, but you both hear how your voice shakes.

“If you say so,” she sighs, turning back and sitting at her desk. “What’re you guys doing tonight?”

You’re grateful for the change in topic. “He’s taking me to dinner,” you shrug, clipping on your earrings. “Somewhere fancy, I guess.”

She hums. “Do you think he’s going to kiss you tonight?”

God, I really, really hope not.

“I hope so,” you answer instead. Maybe kissing Sunghoon will be exactly what you need to get your mind off of him. “I think I’ve waited long enough.” You laugh, but it’s weak. Dishonest.

Yunjin frowns at the sound of it, but she doesn’t push. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “me too.”

Sunghoon arrives at five on the dot. Just like he said he would. You should’ve been watching the clock because you were excited for him to get here, but instead all you could think about every time you glanced at it was how nervous Heeseung must be right now. The contest starts at seven, which means he finds out in the next two hours if he wins the money. Your hand twitches at your side. You want to text him and say good luck, but you don’t. 

“You look beautiful,” Sunghoon says. He’s all dark hair and dark eyes, not a single hair out of place. His suit looks expensive, and you wonder if he bought it just for the occasion. That definitely feels like something he would do.

“Thank you,” you respond, hoping he doesn’t see how fake your smile is. “You clean up pretty nicely as well.”

“I try,” he jokes, outstretching his arm for you. You take it easily, but it doesn’t feel right in your palm. It’s sturdy, easy. But, it doesn’t have any of that fire that you think it should.

Sunghoon is a gentleman the entire night. He takes you to eat, makes corny jokes, kisses your knuckles with pink cheeks. And it’s good. It’s so, so good. It’s exactly what you’ve always wanted.

But when you close your eyes, it’s not Sunghoon you see.

It’s dirty blonde hair covered by some ratty baseball cap. It’s that fucking teasing smile that you used to hate seeing. It’s watching him grow up and having him remember things about you that you’d completely forgotten about.

It’s him. Heeseung.

Sunghoon leads you to your front door nervously, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to get some kind of read on you. You wonder if he can see that your heart isn’t here–that it never was.

“I had a good time tonight,” he says, lips curling up into a soft smile. “I hope it was the same for you.”

“I…” Your words catch in your throat. You know what the logical thing would be to do right now. Accept his compliments, kiss him sweetly, go into your room giddy and wait for him to text you. But it’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong.

“Sunghoon,” you start, eyes filling with tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He’s silent for a split second, like he’s trying to process your words. “Why?” He asks, “Did something happen? Did I–Did I do something?”

God, you wish he had. That would make this entire thing so much easier. 

“No,” you laugh wetly, “It’s not you. It’s–it’s me.” You know it’s cliche, but it's true. Because while you should’ve been enjoying him tonight, all you could think about was Heeseung. About the way he’d kissed you at the party. About how he always looked at you like there was more he wanted to say but he just never knew how.

Sunghoon blinks, his eyebrows knitting together and creasing his forehead. “What?”

“You’re perfect, Sunghoon.” you start, the words flowing out of you like you’re finally admitting them to yourself. “And for a long time, you were everything I ever wanted. You went to the cafe with me. You invited me to your games. I thought–I thought that I’d finally found the person I was meant to be with.”

“I–I don’t understand,” he murmurs, “Is that not how you feel anymore?”

Your heart constricts as you shake your head. “I wanted to. I really, really tried to remind myself of how I felt for you before. But…”

It takes him a second, but you see the exact moment recognition flashes across his face. He takes a step back from you, lips falling into a straight line. “But I’m not him.”

You can’t help the sob that rips from your throat. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon.”

You half expect him to yell, maybe flip you off and drive off in his Porsche while he gets Chaewon on speed dial. But he doesn’t. He stands there for a long moment, breathing slowly, tongue poking the inside of his cheek every now and then.

And then he looks up at you, at the tears staining your cheeks, at how the honesty ripped out of you like a force of nature. He checks his watch–6:50 pm. Ten minutes before the contest starts.

“Come on,” he says, already jogging to the driver's seat.

You’re frozen, watching him with wide eyes. Did he not hear what you just said? “Sunghoon–”

He gives you a look so sharp it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. “We’ve got ten minutes to make it to that contest, and unfortunately, I’m not very big on breaking traffic laws. So, hurry up and get in!”

You gawk at him, a smile curling onto your lips, but you run into his car, nevertheless.

He was right, he’s not big on breaking traffic laws. But you see he’s going five over the speed limit compared to his usual three, and that feels like it counts for something. Even though you’d been leading him on for the past three weeks, he’s still trying to make sure you’re happy. He’s still looking out for you. 

“Thank you,” you sniffle. And you truly mean it.

His gaze stays glued to the road. "Don't mention it.”

You arrive at the photography center with two minutes to spare. Sunghoon doesn't even let you say bye, just rushes you out of the car and wishes you good luck. You don’t look back as you run inside.

You’re thankful you at least dressed nicely for the date, because everyone in here looks like they come from money. Women in floorlength gowns, men in suits you’re sure cost more than your entire tuition. These must be the donors.

The hall is filled with pictures, some simple–some you think you have to be involved in the community to understand. But even as you practically sprint down the hallway, Heeseung is nowhere to be found.

“Please make your way to the dining hall as the photography committee prepares to announce the winner of this year's $100,000 grant!” A voice rings from the intercom, and you blindly follow the crowd into the large room parallel to the hall.

It’s filled with tables, and there’s a stage right at the front of the room with a podium and a giant projector. There’s nothing on it yet, but you’re assuming that’s where they’ll show the winning portfolio.

The tables all have name cards, so you do your best to conspicuously make your way to the back where nobody will notice you standing awkwardly. Plus, from back here it’ll be easier to try and find Heeseung.

You study the crowd, looking for the familiar head of blonde hair, but you come up empty. For a second, you wonder if he’s even here. He has to be here, you think. This is everything to him.

But every time someone new walks in, it’s never him.

You rock back and forth on your feet, a nervous habit. Pretty soon all the chairs are filled out and Heeseung is still nowhere to be seen. You wonder if he’d dropped out of the contest, but that still wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he drop out when photography was so important to him?

You reach for your phone, half tempted to call him and ask where the hell he was, but the lights dim and the president of the photography committee walks up the podium. She’s an older woman, with pin straight grey hair and huge glasses. She has to pull down the microphone to match her height. Heeseung used to joke that even though she looked like she belonged in a Disney movie, she was the toughest mentor he’d ever had. 

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she starts, voice light. “We had many great admissions this year. All of which I personally took the time to look through, and let me tell you, there was some tough competition. I almost threw up my hands and gave the money to everyone!” 

The crowd laughs at that, but you can tell it’s just them being polite. “But, unfortunately, we can’t do that. So, after many sleepless nights and lots of talks with the committee, I was able to come to a decision. This year's winner is someone I think has put in more effort into his photos than anyone else I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. He’s not naturally talented, no, but he’s dedicated. He takes risks. He tries new things and doesn’t shy away when they don’t work.”

The projector begins to come to life. “As you know, this year's theme was muse. The participants were meant to find a singular person and put together a portfolio of said person.”

The first photo flashes against the screen–and your breath catches in your throat. It's you. But it’s not the ones from the park, no, it’s you in class. Your pencil is in between your lips; brows scrunched together the way they always are when you get frustrated. You’re not wearing any makeup–hell, you look like you just rolled out of bed!

Your breath catches as the photos continue. Some of you in class, in the diner, at that God forsaken party. All pictures that look old and new at the same time. You can tell some are from after this entire mess started, when you and Heeseung started to actually enjoy each other's presence. You look happier in those ones.

But there’s some from before too–when the only times you ever thought about Heeseung were when you were thinking about how much you can’t stand him. Those ones are mostly you in class, all of them shot from the same angle. There’s a few of you from group hangouts, and you wonder how you never noticed him taking them. Maybe it’s because you’re just so used to seeing him with his camera that you stopped noticing it entirely.

It’s the last photo that really gets you though. It’s from the park, you’re sitting in the grass, head tilted to the side, lips curling up into a soft smile. You’re looking into the camera–or, behind it actually–directly at Heeseung, and the look in your eyes is enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

You look like you’re in love.

“This year's winner–though I doubt anyone's surprised–Is Lee Heeseung!”

You barely register her words, because all you can see is Heeseung walking up onto the stage. So that’s where he was, you think.

He’s wearing a suit, though it doesn’t look nearly as nice as everyone else's here. His dirty blonde hair is actually styled for once, and his lips are curled up into a small smile. But it’s not the one you’re used to seeing. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, doesn’t make his face light up like it usually does. Despite winning, he looks almost sad.

He gives a small bow at the podium, shaking hands with the Committee President. He looks nervous as he comes up to the mic, and you squeeze your hands together. Does he want you here? Should you try and make your presence known?

You are the girl in his photos, after all.

“Wow,” he starts, voice shaking slightly. “This is…an honor. Really. I didn’t go into this contest thinking I would win. In fact, I wasn’t going to enter at all. Not until I realized I’d already accidentally found my muse.” He laughs then, but it’s short. “I entered for selfish reasons. Not for the money. Not so that I could get my photos in international shows. But, because I wanted an excuse to get closer to her.”

His eyes scan the crowd, until finally, they land on you. His eyes widen for a moment, lips parting in shock. For a moment, you think he wants you to leave. You wouldn’t blame him if he did.

But he smiles. Really smiles. “None of this would’ve been possible without her.” He continues now, voice more confident. “These photos would’ve sat tucked away in my camera forever. But she made me confident. She reminded me of why I love photography in the first place. So, I’m dedicating this grant to her. To my muse.” His eyes find yours again. “My [Y/N].”

You don’t get a chance to go up to Heeseung until after all of the sponsors have congratulated him, which admittedly takes a lot longer than you think either of you would like.

You can see him on stage, shaking hands with people who you assume must be important. He never keeps his eyes on them for too long. Instead, they trail over to you, like he’s hoping he’ll be able to communicate with you through eye contact.

By the time you can actually speak to him, the hall is mostly empty aside from a few stragglers. He approaches you with caution, like he’s scared of getting too close.

“Hi,” he breathes, stopping a few feet in front of you.

“Hi,” you say back.

The air is softer than it had been the last time you’d seen him. Then, it was harsh. Like smoke filling into your lungs. Now, it feels like a breath of fresh air.

You’re both silent for a moment, like you’re unsure of what to say to each other.

“I broke it off with Sunghoon,” you say eventually, eyes falling to the floor. 

He blinks. “You did?”

“I did.”

“Okay.”

More silence.

“You took pictures of me,” you observe.

“I did.”

“Why?”

He laughs, a full hearty sound, like he’s caught off guard by the question. You don’t know why he would be. You think it’s a perfectly fair thing to ask.

He shrugs, “I felt inspired by you.”

You raise a brow at that. “Inspired? By what—me chewing my pencil like a child?”

He grins, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No. I was inspired by how I felt when I looked at you.”

That makes you pause. “What?”

He fiddles with the corner of his pocket, thumb grazing it once before darting away. He sucks in a deep breath, and then finally, he says everything you know he’s been holding back.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were six years old,” he starts. “Ever since I watched you stay up the entire nap time because Jungwon couldn’t fall asleep. I knew right then and there that I loved you and that I was going to continue to love you for as long as I knew you.”

You can’t help the way your eyes go glassy, heart thumping a million miles an hour in your chest. “Heeseung…”

He doesn’t let you finish. “But I was shy—well, scared is more like it—I was scared that you weren’t going to want to be my friend and I would never be able to be around you.”

“Why would you think that?” 

He shrugs, “why does a third grader think anything?”

You don’t have a reply for that.

He sighs before continuing. “After that it just…became a thing. Our thing. I annoyed you and therefore I got to keep being in your life. Even if it wasn't what I wanted, I figured it was better than not being around you at all.” He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “But then we got to university and you met Sunghoon and I felt you slipping away from me, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I thought that maybe…maybe it was time for me to let you go.”

Your heart cracks at the strain in his voice, like he’s recalling a bad memory.

“So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when Jake came home and started asking me a million questions about our apparent relationship.” 

“Oh, God,” you laugh, shaking your head at the memory. At the time, it’d genuinely felt like the end of the world. Now, you really can’t imagine where your life would be without Yunjin's lie.

For starters, he probably would’ve never told you this, and you would’ve gone your entire life chopping up your relationship to nothing but a high school rivalry that didn’t have any deeper meaning. You would’ve never found out he felt this way—or that you feel the way you do.

“It was good,” he starts again, “pretending. Even though it wasn’t really pretending for me. And then we went to that diner and I just…I got scared. I didn’t want to hold you back from what you really wanted. I thought, she’s hated me for years, at least now she’ll have an actual reason. And I wanted to be okay with that. I really did.” He takes a step closer. “But now you’re here. And I think I know why, but I’m getting tired of assuming things, princess. So, I think you’ll have to tell me.”

You suck in a shaky breath, your own hands fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously. “I…tried. With Sunghoon. I thought it was what I wanted, the easiness of it all. He was kind and he made bad jokes and I thought I was content with that.” 

You roll your eyes, “But then you happened.” You say it like it’s an insult, but you both know it’s not. “And every time I was with him all I could think was how his car didn’t have that mysterious dent in the front. How he didn’t let me play pop music and pretend he wasn’t singing along when we both knew he was. How he didn't make me feel like I actually meant something to him.” 

Your eyes find his for the first time since he approached you tonight. “All I could think about was how he wasn’t you.”

For a brief second, the only noise between the two of you is your breathing and the faint hum of people around you. Heeseung's lips part, his Adam's apple bobbing as he takes in your confession. He’s silent for so long you nearly think you overstepped.

But then he’s taking a step towards you and cradling your jaw with his hand. You don’t move away.

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” He says, and the familiarity of his words brings a smile to your face.

“Okay. I trust you.”

And then his lips are on yours.

This kiss is different from the first one. It’s not hungry, not a performance for anyone else. This kiss is solely for you, for the love you’ve found and never plan on losing. It tastes like him and feels exactly like coming home.

His thumb rubs the apple of your cheek, his lips moving against yours slowly. He doesn’t use tongue, but you don’t need him to.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours and brings his hands down to your waist. They feel heavy against you, like a claim you never knew you needed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmurs.

You giggle, bringing your own arms up to wrap around his neck. “Have you?”

“Yeah,” he responds, “along with…other things.”

You raise a brow at that, “yeah? Like what?”

That’s exactly how you end up back at his apartment, his lips moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize your body with them. Jake and Sunghoon are out thankfully, which means you’ve got the entire apartment to yourself. 

Heeseung leads you blindly to his room, never once turning away from you or attempting to look where he’s going. You laugh as he trips over the carpet, but he swallows it with his mouth on yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says against you. You don’t even notice you’ve made it into your bedroom before your legs hit the mattress and suddenly, he’s pulling you down onto it. “Been waiting so long to have you like this.”

“Yeah?” You manage to say, your voice airy. “Show me, then.”

He pulls back for a moment, eyes looking directly into yours, and then he’s moving his lips to your neck. He leaves wet kisses down the column of your throat, your shoulder, sucking marks into the delicate skin of your collarbone. 

His teeth graze a particular spot at your neck that makes you gasp, and he processes the noise with a slight groan of his own. He bites down on the spot–not hard, just enough for your back to arch and your fingers to find purchase in his hair. Your legs wrap around his waist as his tongue shoots out to soothe the bite.

Slowly, he brings a hand up to the strap of your dress, his fingers slipping under it but never pulling down.

“Hee,” you practically whine, “please.”

He grins, and then he pulls the strap down ever so slowly. You know he’s teasing you, and the thought makes heat pool between your legs.

Once the dress is off, he throws it to the side and sits back on his heels so he can stare at you. You still have your underwear and bra on, but the sight of your bare stomach and legs is enough for him to let out a low whistle.

“You’re so beautiful, princess,” he murmurs. The sincerity in his voice makes your cheeks hot. “So fucking perfect.”

Your lips part to respond, but he leans down and kisses you again. This kiss is different from all the others. It’s messy and deep and pulls noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make.

He sucks on your bottom lip once, and then he pulls away and leaves kisses all down your body. Down your neck, your cloth-covered breasts, your stomach, all the way down until he leaves one final kiss at your ankle. 

He seats himself at the edge of the bed and ever-so-gently pulls you down so your legs hang over the edge of the bed and your cunt is level with his face. He stares at it for a long moment, at the wet patch growing on the lace. At your pretty white panties.

Your hands fist the sheets, legs nearly closing on instinct, but he just pushes them over his shoulders and keeps you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he mumbles. His hand slowly trails up your thigh until it finds the edge of your underwear.

He keeps it there for what feels like forever. Never touching. Just looking. 

“Please,” you whimper, “please touch me.”

He grins, “yeah? Want my mouth on you, baby?”

You nod, hips rolling against nothing. “Yes, fuck, please.”

That seems to finally break him, because he licks one large stripe up your cunt through your underwear. You gasp at the feeling, your back arching slightly.

He continues licking small kitten-licks over your panties, and the mixture of his saliva and your arousal begins to turn the cloth nearly translucent.

He groans like the taste of you is his favorite meal. “You taste so good,” he murmurs against you, “like heaven.”

You bite your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out when his tongue catches your clit, and then he brings his hands up to your waist and pulls your underwear down your legs. You don’t miss the way he stares at them for a second before letting them drop to the floor.

He spits on your cunt, watching the way his saliva drips down your slit before he sucks your clit into his mouth.

You cry out at the feeling, your toes curling at his back. He groans at the taste and brings his hands up to your hips, gripping them and keeping them still.

“Fuck,” you moan when he brings his tongue down to your hole, collecting the arousal there like it's his own personal ambrosia.

“All this is for me, right?” He questions, trailing a hand down and rubbing his thumb against your clit. The feeling has your head spinning. “Not for Sunghoon, all for me, isn’t that right, princess?”

You nod feverishly, his possessiveness nearly enough to make you finish right there and then. “Yours! ‘S all yours.”

He smirks, “that’s a good girl.” 

And then he brings a finger to your entrance, circling over it once before letting it slip inside the ring of muscle. The air punches from your lungs at the feeling, but then he sucks your clit into his mouth again while his finger thrusts into you and you really think you’re going to start seeing stars.

“Hee–Heeseung,” you cry, “fuck!”

He hums but doesn’t stop. Instead, he pushes a second finger inside and begins to curl them upwards. You feel him hit that spongey spot inside of you and you know you’re done for.

“I’m close–fuck,”

He doesn’t work you harder, just keeps going at the pace so he can drag out your orgasm for as long as possible. “Come on, baby, cum for me. Show me just how bad you want it.”

That’s all it takes for you to release all over his face and hand. Your muscles tighten and relax over and over again, back arching and vision going white. He groans and licks up every drop, working you through it without a complaint.

You expect him to stop now that you’ve finished, but he doesn’t. If anything, he goes harder. The overstimulation begins to border on the edge of too much, and your hips buck up without your permission.

“Fuck, too much, I cant–”

He doesn’t let up. “Yeah, you can. Come on, wanna see you fall apart for me all over again.”

It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to crash over you, and this one nearly leaves your body feeling limp and your pulse to blare against your ears.

Your body is still twitching from aftershocks when he climbs up next to you, and you watch with blurry vision as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean. He hums at the taste and then brings his hands to the hem of his shirt and slips it off.

Your eyes trail over the sight of his bare chest, noting every ridge of muscle and mole, watching the way his chest heaves slightly. He’s absolutely beautiful, like a painting you’d find at some stupidly expensive art show.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur.

Now it’s his turn to blush. His ears and cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, but he brings his lips down to yours before you can tease him for it.

Before you know it, his underwear is off and he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He looks up to you for permission, and you nod at him.

Pressure blooms between your legs as he pushes in, but it isn’t exactly painful. It just feels like something you never knew you needed. Like he was made exactly for you.

You keen, back bowing off the bed and eyebrows knitting together. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and rests his forehead against yours as he finally bottoms out.

You can feel him kissing your g-spot, and he experimentally rolls his hips against yours once. You both groan at the feeling of you tightening around him, and then he pulls out slightly and snaps back in.

You cry out, your nails raking down his back. He hisses slightly at the sting but doesn’t make any moves to stop you. Instead, he begins to rock onto you like his life depends on it. You can feel every ridge of his cock; can feel the way it curves at just the right angle. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he gasps, “so perfect. Always knew you would.”

He buries his face into your neck, his hips snapping against yours like his life depends on it. 

You feel yourself getting close, but before you can warn him your back is arching and you're finishing against him.

He cries out, his thrusts beginning to turn sloppy. “Fuck, fuck, I’m–” He finishes inside you without another word, painting your insides with his cum. 

You both lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath. He pulls out of you with a low breath and then reaches over for something at his nightstand to clean you up silently.

You watch him as he does, noting the way he cleans up your thighs with so much care. He doesn’t rush the aftercare process either, he kisses your skin gently and murmurs sweet words against you.

By the time your thighs stop shaking and you actually feel like you can breathe without your chest caving in, he’s laying down beside you and pulling you against his chest.

You lay there for a moment, feeling the way his chest rises and falls against your back. The warmth from his skin.

“Heeseung?” You mumble.

“Hm?”

You blink, a smile curling onto your lips. “I love you.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “I love you, too.”

And for once, you know that you both mean it.

Your mother used to say that hate was just another word for love. And right now, you know that she was right. Because what you feel for Lee Heeseung used to have everything to do with hate, but now you know it was really just another word for love.

your knees and throat both stung at this point. if this was going to be an recurring event, then you were going to ask heeseung for a soft rug under his desk because the carpet burns were not fun at all.

heeseung looks at you with half-lidded eyes, admiring the sight of you kneeling before him, lips wrapped around his sensitive shaft. his thumb starts stroking your hair, contrasting the rough grip he has on your hair with the same hand. "you look so pretty like this," he murmurs appreciatively.

heeseung starts moving his hips up, sliding in and out of your mouth with measured thrusts. he goes easy on you, mindful of your sore jaw and throat from previous activities. well, the thought leaves his mind as he feels your tongue around the head of his cock, making him pick up the pace. his thrusts becoming longer and deeper as he loses himself in the wet heat of your mouth.

you try keeping up with that, increasing your own efforts as you hollow your cheeks. pleasure coils tighter in heeseung's lower abdomen with each bob of your head and each flick of your tongue.

"s-shit." heeseung stutters, his voice strained. you take that as a sign that he's close, making you lean further forward, nose pressed against his pelvis now. you can practically feel his cock throb in your throat.

"i'm gonna-" he warns, cutting himself off with a soft whine as he cums down your throat. you cough, immediately pulling off of his length.

"..that was a terrible warning, heeseung." you sputter, wiping your slick face with the back of your sleeve.

heeseung grins down at you, snickering breathlessly as he looks at your flushed face and slightly dazed expression. he tucks himself back in his slacks, zipping them up. "sorry, baby. i got carried away."

the pet name makes your heart skip a beat. you weren't used to the bedroom treatment yet, clearly. or should you say office.

you brush it off, before resting back onto your knees to crawl out from underneath his desk. you sit up slightly, and immediately, thunk-

your head bumps the underside of his desk. "ow-", you hiss, freezing for a split second. it's silent apart from a quiet exhale from heeseung that sounds suspiciously like a laugh he's trying to hold back.

"are you okay?" heeseung asks, pushing his chair back as he helps you to your feet, pulling you into a loose embrace on top of his lap. his hands roam your back soothingly, one of them trailing up your spine to flatten and fix your messy hair from all his tugging.

"yes," you say flatly, "i'm fine. i just didn't realise it was that low." you admit, in which heeseung hums, leaning in to press a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead.

it makes you freeze for a second, before you relax further into his lap, just sitting in peaceful silence.

the next day at work, you come in with a sore throat. you didn't realise you sounded that terrible till sunoo came around to fulfill his daily desk visit.

"good morning."

you open your mouth to reply, "mor-" you pause, flinching at the sound of your own voice. it comes out rough and scratchy, completely unlike your normal voice. "..morning." you try again, still sounding awful. you had no idea you sounded like this because you didn't speak to anyone before coming to work.

sunoo flinches too, jumping slightly. "..are you dying?" he asks, tone entirely serious, which earns him a deadpan look in return.

you cough, trying to clear your throat. "no." your voice cracks at that too, unfortunately.

sunoo's eyes widen, "oh my god. do you need a lozenge or something? i have some in my desk i think."

"i'm fine," you insist, "it's just a sore throat." you say, clearing your throat again. "i'm not sick-"

you hear a snort from behind you, "damn, why do you sound like that?" whipping your head back, you see ni-ki, walking by with a few folders stacked on top of each other.

"like what?"

"like you've been screaming for fourteen hours straight, or something." he comes closer, standing next to sunoo. "did you play too many horror games last night?"

"what? no - who the hell screams for fourteen hours, weirdo?" you clap back, immediately glaring at him.

"then what have you been doing?" ni-ki asks, eyebrows raising suspiciously.

you're about to answer, but sunoo cuts in, a concerned expression on his face. "..should you be speaking at all? wait here, i'll get my cough candies." he glances at ni-ki, "and stop provoking her, ni-ki." he turns before you can even respond, walking off. bless him <3

ni-ki holds in his laugh, before waving and walking off. he really needed to start respecting his seniors.

your throat gets better throughout the day, and especially from the lozenges that sunoo gives you.

also, you actually did end up getting the $50 from jungwon all thos weeks ago. later that monday afternoon, you got a notification telling you that jungwon transferred it over. you're more surprised that he didn't call you a liar or ask for any proof.

not that you had anything to lie about, anyway.

but you didn't owe jungwon the confidential details, and he didn't care enough to ask, so.

someone who did actually care way too much about asking was jake. two weeks since the initial incident had passed now.

you didn't even blink when he wandered over during your lunch break carrying absolutely nothing, which meant he clearly didn't need help with work like he claimed in his email.

he drops into the seat across from you.

"hey." he greets casually, making you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously.

"what do you want?"

"nothing." jake nods to himself, leaning back into the chair. there's a smug grin on his face, so you already know he's about to say something stupid. guess he wasn't going to ask you to finish his spreadsheets for him.

"did you and heeseung actually bone?" jake asks, with zero warning.

you nearly choke on your lunch. did he hear the two of you yesterday? you should've known to make heeseung double check the premises.

"so it's true? damn." jake looks sort of proud, you can't really figure it out at first glance. "good job - i didn't know if you'd have it in you or not."

"okay first off," you start, placing your fork down. "what the hell is that meant to mean? are you saying i have the inability to pull-"

"you're focusing on the wrong thing." jake points out, tilting his head condescendingly, which honestly just pisses you off more.

"no, i'm not." you shake your head, correcting him, "we'll get to the part of 'how did you know' later. are you saying i really look like i'm incapable of pulling someone?"

jake snorts softly like that's the dumbest question he's ever heard. "obviously not," he says.

you tilt your face in a way that kind of shows that you're asking what he means by 'obviously'.

"you're pretty. people here have eyes." jake says simply, "sunghoon was interested in you at some point, and that guy is hella good looking."

"sunghoon was interested in me?" you blink, eyes widening in surprise. that cold guy from your department? you had barely spoken to that guy in the time that you had worked here. okay that was a lie, but he wasn't someone you conversed with often.

"yeah?" he says slowly, "you didn't notice?" he picks up a spare fork, taking a bite of your food, which you just ignore because you were used to it at this point.

you sit up straighter now, completely caught off guard. "when was this even a thing?"

jake looks offended on sunghoon’s behalf, "for like.." he pauses, thinking. "..a while. i can't remember exactly how long."

"when was this?"

jake points vaguely with his fork. "back when you first started working here. before you became obsessed with heeseung."

you ignore that last part immediately. "we spoke like once though?"

jake nods once more, "he thought you were funny."

"well," you smile, thinking to yourself. if sunghoon of all people thought you were funny, you were definitely funny - no glaze intended. "..is that it?" you stare at him for another second before looking away, trying to mentally replay every interaction you've ever had with sunghoon.

"and pretty," jake adds. "obviously."

"i'm starting to think you want me with all this complimenting, jake." you say teasingly, wiggling your eyebrows in which he physically recoils.

"what," he says, immediately offended. "i can't appreciate somebody's beauty without being accused of being romantically interested?"

you stare at him for a second.

"that was a very eloquent sentence for someone who claims he doesn't want me."

"we're getting off topic." jake says, redirecting your attention back to why he originally even sat with you. he leans in, lowering his voice down to a whisper. "so, did you fuck heeseung?"

"how did you even come to this conclusion?" you ask, genuinely perplexed. did someone hear you and heeseung going at it last friday? if so, that would be terrible - and you'd probably lose your job. you immediately sit up, trying not to think of the worst case scenario. "this isn't an appropriate question for the workplace."

jake notices your expression immediately, "so, i guess jungwon wasn't lying."

"shut up." you hiss, narrowing your eyes. "and what the hell did jungwon tell you? i didn't tell him a single thing, and i don't think heeseung would either."

"hey don't shoot the messenger." jake says, lifting his hands up in surrender. "i'm just asking what we all wanted to know. also, jungwon didn't like, tell us exactly what happened. he just told us about your bet with him."

you facepalm mentally. maybe you should've known that if you agreed to something like that it would result in the news being circulated like your department was a high school group chat. it didn't help that jungwon was on good terms with everyone in the office, too.

"okay, so what did he even say then..?" you ask hesitantly, but curiosity gets the better of you, anyway. "and who the hell is 'us'?" you don't even want to think about that, but you deserve to know.

"he just said that you guys made a bet stating that you wouldn't be able to get heeseung to fold. word for word." jake says, with an emphasis on the 'you'. you ignore it, trying to ignore whatever offense he could've meany by it. "and then that you asked him for $50 a few days after, which implied that you did indeed get heeseung."

you sigh, leaning back in your chair. "fine." you nod, "but it stays between the two of us."

jake on the contrary, sits up like an excited puppy. "oh my god. so it's true?"

"yeah." you whisper, cheeks feeling hot all of a sudden. "i'm surprised he didn't tell you anything about it."

"why would he?" jake whispers back, "he's so confidential about everything. i'm surprised you even pulled it off."

you shrug slightly, trying to act casual despite the heat creeping up your neck. "it wasn't even planned. it just happened. he's not that scary, if you think about it."

"well i never thought that." jake corrects you, which makes sense. they were close friends, after all. "but we're like the only people in the building who think that."

"sunoo doesn't think that." you argue back.

"sunoo is just biased because he likes the drama."

"jungwon..?"

"jungwon literally bet against you."

"fair." you nod, accepting defeat.

"exactly. nobody thought you'd actually succeed." jake says, pointing at you triumphiantly. the doubt they have in you is sickening.

"..there was a group opinion?" your jaw drops slightly, "are we serious?" jake's expression shifts slightly into one of guilt. you roll your eyes, "i better not hear anything about this." you warn him. "if i find out either sunghoon or jay-"

"you called?" a familiar voice rings from your right, and you see jay walking over, coffee in hand. he looks way too relaxed for someone who looks like they're ready to ruin your day.

"i think you misheard." you force a fake smile, trying to hint for him to leave but jay slides into the seat next to you anyway.

"no," jay tilts his head, "i very much heard 'park jeongseong' from over there."

"..that's not even what i said."

"it's what I heard," jay replies, taking another sip of his coffee.

"okay, whatever." you sigh. schizophrenic as usual.

jay leans back in his chair, glancing between the two of you as if he already knows what's up even without any sort of context. "so," he starts off lightly, "what's this about a bet?"

your stomach drops, meanwhile jake is trying to hold back his laugh.

you straighten your back. "okay, no. first of all-"

jay lifts a hand slightly. "relax. i already know."

you freeze in place. "you already know what..?"

jay takes another sip of his coffee, before shrugging nonchalantly. "jungwon and you. fifty dollars. heeseung."

yeah okay. you were quitting. you might as well before you actually get fired by HR or heeseung and have that on your permanent record.

"did jungwon tell you?" you ask, slumping in your seat.

jay looks at you, raising an eyebrow. "no? ni-ki told me."

what the hell? ni-ki of all people? why was the junior being kept in the loop?

"i'm done." you say, standing up. jay and jake watch as you do, looking confused. well, jake does. jay's face is unreadable.

jake tilts his head. "you're leaving because ni-ki knows?"

you turn your head, glaring at him. "no." you say flatly. "i'm leaving because everybody knows."

jay's trying to hold in his laugh as jake leans back in his chair. "okay," jake blinks innocently, before pointing toward your container of food. "can i have the rest?"

you slowly look down to where he's pointing. "what? you want my-" you pause, sighing. "yeah, go ahead. return the container to me later."

"wait," jay speaks up before you can leave, making you turn back.

"what do you want, jay?" you sigh, already exhausted by the both of them.

jay looks around the break room, making sure nobody else is in there at the current moment, which there was one guy but he was tucked away in the far back corner, with earbuds in. jay clears his throat, "so, are you and heeseung actually dating now?"

"what kind of question is that?" you're not even surprised though. "both of you are way too nosy, maybe you need to start having love lives too."

"hey, why the hell am i catching a stray?" jake whines, mouth half full of food.

"you still didn't answer the question." jay says, catching your attention again.

"because there is no answer."

with that, you walk toward the exit - with plans of writing your resignation letter that you would have to hand to heeseung after.

speaking of heeseung, you had no idea where the two of you stood as of right now. because yeah, you did manage to hook up with him but at the same time he was your boss. you had no idea if he even harboured any attraction toward you that wasn't purely physical.

since the first time, you and heeseung had been secretly fucking during overtime in the office. not often, it had only happened around three times in the span of those weeks, one time being literally yesterday. the two of you didn't want to make it blatantly obvious to the others. it was just a friends with benefits type of situation, minus the friends, you suppose.

after he dropped you home on that friday, there was no text or call during the weekend. heeseung simply drove you home, helped you into your apartment, then kissed you on the forehead before leaving. it was like it meant something to him, or like it meant nothing at all and he just didn't know how else to end the night. it happened last friday too, with heeseung making these actions like a routine. he'd fuck you, take you home, kiss you goodbye then just ghost you over the weekend.

that was the part that stuck with you. why did this guy have to be so unreadable? it was frustrating. or maybe it was actually as clear as day that he didn't want to commit to you, and you were just letting him use you.

the thought of his kiss nearly hits so hard again that you barely register where you're going, stepping forward without looking - making you collide straight into someone's shoulder.

"-oh!"

you stumble back slightly, looking up at whoever it is about to apologise.

yang jungwon.

of course.

he blinks at you, before smiling softly. "are you okay?" screw jungwon and his ability to drop any anger you had toward him with his cute face.

"yeah." you nod, straightening your posture. "are you alright..?"

jungwon lets an amused breath out, "i'm fine." he says, "you're the one who just tried to tackle me in the hallway."

"i did not try to tackle you. i just wasn't looking." you shoot back. you immediately take back what you said because you forgot how annoying he can be at the same time, with said same cute smile.

"mhm." he says, "sure."

you narrow your eyes, "i have no reason to want to do that to you, jungwon, but you're going to give me one."

jungwon's smile widens, clearly entertained by his ragebait somehow working. "so," he says casually, "where were you going in such a hurry?"

you hesitate, "..nowhere."

jungwon raises an eyebrow, which activates some sort of irritation in you.

"jungwon," you hiss, whispering now. "why does the entire office now about the heeseung thing? it's barely been three weeks."

he doesn't even look surprised at your words, like he was expecting you to come and confront him. "what, specifically, are you referring to?"

you stare at him. "don't play dumb with me."

"i'm not," he raises his hands in surrender like he's offering some sort of peace treaty. "i just need clarification."

"the bet, jungwon."

"ah." jungwon nods slowly, a guilty smile creeping back onto his face. "that.."

"yes, that."

he tilts his head, a small pout making it's way onto his face now. he steps to the side as another co-worker walks past the two of you. "it was an accident, i swear!" jungwon insists, clasping his hands together in forgiveness.

"jungwon, how many people know?" you ask, folding your arms together.

he looks at you, hands dropping to his side. "i only told like.." he pauses, bringing up his hands as he counts on his fingers, "jay, jake, ni-ki.." you expect him to stop there as he goes silent for a second, but no - he continues. "..sunoo, oh! and sunghoon."

"that's not a 'few' people."

jungwon tilts his head in confusion, "it's only five people."

"yeah, five people too many." you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "and why the hell is ni-ki in your distribution list?"

oh, and the fact that jake basically already knew the answer and still decided to harass you about it. at least sunoo had the decency not to question anything.

he shrugs, "we sit together at lunch. why not?" then he adds on, "also, they all figured it out anyway."

"because you won't shut your big mouth. and that's not even the point here." you say, snapping your head up.

"what is the point, then?" he asks.

"that it was meant to be private, jungwon." you say slowly.

jungwon's expression softens, but you can still tell he's confused.

"it was private," he says, "for a bit."

"so," you slowly ask, "how long did it take for you to start blabbing to everybody?"

"i did not blab." jungwon scoffs, correcting you. "but realistically, like the same monday i gave you the fifty."

your jaw drops at his answer, but you're honestly surprised it took jake this long to come and ask you about it. "it didn't even last a day. you just started broadcasting it like it was some company newsletter? seriously?"

he gives you a sheepish look, then starts adding more as if adding clarification will save him. "i didn't broadcast it. it just came up."

"in five separate conversations? i haven't even seen all five of them today. did you actively look for each of them or..?"

"..yes, in five separate conversations." he admits quietly.

"jungwon, what if they tell everybody?" you say seriously, lowering your voice. "i'm gonna get fired."

he pauses, his eyebrows lift like he hasn't even considered that possibility. "..fired?" he repeats.

you nod immediately, "yes, fired. like, HR coming down with security escorts."

you're half joking but jungwon doesn't seem to tell, jaw dropping. the colour drains from his face, "oh." then his shoulders drop, and the guilty realization hits him in full. "i didn't realise.." his hands lift a little, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. "i didn't think it would go that far.."

you blink, not even an ounce of guilt filling your body. "..jungwon."

he shakes his head quickly. "no, no. this is on me."

"i shouldn't have told anyone," he says, voice lower than before. "i thought it was harmless. you know, office gossip harmless. not something that would put you in trouble."

you stay quiet for a second, watching him spiral. it was a little amusing, especially after all he put you through.

"if this causes issues for you," he adds quickly, "i'll fix it. i'll tell them to stop. i'll, i don't know - undo it."

you're about to cut him off, but he keeps going. "i won't let you get fired-"

"who's getting fired?"

a voice cuts in from behind you, making you freeze. you already know who it belongs to before you even turn around. you turn slightly at first, your stomach immediately dropping when you see heeseung's eyes scanning over you and jungwon.

why was it always heeseung who happened to be the one eavesdropping on you and jungwon's conversations at the worst time?

"no one." you say, awkwardly shifting. this was the first time you had even run into him today. heeseung didn't call for you in the morning today like he usually did. no random excuse about reports, no unnecessary task delegation, no "come here for a second" that somehow always turned into longer conversations than they needed to be.

it annoyed you that you noticed these things.

jungwon clears his throat awkwardly, "it's nothing serious. we were just talking."

heeseung nods, humming. "about someone getting fired?" he glances over to you, then jungwon, then back to you. his gaze lingers for longer than neccessary.

silence settles awkwardly for a second, making you clear your throat, as an attempt to ease up the tension. "why are you even down here?" the second the question leaves your mouth, you regret saying it because of how accusatory it sounds, but heeseung doesn't react much. jungwon gives you look as if saying 'why the hell would you say that?'

"i was looking for jungwon." he states plainly, not even sparing jungwon a look.

jungwon's eyes widen, like he's in trouble or something. "me?"

"mhm. heeseung finally shifts his attention away from you., thank god. "i need the revised budget sheets before three."

"oh right." jungwon nods quickly, "i'll send them."

there's another silence, making you look out the window as you avoid saying anything. outside, people move normally, cars pass by, the world continues, so interesting.

you would just leave, but the position you're in makes it kind of impossible because jungwon is standing to your left, and heeseung is directly in front of you, which blocks both potential exits.

"so," heeseung starts, "since the conversation wasn't anything important, i'm assuming the two of you can head back to work, right?"

jungwon nods his head, "yes, i'll go back now." and without another word or a single glance, he's gone, practically speed-walking down the hallway as if he actually has places to be.

traitor.

you stare after him for half a second in disbelief before slowly turning back toward heeseung, where you a force a small smile on your face.

you thought a relationship like this with him would bring the two of you closer, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't make it awkward between the two of you now.

"..so," you say, words coming out weakly. heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, and you regret even speaking because you had nothing else to say after 'so'. heeseung's gaze doesn't leave you once throughout all this, despite you shifting around so awkwardly that if you were him you definitely would've gotten the ick.

"..you seem stressed." he says flatly, but there's a feign of concern hidden there somewhere.

you didn't expect him to say something like that, catching you off guard. "..i'm not?" you say hesitantly, sounding completely unsure.

heeseung hums softly, unconvinced from the sound of it.

your eyes drift away from him, unable to hold proper eye contact, before returning back to his form. "were you actually looking for jungwon?" the question leaves your lips before you can properly think it through.

his lips curl into a faint smirk but he quickly wipes it off, realising what he's doing. "..partially, yes." his answer makes your stomach drop a little because that implies there was another reason. and judging by the way he's staring at you right now, you can assume what that reason probably was.

heeseung tilts his head, eyes still trained on you. he even looks you up and down with no shame, which would've made you go crazy literally only weeks ago, but you can't help but feel flustered.

"since you're already out here," he says smoothly, "you might as well walk with me."

your throat dries up instantly. "..to where?"

"my office," he answers simply, turning before you can even properly react. did he seriously want to do something with you in the middle of the work day, with everyone still present? that's crazy.

you only assume so because if heeseung actually had something he wanted you to do work-wise, he'd just tell you right here and now.

"..i can't." you reply quickly, making him turn his head back with a plain glance which feels scarier compared to if he actually just reacted.

"..you can't?"

you blink, straightening your posture. "i mean-" you stop talking, your brain blanking. because technically, yes, you can definitely go to his office. he's your boss.

you just don't trust yourself to be alone with him right now.

"yeah." you swallow, "i can go to your office." you fiddle with the ends of your skirt behind your back, "...am i in trouble?"

"that depends." heeseung says.

you raise an eyebrow, "on what?"

heeseung watches your expression, his own face blank. "on what you think you did, maybe." he replies calmly.

your eyebrows furrow in confusion, "..that's not an answer?"

heeseung steps back just, like the end of the conversation has already been decided. "then come and find out," he says, over his shoulder, before turning back and walking like he expects you to follow him.

and you do exactly that, unfortunately for your pride. your feet move on their own.

down the hallway, into the elevator, and past all of the cubicles in the office. when you reach his door, he opens it with one hand, stepping aside to let you walk past him into it first.

the door clicks shut behind him, and you stand awkwardly.

"why are you so shy today?" heeseung asks, looking at you. he's way closer than before.

"I'm not." you reply quietly.

"you've been avoiding me since the morning."

"i have not." you shake your head, eyes flicking up to him. "..you just didn't call for me."

"call for you?" heeseung scoffs, taking a step closer to you, which makes you instinctively step backwards - your back hitting the wall. he stops right in front of you, to the point that you have to tilt your head up slightly to look at him.

"so that's what this is." heeseung says, exhaling through his nose.

"what is?"

"do you think i only call for you when i need something?" heeseung asks, leaning in closer. you tense.

"..what?" you say, voice cracking. "no but-" you pause, turning your head. "you didn't even talk to me all weekend."

"i dropped you home." he says.

"yeah, i know-"

"and i kissed you goodbye."

he did that too. you didn't have short term memory loss, so why was he even bringing that up? your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you assume heeseung notices.

"did you think that meant nothing to me?" heeseung's hand reaches up, cupping your face gently, his thumb resting near your cheekbone.

you don't respond, so he calls out your name, making you look up at him. "what was that conversation about someone getting fired?"

"it was just a joke." you reassure.

heeseung hums but his eyes narrow.

"you're acting like i announced my resignation." you joke playfully, but he doesn't seem to find it funny. in fact, the look in his eyes almost makes your chest feel tighter than before.

"..were you planning to?" he asks calmly.

you falter, hesitating before answering. "..i don't want to get fired." your fingers twitch slightly at your sides at your admission.

his hand is still on your face, his thumb moving in small, slow circles. "why would you get fired?"

is he serious? you'd think that lee heeseung of all people would know exactly why you'd assume you'd be fired.

"because," you say carefully. "this isn't exactly a normal workplace situation."

"what situation?" he says, leaning way closer than before if that's even possible. "this one?"

and before you can even think, his lips are on yours, his hand making its way onto the back of your head, tangling into your hair. you kiss him back as he kisses you desperately. you swear you can hear a whine leave his lips as he does so.

he finally pulls away after a bit, giving the two of you a chance to breathe.

"..yeah, this one." you say, turning your head, panting. you avoid his stare, "i don't even what we are."

"do we need a label?" the expression on his face frustrates you, because he doesn't even seem to see what's wrong with this.

"..maybe?" you reply weakly, "most people usually know what they are. i don't want to be something on the low." you didn't want to admit it, but it was clawing at your chest, to be honest.

"..you know relationships between employees aren't against the company policy, right?" he asks calmly.

you look back up, caught off guard by the sudden change in attitude. "what?"

"as long as it's disclosed properly and doesn't interfere with work, HR doesn’t care." heeseung says, taking a step back as he walks back to round his desk. you watch in confusion as he opens one of his drawers.

"why do you think i called you here?" he asks, pulling out a thin folder before shutting the drawer again. he walks back to you, handing the folder over.

never in your life would you think that your boss, lee heeseung, would be handing you a folder that wasn't just assigning you more work to do. you look down at it, the folder reading 'employee relationship disclosure agreement.' did he seriously print this entire thing out for this?

"you have this on lock? really?" you ask, taking the folder from his hands.

"i'm in management," he replies, "i have access to the HR files."

you open the file, scanning the words. most of it is just formal gibberish regarding things about professionalism and acknowledging that neither party will allow the relationship to interfere with the workplace.

your eyes stop at one line. 'both employees acknowledge the relationship is consensual.'

he calls your name, making you focus your attention back to him. he avoids your gaze at first, but then exhales through his nose softly, locking eye contact with you.

"i want to be your boyfriend." heeseung admits, face heating up. "you're someone i can't stop thinking about and to be honest," he hesitates for a second, but continues, "it's been a problem even before that friday we first had sex."

somehow, hearing him say that feels way more intimate than anything the two of you have done together so far. your features shift, lips curling into a grin. "really?" you stare at him for longer, really trying to engrave this persona of heeseung. it's kind of funny that your boss that's always composed 24/7 looks genuinely uncomfortable admitting this out loud.

he nods, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he gulps. "really."

there's a deep urge in you that wants you to take advantage of this and tease him, but he looks so nervous, you almost feel bad. "..where's the pen?" you ask, which makes his eyebrows furrow.

"..the pen?" he

"yeah," you say, tilting your head coyly. "to sign the thing."

"..oh." he nods, clearing his throat. heeseung suddenly looks less composed than before. "right." he pulls a pen out of the pocket in his slacks. he just carries that around? well, you suppose it's because he constantly has to sign things so they can get approved.

heeseung holds out the pen toward you, and you take it. turning toward the wall, you lean up, pressing the back of the file against it to use for support, laying it flat as you sign easily with no hesitance.

"you aren't even going to read it?" you hand him back the file, pressing it against his chest, which he takes quickly.

"i already did." you say, unable to hold back the smile forming onto your face. heeseung looks at you, then down at the file in his hands, a small smile on his face now too.

he comes closer, "i didn't ask you properly before, so let me do it right." your smile falters in confusion, but you keep listening to him as he talks. "i like you, and not as my employee - though you are great at that too."

he swallows, like he can't believe that he's even admitting this out loud. "i don't want this to be confusing anymore, so i'm just going to ask properly. will you be my girlfriend?"

there's literally no hesitation in you. "yeah." you say simply, then clear your throat, slightly embarrassed at your own boldness and how fast your words came out. "of course i will."

heeseung smiles at your words. he pulls you into an embrace, one hand settling at the back of your head as he gently combs his fingers through your hair. he exhales softly next to your ear, as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "thank god, because i don't think i would've survived you saying no."

all your hard work finally paid off. you had been waiting for a moment like this since you first walked through the doors in this building. your hands slowly come up to rest against his dress shirt, gripping it lightly to pull him closer.

"you really thought i would've said no even after all the time i've worked under you?" you mumble.

heeseung pulls back a little, hesitating before answering. "well, no-"

"yeah, that's what i thought." you say quickly, coming across as a little smug. heeseung lets out an amused laugh.

"also," you continue, "can we lowkey keep this private? i don't want to give jake and the others the satisfaction of knowing."

"so what, i'm just a secret now?" heeseung teases, tone light.

you shake your head immediately, "no, not like that. they're just way too nosy, and it pisses me off."

heeseung raises an eyebrow, completely confused with what you're even referring to but you just assume it's because they're all harrassing you because they would never ask him about it. but he nods once, "okay." he agrees simply, tone uncaring.

your eyebrows lift, "really? sweet, okay."

"really." heeseung repeats, making you smile. "can i ask why though?"

"..it's a long story."

'print these contracts, organise them in chronological order, and have them ready in my office before you leave.'

that's what heeseung had told you to do, sliding a thick folder across the desk to you. this is what you deserve for disrupting your boss in an attempt to flirt with him, you suppose.

you remember staring at the files, and then at heeseung - asking him if he was serious.

"why wouldn't i be?"

"because there’s like… a hundred pages here," you say slowly, flipping through the folder with disbelief. "and half of these dates aren’t even labelled properly."

heeseung doesn’t look remotely sympathetic.

"then figure it out."

you clutch the stack of half-printed documents dramatically to your chest. "but i'm just a helpless employee, sir."

"don’t call me sir like that."

"like what?" you try to stop the grin from spreading on your face.

heeseung leans back in his chair with a quiet sigh, his watch gleaming under the lights. that looked expensive. "you know exactly what you’re doing."

and maybe you do.

because for the past three months of working under department manager lee heeseung, you'd made it a personal mission to get him to crack.

and to crack him.

"close the door on your way out."

that didn't get you any sympathy points. and now you're leaning against the wall, waiting for the barely-working printer to finish it's job - which would take a millennium judging from how much it already printed in the last twenty minutes.

the printer wheezes like it’s on its last breath before spitting out another single page.

you stare at it.

"you are genuinely useless," you mumble to the machine. another painful whirring sound answers you.

great.

you slide down the wall slightly, arms crossed as you wait for the next page to crawl out. the office is mostly empty now, just the distant hum of keyboards from the few employees still staying back late.

you're contemplating breaking the machine completely at this point. maybe heeseung would consider actually buying a new machine. that would benefit everyone.

the printer suddenly stops again.

"you actually piss me off." you walk over to it, pressing a few buttons before the screen flashes low toner in mocking little letters. you close your eyes, sighing.

"have you really reached a new low that you're talking to printers now?" jay walks by, pausing his steps as he sips on whatever iced beverage he was drinking.

you turn your head slowly toward jay with the blank expression of someone seconds away from a mental breakdown. "please don't start with me."

jay glances at the printer screen before letting out an understanding hum. "ah. toner issue."

"it’s been printing for thirty minutes and i have maybe," you look down at the pathetic stack of papers in the tray, "twenty pages."

"why do you need to print all that, anyway?" jay says gesturing with his free hand. you let out a long sigh, shuffling the papers into a neater pile against your chest.

"heeseung dumped it onto me. apparently the board meeting tomorrow needs physical copies of every contract involved in the merger." you pause, blinking up at jay. "why, you wanna help?"

jay lets out a short laugh, taking another sip from his straw. "very funny joke." he smiles at you, before shaking his head. "absolutely not."

your face falls immediately at the false hope. "oh, you're so fake. i'm never staying overtime for you again."

"that's crazy, because i distinctly remember you ignoring my emails for three business days last month." jay says, tone flat as he acts unbothered.

you roll your eyes, adjusting the heavy stack of papers in your arms. "whatever. i hope heeseung dumps ten times more work on you tomorrow."

"he won't, i'm his favourite." jay boasts, grinning lazily, making you scoff in annoyance.

you exhale through your nose, "i don't think his favourite would be working overtime."

jay just walks past, patting your shoulder. "you should just ask heeseung to fix the printer, it'd help everyone out." he's already around the corner before you can even utter a word out. what an idiot.

the printer makes a weird nose, and you whip your head around to look. yeah, it was definitely cooked. the screen flashes something ominous, low toner, paper jam, and a blinking error icon. sighing softly, you turn it off through the switch at the wall to just stop the loud, unnecessary noises it was creating.

you crouch down, gathering the scattered pages from the tray. around thirty printed overall, twenty properly done, the rest fading out halfway through like the printer gave up mid-sentence.

you stack them neatly, tapping the edges against your palm to straighten them. your eyebrows furrow as you skim the half-finished text. yeah, heeseung was going to cook your shit.

you exhale through your nose, straightening the stack one more time like that’ll magically fix the situation. whatever. it’s not like you personally sabotaged the machine. the thing had been dying for weeks anyway, it was way out of your control.

you’d just tell him that. the printer was already on life support. management issue. structural failure. not your fault.

yeah.

solid plan.

you slip the printed pages into a neat folder, tucking the thicker stack of contracts under your arm as you make your way back to heeseung's office. he definitely wasn't going to expect you back so soon.

you reach the door, and it's pretty much silent inside. well, besides for the loud ass typing sounding from heeseung's keyboard, you presume.

you hesitate for half a second, then knock. the typing doesn’t stop, of course it doesn’t.

you push the door open anyway.

heeseung is right where you left him, seated at his desk, sleeves slightly rolled up now, eyes fixed on his monitor.

you clear your throat.

"sir, the printer's out of ink again." you say, gently placing a stack of papers on heeseung's desk - half printed.

heeseung barely looks up from his laptop. "mm," his fingers continue gliding across the keyboard smoothly.

those fingers were the same ones you fantasized touching you all over.

"did you try replacing the cartridge?" he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

you stare at him flatly, "no, i just thought i'd announce it for fun."

that finally earns you a glance. bingo.

it's a slow one too, heeseung's eyes lift from his monitor screen to your face, his features showing how he currently feels - which is clearly unimpressed. "you're acting very sarcastic for someone who's asking for my help."

despite the attitude, you're reminded once again why you don't mind that your boss to overwork you. even if he isn't smiling at you, the warm feeling in your gut that usually appears when you talk to him is definitely present.

you recover quickly, though, because you have practice.

"i'm not asking for help," you say, lifting the small stack slightly. "i already did it. technically."

heeseung's gaze drops to the papers again, then back to you. he pats the empty space on the table. "put them down." his tone is calm, matter-of-fact, like he already expects you to listen. which, annoyingly, you do. he was your boss, after all.

you walk over and place the papers where he indicated, careful not to let the half-printed pages slide out of order. heeseung immediately pulls the stack closer, flipping through them with quick, practiced movements.

you shift your weight slightly as he scans the faded text on one of the pages, flipping through the papers.

"..this one's unreadable." he says flatly, not even looking at you.

you chew your lip nervously, "in my defence, we all told you the printer was barely working."

you hate how much you get off from this.

seriously. nothing turns you on more than your annoyed boss, always looking unimpressed no matter what actually comes out of your mouth.

most people would probably be intimidated by him, but you enjoy poking fun at him. probably because every now and then, you manage to crack through that perfect composure for half a second.

it’s addictive, honestly. even if he never actually flirts back.

he mostly just stares at you like you’re a problem he hasn’t figured out how to solve yet.

any normal person would’ve probably gotten embarrassed by now, maybe they would’ve stopped after the first few failed attempts at flirting with their boss, but it's not like heeseung even acknowledges your attempts, anyway. there's almost nothing to be embarrassed about.

heeseung just shakes his head softly, setting the papers back down onto the desk before reaching up to loosen and readjust his tie slightly. "it's late," he says calmly, "go home."

that snaps you back to reality, and you have to hide the disappointment that you feel from his words. why must he always look at you like you're the least attractive person in the room?

this was lee heeseung, your boss. you don’t even know what you expected. for him to flirt back? after months of him pretending not to notice every teasing comment you throw his way?

you clear your throat quietly, composing yourself once again. "..what about the contracts?"

"…what about the contracts?"

"i’ll handle them." heeseung nods, looking down at his watch.

"alone?"

he glances back at the papers, "you already stayed late."

you stare at him for a second. no way the boss that constantly forced you to work over time was showing concern.

you try to recover with humour instead. "wow. are you worried about me, sir?"

there’s a pause before heeseung’s gaze lifts to yours again, completely unreadable. he looks upset - yes! this is exactly what you were hoping for. that heeseung would be angry enough to just bend you across his lap and-

"go home," he repeats.

ouch. okay.

"right. goodnight, sir." you say, nodding your head.

you bow politely out of habit, keeping your expression carefully neutral even as embarrassment starts creeping up your neck. he doesn't say anything back even as you walk out of his office.

the second time is all thanks to jake, to be honest.

"so, how was overtime last night?" jake asks, sitting across from you as the two of you eat lunch in the office lunch room. there was practically nobody else there. the two of you decided on a later lunch because you wanted to finish a project before the day got away from you.

you raise an eyebrow, pausing mid-bite. "why are you, asking me that?" you don't hide the way you emphasise the 'you', because everybody knew that jake was actually heeseung's favourite employee, and unfortunately for you, his close friend too.

jake blinks innocently, "what's that meant to mean?"

you lean back slightly in your chair, squinting at him. "you know exactly what that means." you clear your throat, trying not to make it obvious that you clearly care a lot about this. "..did heeseung say something?"

his expression shifts, mirroring you as he leans back in his chair slowly, stretching his legs out under the table. "why would heeseung say something?"

"oh, don't play dumb with me now, jake." you scoff, flicking your food with your fork.

you stare at him, and he stares back. you immediately hate how calm he looks.

"…because you’re asking me about overtime," you say flatly, deciding to say it outright because he's clearly beating around the bush.

"i ask people about overtime all the time."

"no you don't, jake."

"yes i do."

he sighs dramatically, like you were being the difficult one. "fine. i asked because jay mentioned you were still here after nine."

of course he did. you pinch the bridge of your nose. "this office is just one big surveillance system, apparently.'" you poke around at your food again, "it's always something with you two. oh, and i can't forget sunghoon as well." you say, internally rolling your eyes at the thought of them.

"that's not true." jake defends himself, taking offense to being labelled as someone who gossips, even though it was true.

you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. "are you trying to convince me, or yourself, jake?"

he pauses, leaning back in his chair like he’s deeply wounded by the accusation. “wow. you're being very intense today."

"what did heeseung say, jake?" you crumble, holding your face in your hands. thank god the room was empty aside for you two, because you looked like you were about to go insane.

there’s a long pause, and it's way too long for your liking especially.

when you peek through your fingers, jake is watching you with a look that's way too entertained about your misery.

"okay," you scoff. "fuck you then."

"..why are you acting like he confessed something dramatic?" he asks slowly, taking another bite of his food.

"because you're being especially ominous about it all." you deadpan. "be honest, did he shit talk me? is he gonna fire me-"

"what?" jake nearly chokes on his drink.

you immediately sit up straighter. "oh my god. he is, isn’t he."

he’s pausing. why is he pausing? people only pause when they’re calculating how bad the truth is. you knew you should've just taken the lift to the other department's floor and used their printer, but no - you were lazy and despite being in the presence of your insanely hot boss, you still wanted to go home earlier last night.

"no, no, what? he isn't firing you." jake reassures.

you narrow your eyes. "that pause was too long."

"i was chewing."

liar. people don’t chew like that when they’re innocent. that was a guilty chew.

"liar."

jake laughs under his breath, shaking his head like you’re exhausting but entertaining.

"answer the question." you say sternly, reminding him of the subject at hand.

if he says yes, you're quitting - no questions asked. you're not letting heeseung win. you will resign before you can feel formally embarrassed by your boss and a dumbass printer. fuck the printer, by the way.

he leans back, finally giving you something resembling seriousness. “he didn’t shit talk you.”

"..he didn't?"

"no. i'm serious."

you blink, slowly putting your fork down. "okay," you say carefully, "so, what did he say then?"

jake finishes swallowing any food in his mouth before he speaks again, watching you like he's deciding how much damage he wants to do. "he just asked if you were always like that."

"always like what?" you furrow your eyebrows, confused. always like what? in the way you were a shameless flirt? or was he asking because now he thought you were completely incapable of finishing a simple work task. well, it wasn't a simple task, to be fair.

jake shrugs, "his words, not mine."

"jake," you clutch your skirt with your now empty hand. "you're being extremely unhelpful right now."

"how can i help?" jake grins as he takes another bite of food, "i'm telling you everything i know."

"it's not enough," you whine slightly, straightening your posture. you hate how pathetic that sounded the second it left your mouth.

before he can respond, a loud crack of thunder suddenly echoes outside the building. both of you glance instinctively toward the large windows lining the break room. rain patters heavily against the glass a second later.

"okay well, shit." you sigh. the rain is heavy too, not even the drizzle type. it's heavy. your co-workers that had already left were so lucky that they wouldn't have to go home in this weather.

"i didn’t bring an umbrella," you mumble immediately, making jake look back at you with absolutely zero sympathy.

"unlucky." he shrugs, leaning back. "i have one though, we can go home together if you'd like."

"..are you going to the station afterward?" you ask, and he nods.

"why don't you just ask him?' jake suggests, bringing the focus back to your conversation. the way he acted made it seem like it was the most normal thing ever.

"ask him what, jake? ask my boss if he's talking about me?" you shake your head. "okay, whatever."

you don’t even know why you care this much. logically, this should not matter. your boss asking one vague question about you should not have your entire nervous system reacting like this.

"so, how's your day been?" you ask, shitfing the subject. jake looks at you.

jake looks at you, blankly. "..we've been together the whole day."

oh right. you two have been stuck doing that stupid project heeseung assigned you both. honestly, you’re surprised neither of you snapped first because that was treacherous. pages and pages of data entry, revisions, formatting issues, and enough spreadsheets to the point that if you saw another one, you'd actually go insane.

right on cue, the break room doors swing open.

both you and jake glance up automatically, though jake twists around in his chair more obviously than you do, considering his back was facing the door.

your posture straightens on instinct, a smile forming onto your face. you don't even realise that you're doing it till jake turns around, a stupid grin forming on his face at your expression.

you clear your throat quickly, forcing the smile down into something more normal. meanwhile, heeseung either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to. both are bad, to be honest.

heeseung walks further into the break room calmly, phone still in one hand as his gaze flicks briefly between you and jake seated together.

"why are you two here so late? your day should be over." he asks casually.

jake glances at the clock on the wall before looking back at him. "we lost track of time doing the project you assigned us."

"sounds like poor time management," heeseung replies immediately, making jake laugh.

you straighten slightly in your chair. "we didn’t ‘lose track of time,’ we were literally fixing the spreadsheet you gave us because half the formulas were broken."

heeseung's gaze shifts to you, then he glances briefly to the windows, taking in the rain. then back at the two of you. he doesn't even acknowledge that you defended yourself.

"jake," he says, voice returning to business immediately, "i still need the revised figures before tomorrow morning."

"yeah," jake nods, giving heeseung a thumbs up. "i was gonna stay back another hour and finish it."

your head turns toward him immediately, "..you were?"

"yeah," he says simply. "it’ll take another hour max."

heeseung hums once in acknowledgment before his eyes shift back to you, 'which means," he starts, "you can go home."

your brain pauses for a second. just you? heeseung wanted you out so bad, you sort of felt honoured. "i can stay too," you blurt out, offering before thinking.

both men look at you. jake looks confused and heeseung looks unreadable. you internally slam your head into the table.

why did you say that so fast. oh my god.

"there’s no reason for both of you to stay," heeseung says calmly. "you already finished your part."

"she's going home with me," jake speaks up, also standing up to rinse his container in the sink. heeseung raises an eyebrow, and jake notices.

"what?" jake asks innocently, turning the tap off. "it’s raining. she doesn't have an umbrella."

heeseung pauses before he looks directly at you, "you didn’t bring one?"

you suddenly feel strangely defensive. "the forecast said it was only gonna be cloudy." jake snorts next to you, and you

heeseung stays quiet for a second longer. his expression is unreadable, before he exhales softly through his nose, like he’s already regretting whatever thought just crossed his mind. "..you don’t need to wait for jake."

you raise an eyebrow, turning your head to look at heeseung front-on, who looks mildly inconvenienced by his own words already. "i’m driving anyway," he says flatly. "i can take you home."

a spike hits your heart, and you feel oddly flattered. because realistically, who wouldn’t react a little when their super attractive boss offers to drive them home? especially when said boss happens to be wearing your favourite tie from his rotation today. which you are aware he didn't do on purpose.

your eyes landed on it this morning, maybe lingered a little. the deep colour looked unfairly good against his dress shirt, sleeves still rolled neatly at his forearms from working late. you could only imagine those same arms around your neck later-

wait, you still needed to reply to heeseung. you clear your throat quickly. "you don’t have to-"

"i know," heeseung cuts in smoothly, which hits at your spirits for a moment, but then your mood lifts again anyway, a stupid smile threatening to tug at your lips before you can stop it. because now it sounds less like obligation and more like choice, or, you could just keep telling yourself that.

jake nods, a little too excitedly. "okay, that's fine with me." he presses his lips together, visibly trying not to blurt out something obnoxious.

heeseung glances over to you, "go get your stuff. we're leaving." he says, using his chin to gesture toward the door.

'we're leaving'? not, 'meet me downstairs' or 'i'll wait downstairs., but he's saying we're leaving together.

"okay.." you answer, way quieter than intended.

jake offers you a knowing smile, "drive safe," he says, looking directly at you instead of heeseung.

you're going to strangle him. heeseung either ignores the weird tone completely or chooses not to acknowledge it. you stand quickly before jake can make this worse, grabbing your phone from the table and adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

"finish your work," you mutter at him while passing by.

jake grins shamelessly. "have fun."

you barely make it two steps out of the break room before you become hyper aware of the fact that heeseung is following behind you. probably to his office, it was right next to your cubicle after all.

act normal, why are you suddenly forgetting how to walk. you facepalm internally, you've literally been alone with him before. this is fine.

the hallway feels longer than it needs to. you finally reach the row of cubicles, the familiar maze of monitors and dividers coming into view. you can that your desk is just ahead.

you step inside, grabbing your bag, which is next to your computer. you can feel heeseung's presence behind you, standing outside the cubicle. you grab your things quickly, shoving them into your bag with slightly more force than necessary. guess he already got all of this things and was ready to leave.

you finally straighten, turning around. "okay! i'm ready." heeseung doesn't even blink at your enthusiasm, turning around and walking toward the elevator.

"let's go." he says simply.

you catch up slightly, trailing after him. the elevator is ahead, reflecting both of you in the metal, slightly distorted. he presses the button, and the doors open immediately. the two of you walk in.

you step in first, instinctively moving to one side, and he follows right after you. it's silent and uncomfortable.

you clear your throat slightly. "..long day?" you say, immediately regretting how weak that sounds.

heeseung’s reflection in the doors shifts slightly as he glances at you.

"it was." he agrees simply, not saying anything else. awkward. a small smile tugs at your lips when you see heeseung in the reflection.

the elevator hits the floor to the carpark, the doors slide open to reveal the dimly lit carpark.

"you’re always this quiet after work?" you ask lightly, stepping out of the elevator doors as you walk toward his car.

he glances at you briefly. "you’re always this talkative?"

you grin immediately. "only around people i like." the response slips out smoother than expected, and yet he doesn't say anything back, holy airball. you can hear both your footsteps echoing softly through the near-empty carpark.

heeseung’s lips slightly curl up in a smile, but it disappears basically the second it appears. he rounds what you assume to be his car, and honestly you couldn’t name the brand, but you admit it looked expensive.

you stop beside the passenger side for a second, eyeing it openly. "wow."

heeseung glances at you while unlocking the doors with a soft beep.

"what?"

"your car looks rich." you say, in awe. you reach for the passenger seats door handle, sliding in. the seats are soft, and the car is noticeably clean. the only thing you can smell is a light tinge of his cologne.

heeseung just reaches forward to adjust something near the dashboard, entirely calm. "seatbelt."

you obey, arm reaching over your upper body to grab your seatbelt. the movement pulls your blouse slightly at the shoulder as you tug it across yourself, the quiet click sounding through the car once it locks into place.

you glance over, and heeseung is watching - as if he was making sure you were actually putting it on.

you narrow your eyes at him immediately. "were you expecting me not to?"

heeseung rests one hand against the steering wheel, expression calm. "no."

you scoff, "liar."

he hums softly, finally pulling the car out of the parking space smoothly. "you asked."

"and yet you answered dishonestly." you poke the inside of your mouth with your tongue, glancing out the window.

"i answered you professionally."

narrowing your eyes, "that isn’t even the same thing."

he stifles a laugh, but you notice before he can conceal it, making your stomach flip on instinct.

you slump further in the seat, only now realising the proximity of the two of you. the car feels way smaller than what it did just minutes ago.

glancing back over to him, you see how one hand rests loosely against the steering wheel while the other adjusts the wheel slightly as he turns out onto the wet street. that was like, the hottest thing you’d seen all week.

it feels intimate despite the fact that he’s just driving you home.

wait.

you forgot to give him your address yet he’s still going the right way.

blinking, your posture straightens almost immediately, shuffling back upright in your seat. "..wait."

heeseung keeps his eyes on the road. "what?"

you look directly at him, "how do you know where i live?"

there’s a small pause, before heeseung clears his throat. "your employee file."

you narrow your eyes instantly. "that sounds creepy when you say it like that."

"it’s literally HR information."

"okay, but why do you know it?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"i’m your boss."

"that does not answer my question at all."

a faint sigh leaves him through his nose, like you’re being difficult on purpose.

which, okay, maybe you are.

"you’ve worked under me for almost a year," he says calmly. "i know where most of my employees live."

you stare at him suspiciously.

"..do you have everyone’s addresses memorised?"

"no."

"just mine?"

that finally earns you momentary glance, but he looks back to the road a second after. "you’re asking a lot of questions."

"well, only because you aren’t answering the one i actually want answered." you say, shifting slightly in your seat.

rain continues tapping steadily against the windows, soft wipers cutting through the sound every few seconds. heeseung sighs once again, "fine, which one is that?"

you stare at him for a second, trying to hide your suspicion. "you know which one."

"humour me."

he’s doing this on purpose.

you can hear it in his voice now, he sounds so composed. heeseung makes another left turn, the way you remember taking to your house.

"why do you know where i live specifically?" you ask, quieter this time. not that you mind. if it were anyone else, maybe it'd be a little creepy - yeah, but heeseung was welcome over at anytime.

the red light flashes briefly onto his face as he slows down, you take in his pretty features.

"because," he says evenly, "you're usually the last person to leave the office." your stomach does cart wheels at his answer, even if it’s the simplest thing you’ve ever heard.

you try to hide the fattest grin that tries to force itself onto your face. "..you notice that?" you can’t stop yourself from asking.

"you make it difficult not to." if it were anyone else, you’d take that as flirting, but heeseung’s tone is so flat, that if you actually did take it as flirting then you’d need to be admitted to the nearest psych ward for delusion.

so you don’t, even if you want to. you stare out the window instead, watching rain streak across the glass, "are you saying i’m a difficult employee?"

"that isn’t what i said."

"but it’s what you meant, right?"

he exhales softly through his nose, barely a sound. you catch it anyway. the car moves smoothly through the wet streets, indicator ticking quietly as he changes lanes.

heeseung continues, "you stay late."

you glance at him again. "so do other people."

"not consistently."

"that’s because you don’t give anyone else the annoying projects." you argue back, before realising. "does that mean you’re keeping track of when i leave?" you sound a little too hopeful, it’s pathetic.

"it’s part of my job to know what’s happening in my department." he says flatly, shutting that idea down immediately.

you sigh softly, what a boring answer.

heeseung slows down the the familiar streets, and your apartment complex comes into view. heeseung eases the car toward the side of the road rather than pulling straight in.

he stops smoothly, gently turning the wheel as the engine quiets down. you grab your bag, unbuckling your seatbelt. "thank you, i really appreciate it." you’re about to grab onto the door handle, but heeseung halts your movements - grabbing your wrist.

it isn’t tight or forceful, just enough to make you pause. you blink at him, "..what?"

he doesn’t answer immediately. instead, his gaze flicks briefly toward the rain outside, then back to you. with his other hand, he reaches into the backseat pulling out…

an umbrella.

black. simple. clearly kept in the car for situations exactly like this.

he had one the whole time?

"take it." he pushes it toward you, before leaning over your body and opening the door for you. you unclasp the umbrella, turning back.

"good night." you smile, and heeseung nods.

"good night."

you thank him again before holding it over your head and walking into the entrance of your apartment building.

okay but, he had an umbrella the whole time and yet he insisted on taking you home. well, insisted is a stretch but he offered.

that had to mean something.

you had hoped, at least.

the third time you tried flirting with your boss, it was completely unintentional. in the way you weren't even trying to seek him out this time, at least. you were planning that for later.

yes, you had worn an extra nice outfit that day because you wanted to catch his attention. not that it worked, it never did. you don't even know what made you try again.

it starts like a normal morning. no heeseung ordering you around this time. which in hindsight, should've been a bad sign. no emails, no urgent requests, and no heeseung appearing behind your desk randomly - before giving you a stack of papers.

you clock in, sit down, open your laptop as minutes fly by in what feels like seconds. you're at your desk, half-awake as you scroll through your emails, when a voice pops up at your cubicle.

"hey." sunoo is leaning slightly against the divider, smiling at you in that friendly way he usually does.

you sit up, leaning back against your chair, "what's up?"

sunoo and you don't even try being formal with each other now, it's been a while since the two of you met. "before you ask," he starts, already dropping a stack of papers onto your desk, "yes, this is your problem now."

you glance at the pile, "seriously?"

sunoo laughs softly, resting his forearms on the divider. "it's just some missing formatting stuff from yesterday’s file. i fixed half of it but I got dragged into a meeting."

"wowow," you sigh, skimming over the papers. "you owe me."

"i owe you?" sunoo repeats, tilting his head softly.

"yes," you nod, looking up at him. "this is so much work, sunoo. i'm busy."

"busy doing what? you were scrolling emails and pretending to work," he corrects, making you glare up at him. "god forbid i actually give you to work to do."

"yeah, but it's your responsibility - not mine." you argue back.

sunoo shifts slightly, leaning more comfortably against the divider like he has nowhere else to be. like your desk is just part of his routine. "fine," he says. "we're still on for lunch, right? you're not ditching me for jake again?"

"that wasn't intentional. i had to finish my project, you know that." you don't hesitate defending yourself.

"yeah, yeah." sunoo smiles, his tone condescending like he doesn't actually believe in what you say.

you open your mouth to retaliate, because you refuse to allow yourself to be slandered this early in the morning, but sunoo interrupts. "why're you dressed so fancy today, hm? your blouse looks expensive."

you pause, glancing down at yourself. "in a good way, right?"

"yes, of course." sunoo states obviously, "how can you look expensive in a bad way?"

you ignore his question, "..really?"

sunoo nods immediately. "yes really. you look like you’re about to leave us for a better company."

you hum, pretending to think about it, smoothing your sleeve once like you’re just noticing it exists. "hmm."

"what is it this time?" sunoo sighs, making you scoff.

"bold of you to assume there's an issue, sunoo."

he narrows his eyes at you. "there is an issue. you’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re not doing something."

"what does that even mean?"

"you're overdressed." sunoo spits it out, taking in your outfit.

you tap the edge of the stack of papers on your desk, suddenly very interested in the alignment of the corners. "this is my normal everyday outfit, but okay."

sunoo’s gaze drags over you again, shaking his head. "that's not normal, you can't fool me."

you blink. "excuse you?"

"that blouse is not ‘normal.’ that’s ‘i have plans after work’ clothing."

"..i might have plans," you admit casually, lying out of your teeth. you had zero plans after work today. the most you were planning on doing was hopping on the game after dinner.

oh, but you wished you had plans. you wished your plans revolved around overtime, where you'd crawl underneath heeseung's desk and give them the most toe-curling blowjob any man has ever received.

sunoo’s eyes widen a fraction. "you do?"

you shrug. "hypothetically."

he leans in a little, lowering his voice. "with who?"

this little nosy rat. at least sunoo kept his mouth shut, though. had you told jake and the entire workplace would've heard about it by now.

you open your mouth, but then stop. familiar footsteps sound, and they're getting closer toward you.

heeseung walks into the view beside your cubicle, holding a folder in his hand. he looks at sunoo, who's still leaning casually against your divider, then at you, in which you offer a sheepish smile.

"good morning, heeseung." sunoo chirps, pulling his gaze away from you to greet heeseung. heeseung's eyes briefly flick from sunoo to you, then back to sunoo in almost under a second.

"good morning." he replies finally, but his tone is entirely flat.

sunoo, who is still undeterred, smiles wider. "busy day today?"

"yes," heeseung glances at the folder in his hand. "aren't you scheduled for a meeting that.." he pauses, looking at his watch before his eyes lift back up to sunoo, "started three minutes ago?"

sunoo blinks, offering heeseung a sheepish smile. then he straightens abruptly, like he just remembered that urgency is a concept. "oh, right. that's me."

you watch, barely holding in a reaction, as he takes one step, then another. "see you at lunch!" he calls back way too brightly, before turning his body entirely as he speeds down the hallway.

the silence is loud again, or it feels like it - despite your co-workers being occupied with chatting as well as the soft clatter of keyboards.

you blink once at the empty space sunoo was occupying a second ago, seeing heeseung just standing beside your cubicle with the folder in hand, expression unreadable as ever.

why must he look at you like you're some outdated fashion trend?

"was that necessary?" you ask lightly, nodding vaguely in the direction sunoo disappeared.

he doesn’t even look that way. "yes," he replies, "he was distracting you, and he was late to his own meeting." you shrug in response.

heeseung calls out your name, making you look up at him with a soft hum. "yeah?"

his eyes flick briefly to you, handing you another fuckass folder. it's heavy too, filled with enough paper to ruin your morning. you begrudgingly hold back the urge to roll your eyes. you swore on everyone's life that heeseung assigned you the most heinous roles known to man.

yes, your boss was hot, but was he hot enough for you to suffer at work everyday? yeah, probably, actually. you don't even know why you bothered questioning that.

you glance at him, still holding the folder between your fingers. "are you trying to torture me to death? because it's working."

"it's work," he says simply, "don't get distracted."

you squint at him, "it's killing me, heeseung."

that earns you a soft smile that lasts for literally 0.2 seconds. heeseung taps the folder once with two fingers, "organise it like the last one you did." he adds.

you sigh dramatically. "you know, most bosses say ‘good morning’ first."

“good morning.” heeseung mumbles, making you tilt your head.

"that was still late."

"those files you're going to organise are about to be late too if you keep talking."

you clutch the folder tighter. "they won't-

but he’s already turning slightly away like the conversation is over.

"bring it to my office when you're done." heeseung says like it's an afterthought, back turned to you.

you freeze slightly. "again?"

he pauses just long enough to glance back at you. "again." and with that, he's gone, walking down the aisle back into his office.

rude, but fine. you had worn your shortest skirt, hoping heeseung would at least spare a glance toward you. a glance that didn't involve him assigning even more work with the flick of his wrist.

now you had to spend another three hours filling out stupid spreadsheets, or whatever was actually in this folder. you sigh, flipping open the page.

the fourth time you flirted with your boss, it’s because he called you into his office just to wordlessly fix his tie before a meeting.

you patter your knuckles against the door of heeseung's office gently. "sir?" using your free hand, you adjust and smooth the lines out of your skirt.

when there isn't a response, you open the door gently. that's usually what that meant, anyway. it was a usual for the two of you.

you step inside, taking in his office once again. his office is neat in that way that feels slightly scary. everything's been placed with intention, nothing out of place. he’s standing by his desk, jacket on, tie slightly uneven.

it isn't that noticeable, you just tend to stare at him a lot. heeseung doesn’t look at you right away.

you clear your throat softly, catching your attention. "you called for me?"

he turns to you, features conveying a look of frustration. "fix this." he says only two words with zero explanation, but you understand almost immediately.

you blink, "..your tie?"

heeseung looks at you like you've asked him something obvious. "yes."

you hesitate, but realise he's the one who asked. you step forward, because apparently this is your job now.

you reach up carefully, fingers catching the knot of his tie. it’s already half done, like he rushed it or did it without caring.

you start by undoing it, re-aligning it entirely. heeseung's gaze drops, not to your face, but to your hands - watching your every move. you feel an immediate shift in the air.

"this feels like something you could do yourself." you murmur, trying hard not to mess his tie up as you keep the mood light.

"..i don't actually know how to tie a tie." heeseung admits, making your hands stop.

you glance up at him, "what?"

heeseung doesn’t even look embarrassed. if anything, he looks mildly inconvenienced at having admitted it out loud. "i never learned," he says simply.

"you're actually lying."

"i’m not."

"heeseung, you wear a tie almost every day." you say, genuinely flabbergasted.

"someone usually does it for me."

you squint your eyes, confused on 'who' this could possibly be. was he actually wifed up and this whole time you had been flirting with a married man? that made sense as to why he would never reciprocate. or maybe he just wasn't into you.

no but, if he was married you'd definitely know. there was no way jay or jake wouldn't have brought it up by now.

"..someone?" you mumble quietly, trying to keep this casual.

"stylists. assistants." he pauses. "sometimes jake."

oh thank god. he was the most single somebody could be, for sure. you smooth your expression immediately, pretending the question meant absolutely nothing, just professional curiosity.

you nearly laugh directly in his face, but you hold back for your own sake. you weren't trying to be assigned the workload of the entire team. "oh my god."

heeseung watches you carefully now, expression still composed, but there’s the faintest hint of annoyance underneath it. "what?"

"nothing," you say immediately, absolutely lying. "it’s just very hard to process that you don’t know how to tie a tie."

"you seem to be deeply affected by this."

"i am." you tighten the knot properly, smoothing the fabric down again. "this changes my entire perception of you."

"you're being dramatic," heeseung says making you scoff, but the sound comes out weaker than actually intended because you suddenly become aware of how close you are to him, catching the faint scent of cologne every time he exhales.

your fingers are still curled loosely around the fabric of his tie, brushing against the collar of his shirt as you straighten it carefully. your heel shifts slightly against the floor as you try not to think about the fact that if you tilted your head up even a little more, you'd be directly in his space.

which, technically, you already are, but like, you'd actually be able to kiss him. your eyes linger on his lips for way too long, and he definitely notices. heeseung's gaze shifts downwards, catching yours in the process. you smile, and he looks away, jaw tightening once as his eyes move toward the window beside his desk instead.

heeseung has never been the one to shy away like that. usually he'd just ignore all of your advances. your fingers tighten around the tie accidentally before you let go completely, stepping back casually.

you got a reaction from him this time.

"..done?" he asks, and you nod.

"mhm." you hum. heeseung finally looks back at you, one hand lifting to adjust the knot slightly where your fingers had just touched.

your gaze lifts again, and heeseung sighs quietly through his nose, like you’re the most exhausting part of his workday. "i have a meeting in five minutes."

"and?" you lean against his table lightly, smiling at him innocently.

"and you should go back to work."

"wow," you murmur dramatically. "using me for my tie-abilities and then discarding me?"

"you’re still on company time." he mumbles, but you don't miss the flush on his cheeks.

bingo! your boss really was into you. it isn't obvious, not in the way you were hoping for, not some dramatic giveaway, but it's definitely there if you're paying attention.

and you are absolutely paying attention.

you tilt your head slightly, practically screaming 'fuck me' eyes, watching him with a type of satisfaction you don't bother hiding. "you know," you say softly, "you’re really bad at hiding things."

heeseung's eyes flick up immediately, and you can practically see him having heart palpitations. who knew your stone-cold boss would fold over something as easy as that?

"go back to your desk," he dismisses you again, steadier this time. when he sees you inching closer, he does a complete one-eighty as he speed walks out of his own office.

your jaw drops. what the fuck?? heeseung, get back here!

you don't bother chasing though. now that you knew how heeseung truly felt, you had him wrapped around your finger.

he had it coming.

the next day you walk into the office, it's a friday.

which is usually a good day. lighter workloads, less tension, and maybe even the rare sight of your colleagues having fun before going home for the weekend.

and you of all people were going to have a good day. heeseung wasn't slipping from your hands again. not when you were going to actively pursue him in the actual shortest skirt you owned. not after the tie incident.

you're halfway through the lobby, eyes half focused on your phone as you scroll through unread notifications, when-

bang!

you nearly let out a blood curdling scream.

your entire body jolts violently as you whip around toward the source of the noise.

jungwon is standing near the reception desk, holding a stack of papers, looking mildly alarmed. the metal sign knocked straight onto the floor was the source of the noise.

when he notices you looking, he offers a smile and a wave. "good morning!"

you stare at him in complete disbelief, one hand pressed against your chest. "jungwon," you speak slowly, "you scared me, holy shit."

his eyebrows lift, "from a sign falling?"

"it's metal! it sounded like a gunshot." you walk over, bending down to pick it up.

jungwon crouches slightly too, reaching for the other side. "you're being dramatic."

before you can argue further, footsteps pass behind the two of you.

"cute skirt."

you whip your head around, glancing up instinctively. sunghoon is walking past with an iced coffee in one hand, slowing just enough to glance at you over his shoulder.

your brain malfunctions for a second, "..ah. thanks." you offer him a smile. at least someone thought you looked nice.

sunghoon gestures vaguely toward you with the coffee cup, "the colour suits you." then he walks off, heading into the direction of the cubicles.

you straighten slowly, still holding the metal sign. "wow."

jungwon looks between you and sunghoon’s disappearing figure, before landing back on you finally. "what happened to bagging the boss?"

you narrow your eyes at jungwon, patting down said cute skirt, "what are you talking about?"

jungwon smirks smugly. it would be adorable if it weren't in circumstances like this. "you should've known better than to tell jake and jay.

your stomach drops instantly. "..they told you?"

"they told everyone."

your jaw drops. what the hell?? you were going to kill park jongseong and sim jaeyun as soon as you found those two. "what are they even saying? and who have they told?"

jungwon laughs at your expression, putting down the stack of papers on the reception desk. "relax. i was kidding." he reassures, "only like, a few people know."

he lifts his hand, counting on his fingers with each name.

"jake, jay, sunghoon, sunoo-oh! and that junior, ni-ki."

"..even the junior knows?" you want to collapse directly onto the lobby floor.

jungwon tilts his head. "to be fair, he figured it out by himself."

"literally, HOW?" you exclaim, frustrated. were you seriously that obvious around heeseung?

"uh, cause you stare like you're in some office k-drama? duh." he sasses, which you do not appreciate.

you scoff, "i do not."

jungwon shrugs, "okay, secretary kim."

you roll your eyes, “secretary kim ended up pulling young-joon, though. so is this a sign?”

“you wish.”

“okay, bet you $50 i can pull heeseung.” you declare, making jungwon raise his eyebrows in shock.

“okay, fine. $50.” you reach out your hand, shaking on it.

then, he straightens his posture and widens his eyes slightly in the worst imitation of you imaginable.

"..heeseung," he mocks your voice, pretending to be you. "wow..your tie looks really nice today.." he places a hand over his chest, "did you get a haircut? you look so handsome and emotionally unavailable this morning."

eyes widening, you clasp a hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up. "oh my god - i do not talk like that."

"good morning." your entire body goes stiff. you remove your hand from jungwon's face, turning your head.

heeseung is standing there, watching the two of you with a blank face. apparently when jungwon was busy humiliating you, heeseung must've arrived to work. his expression is calm as ever, one hand resting loosely in his pocket while the other still holds his phone. heeseung was so hard to read like this.

jungwon immediately straightens. "morning, heeseung."

you push a smile on your face, "morning, sir." heeseung's gaze travels from jungwon to you.

"..why do you look so stressed already?" he asks, voice flat.

jungwon physically bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

you point at him immediately. "he’s harassing me."

heeseung glances over to jungwon with an expression that screams 'i don't believe her whatsoever', so you expect a scolding.

but no.

"jungwon."

jungwon straightens immediately, "yes?"

heeseung's tone stays flat, "you’re not on break."

jungwon blinks in surprise, "i'm literally just talking-"

"you’re supposed to be at reception processing those files," he cuts in, nodding once toward the stack still sitting on the desk. "not standing here causing problems before nine a.m."

hooray! heeseung actually took your side.

jungwon looks betrayed instantly. "i am processing them." his gaze flicks to you, and you stick your tongue out.

jungwon notices immediately, shaking his head like he's re-thinking his life choices. he tightens his grip on the stack of files. "unbelievable." with that, he turns away, walking off.

you're silently cheering in your head when heeseung turns to you next. "you aren't on break either," he nods his chin toward the elevator, "go work."

you pout, "but sir, i have nothing to do."

heeseung looks like he's about to scold you for the use of 'sir', but he doesn't. "you always have something to do," he says simply.

"nope." you shake your head, "jay and i finished the meeting pack preparation." you flash him a smile, way too enthusiastic for someone at work.

you look down for a second, remembering you're wearing the skirt. yoy glance back up, analysing his face. come on, heeseung. at least acknowledge it!

his eyes flick down for half a second, but it's not enough for you to read his expression. "..good." he coughs slightly, clearing his throat. "go help ni-ki, then."

your lips straighten in a frown. "seriously?"

"serious as i can be." you stare at him, and he stares back.

"go. he needs help with formatting." with a huff, you nod.

"fine, fine. see you, sir." you smile, walking past him. behind you, heeseung exhales a sigh of relief through his nose. this was going to be a long day.

when you reach the far end of the office, the atmosphere is completely different from the loud lobby. it's quiet, the kind of quiet that makes every keyboard click sound louder than it should. you can even hear your flats click against the floor with each step.

you scan the desks. ni-ki is lazily seated sideways in an office chair, one leg bouncing softly against the floor, eyes fixed on the monitor.

he doesn't even look at you. "if this is about the formatting issue again, i already fixed it three times." okay, sassy.

you pause beside his desk. "wow," you say. "thanks for the warm welcome."

ni-ki glances up, properly this time. his expression shifts immediately, a slight tinge of confusion before recognition. "oh, you're the help."

"you don't seem very happy to see me." wheeling a nearby chair over, you sit next to him.

he leans back slightly, squinting at you, "trust me. i'm glad it's you and not someone else."

you raise an eyebrow, "oh, spill?"

ni-ki leans down, then tilts his head toward the rest of the office, lowering his voice slightly like it’s classified information or something. "..he sent jake last time, and he 'fixed' it by making it worse."

honestly, that sounded in character. jake was lazy when it came to spreadsheets. "seems like him." you shrug, "so, if you're so good at this, why does heeseung think you need help?"

"he doesn’t think i need help," he says.

you hum. "sounds like he does."

"no," ni-ki corrects, dragging a hand through his hair. "he thinks i need supervision."

"that's probably worst, in all honesty." you snort softly. "that sounds like a polite way of saying you ruin files."

ni-ki points at you immediately. "exactly. see? you get it."

"are you always at the back here? i never see you around front anymore."

"it's better around here. the only person who comes back here is sunoo." your eyes widen. so that's where sunoo kept disappearing off to."

you tap your chin in thought as ni-ki continues clicking through the spreadsheet.

"say, ni-ki." you call, making him glance up at you.

"what?"

you lean forward a little in your chair, "jungwon said something about you earlier."

ni-ki raises an eyebrow, but for the most part he looks uncaring. "said what?"

"keep it a secret." you hold out your pinky.

in which he rolls his eyes as he exhales through his nose like he's already tired of you, but he still shifts his chair a little closer. "you're weird," he mutters, but intertwines his pinky with yours, reluctantly.

you brighten immediately. "okay. so jungwon said you know things about me and heeseung."

"it's hard to miss." he says simply, "i just notice patterns."

you lean forward slightly, still keeping your pinkies linked, "okay then. what patterns?"

"well for starters," he says, "you’re the only one that doesn’t get in trouble for slacking."

you scoff immediately. "you must be joking."

ni-ki finally glances at you, expression flat. "i’m not."

you lean back in your chair slightly. "i literally got sent down here as punishment."

"yeah, and that's a punishment for you? he made me clean the entire storage room when i submitted something late." ni-ki's words make you pause. sure, you already knew heeseung was attracted to you, but special treatment too? awe.

you let go of ni-ki's pinky. "done?" he asks, finally glancing at you.

you clear your throat quickly, snapping back into focus. "right, yeah."

ni-ki shrugs. "it was dusty."

"that’s your takeaway?"

"i don’t like dust."

"fair."

"when are you meant to leave?"

you blink, "leave?"

"from here," he clarifies. "this task."

you glance at the spreadsheet. then back at him. "when it’s done."

he hums like it's obvious.

"take your time."

hours pass, and you've felt like you've been able to bond with your junior very well, actually. he was entertaining, and was great at multi-tasking. ni-ki was able to keep full-fledged conversations with you while he did his work.

even sunoo came over at some point, pulling up a chair as he sits down with the two of you.

working here was way better than in the cubicles with those idiots. you glance around the quieter section of the office. there are much fewer interruptions, less noise, no one hovering over your shoulder every five minutes. cough cough, jake.

you're mid-conversation with sunoo, standing behind him as the two of you watch something on the monitor together. it feels comfortable as the two of you laugh at something.

"no, wait, pause it again," you say, breathless. "i swear that’s not what he meant to do."

which is exactly why you don't notice the foot steps behind you. ni-ki notices, but you and sunoo don't, still obliviously talking. there's a call of sunoo's name that makes the two of you snap your head back.

sunoo straightens so fast, "oh hi, heeseung."

you slowly let your hands drop from the back of sunoo’s chair like you just got caught committing a crime.

"go home. the day's over, anyway." sunoo nods immediately, standing up as he walks back to his cubicle immediately. ni-ki exhales softly like he’s relieved it’s not him.

damn, you were getting a lot of people in trouble today. oops.

you take a small step back too, ready to follow sunoo back to your own cubicle.

heeseung takes one look at you, "you." he says simply.

you flash him a smile, "..me?"

"go to my office." he says, voice flat. is he mad?

you hesitate, but nod. "right… okay."

he walks past you, checking whatever's on ni-ki's monitor. probably double checking to see if everything's correct. you can hear heeseung dismiss ni-ki home too, eavesdropping. when you realise their conversation is over you speed-walk toward heeseung's office.

you see sunoo, and he waves you goodbye, mouthing a 'good luck'. you nod, waving to him as well. you can see heeseung's office door now. reaching it, you pause for a second. it's the same as usual - neat.

you step inside, closing the door behind you. you’re unsure of whether you should sit or stand. you opt on sitting, taking a seat on his chair.

you wait a few minutes, clicking your heel against the carpet gently. the office genuinely sounded dead outside. was heeseung just wasting your time?

you sigh, standing up and walking toward the door. your fingers curl around the knob, about to open it but it’s pushed open - nearly knocking you onto the floor.

heeseung stands in the doorway, face expressionless. he stares at you, before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"sir," you call out, pitching your voice up the slightest. “are you upset-“

“do you always have to open your mouth?” heeseung pinches the bridge of his nose, irritated. you blink in surprise, shutting your mouth.

once he opens his mouth and realises you’ve actually obeyed, he doesn’t say anything. taking a seat on his chair, he leans back.

“come here.” you look at him, and he looks dead serious. you nod, walking over. you’re standing in front of him now, a confused expression on your face.

heeseung looks up at you with a sigh. “bend over.” your eyes widen.

“what?”

“i said, bend over.” he taps his thigh once, and you get the idea. okay, sure. you move almost a little too eagerly, tripping on heeseung’s foot - but that was clearly planted there on purpose.

your knees hit the floor, definitely bruising as you let out a soft hiss of pain. “why-“

heeseung’s fingers grab your jaw, fingers digging into the skin of your cheeks as you kneel. “stop talking.”

you shut up, nodding. he lets go of your face, leaning back. “clean my shoe.”

your eyebrows furrows in confusion. clean his what? his shoe? with what, a handkerchief? you reach in your pocket, trying to find the small pack of tissues you keep but he nudges your arm with his foot. “with your mouth.”

oh. so he was kinky like that. you look at him, “..are you serious?”

heeseung stares back at you, gaze more intense than you’ve ever seen before. “does it look like i’m joking?” good point.

you don’t answer. instead, you kneel further down, opening your mouth as you lick the base of his shoe. that first swipe of your tongue sent shivers down your spine.

you gag a little in disgust, but then you remembered who the shoe belongs to. the hottest guy you’ve probably ever seen in your life.

so, you persevere, licking another stripe of his shoe, nearing the lace now. you glance up, and heeseung’s just staring down at you, face expressionless. “..did i say you were done?”

you shake your head, “..no, sir.” you lean back down, an embarrassed flush on your cheeks as you unfortunately lick his shoe again, tongue cleaning the side this time. in the worst way possible, you could literally feel your pussy clenching around nothing right now and it was because of the most degrading act ever.

after a few more swipes of your tongue, heeseung lets up. “stop.” you obey, sitting back up, hands on your knees as if waiting for his next command.

heeseung looks down at you, and you feel pathetic - a little. his gaze is scrutinising. he taps his thighs again, making your gaze avert to there. “sit.”

you stand up immediately, straddling his hips. you lean in for a kiss, but he swerves it. embarrassing.

heeseung says your name condescendingly, “you haven’t earnt that privilege.” you feel the wetness in your panties pool at that.

“..how can i?” you murmur, glancing at him.

“you can kiss me if you can make yourself cum just like this.” heeseung says, leaning back in his chair. you scoff, that was easy. just looking into his eyes could probably make you cum.

heeseung raises an eyebrow at your scoff, but you don’t elaborate. “..okay.” and so with that, you move your hips, grinding your clothed cunt right against his thigh. despite the fabric separating the two of you, the heat emanating from your core is unimaginable.

heeseung doesn’t touch you for the most part. his hand travels down your back, fingers tingling your spine as he looks at you, eyes dark. despite knowing you should feel embarrassed, you can’t. this is what you’ve been waiting for, after all.

as you keep grinding, you can feel his dick harden through his dress pants - heeseung refuses to acknowledge it though. you continue grinding, hands on his shoulders as you practically hump his thigh, begging for release.

you bury your face into his shoulder, panting into his ear. heeseung pushes your hair back, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck.

it’s when his hand travels further down your back and onto your ass. heeseung spanks your clothed butt once, and you orgasm just from that, letting out a soft moan. fingers tangle themselves in the back of your hair, pulling you away from his shoulder.

“there’s no way you came just from that.” heeseung mocks, almost holding back a laugh. you’re about to defend yourself, but heeseung speaks again. “but then again, we both know that this is what you wanted, right? to be bent over my desk like a cheap whore, desperate for me to fuck you?”

your cheeks heat up, hands pressing against his chest. “if i say yes, will you do exactly that?”

heeseung scoffs. “you seriously have no shame at all. get up.” you scramble to your feet, thighs shaky.

he stands up after you, bending you right over his desk. you whimper when your face hits his table a little roughly but it’s whatever. a hand trails down, going underneath your skirt. heeseung cups your pussy with his hand, shoving your panties to the side.

“you’re seriously this wet with this sort of treatment?” he sounds surprised, despite his tone still being flat. his hand delivers a sharp spank to your cunt, making you whimper softly.

leaning down, his mouth is next to your ear. “you seriously think i didn’t notice you wearing those tiny skirts all the time?” he roughly pushes your skirt up, slapping the fat of your ass hard. a pained moan leaves your lips.

“..you never said anything about it breaking dress-code, so i think you liked it.” you mumble out, grinning. he hits your rear again, wiping that smugness off your face instantly.

“so that means you dress like a whore for everyone to see?” heeseung mocks, tilting his head. “might as well show up to the entire office naked. i’m sure they’d all love to see that.” his palm strikes down again, making you choke. he hits hard, for sure.

“i was dressing like that for you-“ you stutter out, choking on a sob. “not anyone else.” heeseung yanks you back up with full force, holding your arms against your back. your back is pressed against his chest, making you dizzy at the proximity. this way you can feel his dick poking you through his pants.

“nobody asked you to do that though, did they?” he kisses your nape again.

you nod your head in agreement, “n-no, they didn’t.”

“good. are you finally learning your place?” heeseung’s hands travel down, going back underneath your skirt as he hooks his fingers on the waistband of your panties. he drags them down with ease, and you step out of them.

“i can.”

“you can?” heeseung mumbles behind you, fingers ghosting your slit. his index finger travels your entrance before finally pushing in - going knuckle deep immediately. you choke.

“i’m not giving you an option.” he sits back down on his chair, pulling you back onto his lap with him. he spreads your thighs with ease, before sliding another finger into your cunt.

“i think i’ve been way too lenient with you.” he whispers into your ear as he pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb circling your sensitive clit.

you let out a shaky breath, “h-how so?” a soft whimper leaves your lips when he hits the back of your walls. his fingers go a bit deeper, hitting your g-spot, and effectively making your toes curl. your walls are literally clenching onto his long digits, unable to let them go.

“well, for starters.” he shoves another finger in, making you squirm. “you act like you own the place, and how does that make me look as a boss?” with one more slide of his middle finger, you cream all over his wrist, your back arching into him.

“stupid slut.” he mumbles, “you’re seriously not good for anything apart from cumming, hm?” heeseung lets you rest on him as you catch your breath, kissing the side of your temple.

you pant, distracted. how has this man made you cum twice already? “y-yeah, not good for anything else..”

heeseung makes you stand, bending you back over his desk again. he lifts the back flap of your skirt, and you hear fabric rustling. he grabs your hands, pulling them against your back as he wraps something around them.

you turn your head and see him tying his tie around your wrists. you turn your head back, cheek flat against the wood of the table. there’s a sound of an unzip, and you feel the head of his cock press against your sopping cunt.

he’s sliding it against your slit, not penetrating it. “..what are you waiting for?” you turn around, frustrated. you try buck your hips back, in which heeseung spanks your ass, making you gasp in surprise.

“beg for it.” heeseung scoffs, making you whine.

“are you serious?” you groan. when there’s no respond from his end you know the answer. “please, please, fuck me.” heeseung doesn’t budge.

you try buck your hips back, but heeseung grabs both of your hips with his hands, crescents digging into the soft flesh making you whimper.

“sir, please fuck me. i’ll be a good girl, just please.” tears well up in your eyes from the frustration of the lack of freedom and movement.

the tip of heeseung’s dick slides smoothly across your slick folds, making you whine deliciously. one hand drops from your hip, and before you know it, you’re impaled onto his dick in one go, his pelvis flat against his ass. your cunt struggles with the intrusion, walls fluttering to accommodate his length. you don’t miss the whimper that leaves his lips when he buries himself to the hilt.

you choke, burying your face into the hard desk, which isn’t comforting at all. he pulls out halfway, before slamming back in - letting out a soft hiss at the sensation of your velvety walls around his shaft dragging him back in.

his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, kneading roughly as he holds you flush against him. “..you’ve been such a needy little thing all week, haven't you?”

a hand wraps around your throat from behind, pulling you closer to him. “just begging for my attention. you’re pathetic.” his other hand moves to your hip, holding you in place as he starts thrusting again, each snap of his hips bruising the back of your thighs.

“c-cause you always ignore me,” you gasp out.

“ignore you? please. i’m giving you exactly what you deserve.” he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass. “tell me you’re going to start acting normally from now on.”

you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as his dick grinds into your sweet spot, hitting the x marker. “i..” you whimper, “i’ll start acting normally..”

“good girl.” heeseung grabs your jaw, angling you toward him as he kisses you, swallowing your moans and whimpers. pulling back, he looks at you with hooded eyes, his pupils blown wide.

his thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nerve. “you’re gonna cum right?” heeseung leans closer to you, watching the way your cunt spasms around his cock.

you nod, “please.” you just automatically assume he’s going to take it away from you, “please, let me cum.”

“you can cum.” heeseung punctuates his words with shallow thrusts, the thick head of his cock kissing your cervix with each movement. his thumb doubles down, applying pressure. you can barely stand anymore, heeseung’s the only thing keeping you up right as your legs tremble.

with a flick of his fingers, you gush around his cock, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. heeseung clamps a hand over your mouth before you can release any loud sounds, just in case someone was still lingering in the office.

heeseung pulls out before he cums himself, forcing you back onto your knees. before you can process what’s happening, he’s already pressing the head of his dick onto your lips.

pressing a soft kiss to his tip, you open your mouth obediently, wrapping your mouth around his shaft. heeseung’s hands tangle themselves in your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail as he controls the pace, moving your head back and forth.

he whimpers when he hits the back of your throat, feeling you gag around his length. “s-shit, right there.” you can’t breathe, nose firmly pressed against his pelvis but it’s okay. the expression on his face right now makes up for any sort of discomfort you could possibly be in.

heeseung starts jerking his hips slightly, hitting the back of your throat constantly. you gag again, tears welling up in your eyes, as well as drool escaping the corners of your mouth to dribble down your chin.

with one more thrust of his hips, he cums down your throat. it’s bitter, but you can barely taste it by the time it’s down your esophagus anyway. he’s panting softly, tucking his dick back into his pants. once he’s done, he starts combing your hair down gently with his fingers.

kneeling down, he wipes any liquid on your face with a tissue. “..was i too rough?”

you’re panting, and dazed, but you shake your head. “n-no. fuck me like that again.”

heeseung sighs, it kind of sounds like one of relief but you can’t tell. “come on, get dressed. i’ll take you home.”

“..i can’t stand up.”

on monday when you come in, the first thing you do is look for jungwon.

and you find him almost immediately, standing near the reception desk. he notices you, of course he does, his expression shifting into one of suspicion.

"oh, hey." jungwoon greets, smiling. you stop right in front of him.

"$50," you say.

jungwon tilts his head, "what?"

"you owe me $50."

his eyebrows lift immediately, "no i don’t."

"oh, you absolutely do."

jungwon turns to face you, "for what?"

"you said I couldn’t pull heeseung."

there's a pause as jungwon just stares at you. "..i said you couldn't-"

"you lost." you cut in immediately.

he exhales, sighing like he's rethinking every single financial decision he's ever made. "i hate this job," he mutters.

you brighten instantly, "..so $50?"

jungwon glares at you, "..i'll transfer it later."

you nod once, satisfied. "good."

this prompt has been sitting in my drafts for ages icl so i finally decided to finish it💔💔

˚ ༘ 🎞️ ｡𖦹 ° 🎥 ⁀જ⁀➴ film starting……..

The chaotic bursts of neon light from the monitors washes over the room, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls of Heeseung’s room.

The room smells of expensive cologne, ozone from the humming PC, carrying the faint and sterile scent of rosewater and gentle soap in the air. 

You are seated on Heeseung’s lap, straddling his hips, knees around them, on his chair, facing him in a position that the friction of your thighs against his jogger’s can’t be ignored.

Heeseung is fully concentrating on his game for now. 

His eyes are sharp, darting to every move in the game, playing it very carefully though you are quite a distraction to him. 

The headset he has on is filled with sounds of  explosions and gunshots, and he  pushes one piece of the headset aside so he can hear you.

You hold a small glass jar aloe vera gel, the product cool and smooth between your fingertips.

You’ve been massaging it on his face for the past ten minutes or maybe you just use it as an excuse to stay on his lap longer. 

But then still, you don’t care about the game he was playing, you just wanted to end the ‘washing face with whatever soap is there in the shower’ routine for him, so he can get good and fresh skin.

“Stop moving idiot” you murmur, voice soft but firm and commanding him a little because he keeps on moving.

You can feel the heat radiating from him as you blend the cream on his face in small upwards circles.

His jaw is clenched, trying his best not to feel you and your stupid tactics as a distraction, which you are sitting innocently on his lap like you don't understand what’s wrong in doing this.

“I’m in an important fight, Y/N” he grunts, though there’s no real anger behind his voice.

“If I lose this round, I’m gonna blame you and your so-called skincare routine” he adds, mocking lightly.

“Uhh, my skincare routine is obviously way better than whatever you do in the stupid shower,” you retort, sliding your fingers on his temple now.

“No soap is gonna clean your face like my skincare does, your skin feel shit, and it’s screaming for help, so think of this as an upgrade for your face”

He lets out a laugh, his eyes fixed towards the screen. “Sure,” he says as if it’s nothing, “My skin has a mouth and it’s screaming”. 

You roll your eyes at that, moving a little back so you can look at him even though he doesn’t.

“Just because it doesn’t have a loud, cocky mouth like you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” you shoot back. 

“And for your kind information,” you continue, leaning closer to his face again, to spread the gel on his face, “You’re skin is so dehydrated, maybe it looks fine, but it really isn’t, so be grateful”

“I should be— What? grateful? Why? And what? I have a cocky mouth?” he splutters, turning towards you showing an exaggerated, horrified expression which was totally just acting.

"First place, I don’t even care about my skin, Second, you should be grateful that I’m letting you do this while I’m literally in the middle of a serious fight, Third—”

“Hey, dont move!,” you interrupt, pushing back his face towards the screen.

“I can’t do it properly, if you keep moving” you add and he becomes quiet and goes back to playing his game very seriously.

You slowly get even more closer to his face. 

For real, you’ve done this almost a hundred times before, sitting on his lap touching his face and all stuff, but today something in the air feels different.

For the first time the closeness doesn’t feel normal.

It feels dangerous, surreal and maybe something new.

Every time he breathes near you, every time his chest brushes against yours, you feel your pulse raise. 

You try to ignore it, focusing your attention back to what you are doing, but it only makes it worse, because now, you’re actually looking at him. 

The sharp line of his nose, the long lashes that fall against his skin, the bambi-like looking eyes, and then your gaze drops down— unintentionally. 

You blink, realizing you are staring at him, you shake your head slightly to clear it, pushing those sudden, distracting thoughts away as quickly as they come. 

You don't want to be caught by him, which will only make it more embarrassing.

You quickly turn back to your work— properly this time. 

So, you shift your weight, moving closer to him, trying to adjust the position so reaching the bridge of his nose would be easier.

As you move, your thighs slide against his joggers, hips very slightly against each other, the friction sending a sudden spark through your body, but you push it away. 

It was just a small moment for you, which you just want to ignore, but it sent a shudder through Heeseung’s body which you didn’t know.

“Fuck—” Heeseung groans, throwing his head back against the chair, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, suddenly gripping your hip with one hand so tightly as you freeze at the pressure.

“Don’t—Don’t fucking do that, I’m trying my best to concentrate, baby” he forces out softly, the words tight as he grits his teeth.

You don’t understand what happened.

One second, you’re applying the gel on his face, moving closer to reach his nose—and the next, he throws his head against the chair and it’s pissing you since you already told him to not move.

“I said to not move, Heeseung!!  And seriously, it’s not my mistake that you can’t concentrate on your game” you say, a hint of irritation slipping through your voice.

You don’t understand what is wrong or what is his problem, even though it was quite obvious you couldn’t figure it out, so you just get back to working on his face. 

You shift your weight again, trying to adjust your position to get a better angle on his face, slightly moving left. 

This movement causes your leggings to unintentionally rub your thigh against his growing hardness.

“Baby, fuck—“ he rasps, as his other hand also leaves keyboard to grab the other side of your hip and holds you so tightly with both of the hands that you were sure it will leave few bruises by tomorrow. 

His head abruptly falls on your shoulder as the room fills with the loud harsh blares from the monitor which indicates he lost the game but you didn’t know it.

“Heeseung what the—” before you could even scold him, you gasp from him pulling you down, pressing you against him in a way that you can feel his big bulge on your core. 

“Heeseung….” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Don’t—fucking don’t,” he starts, speaking as his head is still on your shoulder, you hear it in his voice, how he is trying his all best to control himself. 

“Don’t tell me stop when all I was doing was sitting here….trying my all best to control myself, while here you are sitting on my fucking lap, moving how ever you want……. God! Y/N you’ve been killing me here, I can’t stop anymore—”

He stops talking, lifting his head from your shoulder before capturing your lips in a searing, aching, desperate kiss, hands moving from your hips to your waist, gripping it so tightly it knocks the air out of your lungs.

He kisses you rough, like gentleness isn’t even an option right now, like he’s done holding back, done pretending this doesn’t mean anything as the gel smears on your face from his face.

All the years of your friendship, when he did his best to hold back, but now he’s done.

For a second you forget how to breathe, the intensity, the desperation and the desire from his mouth against yours, knocking the thoughts out of your brain.

You don’t even process the fact that HE, HE, your best friend is kissing you right now. Never in a million years did you think this out of all would happen—a lie you had a lot of sex dreams with him cuz he was too hot, and……..never mind.

You are still trying to process this when the grip on your waist tightens to pull you out of your thoughts.

The jar slips from your hand, shattering into pieces, and gel spreads everywhere on the floor, but you don’t even notice it. 

You melt against him, your hand slowly moving from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers curling tightly in the hair as you pull him closer and kiss him back with the same desire, desperation and intensity.

He lets out a low deep growl, something filled with satisfaction like he knew you would kiss him without holding back.

It vibrates through your whole body, slowly heat starts coiling up in your lower belly more than what you felt a while ago.

You start feeling needy and want him more than you ever did.

But then he pulls back, forehead against yours, his breath hot, and his lips swollen from the hard rough kiss.

“Tell me to stop—” he whispers against your mouth in a low hoarse, octave voice which sends a shiver through your body.

You shake your head instantly before he can even finish.

“No,” you whisper, the word barely leaving your throat. “Don’t. Please don’t ” 

You roll your hips against his voluntarily. 

You need more.

You need the friction to not be a tease and start being the truth. The reality.

“Fuck—“ Heeseung hisses the moment he hears the deny and feels the roll of your hips directly against his bulge.

This time you’ve done it on purpose, you need more and you are clearly showing it.

He roughly grabs your jaw,tilting your head back, and crashing his lips on to yours again.

This time it’s all tongue and teeth, he doesn’t ask for permission, he claims it like it’s his.

You gasp into the kiss, this was more aggressive and desperate han before.

He takes his chance to enter his tongue into your mouth when you gasp.

His tongue plunges into your mouth, taking in your whispers and every inch of your mouth, he doesn’t waste a single single second.

His palm is hot.

He moves his hand from your waist to your hips as they slowly slip under your long hoodie or probably his which you wear all the time.

His hands move on your lower back, pulling you closer that there isn’t a millimetre also left between you both.

He breaks the kiss to move lower, his lips dragging along your jaw, sucking gently, before moving down to the column of your throat.

You tilt your head back without thinking, giving him more, your fingers going to his shoulders to hold tightly as his kisses grow firmer, more lingering.

“Hee….mm….Hee…” your breath stutters, his name coming from your mouth like a chant, unsteady whispers, which you can’t hold back anymore. 

His hand moves down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before delivering a spank.

His palm against your ass made you leave out a loud gasp, your back arching slightly.

He doesn’t pull away, he soothes it down slowly, in a way it makes your toe curl. 

The literal sensation sends sparks right over to your core, making you clench a round nothing.

He starts placing open mouthed kisses near your collarbone and neck, his breath hot and damp, leaving the warmth of his mouth behind.

He moves below your ear, instantly financing your sweet spot and nips your skin lightly.

You let out a sharp cry, breathing unsteadily.

The moment you let it out, he leans in again, nipping it harder than before, sucking a dark, purple mark, visibly claiming you.

He follows down to your collarbone, nipping wherever he finds your sweet spots to let out those sweet little sounds that feel like music to his ears.

You don’t stop, you keep whimpering his name, gasping when his tongue darts out to lick gently after nipping on your sweet spots.

You are drenched. 

Your panties are suffocatingly tight because of the silk clinging to your folds as you leak for him.

You need him.

You need to feel full.

You were sure it is making it hard to even take in air properly just because of his hot kisses on your body.

One of his hands tugs the hem of your hoodie, asking you permission if he was allowed to remove it while he was still busy marking you up.

“Yes! Please—remove it” you please, your voice cracking a little bit.

He doesn’t even take a second to tug it off, the moment you accept it, in one fluid motion he pulls it off you.

For a second he freezes.

You aren’t wearing a bra, the cool air hitting your bare skin, making your nipples harden and maybe you weren’t even sure if it was air or his gaze all over your body making you turn again and again and again…..

You aren’t wearing anything else except the black lace of your panties peeking out of your tiny shorts you wore.

“Fuck baby—” he growls, his eye’s darkening, pupils expanding until his hazel is almost entirely black.

He looks at you like you’re both sin and miracle given to him at once.

“This is what you have been gatekeeping from me, huh?” he asks, his hands moving to cup the underside of your breast, lifting them up slightly, as his thumb slightly grazes over the peck.

 You whimper, throwing your head back at that little touch surge of pleasure shoots to your core.

“This tiny waist,” his hands moving to the mid section, squeezing the softness there, devouring your body with his eyes.

“These wide, beautiful hips,” his finger moving on the waistband, pulling the elastic tight.

He bends a little, pressing a hot, lingering kiss right above the fabric of your panties, his lips grazing the skin of your hip.

The sensation sends a jolt through your body, sending shivers as your legs shake.

“Including the ass you’ve been teasing me with for years,” he said his voice filled with lust and love, and then he looks at you, how you look wrecked just for his touch.

He spanks you again, harder and more firm this time.

You cry out, a sound filled with shock, pleasure and pain, but please wins it all for now.

You thought he would probably soothe it again but no, it was paining harder but he made no movement to touch or soothe it, just casually leans back on to the chair.

He just lets it linger there, making it a reminder for you.

To remind you, who you actually belong to though he hasn’t fucked the shit out you yet.

Now his gaze isn’t on your face, it moves lower.

Your neck. No

Your collarbone. No

Your Shoulders. No

Just shamelessly, directly looking at your breasts with a hungry gaze, something you wanted to see all along.

“And finally……these beautiful, big boobs” he whispers.

He bends down, his lips hovering right over your breast, his hot breath teasing your nipples.

And then he pecks it…..to just tease you more.

The moment his hot breath was on your nipple.

Just his hot breath. 

Hot.

Breath.

You found yourself getting hungrier for him, you didn’t want him to tease you, you needed him, right then and there.

He knew it, he knew how you felt, how you are breathing, how you need him, but won’t give you what you want right now.

“Hee please—” you grind on him again but he holds back your hips making you stop, before you please again or tell him how badly you need him.

Then he starts sucking it, like he can’t hold back anymore, like this was the last thing left on the earth, maybe even like he was thirsty for them.

He wants to tease you, but couldn't hold himself back from you either, that grinding, those pleas from your mouth, made him rethink his decision from teasing you.

You could hear his sucking sounds, wet and vulgar, because of the wetness of his saliva spreading on to your nipples.

Your back arches, your hands instinctively find his hair, gripping it tightly.

He groans at the tight pull of his hair, making him harder underneath.

He sucks on your nipples, tongue circling around the peck, and tugging it slightly before sucking it again, doing the same thing over and over again, while his other hand finds your breast, squeezing, kneading it and rolling your nipple in between his fingers.

You moan, loud, honest, no stopping.

The pleasure was too good.

Your hips start bucking instantly against his bulge again, rolling your hips harder than before, grinding more.

He notices it as he pulls back from sucking with a wet plop.

“Eager now baby?” He teases, his voice dropping low.

You nod, hips moving harder, searching for friction.

For a second he thought to let you do something at least for yourself or not stopping you like he was before but no, straight away his hands move to your hips stopping you right when you thought it was getting better.

Then he bends down and moves to the other breast without a word to you, giving it the same attention as before, while his other hand was on the breast which was wet from his saliva, but still playing with it, satisfying you with his hand.

It was good, undeniably you like you, but the fact that your pussy was throbbing to be filled was not ignorable. 

You didn't want to wait. 

“Hee….please…please..I need you so bad—ahh” you let out a sharp cry as he bites down your nipples, his hands lowering, across your thighs and rids your shorts from your legs without asking you.

“Needy baby?” He asks as he pulls back, like knew nothing.

“Hee—ahhh” you moan when his fingers touch the wetness of your pussy just through the lace black panties.

“So wet for me baby” he coos as he feels the moisture soaking through the lace.

He finally strips them away also, leaving you bare on his lap, pressing against him.

The contact is sharp, as now you are directly pressing against the rough fabric over his bulge.

He finds his way to your clit, pressing on the swollen bud right away, rubbing it in circles with no patience, but with punishing pressure that makes your vision blur.

Your mouth opens, letting out sharp breaths, eyes shut, finally getting whatever you’ve been longing for, you instinctively bite down on your lips as choked sobs and moans come out of your throat.

“No baby, don’t bite your lip, don’t stop, moan for me, darling” he says softly, before pushing 2 fingers into your soaking warmth at once.

You scream from the sudden push, it wasn’t warned, it was too sudden.

He starts pushing deeper into your spongy walls, as your walls clench around his fingers, he groans in your neck, his fingers curling in spots making you moan and vision blur from the pleasure.

“Fuck baby, thats it, take my fingers like a good girl” he finally adds the third finger, stretching you apart as you wail, and then heeseung leans to kiss you again, tongue entering your mouth directly, taking in all your sounds while pumping his fingers in and out, while his thumb presses and circles on your bud.

He moves faster, pulling away from the kiss, gripping your hips tightly while pumping his fingers faster, your hands move to his shoulders tightening as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, while whimpering and gasping, leaving out breathy huffs.

As you feel your orgasm building, tightening low in your belly, just the tension in your thighs becomes unbearable.

“Hee— I’m—” before could even finish your sentence, he pulled out his fingers, just only the pad of his thumb pressing over your swollen clit, trapping the pleasure before it could explode.

Your eyes open wide, blown in shock as a moan of frustration screeches from your throat at the literal loss of his fingers inside.

“Hee, why–” you gasp, hips bucking instinctively towards his hand wanting more.

“Mmm” he just hums, looking down at your pussy while circling your clit, rubbing it in small circles but never quite providing the friction you need to tip over the edge.

“Hee, please!” you whine, trying to grind his hand, but he holds your hip tight enough to not let you move, he is still looking at your pussy, but then finally looks up.

Eyes dark with lust, his smoldering gaze at you making you pause for a second before he says “please, what?” in a low octave, his voice sounding husky.

“I-I need to come,” you wail, grinding on his bulge over his rough fabric making you want more, in fact you’ve never felt this needy.

Him edging you just made it worse, you couldn't take the teasing now, you need him and you won't stop asking for it.

“please hee please I need you, I want you so badly. I can’t take it anymore!!” you beg. 

He chuckles, a dark, hungry sound.

He doesn't put his fingers back in you or do anything you asked for.

Instead, he starts to kiss you, deep, demanding kisses that taste of mint and desperation.

The intensity of the kiss swallows you while leaving you breathless and your hands move to his head, running your hands through his long, lustrous black hair.

His tongue slides against yours, sucking and swirling desperately while sliding down his joggers and boxer to pull his cock out.

He pulls away from the kiss, pulling your head back away from his.

You look down into his hands and the moment you saw it, you were starstuck.

He is big.

Not big like you think, very big in a way you weren't sure if you could even take him.

It was shocking.

You knew this was coming, when you guys crossed your lines today but god he is just so big.

His cock is big, fucking standing straight, curling a little but still so so straight in way you never stood in your whole life, wow, it is hot and swollen, throbbing as the tip is in a beautifully pink color, glistening with precum as he held the shaft in his hand.

You are staring at it shamelessly, because who wouldn't look at something so beautiful and gorgeous. 

“Like what you see baby?” he asks, when he caught you staring at his cock.

You snap out of your thoughts, raising your head up, eyes locking on to his eyes, as your cheeks burn from embarrassment.

“Want it inside you baby?” he questions as he feels your arousal just by looking at you face.

You nod slightly and that's what it takes before he jerks it on your pussy once, slapping his cock against it a few times, spreading his precum all over.

An unfiltered screech comes out of your throat, showing how needy you are when he slaps the tip on your pussy.

You move a little, rubbing it a little on his cock, whimpering a little.

“You want it so bad right? You’ll get it baby” he doesn't wait another second.

 He grips your waist and heaves you upward and then slams you down on to his cock.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders as you scream into the crook of his neck when he buries himself, all the way to the hilt inside you in one fluid, powerful motion.

The fullness is overwhelming, a blunt pressure that hits your cervix and sends ripples of pleasure radiating through your entire lower body. 

The sensation is overwhelming, the feeling of being completely filled, the stretch of your pussy, the sudden, intense heat of him deep within your pussy.

You feel your internal muscles spasm around him, clamping down tight, clenching it so tight which makes Heeseung leave a raw guttural growl out feeling you all around him.

His cock twitches inside you, showing how badly he needed this.

“Baby–fuck, so tight…you feel so good baby” he says, his hands sliding down to your ass gripping. 

You stay still for a moment, both of you catching your breath, the only sound the heavy thrum of the PC fans and your synchronized gasping.

The gaming chair creaks as you begin to move, tentatively at first, lifting your hips a few inches and then sliding back down.

You only lift an inch before slamming back down, the impact making the gaming chair rock precariously. 

The feeling of him filling inside you was so so good, that you didn't care about anyone hearing your moans, as your moans echo all through the room. 

Your grip on his shoulder tightens as the pleasure of him being inside you, stretching you apart with his cock was the best feeling you ever felt.

The squelching and wet sounds of your pussy moving on his cock, taking him all the way down to his shaft, then moving back halfway, and falling back down, with your moans and Heeseung’s groans fill you the room.

The sounds are lewd, obscene or even pornographic, it didn't feel real.

You riding your best friend's cock feels like a dreaming true. 

You slowly find your rhythm, more confident, more desperate.

Your mouth falls agape, moaning loudly every time you ride him, head falls back as the tip hits that spot that makes you see stars, your breasts bounce with every downward thrust, your hardened nipples scrape against his shirt every time.

“Yes, just like that baby” he groans as his head hits the chair, while he grips your ass and starts lifting you higher so he can move deeper. 

You are desperate now, the need for release overriding everything.

The friction against your clit is intense, a searing heat that builds with every slide.

You lean forward, your hair falling over your face, your mouth finding his again.

The kiss is sloppy, desperate, the sound of your tongues clashing mixing with the wet slaps of your bodies. 

Tentatively, Heeseung also starts moving his hips up, thrusting upward slowly, testing the waters to see how it would be.

And fuck it, it was so so so good.

“Ahh” you moan as the tip of his cock hits deeper in your pussy, as your walls clench around him in pleasure.

You scream into his mouth, it is so intense, your pussy takes him all the way on to his shaft.

You keep riding him until you feel that low tingling feeling in your lower stomach.

You are about to come, you needed it any minute now.

You are moving faster, breath uneven, shamelessly moaning so loudly, you are sure your neighbours could hear it but you couldn't care less.

“Ngh heee” you wail, you dont know if its pain or pleasure or all together but it was good and stretching you apart and finally you are about to come.

“Hee–hee i-m im coming!!” you choke out, the orgasm is about to come as he moves his hips faster, thrusting harder.

“Yes baby, yes, come for me, come on my cock baby” he says, holding your hips, gripping it so hard, it could leave red marks on it and speeding up the movements, slamming you down onto his cock, taking control.

“Ahh–mm yess, yess im coming!!” you throw your head back, a loud, uncontrolled cry escaping your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

Heeseung doesnt stop, he fucks you through it, chasing his orgasm. 

“Hee—” you scream so loudly, it was too much, you are overstimulating, you coat his cok, milking it all the way.

“I-i cant..too much–”

“Yess, you can, you can for me baby” his movements becoming faster, more erratic. He's grunting now, the sounds guttural and raw.

He lifts you slightly and then slams you down, the leather of the chair creaking loudly under the strain.

The sound of your pussy engulfing him is a wet, rhythmic squelch, the air being pushed out of your orifice in small, needy puffs. 

“Im-im coming baby” he moves faster again and again.

“Im gonna fill you up, you’re gonna take me like a good girl and fill you up right?” he says as he looks at you and captures your lips into kiss again.

You feel him tense, his entire body turning to stone beneath you.

With one final, deep thrust that feels like it reaches your very soul, he lets out a loud, guttural roar, his entire body tensing.

He gives one final, massive thrust, burying himself as deep as possible as you feel the hot, pulsing jets of his cum hitting your cervix, filling you up, the liquid warmth spreading through your internals.

“Fuck–take it baby” 

You moan as he fills you up, while he grunts and finally comes undone inside you which felt so so so good.

As the intensity fades, he doesn't move.

He keeps you pressed against him, his heart hammering against your ribs.

You can feel his cock slowly softening inside you, though he remains deep within. A small amount of semen and lubricant leaks from the junction of your bodies, dripping onto the black leather of the chair with a soft patter. 

“That was–soo good” you whisper to him.

He smiles, that goddamn smile that melts you right away, probably even your bones.

He pushes a wet hair stand behind your hair as he finally speaks.

“Very good. Are you happy?” he asks and that genuinely made you feel happy that he was asking your opinion. 

You nod, you look wrecked so did he, both of you breathing heavily, faces flushed.

“Are you ok?” he asks you sweetly after showing his dark side which you loved and so did you like that gentleness in his which made your heart filp and beat faster.

You blush as you nod and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Dont hide baby” he pulls you back cupping your face. 

“Mm” you whine sweetly.

He kisses your forehead gently.

"So," he says, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I think I lost that match."

You let out a soft laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"Worth it?"

"The best loss of my life," he whispers, kissing your temple. 

Heeseug twitches inside you, making you whimper.

“You’re still inside me hee” you say to him as it hurts a little but don't bother but it's still sticky and messy altogether. 

But then he shrugs it off as if it's nothing, you frown and ask him “what?” and try to pull away.

He doesn't let you, he slams you back down as you scream and squeal from shock.

“Hee–” then while you are still inside him, he abruptly stands up, while still holding you tightly around your waist and still inside you.

“Ready for round 2 baby?” he asks as you widen your eyes in shock while his cock gets stiff all the way till his shaft again.

“Hee~” he crashes his lips on to yours slamming you onto the wall and starts moving inside you.

˚ ༘ 🎞️ ｡𖦹 ° 🎥 ⁀જ⁀➴ film ending.......

taglist- @prettygirlthings-world @strawberrywonnie @heeqluv @isagistar @hoonieslove

Seizing the moment when the banker was distracted greeting another guest, Heeseung slipped his left hand into the pocket of his vest. His fingers found the cold, engraved surface of his pocket watch, a solid gold family heirloom. He flicked the lid open with a soft click of his thumb. Midnight had already passed.

It was time.

Without breaking composure, he waited for the precise second to excuse himself with a quiet murmur about a persistent headache caused by the tobacco smoke. He moved with the agility of a shadow through the sea of silks, satins, and genuine pearl necklaces, dodging the watchful gazes of the matrons patrolling the room. No one questioned the movements of a Lee; his respectability was an indisputable fact. He crossed the marble foyer and stepped out onto the main staircase, where the icy Manhattan night air struck his face, clearing the lethargy of the event.

“The Packard.” he ordered the valet in a voice stripped of the political warmth he had used all evening.

The employee nodded promptly, intimidated by the cold authority radiating from the young man. A few minutes later, the imposing black automobile stopped at the curb, its engine purring softly like a tame but dangerous beast. Heeseung slid into the driver’s seat, dismissed the valet with a silver coin, and before the door had fully closed, pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

As the Waldorf faded behind him and the lights of the skyscrapers dissolved into the darker streets of lower Manhattan, Heeseung’s perfect facade began to crumble. With one hand on the wheel, he used the other to open the glove compartment. The latch gave way, and nestled among the vehicle’s documents gleamed the deep blue of a small velvet box. His hand lingered for a second over it, caressing the texture of the case that had hidden the sapphires for days. A genuine smile, tense with anticipation yet filled with an almost violent devotion, curved his lips. He slammed the compartment shut.

Every turn of the wheel took him further from the hypocrisy of his world and closer to you. In recent months, that drive had become his only moment of true clarity. He thought about your bold haircut, the way you defied gravity on stage, and the warmth of your skin. He drove fast, bordering on reckless, devouring the streets still wet from the recent drizzle.

Finally, the car slipped into the back alley behind the “speakeasy”. It was a narrow passage that reeked of dampness and cheap illegal gin, a stark contrast to the opulence he had just left. Yet for him, that cracked pavement was a sanctuary. The alley was the only silent witness to his escapes, the only place where he could worship you without the gossip columns tearing your name apart. It infuriated him that he had to hide. If it were up to him, he would take you by the hand and drag you into the center of the Waldorf, forcing that stale dynasty to bow before you. Because you were worth more than any of those insipid heiresses; you were worth every risk, every lie, and every reputation he put on the line, even if you were the first to doubt it and demand secrecy.

He turned off the engine but left the headlights on, casting sharp silhouettes across the rain-soaked alley. He stepped out of the Packard and pushed open the heavy wooden back door of the club, bypassing the guard who already knew his face, and especially the thickness of his tips.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the wall of sound hit him instantly. The raw, hot notes of jazz floated through the air thick with cigarette smoke. The place was packed. There were businessmen who had loosened their ties, local gangsters in pinstripe suits, and sailors looking to forget the docks. Most were already showing the effects of bootleg alcohol, with glassy eyes and overly loud laughter. Heeseung stood out immediately. Even in this underground dive, the fall of his coat, the refinement of his features, and the rigidity of his posture made it clear that although classes mixed here, there were still levels. He belonged at the very top.

He scanned the crowd with thinly veiled disdain. To these men, the women dancing on stage or serving drinks were mere merchandise, a pretty flesh to satisfy carnal desires in a dark corner and forget by dawn. They felt entitled to possess them with their eyes.

Heeseung clenched his jaw as he crossed the room toward the dressing area. He wasn’t there for a fleeting whim. What he felt for you went far beyond the physical; it was absolute possession, a fire that consumed his chest and threatened to explode if he didn’t claim you right away.

The hallway leading to the dressing rooms was a narrow labyrinth, thick with the smell of sweat, talcum powder, hair spray, and the sickly-sweet residue of cheap perfume. Heeseung walked with firm steps, ignoring the bustle around him; the constant coming and going of flappers adjusting their stockings, laughing shrilly, or passing around flasks of bootleg liquor.

Halfway down the corridor, one of them stepped into his path. She was a woman with endless legs and generous curves, wrapped in a silk fringed dress that left very little to the imagination. She leaned against the wall with languid familiarity, exhaling a thick cloud of cigarette smoke before fixing her kohl-lined eyes on him. Her gaze swept over Heeseung’s tailcoat, instantly recognizing the impeccable cut that only Fifth Avenue money could buy.

“Well, well… looks like we have a genuine high-society gentleman around here,” she purred, taking a step forward that dangerously closed the distance between them. “You look a little tense, handsome. All that formalwear must be exhausting. If you’re looking for some entertainment to forget about business and have a good time… I know exactly how to make you relax.”

Heeseung looked down at her from his height with an icy stare that would have made anyone retreat. Inside, a biting curse crossed his mind; he was disgusted that they breathed the same air as you, disgusted that they assumed he was like the rest of the pigs who paid for company. When the woman, emboldened by her own audacity, reached out to touch the lapel of his jacket. He shifted back an inch, and before her fingers could touch the fabric, he gripped her wrist with iron strength. He didn’t hurt her, but the hold was firm enough to stop her cold.

“I’m not interested,” he stated, his voice so sharp it seemed to freeze the hallway. “Out there at the tables there are dozens of men with pockets full of cash, more than willing to use you in the way you seem so eager for. Go find them.”

Without waiting for a reply, he pushed her aside with a brusque motion and continued on his way, leaving the woman stunned, her pride barely intact thanks to the young man’s haste.

Heeseung didn’t stop until he reached the door he knew by heart. Without bothering to knock, he turned the handle and pushed it open. The collective dressing room was a chaos of feathers, mirrors lit by bare bulbs, and delicate lingerie. His intrusion drew a chorus of muffled gasps and surprised squeaks from the dancers, who were in various states of undress and preparation for the next number.

None of them mattered to him. His gaze swept across the room like radar until it found you at the back, sitting in front of the vanity, putting the finishing touches on your lipstick. When his reflection appeared in the mirror, your eyes widened with a mix of surprise and panic. Acting on pure instinct before the others could start whispering, you stood up, strode toward him, grabbed his hand, and dragged him out of the dressing room, slamming the door shut behind you.

The moment the latch clicked and you were alone in the dim hallway, Heeseung didn’t give you time to breathe. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest with an almost painful urgency, clinging to you as if you were the only real thing after hours of enduring the Waldorf’s falsehood. His face buried itself in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent.

“How can you be so reckless?” you whispered against his shoulder, trying to keep your voice low while your hands rested on his chest. “You keep coming here like it’s nothing, without worrying that someone might recognize you. You don’t even try to hide who you are.”

Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you. An adoring smile, completely unlike the stiffness he had shown minutes earlier, lit up his features. His dark eyes shone with absolute devotion.

“The last thing I care about in this life is what the city’s gossipmongers can invent about me,” he replied, his tone soft but unyielding. “I thought you already knew that by now, my love.”

Then, closing the distance even further, he took your gloved hand and slowly brought it to his lips. He pressed a reverent kiss to your knuckles, holding your gaze through his lashes without breaking eye contact for even a second.

“You have no idea how agonizing it’s been waiting for you all night. I’ve been desperate to see you since the moment I woke up.”

You smiled with a mix of resignation and tenderness. It was impossible to keep up any pretense of anger with a man who looked at you like you were a goddess, someone who seemed willing to kiss the very ground you walked on.

“I missed you too,” you admitted with a sigh, softening your posture, “But understand me… The last thing I want is for your reputation to be tarnished because of me. Your family, your name…”

Heeseung let out a heavy sigh and closed the distance in one swift motion. He pushed you gently but possessively against the wall. His right hand immediately rose to your face, cupping your cheek with his long fingers, forcing you to look at him as he captured your lips in a deep kiss. It was a hungry kiss, filled with all the tension he had held back throughout the week, a silent claim that left you breathless. Your tongues met in a slow, possessive rhythm that made your knees weaken.

When you finally pulled apart, gasping for air, you looked at him in astonishment, cheeks flushed and pulse racing. Heeseung leaned in to place a tender kiss on your forehead, resting his own forehead against yours as he spoke to you in a low, husky, intimate voice.

“Listen to me carefully. There isn’t a single risk in this world I wouldn’t take for you. I’d leave everything behind if that was the price to be with you openly, in the light of day. My name means nothing if you’re not part of it.”

A soft, melodic laugh escaped your lips at his drama. You gave his arm a playful pat, looking at him with a spark of amusement in your eyes.

“It seems your feelings are clouding your judgment, darling,” you said teasingly, shaking your head. “Those definitely didn’t sound like the words of the smart, calculating man you’re supposed to be. There’s no doubt that love is a real danger… an absolute threat to coherence and logic.”

Heeseung let out a low chuckle, a vibrant sound that was muffled against your neck before he pulled back to look at you again. His fingers slowly traced the contour of your cheek, capturing the warmth of your skin.

“I have no way to refute that,” he admitted, his eyes shining in a way he would never show in the salons of Fifth Avenue. “I’m fully aware of my own recklessness and my complete lack of reason right now. But you have to admit it’s entirely your fault; you’ve got me completely foolish.”

Your laughter rang out clear and light in the hallway, untouched by the peeling walls or the clamor of the club. It was a sound so full of life that Heeseung felt a violent flip in his chest. His heart raced in an almost painful way, confirming what he already knew: there was no room for regret. In all of New York, in the entire world, there wasn’t a single woman capable of making him feel so ridiculously alive.

“You’ve definitely lost your mind, Lee,” you said, crossing your arms with perfectly feigned indignation. You lifted your chin, looking up at him with a haughty, arrogant expression that only dazzled him more. “Though, if we’re being honest, you were already a bit of a fool the first time we met.”

Heeseung shook his head, amused, adoring that sharp, daring spark that made you unique.

“Enough talking, my lady” he declared without warning. Before you could protest, he lifted you off the ground. Your feet left the floor and you had to cling to his shoulders as he settled you in his arms with astonishing ease. He wasn’t willing to leave you in that place a second longer, not now that he finally had you all to himself.

He crossed the hallway and the main room with firm steps, completely ignoring the sideways glances and obscene comments a couple of drunk men threw his way. Heeseung clenched his teeth, barely holding back the curses burning in his throat. The mere idea that those men dared to look at you turned his stomach, but his priority was getting you out of there.

He pushed open the back door and the cold night air greeted them in the alley. The cracked pavement glistened under the drizzle, reflecting the imposing silhouette of the Packard. With care, as if carrying the most valuable piece of contraband, he opened the rear door of the car and gently placed you on the leather seat before climbing in beside you and closing the door with a solid thud, shutting out the noise of the outside world.

As soon as he settled next to you, the urgency in his gaze shifted into an almost boyish anticipation.

“There’s something I’ve been keeping for you. And I can’t wait another minute to give it to you.” he said, his voice dropping a little lower. He reached over the back of the seat toward the front of the car. His long fingers quickly opened the glove compartment and returned holding the small velvet box. He offered it to you, holding your gaze. “I saw it and thought of you immediately. There was no way to avoid it.”

You stared at him wide-eyed before accepting the expensive case. When you opened it, the sparkle under the glove compartment light stole your breath. It wasn’t costume jewelry or a cheap imitation like the chorus girls usually wore. It was a wide choker necklace, a genuinely choker with perfectly aligned pearls set around a central diamond that caught the faint light of the alley with blinding purity.

Surprise was written all over your face.

“You’re getting more and more drastic with your gifts and the way you spoil me, Heeseung.” you whispered, running your fingertips over the gems.

Heeseung didn’t answer with words. He took the necklace from your hands and motioned for you to turn slightly. His fingers, warm despite the night, gently brushed aside the strands of your bob haircut to wrap the pearls around your neck. Before fastening the clasp, he leaned in to leave a slow kiss on your collarbone, followed by another, longer and firmer, on the side of your neck.

“Nothing is too drastic when it comes to you,” he rasped against your skin, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “You deserve the best in the world, and I’m showing you that I can give it to you without reservations, without complications.”

He secured the clasp and let his hands slide down to your shoulders, turning you to face him once more. The diamond sparkled right at the base of your throat, looking obscenely beautiful against your skin.

“If you finally decided to ignore the prejudices and the fear of what others might say… there would be many more improvements in your life. Improvements I would lay at your feet the moment you asked for them.”

“Heeseung…” you whispered his name, fully aware of the social storm it would cause for the Lee heir to appear hand in hand with a flapper from a speakeasy.

But you couldn’t finish the sentence. Just like before, Heeseung leaned in and kissed you to silence you.

But this time the kiss was different. There was no reverent tenderness from moments ago, nor the patient promise of a gentleman. It was a complete shift, an immediate, heavy wave of possession that sought to erase any trace of doubt from your mind and remind you exactly who you belonged to in the darkness of that car. His mouth claimed yours with an urgency that transformed the atmosphere into something thick, hot, and suffocating, marking the beginning of the night’s true rhythm.

And a moment later… the alley behind the speakeasy reeked of bootleg gin and rain-slicked pavement now. Inside the idling Packard, the world outside ceased to exist. Heeseung’s tuxedo jacket now lay discarded across the front seat, his tie hanging loose around his neck like a forgotten noose. You were already in his lap, knees sinking into the butter-soft leather, the jet-beaded fringe of your dress shoved up to your waist in an impatient rustle.

“God, I missed you, so badly” he growled against your lips, his voice rough from hours of barely contained hunger. His hands, still bearing the heavy family crest ring, slid down your body with blatant need. The beads clattered like spilled coins as he pushed the fabric higher, exposing the sheer silk stockings and the delicate satin garter belt he’d brought you from Paris a month ago. No knickers underneath, just your bare, already soaked cunt glistening in the faint glow of the dashboard.

His fingers parted your slick folds without preamble. You were drenched, hot, slippery arousal coating his knuckles instantly, strings of it clinging between his digits when he spread you wider. The swollen lips of your sex parted with a wet sound; your clit throbbed visibly under his thumb, engorged and dark. He dragged two fingers through your cream, then pushed them knuckle-deep inside you, curling hard against that spongy front wall until your inner muscles fluttered and sucked at him greedily.

You moaned, low and wrecked, the sound vibrating against the thick glass and steel cocoon of the car. “Heeseung… drive first. Someone might see…You might get in trouble for that…—”

“No.” He yanked his fingers free. Slick strands stretching and snapping, and fisted his cock through his open fly. He was brutally hard, veins standing thick under the flushed skin, the fat head already leaking a steady bead of precome that smeared across your inner thigh when he notched himself at your entrance.

One brutal upward snap of his hips and he sheathed himself to the root in a single, searing glide. The stretch was obscene, your walls yielding and then clamping down like a vise around his girth, every ridged inch forcing your cunt to open wider, to take him deeper. The sudden fullness punched the air from your lungs; you felt the blunt head lodge against your cervix, a dull, delicious ache blooming outward as your body struggled to accommodate him.

The car rocked violently once, twice, suspension groaning. Then it settled into the filthy, liquid rhythm of flesh slapping flesh. Each time he bottomed out, your arousal squelched loudly around his shaft, wet, sucking noises that echoed in the tight space, mingling with the creak of leather and your broken gasps.

His mouth latched onto the side of your throat, teeth scraping before he sucked hard enough to bruise. The skin bloomed hot and tender under his lips; you could feel the blood rushing to the surface, the faint copper-salt taste of your own skin when his tongue laved over the mark. “You feel that?” he panted, breathing against your pulse point. “That’s mine. Every goddamn inch of you is mine, and I’m tired of pretending you’re not.”

You rode him harder, hips rolling with the same sinuous snap you used on stage. Your inner walls dragged along his length on every lift, then sucked him back in on the drop, milking the thick ridge under the head. The friction was scalding, velvet heat squeezing him so tightly his breath hitched every time your cunt fluttered. Sweat gathered in the dip of your spine, also trickling between your breasts; the necklace he’d given you swung heavily, stones and pearls slapping against sweat-damp skin with every bounce.

He gripped your ass cheeks, fingers digging in until the flesh whitened then flushed red under his hold. Nails bit sharp half-moons into the plush meat.

“I bought you that necklace,” he rasped, voice fraying. One hand slid up to trace the heavy pearls, cool against fever-hot skin, while the other kept your hips pinned so he could grind the base of his cock against your clit on every deep thrust. “Diamonds and pearls, the exact ones you like the most. I want to see it sparkle in daylight, not just when I’m buried inside you in some back alley. Why the hell do you make me keep us a secret?”

You clenched deliberately around him, slow, rhythmic pulses that made his eyes roll back and his hips jerk erratically. Your cunt was so wet now that every withdrawal dragged a glistening coat of your arousal down his shaft, pooling at the base where his dark curls met your bare lips. The obscene slickness coated his balls, dripped onto the leather in fat, sticky drops.

“Because you’re Heeseung Lee,” you gasped, voice splintering on a moan as he punched particularly deep. “Society prince. Moral compass. One whisper of a flapper dripping on your cock and they’ll tear you apart.”

He snarled, flipped you in one brutal motion so your back hit the seat. One knee shoved your thigh high and wide; the other braced on the floorboard. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper, cockhead kissing your cervix on every punishing stroke, the pressure so intense it bordered on pain and still made pleasure spike white-hot behind your eyes.

The car shook with the force of his thrusts. Your necklace clasp clicked rhythmically against the seatback; your stockings rasped against his trousers. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your collarbone, slid between your breasts in salty rivulets. His thumb found your clit, swollen, slippery, hypersensitive, and rubbed tight, merciless circles that made your thighs quake.

“I don’t give a damn, never did” he hissed, voice shredded. “Let them talk. Let them stare. I want to take you to the Waldorf on my arm. I want to fuck you in our own bed, not this goddamn car after playing the perfect gentleman all night.” His thumb pressed harder; your cunt spasmed violently around him, inner walls rippling, trying to pull him deeper. “I love you, damn it. I love you so much it’s eating me alive.”

The orgasm tore through you like bad gin set alight, sharp, consuming, unstoppable. Your walls clamped down in hard, rhythmic pulses, milking his cock so fiercely his rhythm broke. A gush of fresh slick flooded around him, soaking his shaft, his balls, the crease of your ass, the leather beneath. You cried out, nails scoring down his back through his open shirt as your whole pelvis fluttered and seized.

He followed on the next brutal thrust, burying himself balls-deep and coming with a guttural groan of your name. Hot, thick spurts painted your insides, until you felt overfull, the excess seeping out around his base in creamy rivulets that trickled down your skin. His cock twitched inside you with every aftershock, smearing his release deeper.

For a long moment the only sounds were your wrecked breathing, the wet squelch when he shifted slightly, and the distant wail of a saxophone from the club. Heeseung collapsed over you, still buried to the hilt, softening slowly inside your pulsing heat. His lips brushed your temple, tasting salt.

“Next time,” he whispered, voice gravel and ruin, “I’m not letting you leave this car until you say yes to being seen with me in the light.”

You smiled against his damp hair, fingers threading through the strands he’d spent hours slicking back for the party. “We’ll see, darling.”

But you both knew, he’d keep spoiling you with diamonds and more until the day you finally let the whole glittering world watch him ruin you in public the way he ruined you right now.

Riki stayed buried deep inside you for one final, lingering second, his forehead pressed against yours as both of you tried to catch your breath under the quiet tension of the stall.

His chest rose and fell heavily against yours, heart hammering in sync with your own.

Then, with a low, reluctant groan, he slowly pulled out of you.

You whimpered softly at the sudden emptiness, a thick trail of his cum already beginning to leak down your inner thigh.

Riki's hands moved quickly but carefully. he reached down and gently pulled your bikini bottoms back into place, adjusting the fabric so it sat correctly on your hips.

Then he tugged his own shorts up, tucking his still-hard cock away with a slight wince.

You were both "presentable" in the most technical sense of the word.

But your face still had streaks of his cum drying on your cheek and chin.

Riki glanced at the curtain, listening for a moment, then raised his voice just enough to carry.

"Seonghyun? we're in here, bro!"

Without hesitation, he reached over and turned the shower on full blast.

The cold water hit you directly from above, making you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. Riki stepped closer, using the stream to help wash your face while whispering urgently against your ear.

"Clean it up, babe. quick."

You barely had time to process before Seonghyun's small feet appeared under the curtain.

He stopped right outside and peeked through a small gap, tilting his head curiously.

"Noona? are you okay? Mom wants a family photo right now…"

Riki answered with perfect naturalness, his voice calm and collected like the responsible boyfriend he pretended to be.

"Yeah, she is. she wanted to rinse the chlorine off real quick after all the slides. i'm just helping her."

Seonghyun lingered, trying to peek further. "it's taking forever…"

Riki kept the shower running strong, angling the stream directly at your face to wash away the evidence.

His hand moved subtly, helping wipe the last traces of cum from your cheek and chin without Seonghyun noticing. the water was cold, and you were starting to shiver.

You smacked his ribs with the back of your hand.

"You're literally drowning me!" you hissed under your breath.

Riki smirked, not even trying to hide his amusement as he continued rinsing your face.

Seonghyun laughed from outside. "hurry up! i want to do a competition on the big pools with Mom and Dad after the photo!"

Riki finally turned the shower off, water still dripping from both of you. he ran a hand through his wet hair, looking every bit the chill, good older brother.

"Sounds good, shortie. we'll be right there."

Seonghyun waited a second longer, then shrugged and stepped back.

You wiped water from your face, still slightly flushed. "i'm not ready for a family photo right now."

Both Riki and Seonghyun turned to look at you at the same time, wearing almost identical expressions of confusion.

"Why?" they asked in unison.

Riki scanned you up and down, nonchalant as ever. "you look fine. actually, you look perfect. the wet hair works on you."

Seonghyun rolled his eyes dramatically. "don't be so dramatic, noona. you look completely normal. stop acting like you're dying and let's go. Mom's gonna get mad if we take too long."

You wiped more water from your face and gave Seonghyun a sarcastic look.

"Normal? sure. i look totally normal" you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Riki bit back a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching.

He placed his hand on your lower back, guiding you forward as the three of you started walking back toward the table.

Seonghyun skipped ahead, already talking a mile a minute about the slide race he wanted to do with your parents.

"Mom said the winner gets extra ice cream! i'm definitely winning. Riki-hyung, you're on my team, right?"

Riki chuckled, his usual cool, sarcastic tone slipping back in now that the immediate danger had passed.

"Yeah, i got you, shortie. we'll destroy them."

You walked beside Riki, still feeling the remnants of what you'd done in the shower — the slight ache between your legs, the warmth of his cum that had been inside you minutes ago.

Your cheeks were still warm, and every time you remembered how close Seonghyun had been to seeing everything, your stomach flipped.

Riki noticed your silence. he leaned down slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear, that signature teasing edge back in full force.

"You good, dwarf? are you still thinking about how i had you pressed against the wall five minutes ago?"

You elbowed him in the ribs again, harder this time.

"Shut up. my brother is right there."

Riki grinned, completely unbothered. "he's like ten meters ahead. relax. you're acting all shy now, but you were the one on your knees sucking me off like you were starving."

Your face burned. you glared at him.

"You're actually the worst."

"And yet you love me" he replied casually, that bad boy smirk firmly in place. "crazy how that works."

Seonghyun turned around, walking backwards. "what are you two whispering about?"

"Nothing" Riki answered smoothly, the perfect gentleman again. "just telling your sister she looks pretty even when she's being dramatic."

Seonghyun made a gagging sound. "gross. can you guys not flirt for like five minutes?"

Riki laughed under his breath, sliding his hand from your lower back to gently squeeze your waist.

The three of you continued walking through the park, the sun beating down on your still-damp skin.

Your heart was still racing from the shower incident, your body still sensitive, and Riki walking beside you like nothing had happened — cool, nonchalant, sarcastic, and completely in control.

But every now and then, his fingers would brush against your hip in a way that felt anything but innocent.

And you had a feeling Riki wasn't done teasing you yet.

The walk back to the table felt heavier than it should have.

Every step made you acutely aware of the warmth still lingering between your legs, the slight ache, and the sticky reminder of what you and Riki had done just minutes ago.

Your hair was damp, your cheeks still carried a faint flush, and your mind refused to quiet down.

Riki walked beside you like the picture of calm. One hand occasionally brushed against your lower back in that casual, possessive way only you noticed.

When you finally reached the shaded canopy where your parents were waiting, the scene was exactly what you expected.

Your mom was standing with her hands on her hips, watching your dad struggle with the small tripod for the phone.

"Honey, seriously? how long does it take to put three legs on the ground?" she complained, voice rising in that familiar dramatic tone.

"We finally have everyone looking decent and presentable, and you're taking forever. i wanted the photo while the light is still nice!"

Your dad, kneeling on the grass, didn't argue. he simply looked up at her with that infinite patience he'd perfected over the years of marriage.

"Sorry, love. i'm almost done. just making sure it's stable so it doesn't fall again" he said calmly, adjusting one of the legs with careful fingers.

Your mom huffed but didn't push further. that was their dynamic — she could be loud and dramatic, and he would absorb it all with quiet understanding.

Riki, ever the expert at reading the room, raised his voice politely as you both approached the table.

"Ms. Mom, is it okay if we start serving ourselves? everything looks really good."

Your mom's entire expression changed in an instant. the frustration melted away, replaced by a bright, almost motherly smile.

"Of course, Riki! help yourself, sweetheart. take as much as you want. I made extra chicken and kimbap just because i know you eat a lot."

Riki gave her that charming, respectful smile he reserved only for your parents. "thank you. it smells amazing. you really outdid yourself again."

He didn't waste time.

He immediately started preparing plates. he piled his own plate high with grilled chicken, kimbap rolls, pasta salad, and fresh fruit.

Then, without asking, he began making a plate for you — adding extra pieces of chicken, some fruit, and a generous portion of kimbap, exactly how you liked it.

Seonghyun was already sprawled in his chair, phone in hand.

"I already ate" he said between the sounds of his phone. "like half the chicken while you guys were gone. you took forever."

Riki chuckled as he sat down next to you. "sorry, shortie. you know your sister takes long showers."

You gave him a sharp side-eye. he just smirked, completely unbothered, and placed the full plate in front of you.

The table settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Your dad finally got the tripod working and took a few test shots. your mom was happily chatting about which slides she wanted to try after lunch.

Seonghyun was half-focused on his phone, half-bragging about his adventures with his new friends.

But you stayed quiet.

You picked at your food, pushing a piece of chicken around the plate. your body still remembered everything — the way Riki had pressed you against the wall, the way he'd filled you, the way you'd knelt for him just ten minutes ago.

The slight soreness between your legs made it impossible to act completely normal.

Riki noticed your silence almost immediately.

He leaned toward you slightly while still pretending to focus on his plate, voice low enough that only you could hear.

"You good?" he asked, casual but attentive. "cat got your tongue, dwarf?"

You gave him a dry side-eye and took a small bite of fruit, not answering.

Riki watched you for a few seconds, then served you more fruit without being asked. he leaned in again, closer this time.

"You've been weirdly quiet since the bathroom" he murmured.

Your cheeks burned. you kicked his ankle under the table.

"Shut up" you whispered.

He grinned, that signature sarcastic smirk appearing for half a second before he hid it when your mom glanced over.

Seonghyun suddenly looked up from his phone. "hyung, are you coming with me to the big slide race again after you eat? i need someone tall on my team."

Riki nodded easily. "of course, shortie"

You stayed quiet, eating slowly. Riki kept glancing at you between bites, his usual nonchalant expression hiding the fact that he was reading every small shift in your mood.

After a few minutes, he leaned in once more, this time close enough that his breath brushed your ear.

"You still feel me?" he asked, voice low and filthy.

"You clenching around nothing right now?"

Your breath hitched. you turned your head slightly and whispered back, close to his ear:

"Yeah… i'm still full of you. happy?"

Riki let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose.

He turned his head and pressed a short, casual kiss to your cheek, right in front of your family like it was the most innocent thing in the world.

"Eat, baby" he said softly, voice sweet but with that sarcastic edge only you could catch. "you're gonna need the energy."

Your mom looked over at the small display of affection and smiled warmly.

"You two are so cute together" she said. "Riki, you're such a gentleman with her."

Riki gave her his best polite smile. "she makes it easy, Ms. Mom."

Seonghyun made a disgusted noise. "gross. can we talk about something else? i'm trying to play here."

The conversation continued flowing around you, but your mind was still stuck in that shower stall.

Every time you shifted in your seat, you felt the faint ache and the warmth of what Riki had left inside you.

Riki, meanwhile, played his role perfectly — polite with your parents, teasing with Seonghyun, and quietly attentive with you.

But under the table, his knee kept brushing against yours — a silent, constant reminder.

The family lunch continued under the shaded canopy, laughter mixing with the distant screams from the water slides. yet between you and Riki, the tension was far from gone.

The day had passed in that strange way vacations sometimes do — fast and slow at the same time.

After the intense morning at the water park, the afternoon had turned golden and lazy.

Riki and Seonghyun had dominated most of the competitions, though Riki had very obviously let your parents win one round against him and Seonghyun.

He later admitted in a whisper that he didn't want to risk upsetting his "future mother-in-law" especially since she had the same temper as you, only amplified by twenty years of experience.

But when it was your team (you and Dad) vs Riki and Seonghyun, he showed no mercy.

He helped Seonghyun with all his strength, and they absolutely destroyed you. you had ended the day sulky, arms crossed, refusing to talk to Riki for almost thirty minutes until he bribed you with ice cream and kisses behind a towel rack.

Now it was the next morning — 10:54 AM.

You were sprawled on the living room sofa, legs tucked under you, scrolling through the photos your mom had sent to the family group chat the night before.

The sunlight streamed softly through the windows, casting a warm glow over everything. the sound of waves crashing in the distance mixed with the low murmur of your parents talking in the kitchen.

Riki, being the absolute menace he was, had zero respect for personal space.

He was half-lying on the sofa with you, head resting on your thigh, lazily looking at your phone from below like he owned the entire couch. he kept shifting every few seconds, clearly bored.

You glanced down at him.

"My mom sent the photos to both of us, you know" you said, voice still a little raspy from sleep.

Riki didn't even look up from your screen. "yeah, i know. but they look better on your phone. the colors are nicer."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "you're such a liar."

He finally tilted his head to look at you, that signature lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

"What? it's true. your phone has better saturation or whatever. mine makes everything look washed out."

Seonghyun was already gone — he had woken up early and run off to the beach with Mina and his new group of friends, probably causing chaos near the water. in the kitchen, your mom was dramatically complaining while your dad tried to fix something.

Riki suddenly sighed, dramatic as ever.

"Man… i'm actually starving. this is some bad luck. the stove decides to die the one day i wake up actually wanting to eat."

You let out a short laugh and nudged his head with your knee.

"You're the one who eats the most in this house. of course you're hungry."

Riki gasped, pretending to be deeply offended.

He sat up suddenly and reached over, messing up your perfectly straightened hair with both hands, ruffling it wildly.

"Take that back. i eat like a normal person."

You squealed and immediately fought back, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling.

"I'm going to kill you! i spent thirty minutes straightening my hair this morning!"

Riki yelped, but it was clearly fake. he didn't even flinch from the pain because, as always, your strength was closer to a six-year-old's than a grown woman's.

"Ow— ow— mercy! forgive me, my queen!" he cried dramatically, laughing the whole time. "i repent! i'm a changed man!"

From the kitchen, your mom's voice suddenly cut through the chaos like a whip.

"Riki! honey! stop annoying your girlfriend and come eat something before we go out!"

Riki instantly straightened up, dropping the playful act and switching to perfect-son-in-law mode in less than a second.

"Yes, Ms. Mom, coming!"

You glared at him as he stood up. "fake ass."

He winked at you before heading toward the kitchen.

You stayed on the sofa for a moment longer, trying to fix your now-messy hair.

Riki returned a minute later with a plate of leftover fruit and a piece of toast, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

"Eat" he said, flopping back down and immediately putting his head on your lap again. "you get grumpy when you're hungry."

You sighed but took a piece of strawberry anyway.

A few minutes later, your mom walked into the living room, wiping her hands on a towel.

"The stove is acting up again. the gas isn't flowing properly through the hose. your dad says it's clogged."

Your dad appeared behind her, looking tired but amused. "we'll have to go out for lunch. there's a nice seafood restaurant nearby."

Riki sighed dramatically getting up from your lap. "i'd rather stay in bed all day and eat live crabs at this point."

Your mom laughed. "don't be dramatic, Riki. we'll have a nice meal out."

You hit his chest. "you eat like a vacuum cleaner and you're complaining?"

Riki grabbed both of your wrists playfully and pulled you down onto him, making you fall halfway across his chest. before you could react, he kissed you — short, sweet, and right there in the open.

You pulled back immediately, face burning.

"Riki! my parents are literally right there!"

He grinned, completely shameless. "what? i love you. can't a guy show affection to his girlfriend?"

You pushed his face away, embarrassed. "you're an idiot."

Riki laughed softly, eyes sparkling with that mix of bad-boy mischief and genuine affection only you got to see.

"And yet you still love me" he whispered, voice low enough for only you to hear. "crazy how that works, huh?"

Your mom clapped her hands. "alright, everyone get ready! we're leaving in twenty minutes. Seonghyun is already up at the beach with his friends, so we'll pick him up on the way.”

The morning continued with the usual family chaos — your dad trying to fix the stove one last time, your mom rushing everyone, and Riki being his usual sarcastic yet charming self.

The front door clicked shut behind your mom as she headed down the wooden steps toward the beach to collect Seonghyun.

Your dad followed shortly after, keys jingling in his hand, muttering something about checking the tire pressure and making sure the AC was working properly before the drive.

For the first time that morning, the cabin fell into a comfortable silence.

Just the distant sound of waves, the faint creak of the old wooden floor, and the two of you left alone on the sofa.

Riki was sprawled lazily beside you, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, his body turned toward yours.

He looked completely at ease, damp hair still messy from the shower he took earlier, wearing a simple black tank top and shorts. but the second the door closed, that familiar mischievous glint returned to his eyes.

He tilted his head, smirking.

"So..." he started, voice low and casual, like he was talking about the weather, "for pulling my hair this morning… you're paying the fine tonight. full throat. i want you gagging on me until you can't speak tomorrow."

You almost choked on your own breath.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Riki, what the actual fuck?"

He didn't even flinch. just raised an eyebrow, that signature nonchalant, bad-boy expression firmly in place.

"What? too early for real talk?" he shrugged, completely unbothered. "you started it when you yanked my hair like a little gremlin. actions have consequences, dwarf."

You stared at him, mouth slightly open, heat rushing to your face. "how can you say that so casually? my parents are literally outside. what if they hear you?"

Riki let out a soft, sarcastic chuckle. he leaned in a little closer, elbow resting on the back of the couch, looking far too relaxed for the words coming out of his mouth.

"Because i know, i'm sooo sure no one's listening" he said, voice dropping into that lazy tone drawl he only used with you. "your mom's already halfway to the beach yelling at Seonghyun, and your dad is probably kicking the tires like it's 2005. i'm not stupid."

He paused, eyes scanning your face with a knowing smirk.

"Plus… you love when i talk to you like this. don't even try to lie. every time i tell you what i'm gonna do to you, you get all quiet and wet. i can tell."

You let out a long, disbelieving sigh and covered your face with both hands for a second.

"You're actually shameless" you mumbled through your fingers. "completely shameless. i don't know how you say shit like that with a straight face."

Riki laughed quietly, the sound low and genuine.

He reached over and gently pulled your hands away from your face, then suddenly leaned down and rubbed his cheek against your stomach like a big, spoiled cat.

His face pressed into the soft white fabric of your summer dress, nuzzling slowly, almost affectionately.

"Mmh… you look so domestic today" he murmured against your belly, voice slightly muffled. "in this little princess dress… all soft and cute. makes me wanna keep you here and do nothing but annoy you all day."

You immediately bristled.

"It's not a princess dress" you corrected, poking the top of his head. "it's a summer dress. there's a difference, idiot."

Riki didn't move.

if anything, he pressed his face harder against your stomach, rubbing his nose and cheek against the fabric like he was trying to scent mark you.

"Same difference" he said lazily. "you still look like a spoiled little princess. my spoiled little princess."

You tried to push his head away, but there wasn't much force behind it.

Riki took full advantage, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer so he could keep nuzzling into you like an overgrown animal.

His breath was warm through the thin material, and you could feel him smiling against your stomach.

"Riki, my parents could come back any second" you warned, though your voice had already lost most of its conviction.

He hummed happily, completely ignoring the warning. "they won't. your dad takes twenty minutes minimum to check a car, and your mom is probably still lecturing Seonghyun about sand in his hair. we've got time."

You sighed, half-annoyed, half-amused, and eventually gave up, letting your fingers thread through his messy hair instead.

The cabin felt strangely peaceful around you — sunlight streaming through the windows, the distant sound of waves, and Riki being his usual chaotic, affectionate self.

He tilted his head up slightly, he looked at you with that sharp, teasing gaze.

"Still mad at me for messing up your hair?" he asked, voice dripping with fake innocence.

You tugged his hair lightly in response. "yes."

"Liar" he grinned. "you're not mad. you're just pretending because you know i'm having my way."

Before you could argue, the front door creaked open.

Your dad stepped inside, wiping his hands on his shorts.

"Alright, the car's ready" he announced. "your mom's already coming back with Seonghyun. let's get going before she starts stressing again."

Riki sat up instantly, switching back to perfect-boyfriend mode in less than a second. "we're ready, sir. i'll help carry the rest of the bags."

Your dad nodded gratefully. "thanks, Riki."

As your dad headed toward the kitchen to grab something, Riki turned to you with a small, private smirk, whispering just loud enough for you to hear:

"Saved by dad. but that fine still stands."

You smacked his arm.

He just laughed quietly and stood up, offering you his hand like the perfect gentleman he pretended to be.

The morning continued with the usual family chaos, but the tension between you and Riki lingered like a promise — warm, dangerous, and far from over.

The front door had barely clicked shut behind your dad when Riki stretched his long arms above his head with a dramatic groan.

He turned to you on the sofa, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

You stood up at the same time, and the two of you playfully bumped shoulders as you headed toward the door.

"Move, dwarf. you're in my way" Riki teased, nudging you again with his shoulder, harder this time.

You bumped him back, finally letting a small, genuine smile break through. "you're the one taking up the entire hallway with your long legs."

He grinned, clearly pleased that you were no longer sulking.

The two of you continued pushing each other lightly all the way to the car, like overgrown children, until your mom's voice called out from down the path.

"I'm already with Seonghyun! everyone get in!"

Seonghyun came running up the wooden steps, surprisingly clean for someone who had been at the beach.

Almost no sand on him — he must have spent most of the time playing in the dry sand with Mina and his friends instead of going into the water.

He was also wearing a fresh t-shirt and shorts, clearly chosen to impress the girl he'd been talking about nonstop.

You climbed into the middle seat of the back row, as always. Seonghyun sat behind your mom, and Riki slid in behind your dad, his long legs barely fitting comfortably.

The moment the doors closed, you pulled out your phone to check the map.

"Forty minutes to the city" you groaned, already dreading it. "then another twenty looking for parking and a place to eat, and five more to actually sit down. this is going to take forever."

Your mom turned in her seat, eyebrows raised. "don't start complaining already. you sound like a brat."

You frowned, crossing your arms. "i'm not complaining, i'm just saying—"

"If you don't want to go, you can stay here and eat seaweed from the beach" your mom cut in, half-joking but with that signature sharp edge.

You sank deeper into your seat, eyebrows furrowed. the car fell quiet for a moment.

From beside you, you heard the faintest snort of laughter. you whipped your head toward Riki and smacked his thigh.

"What are you laughing at, idiot?"

Riki turned to you with an innocent expression, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

He leaned in close, voice barely above a whisper so only you could hear.

"Just thinking how funny it is that you're getting scolded by someone with the exact same temper as you. now you know how i feel every day."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "i am not temperamental with you."

Riki raised an eyebrow, clearly fighting back a smile. "sure, dwarf. keep telling yourself that."

You opened your mouth to argue, but your dad had already started driving, pulling away from the beach cabin.

The conversation in the car slowly shifted as the scenery changed from sandy roads to paved streets.

Seonghyun suddenly piped up from behind your mom. "i'm thirsty…"

Without missing a beat, Riki reached into his backpack and pulled out a cold bottle of water he had packed earlier.

"Here, shortie" he said, handing it back. "i put it in there not long ago. should still be cold."

Seonghyun's face lit up. "thanks, hyung! you're the best."

You turned slightly. "drink carefully, Seonghyun. every time you drink in the car you end up spilling and staining the seats."

Seonghyun rolled his eyes but took smaller sips.

The next forty minutes passed surprisingly fast.

Riki and you fell into easy conversation in the back seat — talking about his upcoming dance evaluations, the pressure of university entrance exams you were both preparing for, funny stories from practice, and even arguing lightly about which restaurant might be better. Riki was sarcastic and teasing with you, but polite whenever your parents asked him something.

By the time your dad pulled into the parking lot near the restaurant area, it was almost 11:42 AM.

The moment the car stopped, your mom took charge again.

"Seonghyun, come here. you need more sunscreen. you're going to burn like toast."

Seonghyun groaned but obeyed, standing still while your mom practically slathered him in sunscreen like he was a toddler.

You and Riki were spared this time — you had both applied it thoroughly earlier.

Your dad stepped out first, walking around the car slowly, checking the parking job with meticulous care, as always.

Your mom, still in full boss mode, started walking ahead. "when i was younger, your father and i used to come here. there was this amazing seafood restaurant just a few blocks away. i hope it's still there."

You couldn't help the sarcastic comment. "great. twenty minutes saved."

Your mom turned and lightly smacked your arm. "don't be so sarcastic, i really wonder where you got all that attitude from."

"i'm not being sarcastic!" you defended, rubbing your arm. "i'm being realistic."

Your dad quickly intervened, sensing the rising tension. he took your mom's hand gently and started walking with her and Seonghyun, forming a little chain of three in front.

Riki, of course, immediately took your hand, lacing your fingers together as you walked a few steps behind them.

The group moved through the pleasant streets near the beach town.

The air smelled of salt and grilled food. Riki swung your joined hands lightly as you walked, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in that absentminded way he did when he was relaxed.

"You're still sulking a little" he said quietly, glancing at you with a small smirk. "cute."

"I'm not sulking" you muttered.

"Sure" he replied, clearly not believing you. "just remember — you started the hair pulling. i'm innocent."

You squeezed his hand warningly. "keep talking and i'll pull it again."

Riki laughed under his breath, the sound warm and low.

He brought your joined hands up and pressed a quick kiss to the back of yours before letting them drop again, all while keeping that perfect, respectful distance in front of your parents.

The restaurant your mom remembered was only a ten-minute walk from the parking lot.

It looked charming — outdoor seating with colorful umbrellas, fairy lights strung up even though it was daytime, and the smell of fresh seafood wafting through the air.

Your mom's face lit up. "it's still here! perfect."

As the group approached the entrance, Riki leaned down slightly, whispering in your ear one last time before you joined the others:

"Try not to think about me too much during lunch, dwarf. wouldn't want you getting distracted."

You stepped on his foot.

He just smiled innocently, the perfect boyfriend once again, as you all walked into the restaurant together.

He just smiled innocently, the perfect boyfriend once again, as you all walked into the restaurant together.

The moment the glass door swung shut behind your family, the warm, lively atmosphere of the place enveloped you like a comforting hug.

The air was thick with the rich, mouth-watering scent of grilled seafood — garlic shrimp sizzling on hot pans, fresh lemon zest, herbs, and the unmistakable salty-sweet aroma of paella cooking slowly over open flames.

The sound of people talking and laughing filled the space, mixed with the constant clink of plates and cutlery, the low hum of conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter from a large table near the back.

Sunlight poured through the big windows, catching on the wooden tables and making the whole restaurant feel bright and alive.

Your mom, with the sharp, determined eyes of someone who had been here before, scanned the room like a hawk searching for prey.

"There" she declared, pointing to a rectangular wooden table near the window with a perfect view of the street outside. "that one has enough space for all of us and it's in the shade. perfect."

Without waiting for anyone to respond, she marched forward confidently.

Your dad followed right behind her, carrying one of the smaller bags with a small, patient smile on his face.

Seonghyun trailed after them, half-distracted by his phone.

You and Riki brought up the rear, his hand resting lightly on your lower back in that casual but possessive way he did when he wanted to stay close without drawing attention.

The five of you settled in quickly. your mom and dad took the long side of the table together, sitting side by side like they always did.

You slid into the seat in front of your mom, and Riki naturally took the chair right beside you, his knee brushing against yours under the table as he got comfortable.

Seonghyun claimed the short end of the rectangular table, legs swinging under his chair as he finally put his phone down for a moment.

A young waiter appeared almost immediately, smiling politely as he handed out menus with a small bow.

"Welcome to the tide. take your time looking at the menu. i'll be back shortly for your orders" he said before disappearing again with another respectful nod.

Riki didn't even bother opening his own menu.

Instead, he leaned sideways into your personal space without hesitation, resting his chin near your shoulder as he looked down at the menu you were holding in your hands.

You sighed, long and suffering, but didn't push him away. "you have your own menu right there, you know."

"Yeah, but yours has better lighting" he replied without missing a beat, voice low and teasing, his breath warm against your ear.

His arm brushed against yours as he pointed at something on the page. "what are you thinking of getting? the paella looks good."

You let him stay there, reading together in a strangely comfortable silence for a few minutes.

His shoulder pressed against yours, his knee occasionally bumping yours under the table, and every now and then he would murmur a quiet comment only you could hear.

Eventually, everyone made their choices.

Seonghyun, with his extremely picky three-year-old palate, pointed straight at the kids' section. "i want the hamburger with fries and a coke."

Your mom sighed but didn't argue. Riki, being the enabler he was, nodded in solidarity. "same for me. hamburger, fries, and a cold drink."

You raised an eyebrow at both of them, unable to hold back. "you two have the palate of a newborn baby. we're literally in a seafood restaurant by the beach and you're ordering burgers?"

Riki turned to you with mock offense, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. then, without missing a beat, he looked across the table at your mom with perfect innocent eyes.

"Ms. Mom, are we not here to share and enjoy as a family? or is your daughter just trying to order the most ocean-heavy thing possible to prove some kind of point?"

Your mom gave you a light scolding look, though there was amusement in her eyes. "he has a point, honey. don't be difficult. we can share dishes. it's not a competition."

You frowned, feeling unfairly targeted. under the table, you stepped firmly on Riki's foot.

He didn't even flinch.

Instead, he leaned toward your ear while pretending to reach for his glass of water, whispering so quietly only you could hear:

"Brat."

You huffed, crossing your arms.

The waiter returned shortly after to take the full order.

Your dad chose a grilled fish dish with herbs, your mom went for shrimp in garlic sauce, and you picked a seafood paella even though you weren't the biggest fan — mostly out of spite at this point.

Riki and Seonghyun stuck with their safe burgers and fries.

While waiting for the food, the conversation flowed easily around the table. your mom talked about old memories of the town, your dad listened attentively and added small details, and Seonghyun showed Riki something funny on his phone.

Riki kept one arm casually draped over the back of your chair, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder in that absentminded way he did when he was relaxed.

Every now and then he would lean in and murmur something only you could hear — small, teasing comments that made your cheeks warm despite your best efforts.

When the food finally arrived, the table filled with delicious smells.

Platters of grilled fish, garlic shrimp, and a big shared paella were placed in the center. Riki cut a piece of his burger and offered it to you on his fork without asking.

"Try it. better than your sad little paella."

You took the bite, then immediately gave him a look. "it's fine. but my paella is better."

"Sure, dwarf. keep telling yourself that."

Seonghyun was already halfway through his fries, ketchup all over his fingers.

Your mom scolded him gently about manners while your dad smiled quietly, enjoying the chaos of the family meal.

Riki watched you for a moment, noticing you were still a little quiet. He bumped your knee under the table.

"You still sulking?" he asked softly, only for you.

You shook your head. "no. just thinking."

He studied your face, then gave you a small, genuine smile. "we're on vacation. stop overthinking. eat your sad seafood and enjoy the day with me."

You bumped his shoulder back, finally letting yourself smile a little.

The rest of lunch passed in a warm, comfortable blur of food, conversation, and the occasional teasing remark from Riki.

Despite the earlier tension and the risky morning, sitting there with your family — Riki's hand occasionally finding yours under the table — felt surprisingly right.

The waiter approached your table with a polite smile, ready to clear away the empty plates. you were still picking at the last few grains of rice on your plate when you looked up — and your face instantly lit up with recognition.

"Jungwon?" you said, surprise and genuine happiness coloring your voice.

The waiter stopped mid-motion, plates balanced skillfully in his hands. his eyes widened, then broke into a bright, ear-to-ear smile. it was Jungwon — your former classmate, the one who sat two rows behind you in literature class, always quiet but incredibly kind.

He was wearing the restaurant's neat uniform: white button-up with sleeves rolled to his elbows, black apron, and black pants. his hair was styled neatly, and he looked fresh despite the busy shift.

"Yo!" he exclaimed, quickly setting the plates down on a tray. "i mean — hey! what are you doing here?"

You stood up immediately, a big smile spreading across your face.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and gave him a tight, warm hug.

Jungwon hugged you back just as enthusiastically, his hands resting on your shoulders for a moment longer than a casual greeting would require.

"Oh my god, it's so good to see you!" you said quickly, not wanting to hold up his work. "i thought you were going straight to university after graduation. how have you been? are you working here full time now?"

Jungwon laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks slightly pink. "yeah, plans changed a little. i'm taking a gap semester to help my aunt during the tourist season. it's actually pretty fun. you look amazing, by the way. vacation suits you."

From the table, Riki sat completely still.

His burger hovered halfway to his mouth.

His jaw tightened, and his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek — that telltale sign he was annoyed.

He didn't touch his food anymore. his dark eyes stayed fixed on the interaction, expression unreadable.

Seonghyun, who had been half-focused on his phone, looked up and noticed the shift.

He leaned toward Riki and whispered loudly enough for you to hear, "Hyung… that waiter is definitely trying to impress noona. look at how he's smiling at her."

Riki didn't even glance at Seonghyun. his voice came out low and dry. "that dummy in his little waiter suit isn't impressing anyone."

Jungwon finally stepped back, still smiling warmly at you. we should catch up properly sometime. it was really good seeing you. don't be a stranger, okay?"

He gave you one last hug — his hands lingering again on your shoulders, squeezing gently as if reluctant to let go.

You smiled and nodded before sitting back down.

As Jungwon walked away to continue clearing other tables, your mom leaned forward with a curious, delighted smile.

"Who was that nice young man? he seemed very friendly."

Your face was still glowing. "that was Jungwon! he was in our class before we graduated. super smart, really kind… one of the nicest guys i knew back then."

You turned to look at Riki, expecting him to at least nod or say something polite.

But Riki just continued eating, stabbing the french fries with more force than necessary. his usual charming, perfect-boyfriend mask had completely slipped. he didn't even look up.

"Despite being so smart, he ended up as a waiter in a tourist trap" Riki said flatly, voice cold and nonchalant.

The table went quiet for a second.

You frowned. "Riki, don't be rude. he's working hard. there's nothing wrong with that."

Your dad quickly tried to diffuse the tension by turning to Seonghyun. "hey, buddy, eat properly. you've got sauce all over your tray."

Your mom nodded, sensing the shift, and focused on helping Seonghyun clean up.

You reached under the table to smack Riki's leg, but he caught your wrist mid-air with a firm grip. his eyes finally met yours — serious, no trace of his usual teasing.

"Stop." he said quietly, voice lower and more serious than usual. "not here."

You stared at him, surprised by the sudden change in tone. you leaned in closer, whispering, "what's your problem?"

Riki let out a short, frustrated breath through his nose. he leaned in so only you could hear.

"This is ridiculous" he muttered. "we'll talk about it later."

And just like that, the usual energetic, sarcastic, playful Riki disappeared.

He went back to eating in silence, jaw tight, no longer trying to be the charming boyfriend. the light in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by something colder and more guarded.

The rest of the meal continued with awkward small talk.

Your mom tried to steer the conversation back to light topics, your dad helped keep Seonghyun distracted, but the tension between you and Riki sat heavy in the air like a storm cloud that refused to break.

Riki didn't look at you again for the rest of lunch.

When everyone finally finished eating, the table was a mess of empty plates, crumpled napkins, and half-drunk glasses.

Seonghyun was the first to speak up, bouncing in his seat with leftover energy from the morning.

"Can we go to the trampoline park we saw on the way here? please? it looked so fun!"

Your mom smiled at you, her eyes softening. "that's actually a good idea. we can all go together after we pay."

Seonghyun immediately turned to Riki, his favorite partner in crime. "Hyung, are you ready to compete in jumping? i bet i can jump higher than you!"

Riki gave the younger boy a small smile and reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately. "it would be very fun"

You watched Riki carefully.

He was smiling at Seonghyun, playing the perfect older brother role, but there was a wall there — invisible, cold, and firmly placed between the two of you.

He hadn't looked at you properly since Jungwon picked up the empty plates. his usual teasing spark was gone, replaced by something distant and guarded.

Riki turned his head slightly toward your mom. "actually… my head hurts too much right now. if i go jumping, my brain might actually escape. i think it's better if i head back to the cabin."

Your mom's expression shifted to concern. "oh no, really? if you're not feeling well, you should rest. we don't want you getting worse."

You stayed silent, staring at Riki. he nodded calmly. "yeah, it's better. i'll just take it easy."

Seonghyun's shoulders dropped, visibly disappointed. "but… we were going to compete…"

Your dad quickly stepped in, placing a hand on Seonghyun's shoulder. "don't worry, buddy. i'm an expert at trampolines. i'll compete with you"

Your mom reached into her bag and pulled out some cash, handing it to Riki. "here, take this for the bus back to the cabin. we'll meet you there later.”

You nodded, taking the money. "i'll go with him."

Your mom gave you a knowing look — she understood the silent request in your eyes — and didn't argue. "okay. be safe then. text me when you arrive."

When you all left the restaurant, your mom immediately started scolding Seonghyun. "why didn't you bring a jacket? it gets cold later in the afternoon, you know this!"

Your dad walked beside you and Riki for a moment, giving you both a warm smile. "take care. rest well, Riki. we'll see you back at the cabin."

As your family split off toward the trampoline area, the street suddenly felt quieter despite the crowds.

Riki stayed silent. even with so many people around, he still reached for your hand, lacing your fingers together to keep you close and not lose you in the flow of tourists.

His grip was firm, but there was no playful squeeze, no teasing brush of his thumb — just duty.

You both boarded one of the buses heading back to the beach cabins. you took the window seat, and Riki sat on the outside, acting like a human shield between you and the rest of the world.

The bus was half-full, the hum of the engine and quiet conversations filling the space.

For the first few minutes, neither of you spoke. the sky outside was starting to cloud over, gray patches slowly covering the earlier blue.

You finally reached over and gently caressed his knee.

"Why are you so angry?" you asked softly.

Riki didn't look at you at first.

He stared straight ahead for a few seconds before answering, voice low and controlled.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" he said, tone flat but sharp. "you get mad when random girls look at me. but then you go hug a guy you actually know — someone you had something with back in school — right in front of me. and you expect me to just smile and play nice?"

You swallowed hard. "i couldn't be rude to Jungwon. we were classmates for years. ignoring him would've been worse."

Riki let out a short, bitter breath. "if you're going to defend him, then just stop talking. my head already hurts enough."

You fell silent.

The words stung more than you expected. Riki had never spoken to you like that — cold, dismissive, done. you stared out the window, watching the scenery blur by as the sky continued to darken with clouds.

The next thirty minutes on the bus passed in heavy silence.

Riki didn't move his hand away from yours, but he didn't squeeze it either. he just held on, like it was automatic. you could feel the wall he had put up — thick, cold, and exhausting.

When the bus finally stopped near your cabin, the sky was fully overcast.

The air felt heavier. Riki stood up first, still holding your hand as he guided you off the bus and toward the path leading to the cabin.

The walk was quiet. the usual teasing energy between you was gone, replaced by this thick, uncomfortable tension. Riki's jaw was tight, his shoulders slightly tense.

You wanted to say something, anything, but every time you opened your mouth, the words felt wrong.

When you finally reached the cabin, Riki unlocked the door and held it open for you. you stepped inside, the familiar smell of the wooden interior greeting you. the place felt emptier without your family there.

Riki closed the door behind you and stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.

You turned to face him. "Riki… can we talk?"

He looked up at you, eyes guarded. "what's there to talk about? you hugged him. he touched you. you smiled at him like he hung the moon. and i'm supposed to just sit there and be okay with it?"

His voice wasn't loud, but the hurt and frustration were clear.

You took a small step closer. "it wasn't like that. he's just an old friend. i didn't think—"

"That's the problem" Riki cut in, voice quieter but sharper. "you didn't think. you never think about how it looks from my side."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Riki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i'm going to lie down. my head actually hurts now."

He walked toward your shared bedroom without another word, leaving you standing alone in the living room, the weight of the day pressing down on you.

The rain outside grew heavier, matching the storm brewing between you two.

A little while later, the cabin felt quieter than it should have.

The distant sound of waves was the only thing breaking the silence as you walked down the short hallway carrying a glass of cold water and two painkillers in your palm.

Your heart was still heavy from the tension at lunch, and the memory of Riki's cold silence kept replaying in your head.

You pushed the bedroom door open slowly.

Riki was lying on the bed, face completely covered by a pillow, one arm draped over his stomach.

He wasn't moving. you knew he wasn't actually asleep — his breathing wasn't deep enough, and his body was too tense.

You sat on the edge of the bed carefully.

"Riki" you said softly.

He didn't respond at first. you reached out and gently moved the pillow away from his face.

His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling with that same guarded expression he'd had since the restaurant. the cloudy sky outside cast a gray, melancholic light through the window, making the room feel heavier, sadder.

You held out the glass and the pills.

"Here" you said quietly. "take these. it'll help with your head."

Riki stared at the pills for a second, then slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so he was sitting beside you.

He took the pills from your hand and swallowed them dry, without even touching the water. you offered the glass again, but he shook his head once.

You swallowed hard, the guilt sitting like a stone in your chest.

"I'm sorry" you whispered. "maybe i went too far with Jungwon. we… we tried things when we were younger, back in school. it wasn't serious, but i know how it must have looked. i shouldn't have hugged him like that."

Riki raised his eyebrows slowly, the movement almost sarcastic. he didn't say anything, just looked at you with that cold, tired stare that made your stomach twist.

You felt your eyes sting. your voice cracked as you continued, louder now, a mix of anger and desperation.

"I don't want us to be like this" you said, the words tumbling out. "i hate when we fight. when we go back home, i swear i won't even admit Jungwon exists anymore, i'll ignore him if i see him — whatever you want. just… don't shut me out like this."

Riki stayed silent for a few seconds, jaw tight.

The gray light from the window made his sharp features look even sharper, almost distant. you couldn't stand the space between you anymore.

You moved closer and rested your chin on his shoulder, your body leaning into his side, seeking closeness even if he was still angry.

Riki let out a slow breath.

His hand came up to your waist, but it wasn't gentle. he gripped you firmly and moved you slightly, then lowered his head and bit down on your shoulder — hard, crude, possessive. there was no sweetness in it, no affection. just raw claim.