​you stared at the photo, my thumb hovering over the screen. he was with you for two years and he couldn’t say those words to you, even in your anniversary. the whole time in your relationship, he was reckless, emotionally distant, and entirely unpolished. you spent a year settling for what you had because you thought it was love.

but the day he sent you a text saying it was over, he told you he just wasn't ready for commitment. now you realize he was ready, he just needed two years of your patience to learn how to be the man a girl deserved.

then there was jaemin, a senior from high school, your first…you wouldn’t say boyfriend but a fling. it was simple, you liked him and he liked you back. but only because you liked him that he liked you back.

then when he met a girl from his club where he really, really liked, your fling was over.

and even before all of them, there was the ultimate what if: park jongseong.

he was your childhood friend, the boy who lived just doors down, whose laughter was the soundtrack to your earliest memories. you had loved him since you were six years old, a silly, innocent crush that somehow managed to grow up right alongside you. as the years bled into high school, that fondness turned into something heavy and terrifying. you spent months practicing confessions in front of your bedroom mirror, your heart hammering against your ribs, only to swallow the words every time you saw him smile at you. he was your safe haven. the risk of speaking up and ruining the one steady friendship you had was a price you couldn't bear to pay.

until, he took an interest in your cousin, karina. you watched frozen as he confessed to her in the school field during lunch. he told you that day that he would confess, breaking your illusion of anything happening between the both of you. what you didn’t expect was he fell for someone you also knew for years, let alone a family member.

then months later, he admitted that he liked you back. but you were still just children then. his definition of love was too small, too cautious to risk breaking the fragile, beautiful friendship you had built. he didn’t know how to hold a girl’s hand while holding her history at the same time. but thanks to you, he knew what real love was. you gave him a lesson he’d forever treasure.

just not with you.

the worst part, you never got to tell him how you felt. you just quietly stepped aside, becoming the supportive best friend who helped him figure out what to say to her.

​"y/n? hey, are you even listening to me?"

wonhee, ​your roommate snapped the thread of my thoughts. she was sitting across you, a half-eaten plate of pasta between us, looking at me with a mixture of concern and mild annoyance.

​you locked my phone, the screen going mercifully black, and forced a practiced smile onto my face. "yeah. sorry. just... an internship notification. what were you saying?”

"i was saying about the drama I just overheard by the counter while getting our drinks."

she leaned in closer across the small table, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "you know jisu from the department next to ours? apparently, she and sunghoon just made it official on their feeds. like, matching profile pictures, public couple status, the whole nine yards."

wonhee shook her head, taking a slow sip of her drink. "everyone is losing their minds because sunghoon used to be notorious for being completely uncatchable. he’d date a girl for a month, get bored, and leave them with enough character development to write a novel. but look at him now—completely whipped. i guess some girls are just born to be the final destination, while the rest of us are just the rest stops along the highway."

you gave wonhee a weak smile, “tell me about it.”

just when you were about to mope on your feelings, your boss from your internship messaged that you interns are needed tomorrow for an urgent shoot. luckily, you had no classes tomorrow so you have time while still catching up with some tasks for school.

tomorrow has finally arrived and you came to the building of the prestige building of véra, a magazine known for its sleek minimalism and its legendary ability to turn underground creators into overnight icons. it was a place where trends didn't just get covered—they were born.

"no, absolutely not. the lighting is completely flat, and the silk looks like cardboard under these gels. look at the monitor!"

"i’m tracking the ambient light, okay? but if you want that raw, overcast mood you specifically asked for in the mood board, we need to shift the reflectors. now."

the sharp, overlapping voices echoed across the massive concrete studio space the moment you pushed past the heavy double doors. the atmosphere inside was thick with tension, a frantic ballet of production assistants rushing past with garment bags, makeup artists adjusting their kits under blinding vanity lights, and the distant, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a high-end camera shutter.

in the center of the chaos stood the creative director, kang jiah, pinching the bridge of her nose in sheer frustration, while the lead photographer, oh minseok adjusted a massive lens on his tripod.

as a makeup artist student, your brain automatically began calculating the fix before anyone even asked you to. you could see the problem from ten feet away: the model had a gorgeous, warm skin tone, but the current lighting was clashing with the undertone of her foundation, making the high-shine finish look chaotic instead of seamless.

you gripped the handles of your professional makeup train case a little tighter, swallowing down your nervousness. you were just a standby intern here to clean brushes, prep skin, or rush to the makeup artist’s bag for products they need, but the thick tension in the room made your heart hammer against your ribs.

“excuse me,” a calm, clear voice suddenly broke the thick tension in the room. "if i may offer a small suggestion? what if we change the polarization instead?"

from the shadows behind the main monitor setup, a boy who seemed to be around your age stepped forward. he was dressed simply in a loose black sweater and clean trousers, a professional light meter slung casually around his neck.

"if we drop a linear polarizer onto the lens and tilt the key light down by just five degrees, the camera should cut the greasy reflection from the strobe while keeping the model's natural skin texture completely intact. director kang gets her soft, glass-skin look on the monitor, and you won't lose your highlights, sir. It should take less than two minutes to adjust."

the studio went quiet for a beat. photographer oh peered over his shoulder, checking the math on the monitor, before a slow, appreciative nod broke across his face. he stepped up to his own rig, quickly adjusting the polarization filter to test the student's theory.

"he's right. the polarization math checks out," photographer oh announced to the room, looking thoroughly impressed. "good eye…what’s your name?”

“jungwon, sir. yang jungwon.”

“good eye, jungwon.” director kang told jungwon with her stern voice but the look of amusement on her face did not leave.

yang jungwon.

everyone at the university knew who he was. he wasn't just talented; he was the golden boy and a prodigy. he was the type of student who's friends with everyone, the student whose photography portfolios were already being archived by professors as future curriculum benchmarks.

he possessed a rare, effortless blend of sharp academic intelligence and raw artistic intuition. he was brilliant, celebrated, and completely out of reach.

a boy existing in a flawless, sunlit orbit that a guarded, cynical standby intern like you had no business crossing.

jungwon wiped a stray lock of hair from his forehead, offering a small, dimpled smile to a stressed-out production assistant who had just dropped a roll of gaffer tape near his feet. he bent down, picked it up, and handed it back to her with a gentle, "here you go. don't worry, we have plenty of time."

you swallowed hard, averting your eyes.

he was brilliant, he was elite, and he was universally kind. the ultimate hazard sign.

it would be a lie if you said you didn't find him cute the first time you saw him in the building.

​"y/n, go in and touch up the nose and jawline," the head makeup artist, hyeji called out, waving a hand toward the vanity. "matte it down just a bit so the polarization works properly."

​you blinked, snapping out of your thoughts, and quickly grabbed your powder puff and a translucent setting powder.

​walking onto a live set always felt like stepping into a spotlight. your heart did a nervous little flutter as you approached the model, consciously keeping your eyes glued to her face and away from the monitor station where jungwon was standing.

​"excuse me," you whispered politely to the model, stepping into her personal space.

​you raised your hand, your fingers stabilizing against her jaw as you gently tapped the powder puff onto her skin. this was your comfort zone. the familiar scent of cosmetics and the meticulous, rhythmic tapping usually calmed your nerves.

​until you felt a presence shift right behind you.

​"ah, wait a second please," a quiet voice murmured.

​you froze, your hand hovering inches from the model’s cheek. jungwon had stepped up right next to you, leaning in slightly to look at the model's face through the small space between you two. he was close enough that you could catch the subtle, clean scent of his fabric softener—like fresh laundry and cold winter air.

​he wasn't looking at you. his sharp, focused eyes were entirely on how the studio lights hit the model's skin finish. he raised a hand, using his thumb to gently mimic the angle of the key light.

​"if she tilts her chin up just a fraction when y/n finishes dusting the powder," jungwon said softly, addressing the photographer while subconsciously using your name, "the shadow under the jaw will clean up perfectly."

​your breath hitched in your throat. y/n. he didn't even know you, yet hearing your name leave his lips in that calm, casual tone felt like a sudden spike of electricity.

this feeling was familiar, you said.

​as soon as the thought crossed your mind, a cold wave of reality washed over you, dousing the spark before it could even catch fire. you quickly finished the last few taps of powder, stepped back, and offered a hurried, polite bow to the model and jungwon before retreating to the dark edges of the studio.

​your chest felt tight. you're doing it again, you scolded yourself, your fingers gripping the plastic handle of your powder compact so hard your knuckles turned white.

​you felt pathetic. you felt completely, utterly cursed.

​it was always like this. one soft glance, one polite gesture, a boy simply using your name and your heart was already trying to sprint ahead. you fell fast, hopelessly fast, like a script that had already been written for you a hundred times before. you were the girl who romanticized the bare minimum, the girl who mistook a photographer's technical focus for something personal.

​you closed your eyes for a brief second, forcing your breathing to steady.

​if you let yourself look at yang jungwon, you knew exactly how this story would end. he would smile, he would be kind, he would inadvertently teach you how to love a little deeper—and then he would hand his heart to someone else, leaving you behind with nothing but a notebook full of character development.

​you weren't going to be the rest stop on his highway. not this time.

​"y/n? can you clean the brushes from the morning prep?" the senior makeup artist's voice called out from the vanity room.

​"coming," you replied, your voice dropping back into its practiced, neutral tone. you pulled your shoulders back and walked away from the lit set, determined to keep yourself distracted from whatever feelings that are rising.

***

dear, y/n,

sometimes, old habits die hard. you recognized the electricity today, didn't you? it’s the exact same current that left you in the dark three times before. he is a walking hazard sign with a dimpled smile, and you are already stepping over the yellow tape. the truth is, you missed the way a single voice could make the room tilt, and for the first time in a very long time, it felt kind of beautiful to feel everything all at once again.

the train ride home was the worst part of the day. it gave you too much time to think, the rhythmic, metallic hum of the carriage matching the uneasy beat of your heart as the train rattled through the city.

​sitting crushed between tired commuters, you pulled out your phone. your thumbs moved on pure instinct, opening the app and typing his name into the search bar before your logical brain could even try to stop you.

​@jw_209

​you swallowed hard as his profile loaded. no private account lock. no gatekeeping. just a blue checkmark, a massive follower count, and a grid that looked exactly like a highly curated digital museum.

your eyes scanned his feed, and that familiar flutter settled deep in your chest.

he liked taking photos of landscapes with ethereal vibes. misty horizons, soft pastel sunrises over quiet shorelines, and ancient trees swallowed by a dreamlike haze. he captured the world in a way that made ordinary things look completely breathtaking.

​he was incredibly talented, yet his captions were entirely humble. just a single camera emoji or a word or phrases about the fleeting nature of everyday moments, or how softly a quiet afternoon can pass you by.

​then, you scrolled down a bit further and hit the real hazard zone: his tagged photos.

​there were countless pictures of him posted by other people. jungwon sitting at a university cafe surrounded by a huge group of friends, all of them leaning into him. jungwon smiling broadly, showing off those deep, clear dimples as he held up a peace sign next to girls from the dance club, the cheer squad, the student council. every single person in his tagged photos looked happy just to be standing near him.

​he was tagged in sweet birthday posts, late-night study group sessions, and celebratory dinner collages. he wasn't just liked. he was cherished by everyone who crossed his path.

though he doesn't post photos of people in his social media. you guessed he likes to keep the people in his life private or he just likes taking photos of landscapes than people.

on the way back home, you were pulled right out of your thoughts by the familiar chimes of the convenience store down the street from your dorm.

​the door swung open, and a boy stepped out into the humid night air, a small plastic bag dangling from his fingers. your footsteps completely faltered on the pavement.

​it was yang jungwon.

​he was dressed down even more than he had been at the studio, his hair slightly damp and a pair of simple slippers on his feet. he stopped under the warm, buzzing glow of the storefront sign, completely breaking the distant, untouchable image you had just been staring at on your phone. he was right here. in your neighborhood.

​before you could even think about hiding or turning around, he raised his head. his sharp eyes blinked in surprise, and then, those deep, familiar dimples cut into his cheeks as he caught sight of you.

​"oh? y/n, right?"

“j-jungwon!”

damn it, you really had to stutter and raise your voice.

“you just got home?”

​"yeah, the head artist wanted the foundation brushes sanitized tonight because the morning crew needs them fresh, and then i had to sort the sponge bins and double-check the inventory list for the next shoot since we won't even be there on friday, so it just took way longer than expected."

it felt like you couldn’t breathe after that. why did you have to overexplain? he had asked a simple four-word question, and you had handed him a full logistical breakdown of your internship duties like a nervous suspect under interrogation.

​jungwon blinked softly, taking in your breathless ramble. for a horrifying second, you thought he might find you completely weird—but then, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and that deep, gentle dimple appeared on his cheek.

​"ah, so that's why you're so late," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft in the quiet night air. "you worked really hard today.”

“t-thank you. it was just part of the job, really. i’m still just a standby intern, so i have to do my best not to get in anyone's way."

​jungwon tilted his head slightly, his gaze warm. "you didn't get in anyone's way. your skin prep made the polarization adjustment work perfectly."

the fact that he remembered that brought your heart into a sudden, breathless flutter, the erratic rhythm pounding so loud against your ribs you were terrified he could hear it in the midnight quiet. it was that exact same jolt of electricity from the studio, only this time, it felt twice as loud under the quiet streetlights. your heart was doing dangerous, hopeful flips, completely ignoring every single warning you had just given yourself.

​jungwon shifted his weight, his plastic bag rustling softly against his sweatpants. he looked down at the street for a second, a small, polite smile lingering on his lips before he looked back up at you.

​"well, it's getting pretty late," he said softly, gesturing slightly with his head toward the direction of the apartment blocks. "i should probably head back home before the ice cream i bought completely melts."

​you blinked, forcing your brain to kick back into gear. "oh! right, yeah. of course. go ahead."

​"get home safely, y/ni," he murmured, stepping past you with a gentle nod. "see you at the studio on friday."

​"goodnight," you whispered to his retreating back.

​you stood frozen on the pavement, watching his tall, relaxed figure disappear into the shadows of the street. the subtle scent of his fabric softener still lingered faintly in the humid night air, a cruel reminder that he had actually been standing right there.

​you let out a long, shaky exhale, finally allowing your shoulders to drop. you were supposed to be building walls. you were supposed to be guarding your heart against the ultimate hazard sign.

​but as you turned the key to your dorm room, your heart was still stubbornly replaying the exact way his dimples looked under the convenience store light.

the quiet hum of your desk lamp was the only sound in the room. you had been staring at your color theory assignment for the past hour, but the lines of text were starting to blur together. your brain was entirely fried.

​just a five-minute break, you promised yourself.

​it was a lie, and you knew it. your fingers moved on pure autopilot, unlocking your phone and opening the app before your conscience could stage an intervention. you had explicitly told yourself to stop looking. you had promised yourself on the train, and again at the door of your dorm, that you wouldn't feed the curse.

​but as you clicked on his profile, a little red circle illuminated his profile picture.

​new post • 2 min. ago

​your breath caught. you tapped it.

​it wasn't an ethereal landscape or a misty sunrise. it was a shot taken from a low angle, capturing the wet asphalt of the pavement reflecting the warm, buzzing neon glow of the convenience store sign down your street. in the distance, the blurry silhouette of the quiet neighborhood stretched into the dark, looking incredibly nostalgic and soft through his lens.

​it was the exact spot where you had been standing together just an hour ago.

​he had captured the ordinary street and turned it into something poetic. your heart did that dangerous, breathless stumble all over again as your eyes drifted down to the caption.

​he wrote: daylight.

***

dear y/n,

how are you supposed to know which signs are real and which ones are just the universe playing a cruel joke? when you spend your whole life guarding your heart against a curse, you start to see warnings everywhere. you read caution tape in a polite smile. you read danger in a dimple. but when a boy posts a picture of a midnight street and labels it daylight, what are you supposed to believe? is it a green light, or just another beautiful hazard sign?

​you and jungwon have the same elective of visual media color theory. though you never noticed him fully until yesterday’s studio shoot, you now vividly remember seeing his name printed right above yours on the attendance sheet every single week.

​today, you sat right in the middle of the classroom just to get a better view, since you could barely see the slides when you were seated at the sides of the room.

​what you didn't expect was looking up to see the dimpled boy sliding into the empty seat right next to you, greeting you with a soft smile.

​“hey, y/n.”

​“h-hi! jungwon.”

the syllable felt heavy on your tongue, entirely too loud for the quiet buzz of the classroom before the professor walked in. you quickly looked down at your desk, blindly organizing your highlighters just to keep your hands from shaking.

he set his laptop down on the wooden desk, the plastic convenience store bag from last night nowhere to be seen, replaced now by the clean, sharp scent of his usual cologne. out of the corner of your eye, you watched him lean back in his chair, his long legs stretching out comfortably under the desk.

"you usually sit by the windows, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and conversational as he adjusted his screen.

your hands froze on your pencil case. you turned your head to look at him, your chest tightening. "y-yes. how did you know?"

jungwon paused, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. he turned his head to meet your gaze, those deep dimples faintly tracing his cheeks as a soft, easy smile broke across his face. "i sit a few rows back. it's kind of hard not to notice when you're always dropping your pens under the chairs."

a mortified heat rushed straight to your face. you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. all this time, you thought you were completely invisible, a nameless face in a hundred-person lecture hall. but he hadn't just seen you yesterday—he had been watching your clumsy morning routines for weeks.

"i don't drop them that often," you muttered defensively, though your voice lacked any real bite because your heart was currently trying to escape your ribs.

"hm, if you say so," he amusedly replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. "but since you moved to the middle today, i figured i'd move too. the view is better here anyway."

the professor finally walked into the room, clapping his hands to start the lecture, but your brain had already completely short-circuited.

the view is better here anyway.

you didn't say it out loud, but you completely, wholeheartedly agreed.

the view from the middle of the room really was so much better, especially when it included the sharp line of his jawline and the soft way his hair fell over his forehead as he looked back down at his laptop screen. you couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at your lips. you had originally just wanted to see the lesson clearly, but sitting right next to yang jungwon was an undeniable upgrade.

as the professor finally walked in and the slides changed to color wheel harmonies, you leaned back in your chair, feeling a warm, victorious rush of giddiness settling deep in your chest.

throughout the whole lecture, jungwon noticed how you were having a hard time catching up with the professor’s fast pacing. without a word, he simply slid his notebook toward the center of the desk, his clean, neat handwriting perfectly capturing everything you had missed.

you blinked, giving him a questioning look that clearly said, what about you?

he just leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes as he murmured, “it’s okay. i have photographic memory anyway.”

a quiet laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, though you quickly clamped a hand over your mouth so the rest of the lecture hall wouldn't hear.

and when class ended, one of your elective mates came to jungwon and thanked him for lending him his notes from last week’s session.

you froze, your fingers tightening around your pen. a cold splash of reality hit you right in the face. you had almost fallen for it. you had almost convinced yourself jungwon only did that gesture for you.

but he was just like that with everyone else.

***

dear y/n,

sometimes, it would be easier to just pull back completely and build your walls so high that no dimpled smile can reach you. it is easy to tell yourself to keep your distance when you think you are just another face in his crowded room. you can convince your mind that his kindness is a warning sign, a trap designed to make you stumble.

but what are you supposed to do when the universe refuses to cooperate with your defenses? how do you run away when every detour somehow leads you straight back into his path? it feels like the world is intentionally shrinking, forcing your orbits to cross whether you are ready for it or not.

if every sudden encounter keeps pushing you closer, maybe the real danger isn't his casual charm. maybe the real hazard is how badly you want to stop running. you are standing on the edge of the hazard zone, and you are starting to realize you don't want to step back.

but the universe, it seemed, hadn't gotten the memo.

"y/n, thank goodness you're here early," the head stylist breathed, rushing past you with an armful of garment bags the moment you stepped into the studio. "the model for the second layout just called in sick, and the concept director is losing her mind. since you have the closest features to our model, could you maybe stand in for her today? don’t worry, i won’t make you add extra work. just be a model for today.”

your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the strap of your makeup kit. "me? a model?"

"yes, please! the lighting is already set up for your skin profile anyway," she pleaded, gently nudging you toward the center of the dark studio before rushing off to coordinate with the wardrobe team.

even though you were nervous, you felt flattered by the sudden shift from being the one holding the brushes to being the one everyone was rushing to get ready.

seconds later, you were pressed into the leather chair, staring at your own reflection framed by bright, blinding vanity bulbs. as the senior makeup artist began sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbones, your eyes instinctively drifted to the mirror's reflection, scanning the dark background of the studio.

there he was.

jungwon was standing by the equipment table, a light meter slung around his neck as he manually adjusted a camera lens. but as you watched him through the glass, his hands suddenly slowed down. without turning his head, his gaze quietly shifted upward, his dark eyes locking onto your reflection in the mirror.

your heart did a violent, dangerous skip. for a split second, you were entirely breathless, caught in a silent, cross-room stare through a sheet of glass.

but then, jungwon blinked, casually turning away to say something to a lighting crew member as if nothing had happened.

you quickly looked down at your lap, your cheeks burning under the heavy layer of setting powder. you're tripping, you firmly told yourself, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt. you are completely hallucinating. he was a photographer; he was probably just looking at the vanity lights or checking the ambient glare in the room. he wasn't looking at you. he couldn't be.

"all done, sweetheart! step onto the backdrop for me," the artist said, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat.

your feet felt heavy, practically glued to the floorboards as you finally stepped onto the seamless backdrop. the harsh studio lights cut through the shadows, illuminating the space and making you feel incredibly exposed.

at the center of the set, jungwon was now waiting by the tripod. when you took your place, he slowly lowered the camera body from his face. the casual, easygoing expression he always wore vanished. he didn't smile, and he didn't drop a playful comment like he did in the classroom. he just stared, his dark eyes tracking you with that exact same quiet, unreadable intensity you thought you had imagined in the mirror.

you fixed your posture, forcing your face into a neutral, professional mask. you had to remember the lesson from yesterday. you weren't special.

“whenever you're ready, jungwon,” director kang said, her voice sharp but steady as she reviewed the digital monitor from the sidelines.

jungwon blinked, the director's voice hitting him like a sudden splash of cold water, snapping him out of his trance. his jaw tightened slightly as he quickly looked away from you, slowly raising the camera back to his eye to hide his face behind the lens.

"right," his voice came out a little rougher than usual, echoing slightly in the quiet studio. "let's... let's start with the profile shots. look slightly to the left, please."

you did as he asked, turning your chin toward the shadows and focusing your eyes on a random spot on the studio wall. at first, your limbs felt stiff, every muscle in your neck tight with the lingering anxiety of being just a temporary replacement. you were acutely aware of the lens pointed at you, and even more aware of the boy behind it.

click.

the flash illuminated the dark studio for a microsecond.

"good," jungwon’s voice drifted over from the tripod, lower now, carrying a calm, steady rhythm that instantly cut through your panic. "just like that. now drop your shoulders a bit, y/n. take a deep breath in... and let it out."

you followed his voice, exhaling slowly. as your shoulders relaxed, something shifted inside you. you looked down at the structured, high-fashion wardrobe they had styled you in, felt the perfect weight of the makeup on your skin, and realized something liberating: you weren't a mistake or a technical hitch. you were a cosmetology student who understood exactly how angles, textures, and lighting worked. you knew your face. you knew your undertones.

and suddenly, you didn't feel like a hiding substitute anymore. you felt powerful.

"perfect. keep that exact expression," jungwon murmured. click. "tilt your head up just a fraction. let the key light hit the high points of your cheekbones."

his guidance was effortless. he wasn't treating you like a standard, disposable model, nor was he acting like the casual classmate who shared notes. behind the camera, yang jungwon was a complete professional. he gave commands with a quiet, grounding confidence that made you feel completely safe to move, to experiment, to own the space under the lights.

click. click.

"bring your hands up toward your collarbone," he instructed softly, the lens tracking your movements. "soft fingers. look right into the lens this time."

you didn't hesitate. you turned your head back toward the center, lifting your chin, and looked directly down the barrel of his camera lens. you locked eyes with him through the glass, no longer trying to hide behind a neutral mask. you let your confidence show—letting him see that you were completely present, commanding the set just as much as he was.

from behind the camera, you heard the faint, sharp intake of jungwon's breath. but the camera didn't stutter.

"beautiful," he whispered, the word carrying a raw, genuine weight that sent a different kind of thrill straight down your spine. click. "stay right there. don't move."

beautiful.

he just said it so casually, so effortlessly, but the word felt entirely too heavy as it hung in the space between you. he didn't lower the lens, keeping his gaze locked onto yours through the camera glass as if he were trying to capture something far deeper than just a standard lighting test.

"and... cut!" director kang's voice suddenly cut through the air, breaking the spell. "excellent work, everyone. let's check the monitor."

the blinding studio lights dimmed slightly as the crew immediately swarmed around the main digital display. you stepped off the seamless backdrop, your knees feeling a little weak now that the adrenaline was fading. you tentatively walked over to the edge of the crowd, peeking over a stylist's shoulder to look at the screen.

a small gasp escaped your lips. the images looking back at you didn't look like a nervous, last-minute substitute at all. the lighting caught the crisp edges of your jawline, the makeup looked flawless under the exposure, and your eyes held a sharp, captivating confidence.

"wow, y/n, look at your facial symmetry," one of the senior stylists praised, clapping her hands together. "the textures are so clean. you look incredible!"

"honestly, you saved us today," director kang agreed, nodding dynamic approval as she scrolled through the burst shots. "the mood is exactly what we needed for the editorial pitch. you're a natural."

your chest swelled with a warm, triumphant rush of pride. all your hours studying skin prep and facial angles had paid off, and hearing the professional crew validate your work made you feel completely on top of the world.

"i'm completely satisfied with how these turned out," a quiet, familiar voice spoke up from behind you.

you turned around to find jungwon standing there, his camera now resting against his hip. he wasn't looking at the monitor anymore; his dark eyes were fixed directly on you, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips.

"the lighting and the textures hit perfectly," he added, his voice low and private amidst the loud chatter of the crew. "i'm really glad y/n stepped in today."

your heart gave a violent, unruly thud against your ribs.

the crew was still talking loudly around you, debating layout designs and background colors, but your selective hearing had already locked the world out. i'm really glad y/n stepped in today. his words replayed in a dizzying loop, sweet and terrifyingly sincere.

he might have sounded like a good coworker but as you looked at the faint trace of his dimples, you knew your defenses were in serious trouble.

after changing your outfit from the shoot, you stopped in your tracks when you saw jungwon clearing up the equipment by himself. the heavy studio lights were mostly shut off, leaving only the dim, warm overheads casting long shadows across the empty room. he looked completely different now. his jacket discarded, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows as he reached up to untighten a massive softbox modifier from its stand.

you hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting your tote bag down on a nearby stool. you walked over, your sneakers squeaking quietly against the concrete floor.

"need a hand?" you asked, reaching out to stabilize the heavy metal base of the C-stand before it could tilt forward.

jungwon blinked, looking down at you from his height. a look of surprise crossed his face, followed quickly by that familiar, easy smile. "oh, y/n. you're still here? it's okay, i've got it. you should head home, it's getting late."

"i want to help," you replied, your voice steady despite the quiet thumping in your chest. you didn't let go of the metal stand. "besides, you're the one who did all the heavy lifting during the shoot. consider it payback for the notes."

jungwon let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "alright. if you insist."

for the next twenty minutes, the studio was quiet except for the rustle of velcro, the clinking of metal stands, and the low, easy hum of casual conversation. you helped him coil the heavy black extension cords while he carefully packed his camera body and lenses into his padded backpack. without the pressure of the crew or the blinding lights, the stiff walls you had painstakingly built after yesterday's lecture began to feel entirely useless.

"all set," jungwon finally said, zipping his bag closed and swinging it over one shoulder. he turned off the remaining studio switch, plunging the room into darkness except for the green exit light by the door. "let's go?"

you nodded, walking out into the cool evening air together.

the walk to the transit station was surprisingly peaceful. the streets of the city were buzzing with the usual nighttime traffic, but between the two of you, there was a comfortable, easy rhythm. you talked about the concept director’s hectic energy, your favorite color theories, and how relieving it was to finally finish a long week of classes.

when you finally reached your stop, you turned to wave goodbye, but jungwon didn't stay on the platform. instead, he quietly stepped off the train right behind you.

"wait, jungwon," you blinked, looking around the familiar street corner near your neighborhood. "your place isn't around here, is it?"

jungwon adjusted the strap of his heavy camera bag, looking down at you under the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp. his dimples showed faintly as he smiled, his hands slipping into his pockets.

"it's not," he admitted casually, his voice low and incredibly grounding in the quiet night. "but it's dark out, and you worked hard today. i wanted to make sure you got home safe."

your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.

there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of kilig slammed right into your chest, loud enough to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.

for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.

but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes—the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.

he was just being a good guy. that was all.

"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."

jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.

"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."

your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.

there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of warmth slammed right into your chest, a sudden flutter so loud it threatened to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.

for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.

but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes. the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.

he was just being a good guy. that was all.

"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."

jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.

"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."

“thank you, jungwon.” you gave him one last polite nod, turning around to finally press the unlock button on your gate. your hands were shaking slightly, and you were desperate to get inside the safety of your house before your face completely gave you away.

“y/n?”

his voice called out, stopping you right in your tracks. your fingers froze against the cold iron of the latch. you took a quiet, steadying breath before slowly looking back over your shoulder.

“yes?”

jungwon was still standing under the amber streetlamp, his hands deeply embedded in his jacket pockets. he tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that completely bypassed your professional walls. the softest, most genuine trace of a smile appeared on his lips, causing his dimples to faintly show in the shadows.

“you looked pretty today.”

***

dear y/n,

sometimes, the universe doesn’t just nudge you; it completely corners you. you try to write off his kindness as a collective luxury, a universal trait he hands out to anyone who asks, because believing you are special is a luxury you simply cannot afford. but how do you categorize a quiet detour under an amber streetlamp? how do you rationalize a parting line that wasn't meant for a coworker, a classmate, or a crowd, but uniquely, devastatingly, for you?

you couldn’t reply.

the moment the word left his lips, your brain completely short-circuited, leaving you entirely breathless under the dim streetlamp. you practically threw yourself through the gate, shutting the iron latch behind you with a loud, metallic clang that echoed through the quiet neighborhood. your heart was hammering violently against your ribs as you sprinted up the steps, not daring to look back to see if he was still standing there watching you run.

it was only when you were locked safely inside the dark sanctuary of your bedroom that you finally collapsed against the mattress, pulling a pillow over your face to smother a helpless, frustrated groan.

you looked pretty today.

the phrase replayed in a dizzying, echoing loop, vibrating straight down to your fingertips. you tightly closed your eyes, desperately trying to summon the cold reality check from the lecture hall. he is just nice. he is just a naturally attentive guy who knows how to make people feel comfortable on a set.

but as you turned over and stared at the dark ceiling, your fingers tracing the edges of your blanket, a quiet, terrifying truth settled in your chest. no matter how high you built your walls, yang jungwon didn't even have to try and scale them.

he was effortlessly dismantling them, brick by single brick, and you were completely running out of places to hide.

the next morning brought a blinding, unapologetic sunlight that did absolutely nothing to clear the fog in your head. you woke up with your limbs tangled in your sheets, your phone still clutched tightly in your palm as if you had been guarding it in your sleep.

when you dragged yourself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom sink, you actively avoided looking at your reflection for the first five minutes. you splashed ice-cold water onto your face, hoping the shock of it would finally scrub the lingering warmth out of your cheeks and snap you back into reality.

it was just studio adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself, aggressively rubbing a fluffy towel against your skin. people say fleeting things when they’re tired after a long shoot. he was probably just riding the high of a successful layout.

but the moment you sat down at your vanity to start your morning skincare routine, your hands froze.

you picked up your daily moisturizer, but your eyes involuntarily drifted to your own reflection in the glass. suddenly, you weren't looking at your bedroom walls anymore. you were seeing the dark studio mirror. you were seeing the way his dark eyes had pierced right through the reflection, tracking your every move while the makeup brush swept across your skin.

you looked down at your hands, your chest tightening. your fingertips automatically brushed against your collarbone, tracing the exact spot where he had told you to place your hands.

"beautiful," his whispered voice echoed in your ears, so clear it made you flinch.

you let out a shaky breath, forcing your hands down into your lap. it was terrifying how a single night could completely alter the space around you. your bedroom, your vanity, your own face—everything felt entirely compromised by him. you couldn't even apply your makeup without wondering if your features really did look the way he implied.

unable to handle the loud silence of your thoughts, you decided to escape your room. you spent the rest of the morning trying to drown out his voice with mundane tasks—cleaning your desk, organizing your elective binders, and making a mental checklist of your upcoming assignments.

by saturday afternoon, your eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, your mind completely exhausted from the non-stop mental gymnastics. you had finally managed to calm your heart rate down, sitting at your desk and staring blankly at a textbook.

ding.

the sharp vibration of your phone against the wooden desk made you flinch.

your hands shook slightly as you picked it up, your breath instantly catching when you saw his name illuminated on the lock screen.

jungwon: [1 file attached]

jungwon: finished compiling the raw layouts for director kang. thought i’d send you your edit first.

you swallowed hard, your thumb hovering over the glass. you tapped the file, waiting a few agonizing seconds for the high-resolution image to clear.

when the details finally rendered, the air left your lungs completely.

it wasn’t just a well-shot photo. he hadn't used the sharp, cool commercial lighting the director usually preferred for editorial pitches. instead, the coloring was incredibly soft, almost romantic, warming up your skin profile in a way that made you look like you were glowing from the inside out.

but it was the lighting on your eyes that made your chest completely constrict. he had meticulously adjusted the shadows so that the tiny, glittering reflection of the studio lights caught the exact center of your pupils. your gaze looked impossibly deep, intense, and vulnerable.

he had spent hours looking at your face in high-definition. he had zoomed in on your features, balanced your undertones, cleaned up the lines, and perfected the exposure.

you stared at the screen, your heart racing. a normal photographer would have just dropped the files into the shared studio google drive or handed them over on monday. but yang jungwon had edited yours personally, isolated it from the rest of the layout, and sent it directly to your private inbox on a saturday afternoon.

you slowly leaned back against your chair, the cold wood pressing into your spine as you stared at the beautiful, terrifying image of yourself.

you could try to convince yourself that he was just a gentleman under the streetlamp. you could pretend he was just being polite when he called you pretty. but looking at this photo, you realized something that terrified you to your core: through the lens of his camera, yang jungwon looked at you like you were the only thing on the set that mattered.

your phone buzzed again in your palm, making you jump.

jungwon: do you like them? y/n: i love them, jungwon! you did an amazing job with the lighting and the textures. it doesn't even look like me. jungwon: it looks exactly like you. i just captured what was already there.

your phone slipped an inch in your hand. you squeezed your eyes shut, a soft, helpless groan escaping your lips as you buried your face in your arms on the desk.

he was doing it again. he was effortlessly throwing lines that completely bypassed your defenses, speaking with a terrifying sincerity that left you absolutely no room to hide.

a week later, director kang officially approved the editorial pitch, and the official shoot layouts were finally uploaded to the department's public portfolio. you felt a quiet sense of relief, thinking the excitement from that chaotic friday had finally settled down.

until later that evening, when your phone notification panel lit up with a tag.

yang_jw tagged you in a post.

your thumb practically smashed against the screen to open the app.

it was a carousel post titled simply: bts 📸

the first slide was a moody shot of an overhead key light piercing through the dark studio. the second was a close-up of a heavy black camera cable coiled neatly over a metal stand. the third was the empty grey seamless backdrop.

and then, you swiped to the fourth slide.

the breath caught in your throat.

it was you.

it wasn’t one of the polished, perfectly posed files he had sent to director kang. it was a candid, behind-the-scenes frame captured right in the middle of the shoot. you were sitting in the leather vanity chair, the bright, blinding bulbs framing your silhouette, your chin turned slightly over your shoulder. your expression wasn't a professional mask; it was soft, slightly dazed, caught in the exact microsecond you had instinctively looked into the mirror to search for his reflection in the dark background.

he had captured the exact moment you were looking for him.

you swiped to the fifth and sixth slides: more inanimate props, a discarded lens cap, the digital monitor from a distance.

you swiped back to the fourth slide, your heart hammering against your ribs so violently it felt loud in the quiet of your room.

​you stared at the screen, your eyes tracing the soft edge of your own silhouette under the bright vanity bulbs. anyone else scrolling through his feed would just see a cool, atmospheric behind-the-scenes shot of a makeup student on set. they wouldn't notice the way the light caught the exact, vulnerable curve of your shoulder. they wouldn't know that the slight daze in your eyes was because you had been looking for him in the dark studio mirrors.

​but you knew. and more terrifyingly, jungwon knew too.

​your thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed by the sheer weight of what this meant. you could rationalize notes. you could rationalize a long walk home in the dark as standard gentlemanly politeness. you could even convince yourself that a personal photo edit was just him being a meticulous, dedicated photographer.

​but this? breaking his own years-long aesthetic grid just to drop a candid frame of your face into the world?

​there were no olympic-level mental gymnastics left to save you. you couldn't hide behind the "good classmate" excuse anymore.

​with a trembling thumb, you tapped the little heart icon below the post, watching it turn red.

​almost instantly, a new notification slid down from the top of your screen, making you gasp softly in the quiet room.

​yang_jw: you're awake?

shit, shit, shit!

you scrambled backward against your headboard, nearly dropping the device straight onto your face. you had liked the post less than thirty seconds after he uploaded it. there was absolutely no playing the "i just happened to see it on my feed" card—you were actively lurking, and your lightning-fast double-tap had completely exposed you.

​your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting three different responses while your chest squeezed with a frantic, dizzying heat.

​y/n: yeah, just finishing up some reading.

​you pressed send, holding your breath as the single gray checkmark turned blue. almost immediately, the three typing dots appeared.

​yang_jw: reading? at 1 AM?

yang_jw: or were you just waiting for my post?

​you let out a helpless, strangled sound into the empty space of your bedroom, burying your burning face straight into your pillows. he was shameless. he was entirely, utterly shameless, and the worst part was that he was exactly right.

​before you could even think of a defensive lie to protect your dignity, your phone buzzed again in your palm.

​yang_jw: do you like the fourth slide?

​your breath hitched. he wasn't dancing around it. he knew exactly what he did when he put that candid photo of you in the middle of his grid, and he was deliberately forcing you to acknowledge it.

​you sat up, biting your lower lip until it turned white. you couldn't keep running. if he was going to be this bold, you had to find a way to stabilize your own footing before you completely dissolved under his pace.

​y/n: the lighting was nice. but i thought your feed was strictly landscapes.

​you stared at the screen, your heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against your ribs as you waited. seconds ticked by like hours until the screen lit up with his reply.

yang_jw: you keep tabs on my feed?

shit.

but ​before you could even think of a lie to salvage yourself, the next bubble popped up.

​yang_jw: but yes, it is. yang_jw: but you looked too pretty in that mirror to leave you in a hidden folder.

you completely froze in your spot.

the air left your lungs, leaving you staring blankly at the glowing screen as the world around you fell entirely silent. you couldn't move. you couldn't blink. your fingers remained locked stiffly around the edges of your phone, your eyes glued to the word pretty.

when you finally found the strength to move, it was only to let out a shaky, breathless exhale. then you rolled onto your bed, your stomach flat on the mattress, and let out a muffled scream into your pillow.

***

dear, y/n,

it is a completely strange but nice feeling to realize you aren't trying to pull away anymore. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing it's okay to just let someone in without making everything so complicated.

you find yourself looking forward to see and hear from him again, no longer finding the shield to protect your composure.

the next morning arrived. you walked onto campus with a lighter step, the lingering echo of jungwon’s late-night words crawling in your mind like he planned to occupy every single corner of your head.

you spotted him almost immediately near the entrance of the lecture hall, leaning against the hallway wall with his hands casually tucked into his pockets as he chatted with a few classmates. the exact moment you stepped into view, his eyes instinctively separated from the crowd, tracking your approach with that same soft, unwavering focus that had defined the studio mirrors.

as you drew closer, the conversation around him seemed to fade into a quiet blur, leaving just the steady ground between the two of you.

"morning, y/n," jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a softer, private register meant only for you as a genuine, dimpled smile broke across his face.

here is how the scene can continue smoothly right after his morning greeting, transitioning them into the classroom and setting up their plans for the casual dinner later that evening, keeping it all in lowercase:

"morning, y/n," jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a softer, private register meant only for you as a genuine, dimpled smile broke across his face.

your heart gave a familiar, dangerous thump, but instead of panicking, you found yourself returning his smile. "morning, jungwon."

he stepped away from the wall, naturally falling into step right beside you as you walked through the threshold of the lecture hall. the sudden shift from the chaotic, noisy hallway to the relative quiet of the classroom felt seamless with him next to you. without even asking, he guided you toward the middle row, pulling out the chair right next to the one where his laptop and notebook were already neatly set up.

he had saved you a seat.

"you look awake for someone who was reading at 1 AM," he teased quietly, sliding into his chair and leaning his chin in his hand as he looked over at you, his eyes glinting with a familiar, playful mischief.

you felt a sudden rush of warmth in your cheeks, but you managed to look right back at him. "i told you, i had things to finish."

"right," he hummed, the corners of his lips twitching as the professor walked up to the podium and the lecture hall began to quiet down. jungwon opened his notebook, but before he focused on the board, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice a low, comforting murmur against the background noise of opening laptops. "we're getting dinner after this, by the way. i found a really good place nearby."

it wasn't even a question. it was an inivitation that you would spend your evening with him, and the terrifying part was that you didn't even want to object.

by the time the late-afternoon elective finally wrapped up, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the campus pathways. you followed jungwon through the bustling streets just outside the university gates, the humid evening air a stark contrast to the air-conditioned lecture hall.

he led you down a quieter alley, stopping in front of a small, cozy restaurant with warm, low-hanging yellow lights glowing behind a tinted glass pane. inside, the space was small and intimate, filled with the soft chatter of other students and the rich, savory aroma of hot food.

"two?" the server asked, and jungwon nodded, naturally guiding you toward a booth tucked away in the back corner, away from the main walkway.

as you slipped into the leather seat, the soft ambient lighting washed over his features, throwing the sharp angles of his jawline and the deep set of his eyes into beautiful, soft relief. it felt completely different from the high-stakes pressure of the studio or the crowded campus. here, stripped of cameras and portfolios, it was just the two of you.

"order whatever you want," jungwon said, sliding the menu across the dark wooden table toward you, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting second that left a trail of static on your skin. "my treat today. to celebrate your successful photoshoot."

you looked up from the menu, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "you give me too much credit. you did good too, you know."

jungwon let out a low, amused huff, leaning back against the leather booth as he looked at you through the warm, dim lighting of the restaurant. "is that so? i guess we make a pretty good team then."

your cheeks burned, “i guess we do.”

and as the weeks bled into a comfortable rhythm, you realized you really did.

that quiet dinner quickly transformed from a one-time celebration into a regular part of your routine. it happened so gradually that you didn't even notice the shift at first. one day you were just elective mates, then interns working on a shoot, and the next, he was naturally weaving you into every single part of his day, making it easy for you to navigate the lively, chaotic orbit of his massive social circle.

because jungwon was the type of guy who belonged to everyone, hanging out with him meant automatically being pulled into his circle. you became a familiar face at the crowded university cafeteria tables, sharing loud, overlapping conversations with his friends who welcomed you without a single second of hesitation. you watched him handle the campus attention with an easy, effortless charm, throwing bright smiles to passing students and keeping everyone laughing.

but the real magic always happened when the noise of the crowd finally thinned out. no matter how many people were vying for his attention during the day, the late evenings always distilled down to just the two of you, sitting across from each other at that same dark wooden table under the warm, low-hanging yellow lights.

"you're staring," jungwon murmured one rainy tuesday evening, a soft, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he set his chopsticks down.

you blinked, tearing your gaze away from the sharp line of his jaw to look down at your half-empty bowl. "i am not. i was just thinking."

"about what?" he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the physical distance between you just enough to make the ambient chatter of the restaurant fade into the background.

"just... how you manage to keep up with everyone," you admitted honestly, gesturing vaguely toward the window where a group of students from his department had just waved at him through the glass. "you're always surrounded by people."

jungwon looked out the window for a brief second, then turned his focus back to you, his dark eyes softening into that intense, private expression he only ever used when the two of you were alone. "it's easy to talk to everyone, y/n. but that doesn't mean i want to spend my quiet hours with just anyone."

before you could even process the sudden, breathless skip of your heart, a confident, unfamiliar voice interrupted the space between you.

"hey, jungwon, right? i thought that was you."

you blinked, turning your head toward the edge of the booth. yoonchae from your class was standing there, looking effortlessly chic in a cropped leather jacket, a bright, confident smile fixed entirely on jungwon. she didn't even glance your way, completely erasing your presence from the table.

"i saw your latest photography feature on the department page," she continued smoothly, leaning slightly against the wooden partition of your booth. "it was amazing. i was actually wondering if you had time to collaborate on a editorial project next month? can i get your instagram or phone number?"

your chest tightened instantly. your mind, always looking for a reason to retreat, immediately clouded over with that familiar, suffocating insecurity. here it is, a bitter voice whispered in your head. this is his actual world. this girl was confident, stylish, and fit perfectly into the creative orbit he ran in. you were just the girl he casually helped out, the lesson he learned along the way to becoming a better photographer. you were a placeholder in his quiet hours until someone who actually belonged in his grid stepped up.

you lowered your eyes to your lap, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt as you prepared for him to give his usual, friendly campus smile and type his number into her phone.

"sorry, i can't," jungwon said.

his voice wasn't just polite; it was incredibly flat, completely stripped of the warm, universal charm he usually gave out so freely.

the girl blinked, caught off guard. "oh? are you too busy with the elective portfolio?"

jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he casually shifted in his seat, his hand moving across the table until his knuckles lightly brushed against your arm, drawing a firm, undeniable boundary in front of the stranger.

"no," jungwon said softly, his eyes dropping to you for a brief, reassuring second before he looked back up at the girl. "my girlfriend is right here. i don't take private project numbers."

your lungs completely locked up.

for a single, terrifying second, your heart fluttered so violently against your ribs it felt deafening. girlfriend. hearing the word leave his lips, spoken with such heavy, calm authority in his low voice, sent a sudden, dizzying rush of heat straight to your face.

but almost as fast as the thrill arrived, the cold weight of reality crashed right back down, pulling the warmth straight out of your chest.

yoonchae mumbled a quick, embarrassed apology and quickly retreated, but your mind had already clouded over, spiraling back into that familiar, suffocating insecurity.

you were just a prop.

the thought settled heavy and bitter in your stomach. because a guy like yang jungwon: a universally loved, constantly surrounded by people, and utterly effortless doesn't do serious relationships. he didn't need to. he was just a naturally attentive, overly nice guy who treated everyone with a baseline level of casual intimacy. he was smooth because it was his default setting, not because he was trying to win you over.

he didn't mean the word girlfriend. he had just used you as a convenient, safe shield to get out of an awkward conversation because he knew you wouldn't make a scene.

"sorry about that," jungwon murmured, turning his full attention back to you, his expression softening as if he hadn't just completely shattered your internal world. "she can be a bit persistent."

you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a small, tight smile to your lips as your walls slammed shut with a heavy, definitive thud.

"t-tell me about it," you said, forcing a small, hollow laugh as you poked at your food. "good strategy though. i make a pretty believable prop, don't i?"

you tried to look up and give him a funny, conspiratorial wink—anything to bury the suffocating weight crashing down on your chest. but your smile didn't reach your eyes, and your voice cracked just a fraction too much on the last word.

and jungwon, being the observant person he was, didn't laugh.

the easy, playful expression completely melted off his face, replaced by a quiet, piercing focus that made you want to look away. he slowly set his glass down on the table, his dark eyes tracking the slight tremor in your fingers before locking onto yours.

“you okay, y/n?” he asked softly, bending down to look at your eyes. but you quickly avoided him.

“y-yeah. just got something in my eye is all. listen, i still have some projects to finish so i need to go.”

“let me take you home–”

"no!" you quickly interrupted, scrambling to grab your bag. "i mean, wouldn't want to overstep." and just like that, you ran out of the restaurant before he could even reach for the bill.

what you didn’t know was jungwon felt his own chest tighten.

***

dear, y/n,

this is exactly why you should’ve kept your walls up.

it is a painful, heavy thing to realize how quickly you can fall back into the habit of building walls. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing that the only way to keep your heart safe from someone who belongs to the world is to completely remove yourself from the equation.

you tell yourself it’s safer to just be distant again. it’s way easier to pretend you don't care than to risk believing you actually matter to someone like him.

a week has passed since that day.

today, the morning arrived with a gray, overcast sky that seemed to match the cold numbness settling back into your chest. you walked onto campus with a heavy, deliberate step, your eyes strictly fixed on the concrete pathways to avoid scanning the crowds for a familiar shock of dark hair. you had your oversized jacket pulled tightly around you like armor, determined to slip back into the quiet anonymity of being just another student in the department.

you managed to avoid the main lecture hall entrance entirely, slipping through the side doors and taking a seat in the very last row, tucked far away from the middle rows where you had spent the last few weeks.

"y/n."

your fingers froze on the zipper of your bag at the sound of his voice.

jungwon was standing at the end of the row, looking completely exhausted. the usual easy, universal charm was entirely missing from his face, his dark eyes shadowed with a quiet, desperate intensity as he looked down at you. he didn't care that a few passing classmates were glancing over at his unusually tense posture; his focus was entirely locked onto you.

"you didn't answer my texts," he said softly, his voice dropping into that private register, though this time it sounded raw, carrying a heavy weight that made your chest ache. "i kept calling you."

you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing your expression to remain perfectly flat as you looked up at him, refusing to let him see how much you were hurting. "i told you, jungwon. i had projects to finish. you don't need to check up on me."

jungwon took a step closer into the row, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the empty chair in front of you. "you’re not a prop. at the restaurant. i’m sorry i hurt you."

you looked down at your hands, refusing to meet his eyes because you knew your expression would crumble.

"it's fine, jungwon," you whispered, trying to force your voice to sound completely detached. "it was just a joke. you don't have to apologize for something petty."

"it wasn't a joke to me," he cut in, his voice dropping even lower, thick with a frustration you had never heard from him before. he slid into the empty seat right next to you, his presence suddenly overwhelming the small space in the back row. "i didn't say it just to make her leave, y/n. i said it because... because it didn't feel entirely like a lie to me."

your breath hitched, your eyes snapping up to look at him.

jungwon was leaning in close, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. he looked vulnerable, almost fragile, his dark eyes searching your face for any sign of the warmth you used to give him so easily.

"there's actually someone i really like right now," he murmured, the confession slipping into the quiet space between you like a heavy secret. "and seeing her stand there, asking for my number...it just made me realize how much i only want to focus on one person."

he was looking at you with so much quiet intensity, his lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for you to understand, waiting for you to realize exactly who he was talking about.

but your brain, completely clouded by a week of suffocating insecurity, didn't see the love in his eyes. it only saw a devastating confirmation of your worst fear.

he likes someone else.

the words echoed like a physical blow inside your head. you were the practice run. the lesson.

"oh," you forced out, the word tasting like lead on your tongue. you managed to pull a tight, completely empty smile onto your face, even as your chest felt like it was physically breaking. "i... i didn't know. she's really lucky, jungwon. i hope it works out for you."

before he could even react to the sudden, freezing distance in your voice, you stood up, grabbing your bag and stepping past his frozen frame into the aisle, running away before the tears blinding your vision could finally fall.

“you.”

you didn't move. you couldn't breathe. for a second, you thought you were hallucinating.

slowly, you turned around.

jungwon was already standing up. his shoulders tense as he stared straight at you.

"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."

she would feel an absolute, dizzying rush of cognitive dissonance—like the ground had suddenly been pulled out from under her boots. after a whole week of meticulously convincing herself that she was completely invisible and just a temporary "lesson" in his life, his sudden confession completely short-circuits her brain.

her walls are still up, but they are cracking violently. she is caught between a desperate, fluttering spark of hope and the terrifying urge to protect herself from a cruel joke.

here is how the scene can continue with her exact dialogue, keeping it all in lowercase:

"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."

your brain completely short-circuited.

you stared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to find a catch, a punchline, anything to make reality align with your insecurities again. but jungwon’s face was completely raw, his lower lip slightly trembling as he waited for you to say something.

“w-what?” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you took a small, panicked step back. “when? why?”

the questions tumbled out of you in a frantic, unpolished rush, stripping away all the cold, distant armor you had tried so hard to build.

"what do you mean why?" jungwon asked, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping his lips as he took a step forward to close the gap you had just made. he reached out, his fingers gently captured your wrist, his thumb resting right over your racing pulse.

he let out a low, shaky exhale, his thumb moving in a slow, comforting circle against your skin, trying to ground you through your panic.

"i fell for you on our very first day as interns," he murmured, his dark eyes softening completely as he brought you back to the beginning. "remember that chaotic first shoot? everyone was running around, but i couldn't take my eyes off you. you were so shy, yet you were completely locked in. i loved how focused you were, how much heart you put into every single task. you were radiant, y/n. in a room full of people trying to stand out, you stood out to me just by being you."

he took a small step closer, his voice dropping into that intense, private register that belonged only to you.

"i did everything because i wanted an excuse to be near you," he whispered. "it's been you since that exact day. how could you think it was anyone else?"

“i was…i was never the one,” you whispered. “i was never the one that people think i’m worth staying for.”

jungwon let out a sharp, ragged breath, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to keep you anchored as your words physically pained him. the easy, polite campus favorite completely disappeared, replaced by a boy who looked entirely devastated that the girl he loved felt so invisible.

he didn't hesitate. he took that final step, closing the remaining distance between you until he was gently framing your face with his hands, his thumbs carefully wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

"i'm not going anywhere, y/n. i'm staying right here. with you."

***

dear, y/n,

it turns out that rewriting the script in your head is a slow, terrifying process.

for a long time, you were completely sure you were just the type of girl guys date before finding the one they actually want to settle down with. you really believed you were just a temporary phase. but now, jungwon is completely focused on you, and he isn't looking for anyone else.

you're still really anxious, though. every time your phone lights up, a part of you still expects him to text you saying he changed his mind or made a mistake. but he doesn't. instead, he just keeps showing up and proving you wrong.

nothing is official yet. you didn't suddenly become his girlfriend overnight. but even without a label, everything between you two feels completely different now.

on a tuesday morning, you didn't sit in the back row.

you had tried to, out of habit. your fingers pulling the strap of your oversized bag tight against your shoulder as you entered the side door. but jungwon was already there, sitting in the middle row right where you two used to be. the moment the door clicked, his head snapped up, his dark eyes instantly finding yours in the crowd.

he didn't wave or make a scene, but a small, private smile tugged at the corner of his lips. he casually lifted his laptop sleeve off the empty plastic chair beside him, claiming the space before anyone else could even think to take it.

your heart did that familiar, breathless flutter as you walked down the steps.

"hey," he murmured softly as you slid into the seat, his voice dropping into that private register that still made your face flush. he didn't slide his hand over yours or push your boundaries, but he reached into his jacket pocket and slid a small, familiar plastic bottle across the desk.

it was a fresh bottle of the exact soothing eye drops you always used when your eyes got tired from staring at editing screens.

"since you had something in your eye last week," jungwon said, his eyes crinkling slightly with a gentle, teasing warmth that completely lacked any judgment. "just in case."

you stared at the bottle, the lump in your throat returning, but this time it wasn't from sadness. "jungwon, you didn't have to—"

"i wanted to," he interrupted softly, leaning his elbow on the desk so he could look at you properly.

and then he did the one thing that always sent your heart into an absolute frenzy.

he leaned his elbow on the desk, tilting his head as he intentionally closed the distance between you. jungwon brought his face so close you could trace the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scent of his laundry detergent instantly filling your senses. his dark eyes locked onto yours, completely invading your personal space in that quiet, effortless way only he could pull off.

“j-jungwon?” you stammered, your voice coming out as a tiny, embarrassed squeak as you tried to press your back against the hard plastic of your chair to gain an inch of safety.

“mhm?” he murmured, not moving back even a fraction of a millimeter. instead, a tiny, knowing smirk began to pull at the corner of his lips, clearly enjoying how easily he could throw you off balance.

“y-you’re too close,” you whispered frantically, your hands gripping your desk as you looked around to see if anyone was watching. “mr. lee just entered the room.”

jungwon didn't panic. instead, his smirk widened just a fraction, his dark eyes brimming with amusement at your flustered reaction.

slowly, casually, he leaned back into his own space just as the professor set his briefcase on the podium. but right before he completely pulled away, jungwon leaned in one last inch, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper right against your ear.

"mr. lee can wait," he murmured, his tone dripping with a quiet, playful confidence. "but fine. i'll let you focus on the lecture. for now."

he straightened up in his seat, opening his notebook with perfect poise as if he hadn't just completely set your nerve endings on fire. but as he picked up his pen, he deliberately shifted his notebook just an inch closer to yours, his shoulder lightly brushing against your arm—a constant, warm reminder that he wasn't going anywhere.

now that you and jungwon are now aware of feelings towards each other, he has become flirtier each day. but with boundaries. he still asks if it’s okay to hold your hand, place his arm around your shoulder when walking, always checking in with a quiet, questioning look before stepping an inch closer into your space.

and every time he notices you second guessing if you want something, he takes the initiative of doing it. so in days that you do want to hold his hand but too shy to ask, he gently places his hand under yours and locks your fingers. and of course, it sent your heart into overdrive.

on friday afternoon, as the campus was emptying out, jungwon slung his backpack over one shoulder and leaned against the edge of your desk.

"a few of my seniors are holding a small wrap-up gallery in the department studio tonight," he said, tilting his head to catch your eyes. "then we’ll have an after party. just some music, drinks, and looking over the final print layouts. i want you to come with me."

your fingers paused on your notebook. the familiar, anxious tightening returned to your chest, your mind instantly telling you that you didn't belong in a room full of talented, confident upperclassmen who already knew him so well.

“is it alright?” you whispered, looking up at him uncertainty. “i don't want to intrude.”

jungwon’s expression softened instantly. he didn't laugh or dismiss your worry. instead, he stepped closer, blocking out the rest of the noisy hallway so it was just the two of you.

"you're not intruding, y/n," he said softly, his voice steady and completely serious as he reached down to gently tap the back of your hand. "i'm the one asking you. i want you to be there. with me."

here is the complete, integrated scene with the new details seamlessly woven in, addressing the permission concern while keeping his character completely respectful of your boundaries. everything is kept in lowercase:

then the night of the gallery came.

the studio was packed, filled with the low hum of indie music, the clinking of plastic cups, and the bright, warm glow of track lighting illuminating the rows of framed photographs along the walls. jungwon had been caught by a group of design seniors the moment you walked through the door. you had gently nudged his shoulder, giving him a small smile to let him know you didn't mind, before slipping away into the crowd to look around on your own.

the talent in the room was undeniable, but as you wandered down the final row of the exhibition, your steps slowed to a complete halt in front of a small, dedicated corner panel.

your breath caught in your throat.

the first frame was a candid shot from your very first day as interns. it was the chaotic studio set, cluttered with stray wires and half-assembled lighting rigs, but the camera hadn’t focused on the set. it was focused entirely on you. you sat on a crate with your face angled away, completely locked into adjusting a camera lens.

the second frame was the campus lecture hall taken from a low angle. it captured the stark, geometric lines of the plastic desks, but the focus was trained on the middle rows where you two always used to sit. a soft, natural light filtered through the gray windows, hitting the exact spot where his notebook usually brushed against yours.

and the final photograph made your heart do a sudden, breathless flip.

it was the outside of the restaurant from a week ago, taken through the glass window under a heavy, overcast sky. the frame captured the exact table where everything had boiled over, the blurry reflection of the street lights casting a quiet, moody atmosphere over the empty chairs.

the photos were the places you had been with him.

beneath the triptych of photos was a small, white card printed with a simple title:

paying attention.

"i didn't put your face on blast, i promise," a soft voice murmured right behind your ear.

​you turned around to find jungwon right behind you, his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you.

"i asked the professor if i could keep the subject anonymous on the final prints," he explained softly, stepping a little closer into your space. "i wanted to show you how i see you, but... is this okay? if it makes you uncomfortable, i can take them down right now. seriously."

"no," you whispered, a genuine smile finally breaking through the remnants of your anxiety. "don't take them down. they're... really beautiful."

without second guessing, you threw your arms around jungwon.

you felt a deep, grounding warmth expand in your chest—the realization that you were someone worth paying attention to.

after five hours, the after-party finally started. the room was alive with everyone cheering, laughing, and clinking their beer glasses together in celebration.

​“congrats to us!” jungwon's senior, lee chan, toasted, raising his glass high into the air.

after taking a sip, chan’s eyes flicked over to you, a warm smile breaking across his face. "and thanks for coming, y/n! jungwon was practically talking about it for days.”

​your face flushed a sudden crimson, your eyes darting over to jungwon.

​jungwon just let out a soft laugh, completely unbothered by his senior exposing him. he casually slung an arm around your shoulder, bringing you securely into the circle. "ignore him," he murmured down to you, his thumb lightly rubbing against your arm. "but he's not entirely wrong."

“jungwon, hey!”

yoonchae was there again. you remembered that she was probably only around because her brother was in the same department as jungwon, a detail he had mentioned to you weeks ago.

​“yoonchae, hi.”

​“so, i heard from my brother that you and y/n aren't actually dating," she started, pulling her phone out of her bag and extending it toward him with a hopeful smile. "so… i was thinking if i can maybe, you know? come on, it's not like you're taken, right?”

​“yoonchae, i've already told you before that i am interested in someone.” jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he reached down, deliberately capturing your hand and locking his fingers tightly with yours. “she's right here. dating or not, y/n is the only girl i like.”

yoonchae’s jaw dropped slightly. she stared at jungwon, entirely speechless at how effortlessly and publicly he had rejected her.

​she looked at you, then back at jungwon. without uttering another syllable, she gave a stiff, embarrassed nod and quickly slipped away into the crowd.

the night continued with you and jungwon completely melting into the crowd. almost everyone couldn't help but tease him, laughing at how he looked like a total lovesick puppy and constantly joking about how he had finally found his muse.

​eventually, the party wound down, and the two of you walked home together through the quiet streets. your hand was wrapped in his, his fingers locked firmly in yours.

​“wasn't that too harsh?” you asked softly, breaking the silence as you looked down at your joined hands.

​“not if she completely ignored your presence,” jungwon replied without a shred of regret, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.

​you bit your inner lip, your heart doing a small flutter as you built up the courage to ask the question that had been looping in your head. “but... were you serious? about what you said?”

​jungwon looked down at you with a slow, knowing smirk. he knew exactly what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it. “which part?”

​your eyes grew wide, but you tried your absolute best to maintain your composure. “you know... the part where you said... you like me.” the last few words came out as a quiet mumble, your face burning.

​“what's that?” he teased, tilting his head closer to yours. “didn't quite catch that.”

​“jungwon,” you whined, pulling slightly on his hand.

​“what? come on, say it clearly,” he laughed.

​“jungwon!” you whined again, hiding your face slightly behind your free hand.

​but then, the teasing look in his eyes began to shift. his laughter quieted down, replaced by a soft, intense focus that made the breath hitch in your throat. the ambient hum of the streetlights overhead suddenly felt incredibly loud as he stopped walking, causing you to pause right along with him.

​“you are,” jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a gentle, low register. he lifted your hand, his thumb softly tracing the knuckles before he let go of the tight grip to hold just your fingertips, his skin warm against yours. “i really like you, y/n.”

​the sheer sincerity in his dark eyes stripped away all of your remaining defense mechanisms. the anxiety that usually kept you trapped in your own head completely evaporated, leaving only the honest, racing beat of your heart.

​“i-i really like you too,” you whispered back, your voice small but steady.

​jungwon took a slow step closer, completely closing the distance between you. his free hand came up, his fingers brushing light as a feather against your jawline before his thumb settled right at the corner of your cheekbone, tilting your face up just a fraction. he didn't rush. he just stood there for a breathless second, his gaze flicking down to your lips before locking back onto your wide eyes, waiting patiently for you to adjust to how close he was.

​“can i kiss you?” he asked softly, his thumb giving your cheek a reassuring, tender stroke.

​“please,” you whispered, the word leaving your lips like a breathless plea.

​a soft smile broke across jungwon’s face at your response. he didn't wait another second. his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair as he leaned down and finally pressed his lips to yours, sweet and slow.

​it made your heart do a dizzying, breathless flip. his lips were incredibly soft, parting slightly as he pulled you just a fraction closer against his chest. your fingers instinctively gripped the fabric of his jacket, your whole body melting into the touch as a warm, electric flutter rushed from your chest straight down to your toes.

as both of you pulled away from the kiss, jungwon let his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you back in for a quick, tight hug. he buried his face in the crook of your neck for a second, letting out a soft hum of satisfaction that made your heart do another dizzying flip.

​“does this mean we're… boyfriend and girlfriend?” you asked shyly, your fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his jacket.

​jungwon let out a soft giggle against your skin, the vibration tickling your neck before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes full of warmth. “yes. yes, i'd love that.”

***

​dear y/n,

​it is a beautiful thing indeed to be able to find someone. you are incredibly, genuinely happy, and your heart doesn't feel like it's constantly bracing for impact anymore.

​but being with jungwon has also taught you that a real relationship isn't all cupcakes and rainbows. there are still days when your old insecurities and tendencies to overthink flare up out of nowhere, making you quiet and distant.

​loving someone isn't a magical cure for anxiety. it doesn't fix the pieces of you that feel broken.

you and jungwon had a date today. it's been weeks since you have been girlfriend and boyfriend. and it was the happiest you've felt in a while.

a knock startled you out of your thoughts as you checked your outfit one more time. you had opted for a classic combination: a warm cream cardigan layered over a simple tee, paired with structured wide-leg trousers that made you feel completely put-together yet comfortable.

wonhee was grinning brightly at you, stepping right into the entryway the moment the door swung open. without a word, she reached forward to gently adjust the collar of your tee and smooth down the shoulder of your cream cardigan. "there. perfect. you look so effortlessly pretty today! are you ready for your date?”

​“a bit nervous,” you admitted, feeling a sudden jolt of nervous electricity running through your system.

“hey,” wonhee placed her hand kn your shoulder, “you got this. and if jungwon doesn't see how incredibly lucky he is to have you, just let me know. i will personally make sure every single senior in his department knows he’s an absolute fool, and his pristine reputation will be completely ruined by tomorrow morning.”

“wonhee,” you taunt.

“i'm just saying.” wonhee giggled, gently grabbing your shoulders and turning you toward the door. she gave you a playful nudge forward. "now stop stalling and go. he’s probably already waiting outside, and you shouldn't keep your boyfriend waiting."

boyfriend.

on cue, a knock came again, and this time, you answered it.

​when the door swung open, jungwon was standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in a simple jacket. the moment his eyes landed on you, his breath hitched slightly, his gaze sweeping over your cream cardigan and wide-leg trousers with a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.

​“hi,” you murmured, your heart doing a familiar flutter.

​“hi,” he replied softly, a warm smile breaking across his face as if he couldn't help himself. “you look beautiful.”

​“you ready?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

​you nodded your head, the last of your nervous jitters completely melting away. jungwon offered his arm, and you gladly looped yours through it, stepping out into the hallway as he gently pressed your arm closer to his side, making you feel completely secure before you even left the building.

jungwon takes you out to a beautiful, open-air city square where the evening breeze carries the distant chatter of people and the soft glow of fairy lights tangled in the trees. walking arm-in-arm, he effortlessly shields you from the busier walkways, pointing out little shops or laughing at the synchronized fountains, making the wide, bright world feel incredibly small and private just for the two of you.

​you smiled, the warmth in your chest blooming beautifully. but as you stepped past a brightly lit clothing storefront, the air in your lungs suddenly turned to ice.

​“jungwon, is that actually you?”

​the soft, bright voice called out from the restaurant entrance. jungwon paused, turning his head, and you felt his entire posture straighten up in surprise. walking toward your table was a girl with an effortless, radiant smile and a polished grace that made the entire room feel a little brighter.

​“minji!” jungwon’s face lit up with immediate, genuine recognition as he stood up to greet her. “wow, it’s been so long. what are you doing back here?”

​“my family just moved back to the area,” she laughed, her voice carrying a familiar, easy warmth. jungwon immediately turned to you, his hand reaching for yours to introduce you.

“minji, this is y/n. my girlfriend.”

“omg, hi! finally, jungwon has gotten himself a girlfriend.”

​she was completely lovely. she didn't do a single thing wrong. but as she chatted with jungwon for a few minutes about their old neighborhood before waving goodbye, a suffocating wave of anxiety washed over you.

​she was stunning. her hair sat perfectly, her laugh was effortless, and she possessed a kind of glowing, unbothered confidence that you felt miles away from. sitting across from jungwon again, your cream cardigan suddenly felt suffocating, and your wide-leg trousers felt like a clumsy attempt at looking put-together. the food on your plate suddenly looked unappetizing as the old, familiar voice whispered that you were completely out of your league.

​“y/n? hey, you’re getting quiet on me,” jungwon murmured softly, leaning across the table, his dark eyes full of immediate concern. “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

​you stared down at your fingers, tracing the edge of the napkin to keep your voice steady. “she’s… really pretty, jungwon.”

​“she’s an old friend,” he replied instantly, a gentle, reassuring smile breaking across his face. “i promise that's all.”

​you swallowed past the lump in your throat, the overthinking brain refusing to let go of the bone. “did anything… ever happen between you two? back then?”

​“no, never,” jungwon said easily, shaking his head. “we were just kids who grew up on the same block. we played video games and rode bikes. that was literally it.”

​you looked up, your eyes searching his face, silent and unconvinced. jungwon sighed softly, a tiny, amused but fond smile tugging at his lips as he realized he couldn't hide anything from you. he reached across the table, covering your cold hand with his warm one.

​“okay, fine,” he gave in gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. “the only thing that ever happened was that our parents used to tease us. when we were around ten, our moms joked around a lot about how we’d probably end up getting married because we were inseparable. but it was just a silly parents' joke.”

​he meant it as a reassuring confession to show how ridiculous the history was, but inside your chest, the words landed with a heavy, deafening thud.

​married.

​“baby,” jungwon murmured, his hands coming up to gently hold your fingers. he looked down at you, his eyes completely honest. “i'm sorry. i shouldn't have brought that up so carelessly. when we were kids, maybe there was a silly, innocent part of me that had a crush on her back then. but i swear to you, those feelings are completely gone. they've been gone for years.”

​when you wouldn't look at him, your eyes still trained on the ground as you tried to process the heavy spiral in your chest, jungwon didn't get frustrated or tell you that you were overreacting.

​instead, he patiently guided your cold hands up, cupping them securely against his warm cheeks and leaning his face into your soft touch. he tilted his head just enough so that you were forced to see the absolute sincerity in his gaze.

​“our parents made jokes about the past, but i'm looking at my future right now,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your wrist, his heartbeat steady and grounding beneath your palms. “it's only you, y/n. it's always just been you.”

“how sure are you about that?”

​“how sure are you about that?” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of your own mind. you hated how small you sounded, hated that even with his face leaning so trustingly into your hands, the ugly, loud voice of your anxiety was still trying to convince you that you were a second choice.

​jungwon didn't blink. he didn't sigh in frustration, and he didn't let go of your hands. instead, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, absorbing the raw vulnerability of your question, before looking right back at you with a gaze so steady it felt like an anchor.

​“because when i was ten, i didn't know what loving someone actually meant,” he said softly, his voice incredibly quiet but unshakeable. “i thought it was just sharing toys and living on the same block. but with you? i know exactly what it is.”

​he kissed the palm of your right hand, his lips warm against your cold skin.

​“i'm sure because when something good happens, you're the first person i want to call. i'm sure because even when you get quiet and distant like this, i don't want to be anywhere else in the world except right here, waiting it out with you. minji is a part of a childhood scrapbook, y/n. but you are my real life. you are my today, and you're the only one i want for tomorrow.”

you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding, the heavy knot in your chest finally loosening under the steady, unshakeable warmth of his words. the ugly, loud whispers of your overthinking brain slowly faded into silence, replaced entirely by the sound of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

​he was right. she was the past, but you were his right now.

​“okay,” you whispered, a small, watery but genuine smile finally breaking across your lips. “i believe you.”

​jungwon smiled back, a look of pure relief crossing his handsome face. he kissed the palm of your hand one more time before lowering your hands, locking his fingers tightly with yours as the two of you began walking down the glowing, tree-lined street once again. the anxiety hadn't completely vanished from your system—it rarely ever did—but with his side pressed warmly against yours, the world felt safe again.

​but your worries did not disappear overnight.

months have passed since that evening of your first date, filled with shared laughter and a love that grew steadier with each passing day. jungwon had proven his words true over and over again, never letting you drift when the overthinking got too loud.

​yet, the mind is a stubborn thing.

jungwon was and is serious about you. every small gesture, every patient reassurance when you got quiet, and every look he gave you proved that you weren't just a passing chapter in his life. so, he decided that it was finally time for his parents to meet you. he wanted you to meet the people who mattered most to him, completely missing the way your stomach instantly dropped in panic.

“my son!”

as soon as the door opened to jungwon’s condo, his mom gave him a tight hug, immediately stepping past him to look at you with a wide, welcoming smile. jungwon laughed softly, wrapping an arm around his mom's shoulders before gently pulling you into the space alongside them.

“mom, let me breathe first,” he teased gently, though his eyes were bright with happiness as he looked between the two of you.

“but i miss my baby!”

this was the first time you can genuinely see jungwon embarrassed, but it was adorable. his cheeks flushed a faint, endearing pink as he cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual cool composure while his dad just chuckled behind them, carrying a small box of side dishes into the kitchen.

all was going well. the conversation flowed effortlessly over the sound of clinking chopsticks and quiet laughter.

“you know, y/n, jungwon has been smiling so much more lately,” his mom mentioned softly, reaching over to squeeze your wrist. “whenever we call him on the weekends, he’s always in a good mood because he’s either on his way to see you or just got back from a date. you’ve been such a wonderful influence on him.”

“thank you, mrs. yang,” you murmured softly, using the title she had warmly insisted on earlier. you felt a genuine sense of relief wash over you.

but that relief was cut short when his father set down his glass, looking between the two of you with a reflective nod. “it’s just so interesting seeing jungwon with someone so quiet and gentle,” his father noted with a thoughtful, friendly smile. “you know, his mother and i always assumed he’d end up with someone loud and full of energy, like minji. they grew up together, so we were just so used to that specific dynamic. but it’s good that he’s learning to appreciate a different kind of presence now.”

learning to appreciate.

your stomach completely dropped. they weren't trying to be mean at all. it was just a casual comment. but hearing his dad say that made your worst fear feel real. to them, minji was the standard: the girl who naturally fit into his life.

suddenly, that creeping feeling was crawling back into your system and into your head.

this option focuses on him noticing y/n's discomfort right away and stepping in to protect her peace.

jungwon, who had been watching you the entire time, saw the exact moment your face went rigid. without a second thought, his hand reached under the table, finding your ice-cold fingers and squeezing them tightly.

“that was a completely different time, dad,” jungwon cut in smoothly, his voice calm but incredibly firm as he looked directly at his father. “who i was when i was ten years old doesn't matter. y/n is my present, and she’s exactly who i like.”

his mother’s eyes widened slightly at jungwon's serious tone, her expression shifting into immediate regret. she looked at you, her face full of genuine worry.

“oh, dear, i’m so sorry,” his mom said softly, reaching across the table to gently touch your arm. “your father didn't mean it that way at all. we are so happy you’re here with him.”

“yes, please forgive an old man's clumsy words, y/n,” his dad added quickly, looking incredibly apologetic. “i only meant that we are glad to see how happy and grounded jungwon is with you. we really didn't mean to compare you.”

you managed to nod politely, offering his parents a tight, small smile. “it’s okay, mrs. yang. mr. yang, really. don’t worry about it.”

you forced yourself to get through the rest of the dinner. you chewed your food without tasting it, laughed at the right moments, and politely helped clear the plates. you didn't storm out, but your anxiety made you want to disappear.

the second the front door clicked shut and his parents finally left, the fake smile dropped from your face. your breath hitched, and the hot tears you had been holding back for the last hour finally slipped down your cheeks.

jungwon turned around immediately, his face full of pain as he stepped toward you. “y/n, baby, hey—”

“jungwon, please,” you whispered, stepping back, your hands trembling as you wrapped them around yourself. you couldn't take his comfort right now. the ugly thoughts were too loud. “i just… i think i need to go home.”

“y/n, look at me. you heard what i told them. she’s not like that to me. why are you pushing me away?”

“because they look at me and they see a lesson!” your voice finally broke, a sharp, painful sob escaping your throat. “they look at me and see someone who is helping you grow up, jungwon. what if that’s all i am to you? what if i’m just the person you’re with until you’re ready to go back to someone like her?”

jungwon flinched as if you had physically struck him. a heavy, painful silence fell over the apartment. he took a slow breath, his dark eyes brimming with a mix of deep hurt and sheer frustration that he couldn't seem to break through the walls of your anxiety.

“is that really all you think of me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, raw whisper. “after all these months, you still think i’m just using you as a placeholder?”

he stepped forward, refusing to let you shrink away this time, his hands gently but firmly capturing your trembling wrists.

“i am not your ex, i’m not your fling, and i’m not jongseong, y/n,” he said, his voice shaking slightly with emotion as he looked directly into your tear-filled eyes. “i don't need a lesson, and i don't need to practice how to love someone. i love you. i chose you, and i am pouring everything i have into us. it hurts so bad that you’re letting a careless comment throw away everything we’ve built.”

you stared at him through a blur of hot tears, his grip on your wrists feeling less like an anchor and more like a trap you desperately needed to escape. you heard his words. he loves youand he isn't your ex. but the chaotic noise inside your head was just too loud. you were completely emotionally exhausted.

“jungwon, please,” you choked out, pulling your wrists back out of his hold. you couldn't look him in the eye, unable to bear the heavy hurt radiating from him. “i can’t… i can’t do this right now. i just really need to go home.”

jungwon stood perfectly still, his hands hanging empty in the space between you. he looked at your trembling shoulders, realizing that no matter what he said right now, your mind was miles away, trapped in a past he hadn't created.

he let out a long, heavy breath, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up at you with soft, tired eyes.

“okay,” he whispered quietly, his voice thick with unvoiced exhaustion. he didn't fight you, and he didn't force you to stay. instead, he reached for his car keys on the counter. “i’ll drive you.”

“no,” you said quickly, stepping back toward the door before he could even take a step toward you. “no, jungwon, please don't.”

jungwon froze, his fingers tightening around his car keys. “y/n, it’s late. i’m not letting you go out there alone like this.”

“i’ll book a ride. i just… if i get in the car with you right now, i feel like i won't be able to breathe,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a desperate, raw whisper. you hated hurting him, but the walls of the apartment already felt like they were crashing down on you. “i need to be completely alone. please.”

the word please seemed to deflate whatever fight jungwon had left in him. he looked at you, seeing the genuine panic in your eyes, and realized that forcing himself to accompany you would only make your spiral worse. it broke his heart, but he put his car keys back down on the counter.

“okay,” he whispered softly, his voice heavy with defeat. “i won't force you. but let me book your ride. let me at least do that so i know you're in a safe car.”

you didn't have the energy to argue. you just stood by the door, hugging yourself tightly as jungwon quietly pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly as he booked a ride to your apartment.

when the app showed the driver was outside, he walked over and opened the door for you. he didn't try to hug you or touch you, completely respecting the distance you asked for.

“text me when you get inside your room,” jungwon said, his dark eyes brimming with so much quiet love and unspoken hurt as he watched you step out into the hallway. “even if you don't want to talk to me, just send a dot. please. just let me know you're safe.”

you nodded your head and closed the door. as you walked down the hallway and headed toward the car, you finally let your tears fall, not caring if the receptionist in the lobby or the driver saw you.

***

dear y/n,

you thought you were completely past this after all these months of quiet, steady happiness.

he is good to you, and he has done absolutely nothing wrong. your heart knows he isn't the one who hurt you, but the fear of history repeating itself is paralyzing. you ran away tonight because the walls were closing in, and you are so terrified of ruining something beautiful.

you are standing at a crossroads now, completely exhausted from fighting your own mind. you want to believe you deserve this love, but the urge to protect yourself is pulling you backward. the storm inside you is loud, but will you still find the strength to trust and give it a try?

you texted jungwon that you needed space. you told him you just needed to make sure history wasn't repeating itself.

it took a few long, agonizing minutes before your phone buzzed in your hand.

jungwon: i understand. take all the time you need, y/n. i’m not going anywhere, and i’m not letting go of us. please just rest well tonight.

staring at the glowing screen, a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. he was giving you the exact reassurance you desperately needed, yet the heavy, unresolved space between you felt wider than ever.

days turned into weeks and the space between you only grew heavier. neither of you reached out, the silence lingering like an unspoken question that you were both too afraid to answer.

you had thought that having this time to yourself would help clear your head and make you feel safe again. instead, the endless quiet only proved that the ghost of your past wasn’t something he was creating—it was something you were still carrying all on your own. missing him had become a constant, dull ache in your chest, making you realize that the walls you built to protect yourself were only keeping you trapped in your own loneliness.

the realization hit you fully when you found yourself staring at an old photo of the two of you, his bright, genuine smile a stark contrast to the hollow ache currently sitting in your chest. you had spent so much time trying to make sure history wasn't repeating itself that you hadn't noticed you were the one sabotaging your own present. it was finally time to stop letting your fear dictate your future, even if your hands were still shaking at the thought of making things right.

but you were too scared. maybe you didn’t deserve that second chance when all he did was be so nice and gentle, giving you the love you had been searching for all along.

on cue, your phone lit up with an unexpected video call notification. you slid the button to answer, clearing your throat before speaking. “jongseong, hey!”

“hey, y/n,” jongseong replied, his face appearing on the screen. he gave you a small wave, looking totally relaxed but a bit curious. “i’m only calling because a few really sad heartbreak tweets popped up on my timeline today, and i noticed you liked one of them. it just felt a little out of character for you. are you doing okay? any problems between you and jungwon?”

you froze, the heavy silence of your room suddenly feeling magnified through the speaker. your throat felt completely tight, and your mind scrambled for a safe lie, a polite excuse, or any regular answer to cover up the mess inside your head. but looking at jongseong’s kind, expectant face on the screen, the wall you had built over the past few weeks finally crumbled.

you let out a shaky breath, looking down at your lap because you couldn't bear to hold his gaze anymore.

“do you know that there are two types of people in the world?” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly as the tears threatened to spill over again. “the lesson and the one. sadly, i’m the lesson.”

“okay…” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned closer to the camera. “i’m not following. what do you mean by that, y/n?”

“i mean… some people only enter a person’s life to teach them how to love, how to grow, or how to be better for the next person,” you whispered, a single tear finally slipping down your cheek. “they’re just a temporary chapter. they're the lesson. and then there are the people who get to stay forever. they’re the one.”

you finally looked up at the screen, your eyes completely raw and vulnerable as you stared at him.

“his parents think i'm just a phase, jongseong. they think i'm just someone he's with until he's ready to go back to a blueprint that naturally fits his world. and the worst part is… i’m starting to think they’re right.”

you let out a tired, shaky sigh, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“you know my history, jongseong. you’ve seen firsthand how many times i’ve been left behind, and how much it took for me to piece myself back together,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a soft, exhausted whisper. “i already know exactly how it feels to be the lesson that helps a man grow up for someone else. i’ve been that girl my entire life, and i just… i don’t think i have the strength to go through that all over again with him.”

jongseong went completely quiet on the other end of the line, his expression softening as your words settled over him. he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down for a brief second as if carrying a quiet weight of his own before fixing his steady, grounded gaze back on you.

“y/n, look at me,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, comforting tone. “i know your history. i know exactly how much you've been through, and i'm not going to sit here and tell you that your fears aren’t valid. but you are completely wrong about one thing.”

he leaned a little closer to the camera. “i don't know the guy personally, but i know you. and from everything you’ve ever told me about him, from the way your face lights up when you mention his name, he isn't the type to treat you like a phase. his parents don't get to decide who his 'one' is, y/n. he already chose you, so don't let their words choose his ending for him.”

you looked away from the screen, your bottom lip trembling as his words cut right through your defenses. you wanted so desperately to believe he was right, but the heavy weight in your chest made it so hard to breathe.

“but what if they’re right, jongseong?” you whispered, a fresh tear spilling over as you brought your knees closer to your chest. “it’s so easy to say he chose me now, but choosing someone gets a lot harder when the whole world is pulling you in the opposite direction. i'm just so tired of being the only one who ends up broken when the choice gets too heavy.”

“you told me once, he’s different. you said he was the first person who made you feel safe enough to lower your guard. don't take away his chance to be the one who stays just because everyone else before him left.”

you let out a shaky breath, wiping the dampness from your cheeks with the back of your hand. his words hit a little too close to home, reminding you of the girl who used to be so certain about the boy she loved.

“i did say that, didn't i?” you whispered, a small, incredibly tired smile touching your lips for a split second. you looked back up at the screen, trying to clear the thick emotion from your throat. “i'm sorry for dumping all of this on you out of nowhere. let's not talk about my mess anymore. how are things with you and karina?”

jongseong chuckled softly, the heavy atmosphere completely lifting as he leaned back in his desk chair. “speaking of the devil,” he murmured, just as the sound of a fridge door closing echoed through the speaker, followed by the soft padding of footsteps.

a second later, karina leaned into the frame, damp hair wrapped in a towel and a plate of sliced fruit in her hand. “tell her i say hi! and tell her you haven't washed the dishes from breakfast yet,” she teased, popping a piece of apple into her mouth before pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head and walking back to the living room.

jongseong rolled his eyes fondly, watching her leave before fixing his gaze back on you. “see? we’re surviving, even if we’re constantly stressed about finals and rent. our parents definitely had their doubts about us moving in together so early, but we just decided to figure it out as we go. it’s not perfect, but it’s real. you and jungwon can figure it out too, if you just give him the chance to try.”

“thanks, jongseong,” you murmured, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest finally unravelling into a sudden, desperate wave of clarity.

“anytime, buddy,” he replied with a warm, final nod.

and with that, you both ended the call.

before the fear could creep back in, you immediately grabbed a coat from the chair and shoved your feet into your crocs. you unlocked the deadbolt with trembling fingers and swung the door open, but what you didn’t expect was jungwon standing right there, catching his breath with his hair sweaty, probably from running all the way to you.

“h-hi.”

“hi.”

a breathless, fragile silence settled over the hallway. jungwon looked down, his gaze lingering on your feet tucked into your crocs, and then you looked at his messy, sweat-dampened hair. despite the heavy heartbreak that had been hovering over you both for weeks, a tiny, incredibly watery laugh slipped past your lips.

jungwon’s lips twitched into a faint, exhausted smile, though his eyes stayed completely soft and intense.

“where were you going in such a hurry?” he asked softly, his voice still a little breathless.

“i was… i was going to you,” you confessed, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over, blurring your vision.

jungwon’s eyes softened completely, his hand moving from your wrist to gently cup your cheek, his thumb catching the tear before it could fall. “to me? why?”

“because i’m so tired of being the girl who only exists to teach good men how to love someone else,” you choked out, your hands anchoring onto the fabric of his jacket because your knees felt weak. “i don’t want you to be my temporary chapter, jungwon. i don’t want this to be another heartbreaking lesson. i know you’re the one. i know it. and it terrifies me, but i was running to tell you that i don’t want to let you go.”

jungwon stared at you, completely frozen as his usual composure totally shattered. a glassy sheen quickly took over his sharp eyes, his bottom lip trembling just a fraction as the heavy unshed tears made him look incredibly vulnerable in the dim hallway light. he looked so profoundly undone by your confession that he couldn't even find his voice to speak.

seeing him look at you like that suddenly made a wave of intense self-consciousness rush over you.

you let out a wet, breathless laugh, instantly dropping your gaze to his chest as your cheeks flushed deep red. “oh god,” you muttered, your voice cracking as you weakly hid your face against his jacket. “i can’t believe i sound so silly saying that. it sounded so cringe, i'm sorry—”

jungwon wasted no time in closing the gap between the two of you and crashed his lips onto yours. compared to your first kiss, this one was full of pure yearning and a desperate, breathless relief that made your knees give out completely.

he kissed you until the lingering taste of your tears melted away, his hands moving up to cup your face so tightly, as if he were physically anchoring you to him. when he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead remained rested against yours, both of your breaths coming out in hot, uneven puffs in the quiet hallway.

“it’s not silly,” jungwon whispered fiercely, his voice raspy and thick with the tears he was trying not to spill. he blinked, a stray drop finally escaping and trailing down his flushed cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. “i ran all the way here because i felt like i was suffocating without you. i ran to tell you that i don't want to lose you. i'm not letting you go.”

you could only nod as a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. your fingers gripping his shoulders so hard your knuckles turned white.

jungwon smiled weakly, his thumbs gently wiping away the new tears on your cheeks before leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, right at your hairline. he kept his arms securely locked around you, anchoring you against his warm chest until your breathing finally synced up with his.

“i mean it, y/n,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steadier now but still filled with that fierce determination. “no more lessons. we're figuring this out together.”

***

dear, y/n,

in this world, there are two types of people: the one and the lesson. you were the latter. but right now, you’re the first.

you spent so much time convincing yourself that you were only built to be a temporary chapter, a stepping stone for someone else's perfect blueprint. but you don't have to stay broken just to teach a good man how to love. you can be the one who gets to stay, too. and you finally found your 'the one'—the boy who ran all the way to your door in the middle of the night just to prove he was never going to let you go.

three months later.

“jungwon, if you don't turn that stove down right now, we are going to set the fire alarm off for the third time this month,” you laughed, leaning against the counter of your apartment as you watched him frantically wave a kitchen towel in front of a smoking pan.

“i have it completely under control!” he insisted, though his cheeks were flushed a soft pink and his sharp eyes were wide with adorable panic. he quickly slid the pan off the burner, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief before turning around to face you. his hair was slightly messy, a soft contrast to the structured, neat look he usually wore around his family, and he was wearing an super oversized hoodie that you were pretty sure actually belonged to you.

you walked over, entirely unable to hide the fond smile on your face as you reached up to fix a stray strand of hair falling over his forehead. “you’re supposed to be the responsible college student, remember? what happened to the planner jungwon?”

“the plan got complicated,” jungwon murmured, his tone instantly softening the second your fingers brushed against his skin. without missing a beat, his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him with that effortless, natural familiarity that had become your favorite part of every single day. “besides, i was distracted looking at you.”

“so cringe,” you teased, echoing the exact words from the night he ran to you, but your heart still did that familiar, happy flip against your ribs.

jungwon chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your chest as he leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “i told you three months ago,” he whispered against your lips, his thumbs gently rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. “it’s not cringe if it’s real. now kiss me before the smoke alarm actually goes off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who's that guy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least, that's what he told himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake nudged him. "You good?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?

"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.

You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.

Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.

You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."

That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"

And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.

He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with  him, though. Not just a friend.

If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.

And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.

And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!

Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."

And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.

And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.

His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.

You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"

Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."

You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."

"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.

"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."

The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.

Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.

So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."

The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.

Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.

You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"

"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."

You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."

He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."

You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"

You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."

He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.

"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."

Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."

The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.

"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.

You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.

You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."

Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."

You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."

He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.

"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."

Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."

He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!

"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.

"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."

Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."

Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"

"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."

Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."

Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"

Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.

He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"

Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.

Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.

"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"

Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.

"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."

Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"

Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.

Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.

"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"

Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.

There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!

So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.

Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"

Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"

You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"

Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"

You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."

Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"

"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.

He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"

"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."

He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"

"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.

Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.

You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"

"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"

"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.

You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."

"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.

You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.

That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.

His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.

You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.

"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.

Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.

You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."

He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.

"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."

He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."

Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."

Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."

You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.

Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.

He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.

The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.

You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.

When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.

Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.

Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.

He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.

He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.

And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.

Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.

"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.

You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.

Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.

Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.

And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.

His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.

"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.

You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.

Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.

"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.

Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.

Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.

"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.

You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.

Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"

"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.

You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."

But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.

"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."

He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.

"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."

You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"

You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"

"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"

"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"

"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"

Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.

Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.

"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"

You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.

"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."

You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.

Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.

"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.

You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.

Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.

He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.

He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."

Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.

"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."

Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.

It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.

Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —

"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"

Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.

The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"

Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."

Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."

Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.

All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.

You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.

Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.

But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.

Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.

The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.

"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"

You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.

Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.

What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.

What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.

"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.

You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.

"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.

You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.

"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."

Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."

Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.

Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.

"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."

"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.

Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."

You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.

"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.

Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"

Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"

"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.

You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.

Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.

You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.

Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.

You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.

"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.

You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"

He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."

You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"

His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."

You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"

That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.

He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"

The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.

God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"

You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.

"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."

Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.

"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."

Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."

You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."

"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."

His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.

"Okay," you said. "Sorry."

You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"

You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."

His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.

"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."

He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.

You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.

He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.

Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.

You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.

"My shirt's in the living room—"

"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.

You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"

He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.

Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.

"You're hard."

Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."

The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.

You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.

He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."

You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"

"No. You're the one making it complicated."

His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.

You waited. "Never what?"

"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."

"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"

He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.

His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.

There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.

Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.

The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.

"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...

He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.

His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.

With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.

Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.

You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."

And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.

Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.

He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.

Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.

And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.

"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."

"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.

Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.

Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.

Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.

You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.

Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.

It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.

"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.

You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.

"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."

He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."

You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.

"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.

You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.

Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.

You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.

You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"

He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.

You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.

"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"

"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"

Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.

Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.

There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.

"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.

But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"

You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.

He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"

You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.

Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"

For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."

He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."

That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.

He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"

You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.

He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.

"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.

"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.

Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.

"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.

The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.

But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.

At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."

The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."

"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"

"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"

Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."

When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.

Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."

Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.

It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.

"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.

Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."

You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.

"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.

You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.

From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.

Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"

You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.

"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."

Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.

"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.

He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.

"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"

That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.

"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.

If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.

You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.

"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.

Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.

You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."

"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.

You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.

"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"

You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.

"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.

Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."

Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."

That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.

You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered.  "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"

He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.

You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"

His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.

"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"

He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.

And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.

His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.

Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."

Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.

His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."

You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.

His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"

Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."

He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.

You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.

"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."

He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.

He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.

Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.

So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.

His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.

"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.

When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.

"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.

His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.

Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.

This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.

Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.

He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.

When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.

But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"

He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.

Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.

You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.

"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.

"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.

But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.

Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.

Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"

You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.

Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."

You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"

You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."

Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.

You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.

Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.

You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.

You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."

He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.

As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.

The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.

"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"

His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.

You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.

You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.

Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."

Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.

"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."

You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.

You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.

You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.

His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.

Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.

And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.

So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.

"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"

He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.

"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."

You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."

Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.

Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.

"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—"  your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.

The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.

Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.

Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.

And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.

"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.

He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.

"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.

Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.

You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.

Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.

"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."

Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.

Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."

You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.

After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.

4 Months Later.

"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"

Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.

Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.

His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.

He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."

You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.

"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.

You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."

You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.

It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.

By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.

He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.

You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.

Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."

He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.

"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"

Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."

You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"

You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."

"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.

You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."

Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.

The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.

"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.

Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.

You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."

You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"

You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."

Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.

"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."

Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."

You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.

Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.

On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"

You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"

"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"

There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.

"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.

Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."

Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.

When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.

Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.

"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."

You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."

His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"

"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."

You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."

You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.

"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.

You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.

You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.

"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."

"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."

Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."

You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"

Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."

Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."

You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."

"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."

Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."

"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.

"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.

Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.

So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."

He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."

You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."

"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."

You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"

You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.

He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"

"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.

Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.

You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder

"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."

You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"

Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"

You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."

He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."

"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"

"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."

You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.

Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."

You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."

The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him,  your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.

The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.

"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.

You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.

You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.

One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."

You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.

Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."

You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."

Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"

"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"

You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.

By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.

That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.

"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.

Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."

You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."

"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."

Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."

You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."

Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."

You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."

"Wow, you look really good, girl."

The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.

"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.

Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.

The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.

That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.

As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.

"Sunoo?"

Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.

But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both

"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"

Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"

You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.

It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.

Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.

Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.

By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.

"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"

You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.

He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"

"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."

Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"

You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"

"That's not the point—"

"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"

You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."

You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."

Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes.       "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."

All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out.        Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"

But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."

You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."

Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.

"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."

You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.

Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.

By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.

You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.

"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."

You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.

• ───────────────── •

Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?

He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.

His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.

Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.

He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.

"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"

Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up.        "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."

Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass

Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"

"It's not a man," he said quietly.

And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"

Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."

His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."

There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."

He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."

Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"

"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."

Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."

Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."

He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."

Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer.        "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."

"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.

"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."

"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"

You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."

Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."

"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.

Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.

Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.

You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.

Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.

You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.

"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.

Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back.          "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.

"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."

If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?

But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?

Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.

The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.

Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."

You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.

And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.

You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.

"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."

Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.

"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."

A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."

You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."

You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.

"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."

You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.

"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."

You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.

You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.

"I thought you hated pop songs."

You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."

"But you sang the hell out of it."

"Don't push it," you warned.

Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"

You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.

Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"

Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time.           "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.

He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.

"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."

Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.

You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."

"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.

Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.

Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"

You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.

When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.

"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.

You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."

Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"

You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.

Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.

Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"

You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."

There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.

"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."

Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."

You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.

He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.

"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.

"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."

You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."

"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"

You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."

Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.

Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.

And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.

Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.

"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"

Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."

It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.

He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.

Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.

But then, Jake said your name.

"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."

Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."

The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.

Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."

But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.

No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.

Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.

And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.

"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.

Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"

But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.

All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?

No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.

You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.

Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.

The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.

Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.

"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.

He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.

Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."

Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?

"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"

"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.

You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"

Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."

Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?

And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.

"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."

You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"

"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"

And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.

Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.

Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"

Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.

You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"

You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"

He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"

"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"

Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."

But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.

"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."

You blinked, stunned. "What?"

Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."

And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "

Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."

"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.

He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."

His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."

The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"

That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."

He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.

You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.

When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.

You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.

You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.

"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.

He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."

You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.

"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."

Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.

You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.

But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.

"I... I have my period."

He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.

"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."

"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.

His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."

You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.

"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."

"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."

Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.

Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.

"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.

"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.

Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.

He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."

Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"

He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."

Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.

"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."

His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."

He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.

"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.

"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"

You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."

He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.

Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.

You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.

EPILOGUE

Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.

"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.

He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."

Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"

Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.

Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.

He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."

You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"

Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.

His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"

You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."

He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."

Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.

Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."

You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."

Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"

You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."

"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."

You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."

That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.

"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."

You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"

You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."

He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."

You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.

The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.

END.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

permanent taglist: @tender-is-the-moon @gabrielinhaa @dulcetnostalgia @simbabyikeu @dreamycarat-recs @skzenhalove @graythecoffeebean @kiikiisblog denleave1088 @taesnumber1 @casualtreatynightmare matchacake2 ninistranaut wonsveese l4nnisworld sieunah ikeuheartz heeshlove babydefendorpaper archivedros smlbch middstape angelhyuka dazedhee heesminee3 scaramionee si3rren rosepetals09 roslayy @mangoescrazy @arclviie @prttygrl-world @fancypeacepersona @immelissaaa @ikaw-at-ikaw @won4me @kristynaaah @tunafishyfishylike @vvenusoncasual

The day you were informed of the arrangement, your whole world crashed on you. To be fair, you knew it was coming, your parents made sure of it. The constant reminders to not waste time on the boys around you because you were bound to marry one of their choice.

Jake Sim, Son of one of the most wealthiest CEO’s in Australia. Before you married him, you met him briefly when your parents dragged you to Australia to confirm everything. You had no choice of course.

One thing you didn’t miss was how handsome he was. Not to mention that ridiculous accent, if it hadn't been an arrangement you would have definitely gone after him.

He didn’t love you though. Not in the way husbands love their wives. Because this was all for one thing, to join your families. And that's all he saw it as, just another task his parents assigned for him.

After you got married, he didn’t touch you for almost eight months. The only reason he did was because both of your parents, demanding, constantly asking why you haven’t announced your pregnancy to them. 

The night he did touch you that way, he could barely even look at you. If he was being honest, he enjoyed it but he wouldn’t dare to admit that out loud.

It felt good. You remember the feeling of him, the sounds, the words he let slip out in the moment, but after that it was meaningless. 

You lived together during the pregnancy, he helped you, he was caring. Caring in a way he hadn’t been before you had his child in you. Over the course of those nine months you grew a special connection together.

Becoming a mother was something you expected, but you had always thought of it to be different, not something arranged, a duty needing to be fulfilled.

Like the movies you would watch, the books you secretly read, maybe even the dreams you had, but then again—do they really always come true?

Then the arguments started, the fighting. He never laid a hand on you, never hurt you, but most of all he never touched you sexually again. Was it because he thought it wouldn't be good? Because you were no longer ‘fit’?

Which was many people's explanation why their husbands wouldn't touch them. But you constantly reminded yourself, he’s hardly your husband, this is simply an arrangement.

Which is exactly why you’re in your car now, with your four year old daughter, driving to Jake Sim’s house to drop her off for the week. 

On paper you two are married, but in reality you moved out when your daughter turned one. You couldn’t handle it anymore, and you figured it would be best if she didn’t grow up in a house full of arguments from the people who were supposed to be her role models.

Jake didn’t seem to mind, his time mostly consisted of working, trying to expand his knowledge on his father’s company which he was going to inherit. 

One thing you did agree on, was that you were able to see other people, date whoever, fuck whoever. Obviously you both had needs, needs that you weren’t willing to fulfill with each other. The only thing was you couldn’t introduce said person to Layla.

“Daddy said he’d buy me the whole barbie section from the store!” Your daughter says, playing with the dolls he apparently just bought her a few weeks ago.

“You already have all of them right sweetheart?” You ask, turning into the gated neighborhood, the houses are pretty spaced apart since they're huge. You don’t understand why he didn’t just move to a smaller place afterwards,  6 bedrooms is extremely unnecessary for one man.

“Not the camping ones” she looks out the window as you pull into his driveway with a smile on her face. You glance down at your outfit, So what if you are wearing something nice, and a little more makeup then normal..nothing wrong with dressing up a little. 

You move to the trunk to get the backpack with everything she needs from your place before getting her from the backseat “You ready Lay?” You ask helping her out, and holding her hand as you walk to his front door, before you're even on the front porch the door opens, you pause, she lets go of your hand to run to him, jumping in his arms. 

He’s wearing some jeans with a casual sweater, his hair styled, but messy at the same time. “Aw, sweet girl, you missed me?” He says hugging her back, holding her in his arms.

He offers a tight lipped smile to you before inviting you in, “I wanna play with the barbie house!” She says, squirming to get out of his arms, he puts her down, watching as she runs off to the living room to play.

You set the backpack down on the kitchen island before looking around, nothing seems different from the last time you were here.

“The drive was okay?” He asks, walking past you into the kitchen, hips brushing yours. You don’t know if it was intentionally, but you do know every nerve in your body felt it. “Yeah, traffic wasn't terrible.” You nod, slightly cringing at the attempt in small talk. 

“Im going to use the bathroom” You say abruptly, “Second door on the right.” He offers, “I know.” He lets his eyes drop to your outfit for a split second before you disappear down the hall.

You walk to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you before bracing your hands on the counter, looking up at your reflection. 

God, you're actually pathetic.

You wait a few minutes before you flush the toilet, you didn't even have to use the bathroom.

Jake moved to the living room, sitting on the couch watching Layla play with her toys with a smile on his face. You don't look at him before crouching down beside her 

“Mommy’s going to leave now okay?” You smile softly, “But I want you and Daddy to both play!” she frowns, looking at Jake than at you, you can't help but share the same frown before leaning in to give her a hug, she wraps her arms around your neck.

Jake watches the interaction, he cant help the slight ting of guilt that hits his chest, he watches you pull back to kiss her forehead before standing up. 

“I'll walk you out” he stands with you, following you to the door, you step out before turning to face him “I won't be able to call her goodnight tomorrow.” You say, watching him lean against the door frame, eye brow raised.

“Why?” he asks the question like it’s his business to know. “I'm just- I’ll be busy.”

“Ah, a date?”

“What- Thats none of your business” You say defensively 

“So a date then.” He sighs, watching the way your face morphs to irritation.

You dodge his question “No ice cream for dinner.” You mutter before turning to walk to your car, he closes the door once you drive off, before putting his attention back on his adorable daughter.

-

“She’s dating now? Damn, about time.” Sunghoon mutters, putting down the weights he was just lifting.

“About time? No, fuck no.” Jake replies back, grabbing heavier weights just to feel something. “Why’re you pressed about it? You’ve fucked plenty of girls since.” Sunghoon says casually.

“Well it’s–different..” 

“Nope, not that different.” 

“You’re not helping.”

“Did you guys not agree to do just that? It’s not like she’s getting married to another guy. She probably just needs to get laid.” Sunghoon offers bluntly, earning a glare from Jake.

Yeah, that was the agreement, but it doesn't help the thoughts going through his mind. Sure he’s had plenty of useless fucks, using his hand gets boring. But he hasn't dated officially, so you going on a date, just makes shit worse.

“When was the last time you actually got pussy then?” Sunghoon asks, finishing his set of bicep curls.

“Shit, like a few weeks back–”

“That’s why you’re so fucking frustrated.” He says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

“How’s things going with that Sara girl?” He questions, downing his water

“Who?” Jake asks, genuinely confused

“Sara, the girl you met at the bar?” 

“Oh–I don't know, She’s just kind of..boring.” 

“Wish she was y/n huh?” Sunghoon smirks 

“Bro fuck you, when was the last time you–”

“Last night.” Sunghoon replies immediately, Jake opens his mouth to speak, closes it.

“Okay, what were you saying about the weights?” Jake asks, changing the topic, earning a laugh from Sunghoon.

As soon as Jake gets home, he wakes up Layla, who attempts to sprint down the stairs just to see the guest he brought back.

“Hoon!” Layla practically screams, running up to his best friend to give him a hug, “Hey Lay, Just had to stop by to pick up something” Sunghoon smiles down at her, the cocky bastard exterior gone, making Jake roll his eyes. “The papers are in my study. I'll be right back.” Jake says, walking upstairs.

Sunghoon is his best friend, someone who he can really trust. He’s one of the few people in his life who know about the arrangement between you and him.

He also happens to work at his fathers company, one that Jake will soon inherit. The only steady thing in his life consists of work at this point. 

He can't help the laugh that slips past his lips when he sees Sunghoon sitting on the ground, holding a fairy barbie and talking in a pitch way too high for a 25 year old man.

“No! You were supposed to give up your wings so mermaid Barbie can swim!” Layla says in a sharp tone talking to Sunghoon “Sorry, sorry, take the wings please–” He apologises as if he’s scared of upsetting her-

“Having fun?” Jake smirks walking over to him “So much fun” Sunghoon replies standing up and taking the papers from him.

“Bye Layla, ill see you soon” Sunghoon says, rubbing Layla's head before turning to the door “Gym same time tomorrow?” He adds

Jake nods, walking to the kitchen as the front door shuts.

“Hm I guess ill just eat all this ice cream by myself” Jake says loud enough, less then 10 seconds pass until Layla's running over to the kitchen with a smile on her face.

-

The date was genuinely horrible. Some guy your friend tried setting you up with, all he did was talk about himself the whole time. You slip off your heels before stepping inside your house, who knew listenting to someone brag about themselve could be so fucking exhausting. 

You’re so sexually frustrated it's insane. Since when did finding a quick hookup become so hard? You crawl into your bed not bothering to change out of your dress. 

You lay there for a moment, contemplating, before deciding to reach into your side drawer, pulling out one of the things that has kept you sane this entire time.

You hike up your dress to your hips before brushing your fingers in between your legs, feeling the dampness coat your fingers through the thin fabric of your panties. You push them to the side before clicking the button on your vibrator.

The low buzz filling the silence of the room before you bring it down to your core, your hips instantly jolt at the feeling, you rub small circles on your clit with it, pinching your nipples through your dress before closing your eyes, trying to imagine someone else pleasuring you, bringing you closer instead of yourself..someone like–Jake..

Oh hell no.

You open your eyes, turning off the vibrator before sitting up. “No, no, absolutely not.” Anything but him, anyone but him. It’s like the universe wants you to think about him as his name flashes across your screen.

“Fuck.” You whisper, grabbing the phone, you fix your hair in the reflection looking back at you before clicking accept.

“Hey y/n, Layla wanted me to call you, she said she wouldn't sleep unless you said goodnight–are you good?” He pauses, looking at your flushed face on his phone

“What? Good, yes I'm good- why are you asking that. Just show me Lay.” You feel your heart racing in your chest, why does it feel like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't.

“Okay.” He simply says before giving Layla the phone

“Daddy said you wouldn't be able to call tonight but I still wanted to see you” Layla pouts, you can't help the warm feeling in your chest at how cute she is “I'm here now sweetheart, I hope you sleep well and have good dreams okay?” You say sweetly, blowing her a small kiss before Jake takes the phone back.

“Goodnight Layla” He says, you don't see his face but you watch the lights turn off and listen to the sound of the door shutting. “Alright bye-”

“How was the date?” He asks, walking to what seems to be his room and sitting on his bed, the camera is now on him, you watch him push his black framed glasses up his nose with his finger, fuck, why are his hands so damn hot.

“What–” 

“That bad huh?” He chuckles, the sound low, in amusement. “It's none of your business.” You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“I think it is my business what my wife does.” That has you fucking shook. “Your wife? Are you serious right now?”

“Very. If the date went well, you wouldn't have answered the phone. Yet here you are.” He can't hide the smirk that coats his face. “You have no room to talk–” You snap back, “You just answered my question for me anyway” He dodges your statement, with a proud look on his face, God–he’s such an ass.

“I’m not talking to you unless it's about Layla. Goodnight.” You say, tone stern before hanging up.

What the hell is wrong with him? You knew he was a cocky asshole the second you met him all those years ago.

But you can't deny, he’s a damn good father.

-

You got the call in the middle of the day while making yourself coffee in your offices lounge.

“Is she hurt?” You ask frantically, packing your bag and letting your boss know you have an emergency.

You don't have to work honestly, you're wealthy enough to spend your days slouching around the house, but you like being on your feet, because sitting down for too long is when the overthinking happens.

“No Mrs. Sim, She’s not hurt, but she did lay hands on another student. Which is completely unacceptable here.” The Director of Layla's pre-school says.

“Did you call her father as well?”, “Yes ma’am, Mr. Sim is on his way right now.” She says cliply. You let out a sigh “I’ll be there right away.” You say before hanging up and getting in your car immediately.

Once you get to the school, you see Jake pacing outside of the Director's office, he’s in a suit, he must have just come from work too. You smooth down your blouse and business pants before walking over to him, the sound of your heels being the only thing in the empty hallway, he stops to look at you, not having time to fully take you in

“Where is she?” You ask, hand gripping your phone hard. “They took her to a different classroom, some bullshit about needing to calm herself down.” He says, pushing his hair back.

“Layla would never do something like this, not just because anyway. There has to be a reason.” You bite your lip in frustration before knocking on the door of the office. “Come in.” you hear the stern voice of the Director say, before looking at Jake who nods. 

You both walk in, taking the seats in front of her desk, “Good evening Mr, and Mrs. Sim, I'm sure you know why I've called you here.” She says, eyes darting between the two of you.

You can't help the way your hand grips your phone tighter at the use of the last name, the one that feels like it doesn't even belong to you. “We also do not tolerate any form of violence here. Since this is the first and hopefully only time, we've given her a warning, due to the..circumstances of the action.” You raise a brow at that 

“What ‘circumstances’?” Jake asks, tone serious. “Well, another student had actually taken her..barbie doll, and–” She clears her throat “Ripped the head off..” She finishes, looking at the both of you and the confused looks on your faces

“So she kicked him.” You see Jake slightly relax in his chair, “So she was just defending herself then.” He offers, “Well, in a sense, but it's still not acceptable, like I said we forbid any violence. So there is another reason I called you both here today.” You raise your brow as she continues talking

“Is there something going on at home?” She asks, looking at you then at him. You scoff at that “No, everything's perfectly fine.” You simply say, you watch the way Jake shifts in his chair, earning a glare from you and a curious look from the director

“And you Mr. Sim?” She says, “Right, Yes everything's fine, nothing more than the perfect family.” He smiles, that performative one you always see in the business photos. “Good to hear. Layla should be waiting outside, Thank you for coming all this way.” You nod, before standing up, Jake follows after you. 

As soon as you see her, you crouch down to her level in the chair “Lay, baby–” You look down at the doll in her hand, ruined.

“Layla-” Jake whispers, sitting down next to her, she looks up at you, tears in her eyes, her face slightly red from crying earlier. You swipe them away with your thumb gently “H-he took it from me..a-and he broke it mommy” She says, voice trembling, you look up at Jake, you see that familiar look of anger flash on his features.

“I k-kicked him..I know I shouldn't have Im s-sorry” She says before breaking into a sob, and hugging you.

You hug her back immediately, hand smoothing down the back of her head before looking at Jake, He doesn't say anything before standing up and storming back into the directors office, shutting the door behind him. You don't stop him either, because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

You pull back to look at her, your heart hurts to see her like this. “Listen, I'm not saying violence is okay, but I'm glad you defended yourself okay?”

You tuck her hair behind her ear “I don’t want you to solve problems with violence, do you understand?” you ask gently, she nods looking down at her barbie ashamed, you press a kiss to her forehead before standing up. 

Jake walks out of the office not even 5 minutes later, "I've got the kids parents contact, he wont mess with her again.” Is all he says before picking up Layla in his arms and walking outside to his car, you follow after him, watching as he buckles her up in the car. He swipes a thumb over her cheek gently before shutting the door and turning to face you. 

“Perfect family huh?” You cross your arms over your chest, watching his face “She bought it.” He simply says. “Yeah, you’re pretty good at lying.”

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means what I said.” You reply back snappy 

“Yeah okay y/n, im not doing this shit” He rubs his nose bridge before looking at you again “Typical of you, being an avoidant asshole.” You don't know where this is coming from, but you can't stop the words from coming out, the pent of frustration boiling in you.

He sighs, looking down at his shoes before back at you, something you can't quite pin flashing in his eyes. “I’ll see you on Friday.” His tone is sharp before turning around and getting in his car.

You don't say anything before walking to yours, the sole of your heels digging into your feet irritating you, but nothing can possibly be more irritating than Jake Sim.

-

Friday comes sooner than expected, Jake messaged you a brief “On the way.” 20 minutes ago.

You opted for some lounge pants and a sweater today. “Mommy!” Layla's bright voice says the second you open the door “Hi angel” You smile when she hugs your leg, before looking at Jake.

He’s wearing a navy suit today, glasses. You try not to think about how good he looks in those glasses.

You look down at the pink backpack on his shoulder “Oh- um, you can come in–” You say, walking back.

The place is perfectly curated to how you want. So much more different than his house, You don't see the deep inhale he takes.

It smells so much like you. “You can just put the bag wherever” You say briefly. “Y/n-”

“Mommy guess what!” Layla drags your attention to her, you tilt your head “Daddy said we're going to Italy with grandma and grandpa!” she says, tugging your pant leg, you don't smile. You look up at a very nervous looking Jake,

“Oh really sweetheart?” You ask, still looking at him. “Yup! Grandma called” She giggles, you lower yourself to the ground to talk to her face to face “Can you go to your room angel? Me and daddy need to have an adult conversation okay?” She nods, completely clueless that she just practically dropped a bomb on you.

When you see she’s down the hall you whip your head to Jake “What the fuck?” You look at him eyes wide

“I know, okay I know.” He buries his face in his hands, “When is this happening.”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks Jake, are you serious? When the hell were you planning on telling me?”

“Come on y/n. You know how they get. They want us all to be one big happy family or something–” He sighs “Who else is going "

"I don't know, it was brief.” You look at him like he has two heads “No. No I cannot do this, I absolutely cannot fucking do this.” You walk to the kitchen, pacing around, he follows

“Like what the fuck was going through your head when you said I would go?” You try not to raise your voice so Layla doesn't hear.

“If I had a choice I would have said no. You know how they are, they expect you to be there.” He says, watching you.

“How long is it?” You ask, trying to remain sane.

“A week.”

“No fucking way, no actual fucking way.” You don't even know what to say. “I cannot be stuck in Italy with you for a week, no way in hell.”

“Geez, didn't know I was that bad.” He says, leaning against the counter, like he belongs in your house. 

It’s true, Jake isn't horrible, he picks up, he doesn't snore, too loud anyway. But that's not why you're stressed about this. It’s because you don't know what could happen.

“There's more..” He says, watching your reactions

“No.” because you know exactly what he’s going to say, you can feel it.

“They dont want us to stay at the estate with them in Milan. Something about us needing ‘couple time’.” You're going to throw up. You're actually going to throw up in front of him.

“I don't need them to butt into our–relationship, it's perfectly fine how it is right now.” He doesn't say anything to that.

“I know y/n. I tried to talk them out of it, but they are dead set on it.” You sit down, you can't be on your feet right now, you inhale and exhale, trying to calm the rapid pace of your heartbeat.

“I’ll probably be taking care of shit for the company anyways, it’s this whole thing with our partners from America–” He sighs, hand running through his hair in irritation.

“Okay. One week, seven days. Not bad, I can do that.” You voice your thoughts out loud unknowingly. You see him check his phone, “I have to go. We can talk about this later.” 

“Thats it? You're just leaving again? Dropping this on me?” You stand up, following him to the front door

“In case you weren't aware, I still have a company to run. Trust me I'm not thrilled about this at all, so don't get it twisted.” He says, looking down at you. 

“Fuck you.” 

He scoffs at you, “You’re fucking ridiculous.” he mutters before walking down to his car. You watch him for a moment before slamming the front door behind you. The pain in your chest doesn't go away, even when you tuck Layla in for bed that night. 

-

“Holy shit–Yeah, you might actually be fried,” Sunghoon says, not bothering to ask before sitting down at his desk across from him. “What does that even–” Jake mutters, running his hand through his hair. Attention that was once on the laptop before him gone. 

“All I'm saying is that this is not good, I mean when was the last time you two were actually together for more than one hour?” He doesn't respond

“Exactly.”

“I still haven't told her about the room situation.” Sunghoon laughs at that.

“So what? You’re just going to sleep in the same bed together” Jake nods, rubbing his eyebrows in thought “You gonna be able to resist then?” 

“What do you mean–”

“You know exactly what I mean. Let's not forget the fact that every woman you’ve been mildly interested in represents her in at least one way.” Sunghoon says, bluntly.

Jake looks down at his computer, not even bothering to argue because it's true. He made sure of it.

“I don't know, okay?” he finally says, that makes Sunghoon do a double take

“Shit. I wasn’t expecting you to admit it.” 

“Its not fair. Nothing about this is fair to her, to me. I just wish they would fucking stay out of it.” He mutters, almost to himself. Thinking back to when he first met you, he couldn't deny the immediate attraction he felt, but it all felt like this was just another thing given by his parents, you were just a task, a duty he had to fulfill. 

“It’s going to be torture. Having to put up that front, that everything is okay. Making it believable to all of them. When this whole situations fucked up.” Jake says, standing up, looking down at the city from his office window.

“I can’t say I understand it man, but if I was you, I'd meet up with her. Tell her how it’s going to go, I mean.. maybe she won't make it a big deal, right?” Sunghoon suggests, shrugging.

Sunghoon also doesn't know you as well as he does.

—“No, I dropped her off an hour ago.” You put your phone on speaker before setting it down on the bathroom counter.

“So you’re home right now?” Jake asks, you roll your eyes.

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Mhm, I'm working from home.” you say, trying on some designer dress you bought specifically for Italy.

And yes, obviously you would be excited to go, It’s not like you actually have to be with Jake the whole time anyway. You can spend some time by yourself, or with Layla.

You slip off your bra, the braless look is better for this type of dress anyway. “-outside”

“huh?” you ask, completely forgetting you were on the phone. “Im outside” He says like its the most normal thing

“Wait what-” You look at yourself in the mirror and then back at your phone “Im at the door y/n, let me in.”

“Fuck, fuck–shit” you hiss

“What, do you have someone you don't want me seeing?” That pisses you off even more. You storm downstairs, swinging the front door open with an irritated look on your face.

His gaze drops to your feet, the miss matched socks, to the extremely short, almost see through dress, to your face, and then the messy pony tail on your head.

“Playing dress up huh?” He says, walking in. You scoff before shutting the door, watching as he walks into your living room and sits on your couch.

“What are you doing here? I already said Layla was at pre school.” You walk to the living room, standing in front of him “I need to talk to you about Italy.”

“Okay what about it?” you ask, attitude leaking from your tone. “And aren't you supposed to be at work?” You look down at him, his outfit, black dress pants, to the white button up.

“No, meeting got cancelled.” Even if he was the one to cancel it himself. He decided to come straight here after talking to Sunghoon.

“Okay, spit it out then.” You cross your arms over your chest, he lets out a quiet chuckle. God, you need to be put in your place so bad sometimes.

“I tried requesting a separate room, but my parents found out about it.” He says, casually unbuttoning his shirt collar “So what the hell are you trying to say?” 

“You know exactly what I'm saying y/n.” He runs his hand down his face “Look– its one fucking week okay? Just play the part–”

“Of the perfect wife. Right.” You don't even bother sitting next to him. “We don't even have to talk to each other, I mean– when we get there we obviously have to see my mother and father, maybe the partners from America.”

He pulls out his phone “Great.” You watch him scroll through it. “This is a pretty big fucking deal for us y/n. Not everything is about you okay? You knew what you were doing the second you signed that contract five years ago.”

He stands up, gripping his phone tighter than normal in his hand. You open your mouth to speak–close it.

Jake immediately regrets his choice of words, of course you didn't know it would end up like this– separated family, separate houses–

“Y/n–” He drops his head, biting his lip in concentration “Get out Jake.” You watch the way his eyebrows furrow. You two stay there like that for a moment, in a silence, before he turns away from you. You only look at him when he speaks, his voice rough.

“I’ll message you more details later.” He says, shutting the front door behind him. You scoff, sitting down where he just was, trying to keep your cool, even if the very thing you want to do right now is slap his stupidly perfect face. 

-

You refused to take his offer of being driven to the airport, which was probably really stupid considering you were literally going to ride in his private plane, While also staying with him in Italy, while playing the part of his wife.

So obviously you wanted to hang on to your last ounce of dignity, even if paying for parking at the airport was definitely avoidable.

You look for the woman that Jake said to follow once you got to the airport. Spotting her immediately since she stood out, young, pretty.

You recognized her from when you were dragged to past work events, ones that you left 30 minutes into after making your appearance as Jake's “wife”. 

“Mrs. Sim,” She nods at you, offering to take your bags. “Thank you.” You reply shortly, falling into step beside her as she leads you to the plane, the very spacious one to be exact, from the brown leather reclining seats, to the marble accented ceilings.

You spot Layla immediately, she's sitting next to a man you recognize, Park Sunghoon. He's smiling down at something she said, holding one of her barbies in his hand. The woman next to you stares at him for a moment before facing you.

“Mr. Sim is talking to the Pilot, he wanted me to let you know this is your seat as well” She points to the window seat, among the many other ones, ah–so he's assigning shit to you now.

You set your bag down on it before walking over to Layla, “Hi angel” You smile down at her, her eyes lighting up the second she sees you “Mommy!” She yells in a high pitched tone, standing up in the seat and holding her arms out, you take her in your arms, hugging her back. 

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Sim” Sunghoon says with a smirk, the tone he uses for your name hitting a nerve only someone as cocky as him could.

“You as well, Park.” Layla twirls a strand of your hair, before wiggling out of your arms, a sign she wants to be put down.

“Here you go Miss. Layla” Sunghoon hands her the fairy barbie in his hand, eyes looking past you to the woman you were talking to earlier..

You turn around, taking Layla to your seat.

Jake comes through the Pilots cabin shortly after, glancing down at you, his eyes softening when he looks at Layla beside you.

He stops at where Sunghoon and the other woman are sitting across from each other, both with their laptops out.

“You two do realise you don't have to work while we're on the plane. Save it for when we actually get to Milan.” He sighs,

“I just like to stay ahead.” The woman says, “Let's just say I'm feeling motivated.” Sunghoon adds, eyes not living Jake's other employee. “Yeah– okay, just don’t kill eachother.”

He rolls his eyes, walking back over to where you and Layla sit, you give her the tablet you occasionally let her use, along with her pink unicorn headphones, she happily takes it, leaning against your arm.

Your hand mindlessly brushes through her hair as Jake loosens his tie, his blazer discarded already. You look down at your outfit, a pair of nice fitted jeans, silk blouse, before looking back at him.

“Whats up with those two?” You ask, nodding behind you to where Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker sit. “Ever since I hired her, Sunghoon has had this– inferior complex thing going on.” He sighs, leaning against the cushioned plane seat.

“When they work together, they definitely get shit done, but when they argue it's annoying as hell.” Jake says bluntly, glancing down at Layla, whose focus is on her tablet.

“Oh, I see.” You reply quietly, looking out the window as the plane begins rolling for take off. 

-

After an extremely long flight, and parting ways with Jake's coworkers, you finally arrive at his parents' estate in Milan.

“Just play the part” He nods at you, moving to open the car door and get Layla from the backseat. You two don't even have a chance to mentally prepare yourself when you walk in, to see Jake's mother and father both at the door.

Ignoring you and Jake, their focus immediately goes to your daughter “Princess!” His mother says, Layla skips over to her, giving her a hug, “Grandma! Grandpa! I missed you” She says, voice filled with joy, something that both you and Jake can't mirror no matter how hard you try.

His parents finally look at the two of you, “Nice to see you y/n.” His mother says, you smile tightly. “I need to talk to you son, it's about the partners from America.” His father says, giving Jake a pointed look, he fixes his posture, looking at you for a split second before following his father to his study. 

“Mommy, you and Daddy will still come and see me right?” Layla looks up at you, eyes wide and childlike.

“Of course sweetheart, we just have important stuff to take care of” You smile down at her, before looking at Jake's mother for a split second, if you looked a little longer you would see the brief concern across her face.

She has no right to feel concerned for you though, considering she's one of the reasons you're here in the first place. 

Jake shuts the door behind him, following his father to his desk in the center of the room. “My assistant got the dates wrong for when you were supposed to come.” His father says, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“What do you mean she ‘got it wrong’? You couldnt have let me know that before I flew my fucking family out?” Jake says, irritation written all over his face.

“I would have, if I knew. Park Jongseong landed a few hours after you, trust me this isn't ideal for either of us.”

“I need you to go to the Park international office headquarters before you and y/n head where you are staying. He expects you to be there, not for long, just to confirm meetings and etcetera.” His father says, leaning against the desk.

“This is a fucking mess.” Jake groans, running his hand through his hair. “Just get this done, there's going to be issues bigger than this when you actually fully take over the company son, take care of it.”

For some reason, that makes Jake even more upset. Hes fully aware of how this all ends up becoming his responsibility, hell, his whole fucking life has revoled around it, just a bunch of deals, negotiations, arrangements.

“I’ll handle it.” Jake straightens moving to the door, not looking back at his father as he approaches you.

“We need to go.” he looks at you for a brief second before he faces his mother and Layla in her arms. “Bye angel, mommy and daddy will come see you later this week okay?” His voice is gentle when talking to her

“Okay!” She says cheerfully, playing with Jake's mother's expensive diamond necklace, His mother leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Drive safe okay?” His mother says, giving him a look of warning.

“I know.” He sighs, walking towards the door, you give Layla one more kiss on her head before following him. Somehow it feels like all of this is a bad decision. 

“Where are we going.” It's not a question, it's something you're demanding to know as he pulls out of the stone driveway of his parents estate.

You look at him, his tense jaw, to his hands that are gripped on the steering wheel dangerously tight. “The Park International Office.” He replies back, eyes not leaving the road. “Okay, drop me off before then.”

“No.” 

You scoff, looking at him in disbelief “Why the hell not?” you ask, irritation leaking in your tone. The same tone he recognizes so well from when you two actually used to live together, even before you were pregnant with Layla.

“The faster we get this over with, the better.” His voice is stern, unmoving. “Fine. Don't expect me to be all enthusiastic and shit to meet your fancy clients.” You add a mocking flare to the last words, this time he actually looks at you, disbelieving.

“Gosh– I forget how fucking bratty you get.” He says, slight amusement leaking from his voice.

“Can’t forget how much of an asshole you are.” you reply back, rolling your eyes. He pushes his tongue against his cheek, gripping the steering wheel harder. 

As he puts the car into park, taking off his seatbelt, he pulls his black framed glasses from the center console, putting them on. You try not to notice the way they sit perfectly on his nose bridge.

“Just play the part.” He says low, opening the door, walking over to open yours but you already got out the second he did. You smooth down your silk blouse, he reaches to hook his arm around yours but you pull back.

“Y/n.” you let out an annoyed sound before taking his arm, the touch foreign, yet almost comforting in a way you don't want to admit. 

You see Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker once you enter the building, both with irritated looks on their faces as if they were arguing before falling into step beside Jake.

Sunghoon smirks down at you, before looking at Jake with his brow raised in a knowing look. You watch everyone's eyes follow a man, black hair, sharp features, even sharper jawline as he approaches you.

Jakes hand rests low on your waist, you feel the heat radiation off his palm through your shirt.

“Mr, and Mrs. Sim” He nods politely at you, before doing the same to Jake's coworkers out of respect. 

Jake nods back “Mr. Park.” He nods back, you cant help but notice how the man in front of you also looks like he doesn't want to be here.

You stay by Jake's side, even as the man you now recognize as Park Jongseong speaks business, the woman from the plane writing down things on a glass clipboard, while Sunghoon joins the conversation with them.

You sigh, slightly annoyed, your performative exterior crumbling the longer you have to stand by his side. 

What felt like hours, but was most likely only 30 minutes of having to perform as his ‘perfect little wife’ you two finally got to the place you were staying, an extremely nice estate, it was almost like a penthouse, overlooking the water.

You still don't understand why you and Jake couldn't have stayed at his parents estate, but you guess this is what everyone insisted on.

You shove past him to get in the room, ignoring the way he glares daggers at the back of your head, only to pause when you reach the bedroom.

He follows after you, letting one of the room service workers bring in your stuff. You both freeze, staring at the bed.

The rose petals covering the white comforter, you feel your cheeks flush when they land on the condoms, assorted to make some sort of heart on the nightstand, you quickly move, opening the drawer to shove them inside of it only for your whole body to still.

“What the fuck–” Your eyes meet a pair of handcuffs, next to them, a bottle of unopened lube.

You swear your whole body is on fire, “I-Is this some kind of like– sex resort?” You turn to Jake, gaping at him. 

He looks like he's at a loss for words, hand clutched tight around the suitcase handle. You move past him to the room service workers who are bringing in your stuff.

“Hi, sorry, I think we have the wrong room, I'm confused with all the–stuff laying around.” You can't help the slight tremble in your voice, the woman unloads your suitcase off the carrier, before standing straight.

“Ma’am, this was booked specifically with the additions to it.” She says warily.

Jake follows out the bedroom, realisation dawning. Sunghoon.

He should have known better than to have the idiot be the one to book where to stay.

“Shit.” He mutters, before looking at the woman, and the other two who helped bring your stuff up here

“You may leave, Thank you.” He hands her handfull of money, you couldn't see how much, but from the slightly shocked look on her face, you knew it was more than needed. 

The door shutting behind them, leaving you and Jake in a penthouse in Italy, alone.

One that practically screamed sex, you crossed your arms over your chest, giving him that look.

“Sunghoon booked it. I was busy with meetings– Fuck, I knew I shouldnt have let him.” He takes off his glasses rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“God, of course he would do something like this.” You look around, besides the..stuff, it was a really nice place, probably the nicest you could have gotten, but that was expected with how wealthy he was.

You sigh, not looking back before walking towards the bedroom to unpack your things.

His eyes follow you, trailing a path down your body, the way your jeans cling to your hips, swaying in a way that could make any man weak.

Example being the way some of the men in Park Jongseongs office eyed you down. 

You looked around the room- hell, Even the bathroom held the same aura as the bedroom, built for something intimate.

The shower lining the back, completely open, besides the glass in the middle, one shower head on the left, and one on the right, a fair distance away from each other, the dark tile made it feel even more dangerous.

This whole place was just one big temptation, with Jake being the center of it all. 

-

For being in the same penthouse as him, it was surprisingly easy to avoid each other. He mentioned something about Sunghoon, and this and that, in which you were half listening, half trying to ignore the way his short sleeved button up fit him.

There must be something in the air, there's stuff for that right? Perfume that makes you obnoxiously horny. Because that's the only reasonable explanation. 

You finish blow drying your hair, running the detangling oil through it, the one that smells like fruits.

Checking the time, 9:48. Layla is probably already asleep, you open your phone, checking for any notifications, a part of you already knows who you're looking for.

“Im so fucked.” Jake groans, hair messy, glasses forgotten, the first few buttons on his shirt open, his tone chest revealed.

He takes the drink the bartender offered him, her hand grazing his at the exchange, Jake doesn't even notice it. 

Sunghoon raises a brow at his state, looking at the woman behind the counter now serving a group of girls vodka shots.

The music isn't too loud, considering he specifically wanted a bar that wasn't meant for too much partying.

Jake looks around, the couples sitting down, happy, intertwined.

“Like I said, you just need some pussy.” Sunghoon mutters causally, looking as composed as ever.

“Yeah, hers.” Jake mumbles, making Sunghoon laugh, actually fucking laugh in his face. “I take it back, no amount of pussy is gonna save your ass.” 

“Fuck Hoon– they even put flowers on the bed. Don’t even get me started on the handcuffs either.” Jake rubs his temple in irritation.

“Hey, it took some real convincing to get them to go all in with the kinky shit.” Sunghoon raises his hands in defense, like that makes it any better.

“What makes you think I even–”

“Trust me, I know. Real recognizes real.” He says through a smirk. Jake can't help but let out a huffed chuckle, filled with amusement, and also disbelief.

“You know, this is honestly your fault.” Jake levels his gaze, downing the rest of his drink.

“You sure you don’t just need someone to blame for your heart throbbing obsession with your baby mama?” Sunghoon says through that shit eating grin he wears when he knows he's right. I mean hell, he might just be. 

Jake shakes his head, trying to get rid of any irrational thoughts, focusing on the truth, you want nothing to do with him in that way.

You probably hated him, most likely wouldn’t even be talking to him if it werent for Layla.

“Alright prove it then.” Sunghoon says, challenging. Jake raises a brow suspiciously, “That bartender right there in the tiny shorts, she's been eyeing you this whole time. You were too busy sulking about how much you want to fuck y/n to notice.” Sunghoon pauses for a moment, watching as Jake looks at the woman, her eyes locked on his before turning back to him.

“Flirt back, see where that leads you.” Sunghoon finished, downing the rest of his drink.

Jake chuckles, although there's no amusement filled in it, just straight up boredom. “Im not flirting with her, let alone fucking her.” Jake says, voice low.

Sunghoon's eyes light up immediately, victory gleaming in them. “Knew it.” He shakes his head, knowingly.

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it as his screen lights up with a notification. Jake watches as Sunghoon picks up his phone, reading whatever it is, typing, sending, and standing up.

“We’ve been here for less than 24 hours and you already found someone?” Jake asks, a tone of exhaustion.

“You already know it.” Sunghoon offers a playful wink, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Don’t forget about the meeting we have with Park Jongseong either, The Prada ambassadors are also attending.” Jake says sternly, his voice he uses for business coming out.

“Yes, sir.” Sunghoon chuckles, leaning against the stool for a second “You good for tonight though?” he asks, slight concern around the edges.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm headed back soon anyway.” Jake says, giving him a tight smile, Sunghoon watches him for a moment, before parting ways.

Jake stays for about five more minutes before standing up and walking back to the penthouse– to you. 

He's always been good about handling his alcohol, plus he didn't have much to drink anyway. So when you hear the sound of the door being unlocked, shut, and footsteps coming to the bedroom, you attempt to put on the facade of being fast asleep.

He walks in, closing the bedroom door shut behind him, eyes immediately on you, curled into the sheets like it was natural.

He doesn't know what comes over him when he walks over to your side of the bed, wanting to get a closer look at you, because it's been so.. so long since hes seen you like this.

He can't help himself when he brushes a finger over your cheek, it takes everything in you to stop your body from reacting.

“What are you doing to me..” He whispers, low, that you almost couldn't hear it. The slight smell of the crisp fresh air, his signature cologne,  and faint alcohol lingering off of him.

He steps back immediately, touch gone from your skin, like you burned him, or like realisation finally dawned.

You don't open your eyes yet, You listen to the sound of his footsteps, descending away from you, moving to the bathroom. 

You let out a breath, the one you've been holding ever since he opened the bedroom door, your heart beating rapidly, in a way it did when the boy you had a crush on in high school glanced your way. Childish, stupid. 

The shower feels big, empty, even more so as the cold water hits his skin repeatedly, hardly helping with the burning of his body, or the way his dick throbs the second you invade his thoughts without permission, again.

He’s fucking pathetic, you have every right to hate him.

In this moment of him being alone, surrounded by the dark, the dimmed lights illuminating the cold bathroom, all he can think about is how he would do anything to go back in time.

Put his fucked up pride to the side, anything to not be in this situation right now, with this need– not just for anyone, not for some random woman, but for you.

Because it's something about you, not just because of Layla, not because you’re ‘forced’ to be in each other's presence, he can't deny it anymore.

He can’t deny that he’s utterly obsessed with you, and absolutely fucked. Just like Sunghoon said. 

-

Falling asleep last night might have been one of the hardest things, considering you could practically feel the heat radiating off his body the second he slipped in the bed with you.

You stayed turned so you were facing the large balcony slide door, watching the moonlight seep in.

You didn't want it to affect you this much, but somehow it still did. So after finally getting the strength to get up, and get ready for the day, because you might as well attempt to enjoy being here in Italy. 

You see Jake, standing up at the edge of the counter, taking a sip of some expensive coffee.

“Took you long enough.” He tries, and fails to hide the way his eyes roam down your body, the way the floral dress clings to you, it could be considered modest, but the way it hugs your curves, makes him think things he probably shouldn't.

You raise your brow in question, closing the distance to make yourself coffee as well. He places a mug in front of you instead, catching you off guard.

You turn to look at him, eyes scanning his face, the glasses sitting on top of his head to the rather simple outfit he's sporting today.

“Whats with you, do you want something?” You ask skeptically.

Fuck yeah he wants something, preferably you though, sitting on his face perchance?

“Am I not allowed to make coffee for the mother of my child?” He turns fully, using the counter as support to lean against. 

You level your eyes even more, “I was going to head to the estate, see Layla, maybe we can take her out for the day.” He takes another sip of his coffee, brushing past you to place the mug in the sink.

“Together?” You ask suspiciously, confusion settling in your tone. “Yes y/n, together.” He says like it's the most obvious thing. Like you two do this all the time, when in reality you don’t even remember the last time he suggested something like this, if he even did.

“I mean we're both here, she's always going on about how she wants us both.” He offers lightly, watching the way your face softens.

“Okay then, for Layla.” You clarify, taking a sip of the coffee he prepared for you, the rich taste settling just right. 

“We also have dinner in 2 days with Park Jongseong and his girlfriend.” He adds in casually. Washing the mug off in the sink.

Your brain pauses for a moment, processing what just came out of his mouth. “Knew you wanted something.” You chuckle, but it's humorless.

“Its one fucking dinner y/n.” he turns, facing you. “Yeah, and a whole week of being here, stuck with you.”

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it. “We can talk about this later. Right now let's focus on Layla.”

He says it like he's being the bigger person here. As if he's not dropping things on you left and right, and that irritates you even more.

But you don’t fight it, because a part of him is right, you two can stop your bickering for a few hours to spend time with your daughter. 

-

“The purple one?” Layla asks, looking up at you, than at Jake, you glance down at the gelato in front of you, “One lavender please” You smile at the man behind the counter as he scoops it into a cone, “One lavender Gelato for you” He hands it to her, her eyes lighting up as she takes it,

“Anything for the happy couple?” He asks, eyes darting between you and Jake, you don't notice the way he stills beside you. “Can I get the Raspberry please?” The kind man nods, handing you the cone, some of it dripping on your hand due to the warm weather.

“Ill take the salted caramel” He pays for it, walking on the other side of Layla, “Should we sit at the table?” You ask Layla, looking down at her as she tries to keep up with the steps you and Jake take, her pigtails swaying with her, you smile at how happy she is.

“Yes!” Jake helps her up, taking the seat next to her, you settle for the one across from them.

Jake smiles at Layla, as she goes on about something related to her toys, and how ‘Hoon’ needs to come back and play as the fairy doll again, his eyes go to you, the light pink gelato dripping down your hand, the way your tongue darts out to lick it off.

It's like his body reacts before his mind does, he reaches over, swiping his thumb across the bottom of your lip, the gelato that dripped being cleaned up.

You freeze, eyes immediately on him. He retracts his hand immediately, “Sorry– you had something-” He stops talking when the sound of his phone cuts through, picking it up and reading whatever is on his screen.

“Are you done, Lay?” Jake looks down at Layla beside him, she nods, “Let me guess, you have somewhere to be?” You ask unsurprising. 

“Its Park Jongseong and the Prada ambassadors— nevermind” He replies blandly, standing up and helping Layla, you chuckle, but not in amusement, or in surprise, because you knew this was going to happen anyway.

“Come on Lay, you know..” You smile down at her, before looking up at him, a certain glint in your eyes. “Daddy apparently has better things to do.”

You can feel his eyes boring into you, you don't look at him when you stand up and hold her hand. Who cares if it's childish, or bratty, you’re right anyway.

“I love you angel, be good okay?” You press a light kiss to Layla's forehead, Jake gives her a hug, before heading to the front door, you offer a tight smile to his mother before following after him. 

You don't bother looking at him, or trying to talk to him once you're both in the car. You watch as Sunghoon’s name flashes across the screen, a call.

Jake looks at you for a second, before hesitantly pressing accept. “Final fuckingly man, had me thinking you actually got some–” “You’re on speaker Sunghoon.” Jake cuts through his words.

“Oh shit.. Uh– hey y/n” you can practically see the fake concern on his face. Jake sighs, urging him to continue

“Right so, Park Jongseong’s assistant said the Prada ambassadors are already at his office, they're just waiting on us.” Jake bites down on his lip, hard. “Fuck– okay, tell them ill be there shortly.” 

“I got you, don’t get too distracted..” Sunghoon says through a chuckle before hanging up. You feel a slight blush coat your cheeks at that, turning your head more towards the window to avoid Jake's gaze.

Every few minutes, he can't help when his eyes shift to you, the faint sunkissed glow coating your skin, the way your dress clings to your body–

You regret the way you acted earlier, it was a little bratty, and petty..but then again you've always been, at least according to him.

He puts the car into park, unlocking the door, you don't say anything but before you step out, you turn your face towards him.

“About earlier.. It was uncalled for, I understand you’re busy, I shouldn't have said that in front of Layla.” You bite on your lip nervously, a habit he's noticed since the day your parents introduced the two of you. 

He raises a brow, a playful smirk on his face “Are you apologizing?” He asks, eyeing you up and down

“What– I mean.. I-” You stumble over your words, making him let out an amused laugh “It’s fine y/n. I know I'm not the best..” He pauses, looking down for a split second to think of the right word “..arrange..ment.” he cringes at the end,

“I try for Layla, even with the shit from the company piling up.” His hand rests steady on the steering wheel, You watch his face, his eyes, taking in the sincerity.

“You’re a good father, Jake.”

You don't try to put on a forced smile, before stepping out of the car fully, shutting the door behind you, the second you're out of sight he buries his face in his hands, letting out a strangled groan. God– you’re killing him, so fucking slowly. 

-

“Fuck– Ive been wanting to do this for so long” Jake says through a groan, pounding ruthlessly into you. You mutter something back, face buried into the soft pillows beneath you, not even caring about the saliva coming out of your mouth from how hard he’s fucking you. 

“Want me to fill this pretty pussy up again?” he leans down, pulling your hair back to expose your neck, hips slamming into you, making your back arch against his chest. You're a moaning mess under him, his teeth nip below your ear, his free hand holding your hip, grounding you as his thrusts grow sharper—

Jake freezes at the door of the bedroom as soon as he opens it, eyes wide looking at you, the sheets tangled around the ends of your feet, almost your whole body exposed, the oversized T-shirt you're wearing ridden up to reveal a glimpse of your underboob, your light pink sleep shorts practically sticking to your core, a faint outline of your pussy visible even through the clothing layers with how wet you seem to be.

Theres no fucking way– 

A whine escapes your lips, or was it a moan? He can't help but step closer, lingering at the edge of the bed, your body squirms, thighs squeezing together in a poor attempt to satisfy the throbbing heat between your legs.

The smell of you so fucking delicious, clouding his senses. He almost feels sorry for you, gosh you must be desperate if you're having a wet dream in the middle of your shared bed with him. You let out another small noise, or was it a word? 

He brings his finger up, gently swiping away a bead of sweat from above your eyebrow, trailing down your arm, lightly over the curve of your exposed hip, leaning closer to hear you better

“J-Jake..” You whisper, barely audible, he stills, stepping back, running a hand through his hair.

Fuck this is wrong.. This is so, so wrong, He looks down at you again, biting his lip in thought. 

He ultimately grabs the sheet, bringing it up from your feet to cover your body, trying to ignore the heat of your skin.

This cannot be real. He glances down at you one more time before going to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click, leaning against it.

Letting the cool crisp air swallow him, anything to get rid of what he's feeling right now. He looks down, the hard bulge now clearly visible in his pants.

Bringing his hand down to palm himself through them, he hisses at the contact, how sensitive he is right now. 

He wastes no time unbuttoning his shirt, discarding his pants and underwear next, stepping inside of the big shower, cool tile against his feet, he turns on the water, the warmth coating his skin.

The water drips down his body, he lifts a hand to steady himself against the black tile wall, bringing his other down to wrap around his thick cock, practically standing on its own, tip angry and red from how much he's neglected his own pleasure.

Pumping his fist once, a bead of pre cum slips out of the slit, mixing with the warm shower water as it drains beneath his feet.

“Fuck..” He groans, fucking into his fist faster, leaning his head back as the water falls onto his face, his mouth hangs open, he closes his eyes, trying to imagine what you were thinking about, fuck his name sounds so pretty coming from your mouth, especially like that. 

His groans grow more ragged as he strokes himself faster, “y/n..” he bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood as his warm cum spurts out, coating the dark tile wall, dripping down, making a mess on his hand, he looks down, eyebrows furrowed as he attempts to milk every last drop, watching as the water washes it away.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, almost pitying himself and this whole situation. 

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed, the bright sun shining in through the sheer curtains illuminating the bedroom.

Even in the shower as the warm water hits your skin, you couldn't shake the dream you had last night, how real it felt, the way he spoke, the way he touched you– the closeness of it all, so vividly in your reach. 

You decided, well actually you were technically forced to use this day for yourself.

He was working. In all honesty, he didn't have to, but being with you again, alone, was killing him. 

You were enjoying yourself, as one would do in Italy of all places, soaking in the warm sun on the balcony, book in hand when you got the text, the one that made your phone vibrate a little too loudly against the glass side table.

Something about it already told you it wasn't going to be good.

Jake: Client dinner tonight with Park Jongseong and his girlfriend. 7:00. Your dress is being dropped off now. I’ll be there at 6:45 to pick you up. Clean up for me, yeah?

You read the message once, twice, practically hearing the smugness in his voice at the last few words.

You type out a reply, delete it. He smirks down at his phone, seeing that you read it was enough. 

Exactly 30 minutes later, the same woman from the airplane stands at the front door of the penthouse, garment bag in hand.

“Thank you.” You give her a soft smile, one that she attempts to mirror back, handing the dress to you. “Mr. Sim informed me you had the jewelry you needed, but if you need me too I can arrange–” 

“It's fine.” You reply back dryly, she pauses for a moment “God, Sorry I'm just stressed” You fold the dress over your arm.

“Thank you, and yes I have everything I need.” You say, breathing out. She offers a tight lipped smile, giving a polite nod before walking back towards the elevator, you shut the door once she's out of sight.

“Oh my gosh–” you gape at the dress, fully taking it out of the garment bag, laying on the bed before you.

The dark red contrasts with the white sheets, the cut a little too deep for something like this. You glance at the time on your phone, 5:26, if you start getting ready now you should be done before he gets here.. You bite your lip, contemplating. No harm in starting early, you have nothing to do in the meantime anyway. 

“Y/n–” Jake's eyes trail down your body, shamelessly, like he has the right– “You look..”

“Dont.” You hold your hand up giving him an almost strict look, while also suddenly feeling conscious of how low cut the dress is, the silk material soft on your skin.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, eyes staying glued to your chest without you knowing before putting the car into drive. 

Park Jongseong, or Jay, as his girlfriend called him came in shortly after you and Jake sat down, the restaurant had a warm glow to it, truly an elegant place.

His girlfriend had the most genuine smile on her face. The dinner was going smoothly, as anything work related with Jake could be until she asked a question that had both you and Jake tensing beside each other

“So, How long have you two been married?” She asks sweetly, genuine curiosity in her eyes, you look at Jake for a split second, missing the way Jay squeezes her thigh, “Um- well we-” Jake interrupts quickly

“We had Layla four years ago, so around that.. Time.” He says, clearing his throat. The conversation quickly switches thanks to Jay.

The ride back was quiet until Jake decided to open his mouth. “Do you think I was too obvious?” He asks, eyes on the thin road before him, you turn your head from the window, looking at him, analysing the nervous way he brings his lip between his teeth, the slight movement of his jaw.

“What? About how we’re not actually the perfect, happy family you seem to paint us as?” You ask, a surprising calmness in your voice.

He shoots you a look, eyes dropping to your lips for a split second, before looking away just as quickly.

You scoff, “Anyone with half a brain could see.” 

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” He pulls the car into park, looking at you, expecting an answer.

“Im not doing this tonight.” You reach to open the car door but he stops your hand, grip tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to assert something deep. 

“No. Tell me what you mean.” You shake off his hand, the heat of it too much on your skin, praying that he didn't notice the way your pulse spiked the second his skin made contact with yours.

You sigh, facing him fully.

“You don't act like my husband Jake. You never have, anyone could see that. Honestly, we're practically strangers at this point, the only thing keeping us together is Layla.”

You pause, trying to point out whatever emotion is flashing behind his eyes before continuing with a sigh, “Our marriage is a mere title, so dont be fucking shocked when it becomes clear as day to everyone else.”

“Y/n—“ he starts but you’re already leaning away. He doesn't stop you when you open the door, shutting it a little too hard behind you as you make your way into the building, the sole of your heels digging into your feet in a way that makes you want to throw them on the ground.

Jake slams his hand down against the steering wheel, running a hand through his hair, he turns off the car, locking it behind him before following you, because no way in hell is he ending the night like that. 

Your heart is racing when you shut the door behind you, all while resisting the urge to sink to the ground.

You take off your heels by the door, immediately removing the unnecessarily heavy jewelry from your neck and ears.

You hold your hand up to your chest, feeling the consistent beating of your heart. The familiar click of the door lets you know Jake just walked in. 

You stand up quickly, moving to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, acting as if it was another barrier between the two of you.

Without a thought you slip off the red silk from your body, letting it fall to the dark tiled ground. Walking into your side of the shower you turn on the water, letting it warm up enough till the steam is visible, you’re in need of anything to drown out how you're feeling right now, you step under it, letting the water fall into your hair, wetting your body, the steam clouds around you, almost creating a blanket in the open coolness of the bathroom.

You thread your fingers through your hair, letting the water seep into every bit of your scalp. The warm, dimmed light of the bathroom reflecting slightly off of the dark glossy tile wall before you. 

Jake tosses his keys on the marbled counter, swinging open the bedroom door, only to find it empty.

The faint sound of water falling onto tile seeping out from under the bathroom door has his attention immediately.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning against his knees.

God, he's going to regret this.

He stands up, taking off his tie with practiced ease, doing the same with his belt, untucking his white button up, and unbuttoning it halfway before opening the door to the bathroom, the fan does nothing to get rid of the steam filling the open space. The large glass wall is fogged up, he can almost see the outline of your silhouette if he squints. 

You don't see him, or hear him, the only sound filling your ears being the water hitting your skin and the tile beneath your feet.

You turn to the side slightly, eyes closed, he traces the curve of your breast, swallowing before unbuttoning the other half of his shirt and discarding the rest of the clothes on the ground beside your dress.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, looking down at his flushed dick practically standing on its own from how fucking hard he is. 

Jake steps in, turning on the shower head a few feet away from you, the new heat bringing a fresh cloud of steam to cover you.

He doesn't look at you as he steps under the water, letting it wet his hair. You watch him, a slightly stunned expression on your face “Jake–” The word comes out breathless, almost pathetic.

He chuckles low. “Y/n.” He glances in your direction, eyes staying on your face.

The awareness kicks in, that you're in the shower alone, with only a few feet of distance between the two of you. 

You can't help your eyes, you really tried, but they trail down his body, his toned form.

Fuck, hes definitely been working out.

Your eyes ultimately land on his cock, watching the way the water drips down his body. The wetness forming between your legs has nothing to do with the shower water falling on your body, and everything to do with him. 

He notices you looking, even with the barrier of steam between the two of you.

He doesn't bother turning off his shower head, closing the space between the two of you. His hand reaches out, not touching yet. Completely lost in the moment.

You let out a noise, it was supposed to be a word, maybe for him to stop?

No, it was definitely for him to keep going. When he speaks it comes out rough, uncontrolled, so  different from how he speaks to everyone else. “Strangers huh?” You don't meet his gaze. 

He brings his hand to your chin, forcing you to look in his eyes, his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, your mouth opening almost on command.

His cock jumps at the sight. The warm water soaks through your hair, the sensation of it forgotten with this new heat before you.

“Do strangers do this?” He brings his hand down, tracing your collar bone with his finger, you shudder at the touch. 

He smirks at the way you're body reacts to his featherlight touches.

You gasp when his finger circles around your nipple smoothly. “Fuck, these tits are perfect” He brings his other hand up, repeating the motion on the other side.

You shudder, letting out a breathless sound, your nipples hardening from his teasing touch. “You’re sensitive huh?” He chuckles down at you, nudging his cock against your stomach.

“Shut up..” You’re cut off when he gives both of your nipples a firm pinch. “When was the last time someone touched you like this?” He asks, voice low, only for you to hear even though you’re alone.

He brings one of his hands lower, just past your belly button, pausing for an answer. You shake your head, closing your eyes. 

“Come on mama, give me words.” He encourages sweetly even as his cock jumps at the sight of you before him like this.

“Not since you.” You whisper so low the sound of the shower water covers it. He shakes his head, inching down lower, cupping your soaking heat in the palm of his hand, you let out a moan, reaching both hands out, grabbing his veiny forearm to steady yourself.

He slowly rocks his palm against you. “Say that again.” He presses harder, reaching around to tilt your head back so he can really see. 

“I said, not since you.” He lets out a sound that you definitely aren't mistaking as a moan.

“Fuck–” He bites back his words, hand still cupping you, your juices leaking past his fingers, blending with the warm water pooling beneath you both.

“So this whole time..” He pauses, removing his hand from your heat, earning a whimper from you, "..you've had nothing but these.”

He lifts your right hand up, brushing over your middle and ring finger, the touch gentle. 

You nod, a slight blush creeping up your face, a part of you would feel a little embarrassed, maybe ashamed if not for the situation right now.

“Show me.” He urges, bring your hand down, he backs you up a few inches until your back is flushed against the cool tile walls, the warm water contrasting,

“You have to do it too then..” You look down at his cock, veins prominent, tip aching. He follows your gaze, smirking.

You two match each other's pace, you spread your legs ever so slightly, the best you can for standing up, rubbing small circles on your sensitive bud, the feeling even more exhilarating with him watching you so intently.

The little ‘ah’ sounds you’re letting out sending pulses straight to his dick. He brings his own hand down, swiping his thumb over the slit of his cock. Mouth hanging open as he wraps his hand around the base.

You feel yourself get even more wet at the sight, the desperate huffs he's letting out, his eyes don't know what to focus on, ultimately landing on your pussy when you push one of your small fingers in, the squelching noise so clear above everything else, he lets out a groan, a bead of pre cum leaking from his tip.

“Let me taste you” He breathes out, hand stopping your wrist. You freeze, looking up at him “Please..I- fuck, I need to.”

He brings your fingers up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick before sucking them clean, the sight alone draws a wrecked sound from you.

“Jake..” You whisper out, dragging your fingers out of his mouth, smearing them on his chin, he looks so pathetic like this.

He reaches beside you, turning down the pressure of the water before lowering himself to the ground, his eyes never leave yours.

He lifts one of your legs, pressing a light kiss on your inner thigh, trailing smaller kisses closer to where you need him most, he rests your leg on his bare shoulder, completely exposing you to him,

“You dont know how fucking bad ive wanted this y/n..” He whispers breath ghosting over your slick folds. “..how much I've craved this, even all those years ago.”

You bump your pussy against his face and he wastes no time licking a stripe from your hole to your clit, you arch against the cool tile wall, pressing yourself even more on his face, his hands travel up your body, cupping your ass in his hands, palming the soft flesh, bringing you impossibly closer.

He's completely lost in you, not letting a single drop of your arousal leak anywhere except in his mouth.

His nose nudges your clit every time he fucks his tounge into your hole, “Yeah.. fuck, f-feels so good..” You bring your hands up, lacing them in his wet hair.

He mumbles something back, the vibration making your hips jerk, he brings one of his hands down from your ass, sneaking it up to replace his tongue with two of his slender fingers, the new feeling so different from your own fingers.

He looks up at you, the way your head is thrown back against the cool wall, mouth hanging open, fuck you’re beautiful like this. 

He latches his lips onto your aching clit, flicking it with his tongue as his fingers work your tight hole.

You tug his hair harder, encouraging him without words, his fingers inside of you curl just right, hitting a spot that has you seeing stars, he sucks even harder on your clit, feeling your walls flutter around his fingers, greedily sucking them in.

A moan, almost a scream escapes from your lips as a fresh round of juices flood out of you, soaking the lower half of his face, he greedily drinks everything you let out, not letting a drop go to waste. 

He lowers your leg back on the ground, pressing a light kiss to your thigh before leaving wet ones up your body, kissing his way along your jaw, your cheeks, your lip–

He pauses when he feels your body tense against his. His lips less than an inch away from yours.

“Whats wrong–” He leans back slightly, eyes darting across your face “I..I cant” He tilts his head, hands still on your waist but a confused look washes over his face

"I'm not going to force you to do anything mama, but why?” He searches your eyes for an answer “Jake– we haven't even kissed since the wedding” 

“Y/n, you just let me eat you out, which to be fair I would do it a thousand times more, but a kiss is too much for you?”

You bring your hands up, burying your face in them “Fuck, I know okay? We were just caught up in the moment–” You don't see it, but he's looking at you with genuine sadness, not because you won't go any further, but because you’re not even comfortable enough to do so,

“Baby-” he starts, bringing his own hand up to pull yours from your face but you stop him, moving around, too ashamed to even look in his eyes.

“We can just forget this happened okay?” His hands fall to his sides, “But-”

“Please, I–I can't go through it again.” Your voice cracks, a pain sharpening in your chest.

He opens his mouth to speak but you turn before he can, grabbing a towel from the nicely folded pile, the water feels cold now, almost limp as he stares at the spot you were just standing in. 

He licks his lips, the faint taste of you still lingering.

He curses himself for acting on instinct, it was too fast and he knew it. But how couldn't he? You’re irresistible, the only constant desire in his life that never fades. So no, he's not just going to ‘forget this’.

He'd be stupid to.

-

You try to ignore Jake's eyes on you throughout the plane ride, focusing on anything except for him, whether it's Layla showing you something on her I pad, or Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker bickering over something useless.

It's best to just pretend like nothing happened, so treating him the exact same as you did before this trip is the best way to do that. 

You grab your bag from the overhead bin, helping Layla put her dolls in her small backpack, moving to get off his plane without a word, when he grabs your wrist.

“Sunghoon.” He says, eyes not leaving yours for a second. Sunghoon closes the distance, “Take Layla to y/ns car.” he nods before picking her up, Jake's other coworker follows after.

You turn fully to look at him, arms crossed over your chest in annoyance. “What?”

“I’m not forgetting what happened.” His eyes drop to your lips, making it known he's looking.

“Well I am.” you try to reply calmly, composed. But there's a slight tremble in your voice, one that he doesn't miss. Something washes over his face.

He straightens his shoulders “Okay.” Is all he says before brushing past you, leaving you in the middle of the wide aisle.

Him with the last word, one that you're trying to make sense of. Because there was so much more hidden underneath it, a part of you doesn't even want to know. 

You see Sunghoon crouching down to Layla's level, saying something that makes her giggle. He stands when he sees you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“See you later Mrs. Sim.” You roll your eyes, opening the car door to help Layla get inside, closing it.

“Park.” You call out, Sunghoon stops, turning slightly with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Make sure he doesn't do anything reckless.” 

He lets out a low chuckle, looking at the ground before his focus is back on you. “I can try, but I can’t promise anything.” Is all he says before offering his infamous wink, hands tucked nonchalantly in his suit pant pockets, walking away.

-

Everyone has different ways of coping, sulking around could be one.

But that was never something Jake found relieving. So here he is, at some club with none other than Park Sunghoon.

“You’ve got this sexy dad look about you..” Some girl, who he doesn't even remember the name of says, fingers brushing over the collar of his shirt along the thin silver chain that clings to his skin. 

Jake's attention is brought back to her, she's a pretty girl, short black hair, but nothing she's saying is interesting to him.

She presses closer to him, purposely positioning her tits on his arm, teasing. She thinks she's being subtle but it's painfully obvious.

He looks over her shoulder, at the dance floor where Sunghoon has his hands on some blonde girl's waist as they practically dry hump each other.

He chuckles, the girl in front of him beaming proudly, thinking she's the one who made him laugh. 

“Do you wanna maybe..” The girl leans in close, standing on her tip toes to reach his ear, lips grazing “..get out of here?”

He looks down at her, boredom plastered on his face. “No.” Is all he says, the girl raises her brow, offended.

Jake takes another sip of his drink, not even sure what one he's on. She scoffs, stepping back from pressing against him

“What do you mean ‘no’?” She asks accusingly. “No, as in I don't want you.” He states in an obvious tone. 

Sunghoon curses under his breath whispering something into the ear of the woman he's dancing with before walking through the crowd effortlessly to get to him.

“Fucking—” She yells, a little too loudly, to the point where Sunghoon can hear it a few feet away, and heads are turning towards the scene.

Jake rolls his eyes, “Im not interested.” He shrugs, downing the rest of his drink, the girl straightens to say something else, but Sunghoon cuts in between the two.

“Alright, I think it's time for us to go!” He says a bit too energetically, hand resting on Jake's shoulder. The girl rolls her eyes “Your friends an asshole.” She mutters before walking away to go flirt with some other guy, Sunghoon turns, facing Jake completely now. 

“What?” Jake asks, like it's completely normal.

“Dude, you were the one who said you ‘needed some pussy to take your mind off things’ and when a chick practically throws herself at you, literally by the way, you reject it?”

Sunghoon looks Jake up and down like a mad man, "She's not her.” Jake mutters, voice low, as if you could hear him talking right now. 

Sunghoon chuckles, actually fucking chuckles at his state. “Oh I see, let me guess, you did some shit, right? Thought with your dick instead of your head?”

When he doesn't respond, Sunghoon laughs in his face. “I should’ve known, man.” 

“I fucked it up.” Jake groans, running his hand through his tousled hair, down his face, the slight stubble that he let grow a few weeks after the Italy trip scratching his hand roughly.

“You didnt fuck her right?” Sunghoon asks, an unfamiliar seriousness in his voice. “What– thats” “Okay thats answer enough.” 

“Maybe try actually sitting down, having a conversation?” Sunghoon suggests, trying his best with advice.

“She won't even look at me, and besides that she acts the same. But it fucking hurts.” Jake sighs, leaning against the bar counter.

Sunghoon watches him for a few seconds, making a ‘yikes’ face “Damn, you really got it bad huh?”

Jake pulls out his phone from his pocket, fingers finding their way to your contact, he clicks on the messages, the last thing in the chat being a photo of Him, Layla, and you eating Gelato in Italy together.

In the photo, someone might actually think he had the perfect family, beautiful wife, and daughter. If only they knew.

Jake types something, fumbling over the keyboard, Sunghoon looks down at the phone, eyes widening

“Absolutely fucking not.” He snatches the phone from Jake's hand earning a glare “I need to talk to her.” Jake says firmly.

“Not when you’re wasted like this” Sunghoon chuckles, tucking the phone in his own pocket. “Give me the fucking phone Hoon.” 

“No, because you’re literally going to kill me tomorrow for letting you text her.” Sunghoon backs up a step, Jake takes a step forward.

“Or I could now for not letting me text her.” Jake levels his gaze on him, “Alright fine” He says finally, pulling out the phone from his pocket

“Let me do something first though” Jake watches as he types something random on his phone, multiple times before realising “You fucking–” Jake snatches his phone back, 

iPhone Unavailable

Try again in 3 hours

“Whoops” Sunghoon shrugs, before his attention is pulled from the same blonde girl from earlier tapping his shoulder, Jake watches as his flirty persona immediately makes a comeback

“Bathrooms empty if you wanna..” Jake blocks out the rest of the words, signaling the bartender to come over “Do you guys have a phone I could borrow?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his tone, the younger man nods, handing him one from the counter.

Sunghoons eyes turn back to Jake for a split second to see him dialing your number “Fuck– fuck, no.” He snatches the phone from him, cursing before turning to the girl he was just talking to,

“Gimme a few minutes okay baby?” Sunghoon says to the girl, she blushes and nods, his attention goes back to Jake and the phone immediately.

“Hello?” You say confused, sitting up in bed, trying to see if you heard the words right.. Maybe someone accidentally called your number?

Sunghoon curses, glaring at Jake who shrugs with a cocky shit eating grin on his face. “Yeah, hey Y/n.” Sunghoon says, defeat evident in his voice. “Park?” You ask, now fully seated up in your bed.

You turn up the volume, the faint sound of music and chatter in the back, but the sound of him bickering with someone covers most of it, you only catch every other word–”Give me–the phone!” You sigh

“Park what's going on?” You hear him groan on the other end, and persumabley Jake say something along the lines of “Fuck you” 

“Sorry! Wrong number” Is all you hear before the line goes blank, you look down at your phone in confusion. 

“Yeah, we're leaving now.” Sunghoon says, turning to the blonde girl who was definitely about to be his fuck for the night.

She looks up at him, hope gleaming in her eyes, but frowns when he says he has to go. 

“You’re so fucking lucky to have me, I actually just saved your ass.” Sunghoon mutters, “Maybe I should just email her..” Jake contemplates, saying his thoughts out loud, tapping his screen to see there's 2 hours and 48 minutes left on his phone.

“Okay noted, take away the computer too.” Sunghoon shakes his head, chuckling.

-

Holy fuck. Is all you could think of when Jake answers his front door, grey sweatpants, and black fucking compression shirt out of all things on. Hair tousled, slick with sweat.

You should have known coming to drop off Layla in the morning wasn't a good move, especially since Sunghoon's car was also in the driveway. 

He chuckles at your reaction, like he knows something you don't. “Daddy!” Layla says, practically jumping into Jake's arms as if she wasn't falling asleep in the car a few minutes ago.

You tighten your grasp on her light pink backpack, Jake moves for you to step in, “You missed me Princess?” He asks in a gentle tone.

You walk to the open kitchen, but pause when you see Sunghoon, dressed in familiar attire to Jake, pouring what is probably a protein shake into two different cups. 

He doesn't look up to know it's you. “Hoon!” Layla wiggles out of Jake's arms, running over to Sunghoon who just laughs at her, “Mommy, can I have the mermaid doll please!” She asks, looking up at you with those adorable brown eyes, the ones that look just like Jakes.

You can't help the smile that lights up your face before getting them from her bag. She giggles before looking up at Sunghoon who sets down his shake.

“Well Miss. Layla, im ready when you are” He says, taking the doll from her and going to the living room where Jake has her toys set up. 

Jake lets a small laugh slip at the interaction. You bring your attention back to him, his eyes take in your clothes, from the business pants, to the blazer that fits you all too well.

“Okay, um– don't forget she has ballet lessons twice a week.” You bite your lip, trying to conceal how fucking nervous hes making you right now.

I mean, who even looks that good after the gym, gosh you shouldn't be thinking like this right now. Especially with everything–

“Y/n.”

“No.” You feel your heart racing as the word comes out, “I haven't even said–” He starts “Jake.”

“mama, please let me talk to you..” He closes the distance between the two of you, you try not to show a reaction at the name, the one he called you that night, the night you can't seem to forget.

You peak over his shoulder to see Sunghoon sitting on the ground with Layla, playing with the dolls. “Not here, not when she can hear.” You say quietly.

He nods, walking upstairs to his office, catching Sunghoon's eye, who just cocks a brow at him. 

“Okay, what's so important.” You shut the door behind you, watching as he leans over his desk, back to you.

He turns to face you, "I'm sorry for the other night, calling you like that was immature of me and as Layla's father I shouldn't have–” 

“Yeah, I know.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I'm trying to apologize here y/n.” He sighs frustratingly, as if this is some chore or task he has to do.

“No, you’re trying to make yourself feel better.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, “You would think someone who was going to inherit a billion dollar company in the next year would know better, but no–” 

“Im fucking trying here okay?!” He lowers his voice, trying to avoid getting into an argument loud enough for Layla to hear, even though the room is already noise cancelling.

“Thats the same shit ive heard since I was 13 years old y/n, its fucking drilled in my mind.” He steps closer to you, towering over your frame.

“Everything, planned, laid out, my whole future already decided the second I came out the womb.—So yes, I'm aware of what I inherit, I'm aware of the responsibilities I have.” You open your mouth to speak, but close it when nothing comes out.

He continues, “I know I fucked up–” He pauses, resisting the urge to pull you in, cling to you, because as of right now, even if you hate him you’re still the only thing he sees as an anchor in his life. 

“—And not just the other night. In Italy, I shouldn't have, it was reckless and-”

“Jake.”

“-and stupid, you just- I couldn't resist you”

“Jake!” You cut through his words like a knife. The only sound in the room being your trembling voice, and his unsteady breath.

“Dont do this to me. Not right now.” You clench your fist to steady the way it shakes. “Y/n, please– you wont let me any other time besides when either one of us drops off Lay.”

“Because you’re her father Jake! That's all you are. It might say you’re my husband on paper, but you’re not. We dont owe eachother anything, and you made that very fucking clear 5 years ago.” You watch his eyebrows furrow in the way a lost puppy would, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

You bite your tongue, regretting the way the words came out. It takes everything in you to not crumble to the floor, right here in front of him. 

Something shifts in his eyes, he takes a step back from you, distancing himself as much as he can in the confined space.

He doesn't look at you as he turns his back to you, leaning against his desk.

“You know the way out.” He says over his shoulder, tone cold. “Jake..” you whisper

“You know the way out.” he repeats more firmly. You watch him for a moment, before turning and walking out. 

It takes everything in him to not take back his words, to beg you to come back for him to say sorry a thousand times if he has to.

-

That night, you still couldn't get the interaction out of your head, you don't know how many times you tossed and turned in your empty bed, the silence of the house unbearable.

Even throughout the week, it replayed. The look in his eyes, the shift in his face when he told you to get out. 

You know he works hard, you know he is a good father. And you definitely know what it's like to have your life laid out for you. 

So walking through the front doors of the company building wasn't exactly a part of the plan, but it's like your feet were carrying themselves.

The bright daylight shining through the completely glass walls, the city streets bustling outside as usual.

As you walked to the front desk, heads turned towards you, some whispering, some silently observing. 

“Mrs. Sim?” You hear a familiar voice say, walking towards you, You don't have to look to know who it is.

“Park.” You say, turning to face him, leaning against the front counter. “What a surprise.” He can't hide the smug grin on his face as he approaches you. “Im here to see Jake.”

“Oh, you mean you’re not actually here just to see the office?” His tone is laced with sarcasm. You roll your eyes.

“I was just heading up there, come on.” He chuckles, “But I need to inform Mr.Sim–” The woman at the front desk starts, “Greta, baby, It's the Bosses wife we're talking about here.” You roll your eyes, “Don’t give us a hard time m’kay?” he says sweetly, winking down at her. You watch as she blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

You follow after him, stepping into the elevator. “You’re actually disgusting." You cross your arms over your chest, glancing sideways at him.

“What? It's not my fault they can't resist my charm.” Sunghoon shrugs, adjusting his tie.

The elevator dings, signaling its reached the top floor, you look at him, but your eyes drop to the hint of color below the collar of his white button up.

Your brow raises, squinting to see the slightly red hue of it. “First door past the window.” He nods down the hallway, stepping out of the elevator. 

You watch him for a split second, but he pauses when you call after him “Park.”

He turns to look at you, humming in response “You got a little something.” You say, pointing to his collar, he looks down, and you notice his frame immediately still.

You offer one of those too sweet smiles before making your way down the hall. 

Your hand hovers over the door, before finally knocking. Jake assumes it's one of his assistants so naturally he says a steady “Come in.”, accent sharp and cutting through your train of thought.

You inhale once before opening the door. He doesn't look up until the door clicks shut behind you, and when he does, his face shifts. 

“Y/n– what are you doing here?” He doesn't know why he stands, but he does anyway, hands braced on his desk, you look around his big office, the dark brown leather couch, to the tall bookshelves, and the window with a perfect view of everything 50 stories below.

You try not to stare too much.

“Um- well I just wanted to make sure you knew about Layla's ballet recital in a few weeks, they just sent the email out so.. Yeah.” You cringe slightly at the words, and with how obvious you are. 

He raises a suspicious brow at you, “So you drove here, to the same building you haven't bothered visiting in 5 years, just to tell me something that was sent in my email.”

It's not a question. “Well- I.. you know,” He can't hide the small smirk that plays on his lips

“I–” You pause, trying to regain your composure. “I wanted to..apologize.” You watch his reaction, the curious tilt of his head.

“Apologize?” he rounds his desk, leaning against the front of it, arms still crossed over his chest, assessing you. 

“For the other day.. In your study.” You try not to cringe at the memory, “And for Italy.” Something flashes over his face

“Y/n–” he starts “No. Let me finish.” He shuts his mouth immediately and you continue.

“I said some hurtful things that night, In the..shower.” You avoid his gaze “It was wrong for me to use you like that.” His tongue runs over his lips, remembering the taste of you that night. 

“And then in your study, when you tried apologizing to me– I didn't mean to go off on you like that, and I know you’re trying, I know the pressure you feel, and with everything you said about your life being planned–”

He's watching you closely as you speak, not interrupting. “But God, Its so fucking hard to forget Jake. I try so hard, for Layla—You look at her with so much love. And then you look at me, like I'm a– task.. A chore?”

You question your choice of words. “And it hurts so fucking much.” You breath out, the words rough and vulnerable.

You blink back the tears threatening to pour out, his hands fall to his sides, and it's like his body moves before his mind can process it. 

He closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you towards him , one hand wrapping around your back, the other cradling your head against his chest, resting on the top of your head.

“Jake..” You say through a trembling breath, hands clawed at his chest. “Shh mama, I got you.” he whispers, his thumb rubbing small circles on your back.

He pulls back, "I'm sorry too, I didn't mean to hurt you–I.. Fuck” He runs his hand through his hair, taking a step back to breath.

“You cloud every thought in my mind y/n. Every single day, every single hour, I can't stay mad at you for the life of me. Im—Im really not good at this..” he looks down at you, biting his lip nervously

“I don't think you understand how bad I regret how I treated you, How I made you feel.” He steps closer again, “I was– no I am an asshole. God, you have every right to hate me.” He chuckles but it's humorless

“Jake.. I don't hate you..” He meets your eyes at that, looking at you, really looking at you, the shared vulnerability between you two right now in this moment. 

Your hand moves from your side, hesitating before cupping his face in your hand, he leans into the touch immediately, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

“I can't get you out of my head y/n.” He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm, a small gasp leaving your lips at the intimacy of it.

“Im sorry, I know we have a lot to work on—but please..” He whispers, holding your hand in his, moving it to press a kiss to your wrist, just above your pulse point, feeling how rapidly your heart beats.

His eyes don't leave yours. “I'm sorry..” He whispers again, lower this time, trailing small kissing along your arm, those same words leaving his lips in between.

His other hand slips to your waist again, pulling you closer, He cups your face in his hand, threading his fingers through the back of your hair, shutting his eyes, leaning against your forehead.

“Im so fucking sorry.” he breathes out, ghosting over your lips, you tilt your head up slightly, letting your lips graze over his. “Baby..” 

You close the distance between your mouths, lips pressed firmly against his, he pulls you closer, running his fingers through your hair more deeply, his other hand gripping your waist as if you were the only thing grounding him, your lips move together in a rhythm, his tongue runs along your bottom lip, begging for more access, you grant it and he groans into your mouth, eyebrows furrowing.

His tongue explores your mouth, tasting you. He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, “Please..” He begs, looking between both of your eyes, an almost pathetic look on his face.

You tilt your head “Please forgive me, y/n” He brings his hand down from out of your hair, gently rubbing small circles on your neck, tracing his thumb over your exposed collar bone, the touch electric. “I–” 

A sharp knock on the door has you two pulling away from each other like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't.

“Mr. Sim, I just wanted to inform you we have an online meeting with Park Jongseong in five minutes” A shy voice says from the other side, he watches you, the way you stare at your feet, he tries not to smile at your clear nervousness.

“Have the notes ready, let them know I'm coming.” He says, voice back to that professional tone. 

He leans down one more time, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before opening the door to his office and walking down the hall to the meeting room.

Once the door shuts behind him, you bring your hand to your heart, the rapid beating of it pounding against your palm.

You trace your lips with your fingers, still trying to process what just happened, and what's going to happen..

Jake turns the corner of the hallway, to see Sunghoon, leaning against the wall, his eyes trace over Jake's form.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sunghoon says through a knowing smirk, “Dont.” Jake replies, straightening his tie and walking into the meeting room. Sunghoon raises his hands innocently, following after. 

-

As soon as Jake got out of that meeting the first thing he did was pull out his phone, shutting his office door behind him, but pausing to inhale the faint smell of you, your sweet, sweet perfume and hair wash lingering in the air.

“Jaeyun?” His mother says into the phone curiously, “An important event came up, do you mind watching over Layla tonight?” He asks, knowing exactly what the answer will be, if anything he's surprised she didn't beg him to let Layla come over. His parents even have a room specifically for her on the rare occasion she go to their manor. “Yes!” she says eagerly, Jake chuckles, “Alright, I'll drop her off in a few.” He says briefly before hanging up. 

The feeling of his lips still lingered on yours even hours later. The memory of them causing a warm feeling to pool in your belly.

You tried to distract yourself, you really did. But not even working could make you focus. Slipping on your soft robe, you shuffle around your house, eager to take a bath, maybe that would help ease the consistent throbbing in between your legs. 

You were just about to untie it when a ring on your doorbell took you by surprise, you checked the time on your phone, 8:23.. 

You make your way downstairs, opening the door, freezing. “What are you..” You swallow, “What are you doing here?” a nervous excitement slipping through your tone.

Jake takes a step forward, eyes not leaving yours as he shuts the door behind him. “Where's Layla?”

“With my parents.” he replies, eyes trailing down your frame shamelessly, taking in the way your thin robe does nothing to conceal whats underneath. His tongue darts out for a split second, wetting his lips. 

Your eyes fall to his attire, wearing the same dress pants he had on earlier, blazer gone, white button up rolled up his forearms. He chuckles at the way your eyes drag along his arms, bringing your attention back to his face.

“You still didn't answer me.” He tilts his head, studying you. “What are you doing here?” He takes another step forward, crowding you in the entrance of your home.

“You think after what happened today, I was going to just leave you alone?” His eyes drop to your lips. 

“Well– I mean.. I didn't know you were going to just show up..” His eyes fall to the way you nervously play with the end of your robe.

“Mama, of course I did.” he brings his hand down over yours, stilling it so you could stop fidgeting.

“I wanted to see you.” He says confidently. He sighs, defeated, even though you haven't even said anything back. “wanted to touch you.”

His hand comes up, brushing his thumb softly along your cheek, you lean into it. “I want you–” He pauses, breathes–“I want you so bad.”

His eyes search yours before continuing “So bad that I can't fucking concentrate anymore, I can't think straight—“

“The idea of you not wanting me back–not loving me back, makes me sick.” You both freeze at the words, he opens his mouth to speak, closes it.

“I- fuck..” He pulls his hand away from your face, you stop it, placing yours above his. “I want you too, Jake.. I– I love you.” The second the words leave your mouth, something shifts in his face.

His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, holding you like you’re something precious.

“You don't know how long I've wanted- No, I've needed to hear that.” He tilts his head down, lips ghosting over yours, your lips part instantly

“I love you baby.” He whispers before pressing his lips to yours. 

You immediately melt into the kiss, giving him access to your mouth, his hand cups the back of your neck, holding you closer.

He kicks off his shoes, lips never leaving yours, you wrap your arms around his neck as he guides you backwards, you stumble back slightly, his hand immediately wrapping around your waist, you giggle against his mouth, earning a laugh from him. 

You gasp as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his hips, his hands splayed on your ass. He makes his way up the stairs with you, carrying you with ease.

His lips crash against yours again, backing you up against the wall, you roll your hips in his hold, grinding against his hardening bulge in his pants.

“Fuck ma—you’re killing me..” He breathes, biting your bottom lip, a whimper escaping your lips at that.

“If I wasnt such a gentlemen, I’d fuck you right here, on your floor.” The dirty words have you grinding harder against him, he chuckles

“You’d like that huh?” You nod, a little bit too frantically, instead he walks further down the hall, in your bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him, laying you down on the bed.

“No, I wanna take my time with you.” He presses a light kiss to your lips, savoring your taste. “Jake–please..” It comes out breathless. 

“Please what?” he teases, hand coming up to wrap around your throat, not to hurt you, more to claim.

He trails it back down, to the loosely tied knot of your robe. “Want you to fuck me..” You plead, squirming.

He smiles at that, pulling the string of your robe, causing it to fall open limply, he sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of you, laid out for him like this, like his next fucking meal.

He peels it off your body, tossing it to the ground, leaving you bare. “So needy, hm?” He parts your legs, nearly groaning at the sight and smell of your slick pussy.

You whimper at the cold air nipping your skin. He brings his hand down, cupping your breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh

“I love these tits so fucking much” He says almost to himself, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his other hand comes up, repeating the motion on your other, making sure no part of your body feels neglected.

He bites his lip at the delicious sounds leaving your lips, the pathetic light moans. 

You expect him to undress next, but instead he kneels down, hitting the soft carpet, right between your spread legs, you prop yourself on your elbows, not wanting to miss a single moment of seeing him like this.

His eyes close, like he's already gone, licking a sensitive spot on your inner thigh, sucking on it gently, making sure to leave a mark.