vai ୨୧

three years felt too long for nishimura riki.

everyday was a new day, but for him, it was another day without the girl he loved the most.

his career took off, as expected.

riki became the most respected choreographer in L.A. , becoming the man everyone wanted to work with. everyone was desperate to get a piece of his work, it all felt so surreal still.

and while he finally had the life he loved, for some reason—it didn’t feel enough for him.

there was a hole where his soul used to be, a void he endured in silence because, deep down, he knew he was a coward. he accepted the loneliness as his penance, wearing his success like a heavy, gold-plated armor.

sitting at the edge of the bed, looking out from his hotel window, he wondered how you were. if you still painted.

scratch that, you absolutely did. he checked your socials every now and then. he was a ghost haunting your digital life, checking your socials with a desperate, obsessive ritual.

he was an obsessed man, because he desperately loved you, and never in these three years, did he stop.

his phone buzzed against the nightstand, the sharp vibration snapping the thread of his thoughts. his uber was downstairs. riki stood up, his joints feeling heavier than they should, and grabbed his jacket. as he headed out into the humid city air, he felt a familiar, sickening pull in his chest. he was back in the city he missed—the city where he’d left the only thing that actually mattered.

—

riki stepped out of the car, the heavy thud of the door echoing behind him as the black sedan pulled away into the neon blur of gangnam.

he looked up at the restaurant—it was one of those places where the steaks cost triple digits and the wine was so crisp it felt like you could get drunk off the scent alone. he pushed through the heavy glass doors, the atmosphere shifting instantly to dim, expensive lighting and the low hum of jazz. as he approached the host stand, he mentioned the private party. the host nodded with a practiced, polite smile and began leading him toward the back.

he wasn't exactly nervous, but there was a quiet, restless shyness settling in his chest. seeing his friends after a couple years felt heavier than a few texts could ever account for.

when they reached the long, mahogany table, the familiar faces hit him like a physical wave.

"look who finally decided to roll in," jake called out, already half-standing. he met riki with a firm, lopsided hug and a flash of his perfect teeth.

"happy birthday, man," riki smiled, handing over a small, expensive-looking gift bag. "it’s not much."

"it's alright, it's the thought that counts," jake chuckled, patting his shoulder.

riki’s eyes drifted across the table, landing on the next familiar face. "missed you, rik," sunghoon said, standing up to bridge the gap for another hug.

"i'm gone three years and suddenly you’ve managed to look better than me?" riki joked, the old rhythm of their friendship returning almost instantly.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "i was always the good-looking one, let's be real."

riki took his seat next to jake, directly across from sunghoon.the waiter appeared silently, pouring a glass of amber whiskey for riki. he took a slow sip, the burn welcome as it settled his nerves.

they talked about the industry first—easy, safe topics. they talked about riki’s studio, jake’s new investments, and sunghoon’s latest projects. but as the first bottles of wine and whiskey disappeared, the conversation turned personal.

"so," riki started, swirling his glass. "how’s the scene here? three years and you guys are still the most eligible bachelors in seoul? or has someone finally tamed you?"

jake snorted, pointing a fork at sunghoon. "tame him? impossible. sunghoon’s still doing the same old thing. different week, different face. he’s got a 'type' now, though. very specific."

sunghoon shifted in his seat, his expression tightening just a fraction. "i’m just selective, jake. there’s a difference."

"selective?" jake laughed, turning back to riki. "i’m the only one who actually committed. i’ve got a girlfriend now. but hoon? he’s been... experimental. especially lately. he’s been hanging around the art district a lot more than usual."

riki felt a strange prickle at the back of his neck at the mention of the art district. "the art district? since when do you care about paintings, sunghoon?"

"i don't," sunghoon said quickly, taking a long drink of his wine. "i just like the atmosphere. the bars are better there."

"the bars? or the artists?" jake teased, leaning in, clearly a little buzzed from the wine. "he’s been seeing this one girl. real talented. real familiar, too. it’s like a 'small world' type of situation, you know?"

sunghoon’s hand visibly tensed around his glass. "jake, drop it. we’re celebrating your birthday, not my dating life."

"i'm just saying!" jake held his hands up in defense. "it’s just funny how things come full circle. riki leaves, and suddenly sunghoon is spending all his time with—"

"jake," sunghoon warned, his voice low.

"with who?" riki asked, his voice coming out steady, though his chest felt like it was being squeezed.

jake blinked, the realization of what he was about to say finally hitting him through the alcohol. he looked at sunghoon, then back to riki, his mouth hanging open slightly. "i... uh... i just meant someone from our old circles. nobody important."

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon wouldn't look at him. he just stared at the table, looking incredibly guilty.

"riki..." sunghoon started, his voice cracking. "it didn't mean anything. it was just... she was around, and i was there, and we both just—"

he didn't have to finish the sentence. the realization hit riki like a physical blow to the stomach. his best friend. his only link to the home he’d left behind had been with the only girl he’d ever loved.

before he could even process the betrayal, the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor echoed through the room. the host was leading a new group in.

riki turned his head slowly, and the air left his lungs. there you were.

you looked older, more refined, but you still had that same look in your eyes—the one that used to belong entirely to him.

“should of mentioned she was coming…” jake cleared his throat, whispering as he watched the scene unfold.

his eyes locked onto yours instantly. it was like seeing the world in color for the first time in three years—every detail of you, every sharp memory, crashing into him at once. oh, how he missed you.

but you stopped dead in your tracks.

the air in the room seemed to vanish. your eyes widened, a flicker of raw, unfiltered shock crossing your features before your mask slid back into place. riki watched as you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

he wanted to stand up. he wanted to say your name. he wanted to apologize for every day of those three years, but his throat felt like it was filled with glass.

you took a shaky breath, visible only if someone was looking as closely as he was. then, with a sudden, sharp tilt of your chin, you found your courage. you moved toward the table, steady and purposeful, though your gaze pointedly avoided the man who had been haunting your thoughts for a thousand days.

"happy birthday, jake," you said, your voice sounding clearer than riki expected. you leaned in to give jake a quick hug and offered a polite, graceful hug to sunghoon.

you greeted everyone. everyone but him.

the chairs scraped against the floor, a harsh sound in the quiet room. riki found himself shifted down; he was now bracketed by sunghoon and jake on one side. across from jake sat his girlfriend, and at the very end of the long table—directly across the diagonal from riki—was you.

it was the cruelest kind of distance. you were close enough that he could see the way the light caught the gold of your jewelry, close enough to see the slight tremor in your hand as you reached for a water glass, but far enough that you didn't have to acknowledge his existence.

soon, the conversation started up again. a forced, frantic attempt by jake to cover the awkwardness. his girlfriend started telling a story about their drive over, her laughter ringing out a bit too loudly.

riki didn't hear a word of it. he sat there, his whiskey untouched, his eyes fixed on you. he watched the way you tucked a stray hair behind your ear—a habit that hadn't changed. he watched the way you smiled at something jake said, a small, guarded curve of your lips that never reached your eyes.

you were right there. after three years of staring at pixels on a screen, you were breathing the same air. but as you laughed at a joke sunghoon made—the same sunghoon who had just admitted to "experimenting" with you—riki felt a surge of possessive jealousy so sharp it made his vision blur.

"so, riki," jake’s girlfriend said, leaning forward and breaking the silence. "jake says you’ve been in L.A. this whole time. do you miss home at all?"

"it’s been good," riki said, finally breaking the stare and looking toward jake’s girlfriend. "L.A. has a different energy. it’s fast, and the industry there doesn't give you room to breathe, which worked for me. i needed the noise."

he took a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. "but yeah, i missed korea. you don't realize how much you miss the quiet parts of seoul until you're stuck in traffic on sunset boulevard."

"we saw the video of that piece you did last month,” jake joins in, leaning forward, eager to shift the spotlight away from the awkward silence. "the footwork was insane, riki. i don't know how you’re still moving like that."

"lots of physical therapy," riki joked, a small, polite smile tugging at his lips. "but the vision was there. i’ve been lucky to work with dancers who actually get what i’m trying to say without me having to use words."

as the table erupted into a discussion about his success, about the studio he’d opened and the celebrities who were practically begging for a spot on his schedule, riki remained hyper-aware of the ghost at the end of the table.

you hadn't said a word.

you were focused on your plate, your fork moving small pieces of salad around with a rhythmic, detached presence. you weren't eating. you were just... enduring. while everyone else praised the man he had become, you remained the only person in the room who knew exactly what that success had cost him.

"and the new studio?" sunghoon asked, his voice a little too casual, clearly trying to bridge the gap after his earlier slip-up. "i heard it's the biggest one in west hollywood now."

"it’s growing," riki replied, his eyes drifting back to you. "it’s a lot of responsibility. sometimes it feels like i’m just managing people instead of actually creating. i think i lost the 'why' for a little while."

he paused, waiting for any reaction from you—a scoff, a look of pity, a tilt of the head. but you just picked up your wine glass, taking a long, slow sip while staring at the center of the table.

jake’s girlfriend leaned in closer to you, sensing the quiet. "you’ve seen his work, right? jake shows me his clips all the time."

the table went silent. the question was innocent enough, but it felt like a grenade had been rolled onto the plate. riki held his breath, his pulse thrumming in his throat as he waited for you to finally acknowledge him.

you slowly set your glass down, the stem clicking softly against the tablecloth. you didn't look up at riki, but your voice was steady when you finally spoke.

"i’ve seen it," you said simply. "it’s hard to miss someone who's everywhere."

and that was the last thing you said towards him.

the dinner blurred into a haze of polite laughter and clinking silverware.

when the check was finally settled and the group stood to leave, the relief in the room was palpable.

the night air in gangnam was sharp, a biting chill that cut through riki’s thin blazer as they spilled out onto the sidewalk. jake was busy pulling his girlfriend close, murmuring about a cab, while sunghoon stood by the curb, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking everywhere but at riki.

"see you tomorrow for lunch, rik?" jake called out, already half-tucked into a waiting car. "don't disappear on us again."

"i won't," riki promised, though his voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

there were rounds of quick, shivering hugs. sunghoon gave him a tight nod—the unspoken weight of their shared secret still hanging between them—before he, too, disappeared into the night.

and then, there was you.

you stood a few feet away, clutching your coat tightly around your frame. you didn't look back. you didn't say goodbye. you simply turned and began walking in the opposite direction of the main taxi stand, your silhouette fading into the shadows of the side street.

riki stayed rooted to the spot. his brain told him to turn around, to go back to his hotel and drown the night in expensive scotch. but his heart was a traitor. he watched you walk away, and then noticed the slight, uneven tilt in your step. your heels caught on a crack in the pavement, causing you to stumble just enough to make him jerk forward instinctively.

you caught yourself, leaning against a brick wall for a split second before shaking your head and forcing yourself to keep moving.

it wasn't his place. he had lost the right to care about your safety the moment he boarded that plane. he was a stranger now, a ghost from a life you had clearly moved on from.

but as he watched your retreating figure against the towering glass buildings of the city, he couldn't just let you go. not like this.

keeping a careful distance, riki began to follow.

he wasn't sure what he was doing. he just knew he couldn't look away. he followed you through the winding backstreets, past the late-night convenience stores and the quiet residential corners, his eyes fixed on you with a desperate, protective intensity.

riki followed you through the quiet streets until the familiar facade of your building came into view. it was the same place you’d lived in since college. he remembered the way the light hit these windows in the morning, back when he actually had access.

he watched you disappear into the lobby, and he waited, counting the seconds, before he followed you inside. when the doors slid open on your floor, he saw you further down the long, dimly lit hallway. you were leaning heavily against the wall, your shoulders trembling.

he didn't hide his footsteps. he couldn't.

"go away, riki," you whispered.

the sound of your voice, cracked and tired, hit him harder than he thought it would. he didn't say a word. he just stood there, rooted to the carpet, watching as you reached down and pulled off your heels. you held them in one hand, your back still turned to him, and continued down the hall with bare feet.

you reached your door and stopped, your hand hovering near the lock. the silence was deafening, broken only by the hum of the building's ventilation.

"i've missed you," he finally said.

it was the simplest truth he had, but it sounded pathetic in the empty hallway.

you didn't respond. instead, your shoulders began to shake violently. you let out a broken sob and suddenly crumpled, crouching down on the floor with your head in your hands. you looked so small, so completely shattered, that it felt like his own chest was being ripped open.

riki moved instinctively. "hey, let me—"

he reached out to help you up, his fingers just barely brushing your arm, but you flinched away as if he were made of fire.

"don’t fucking touch me!" you yell, the sound echoing off the narrow walls. you looked up at him then, your face wet with tears and your eyes burning with a raw, agonizing pain. "you walked away, remember? you left. don't touch me."

he froze, his hands trembling in mid-air. you had never looked at him like that—never with that much venom. in all the scenarios he’d played out in his head, he hadn't prepared for the reality of your hate.

his heart didn't just break; it felt like it was being crushed under the weight of his own choices. he couldn't stand seeing you on the floor, crying because of a ghost he had invited back into the room.

he looked at the digital lock pad on your door. his hand was hesitant, his fingers hovering over the glowing numbers. he took a breath and slid his fingers across the screen, entering a date he had never been able to forget.

the day you both started dating.

the lock chirped, a cheerful, melodic sound that felt entirely wrong for the moment. the door clicked open.

he tried to reach for you again, wanting to at least get you off the cold floor, but you pushed him off with a frantic strength, scrambling to your feet. you didn't look back as you stumbled into the dark apartment.

riki didn't think. he didn't ask. he just stepped inside after you, closing the door on the world that had tried to keep him out.

—

riki stepped deeper into the apartment, the door clicking shut with a finality that made the air feel heavy. he stood in the living room, his eyes scanning the space as you sat on the edge of the sofa, your frame shaking with fresh sobs.

at first glance, everything looked the same—the layout, the furniture, the way the moonlight hit the floor. but as his gaze drifted to the walls, everything seemed different. the paintings he remembered, the ones filled with vibrant corals, sunny yellows, and life, were gone. in their place hung canvases that looked like open wounds. they were dark, drowning in layers of obsidian and charcoal, devoid of any light.

it was a gallery of grief.

he looked toward the window where a large, unfinished canvas sat. paint was splattered across the floor, brushes abandoned like wreckage. the sight of it made his chest ache. had he really done this? had he reached back from L.A. and sucked all the color out of your world?

you looked up, catching him staring at the mess of black paint, and let out a sharp, jagged scoff.

"you know, you have some nerve," you spat, wiping a stray tear with the back of your hand. "coming here after everything."

riki flinched, his throat tight. "i came for jake," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "i didn’t... i didn't think i was gonna see you tonight."

"right. so you were just going to avoid me the whole time you were here?" you say, your voice rising with every word.

riki shook his head slowly, his heart sinking. "well, no. but i figured you didn't want to see me. i didn't think i was welcome."

"of course i don't want to see you!" you cried out, the frustration finally boiling over. "god, riki, you put me through so much and you expect me to just receive you with open arms? like nothing happened?"

he just stood there, paralyzed. the sharp, confident guy the world knew had vanished, leaving behind a boy who was drowning in shame. he looked at the dark paintings again, the silence in the room feeling like a physical weight.

"i wasn't myself after you left," you whispered, the anger momentarily giving way to a haunting exhaustion. "the first year... i lost everything. i couldn't eat, i couldn't sleep. i didn't do anything because all i wanted was for you to walk back through that door. but you didn't. it took me forever to realize that you weren’t coming back."

riki felt the first hot tear track down his cheek. he didn't try to hide it. he couldn't defend himself because every word you said was a truth he had tried to outrun.

"it was hard for me too," he choked out, stepping toward you. "don't think i just forgot. i was miserable every single day. L.A. was just a distraction—i worked until i couldn't think because thinking about you felt like dying."

"oh, poor you!" you snapped, standing up, your eyes flashing with a new level of fury. "you were miserable? i was the one left with the empty side of the bed, i reached out for you and just knew somehow that you were never coming back.”

you stepped closer to him, your voice cracking with a mix of madness and despair. "don't you dare tell me it was hard for you. you had a choice. i didn't."

riki stood in the center of the room, the silence between you feeling like a physical barrier that had been hardening. his tears didn't fall fast; they gathered in his eyes, heavy and hot, before tracking slowly down his cheeks, carving lines through the composed mask he’d worn all night.

“believe me or not,” he started, his voice thick and fractured, “but i missed you. so fucking much. there were days when i’d lock myself in that apartment and i wouldn’t step out for days. i couldn't face the sun when all i could think about was the shadow i left you in. i’m ashamed, yn. god, i am so ashamed of what i did to us.”

you didn’t move. you didn’t offer him a hand or a soft look. you stood your ground, your makeup ruined, dark streaks marking the path of your pain. you were breathing in the scent of him, woodsmoke and expensive cologne, and it felt like a cruel haunting in your own living room.

“i left without saying anything because i knew,” he whispered, a breath hitching in his throat. “i knew if i looked at you, if i saw even one tear, i wouldn't have been able to walk away. you were the only thing in this world that could have made me stay, and i was terrified of that power. if i stayed, i’d never become anything on my own.”

you pouted, your lower lip trembling as you looked at him, your gaze flickering to the door he’d walked out of years ago. “so why didn’t you just ask me to come? why wasn’t i worth a conversation, riki? you just... you just left.”

“i wanted something for myself,” he confessed, his head bowing. “i wanted a career. i wanted to be a man you could be proud of, someone who wasn't just leaning on you. i wanted to feel like i had earned the right to stand next to you.”

you stepped closer, the heat radiating off him making your skin prickle. “i could have given you that, ki,” you choked out, the old nickname slipping out and making his shoulders flinch. “if you had stayed, i would have given you everything. you know my parents would of helped you. i would have supported you, built you up. i didn't need a famous choreographer. i needed you. i would have stayed in this tiny apartment forever as long as you were in it.”

riki shook his head. “i knew you would say that—that’s exactly why i had to leave. i didn’t want to depend on you. i didn’t want to feel worthless, like a burden you had to carry until i found my feet. i wanted to be the one to please you. i wanted to give you the world, yn. i thought i had to do this... for the better of us. i thought i was saving us from a future where i resented myself.”

“and instead, you destroyed the present,” you cried. “look at how you left me! you didn't save us, riki. you saved yourself and left me to drown in the dark. you don't get to come back and say it was for 'us' when i spent a year not even knowing who 'i' was anymore.”

the air between you was electric, charged with three years of unspoken resentment. riki looked at you—at the way you were guarded, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding your own pieces together.

“i know,” he breathed, the word a broken vow. “i see it. i see what i did to your heart. and it kills me. it kills me more than the silence ever did.”

the weight of it finally became too much. you saw the raw, unfiltered agony in his eyes, the same boyish vulnerability that had made you fall for him in the first place. and so you finally broke, your hands reaching out to grab the front of his jacket, pulling him toward you just to see if he was real.

he caught you instantly. his arms wrapped around you with a desperate, crushing strength, his face burying itself in the crook of your neck. he was shaking, his body full with the force of his weeping. he was so upset with himself, so disgusted that he had let it get this far.

slowly, he pulled back just enough to take your chin between his fingers. he looked at you through blurred vision, his thumb gently wiping away the salty tracks on your cheeks.

“i’m sorry, yn. i’m so, so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

and then, the man who would of never done this before, dropped to his knees.

he sank down until he was at your feet, his large, calloused hands gripping your hips to keep himself from falling over. he looked up at you, his face a map of absolute devastation. his lip quivered, his eyes wide and bloodshot, pleading for a mercy he didn't think he deserved.

“forgive me,” he begged, the word a raw rasp. “please, yn. i can't live another day knowing i'm the reason your world is black. i’ll spend the rest of my life putting the color back if you let me. please.”

you looked down at him, your heart shattering for the man kneeling before you. your soft fingers reached out, trembling as they touched his face. you soothed the tension in his brow, your palm cupping his cheek as you wiped his tears away.

riki closed his eyes and melted into your touch. like a cat seeking warmth, he leaned his head into your hand, a small, broken sound escaping his throat.

“i forgive you,” you cried, the words finally setting you both free.

his hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs stroking the fabric of your clothes as he watched you with an intensity that was almost frightening. it was a look of total, obsessive reclamation. but then, his jaw set, his expression shifting as the memory of sunghoon’s guilty face flashed in his mind.

“don’t go back to sunghoon,” he muttered, his voice thick with a jealous, protective edge. “don’t let him touch you again. don’t let anyone else near you. i’m here now. i’m never letting you go again.”

you let out a watery, relieved laugh, your fingers tangling in his dark hair as you looked down at the man who had finally, finally come home. you nodded, your heart finally feeling a pulse of color.

“i won’t,” you promised. “i won’t ever go back.”

riki stayed on his knees for a heartbeat longer, his forehead resting against your stomach as he let out a long, shuddering breath of pure relief.

you reached down, your fingers touching his shoulder so that he would finally stand up. your lips curved into a soft, tearful smile, and the sight of it seemed to breathe life back into his lungs. riki stood, towering over you once more, but this time his presence didn't feel like a threat—it felt like a sanctuary.

his large, trembling hand rose slowly, his palm cupping your cheek with a soft touch. he looked at you like you were a miracle he didn't deserve to witness, his thumb stroking your skin to catch the last of your tears. he just leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally bridged the gap he had created.

the kiss was slow and heavy with everything you hadn't said. riki tasted the saltiness of your tears and the bitter burn of the wine from dinner, but it didn't matter. nothing mattered except the fact that your lips were finally molding against his again.

your hands balled into the expensive fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you were afraid he might leave again. you melted into him, your body remembering the exact way it fit against his, while riki let out a low, broken hum against your mouth—a sound of total surrender.

you were the one to break the kiss first, though you didn't pull far away. your breath hitched as you reached down, your hand finding his and lacing your fingers together. without a word, you began to lead him toward the bedroom.

riki followed you like a man in a trance. his heart was hammering against his ribs so violently he was sure you could feel it through his palm—it was the exact same frantic, dizzying pulse he’d felt the very first time he’d walked this hallway with you. it felt like the final piece of his soul clicking back into place.

he reached back to close the door, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet. before he could even turn fully, you were on him again. you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling his head down to meet yours in a kiss that was deeper and fueled by years of starvation.

riki’s hands found your waist instantly, his grip firm and possessive as he walked you backward toward the bed. he was careful, even in his desperation. your knees hit the mattress, he let you fall back slowly, his body following yours down until he was hovering over you.

crawling on top of you, he braced himself on his elbows, framing your face with his hands as he continued to kiss you with a feverish intensity.

riki was moving with desperation now, his kisses becoming more frantic, as if he were trying to make up for every second of those three lost years in a single night. he couldn't stop—his lips had ached for your skin, his body had been starving for this connection, and now that he had you, he was consuming you.

he broke the kiss on your lips only to trail his mouth down the column of your throat. his lips, soft and plump, pressed against your sensitive skin. he knew exactly where your pulse jumped, and he lingered there, leaving wet, searing kisses that made your head tilt back.

the small, broken moans that escaped your throat were like fuel to him. every sound you made sent a fresh jolt of electricity through his frame, making his skin tingle with a mix of raw lust and overwhelming devotion. he wanted to hear more; he wanted to know that you were feeling him just as intensely as he was feeling you.

his hands, usually so precise and controlled, were trembling as he began to work on your clothes. he moved with a kind of urgency, peeling away the layers that stood between him and the woman he had nearly lost. you did the same for him, your fingers fumbling with his buttons until his shirt was discarded on the floor, soon followed by the rest.

the sudden contact of the cool air against your bare skin sent a wave of goosebumps over your body, but the chill didn't last long. riki’s heat was everywhere. he was determined to burn away the memory of every lonely night you’d spent in this bed.

he started from the top again, his mouth on a slow, journey downward. he kissed the slope of your shoulders, the valley between your breasts, and the soft curve of your stomach. he moved with a slow agonizing patience, his breath hot against your skin as he worshiped every inch of you.

he didn't stop until he was kneeling between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips with a strength that grounded you to the mattress. he looked up at you for a heartbeat, his eyes dark and clouded with a hunger that was purely for you, before he leaned down, his lips finally brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the center of what pulsed desperately.

"missed you so desperately baby," riki rasped, his voice against your skin. his hands didn’t just move, his fingers dug into the soft give of your thighs to force them wider, exposing you completely to the cool air and his scorching gaze.

you were a wreck beneath him, your body humming with a frantic, electric need. you were practically begging, your teeth sinking into your own finger to stifle the pathetic, needy whimpers that wanted to spill out.

"you want me to touch you, hm?" he teased, his breath ghosting over your heat. he pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right at the edge of your soaked cunt, looking up at you with eyes dark with a terrifying kind of hunger.

you nodded frantically, your head tossing back against the pillows. "please ki... fuck, please."

he didn't make you ask again. his head lowered, his tongue making slow, agonizing contact. it started with small, flickering licks that made your hips jerk uncontrollably, your nerves too raw, too sensitive for the attention. you moaned anyway, a broken sound that vibrated through the room as your pelvis arched up, seeking more of that wet friction.

you felt his breath hitch, the sound of your moans fueling him. riki’s lips parted, his tongue sliding between your aching folds, tasting you like he was starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.

"oh riki..." you sobbed out his name, biting your lip so hard you could taste copper as you watched him worship you.

he was focused, his movements rhythmic. your stomach clenched, toes curling into the sheets as he found the perfect rhythm. "missed how you taste—fuck," he slurred against you, his mouth suddenly migrating to suction directly onto your clit. the sensation was so intense it was borderline painful, making you wail into the empty room.

"feels s'good ki... don't stop."

he let out a low, desperate growl, his hands sliding up to lock onto your hips, bruising the skin as he pinned you down. he couldn't help himself anymore. his tongue slipped inside you, mimicking a hard, rhythmic fuck, driving deep into your creaminess. your hips bucked wildly, your hands tangling in his hair to hold him there, terrified he’d stop.

he was making up for every year he’d spent away from you, every touch he’d missed. he pulled back for a split second, slicking you with more of his own saliva until you were dripping, before his lips sealed around you again.

"hnnnghh!—so close, fuck!" you cried out, your back arching off the bed as you tried to ride his face, your muscles coiling tight.

"cum for me, doll. let me taste every drop," he insisted, his nose grinding against you, adding a blunt pressure that sent you over the edge.

riki slammed your hips back down onto the bed, and with one final, devastating lap of his tongue, you shattered.

you screamed so loud you were sure the neighbors could hear, your thighs clashing against his head, trapping him there as your body spasmed and spilled over him. he didn't pull away; he stayed, slurping up everything you gave him until you were shaking and weak.

he crawled up the bed, his body a heavy, welcome weight as he settled beside you. "you okay?" he whispered, his voice thick. he kissed your shoulder, your cheek, his touch tender despite the wreckage he’d just caused.

"more than okay," you breathed.

needing to be closer, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. his eyes were sparkling, filled with a terrifying amount of love. you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that tasted like salt and sex and forever. you felt his hardness pressing against your entrance, and the friction was enough to make you whine again.

your lips traveled down to his neck, finding the spot where his pulse hammered. you bit down hard, marking him with a hickey that would bloom into a dark bruise by morning. riki closed his eyes, his head falling back as he let out those small, melodic moans you loved so much.

"so vocal," you teased, whispering against his ear. "i'm sure someone else must have heard you like this while you were out there."

his hand snapped to your shoulder, pulling you back so he could lock eyes with you. the intensity there was staggering. "yn..." he said, his voice dropping low. "i never let anyone touch me. not once. you've been my only girl always."

the honesty in his voice brought a sting to your eyes. you kissed him again, deeper this time, as your hand reached down to guide his cock. you lowered yourself slowly, feeling him stretch you open, filling every inch of the void he'd left behind.

"fuck—so big," you hissed, your walls clenching around him. riki groaned as you bottomed out, his eyes fluttering shut at the sheer tightness of you.

you didn't move fast. you wanted to feel every ridge, every pulse. you swayed your hips in a slow circle, grinding down on him. his hands gripped your ass, his knuckles white as he let you take the lead.

“i could stay inside you all day," riki whispered, his voice breaking. "you're hypnotizing, baby."

"mm—then don't leave." you bit your lip, picking up the pace. you grabbed his hand, dragging it to your breast, guiding him to grope you as you bounced.

you let out a broken whine, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling his head back so you could see the hunger in his face. your muscles clenched around him with every downward stroke as riki’s head hit the pillow. his chest was heaving as he watched your breasts bounce with the motion.

"look at you," he rasped, his hand squeezing your tit, his thumb roughly rolling your nipple. "look how good you take it. you’re a natural, babygirl. a fucking natural for me."

"ki... please, fuck yourself into me," you begged, your core humming with a tension that was becoming unbearable.

"not yet," he teased, his voice a low vibrate you felt in your clit. "i want to feel every bit of you. i want to hear you scream for it."

he suddenly sat up firmly, meeting you halfway. he wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you flush against his chest so your heat was crushed together. he began to thrust up with a violent, needy energy, his cock hitting your cervix with every strike. you were sobbing now, your nails drawing red lines down his back as the pleasure turned into something sharp and overwhelming.

the sounds in the room were wet and heavy. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss, mixing spit and breath. you broke away just to look at him, your faces inches apart.

"ki... promise me you won't leave after this. and if you do, take me with you." you said suddenly.

his hands smoothed over your back, his expression softening. "i'm not leaving you. not ever again—i promise."

you nodded, a small smile breaking through the haze of pleasure. you picked up the speed, your body slamming against his with a loud, rhythmic rhythm. riki began to purr in your ear, those deep, vibrating sounds that always sent you over the edge. he was getting desperate now, his muscles tensing as he hit his limit.

"shit—i'm gonna cum—" he choked out.

with one final, soul-destroying thrust, he buried himself as deep as possible and let go. you followed him instantly, your second orgasm hitting so hard your vision blurred.

you collapsed against him, your bodies slick with sweat and tangled in a mess of limbs. riki didn't let you pull away; instead, he hooked an arm under your knees and pulled you flush against his side, tucking you into him like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. he reached down, grabbing the discarded blanket and dragging it over your shivering frames, his chin resting right on top of your head.

the room was silent, save for the frantic synchronization of your heartbeats slowing down.

"look at what you did to me," riki whispered, his voice low against your scalp. he tilted his neck, showing off the angry, darkening mark you’d bitten into his skin. his fingers traced the edges of it, a lazy, possessive smirk tugging at his lips. "i’m gonna have to wear a collar to tomorrow’s brunch.”

you let out a weak, airy chuckle, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "good."

he hummed, his hand sliding down your spine in slow, soothing strokes that made your muscles turn to water. he stopped at the small of your back, his palm warm and heavy. "every night i was away, i’d close my eyes and try to remember exactly how you felt. how you smelled. but the memory was never enough. i felt like i was losing my mind."

you shifted, propping yourself up on his chest to look at him. his eyes were dark, filled with raw honesty that made your throat tight. "i thought you’d moved on," you confessed, your voice small. "i thought maybe you’d found someone else."

riki reached up, his thumb brushing a stray hair from your forehead. "never. i told you, yn... it’s only ever been you. i’d see girls who had your hair, or heard a laugh that sounded like yours, and it would just gut me. no one else could even come close to touching what we have."

he trailed his hand down, his fingers ghosting over your hip where his handprints were already starting to bloom into faint bruises. his expression softened into something so tender it almost hurt to look at. "i’m never putting us through that again. i don't care what it takes."

you nodded, a single tear escaping and landing on his chest. he wiped it away immediately with his thumb, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to your eyelid.

"i hope when i wake up tomorrow, you'll still be here," you hummed, your eyes finally fluttering shut, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to you.

he chuckled, a low, warm rumble in his chest that you felt deep in your bones. "i will. i already told you, i'm not leaving. i'm staying right here until you get sick of looking at my face."

"i love you, riki," you whispered into the dark.

"i love you too, yn. more than i know how to say."

and sure enough, the next morning, when the sun filtered through the curtains in dusty gold streaks, his arms were still locked tight around your waist—exactly where they belonged.

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Ria grabbed your hand. “She wants a piercing.” Soo looked at the sky. Hana was already moving toward the door.

The club outfit had been Ria’s fault entirely. The top was small — that was the only word for it, small and black and doing everything a top could reasonably be asked to do. The skirt wasn’t much better. You’d spent the whole night at the club feeling like the main character, which was the intended effect, and the cold air outside had done nothing to make you feel less exposed.

You pushed the door open and the warmth hit you first. Then the smell — ink, clean soap, something faintly chemical underneath it. Black walls covered in flash art. Low red lighting that made the whole place feel like a deliberate secret. Something slow playing from speakers you couldn’t locate.

Two guys inside. One in the back with his head down over a drawing tablet. One at the front counter. The one at the front counter looked up.

He was tall even on the stool, long legs stretched out in front of him, forearms resting on the desk like he owned the surface and everything past it. Full sleeve on his left arm. Silver rings on most of his fingers. Dark hair pushed back slightly. One earring. The kind of face that got you in trouble if you looked at it for too long — sharp jaw, dark eyes, a mouth that was currently sitting in the very early stages of a smirk.

He took in all four of you in about two seconds. Then his eyes found you and the smirk finished forming. “We’re open,” he said. “Barely.”

Ria and Hana peeled off toward the flash wall immediately. Soo planted herself near the door with her arms folded. Which left you walking up to the front counter alone, bare legs, tiny skirt, heels clicking on the concrete floor.

You watched him watch you walk over. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t watching. Didn’t do the polite thing where you glance away and back. He just watched, easy and unhurried, the way someone looks at something they find genuinely worth looking at, and when you got to the counter and leaned on it his eyes moved — slowly, and with complete lack of apology — from your face down to your chest and back up again. Held eye contact like nothing had happened. You’d been looked at before. This was different. This was a man who had decided he wasn’t going to pretend. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi.” His voice was low. Even. The smirk hadn’t moved. “Can I help you?”

“I want a piercing.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back on the stool, arms folding across his chest, the sleeve shifting with the movement. His rings caught the red light. “What are you thinking?”

“Tragus.” You reached up and tapped the outer ridge of your ear, which meant your arm lifted and your top shifted and you watched his eyes drop again, briefly, before they came back to yours like he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about it. “I’ve been putting it off. I’m in a decisive mood.”

“Decisive,” he said.

“Very.”

“I can see that.” He said it like it meant something else. Then: “How much have you had tonight?”

“Enough to be excellent company.”

He looked at you. Really looked — quiet and thorough, taking in your face, the flush across your chest, the way you were leaning on his counter in that top — and then his tongue pressed briefly against his cheek like he was trying not to smile properly. “Can’t pierce you with alcohol in your system, baby.”

Baby. Like he’d been calling you that for years. Like it was already established. “That’s a rule?” you said.

“That’s the rule.”

You leaned further onto the counter, closing some of the distance between you. His eyes went exactly where you expected them to go and stayed there for a beat longer than was professional before dragging back up. His expression didn’t change. He was completely comfortable with being caught, which was — honestly — impressive. “What if I promised to be very good?” you said.

“I’m sure you would be.” His voice was smooth, unhurried. “Still no.”

“What if—”

“You can come back tomorrow,” he said. “Sober. I’ll pierce your tragus.” A pause, his eyes dropping once more, quick and deliberate, before landing back on yours. “Or whatever else you want.”

The air between you did something. “That sounds like more than a professional offer,” you said.

“I’m a professional.” The smirk was fully settled now. “The offer’s professional. What you do with it is up to you.”

You held his gaze. He held yours back without any effort at all, completely at ease, like this was just how Tuesday night went for him. It was annoying. It was also working. “I don’t know where this place is sober,” you said.

He was already reaching under the counter. He slid a card across the desk with two fingers — didn’t look down to do it, kept his eyes on you the whole time. STUDIO 13. NISHIMURA RIKI. PIERCING.

You picked it up. “Your personal card,” you said.

“Goes straight to me.”

“Bold.”

“Efficient,” he said.

You looked at the card. Then at him. “I’m Y/N.” His eyes went down again — unhurried, completely unapologetic, a slow look that started at your face and made its way south before coming back up — and then he said, “Y/N,” like he was just trying the name out. Like he’d be using it again. “You gonna remember that?” you said.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’m going to remember that.”

The way he said it made it about more than your name. Behind you, Ria made a noise she covered poorly with a fake cough. You didn’t turn around. “Come back sober,” Riki said. “I’ll take care of you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I’m going to do it.” He picked his phone back up, easy as anything, like the conversation was filed away now and he was done performing — except the smirk stayed. “Get home safe, Y/N.” Dismissed. Warmly, cockily, with complete confidence that you’d be back.

You picked up the card, slid it into your bag, and let Soo steer you to the door because your own legs had made a decision to co-operate with his energy and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

Outside Ria grabbed your arm with both hands. “Y/N. The way he looked at you—”

“Ria.”

“He looked at your tits like—”

“Ria.” Hana was fanning herself. Even Soo was quiet, which was its own verdict. The Uber was three minutes away and you looked at your phone and felt your face doing something warm that you were crediting entirely to the alcohol.

Inside, Heeseung finally looked up from his drawing tablet. He’d watched the whole thing. Ten feet away. Nobody had noticed. He looked at Riki.

Riki had his phone in his hand but he was looking at the door — at the space where you’d just been standing in that top, leaning on his counter, letting him look — with an expression Heeseung couldn’t quite name. Something had landed and settled behind his eyes.

“Who was that?” Heeseung said.

Riki looked down at his phone. “Some hot girl.”

“Some hot girl,” Heeseung repeated.

“Wanted a tragus piercing.”

“Uh huh.” Heeseung looked at the counter. At the space where Riki’s personal card had been sitting ten minutes ago, now somewhere in your bag on the way home. “You give clients your personal card often?”

Riki said nothing. Heeseung looked back at his tablet. “Right,” he said quietly, and said nothing else.

Three weeks later you were standing outside Studio 13 again and this time you were completely, annoyingly sober. “I don’t know why I’m here,” you said.

“Because Riki said come back sober and you kept his card for three weeks,” Ria said, pushing the door open.

“I kept it by accident.”

“In your purse.”

“That’s where cards go.”

“You don’t keep any other cards in your purse, Y/N. I’ve seen your purse. It’s a graveyard of receipts and one lip liner.” You followed her inside because the alternative was standing on the pavement arguing with her and you’d already lost this argument six times on the way over.

Ria had a tattoo appointment. That was the reason you were here. You were just here for moral support. You were going to sit in a chair and look at your phone and not think about the guy who had looked at you like that and said I’ll take care of you with complete sincerity and a smirk that should have been annoying.

The door swung shut behind you. Same as before — black walls, flash art, red light, the slow dark playlist. A different energy in the daytime though, busier, more lived-in. Jay was at the side counter doing something with ink caps, talking loudly to no one in particular. Jake was sweeping near the back. Heeseung was visible through the half-open door of the back room, head down, working.

No one at the front desk. You relaxed slightly. Ria was already at the counter, checking in for her appointment, and you drifted toward the flash wall and started looking at the art because it was genuinely good and also because you needed something to do with your eyes.

You heard the door from the back open. Heard footsteps. Heard someone say, “Riki, someone’s here—” You turned around because you were a person with normal human reflexes and not because your body had already clocked the name.

Riki came through the back door with a pair of gloves half-on, looking down at the appointment book, and then he looked up.

He saw Ria first. Then his eyes moved — one smooth, unhurried slide — and found you standing by the flash wall in your jeans and your jacket looking like someone who was absolutely only here for moral support. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” you said. There was a pause that lasted slightly too long for two people who didn’t know each other.

“You came back,” he said.

“Ria has an appointment.”

“Right.” He looked at you. “And you’re just here for Ria.”

“Correct.”

“Nothing to do with the card.”

“I forgot I even had it.”

“Uh huh.” He pulled the second glove on, still looking at you, and the smirk had settled into something warmer now — less performance, more genuinely pleased. “How’s the tragus feeling? Still decisive?”

Ria made a sound from the counter that she turned into a cough. You didn’t look at her. “I’m considering my options,” you said.

“Good answer.” He turned to Ria, professional now, easy switch. “Ria, yeah? Heeseung’s got you, he’s just finishing up. Five minutes.”

“Perfect,” Ria said, and then immediately looked at you with an expression that meant she was storing everything and you would be debriefed extensively later.

Riki came around the counter. Didn’t go back to the desk — came and stood near the flash wall, close enough to talk, far enough to be plausibly looking at the art. “You look different,” he said.

“I’m sober.”

“That’s probably it.” His eyes did the thing — a brief, easy drop and return, taking in the jacket, the jeans, the way you were standing — and then he was looking at your face again like that was just how he operated. Open about it. Unbothered. “Still good though.”

“You’re very confident,” you said.

“I’m accurate,” he said. You looked at Riki. He looked back. This close you could see the bar through his tongue properly — silver, subtle when his mouth was closed, noticeable when he talked — and the ring in his ear and the way his rings shifted when he crossed his arms.

“So,” he said. “You actually want the piercing or did you come all the way here just to tell me you forgot my card existed?”

“I could still want the piercing.”

“You could.” He tilted his head slightly. “Do you?”

You held out for three more seconds. Then: “Yeah.”

His smile did the thing again — the slow, settled version, the one that looked like satisfaction and something warmer underneath it. “On the house,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He was already moving back toward the piercing station, unhurried, like it was decided. “Come on.”

The piercing chair was in a partitioned section near the back — semi-private, its own mirror, a tray of tools laid out with the kind of precision that told you he took this seriously. He snapped a fresh pair of gloves on and gestured to the chair and you sat down and tried to look like you were not thinking about the last time you’d been in this general vicinity, considerably less sober, telling him he had criminally pretty eyes. You were thinking about it.

He adjusted the chair height without asking, tilted the light, and then stepped in close to look at your ear. His fingers were gentle when they touched the outer ridge — thumb pressing lightly to test the cartilage, professional and careful — and he was close enough that you could smell whatever he was wearing, something dark and clean. “Tragus is a good choice,” he said, still examining your ear. “Suits you.”

“You can tell that from my ear?”

“I can tell from your face.” He stepped back, reached for the marking pen. “You’ve got good bone structure. Something small here draws attention without being loud.” He met your eyes in the mirror. “You’re already loud enough.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It was one.” He marked the spot with the pen — quick, precise — and then held up a small mirror so you could check the placement. His hand was steady. Everything about him was steady, which was both reassuring and slightly irritating. “Good?” he said.

“Good.”

He put the mirror down. Reached for the needle. And then paused, looking at you in the main mirror with an expression that was more direct than the smirk — more level. “You nervous?” he said.

“No.”

“Your jaw is doing something.”

“My jaw is fine.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m a little nervous,” you said. “About the needle. Not about—” You stopped.

“Not about?” he said.

You looked at him in the mirror. He looked back. The smirk was quiet right now, just his face, just the question sitting there. “The needle,” you said. “I said what I said.”

He let it go. Looked back at your ear, positioned his hands. “Breathe in,” he said. You breathed in. “Out.”

You breathed out and he moved — quick and precise and over before you’d finished processing it. A sharp bite of pressure, brief, clean, and then his hands were already switching out the needle for the jewellery, smooth and practiced. “Done,” he said.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He stepped back to let you see in the mirror. Small flat-back stud, exactly where the mark had been, sitting perfectly. “What do you think?”

You looked at it. Turned your head slightly. It was — actually exactly right, the placement, the size, the way it sat. “I think you’re good at your job,” you said.

“I know.” But he said it lightly, without the edge, and when you looked at him in the mirror he was looking at the piercing with something that read like quiet pride. Like he actually cared that it was right.

He peeled his gloves off. Started going through aftercare — saline spray, what to avoid, how long to leave it — and you listened and watched his hands and thought about how he’d looked at you when you walked in. That slow, settled smile. You came back. Like he’d known you would. “Any questions?” he said.

“No.”

“Good.” He handed you the small aftercare card. His fingers brushed yours when he passed it over and he didn’t move his hand immediately, just let the contact sit there for a second before stepping back. “You should come back in four weeks so I can check it.”

“Is that standard?”

“For you it is.”

You looked up at him. He was close still, leaning against the counter beside the chair, arms crossed, completely at ease with the proximity and what he was saying and the way he was looking at you. “That’s a very smooth way to make a follow-up appointment,” you said.

“I’m a smooth guy.”

“You’re a cocky guy.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” He smiled properly. “Four weeks, Y/N. I’ll be here.” From the main floor, very clearly, you heard Jay say to Jake in a voice that carried: “Twenty says she’s back in two.”

Heeseung appeared in the doorway of his room as you were walking back out to wait for Ria. He looked at you. Then at Riki, who was cleaning up the station behind you. He said nothing.

When you were out of earshot, he leaned in the doorway and looked at Riki with a level expression. Riki didn’t look up. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

Heeseung was quiet for a moment. “She coming back?”

Riki stacked the packaged jewellery back in the tray. “Four weeks.”

Heeseung looked at the ceiling. Looked back down. “Right,” he said, and went back into his room.

Riki looked up once — just once — at where you’d gone back to sit with Ria, talking and laughing, your hand coming up to touch the new piercing gently like you were checking it was real. He looked back down at the tray. Picked up his phone. Set it down again. Four weeks was a long time.

You were back in two weeks. You told yourself you had a legitimate reason. The piercing felt slightly tender on one side and the aftercare card said to come back if anything felt off and this was a medical concern, essentially, and had nothing to do with anything else. Ria, when you told her this, said “uh huh” in the exact same tone Riki had used and you’d hung up on her.

You pushed the door to Studio 13 open at four on a Thursday afternoon.

Jay was at the front counter this time. He looked up, recognized you, and his whole face did something delighted. “Y/N,” he said, like you were a returning champion.

“Hey.” You unwound your scarf. “Is Riki—”

“In the back.” Jay was already leaning back in his chair, tilting toward the hallway. “Riki.”

“I could have just—”

“RIKI. Your girl’s here.”

From the back, a pause. Then footsteps. Riki appeared in the doorway with a black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other and when he saw you something moved across his face — quick, controlled — before it settled into the usual. “Two weeks,” he said.

“I know.”

“I said four.”

“The piercing felt off.”

He looked at you. You looked back. He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Come here,” he said. Back in the piercing section again. The chair, the mirror, the tray. He set his coffee down on the counter and snapped gloves on and tilted your chin to the side with two fingers, turning your head so the light hit the piercing properly.

He was quiet while he looked. Close, the way he’d been last time, close enough that you were aware of exactly how tall he was and exactly how little space existed between you. “Looks fine,” he said.

“It felt tender.”

“New cartilage piercing. It’s going to feel tender.” He turned your head a fraction more, examining the entry and exit points. “You sleeping on it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Don’t.” His thumb pressed gently just below the piercing, checking the tissue. “You’re not rotating it, are you?”

“The card said not to.”

“People do it anyway.”

“I follow instructions.” He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. His fingers were still at your jaw, light but there, and in the mirror you could see him looking at the piercing with that focused, careful expression he got when he was working — like the rest of him went quiet and it was just this, just the task, just making sure it was right.

“It’s fine,” he said again, quieter this time. “A little irritated but nothing bad. You’re cleaning it?”

“Twice a day.”

“Good girl.” He said it the same way he said everything — even, unbothered — and went right back to examining the piercing like he hadn’t just said it, like it was nothing, like your entire nervous system hadn’t just done something embarrassing.

He stepped back. Pulled one glove off. In the mirror you watched him look at you — your face this time, not the piercing — and the focused work expression shifted back into something more personal. His eyes moved down briefly, back up. Unhurried. Unapologetic. “You didn’t just come for the piercing check,” he said.

It wasn’t a question. “I was in the area,” you said.

“Y/N.”

“I was.”

“Okay.” He pulled the second glove off, dropped them both in the bin. Leaned against the counter beside the chair with his arms crossed, looking at you with that steady, patient expression. Like he had all the time in the world and was fully prepared to wait you out.

The rings on his fingers caught the light. The bar through his tongue was visible when he spoke and sometimes when he didn’t, a small flash of silver that your eyes kept going back to without your permission. “Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Go ahead.”

You nodded toward his mouth. “Does it affect anything? The tongue piercing.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up. He knew exactly what you were asking and you both knew you both knew it. “Depends what you mean by anything,” he said.

“Talking,” you said. “Eating.”

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t affect talking or eating.”

The way he said it made the implication sit in the room like a third person. “And what about—” you started.

“Yes,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back at you, completely relaxed, the smirk at about thirty percent, like he was letting you sit in the answer rather than pushing it.

“That was going to be a different question…” you said.

“Was it?” It wasn’t.

You looked away first, which you were counting as a tactical retreat rather than losing, and he made that almost-laugh sound again and pushed off the counter. “Come out front,” he said. “I’ll get you the saline to take home.”

Jay was now pretending to organize a drawer he had clearly already organized when you came back out. Jake had appeared from somewhere and was leaning on the wall near the door with his phone out. The effort to look casual was extraordinary.

Riki went behind the counter, got the saline, slid it across to you.“Stop sleeping on it,” he said.

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Just don’t do it.”

“You’re bossy,” you said.

“I’m thorough.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms were right there, the sleeve on full display this close — you’d been trying not to look at it properly but it was a lot of work. Intricate blackwork, something that looked botanical near his wrist, darker geometry climbing toward his elbow. “Like the sleeve?” he said.

You looked up. He’d caught you. “It’s good work,” you said.

“Heeseung did most of it.”

“Heeseung tattooed you?”

“First one when I started here.” Something shifted slightly in his face — not closed off, just more considered. “Kind of a thing between us.”

You wanted to ask what kind of thing. Something in how he’d said it made you not push. “You do your own piercings?” you said instead.

He tilted his head so you could see the earring. “This one.”

“Doesn’t that hurt more when it’s yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“And you did it anyway.”

“I do most things anyway,” he said. He said it lightly but there was something under it, something matter-of-fact about pain being a variable he’d simply accounted for. You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to. “Four weeks,” he said, quieter now, just to you. “Come back in four weeks and I’ll check it properly. And if you’re in the area before that—” he held your gaze — “you know where we are.”

“Very smooth,” you said.

“You keep saying that.”

“You keep proving it.” He smiled. The real one — not the smirk, not the performance, the actual smile that did something to his whole face. You’d only seen it once before, the night you came in drunk when he laughed at something Ria said, and it was worse up close and sober.

You picked up the saline. Shouldered your bag. “Thanks for checking it,” you said.

“Anytime.”

You were halfway to the door when Jay said, loudly, to no one: “Two weeks. Called it.”

“Jay,” Riki said, flat.

“I’m just saying—”

“Jay.” You pushed the door open and let it close on whatever Jay said next. On the pavement you breathed in cold air and stood there for a second. I do most things anyway. You thought about that the whole way home.

You texted Ria that night.

you: the piercing was fine btw. just irritated.

Ria: sure

you: it was a legitimate medical concern

Ria: how did he look

you: that’s not relevant

Ria: how did he LOOK

You stared at your phone. Put it face down. Picked it up again.

you: good. he looked good. go to sleep.

Ria: 😭😭😭 Y/N YOU ARE SO DOWN BAD

You put your phone on the charger and lay on your back in the dark and stared at the ceiling. The bar through his tongue caught the light when he talked. Yes, he’d said. Like it was nothing. Like he said it every day. You put a pillow over your face.

Across the city, Studio 13 was closing up. Heeseung was cashing out. Jake was wiping down surfaces. Jay was retelling the afternoon to Sunghoon, who had come in for his evening shift and was listening with the specific expression of someone enjoying information they could use later.

Riki was at the piercing station. Cleaning the tray. Doing the same task he’d done a hundred times. “She came back in two weeks,” Jay said.

“I heard,” Sunghoon said.

“I called it.”

“You did call it.”

“Riki,” Jay said. “You owe me twenty.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Riki said. “We didn’t make a bet.”

“Spiritually we did.” Riki said nothing. Put the tray away.

“She’s coming back in four weeks,” Jay told Sunghoon.

“Or two,” Sunghoon said.

“Or two,” Jay agreed.

“Both of you,” Riki said, without heat, “can shut up.”

They did not shut up. He let them talk and went back to the tray and thought about the way you’d looked at his mouth when you asked about the piercing. The way your eyes had gone somewhere specific and come back and you’d tried to cover it with a different question.

He’d watched the answer land. Had watched you process it and look away and call it a tactical retreat when it wasn’t. He was good at reading people. He’d had to be, for a long time, for reasons that had nothing to do with tattoo shops or piercing chairs.

You were going to come back before four weeks. He put the tray away and picked up his coffee and didn’t say any of that out loud.

You were back in ten days. You didn’t have a reason this time. You’d run out of reasons. You showed up at three on a Wednesday with two coffees and the vague awareness that something had shifted from I’m in the area to something you didn’t have a word for yet. Jay opened the door before you reached it. “She’s got coffee,” he announced into the shop.

“Jay—”

“Is one of those for me?” He was already holding the door open, looking at the cups in your hand with genuine hope.

“No.”

“Y/N.”

“I brought two.”

“There are multiple people here who drink coffee.”

“There are two coffees,” you said. “Do the math.”

Jay looked wounded. You walked past him into the shop and he let the door close and called after you: “I’m telling Riki you were mean to me.”

“Please do.” Riki was at the front counter. Actually at the counter this time, not coming through from the back, sitting on the stool with his forearms on the desk and his phone in his hand. He looked up when you came in and his eyes went straight to the cups. Then to your face. Then he smiled — not the smirk, not the performance, just a real and immediate thing that he didn’t seem to think about first. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” You put one of the coffees on the counter in front of him. “I didn’t know how you take it.”

He looked at the cup. Looked at you. “Black is fine,” he said.

“Lucky guess.”

“Is it?” He picked it up. His fingers overlapped yours on the cup for a second before you let go — brief, probably accidental, neither of you addressed it. He took a sip. Put it down. “Ten days.”

“I know.”

“Getting closer to two weeks, not further.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said. “This was the first chance I had to—”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“You don’t need a reason,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back, completely even, like he’d just said something neutral about the weather. “Sit down.”

That was how it started. Not with anything dramatic. Just you sitting on the other side of the counter on a Wednesday afternoon with a coffee while Riki worked through his admin, and the conversation that happened around it — easy and unhurried, drifting from one thing to another, the kind of talk that didn’t feel like it was going anywhere because it didn’t need to.

You learned things without asking for them. That he’d been at Studio 13 for two years. That he and Jay had met here. That he had opinions about piercing placement that were borderline philosophical and he’d share them unprompted if you let him.

He learned things back. That you were in your final year. That Ria had been your best friend since you were sixteen. That you had three other piercings already and had done two of them yourself, which made him look up from his phone with an expression that was equal parts impressed and horrified. “You did your own helix,” he said.

“With a kit.”

“A kit.”

“People do it.”

“People also do a lot of things I have to fix,” he said, and leaned across the counter to look at your ear without asking. His fingers found the helix piercing, examining it with the same careful focus he brought to everything, and you sat very still. “It’s crooked,” he said.

“I know.”

“I can fix it.”

“I know.”

He was still looking at your ear, close, his thumb light against the cartilage. “Why haven’t you?”

“I kept meaning to.” You paused. “And then I found Studio 13 and I figured I’d—”

You stopped. He pulled back just enough to look at your face. His expression said he’d heard the end of the sentence even though you hadn’t said it. “Figured you’d what?” he said.

“Come here eventually,” you said. “For things.”

The smirk appeared. “For things.”

“Piercings.”

“Right.” He stepped back, let you breathe, picked his coffee back up. “I’ll fix it whenever you want.”

“Add it to my tab.”

“You don’t have a tab. Everything I do to you is on the house.” He said it completely straight and then looked at his phone, leaving you to sit in the everything I do to you by yourself.

Jay appeared from the back at that exact moment, looked at you both, looked at the counter between you, and went directly back the way he came without saying anything, which was somehow more powerful than if he had.

Hana came with you the following Wednesday. She had been angling to see the shop since Ria had described it in approximately four hundred texts and the second she walked in she stopped in the middle of the floor and looked around with wide eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Oh this place is cool.”

Jake, who was at the side counter, looked up. Hana looked at Jake. Jake looked at Hana. You filed that away.

Riki was with a client in the piercing section — you could see him through the partition, gloved up, talking the client through something in that low steady voice. You hadn’t told him you were coming. You weren’t sure why, except that you’d wanted to know what it felt like to walk in and see him before he saw you. It felt like something, as it turned out.

He was focused on his client, head tilted, hands precise. He’d pushed his sleeves up and the full length of the tattoo was visible now — blackwork that climbed from his wrist to somewhere past his elbow, detailed and dark. He was saying something that made the client laugh. Patient and calm and completely in his element.

You stood there and looked at him for maybe four seconds too long.

“Y/N,” Hana said quietly beside you.

“What.”

“You’ve got a face on.”

“I don’t have a face.”

“You’ve got a very specific face.” She looked at Riki. Looked at you. “Oh you are done.”

“I’m looking at the flash art,” you said, and turned to look at the flash art.

Jay materialized at your shoulder. “She does this every time,” he told Hana, like you weren’t standing right there. “Comes in, looks at him, then looks at the wall.”

“I can hear you,” you said.

“I know.” Jay smiled. “Coffee?”

Riki’s client left at half past three. He came through from the partition still pulling his gloves off and stopped when he saw you and Hana at the counter with Jay. The gloves came off slower. “You didn’t text,” he said to you.

“Spontaneous visit.”

“Hm.” He dropped the gloves, came around to the main counter. His eyes moved to Hana briefly, assessing, friendly. “Friend?”

“Hana,” you said. “She wanted to see the shop.”

“Welcome.” He said it to Hana and then his attention came back to you in that way it always did — like you were the fixed point and everything else was peripheral. “How’s the piercing?”

“Fine. Good.”

“You sleeping on it?”

“Mostly not.”

“Y/N.”

“Mostly not. I’m a side sleeper, it’s a process.”

He leaned on the counter. His coffee was cold by now but he picked it up anyway. “I’ll fix the helix today if you want. While you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Chair’s free.” Hana’s elbow found your ribs with surgical precision. You ignored it.

“Okay,” you said.

The helix took ten minutes. Precise, careful, the same focused quiet he brought every time. Afterwards he checked the tragus — habit, he said, like that was a normal thing, like of course he was checking it — and you sat in the chair and let him and looked at his face in the mirror while he was looking at your ear.

Up close like this you could see things you couldn’t from the other side of a counter. The small scar through his left eyebrow, barely visible. The way his jaw set when he was concentrating. The rings on his fingers — he took them off for client work and put them back on after, and watching him slide them back on was a thing you were apparently noticing now.

He caught you in the mirror. Didn’t call you out. Just held your gaze for a second and then looked back at the piercing, and the corner of his mouth moved slightly. “Good,” he said. “Helix looks better. You’ll need to re-do the aftercare cycle.”

“I know.”

“You actually know or you’re saying you know?”

“Riki.”

“I’ll write it down.”

“I literally work a piercing counter in my memory called things Riki has told me,” you said.

He went still for a half second. Then: “Yeah?”

“You’re very thorough,” you said. “It sticks.”

He looked at you in the mirror. Steady, quiet, something behind his eyes that was more than the usual easy confidence — something that had weight to it. “Good,” he said, quieter.

He stepped back. Started cleaning up. Normal, routine, the way he always moved through the shop like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. “Same time next week?” he said. It wasn’t really a question.

“Sure,” you said.

In the main shop, Hana was sitting on the counter watching Jake explain the difference between traditional and neo-traditional tattooing with the energy of someone who had found religion. Jay was watching this with profound satisfaction. When you came back out Hana looked at you and then at Riki behind you and then at you again. “We should go,” you said.

“Should we,” Hana said.

“Yes.”

“Jake was just explaining—”

“Hana.” She got up, reluctantly, and said goodbye to Jake in a way that suggested she was also going to be back before four weeks. Jake watched her go with an expression that Riki clocked and then looked away from like he hadn’t seen it.

At the door you turned back. Riki was at the counter, already on his phone, or pretending to be. “Thanks for the helix,” you said.

“Anytime.” He didn’t look up. “Wednesday?”

“Wednesday,” you said. Jay made a noise. Riki didn’t look at him. You pushed the door open and the cold air hit you and behind you you heard Jay say, quiet and satisfied to no one in particular: “Regular.”

The Wednesday visits became a thing. Not every week, sometimes every ten days, but consistent enough that Jay started having your coffee order ready. Consistent enough that Jake stopped looking surprised when you walked in. Consistent enough that Heeseung, who said little and noticed everything, started nodding at you when you arrived like you’d passed some quiet assessment he’d been running.

Riki never texted first. You did sometimes — nothing significant, a meme about piercings, a question about aftercare that you probably knew the answer to. He always replied. Never with much. But always.

The counter between you was becoming a problem. Not the physical one — the metaphorical one. The distance that was exactly the right size for this isn’t anything yet and felt increasingly inadequate for what was actually happening in the space between you every Wednesday afternoon. He looked at you like you were a decision he’d already made. You were starting to think you had too.

Daniel texted on a Thursday.

Daniel: hey, haven’t seen you around much. you ok?

You stared at it. You and Daniel had two seminars together and a loose group chat and approximately nothing else, and this was the third text this week.

you: yeah all good, just busy

Daniel: we should get coffee sometime

you: I’m pretty slammed rn, sorry

You thought nothing of it. You mentioned it to Riki the following Wednesday — offhand, in the middle of a conversation about something else, not thinking. “This guy in my seminar keeps texting,” you said. “It’s starting to get annoying.”

Riki was writing something on the appointment book. His pen slowed.“What guy?” he said.

“Daniel. We’re in the same module. He keeps asking for coffee.” Riki’s pen stopped. You looked up. His face was the same — neutral, easy — but something had shifted underneath it. Something had gone very still in the specific way of a thing that was actively being held still.

“You said no?” he said.

“Obviously. I’m not interested.”

A pause. He looked back at the appointment book. Wrote something. “Good,” he said.

Just that. Good. You looked at him for a second. “Riki.”

“Hm.”

“Are you—”

“Helix check,” he said, and stood up from the stool. You let him redirect you. Sat in the chair. Let him check the helix he’d fixed two weeks ago and didn’t need to check again. His hands were as steady as they always were. His voice was as even.

But when you looked at him in the mirror his jaw was set in a way it wasn’t usually and his eyes, when they met yours in the reflection, had something in them that was more than the usual warm certainty. Something that looked a lot like mine with nowhere to go yet. You looked away first. Neither of you said anything about it.

Daniel was waiting outside your seminar on Tuesday. Not accidentally. He was leaning on the wall opposite the door with his phone out, and when you came through he pushed off and fell into step beside you like it was coordinated, like he’d timed it. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” You kept walking.

“Good seminar?”

“It was fine.”

“I thought Professor Kim made a good point about the—”

“Daniel.” You stopped. Turned to face him. He was decent looking, objectively — tall, friendly face, the kind of guy who probably did well in situations where persistence read as flattering. “What’s going on?”

He smiled. Easy, practiced. “I was thinking we could grab that coffee.”

“I said I was slammed.”

“You’re not slammed right now.”

“I have somewhere to be.”

“Where?”

You looked at him. “That’s not really—”

“I’ll walk you,” he said. Like that was a reasonable response. Like the answer to I have somewhere to be was I’ll come.

“Daniel.” You kept your voice even. “I appreciate it but I’m not interested. Okay? Not trying to be harsh, just being clear.”

Something moved across his face — not anger, more like recalibration, like he was filing this away as a temporary obstacle. “Maybe just as friends,” he said.

“I’m good. Thanks though.” You walked away. Heard him say something behind you — see you Thursday — and didn’t respond. You texted Ria about it on the bus.

you: the Daniel thing is getting annoying

Ria: what happened?

you: he waited outside my seminar

Ria: ew

you: I told him straight I’m not interested

Ria: good. are you telling riki?

You stared at that.

you: why would I tell riki??

Ria: because you tell riki everything now??

you: I do not tell riki everything

Ria: you told him about your mum’s cat

you: that came up naturally and I’m not telling him, it’s not a big deal

You put your phone in your bag. You didn’t tell him.

Wednesday came and you sat at the counter with your coffee and talked about other things — Hana and Jake’s ongoing situation, which was developing at a glacial pace that was driving Ria insane. A new flash piece Heeseung had drawn that you’d been looking at for twenty minutes when you came in. Whether you should get a second tragus on the other ear. “Yes,” Riki said, without hesitation.

“That’s a very immediate answer.”

“It’s an obvious answer.” He looked at your ears, both sides, that assessing look. “Symmetrical double tragus. Come in next week.”

“Maybe I want to think about it.”

“You don’t need to think about it.”

“Riki.”

“You came in drunk wanting a tragus piercing,” he said. “You knew then. You know now.”

You looked at him. He looked back with the patience of someone who was completely certain and was willing to wait for you to catch up. “Fine,” you said.

He smiled. “Next week,” he said.

The following Tuesday Daniel was outside your seminar again. This time you saw him before he saw you and you changed direction, took the long way to the exit, added seven minutes to your walk. Small, manageable.

On Thursday he was in the coffee queue behind you. “Coincidence,” he said, and smiled at you, and you smiled back tightly and paid for your coffee and left.

On Friday he messaged. Again.

Daniel: hey saw you in the queue yesterday, why’d you leave so fast?

You didn’t reply. And he messaged again on Saturday.

Daniel: did I do something wrong?

You showed it to Ria over the phone that night. She was quiet for a second. “He’s not taking the hint,” she said.

“I didn’t hint. I said directly I wasn’t interested.”

“Then he’s not taking the direct statement.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. “Tell Riki.”

“Ria—”

“Y/N I’m serious, tell—”

“It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“I know you can handle it, that’s not the—” She stopped. “Just tell him. You know you want to.” You didn’t answer that.

Wednesday came around, you’d been at the counter for forty minutes. Jay had come and gone twice. Jake had shown Hana something on his phone that made her laugh and Riki had looked at that for approximately one second before very deliberately looking elsewhere.

You were mid-sentence about something — your dissertation, probably, you’d been complaining about your dissertation — when the door opened.

Sunghoon came in from his afternoon off, still in his jacket, unwinding his scarf. He was unfairly attractive and moved through the shop like he knew it, dropping his bag behind the counter and immediately coming over to where you were sitting. “Y/N.” He leaned on the counter beside Riki’s stool, friendly, easy. “How’s the tragus?”

“Good.” You touched it briefly. “Riki’s doing the other side next week.”

“Nice. You should let me draw something for you. Little custom piece, just here—” he touched his own collarbone— “would suit you.”

“Yeah?”

“Hundred percent.” He looked at Riki. “Right?” Riki was looking at his phone. “Riki,” Sunghoon said.

“Hm.” He didn’t look up. Sunghoon looked at you with a small what’s his problem expression. You looked back with a I genuinely don’t know expression.

You talked to Sunghoon for twenty more minutes. He was easy to talk to — funny, straightforward, the kind of person who filled a room without trying. He showed you his portfolio on his phone, talked you through a couple of pieces, asked about your university course with actual interest.

Riki stayed on his stool. He wasn’t on his phone. You could tell because you kept looking over and the screen was dark. He was just sitting there in the specific stillness of something being actively held in place, forearms on the desk, jaw set. When Sunghoon went to the back to change into his work clothes you turned to Riki. “What’s wrong with you?” you said.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve said four words in the last twenty minutes.”

“I’ve been busy.”

You looked at the dark phone screen. Looked at him. “Riki.”

“I’m fine.” He finally looked at you. His face was even, controlled, the expression he wore when he was putting effort into the expression. “You want more coffee?”

“No.” You kept your voice low. Jay and Jake were across the room but still. “Talk to me.”

Something moved behind his eyes. For a second you thought he was going to — actually going to, drop whatever this was and say it. His jaw shifted. His eyes moved over your face and then away. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”

“Riki—”

“Forget it, Y/N.” Quiet. Final. Not angry — worse, flat. Decided.

You looked at him for a long moment. He looked at the counter. You picked up your bag. “I’m going to head,” you said.

He looked up then. Quick, like he hadn’t expected it. “You don’t have to—”

“I have stuff to do.” You stood up. Your voice was even, you’d made sure of it. “I’ll see you next week for the tragus.”

“Y/N—”

“Bye, Riki.” You said goodbye to Jay on the way out. Waved at Jake. Pushed the door open into the cold.

Behind you, through the glass, you heard Jay say something. Heard Riki’s voice, short and clipped. Didn’t hear the words. You walked to the bus stop and stared at the road and felt something hot and frustrated sitting in your chest that you didn’t have a clean name for.

He texted at nine that night.

Riki: I’m sorry about today

You stared at it.

Riki: I get like that sometimes. I don’t like it.

Another one, a minute later.

Riki: It wasn’t about Sunghoon. It wasn’t about you.

Riki: ok it was about Sunghoon.

You sat on your bed with your phone in your hand and read that three times.

you: do you want to tell me what “getting like that” means??

A pause. Longer than his usual response time.

Riki: Not over text. Wednesday?

you: yeah

you: Riki, Sunghoon was just being friendly

Riki: I know. I know that. It doesn’t always

The message cut off. Like he’d deleted the end of it and sent what was left.

Riki: Wednesday. I’ll explain.

Riki: night Y/N

You got there at three. Jay handed you your coffee without being asked and then found somewhere else to be, which meant Riki had said something to him beforehand, which meant he’d been thinking about this. Riki was at the counter. He looked up when you came in and the usual ease wasn’t fully there — not gone, just quieter, like he’d dialed something back. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” You sat down. Wrapped both hands around the coffee. “So.”

“So.” He exhaled. Looked at the counter for a second, then at you. “I get possessive.” He said it straight. No build up, no softening — just put it on the counter between you like something he’d decided you should see.

“Okay,” you said.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s not — I’m not trying to make it your problem. I know Sunghoon wasn’t doing anything. I know you weren’t doing anything. It just—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “It sits wrong. Someone else in your space. Being the thing making you laugh.”

You looked at him. His eyes were on the counter, which was unusual — Riki who held eye contact through everything. “Has it always been like that?” you said.

“Yeah.” Simple. “Better than it used to be.”

“What was it like before?”

He looked up. “Worse.” A pause. “I dealt with it badly. I’m not—” He stopped again. “I’m not like that anymore. I don’t act on it. But I feel it and sometimes it makes me go quiet and disappear into my own head and that’s not fair to you.”

You sat with that. “Why are you telling me this?” you said.

He held your gaze. “Because you asked.”

“People don’t always answer when you ask.”

“I know.” Something in his face. “You should know what you’re—” He stopped himself again, and you heard the end of that sentence clearly even without the words. What you’re getting into. What I am.

“Riki,” you said. “If Sunghoon had been doing something—” You held his eyes. “Or anyone. I’d handle it. That’s not— I’m not someone who needs protecting from other people’s attention.”

“I know that.”

“But I’m also not—” You paused. Chose the words. “I’m not interested in other people’s attention. Okay? That’s just—” You shrugged. “That’s just where I’m at.”

The silence that followed had weight to it. Riki looked at you. Really looked — the way he did sometimes, like he was reading something underneath the surface of what you’d said, like he was checking if you meant it.You meant it. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” you said.

He exhaled. Something in his shoulders dropped slightly — barely visible, but there. “Tragus,” he said.

“Tragus,” you agreed. He stood up from the stool. And as he passed behind the counter his hand came down briefly on yours where it rested on the surface — just for a second, just his fingers over your knuckles, warm and solid — and then he was moving through to the piercing section and the moment was gone.

You sat there for a second. Then you followed him. Across the room Jay looked at Heeseung in the doorway of his office. Heeseung looked back. Neither of them said anything.

It happened on a Friday. Not a Wednesday. Not planned. You’d come in with Hana at five because she’d finally committed to a small piece on her ankle and wanted moral support, and by the time Jake was finishing up the linework the shop had emptied out — Sunghoon’s last client gone, Jay heading out with his jacket half on, Heeseung locking his office with his keys already in his hand. “You good to close?” Heeseung said to Riki.

“Yeah.” Riki was wiping down the front counter. “Go.” Heeseung looked at you. Brief, unreadable. Looked back at Riki. Said nothing and left. Jay pointed finger guns at you on his way out. You ignored him.

Jake finished Hana’s piece at half past six. She sat up and looked at it in the mirror with the expression of someone who had just made a very good decision, and then she looked at you and at Riki and made a different kind of decision entirely. “I’ll get a cab,” she said.

“I’ll come,” you said.

“You don’t have to.” Serene. Innocent. Absolutely deliberate. “I’m fine on my own.”

“Hana—”

“I’ll text you when I’m home.” She hugged you, said goodbye to Jake, said goodbye to Riki with a smile that communicated volumes, and then she was gone and Jake was heading out behind her and the door swung shut and the shop was quiet.

Just you and Riki. He was at the front counter. You were near the piercing section. The red light was low and the playlist had shifted to something slower, something with bass underneath it, and the flash art on the walls looked different when there was no one else here — more intimate, like the shop had exhaled. “You can head,” Riki said. He wasn’t looking at you. Wiping the counter, routine.

“I know,” you said.

You didn’t move. He stopped wiping. The silence lasted four seconds. You counted. Then he looked up. The expression on his face wasn’t the smirk. Wasn’t the work focus. It was something stripped back — something that had been running underneath everything for weeks and was apparently done waiting. “Y/N,” he said. Low.

“Yeah,” you said. Like you were answering a question he hadn’t asked yet.

He put the cloth down. He came around the counter and crossed the floor and he didn’t stop until he was right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly, and his hand came up to your jaw — not grabbing, just his fingers along the side of your face, tilting you toward him — and he looked at you for one more second like he was making absolutely sure.

Whatever he saw made his mind up. He kissed you and it was nothing like the slow build you’d been expecting — it was immediate, certain, his mouth on yours like he’d been thinking about it for weeks because he had been, and you got your hands into his shirt and kissed him back and the sound he made low in his throat did something catastrophic to your ability to think.

His hands moved — jaw, then your waist, pulling you in until there was no space left between you — and you felt the rings on his fingers through the fabric of your top and his body was solid and warm and there, fully there, nothing held back.

You bit his lower lip without planning to. He pulled back half an inch. His eyes were dark, his breathing had changed, and he looked at you with an expression that rearranged something in your chest. “Do that again,” he said quietly, “and we’re not stopping.”

“Good,” you said. And you did it again. He walked you back until your shoulders hit the wall beside the piercing partition — not rough, controlled, one hand flat against the wall beside your head and the other at your waist, and he kissed you deeper this time, slower, like he had you exactly where he wanted and wasn’t in any rush now that he did.

His tongue — god, his tongue, the bar was there and present and you felt it and made a sound into his mouth that you would have been embarrassed about if his hand hadn’t tightened on your waist the second you did it. “There it is,” he said against your mouth.

“Shut up,” you breathed.

“You’ve been thinking about it.” Not a question. His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, unhurried. “Since I told you.”

“Riki—”

“Yes,” he said, quoting you back to yourself, and you felt him smile against your throat.

“You’re so—”

“I know.” He pulled back to look at you. His hair was slightly wrecked, his eyes were very dark, and he looked at you with the kind of focus he usually reserved for his work — total, precise, like you were something he intended to get exactly right. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to stop talking,” you said.

“No you don’t.” He was right. You didn’t.

“I want—” You stopped. His thumb had found the hem of your top, tracing the skin at your waist, barely moving, just there. Your brain was doing something unhelpful. “I want you to keep going.”

“Keep going,” he repeated. Like he was logging it. “That’s not very specific.”

“Riki.”

“I want to hear you say it.” His voice had dropped, lower than usual, and there was something in it — not a demand exactly, more like an invitation with weight behind it, like he already knew and wanted you to catch up. “Tell me.”

You looked at him. He looked back, steady, patient, his thumb still tracing that small arc at your waist.

“I’ve wanted you for weeks,” you said. “You know that.”

“I know.” He leaned in, his mouth at your ear. “I wanted to hear you say it.” His hands moved — both of them, finding the hem of your top, sliding underneath to your bare waist, warm palms spreading across your skin — and you exhaled shakily and his mouth came back to yours and the patience dissolved.

Somewhere on the walk from the counter to the wall you got his shirt off and you put your hands on his chest and then his stomach and then lower and found the waistband of his jeans and his breath caught — actually caught, an involuntary thing, the first crack in the steady control — and you looked up at him.

His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark and fixed on your face. “Keep going,” he said. His own words back. Low and rough. You undid his jeans. Your hand found him and he was — there was a Jacob’s ladder — you stopped. He watched your face process it.

“Riki,” you said.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough now, the evenness wearing thin at the edges.

“When were you going to—”

“When it came up.”

“It’s come up.”

“It has,” he agreed, and something in his expression was almost amused except he was too far gone for amused, too focused, his hands gripping your waist with more pressure than before. “Still want to keep going?”

You looked at him. “Are you serious right now.”

He laughed — real, brief, surprised out of him — and then his forehead dropped to yours and you felt him exhale and then his mouth was on yours again and the laughing was done. Your jacket off your shoulders and it hit the floor and his mouth was on your throat before it landed — open, hot, his tongue against your pulse point and the piercing bar cool against your skin and you made a sound that echoed off the black walls. “Riki—”

“I know.” His hands were at the hem of your top, shoving it up, impatient in a way that cracked the usual control wide open. “Off.”

You got it off and his hands were on your tits and his mouth came back to yours.

He walked you back into the wall beside the piercing partition — not slow, not careful, just direct — and pinned you there with his body and his hands were everywhere and yours were too and it was nothing like the slow careful thing you’d half imagined. It was desperate. Both of you. Weeks of it.

“You have no idea,” he said against your jaw, your throat, lower, his mouth on your collarbone, “how long I’ve—” He stopped. His teeth grazed your skin. “Fuck.”

“Tell me,” you breathed.

“Since you walked in here in that dress,” he said into your skin. “Since you leaned on my counter and looked at me like that. I’ve been—” His hands found your jeans, the button, the zip. “Since then.” He shoved your jeans down your hips and you kicked them off and his hand pushed between your thighs and found your pussy through the thin fabric still there and pressed and your hips rolled forward hard.

“There,” he said. Low, rough, satisfied. “There you are.” His fingers moved — slow, deliberate, feeling the heat of you through the fabric — and he looked at your face while he did it. Watching. Taking everything. “Soaked already,” he said. “Were you like this the whole time?”

“Don’t—” you started.

“You were.” He pushed the fabric aside and his fingers touched your folds directly and you choked on a breath. The rings were cold, the contrast of it shocking and good and — “Riki—”

“Good girl,” he said quietly. Like it meant something. Like you’d done something right just by responding to him. His fingers moved through your folds and found your clit and you grabbed his shoulders and held on. “So wet. So fucking — look at you.”

“Please—”

“Please what.” His fingers kept moving, unhurried despite everything, despite the fact that you could feel how much he wanted this — felt it against your hip, hard, his own breathing gone ragged at the edges. “Say it.”

“I need—”

“Say it, Y/N.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you said. “Now, Riki, please—” He made a sound low in his throat and his fingers disappeared and he was shoving his own jeans down, just enough, barely, one hand braced on the wall beside your head — and then he looked at you, dark eyes and wrecked hair and jaw set hard.

“Here?” he said. Rough. “Right here?”

“Yes—”

His hand found your pussy again, two fingers pushing inside, testing, and you made an embarrassing sound and he groaned at the feel of you — “fuck you’re—” — and then his fingers were gone and he was there, the head of his cock at your entrance, and you hooked your leg over his hip. He pushed in. Both of you went still. His forehead dropped to yours. Your nails were in his shoulders. The Jacob’s ladder — you felt every single one and your mouth fell open and you heard him exhale shakily above you. “Riki—”

“I know.” His voice was barely there. “I know, just — fuck — just give me a second—”

“Don’t stop,” you said. “Don’t stop, keep—”

He moved. There was nothing controlled about it. That was the thing — Riki who was steady and certain and always in possession of himself — gone. Completely. He fucked you against the wall with his jeans half down and yours on the floor and his rings cold against your thigh where he’d hooked your leg higher and the bar of his tongue in his teeth when he looked at you and it was overwhelming, the closeness of it, the sound of it in the empty shop.

“Good,” he said, rough and low, his hips rolling into you, setting a pace that had your head dropping back against the wall. “Good girl, just like — yeah, just like that—”

“More—”

“Yeah?” He shifted his angle and you cried out and he did it again, deliberate, watching your face. “There?”

“Yes — yes, don’t stop—”

“I’ve got you.” His mouth found your throat. “I’ve got you, you’re doing so — fuck, Y/N, you feel—” He broke off. His rhythm stuttered and recovered. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

The praise landed somewhere it had no business landing, warm and devastating, and your hips were moving to meet him and your clit was grinding against him with every thrust and you were already… “Riki I’m going to—”

“Do it,” he said immediately. “Cum for me. Come on.” His hand moved between you and his thumb found your clit and pressed and you shattered — your whole body going taut, his name in your mouth, your nails breaking skin on his shoulders — and he fucked you through it, relentless, not letting up—

“That’s it,” he said against your ear, rough and wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, god you’re—” He followed you over the edge not long after — his rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his forehead hard against the wall beside your head — and the sound he made when he came was low and helpless and you felt it everywhere.

There was silence that followed apart from the playlist over the shop speakers. The red light under the door still illuminated. Both of you still against the wall like butter of you planned to move soon, his weight partly on you and partly on his arm and neither of you in any hurry to fix that.

Your leg slid down from his hip. He pulled back enough to look at your face. His hair was completely wrecked. His mouth was slightly swollen. He looked at you with an expression that had nothing performed in it — just open, just him, something that hadn’t had a name all this time and still didn’t quite yet. “Hi,” he said.

You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. He smiled — the real one, the one that changed his whole face — and pressed it briefly into your hair.

You found the back room couch eventually. His shirt on your shoulders. The rings back on his fingers because he’d put them on out of habit and then looked at his own hands like he hadn’t noticed himself doing it. You lay on your back. He sat with his back against the couch, forearm on his knee, looking at the floor. “So,” you said.

“So,” he said.

“What happens now?” you said.

He was quiet for a moment. “What do you want?”

You thought about the card in your bag. The Wednesdays. The way he’d looked at you across the counter every single time like you were a decision he’d already made. “I don’t know yet,” you said. Honest.

“Okay,” he said. Easy. No pressure in it. His hand found yours in the dark. Didn’t make anything of it. Just held on. You stayed on the couch until the playlist rolled over twice. At some point the I don’t know yet became irrelevant because his mouth found your throat again and his hands were back under his shirt on your skin and the question got buried under something more immediate.

You left at nine. He walked you to the door. Held it open, leaned in the frame. The cold air hit you and you turned back. He looked wrecked and unbothered about it. Shirt on, jeans done up, rings on every finger. Hair a disaster. Looking at you with that expression — the settled one, the certain one. “Wednesday,” he said. You nodded.

Neither of you said anything about what it was. That was the agreement, unspoken, the way most things between you and Riki were unspoken. You came in on Wednesdays. Sometimes other days. Sometimes he texted at ten at night — nothing explicit, just you up or studio’s empty — and you went, and nobody named what that meant. It worked. Mostly.

The sex was — there wasn’t a word for it that didn’t sound inadequate. Compulsive was close. Inevitable was closer. Like once the wall had come down neither of you had any interest in rebuilding it, like your bodies had been having a conversation for months and were now just speaking plainly.

He learned you fast. Faster than anyone had. What made you gasp versus what made you come apart completely. The difference between what you asked for and what you actually wanted. He paid attention the way he paid attention to everything — totally, precisely — and used it with a focus that should have been illegal.

You learned him too. That the control was real but thin in the right circumstances. That his jaw set right before it cracked. That he made sounds he didn’t seem to know he was making. That he said your name differently when he was close — shorter, sharper, like he didn’t have room for the full shape of it. That he always, always pulled you back when you tried to move away after. Not possessive. Just — unwilling to let the warmth go yet. You were trying very hard not to think about what that meant.

Three weeks after the first time, on a Tuesday night, you were in the back room of Studio 13 with Riki’s shirt on the floor and your jeans somewhere near the door and his mouth on your throat and his hand between your thighs and the playlist coming through the walls and everything was fine, everything was exactly what it was, unnamed and manageable —

And then he said I’ve got you in that low rough voice right against your ear and something in your chest did a thing it wasn’t supposed to do. You filed it away. Dealt with it later. Later didn’t come because he did something with his tongue that made later completely irrelevant.

Wednesday afternoon. Counter. Coffee. Normal. Easy. The same as it had always been except for the part where it wasn’t because now you knew exactly what his hands felt like and what sounds he made and what his face looked like when the composure cracked and sitting on the other side of a counter from him in the middle of the afternoon was — a different experience than it used to be.

He was telling you something about a client — complicated custom piece, back and forth for weeks on the design — and you were listening and also watching his hands move when he talked, the rings catching the light, and thinking about those hands on your waist last night and… “Y/N.”

You looked up. He was looking at you with the quiet knowing expression. “I was listening,” you said.

“You weren’t.”

“I was. Custom piece. Back and forth on the design. Client keeps changing their mind.”

He tilted his head slightly. The corner of his mouth. “What were you thinking about?”

“The flash art.”

“Hm.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms right there, the sleeve on full display, and he looked at you with that unhurried certainty. “You were looking at my hands.”

“I was looking at your rings.”

“Y/N.”

“They’re interesting rings.”

He held your gaze for a long moment. Then he looked down at his hands, turned them over slowly, looked back up at you with an expression that was doing something to your ability to function. “Come back tonight,” he said.

“I was here last night.”

“I know.”

“And the night before.”

“I know.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “Come back tonight.”

You looked at him. “We should probably — this probably shouldn’t be—”

“Probably,” he agreed, like the word meant nothing.

“Riki.”

“Tonight, Y/N.”

You looked at your coffee. At him. At the rings on his hands that you had been thinking about and were now not admitting to thinking about. “Fine,” you said.

He picked up his own coffee. Satisfied. Like there had never been any other outcome. From across the shop Jay said nothing. He had learned, over the past three weeks, that saying things got him absolutely nowhere and had adapted accordingly. He simply made eye contact with Sunghoon across the room and they had an entire conversation without words.

That night after Studio 13 closed, which had become its own specific thing — the red light, the quiet, the shop breathing differently when it was empty. Riki had barely locked the front door before you were crossing the floor toward him and his expression when he turned around and saw you moving like that— “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” You reached him. Your hands went to his chest, his jaw, pulling him down, and he came without resistance, his hands finding your waist immediately, already knowing where to go.

He kissed you slow this time. Deliberately slow, like he was making a point, like the urgency of the last few weeks had shifted into something that wanted to take its time. That was somehow worse. “Riki,” you said against his mouth.

“Hm.”

“Stop going slow.”

“No.” He kissed your jaw. Your throat. Slow and deliberate, his hands sliding under your top to your bare waist. “I spent all afternoon thinking about this.”

“So did I, that’s why—”

“That’s why we’re taking our time.” His mouth at your collarbone. “I want to—” A pause. His lips against your skin. “I want to take you apart properly. Not fast.”

Your hands tightened in his hair. “That’s not fair,” you said.

“No,” he agreed, and kept going. He got your top off and looked at you in the low light the way he always did — that slow, unapologetic assessment that moved over you like you were worth looking at carefully — and then his mouth found your tits and your head fell back.

His tongue. The bar of it, cool and present, circling your nipple, and you made a sound and his hands tightened on your waist. “Good girl,” he said against your skin. “Just like that.”

“Riki—”

“I’ve got you.” He moved to the other side, same slow attention, his hands holding your waist like you might float away. “I’ve got you, just — yeah, just feel it.” You were going to lose your mind. Your hands found his shirt and he let you get it off and then he was walking you back to the couch in the back room and laying you down and looking at you from above with dark eyes and that expression — the open one, the one that had no performance in it.

He got your jeans off slow. His hands running down your thighs as he pulled them, his mouth following, pressing to your hip, the inside of your knee, and by the time he got back up to your folds you were already soaked. “Riki, please—”

“Please what.” His breath against your inner thigh. Close, not close enough.

“Please—”

“Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed your folds, barely, just the suggestion of pressure. “Tell me.”

“Your mouth,” you said. “Please, your mouth—” He gave it to you. The bar of his tongue against your clit and you grabbed the back of the couch and held on. He ate your pussy like he had nowhere else to be — thorough, focused, the same attention he gave everything — and the sounds he made against you, low and hungry, like he was getting something from it—

“God—” your hips rolled and his hands held them down, firm, keep still, and the loss of control of that made it worse in the best way. “Riki I’m — don’t stop, don’t—”

“Not stopping,” he said against your clit. “Cum for me. Come on.”

You did. He worked you through it until you were pulling at his hair telling him too much, too much and he pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh and came back up your body and looked at your face with an expression that was — satisfied wasn’t the right word. Reverent was closer, which was a thing you were absolutely not processing right now. “Good girl,” he said quietly.

“Stop calling me that,” you said, breathless.

“No,” he said simply, and kissed you.

When he finally pushed inside you both exhaled like something had been solved. Slow, this time. Deep. His forehead against yours, his arms bracketing you, his rings cool against the side of your face where his hand was. “Okay?” he said.

“Yeah.” Your voice wasn’t working right. “Yeah, keep — please keep going.”

He moved. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that had you feeling every ridge of the ladder on every stroke and your mouth kept falling open and he watched it happen. “You feel it,” he said. Low, not a question.

“Yes—”

“Good.” His hips rolled deeper and you gasped. “That’s good, you’re so — fuck, Y/N—” His composure was fraying at the edges, the rhythm getting less controlled. “You take me so well. Every time. Like you were—” He stopped himself.

You looked up at him. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, something moving behind them that he’d just pulled back from saying. “Like I was what,” you said.

He looked at you. For a second — just a second — something was right there on his face, unguarded, something that went past the physical and landed somewhere neither of you had named yet. He kissed you instead of answering.

You let him. Filed it away. Pulled him closer and let the question dissolve into the drag and heat of him moving inside you and his mouth on yours and his hand sliding between you to find your clit— “Riki—”

“I know,” he said. “I know, come on, cum for me again, you can—”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” His thumb on your clit, his cock deep, his voice at your ear. “You can, good girl, come on, let me feel you—” You came with his name in your mouth and your whole body shaking and he followed you with his face pressed into your throat and the sound he made was low and broken and yours.

After his thumb moving slow at your hip. The ceiling. The playlist. You were thinking about like you were— and what came after it. You were thinking about I’ve got you and how he said it every time, always, like a reflex, like something that came from somewhere deeper than the moment.

You were thinking about the fact that you knew what his laugh sounded like — the real one, the surprised one — and that you’d been collecting these things without meaning to and the collection was getting heavy. “Riki,” you said.

“Hm.”

“What are we doing.”

Silence. His thumb stopped moving. Then, carefully: “What do you want to be doing.”

You stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

He was quiet for a long moment. You could feel him thinking — that specific quality of his silences, weighted, considering. “I’m not good at this part,” he said.

“What part.”

“The—” A pause. “Saying things.”

“You say things to me all the time.”

“Not these things.”

You turned your head to look at him. He was looking at the ceiling, jaw slightly tight, the expression of someone navigating something carefully. “What things,” you said quietly.

He turned his head. Your faces close in the dim light. His eyes moved over yours. “I don’t want you going anywhere,” he said. Finally. Quietly. “That’s — that’s what I’ve got right now.”

It wasn’t everything. You both knew it wasn’t everything. But it was Riki, who didn’t say things, saying a thing, and it landed with the weight of something much larger behind it.“Okay,” you said.

“Okay,” he said. His thumb started moving again. You looked back at the ceiling. The unnamed thing stayed unnamed. But it was there, in the room with you, and you both knew it.

The thing about not naming something was that it didn’t stop it from being a thing. It just meant you had no language for it when it started to matter. Four weeks into whatever this was, Ria staged an intervention.

Not a dramatic one — she didn’t have people over or make a presentation, she just showed up at your flat on a Saturday morning with coffee and pastries and sat across from you at your kitchen table with the expression of someone who had been patient for a very long time and was cashing that in now. “Talk,” she said.

“About what.”

“Y/N.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ria.”

“I want you to say what’s happening with Riki.”

You picked up your coffee. “We’re—”

“If you say friends I’m leaving and taking the pastries.”

You put your coffee down. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it? Or is it simple and you’re making it complicated because you’re scared?”

You looked at her. She looked back with the patience of someone who had known you for six years and had seen every version of your avoidance. “We haven’t put a name on it,” you said.

“Why not.”

“Because—” You stopped. Because he’d said I don’t want you going anywhere and you’d said okay and neither of you had pushed past that. Because every Wednesday and every late night felt like building something and neither of you would say what you were building. “It’s working the way it is.”

“Is it.”

“Yes.”

“You like him.”

“Obviously.”

“Like like him.”

“Ria—”

“Y/N.” She leaned forward. “You went back to that shop every week for two months before anything happened. You know his coffee order, his schedule, what makes him laugh. You’ve met his friends. He checks your piercings as an excuse to be close to you.” She paused. “That’s not complicated. That’s you being terrified.”

You stared at the table. “He’s not easy to read,” you said. Finally.

“He gave you his personal card the night he met you,” Ria said. “Heeseung told me he’d never done that before.”

“When did you talk to Heeseung?”

“Jake texts me sometimes.”

“Jake texts you.”

“That’s not the point.” She pushed a pastry toward you. “The point is that boy is absolutely gone for you and you both keep dancing around it and it’s making everyone at Studio 13 insane, apparently.”

“Everyone?”

“Jay’s exact words were if they don’t sort it out soon I’m locking them in the back room.”

You put your face in your hands. “I don’t know how to do this with him,” you said, muffled. “He doesn’t say things. I don’t push. We just—”

“So say something first,” Ria said simply. “You’re not someone who waits, Y/N. That’s not you. You’re doing it because you’re scared he won’t say it back.” You lifted your face. Said nothing. She was right and you both knew it.

You didn’t say anything that Wednesday. You came close — sitting at the counter, coffee in hand, Riki talking about something, his rings on the desk, his eyes finding yours every few sentences the way they always did — and the words were right there, and you looked at his face, and you thought about Ria’s voice saying terrified, and you said nothing. He looked at you at one point like he knew something was moving behind your eyes. “What,” he said.

“Nothing.” You smiled. “Keep going.” He held your gaze for a second. Let it go.

The following Saturday Sunghoon texted you. Not unusual — you’d exchanged numbers for shop-related things, flash piece ideas, scheduling. He was easy to talk to, straightforward, the kind of person whose texts read exactly like his voice.

Sunghoon: hey, you said you were thinking about a collarbone piece right

you: yeah still thinking

Sunghoon: I drew something. wanna see

He sent a photo. Small, delicate, blackwork — something botanical, two thin stems crossing, minimal and precise. It was exactly your taste and you had no idea how he’d known that.

you: sunghoon this is gorgeous

Sunghoon: right? come in monday, I’ll show you the full size version. riki’s off monday so it’ll be quiet

you: sounds good, see you then

You didn’t think anything of it. Sunghoon was your friend. He’d drawn something for you. You were going to look at it. You didn’t mention it to Riki because there was nothing to mention.

Monday the shop was quieter without Riki in it, which was a thing you noticed and filed away as information you didn’t love having. Sunghoon had the drawing laid out on the counter when you arrived — full size, done properly on transfer paper, and it was even better than the photo. You stood over it with him pointing out the details, his hand close to yours on the paper, talking through placement and sizing and whether to add a third stem.

Jay was pretending to do something at the other counter.bHeeseung was in his office with the door open. “Here,” Sunghoon said, and pressed the transfer paper lightly to your collarbone to show you the placement. His hand steadied it against your skin, professional, and you looked in the mirror and thought yes, that was exactly right. Your phone lit up on the counter.

Riki: you at the shop?

You looked at it. Jay looked at it. Sunghoon didn’t see it.

you: yeah, sunghoon drew something for me. just looking at placement

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Riki: k

One letter.

Riki: looks good?

you: really good actually. he’s talented

The dots again. Then nothing. No reply. You put your phone down. Sunghoon was still talking about the third stem. You looked at the transfer in the mirror and tried to pay attention and felt something uneasy settle in your chest.

Riki was at the counter when you arrived Wednesday. You knew within ten seconds that something was wrong. Not visibly wrong — he looked the same, said hey the same, had your coffee ready the same. But his eyes when they met yours were flatter than usual. The warmth was there but dimmed, like something had been turned down. You sat. Picked up your coffee. “How was your day off?” you said.

“Fine.” He was looking at his phone.

“Did you do anything?”

“Not much.” Jay appeared from the back, clocked the atmosphere in approximately two seconds, and disappeared again.

You watched Riki scroll his phone. His jaw was set. Not dramatically — just tight, controlled, the way it got when he was holding something still. “Riki,” you said.

“Hm.”

“Look at me.” He looked up. The flat quality was more visible face to face. Something was moving behind his eyes that he was keeping on a very short leash. “What’s wrong?” you said.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve said twelve words since I got here.”

“I’ve been busy.”

You looked at him. He looked back, and you could see the effort of it — the effort of sitting in whatever this was and keeping it even. “Is this about Monday?” you said.

Something shifted in his jaw. “No.”

“Riki.”

“It’s not about Monday.”

“So it is about Monday.”

He put his phone down. Flat on the counter. He looked at you with an expression that was very controlled and also not controlled at all if you knew what to look for, and you knew what to look for now. “You went in on my day off,” he said.

“Sunghoon drew something for me. I told you.”

“I know what you told me.”

“Then what—”

“His hands were on you.” Quiet. Final. Like he’d been sitting on it for two days and it had compacted into something very small and very dense.

You stared at him. “He was showing me placement. For a tattoo. That’s his job.”

“I know that.”

“Then—”

“I know that, Y/N.” His voice was still even but something was pushing at the edges of it. “I know it doesn’t mean anything. I know Sunghoon wasn’t — I know.” He looked at the counter. “It doesn’t stop it feeling—” He stopped.

“Feeling what,” you said. He was quiet for a long moment.

“Wrong,” he said. “It feels wrong. Someone else’s hands on you feels wrong and I don’t know how to make that—” He stopped again. His thumb pressed against the counter. “I’m trying to be rational about it.”

“You went quiet for two days,” you said.

“I know.”

“That’s not — Riki, you can’t just go quiet every time something—”

“I know.” He looked up. His eyes were direct now, no flatness, just the real thing underneath — something frustrated and raw and tired of itself. “I know it’s not fair. I’m telling you I know that. I just—” A breath. “I don’t know how to feel it and not do that. I’m working on it.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You went quiet instead of talking to me,” you said.

“Yes.”

“And you’re telling me now because I pushed.”

“Yes.” He held your gaze. “I would have told you. I just needed to — I needed it to be smaller before I could say it without it being—” He gestured vaguely. “A lot.”

“Is it smaller now?”

“Somewhat.”

You picked up your coffee. Looked at it. Put it down. “You know that there’s nothing—” you started.

“I know.” Immediately. “Y/N, I know. This isn’t about you. This isn’t about Sunghoon. It’s mine, it’s a me thing, and I’m not trying to make it your problem.”

“It becomes my problem when you disappear.”

“I know.” His jaw shifted. “I’m sorry.”

You looked at him. He looked back, steady, the thing behind his eyes open now in the way it only got when he’d pushed past the control on purpose — when he was giving you something deliberately. “Don’t disappear,” you said. “Whatever it is — just say it. To me. Not in your head for two days.”

“Okay,” he said. His hand moved across the counter and covered yours briefly — the rings cool, the weight of his palm familiar. “Okay, Y/N.”

The touch lasted a few seconds. He didn’t make anything of it. Just let it be there and then pulled back. From the back room, completely audibly, Jay said to someone: “finally.”

“Jay,” Riki said flatly.

“I’m just saying—”

“Jay.”

That night, late. He was in your flat, his idea — he’d texted at nine, not you up or studio’s empty but just your name, which was new. He was on your couch with his legs stretched out and his head back and his eyes on your ceiling and you were beside him close enough to feel the warmth of him and neither of you had moved toward the other yet. Just sitting. Existing in the same space. “Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Yeah.”

“The possessiveness.” You kept your voice even. “Where does it come from.”

A pause. He was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer. “Control,” he said finally. “Or — fear of losing it. Things I care about.” His thumb moved against his own knee. “I spent a long time in situations where things got taken. People I — things I couldn’t protect.” He stopped. “I don’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” A pause. “I want to. I just — not yet.”

Not yet. Not never. Not it’s not your business. Not yet meant there was a timeline. Meant he was thinking about it. Meant you were someone he was moving toward telling.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. He went still for a second — surprised, you thought, by the smallness of it, the casualness — and then his head dropped against yours and you felt him exhale. “The collarbone piece,” he said eventually. “Let me do it.”

You lifted your head. Looked at him. “You do tattoos?”

“Heeseung taught me. I’m not on the books for it but—” He met your eyes. “I want to do it. If you want.”

Sunghoon’s drawing. Riki’s hands. “Yeah,” you said. “Okay.”

Something settled in his face. Quiet and satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the smirk. “Okay,” he said.

You put your head back on his shoulder. His arm moved — slow, like he was checking it was allowed — and settled around you. The unnamed thing pressed closer. Neither of you named it. But his arm tightened slightly and you let it, and that was something too.

The collarbone piece took two sessions. Riki had been clear about that upfront — small piece, delicate linework, he wanted to do it right and doing it right meant not rushing. You’d sat in the chair in the back room of Studio 13 on a quiet Tuesday morning with his hands on your collarbone and his face close and his full attention on the work and tried very hard to be normal about it. You were not normal about it. “Stop tensing,” he said, without looking up.

“I’m not tensing.”

“Your shoulder is up by your ear.” You lowered your shoulder. He glanced up briefly — dark eyes, the focus in them softening for just a second when they met yours — and then back down. “First line’s the worst,” he said. “Then you’ll settle.”

“I’ve been tattooed before.”

“Not by me.” He said it simply. Like it was just a fact. Which it was. But the way he said it landed like something more — like not by me was its own category, its own distinct experience, and he was right, as it turned out, because when the needle touched your collarbone the small shock of it dissolved almost immediately into the warmth of his hands steadying you and his voice saying good, just like that, breathe — and you settled.

You watched his face while he worked. This version of him — the work version, focused and quiet and completely present — was one of your favorites. All the usual energy went inward. The smirk was gone, the easy confidence was still there but different, channeled into precision. He moved the machine in small careful arcs and his free hand was always on you, always steadying, always aware of exactly how much pressure to use. “You’re staring,” he said.

“You said that to me once before.”

“You were staring then too.”

“Maybe I just have a specific staring problem.”

The corner of his mouth moved. He didn’t look up. “Maybe you do.”

He kissed you after the session. Not immediately — he’d finished, stepped back, examined the work with that quiet critical eye, declared it good. You’d looked in the mirror and felt something warm move through your chest at the sight of it — the two stems, thin and precise, sitting exactly right on your collarbone. “It’s perfect,” you said.

“I know.” He was already at the sink, washing his hands, and you could hear the smile in it even without seeing his face. You got up from the chair. Crossed the small space between you. And when he turned around you were right there and his expression shifted — from satisfied work-focus to something more personal, more immediate — and you put your hand on his jaw and kissed him.

He kissed you back with his damp hands at your waist, careful not to touch the fresh tattoo, and it was slow and unhurried and tasted like coffee and something that was just him and when you pulled back his eyes stayed closed for a second. Opened. Looked at you. “Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” you said. His thumb moved at your waist. The rings. The warmth of his palms through your shirt.

“Come back Thursday for the second session,” he said.

“I know, you told me.”

“Just making sure.” He kissed you again before you could respond — quick, soft, his mouth on yours for just a moment — and then stepped back and handed you the aftercare sheet and was professional again, mostly, except for the way his eyes followed you to the door.

Thursday’s second session was longer. More detail, more shading on the stems, a small shadow that made the whole thing lift off the skin. You sat in the chair and he worked and you talked — properly talked, the way you did at the counter but quieter, more contained, just the two of you in the partitioned space.

He told you about growing up. Small things — not the things he kept locked, but around the edges of them. A younger brother. Moving schools twice. Being good at things with his hands from early on, carving things, taking things apart to see how they worked. “Is that why the piercing?” you said.

“Partly.” He shifted the machine slightly. “Partly because it’s — immediate. You do it right and you see it right away. No waiting to find out.”

“You like knowing things work.”

He glanced up. “Yeah.”

“Control thing.”

A pause. “Yeah,” he said again, quieter. You let that sit. Didn’t push.

“Tell me something else,” he said, after a moment. Deflecting but not — more like redirecting, like he wanted the conversation to keep going just in a different direction.

So you told him things. About your course, your family, the flat you’d moved into two years ago that still didn’t feel completely yours. The way Ria had been your anchor through everything since you were sixteen. How you’d wanted to study abroad and hadn’t and sometimes still thought about it. “Why didn’t you?” he said.

“Felt like running away from something.”

“Were you?”

You thought about it. “Probably.”

He looked up. His eyes on yours, level. “What were you running from.”

“Someone,” you said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

He held your gaze for a moment. You watched something move through his expression — something careful, something that might have been jealousy at its very distant edges but was mostly just — paying attention. Storing it. Like everything you gave him went somewhere it would be kept.

“Their loss,” he said. Simply. Looked back down. You looked at the top of his head and felt the unnamed thing press against your ribs from the inside.

He finished the piece in two hours. You both looked at it in the mirror — his chin near your shoulder, your reflection side by side — and neither of you said anything for a moment. “Well,” you said.

“Yeah,” he said. It was exactly right. Better than right. The kind of thing that looked like it had always been there, like your skin had been waiting for it.

You turned. He was right there, closer than you’d clocked, and you put both hands on his chest and looked up at him and he looked down at you and the moment expanded slightly. “Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t thank me.”

“Riki—”

“It was for me as much as you,” he said. Quiet. Direct. No smirk in it. “I wanted to put something on you. That’s—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “That’s a me thing. Don’t thank me for it.”

You looked at him. He looked back, steady, and the naked quality of what he’d just said sat between you — I wanted to put something on you — and neither of you moved for a second.

Then you kissed him. Slow, deliberate, your hands spreading on his chest. He made a low sound and his arms came around you — gentle because of the fresh tattoo, careful, his hands at your back instead of your waist — and he kissed you back like he had time, like he wanted to use it.

When you broke apart he kept his forehead against yours. “Stay,” he said. Low. “Tonight. Just—” A pause. “Just stay.”

“Okay,” you said. You ate takeout on the floor of the back room because the couch was small and the floor had more space and Riki sat with his back against the couch and you sat between his legs with your back against his chest and it was so domestically comfortable that it was almost alarming.

He ate with one arm around you. His chin occasionally dropping to your shoulder to look at whatever you were showing him on your phone. His thumb making that small absent arc at your hip that he did when he wasn’t thinking about it.

“Ria thinks we need to define this,” you said, at some point. His arm didn’t tighten. Didn’t loosen. He was quiet for a moment.

“What do you think?” he said.

“I think Ria is right about most things.”

“Hm.” His thumb kept moving. “What would you define it as.”

You turned your head slightly. His face was close — close enough to see the detail of the scar through his eyebrow, the silver of his earring, the way he was looking at you with that careful open expression he only had when there was no one else around. “I don’t know,” you said. “What would you.”

“Mine,” he said. Quiet. Simple. Like it was the most obvious answer.

Your heart did something inconvenient. “That’s very you,” you said.

“Is it wrong?”

You turned back to face forward. His arm around you. The takeout. The red light. “No,” you said. “It’s not wrong.”

You felt him exhale against the back of your head. Slow, like something had released. His lips pressed briefly to your hair. Not a kiss exactly — too soft, too absent, more like a thing he did without deciding to.

You stayed on the floor until midnight. Talked about nothing important. Everything slightly important. He told you Jake was obviously falling for Hana and was handling it terribly, which you already knew, and you told him Ria had started texting Jake directly to speed the process along, which he did not know and which made him laugh — the real one, sudden, surprised. You stored it.

“I should go,” you said eventually. You had a nine AM seminar and the responsible thing—

“Yeah,” he said. Made no move to untangle himself from around you.

“Riki.”

“Five minutes.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“Five more minutes.” You leaned back into him and gave him the five minutes. He pressed his mouth to the side of your head again — that soft, absent thing, lips in your hair — and you closed your eyes and thought about mine and the way he’d said it like it was just the truth.

When you finally stood up he walked you to the door the way he always did. Unlocked it. Held it open. You turned back. He kissed you in the doorway — unhurried, thorough, one hand cupping your jaw and the other flat against the doorframe — and you kissed him back and it went on longer than a goodbye kiss needed to, longer than was practical, until he pulled back and looked at you with dark eyes and slightly wrecked composure.

“Wednesday,” he said. His thumb traced your jaw once before dropping.

“Wednesday,” you said. You made it to the end of the street. You looked back. He was still in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching you go. When he saw you look he didn’t pretend he hadn’t been watching. Just held your gaze across the dark street. You turned back around and smiled at the pavement the whole way to the bus stop.

Heeseung had told everyone to come to his flat for dinner on Saturday — no occasion, just food, just all of them in the same place — and you’d arrived with Ria who had told you she’d been waiting for this invitation for weeks, which meant Jake had told her about it before Riki had told you, which meant something.

Heeseung’s flat was calm and dark-walled like the shop, art everywhere, music at a volume that allowed conversation. Jay was already there and immediately pulled Ria into an argument about something. Jake appeared from the kitchen and the way his face changed when he saw Ria was something you were going to tell Riki about later.

Riki was on the couch. He looked up when you came in and the smile that happened was immediate and unguarded — no performance, no build up, just his face doing the thing it did when you appeared, the thing you didn’t think he knew it did. He moved over without being asked. You sat beside him. Close. His arm went across the back of the couch behind you — not around you, but there, present, the rings near your shoulder.

Sunghoon arrived twenty minutes later and dropped onto the armchair across from you and looked at you both with an expression of great satisfaction. “You two sorted?” he said.

“Sunghoon,” Riki said.

“What? Last month you were—“ He stopped. “I’m just asking—”

“We’re sorted,” you said. Sunghoon grinned. Riki’s arm moved from the back of the couch to actually around your shoulders, like Sunghoon asking had given him permission to stop pretending he wasn’t doing it.

Dinner was loud and easy and everyone talked over everyone and Jay told a story about a client that got more elaborate every time he told it and Ria fit in like she’d always been there and Heeseung sat at the head of the table and said little and watched everything with quiet satisfaction.

After dinner you ended up back on the couch. Riki beside you, your legs across his, his hand resting on your ankle. The conversation had split across the room — Jay and Sunghoon, Ria and Jake in what looked like an increasingly interesting exchange, Heeseung in the kitchen. “You good?” Riki said quietly, just to you.

“Yeah.” You looked at the room. “This is nice.”

“They like you.”

“Jay likes everyone.”

“Heeseung doesn’t,” he said. Simple. “He likes you.”

You looked at him. “How can you tell?”

“He invited you.” He said it like it was obvious. “He doesn’t do this for everyone. He did it because—” A pause. His hand moved slightly on your ankle. “Because you’re—” He stopped.

“Because I’m what,” you said softly.

He looked at you. The room was noisy around you but it felt like it had contracted to just this, just his face and yours and the thing he was about to say. “Important,” he said. Quiet. “Because you’re important.”

Your heart did the inconvenient thing again, harder this time. “Riki,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“That word—”

“I know what word I used.” You looked at him. He looked back, steady, not taking it back, not softening it. Just — sitting in it, the way he sat in most things, patient and certain.

Across the room Jay said something loud and everyone laughed and the moment breathed. Riki’s hand moved from your ankle to your calf. Warm. Present. “Stay tonight,” he said. Low enough that it was only for you. “Not at the shop. Mine.”

His. His flat, which you hadn’t been to, which was a different thing than the back room couch. A different kind of staying. “Yeah,” you said.

He nodded. Looked back at the room. But his hand stayed on your leg and his shoulder was warm against yours and you sat in the important and let it settle into something that felt permanent.

Later, when most people had gone and Ria was helping Heeseung with something in the kitchen and it was just you and Riki by the door putting your jacket on he turned you by the shoulders. Kissed you slowly, his hands on your face, thumbs at your jaw. The kind of kiss that had no agenda, no direction, just wanted to exist. When he pulled back he looked at you for a long moment.

The word boyfriend was right there in the room. Neither of you said it. But his hand found yours and held it, and he didn’t let go the whole way to his flat, and somewhere in the space between mine and important and his fingers between yours on a dark street — the unnamed thing finally had a shape. You just hadn’t said it out loud yet.

His flat was on the third floor of a building that had seen better decades, the kind of place that was held together by good bones and someone who actually cared about the space inside it. You didn’t know what you’d expected.

More of the shop, maybe — dark walls, flash art, the deliberate aesthetic. And there was some of that. Dark furniture, a few framed pieces on the walls, one large canvas above the couch that was either very expensive or done by someone he knew and you suspected the latter. But it was also — lived in, in a specific way. Books stacked in an order that made sense only to him. A record player in the corner with a small collection beside it. The kitchen clean in the way of someone who cooked properly and cleaned as they went.

It was a home. Actually a home. That surprised you and you didn’t know why it surprised you and then you thought about what he’d said — I spent a long time in situations where things got taken — and understood it. He’d built this. Deliberately. Piece by piece. “Stop analyzing it,” he said from the kitchen.

“I’m not analyzing it.”

“You have your analyzing face on.”

“I don’t have an analyzing face.”

He appeared in the kitchen doorway with two glasses of water and looked at you standing in his living room in your jacket still on and raised an eyebrow. “Take your jacket off,” he said. “You’re staying.” You took your jacket off.

You fell asleep on his couch. Not intentionally — you’d been talking, the record player on low, and somewhere between one subject and the next the warmth of him beside you and the late hour pulled you under. You were aware of it happening distantly, the conversation getting slower, your eyes getting heavy, and you didn’t fight it.

You woke up in his bed. He’d moved you. At some point while you slept he’d carried you — or walked you, half-conscious — to the bed and put you in it and the duvet was pulled up and his pillow smelled like him and you lay there in the early grey morning and stared at the ceiling and felt something enormous and inconvenient sitting on your chest.

You heard him in the kitchen. The quiet sounds of someone who knew how to exist in the morning without disturbing anyone. You lay there and thought about mine and important and the collarbone tattoo and his hand in yours on the dark street and the back room couch and two months of Wednesdays and the card he’d slid across the counter the first night like he’d already decided.

You thought about Ria’s voice. You’re terrified. You were terrified.

He was at the kitchen counter with his back to you when you came in. Making coffee, unhurried, still in the clothes from last night minus the jacket. Rings on his hands already. You didn’t know if he’d slept. He turned when he heard you. Took in your expression with one look. “Hey,” he said carefully.

“Hey.” You stood in the kitchen doorway. Your heart was doing something loud. “You moved me.”

“You were asleep on my couch.”

“You could have woken me up.”

“You looked tired.” Simple. Like it was nothing. Like carrying you to his bed was just a practical thing he’d done without thinking. “Coffee?”

“Riki.” He looked at you. Really looked — reading whatever was on your face with that careful focus, taking it in.

“What’s going on,” he said.

“Nothing. I just—” You stopped. Started again. “I woke up in your bed and it—” You pressed your fingers to your mouth briefly. “It felt like something.” He was quiet. Waiting.

“I think this is something,” you said. “I think it’s been something for a while and we keep not saying it and I’m—” You exhaled. “I’m tired of not saying it.”

The kitchen was very quiet. Riki leaned back against the counter. Crossed his arms. His expression was the open one — no performance, no control layered over it, just his face and whatever was behind it. “Say it then,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. “I want this to be a thing. A real thing. I want—” You. “I want the name.”

He uncrossed his arms. Crossed the kitchen in three steps and he was right in front of you and his hands came up to your face — both of them, palms at your jaw, tilting your face up — and he looked at you for one long second. “It’s already a thing,” he said. “It’s been a thing.” His thumb moved at your cheekbone. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

“That’s very smug,” you said. Your voice wasn’t fully steady.

“I know.” He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were serious, dark, right there. “Y/N.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not good at the words,” he said. “You know that. But this—” his thumbs traced your face, gentle and deliberate “—this is not nothing. This hasn’t been nothing since you walked into my shop.”

Your hands found his wrists. Held on. “Okay,” you said.

“Okay,” he said. He kissed you. Soft, slow, his hands still on your face like he wanted to hold the moment still. You kissed him back and felt the unnamed thing finally, finally settle into something with a shape and a weight and a name you’d figure out the exact word for later.

When he pulled back he pressed his forehead to yours. “Boyfriend is a weird word,” he said.

You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. “It really is.”

“But yeah.” His mouth curved. “That.”

“That,” you agreed. He kissed you again, brief and warm, and then stepped back and handed you a coffee and the domesticity of it — his flat, his coffee, his hands, the morning — hit you somewhere soft.

“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll make breakfast.”

“You cook?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Riki I’ve known you for months and I’ve never seen you eat anything that wasn’t takeout or coffee.”

“That’s at the shop.” He was already at the fridge. “At home I cook.”

You sat at his kitchen counter on a stool and watched him move around his kitchen with the same ease he brought to everything — competent, unhurried, knowing where things were — and drank your coffee and felt the warmth of the morning settle around you. “What are you making?” you said.

“Eggs.”

“Just eggs?”

“Good eggs.” He glanced back. “Don’t underestimate eggs.”

They were good eggs. You ate at his kitchen counter side by side, your shoulder against his, and the conversation came easy the way it always did — drifting, unhurried, one thing opening into another. He told you about the record player, how he’d found it at a market two years ago and had to carry it up three flights on his own. You told him about the flat you’d wanted that you hadn’t got and ended up in your current one instead and how it had turned out better. “Things usually do,” he said.

“Philosopher.”

“Just paying attention.” His hand found yours on the counter between you. Covered it. Not making anything of it — just there, warm and present. You turned your hand over and his fingers slid between yours. You sat like that until the coffee was cold.

He walked you out two hours later. Down the three flights and out onto the morning street, quiet at this hour, pale winter sun doing its best. He had his jacket on, hands in his pockets, walking beside you in the direction of the bus stop. “You don’t have to walk me,” you said.

“I know.” He walked you anyway. His shoulder bumping yours occasionally. Not holding your hand now — just beside you, present, taking up the right amount of space. At the bus stop he turned to face you. “Wednesday,” he said.

“Wednesday,” you said. Then: “Actually I might come Tuesday. I need to talk to Heeseung about extending the collarbone piece.”

Something moved across his face. Quick, then gone. “You want to extend it?” he said.

“Just the stems, maybe. One more.” You looked at his expression. “What?”

“I’ll do it,” he said. Immediate.

“I know you’ll do it—”

“I mean — the extension. Let me do it.” His jaw was doing the thing. “Not Heeseung.”

You looked at him. Understood. “Okay,” you said.

“Okay.” The jaw relaxed. A short exhale.

You reached up and kissed him — he leaned down to meet you before you’d fully extended, like he’d been waiting for it — and it was brief and warm and tasted like coffee. “Tuesday,” you said against his mouth.

“Tuesday,” he said. The bus appeared at the end of the road. He stepped back. Hands back in his pockets. Watching you with that settled, certain expression. “Text me when you’re home,” he said. New. That was new.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “Okay.”

You texted Ria from the bus.

you: we sorted it

The reply was immediate. She’d been awake, waiting.

Ria: WHAT

you: it’s a thing. officially.

Ria: I KNEW IT I HAVE BEEN SAYING does he even know the word boyfriend???

you: he said it’s a weird word

Ria: oh my god he’s so him

you: he made me eggs

Ria: Y/N!!!

you: they were really good eggs

Ria: I am going to cry. IM SO HAPPY!

You put your phone in your pocket and looked out the bus window at the city going past and felt something settled and warm sitting in your chest where the unnamed thing used to be.

Daniel saw you get off the bus. You didn’t notice him. You were texting Riki — something small, a photo of a dog outside the coffee shop you were passing, the kind of thing you sent now because you could — and you walked past him without looking up.

He watched you go. Watched the way you were smiling at your phone. He knew about the tattoo shop. He’d heard you mention it. He’d put things together — the visits, the name that came up, the way you’d brushed him off every time since October.

He pulled out his own phone. Started looking. It didn’t take long. Public record. The charge, the conviction, the sentence. He read it twice. Read the name again. Looked up Studio 13. He sat with it for a long time. Then he texted Soo.

Daniel: hey, you’re friends with Y/N right. I need to tell you something about someone she’s seeing.

The thing about finally naming something was that it changed the texture of everything. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just — small shifts, accumulating. The way he texted now, more often, nothing significant but there. The way he said my girlfriend to a client who asked about the collarbone piece, casual, not looking at you when he said it, and you’d had to look very hard at the flash wall for a moment. The way his hand found yours in public without him thinking about it first. Small things. Heavy things.

You were catastrophically gone for him and had been for a while and now there was nothing to hide it behind.

The first Tuesday after you came into Studio 13 at noon and Riki was with a client so Jay made you coffee and sat across from you at the counter with the expression of someone who had been waiting to say something. “So,” he said.

“Don’t,” you said.

“I just want to say—”

“Jay.”

“I called it.” He held up both hands. “First week you came in. I said to Sunghoon, I said that girl is going to wreck him, and I was right—”

“I didn’t wreck anyone—”

“In a good way.” He was grinning. “He’s different. He’s — I’ve known Riki for two years and he texted me last Sunday morning just to talk. Riki. Texting. On a Sunday. Because he was in a good mood and wanted to—”

“Jay.” Riki’s voice from the piercing section, flat. He’d finished with his client without you noticing.

“I’m just saying—”

“I heard what you were saying.” Riki came around the partition and looked at you and the expression on his face when it landed on you was the thing Jay had been describing without being able to name it — something unlocked, something that had been held tight for a long time and wasn’t anymore.

He came to the counter. Leaned down and kissed you hello like it was something he’d been doing for years. Brief, warm, his hand on your jaw for just a second. Jay made a noise. Riki sat on his stool without acknowledging him. Picked up his coffee. “How’s the collarbone?” he said.

“Good. I want to talk about an extension.”

“I know what I’ll doing with it.”

“I haven’t told you what I want yet.”

“I know what you want.” He met your eyes. Completely certain. “Trust me.”

You looked at him. Thought about the first piece — how right it had been, how it had looked like it had always been there. “Fine,” you said.

Jay, very quietly, said: “He’s so different.”

The extension happened the following Thursday. One more stem. Slightly longer than the others, curving toward your shoulder, a small bud at the end that he’d added without asking and that was so exactly right you hadn’t been able to speak for a moment when you saw it. “Riki,” you said.

“Hm.” He was examining the placement, focused.

“The bud.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“No.” He glanced up. Brief, the focus breaking for just a second. “Do you like it?”

You looked in the mirror. The three stems, the new one curving outward, the small closed bud at its tip. Something that looked like potential. Like something about to open. “Yeah,” you said. “I like it.”

He looked back down. Said nothing. But his free hand, steadying your shoulder, pressed slightly. Small. Deliberate.

Three weeks in and the shape of things had settled. Wednesdays at the shop. Tuesday evenings at his flat, which had become a specific thing — you’d bring food, he’d already have the record player going, and you’d eat on his couch or his kitchen floor and talk until one of you fell asleep. Some Fridays at yours, which he’d come to twice now and moved through with the particular attentiveness of someone learning a space they planned to know well.

His things had started appearing at your flat. A hoodie, first — left behind, not retrieved. Then a phone charger. Then a record he’d brought over to show you something and hadn’t taken back. You didn’t point any of this out. Neither did he.

You had a key to Studio 13. That had happened without discussion — Riki had taken it off his keyring one night when you’d arrived before him and handed it to you and gone back to what he was doing. You’d stared at it for a full ten seconds.

This was how he said things. Not in words. In the key. In the bud on the stem. In text me when you’re home and Sunday morning texts and the way he always, always knew when something was wrong before you’d said anything. You were learning his language. It was quieter than most people’s but it was fluent.

Four weeks in, on a Wednesday night after Studio 13 closed as usual. But tonight the energy was different from the second you’d locked the front door behind you — something in the way he’d looked at you across the shop all evening, something that had been building since you’d arrived and had nowhere to go while there were other people present.

He kissed you against the front counter the second the lock clicked. Not soft. Not the hello-kiss or the goodbye-kiss or the slow deliberate thing from his kitchen. This was four weeks of officially named wanting, his hands in your hair and your hands in his jacket and both of you breathing differently inside ten seconds. He pulled back. Looked at your face. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi.” His voice was rough already. His hands moved from your hair to your waist, sliding under your top to bare skin, and you felt his rings and exhaled. “Been thinking about you all day.”

“I was here all evening.”

“I know.” His mouth found your jaw, your throat. “Worse.”

“Riki—”

“I know.” He pulled your top up and off and looked at you in the low red light the way he always did — that slow, deliberate sweep that moved over you like you were something he was committing to memory. The collarbone piece. His hands on you. “God,” he said quietly. Not performing it. Just — reacting.

“Come here,” you said. He came. He got you onto the front counter. Which was new. Which was — you looked around the shop, the dark windows, the closed door, and then his hands were on your thighs spreading them and he was standing between them and the location became very irrelevant. “Here?” you said.

“Here.” He kissed you again, deep, his tongue against yours and the bar of it doing what it always did to your ability to think. His hands pushed your skirt up your thighs, found your underwear, pushed it aside — and his fingers were there, at your folds, and you grabbed the edge of the counter.

“Riki—”

“Already.” His fingers moved through your folds, slow, feeling you. “Fuck, Y/N, already—”

“Don’t be smug—”

“I’m not.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat. “I’m really not.” His fingers found your clit and circled and your hips rolled forward. “That’s it. That’s—” A breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Tell me,” you breathed.

He pushed two fingers inside you and your head fell back. “This,” he said, low, watching your face. “Every time. Every fucking time you walk in here I want—” His fingers curled and you gasped. “Yeah. That. I want that sound.”

“More—”

“More?” He kept the pace slow. Deliberate. His thumb finding your clit while his fingers moved and the combination was devastating. “You sure? We’re not in a rush.”

“Riki I swear to god—”

He laughed — low, warm, real — and his fingers moved deeper and his thumb pressed harder and you grabbed his shoulder and held on. “Good girl,” he said against your throat. “So good. So wet for me, every time, like you spend all day—”

“I do,” you said, breathless. “I do, okay, is that what you want to hear—”

“Yes,” he said simply, and meant it, and his fingers moved faster. You came with your face pressed into his neck and his name in your mouth, his fingers working you through it, not stopping until you pulled at his hair and told him too much, too much—

He pulled his hand back. Pressed his mouth to your temple. Your cheekbone. The corner of your mouth. “Good girl,” he said again, softer. “You’re so—”

“Don’t you dare say something nice right now,” you said. “I can’t handle it.” He pressed his smile into your hair.

You got his jeans open. Got your hand on his cock and felt him exhale sharply against your neck —that involuntary thing, the crack in the control — and stroked slowly and felt every bar of the ladder and heard him make a sound that was almost pained. “Y/N—”

“Yeah?”

“I need—” His hips pushed forward slightly. “Fuck, I need you to—”

“Need me to what.” You kept the pace slow. His own medicine.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder. “Please.” The please from Riki — rare, wrecked, genuine — landed somewhere it always landed and you let go of him and pulled him forward by his waistband and he understood, got his jeans down, stepped between your thighs.

He pushed inside in one slow stroke and you both went still. His hands braced on the counter either side of you. Your hands on his chest. The shop around you, the red light, the flash art on the walls watching everything. “Okay?” he said. Rough. Always asked.

“Move,” you said. “Please, Riki, move—” He moved.

The front counter was cold under your hands and he was warm everywhere else — his chest against yours, his mouth at your throat, his hips rolling into you in a rhythm that started slow and deliberate and got less controlled as it went. “You feel—” He broke off. His jaw set. “Every time. Like the first time, every—”

“Don’t stop talking,” you said. “I like it when you talk.”

He made a rough sound. “You like it.”

“Yes—”

“Good girl for telling me.” His pace shifted deeper and you choked on a breath. “Good girl for always — fuck — for always telling me what you want—”

“Riki—”

“I’ve got you.” His hand slid between you, found your clit, and you arched. “I’ve got you, come on, cum for me, you can—”

“I just—”

“I know.” His thumb circled. “Do it again. Come on. Let me feel you cum on my cock, Y/N—”

The degradation and the praise all tangled together and his thumb and the ladder on every stroke and his voice at your ear and you shattered again — harder this time, your whole body locking up, his name loud enough that it bounced off the dark walls—

He followed you. His rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his hands gripping the counter so hard you heard his rings knock against it — and the sound he made when he came was the broken one, the helpless one, the one you collected and kept.

After the both of you on the front counter, you sitting, him leaning against it beside you. Still not fully dressed. The playlist had long since ended and the shop was quiet except for both of you getting your breathing back. You looked at the flash art on the walls. “We just did that on the front counter,” you said.

“We did.”

“Where clients sit.”

“I’ll clean it.”

You looked at him. He looked back with the wrecked-and-unbothered expression, his hair completely destroyed, his rings catching the low light. “You’re not even slightly embarrassed,” you said.

“No.” Simple. His hand found your knee. “Are you?”

You thought about it. “No.” He smiled. The real one.

You leaned your head on his shoulder and he turned his face into your hair and you sat on the front counter of Studio 13 at midnight and the warmth of it — the us of it — felt like something you could live inside. “Stay,” he said. Into your hair.

“At yours?”

“Here. Couch in the back.” His hand moved at your knee. “Don’t want you to go yet.”

You lifted your head. Looked at his face. “Riki. I’m not going anywhere,” you said.

His eyes moved over yours. The thing behind them — the possessive, careful, quietly terrified thing that drove the jealousy and the silence and the hand always finding yours — settled. “I know,” he said. Like he was practicing believing it.

“I know you know.” You put your hand on his jaw. “I’m telling you anyway.” He turned his face into your palm. Brief. Eyes closing for just a second.

Then he stood up, pulled you off the counter, kept your hand in his. “Couch,” he said.

“Couch,” you agreed.

You were asleep within minutes with Riki’s jacket over you and his voice low in the background talking to someone on the phone — his brother, you thought, distantly, the conversation too quiet to hear properly — and the red light under the door and the smell of ink and his hoodie under your cheek.

You were asleep and warm and his and the storm was three weeks away. It felt like nothing could touch this.

Daniel texted your friend Soo on a Wednesday night. She didn’t tell you immediately. That was the first thing — she sat on it for four days, turning it over, looking at the record he’d sent her, reading it and rereading it. The charge. The conviction. The length of the sentence. Assault. Grievous bodily harm. Victim: female.

She read those words and thought about you and made a decision she believed was the right one. She texted you on a Sunday.

You were at Riki’s flat. Sunday morning, late, the good kind of late — his record player going, both of you in the kitchen, you on the counter watching him make coffee with the focused competence he brought to everything. His hair was wrecked. He had a bruise on his collarbone that was your fault and he’d looked at it in the mirror that morning with an expression of complete satisfaction that had made you throw a pillow at him. Your phone lit up on the counter beside you.

Soo: hey can we talk today. it’s important.

Soo: it’s about Riki.

You looked at the screen. “What,” Riki said. He’d clocked your face without turning around. He did that.

“Soo wants to talk.” You kept your voice neutral. “About you.”

He turned. Read your expression. His jaw did the thing — the subtle set — but his voice stayed even. “What about me?”

“She didn’t say.”

A pause. He looked at the coffee. Back at you. “When?”

“Today apparently.” He nodded. Said nothing. Turned back to the coffee and you watched his shoulders and thought about the tension in them and didn’t ask.

You met Soo at the coffee place near yours at two. She was already there when you arrived. She had her hands around her cup and her expression was the one she got when she was about to say something she’d rehearsed — careful, prepared, slightly guilty around the edges. You sat down. “Just tell me,” you said.

She put her phone on the table. Turned it to face you. A screenshot. A public record database. The name — Nishimura Riki — and below it the details, dry and legal and devastating in their simplicity. Charge: Assault occasioning grievous bodily harm. Victim: Female, 28. Sentence: 14 months. Probation: 12 months.

you're sitting in the passenger seat of chloe's car and you're trying not to cry but it's not going well.

"don't cry," chloe says, glancing over at you with a grin. "you're going to scare the puppies."

"i'm not going to cry," you lie, wiping your eyes already.

you look down at your phone, at the picture the breeder sent you three days ago. a tiny blonde mini dachshund, eight weeks old, ears too big for his head, looking at the camera with an expression that could only be described as judgmental.

you'd fallen in love instantly. you'd sent the deposit before you could talk yourself out of it. you'd named him buddy in your head before you'd even filled out the application, before you even knew if you'd get approved, before you even knew if he was still available.

"what if he doesn't like me?" you ask, the anxiety hitting you suddenly. "what if i pick him up and he's like, no, actually, i want someone else?"

"then he's an idiot with bad taste," chloe says, "and we'll find you a better dog."

"there is no better dog," you say, clutching your phone. "he's buddy. he's the one. i know he's the one."

"you've seen one picture."

"one perfect picture."

chloe laughs, but she's slowing down now, turning onto a residential street lined with trees. the gps says you're two minutes away. your heart is hammering against your ribs. you feel like you're about to meet a celebrity. you feel like you're about to change your entire life.

"there," chloe says, pointing.

the house is cute. yellow with white trim, a fenced yard, a sign that says "happy tails dachshunds" in cheerful lettering. there are flowers in the window boxes. it looks like a house where good things happen.

chloe parks and turns to you. "ready?"

"no," you admit. "yes. no. yes. let's go before i change my mind."

the breeder is a woman named marjorie, round and soft with gray hair and a smile that makes you think of grandmothers in storybooks. she leads you through the house to a sunroom at the back, and there they are. five tiny blonde puppies tumbling over each other in a playpen, yipping and wrestling and being alive in that perfect puppy way.

but you see him immediately.

he's in the corner, separate from the chaos, staring at a toy like he's trying to figure out if it's worth his time. his ears are ridiculous. his paws are too big. he looks like he's already tired of everyone's nonsense.

"that's him," you breathe. "that's buddy."

"the one in the corner?" marjorie asks. "that's the little male. he's got personality, that one. bit the vet tech yesterday. nothing serious, just a warning."

"he's perfect," you say, and you're already kneeling, already reaching through the bars of the playpen.

the puppy looks at you. really looks at you. his eyes are dark and considering. he takes you in, head to toe, and you feel judged. you feel seen. you feel like you're being evaluated for a position you really want.

then he walks over. slowly, like he's doing you a favor. he sniffs your hand. he sniffs your sleeve. he looks up at your face again.

and he licks your nose.

"oh," you say, and then you're crying. full on, ugly crying, tears streaming down your face while this tiny creature climbs into your lap and settles down like he owns you.

"he's yours if you want him," marjorie says gently.

"i want him," you sob. "i want him so much."

chloe is taking pictures. you can hear her laughing, soft and fond. "look at you," she says. "you're a mom."

"i'm a mom," you repeat, looking down at the warm weight in your lap.

the puppy, your puppy, buddy, sighs and closes his eyes. he's asleep in thirty seconds, snoring slightly, completely at peace.

you're in love. you're so in love it hurts.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the drive home is magical and terrible.

chloe drives while you hold buddy in a blanket in your lap. he's awake now, exploring, biting your fingers, trying to climb your chest to see out the window. he pees on the blanket. he tries to eat your hair. he barks at a stop sign.

"he's got opinions," chloe observes.

"he's got so many opinions," you agree, delighted by every single one.

you text your mom. you text your sister. you post a picture that gets three hundred likes in ten minutes. you don't care about any of it because you're too busy watching this tiny creature discover the world from the safety of your lap.

when chloe pulls up to your apartment, you realize you don't want to move. you want to stay in this moment forever, the first day, the beginning.

"you good?" chloe asks.

"i'm perfect," you say. "we're perfect. look at us."

she looks at you, at the puppy currently trying to chew your shirt button, and she smiles. "yeah," she says. "look at you."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the first three weeks are a blur of puppy pads and lost sleep and finding teeth marks on things you thought were out of reach.

buddy grows into his ears, sort of. he develops a personality that could best be described as selectively chaotic. he loves you with his whole heart. he once spent forty minutes barking at a balloon because it moved wrong.

you love him more than you've ever loved anything.

you cry when he does something cute. you cry when he does something frustrating. you cry when you look at him for too long because he's just so perfect and he's yours.

chloe visits constantly.

she brings toys, treats, advice you didn't ask for. she takes pictures of buddy constantly, fills her phone with them, shows them to everyone she knows.

which is how you end up where you are now, six weeks after bringing buddy home, sitting on chloe's couch while she scrolls through her phone and you try to keep buddy from eating her throw pillows. you're emotional and tired and so happy it almost hurts.

"by the way," chloe says, not looking up from her phone, "my friend jake wants to meet buddy."

you look up from where you're wrestling with your dog. "what?"

"my coworker jake," she says, like this is casual information. "i showed him pictures of buddy last week at lunch and he wouldn't stop asking about him. he loves dogs. he wants to meet him."

"why are you showing people my dog?" you ask, but there's no real bite in it. you're used to this.

chloe has been your best friend since college and her love language is showing people pictures of things she cares about. usually it's you. now it's buddy.

"i work with him," chloe says, shrugging.

"we were just talking. he saw my lock screen, which is buddy, obviously, and he asked about him. and then i showed him more pictures, because look at him, and now he's obsessed. he said, and i quote, 'that dog looks like he has opinions and i need to hear them.'"

you snort, pulling buddy into your lap. he immediately tries to bite your necklace. "so now your coworker wants to meet my dog?"

"he's not just any coworker," chloe says.

"he's great. he's got such warm energy, always smiling, probably cries during commercials with dogs in them. genuinely the nicest person. he has a border collie named layla, but she lives with his parents. he wants to meet buddy. we could go to the dog park this weekend. it'll be fun."

you think about it. you don't know jake. you know chloe works with a lot of people, marketing types who wear nice shirts and talk about engagement rates. but the idea of someone wanting to meet your dog specifically, not just tolerating him as an extension of you, is kind of nice.

also, buddy needs socialization. according to the internet. according to the vet. according to the passive aggressive notes your neighbor keeps leaving about "excessive vocalization."

"fine," you say. "but if he doesn't like jake, we're leaving immediately."

"he'll like jake," chloe says confidently. "everyone likes jake."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the thing about buddy is that he is not a people pleaser.

you've had him for six weeks now and you've learned this well. he likes who he likes and he makes it very clear who he doesn't.

the list of people he likes includes: you, chloe, the old lady who lives next door and gives him cheese, and the barista at the coffee shop who once dropped a piece of bacon near his stroller.

the list of people he doesn't like includes: the mailman, anyone who wears hats, anyone who moves too fast, anyone who moves too slow, and approximately seventy percent of the dogs at your local park.

you've been trying to socialize him. you really have. but buddy's idea of socialization is sitting on your lap and judging people from a distance while growling softly at anyone who makes eye contact.

"he's just protective," you tell yourself. "he's a guard dog in a very small body."

he is currently sitting in his carrier in the passenger seat of your car, looking out the window with an expression that says he knows exactly where you're going and he has several complaints prepared.

"we're meeting chloe's friend," you tell him. "apparently he really wants to meet you. he has a border collie named layla who lives with his parents, so he knows dogs. so please don't bark at him. please. for my sanity."

buddy looks at you. he doesn't blink.

"also, if you could not bark at any other dogs today, that would be great. or any people. or any birds. actually, just don't bark."

he barks. once. short and sharp. it sounds like "no."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the dog park is already busy when you get there, which is your first mistake. your second mistake is letting buddy out of the carrier before you've fully assessed the situation.

he immediately starts barking at a golden retriever who is, admittedly, three times his size and standing very close to his personal space.

"buddy," you hiss, scooping him up. "we talked about this."

the golden retriever's owner gives you a look. you want to die.

"hi!" a voice calls out, and you turn to see chloe jogging toward you, waving her arms. she's wearing a bright yellow sundress and sunglasses and she looks like she's in a commercial for happiness. "you made it!"

"barely," you say. "buddy tried to fight a golden retriever in the parking lot."

"he's spirited," chloe says, which is her nice way of saying "he's a menace."

"where's your friend?"

"oh, he's here," chloe says, looking around. "he was just... there he is!"

she points, and you follow her finger to a guy who is currently on his knees in the grass, being enthusiastically licked by a beagle.

he's tall, you notice first. broad shouldered. wearing a white t-shirt and light wash jeans and sneakers. his hair is brown, styled in that effortless way that looks messy but probably took time, and he's smiling with his whole face, warm and bright and genuine. he looks like he belongs in a sunshine commercial.

"that's jake," chloe says, fondness in her voice. "told you. total sweetheart."

jake looks up then, like he can feel you watching, and his face breaks into a smile that's so bright you almost take a step back.

he waves, big and enthusiastic, and then he's standing up and walking toward you with the beagle trotting after him like they're best friends now.

"you must be y/n!" he says when he gets close, and his voice is warm and deep and exactly what you expected from someone who gets on the ground with strange dogs. "and this must be buddy!"

he looks at buddy, who is currently in your arms, growling softly at the beagle.

"he's perfect," jake breathes, and he means it. you can tell he means it. he's looking at your tiny angry dog like he's looking at a sunset.

"he's usually not friendly," you say, which is an understatement. "he takes a while to warm up to people."

"that's okay," jake says, not offended at all. "i'm very patient. also, i brought treats."

he pulls a bag of training treats from his pocket like it's a magic trick.

"you can't just bribe him," you say.

"watch me," jake says, grinning.

he takes a step back and crouches down again, putting himself at buddy's level. the beagle wanders off, bored now that the pets have stopped. jake holds out a treat between two fingers and waits.

buddy stops growling.

he looks at the treat. he looks at jake. he looks at you, as if to say "is this allowed?"

"it's okay," you tell him, setting him down carefully.

buddy takes three tentative steps toward jake. then he stops and barks once, sharp and demanding.

"yes, hello," jake says, not flinching. "i agree. the service here is terrible. no one has given me a treat yet either."

you laugh despite yourself.

buddy takes two more steps. he's close enough now that jake could grab him if he wanted to, but he doesn't. he just waits, hand steady, smile patient.

buddy sniffs the air. he sniffs jake's shoe. he sniffs jake's knee. he looks up at jake's face and considers him for a long moment. he slowly takes the treat, eating it and looking up at jake.

then he suddenly jumps into jake's arms.

you stare.

chloe stares.

jake's face lights up like christmas morning.

"hello!" he says, cradling buddy against his chest. "hello, little man! look at you! look at your ears!"

buddy, the dog who bites you when you try to clip his nails, who growled at your own mother when she visited, who once spent twenty minutes barking at a particularly offensive trash can, is currently licking jake's chin and wagging his whole body so hard his back legs are lifting off the ground.

"what," you say.

"i told you," chloe says, smug as anything. "total sweetheart. dogs can sense it."

"he hates everyone," you say, still staring.

"he doesn't hate me," jake says, delighted. he stands up with buddy in his arms and buddy settles against his chest like he belongs there, chin resting on jake's shoulder, looking out at the world with an expression of smug satisfaction. "we're friends now. sorry, i don't make the rules."

"you literally just met," you say.

"love at first sight," jake says, scratching behind buddy's ears. buddy makes a sound that's halfway between a whine and a purr. you've never heard him make that sound.

"can i hold him?" you ask, reaching out.

buddy looks at you. he looks at jake. he settles deeper into jake's arms and closes his eyes.

"traitor," you mutter.

jake laughs, and it's a good laugh. warm and open and genuine. "we can share," he offers. "you can have him back eventually. maybe. if he wants to go."

"he's my dog."

"he's choosing me," jake says, not unkindly. "democracy in action."

you should be annoyed. you are, a little. but mostly you're watching the way jake holds buddy carefully, supporting his long back, the way he keeps scratching that spot behind the ears that buddy loves, the way he's looking at your dog like he hung the moon.

"fine," you say. "you can hold him for now. but i'm watching you."

"fair," jake says. "i'd watch me too. i am a stranger, after all."

"a stranger who came prepared with treats," chloe points out.

"a stranger who did his research," jake corrects. "chloe told me buddy was a dachshund. i looked up dachshund facts. did you know they were bred to hunt badgers? that's insane. that's so brave. little legs, big dreams."

"buddy would run from a badger," you say.

"buddy would negotiate with a badger," jake says. "he's very smart. i can tell. look at his eyes."

you look at buddy's eyes. they're currently half closed in bliss as jake rubs his chest.

"he's not usually like this," you say again, because you feel like you need to defend your dog's honor. "he's usually very... opinionated."

"he's opinionated now," jake says. "his opinion is that i'm great. and he's right. so really, he's just very discerning."

you don't know what to say to that. you end up laughing, and jake grins at you, and chloe looks between the two of you with the expression of someone who just successfully set two people up and knows it.

"let's walk," she suggests. "the pond is nice this time of day."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the pond is nice, but you're mostly watching jake and buddy.

they've been walking together for twenty minutes now, and buddy hasn't barked at a single person. not the jogger who ran too close. not the kid on the scooter. not the poodle who looked at him funny.

instead, he's trotting along next to jake, occasionally looking up to make sure he's still there, occasionally jumping up to demand more pets.

jake carries him part of the way, holding him like a baby, and buddy lets him. he more than lets him. he actively snuggles.

"this is weird," you say to chloe, walking slightly behind them.

"what is?" she asks innocently.

"this. buddy. he's being... good."

"buddy's always good," chloe says.

"buddy bit the groomer," you remind her.

"buddy has standards," she amends. "apparently jake meets them."

you watch jake stop to let buddy sniff a particularly interesting patch of grass. he waits patiently, not rushing, not pulling the leash. when buddy finds a stick and brings it to him, jake acts like it's the greatest gift he's ever received.

"he's going to expect this now," you say. "he's going to want me to be this excited about sticks."

"you should be excited about sticks," chloe says. "sticks are great. jake's great. this is great."

"you're very pleased with yourself," you observe.

"i'm a genius," she agrees. "i should charge for this."

"charge for what?"

"nothing," she says quickly, but she's smiling.

jake looks back at you, buddy still in his arms now, and he smiles. "your dog is excellent," he calls out. "ten out of ten. best dog i've ever met."

"you've known him for twenty minutes," you point out, catching up.

"quality over quantity," jake says. "besides, i have a good feeling about this. me and buddy. we're going to be best friends. you and me too, probably. by association. since you're his mom."

"i am his mom," you agree, feeling a warmth in your chest at the way he says it, like it's a fact, like it's important.

"exactly," jake says. "you're his mom and i'm his new best friend. we're basically family now."

you should find this overwhelming. jake is a lot. he's loud and enthusiastic and he smiles with his whole face and he talks to dogs like they're people and he actually listens when they respond.

but somehow, it's not overwhelming. it's kind of... nice.

"basically family," you repeat. "great."

"you don't sound convinced," jake observes, falling into step beside you. chloe has wandered ahead to take pictures of ducks, leaving you alone with the warm hearted man holding your tiny opinionated dog.

"i'm just wondering when you're going to realize he's not always like this," you say. "usually he's barking. usually he's trying to fight things bigger than him. usually he's being difficult."

"difficult how?"

"he ate my favorite shoes last week."

"he has taste."

"he barked at his reflection for ten minutes."

"he's self aware. he knows his own face. that's advanced."

"he's not actually a good dog," you say, trying to be honest. "i love him, but he's not... easy."

jake looks at you, then down at buddy, who is currently trying to steal his sunglasses. he doesn't seem bothered.

"i have a dog," he says.

"layla. she lives with my parents now, but i raised her from a puppy. and she was the most difficult dog i've ever met. she herded everything. she once herded my dad into the garage and wouldn't let him leave for an hour because he was wearing a hat she didn't like. she bit three delivery guys. she ate an entire couch cushion."

"and you still love her?"

"i adore her," jake says simply. "she has personality. she knows what she wants and she isn't afraid to demand it. buddy's like that. he's not bad, he's just... specific. he likes what he likes. and he likes me."

buddy, as if on cue, licks jake's nose.

"see?" jake says. "specific. and correct."

you don't know why you're smiling so hard. "you're very weird."

"thank you," he says, like it's a compliment.

"it wasn't meant to be one."

"it felt like one," he says, grinning. "come on. let's catch up to chloe before she falls in the pond trying to get the perfect duck angle."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

jake doesn't go away after that first meeting.

you expected him to be a one time thing. a nice afternoon at the dog park, a funny story about the guy your dog liked more than you, and then back to normal life.

but he texts you. he gets your number from chloe, which should be annoying but somehow isn't, and he sends you pictures of dogs he sees on the street. he asks about buddy. he sends you memes about dachshunds. he tells you stories about layla, sends videos his parents send him, asks for advice on what brand of treats to buy for her when he visits.

he's relentless in the best way.

"he likes you," chloe says, a week later, when you're getting coffee together before work. she's showing you a text from jake that's just a photo of a hot dog with the caption "saw this and thought of buddy. long boy energy."

"he likes my dog," you correct, stirring your latte.

"he likes you," she repeats, lowering her voice like she's telling you a secret. "trust me. i work with the guy. i know when he's interested. and he's interested."

"he's just being nice."

"he's being interested," she says. "there's a difference."

you think about that as you're getting ready for bed that night, buddy curled up on your pillow because he refuses to acknowledge that he's small and the floor exists.

you scroll through your messages with jake. there are a lot of them. pictures of dogs, mostly, but also questions about your day, jokes about work, a video his mom sent of layla herding the vacuum cleaner.

he's easy to talk to. that's the thing. he responds to everything like it's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.

when you complained about your coffee spilling in your car, he sent you a link to the world's best travel mug and a story about the time he spilled an entire latte on his laptop.

when you told him buddy learned a new trick, he demanded video evidence and then sent you a video of himself attempting the same trick with a stuffed animal.

he's ridiculous. he's also kind of wonderful.

buddy shifts in his sleep, making a small snoring sound, and you scratch his belly without thinking.

"you like him too, don't you?" you ask your dog. "that's why you were so nice to him. you knew."

buddy opens one eye, looks at you with disdain, and goes back to sleep.

"rude," you say, but you're smiling.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the second time you see jake, it's intentional.

he invites you to the dog park again, just you and him this time, chloe having to work overtime on a saturday which she's suspiciously vague about.

you almost say no. you're busy. you have work.

but jake sends a picture of himself holding a bag of premium dog treats with a pleading expression, and you cave.

"this is a bad idea," you tell buddy as you get ready. "i don't know why i'm doing this. we don't need friends. we have each other."

buddy is currently trying to eat your sock. he's not listening.

"he's going to expect you to be nice," you continue. "you're going to have to not bark at children. can you do that? for me?"

buddy spits out the sock and barks once.

"i'll take that as a maybe."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

jake is waiting when you get there, sitting on a bench with two coffees and a bag of what smells like pastries.

he's wearing a soft looking sweater and jeans, and his brown hair is catching the morning light, and he looks so good it almost hurts.

he sees you and waves, big and enthusiastic, and you feel something in your chest tighten in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.

"you came!" he says when you get close. "i wasn't sure you would."

"why wouldn't i?"

"you seemed hesitant. in the texts. lots of 'haha' and 'maybe' and 'we'll see.'"

"i was being mysterious."

"you were being cautious," he corrects, but he's smiling. "it's okay. i'm a lot. i know i'm a lot. but i brought coffee and a bacon quiche for buddy's mom, so hopefully that helps."

"it helps," you admit, taking the coffee. it's exactly how you like it, which you don't remember telling him, but chloe probably did.

"buddy!" jake crouches down again, that same position from last week, and holds out his hand. "hello, old friend!"

buddy, the dog who once tried to bite the wind, launches himself at jake with such force that jake almost falls over.

"hey!" jake laughs, catching him, holding him up like simba on pride rock. "there he is! there's my guy!"

buddy is losing his mind. he's licking jake's face, his ears, his hands. he's making that whining purring sound again. he's wiggling so hard he's basically vibrating.

"i think he remembers you," you say dryly.

"i think he loves me," jake says, not smug, just delighted. "which makes sense. i have great taste in dogs. and people."

he looks at you when he says it, and you feel your face get warm.

"let's walk," you say quickly. "before he pees on you from excitement."

"too late," jake says, but he's already moving, buddy in his arms, leading the way down the path like he knows exactly where he's going.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

you walk for an hour.

you talk about everything and nothing. jake tells you about his job, which is marketing but somehow involves more excel spreadsheets than you'd expect.

you tell him about yours, which is something with numbers that you don't love explaining because it makes people's eyes glaze over.

he asks questions anyway. he seems genuinely interested in the quarterly projections you're complaining about.

you talk about buddy. you tell him about the shoe incident, the reflection incident, the time he got stuck under the couch and barked for help but then bit you when you tried to rescue him.

"classic dachshund," jake says, like this is normal.

"layla was like that too. she once got herself stuck under my parents' deck and then barked for three hours straight because she was mad about it. not because she wanted help. just because she was angry."

"they're impossible," you agree.

"they're perfect," he counters. "they know exactly how much space they deserve in the world. which is all of it."

you look at him. he's carrying buddy again, because buddy got tired after twenty minutes of walking, and he doesn't seem to mind at all.

your dog is asleep in his arms, snoring slightly, completely at peace.

"you're good with him," you say. "i don't get it. he's not good with people."

"i'm not people," jake says. "i'm jake. it's different."

"how is it different?"

"because..." he pauses, thinking. "because i don't want anything from him. or you. i just like hanging out. i think that's rare. i think dogs can tell when you just want to be around them without wanting them to be anything specific. and i think people can tell too."

you look at the ground. "that's... that's actually really nice."

"i have my moments," he says. "not many. but some."

you walk in silence for a while, but it's comfortable.

the sun is warm. the coffee was good. your dog is happy. you can't remember the last time you felt this... easy.

there's a pause for a minute. not awkward, just soaking in the scene. then, jake voice fills the silence. "why'd you really come today?"

you look at him. he's not looking at you, focused instead on a squirrel that's caught buddy's attention even in sleep. his profile is soft in the afternoon light, his brown hair falling slightly over his forehead.

"i wanted to see if you were real," you say, surprising yourself with the honesty. "if you were actually like this. or if it was just... a first meeting thing. a fluke."

"and?"

"you're real," you admit. "you're a lot. but you're real."

"the best kind of real," he agrees. "the warm, enthusiastic, probably too much kind."

"is that what you are?"

"in human form," he says. "it's a heavy burden. but i bear it with grace."

you laugh, and he smiles at you, and buddy wakes up just long enough to lick both of your chins before settling back down.

"same time next week?" jake asks.

"same time," you agree.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the weeks pass, and then the months.

you don't mean for it to become a thing. you don't mean to start looking forward to saturday mornings at the dog park with more intensity than you've looked forward to anything in months. but it does, and you do, and suddenly jake is just... part of your life.

he texts you every day.

good morning texts that are actually funny, not just "good morning" but "good morning i saw a corgi on the train and thought of buddy. shorter legs, same energy."

pictures of his lunch, which always looks terrible, with captions like "chef's kiss" and "cuisine." questions about your day that are specific enough that you know he's actually paying attention.

you start sending him things too. pictures of buddy being weird. complaints about work. random thoughts at 2am that you immediately regret sending but he always responds to with something that makes you laugh.

you see him every saturday. sometimes chloe comes, smug and pleased with herself. sometimes it's just you and jake and buddy, walking the same path, talking about everything.

but then it starts to be more than saturdays.

he texts you on wednesday, casual, like it's nothing

jake

i'm near your neighborhood for a meeting. any good coffee shops near you?

you tell him about the place on the corner, the one with the window seats and the croissants that buddy likes to beg for.

he texts back

jake

save me a seat? i'll buy you one too, as payment for the recommendation

you should say no. you have work. you have things to do.

..but you type back.

you

sure, see you at two

he's already there when you arrive, sitting by the window with two coffees and a croissant on a plate, and your stomach does something complicated when you see him.

he's not in workout clothes this time. he's wearing a button down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looks... good. he looks really good. professional but still soft, still jake, still smiling at his phone like whatever he's reading is the funniest thing in the world.

then he looks up and sees you, and his face transforms, and you feel it. you feel something shift in the air between you.

"you came," he says, standing up, pulling out the chair across from him. "i wasn't sure you would."

"you say that every time," you observe, sitting down.

"because every time i'm not sure," he says, honest. "you're hard to pin down. i feel like if i blink you'll disappear."

"i'm not going anywhere," you say, and you mean it more than you've meant anything in a while.

he looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. "good," he says finally. "that's... good."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the coffee dates become a thing. then the evening walks. then the "i'm just in the neighborhood" texts that happen more and more often, until you're seeing him three, four times a week, until he's just... there. present. constant.

you learn things about him. he loves bad movies and will defend batman forever to his dying breath. he cries at every commercial with a dog in it, just like chloe said. he has a spreadsheet ranking every donut shop in the city and he's not afraid to use it. he wants to open a dog rescue someday, when he's saved enough money, somewhere with land and space for all the dogs no one wants.

"the difficult ones," he says, when he tells you this. "the ones who bark too much or have too much energy or are just too much. they deserve love too. they deserve someone who sees them and doesn't want to change them."

you think about buddy, who is currently asleep on jake's lap on your couch, and you feel something shift in your chest.

"yeah," you say. "they do."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

you start noticing things about jake.

the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not paying attention, soft and fond and something else, something that makes your stomach flip.

the way he remembers things, the way he brings you your favorite coffee without asking, the way he always has a treat for buddy and a compliment for you.

the way your hand brushes his when you're walking, and how neither of you pulls away.

the way you start wanting to tell him things first. before chloe, before anyone. good news, bad news, random observations about clouds. you want him to know everything.

the way you start noticing things about him. the scar on his chin from falling off a bike when he was ten. the way he runs his hand through his hair when he's thinking. the way he says your name, like it's something precious.

the way you're falling in love with him, week by week, day by day, like watching the sun rise, and it doesn't scare you as much as you thought it would.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

it's been four months since the dog park. four months of texts and coffee and walks and saturdays. four months of building something you don't have a name for yet.

you're at his apartment this time. he's cooking dinner, something involving pasta and sauce that smells amazing, and buddy is exploring the space with the confidence of a dog who has claimed this territory as his own.

"he likes it here," you observe, watching buddy settle onto the dog bed that jake apparently bought just for him.

"he likes everywhere you're at," jake says, stirring the sauce. "we have that in common."

you look at him. he's focused on the pot, but there's color in his cheeks, like he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"you do?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

"...i what?" jake asks quietly, knowing you heard him anyway

"like everywhere i'm at?"

he stops stirring. he looks at you, cheeks flushed cause he was caught. his eyes are dark and warm and full of something you've been pretending not to see for weeks.

"yeah," he says, simple and honest. "i do. i really do."

your heart is hammering. the air feels thick. buddy is snoring from jakes couch, oblivious, but you can't look away from jake.

"that's... that's good," you manage. "because i... i like where you are too."

he sets down the wooden spoon. he turns off the burner. he walks around the kitchen island until he's standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell his soap, something clean and warm, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to.

"..can i kiss you?" jake asks, his gaze not leaving your eyes.

the question hangs in the air between you, heavy and electric, and you feel every nerve in your body light up at once.

"yes," you whisper. "please."

he steps closer. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your jawline, and his touch is so gentle, so careful, like you're something precious, something he's been waiting for.

he leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away, time to change your mind, but you don't. you can't. you've been waiting for this too, you realize. you've been waiting for months.

his lips brush yours, soft and tentative, and it's electric. it's like the first sip of coffee in the morning, like sunlight on your skin, like coming home.

you make a small sound, involuntary, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, to check, and you can see the question in his eyes.

"again," you breathe, and you reach up to touch his face, your fingers brushing his cheekbone, and he smiles against your mouth before leaning back in.

this time it's not tentative. this time it's sure, it's warm, it's months of buildup finally breaking free.

his mouth moves against yours, gentle but insistent, and you open for him, letting him in, tasting him, learning him.

he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, something happy and relieved, and it sends warmth flooding through your whole body.

his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he angles your head to deepen the kiss.

his tongue slides against yours, slow and sweet, and you whimper, pressing closer, wanting more, wanting everything.

he walks you backward until your back hits the wall, but he's gentle about it, his hands protecting your head from the impact. then he's crowding you there, his body warm and solid against yours, and you can feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms, the way he's trembling just slightly, like he's holding himself back.

"is this okay?" he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.

"yes," you gasp, arching into him.

he kisses you deeper, sweeter, his hands moving from your hair to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, matching yours beat for beat.

your hands slide up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, and you fist your hands in the fabric, pulling him closer, closer, until there's no space between you at all.

he kisses down your jaw, your throat, finding the sensitive spot below your ear that makes you gasp, and he lingers there, pressing soft kisses to your skin, and you tilt your head back to give him better access, your fingers tangled in his hair.

"jake," you breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer, like a promise.

he hums softly against your skin, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight, and he buries his face in your neck, breathing you in.

"i've wanted this," he whispers, his voice rough and honest. "i've wanted you. for so long."

"i know," you whisper back, holding him close. "me too."

he pulls back to look at you, his eyes dark and blown wide, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"be my girlfriend?" he asks, his thumb brushing over your kiss-bitten lips. "officially? no more saturdays as just friends. i want to be yours. i want you to be mine."

"yes," you say immediately, smiling so big it hurts. "yes, i want that. i want you."

he grins, that bright, sunshine grin that made you notice him in the first place, and then he's kissing you again, deep and slow and full of promise, and you kiss him back with everything you have, everything you've been holding back for months.

when you finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands still on your waist, and he looks at you with so much affection you feel like you might cry.

"you're my girlfriend," he says, like he's testing it out, like he can't believe it.

"i'm your girlfriend," you confirm, laughing softly.

"and i'm your boyfriend."

"you are."

"and buddy is our dog."

"he's our dog," you agree, feeling the truth of it settle into your bones.

he kisses you again, quick and sweet, and then he pulls back, taking your hand in his, threading his fingers through yours.

"we should eat," he says, smiling. "before the pasta gets cold."

"in a minute," you murmur, pulling him back down for another kiss. "just... one more minute."

he laughs against your mouth and kisses you again, soft and slow and perfect, and you think that maybe, just maybe, you could stay like this forever.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

six months later, you're standing in chloe's apartment holding a glass of champagne and watching your boyfriend laugh at something her boyfriend just said.

jake's wearing the sweater you bought him for his birthday, the soft blue one that makes his eyes look even warmer, and his brown hair is styled in that way you love, and he's holding buddy in one arm and gesturing wildly with the other hand, telling a story about how layla once herded his entire family into the kitchen because it was dinner time and they were running late.

"you're staring," chloe says, appearing at your elbow with her own glass of champagne.

"i'm appreciating," you correct, not looking away.

"you're in love," she amends, smug as ever.

"i am," you agree, because there's no point denying it. you're so in love it radiates out of you. you're so in love you wake up smiling. you're so in love it almost doesn't feel real.

chloe follows your gaze to where jake is now demonstrating how buddy sits on command, the tiny dachshund looking proud and regal in his arms.

"he's good for you," she says, softer now. "you know that, right?"

"i know," you say. "he's... he's everything."

"he's your person," she says. "and you're his."

across the room, jake looks up like he can feel you watching, and he smiles, that same bright smile from the dog park all those months ago, and he mouths "i love you" without caring who sees.

you mouth it back.

he excuses himself from the conversation and walks over to you, buddy still in his arms, and he wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"having fun?" he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"the best," you say, leaning into him. "you?"

"always," he says, "when i'm with you."

buddy squirms between you, demanding attention, and jake laughs, adjusting his hold on the dog so he's cradled between both of you like a baby.

"our son is demanding," jake observes.

"he's spoiled," you agree.

"he's perfect," jake corrects, and he's looking at you when he says it.

"you're perfect," you say back, reaching up to fix his hair where it's fallen over his forehead.

"we're perfect," he amends, smiling that sunshine smile. "all three of us."

chloe, watching from nearby, raises her glass in a silent toast, and you laugh, leaning up to kiss jake properly, champagne glasses clinking somewhere in the background, buddy squished happily between you, and everything is exactly how it should be.

you're a family. you're his. he's yours. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

⋆˚✿˖°

This is the same guy who’s more obsessed with Hello Kitty than some children and was ready to adopt a kitten after spending an approximate fifteen minutes filming with it.

His heart was set on the idea of it, you two would be the best cat parents known to man. Unfortunately for you this meant his opinion was almost impossible to sway.

“Hee??” You murmur one late night, to which he responds with a low hum of acknowledgement, “What’s up??”

You let out a deep breath before trying to reason with him, “Are you sure we should get a cat?? I just mean our schedules are always so busy so who’s actually going to take care of it??”

“I will,” he says, tone dead serious.

“You’re literally at the studio for the majority of the day and it’s not exactly like you can cut down your hours or anything.”

“Then the cat will just have to come with me.”

You give him an incredulous look trying to tell if he’s being serious or not. Your eyes meet his and there is not even a hint of doubt in them. Oh my god he was actually thinking about going through this, about bringing the cat to work with him.

“Will your CEO even allow that?? I mean he doesn’t seem to allow a lot of things…maybe I could do slightly less hours at work so then it wouldn’t be to lonely-“

“Stop,” Heeseung cuts you off, his hand placed on your shoulder, the touch both warm and grounding. “I don’t care whether the company lets me or not. For all I care I will buy a cat bed and hide it under my desk just so we can make this work mkay?? I’m the one who wants this so I'm not just gonna dump all the responsibility on you.”

You nod back slowly, finally understanding how badly he wants this.

₍^. .^₎⟆

Next came actually trying to find a cat the both of you wanted.

Originally you’d thought that involved going to pet stores however Heeseung was insistent that rather the two of you first went to a local pet shelter to see if you wanted to adopt any of them.

And who were you to argue with that?? It seemed much more fulfilling to provide a home for one that truly needed it.

“So what type of cat are you two looking for??”

That was the first question that the volunteer had asked when you walked into the shelter and in all honesty you hadn’t thought about it too deeply.

“Just whoever’s been here the longest…or whoever needs the most help,” Heeseung told her.

That’s how you met her, Marie.

Marie was an older cat who’d been there a little while longer than all the others. Soft black fur covered her small body but what stood out the most was those piercing green eyes.

They weren’t like most of the ones Heeseung had been showing you which all had cute little boba eyes but that’s what made you like her so much.

The second the volunteer placed her into your arms she immediately began nuzzling against your chest.

That’s it. You were sold, smitten even. And it’s not like Heeseung took much convincing.

₍^. .^₎⟆

The first few days with Marie at home had to be some of the most memorable.

“Do you think we should try to build that cat tower??” Heeseung asked from the couch.

You raise an eyebrow, “And who exactly are you suggesting to be the one to build this?? Because from what I’ve seen you’re incapable of doing much without your manager coming to the rescue.”

“Hey!! I am perfectly capable of assembling things and for the record that was a result of false advertising not my skills,” he protests.

Marie jumps down from her position on the arm rest of the couch and wanders over towards you, evidently wanting to distance herself from the bed D.I.Y skills. She was trying to make it clear this tower had to be perfect and nothing less.

“Hee I hate to break it to you but I think even Marie is judging your skills. Aren’t you??” You reach down to gently stroke her fur causing her to purr as though in agreement.

“Hey, that is not true at all!! Marie would never judge me especially since I got her all those toys,” he glances over towards the large pile of cat toys in the corner which are mostly untouched due to Marie taking more of an interest in a ball of yarn.

“Right Marie?? I’m still your favourite??” He says dawning a pout on his lips combined with those doe eyes that apparently not even cats can resist.

Slowly, Marie begins prowling towards him before jumping up beside him and curling up in his lap like it’s where she belongs.

“See,” Heeseung coos, running his fingers through her silky fur. “She can judge my assembly skills all she wants but at the end of the day she still loves me really.”

And at the end of the day, this was perfect, you and your little cat family.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

You pulled into the decently large parking lot of the Hybe gym. The exterior was boxy and large windows adorned the grey walls. Those same windows made it incredibly clear that the gym was emptied out of all its patrons. It would’ve been easy to shift into reverse and tease Jungwon for lying to you about his whereabouts but something about the way that the fluorescent lights remained on had you killing the engine instead. 

Your eyes moved to the reception desk as you walked in — surely, there would be someone waiting there to scan your card or check your gym membership — no one sat in the black spinning chair. An uncanny feeling fell over you as you walked deeper into the gym, viewing the various large machines, the racks of weights, and the letters that you’d seen in his pictures just a few minutes before. You faced the mirror out of curiosity for what he sees when he sends you his selfies, your last look before exiting the strangely abandoned gym, until a familiar dark blue water bottle caught your eye. 

If it were a Hydroflask or an Owala, you’d disregard it entirely, but this wasn’t a normal trendy water bottle — it was the dingy, plastic one every freshman received as a welcome package into the baccalaureate program. And unless there was another Decelis University student in the graduating class of 2027 that happened to go to an insanely modernized gym, Jungwon was telling the truth. He was here. Somewhere.

Fumbling in your purse for your phone, you called Jungwon’s number, hoping that he was just in the doorway marked “Men’s Locker Room”. And when you heard the faint ringing on the other side of the door, you were certain that he was there. Only ignoring your call. Brows pinched together in confusion, why would he not pick up your call?

The persistent feeling of uncanniness crawling up your spine and the prodding of school deadline anxiety in the back of your skull had you losing patience quickly. You ended the call and knocked on the locker room door. 

“Jungwon?” You called out, “Are you in there?”

You gave him a generous three seconds to respond.

“Jungwon? Hello?”

After another short moment you pushed the door ajar and asked, “Is anyone even in here?”

You were met with nothing but silence. You closed your eyes and exhaled exasperatedly. Peeking around in the gym and finding it as vacant as you found it, you called out:

“Jungwon, if you don’t come out, I’m going in.” 

At first, it was an empty threat — why would you willingly walk into the men’s locker room — but the lack of response fueled the strange feeling swarming the place. And maybe, a part of you wanted to prove that Jungwon wouldn’t lie to you. You didn’t care if he had a secret girlfriend or had an unquenchable love for frat parties but you wanted to know if and why he would keep it from you. 

So, you took slow small steps into the locker room, making sure to put more force into them than necessary — just to make sure he would stop you before you committed fully and turned to see half a dozen nigh naked men. But as you rounded the small corridor, it was blatantly clear you had been talking to yourself for the past five minutes. 

The locker room was shrouded in darkness, grey lockers lined the walls, and one long bench ran in the middle til it met the section of showers. You turned on the flashlight on your phone and looked closer. The lockers were labeled with numbers but some had small plaques with initials on them. Locker 5 caught your eye: partly because it was slightly ajar, partly because it had the initials “YJW” on a small metal plaque. 

Flipping the locker door open, you saw Jungwon’s worn-in blue backpack shoved into the small space — obviously in a rush, since he didn’t see the strap of the bag sticking out of his locker and preventing it from being shut. His phone also sat in the locker, at an awkward angle as well, contributing to the theory that he rushed to put his stuff down. But if the rest of his stuff is here, why is his water bottle in the main part of the gym?

And where was Jungwon? 

Your eyes glanced at the only part of the gym you hadn’t gone to yet — besides the girl’s locker room but you had more faith in Jungwon than that, which is ironic considering the room you were in currently — the showers. Although, you considered, no one seemed to be in here anyway. With the small encouragement, you walked over to the shower section: seven uniform showers lined the walls, all but one with the curtains left open. 

Upon seeing the drawn shower curtain, you should have left. You shouldn’t have gotten closer. But you did. And with the way that the curtain sat, with one side over-drawn, leaving a sliver of space slightly open to view — you could imagine the events that occurred to have left the scene like that. Someone rushed into the shower, but if the lack of running water and indication that someone — anyone at all — was in this locker room, no one was in the shower anymore. So, with small steps, shaky hands, and held breath, you peeked past the shower curtain to find that your suspicions were right. No one was there. But something strange was. 

The tile on the side with the shower head and knobs was tilted and coming off the wall in one piece. You would’ve supposed that that was why the shower curtain was closed. The shower was broken, it was under construction, it needed to be fixed, so they closed it off. But you couldn’t accept that to be true when just beyond the tilted back wall, muffled yelling emitted through the crack. 

Stepping into the shower and taking a closer look at the wall, you realized that the titled tiles were not broken or falling apart, they were attached to a door disguised as the back of a shower. Someone forgot to ensure the secret door remained secret. As you stood with the door swung open, looking into a corridor with a staircase that ran down into a lower level, you contemplated counting your blessings, driving back to your apartment, and worrying about your homework in the morning. 

But this is what you lived for, right? The drama, the thrill, the investigation. Now the opportunity to explore was right in front of your face — who were you to deny yourself of that adventure? And Jungwon was probably down there. It’s probably just some rich frat house’s party venue because they don’t want to piss their parents off. 

You shook your head in disbelief, no way Yang “I get my work done two weeks in advance” Jungwon was a party animal. 

You shut the door behind you and trod down the stairs in a liminal space between caution and confidence. 

The staircase turned right and climbed down a few more steps before the room came into view. It was shaped like a stadium — bleachers around the walls with every seat filled with cheering fans. The lights were dimmed all around except for the center where everyone’s eyes were glued. And for good reason. The center showcased an elevated boxing ring that was adorned with visible wear and tear. An announcer’s voice boomed the play by play happening in the ring, taking care to note the names of the fighters as they threw their punches. 

It was useless. You’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. 

You’d also recognize that mess of floppy blond-dyed hair, that enviously tiny waist, dark cat-like eyes, and toned biceps anywhere — which is why it was a little strange that it took you a good seven seconds to compute the scene unfolding before you. 

Yang Jungwon, shifting and keeping light on his feet in the middle of that elevated boxing ring. Yang Jungwon, with bloodied bandages wrapped around his fists, throwing a clean jab into the jaw of his opponent. Yang Jungwon, continuing to advance and throw punches that didn’t quite make an impact before putting all his force in one that did. 

“And Jakah lands his attack knocking his opponent to the floor! Yikes! That puts BigHit in a real tight spot!”

Your head filled with a million questions: who is Jakah? What is BigHit? What is happening? 

The two fighters went back to their corners, their coaches handing them water bottles and wiping the sweat off their brows. From this angle, you could see Jungwon more clearly. His flushed skin, his big muscles, and the inception of a bruise on the left side of his jaw. 

“Jakah continues to show his ferocity and tenacity in the ring.” The announcer informed.

“Maybe he’s trying to compensate for his performance last week?” Another announcer theorized.

“I don’t know but what I can say is that he is relentless tonight. It seems like we might be getting our beloved champion back, what do you say folks?”

The crowd erupted in roars. It was hard to make out at first, everyone yelling out of unison but half the crowd boo’d like their life depended on it and the rest cheered with every ounce of breath in their lungs. You watched Jungwon shake his head and push his water bottle away, shaking his right wrist, and waiting patiently before he could lunge at the other guy again.

This was a side of Jungwon you’d never seen before; he was so sweet, and gentle, and caring, it was hard to think of him as someone who spent his Friday nights beating the daylight out of other people. You recalled what the announcers had said just a few moments before. If Jungwon is this “Jakah” guy then what happened last week? And what did they mean by “champion”?

Jungwon turned to scan his eyes over the stands and an awareness fell on you like an avalanche. You were the only person standing in this entire underground stadium. Crouching immediately, you hoped that he hadn’t caught sight of you yet. What would happen if he did? Would he get nervous and be thrown off? That would likely cost him his victory and part of his physical condition. Your heart started aching at the mere sight of a bruise under his jaw, you couldn’t stomach watching him get pummeled. You also hadn’t decided what to say to him or how to say it. You couldn’t even grasp your emotions under the dazedness of shock — it’d be better to talk to him later when you could think clearly.

A loud buzzer blared and the fighters took to the center of the ring. Their hands fisted up to their face — their guards up — and their feet inching increasingly closer to one another. Jungwon’s opponent started with a barrage of light jabs, causing Jungwon to pull his guard higher up. It took about five seconds to realize why this useless move was continuing on: he was pursuing Jungwon toward the edges of the ring. But Jungwon quickly found his footing and dropped into a crouch before sending a hard punch to his assailant's ribs. The crowd erupted in a collective grimace but Jungwon didn’t stop, instead he cracked his fist against the guys jaw with so much force that the sound traveled toward the stands. 

His opponent fell limp on the floor, blood dripping from his face, and a referee running up to check his condition. The stadium didn’t wait in bated breath, no it roared in controversy — even as the referee stood up and held Jungwon’s hand high in victory.

It was hard to catch the crowds sentiment when they all had something to say:

“There goes my 75K won!” Someone grumbled.

“75? I put down a clean 150!”

“And that 225K is all mine now boys.” A person from the row behind them gloated.

“Yeah right, I bet 60% of the stadium also put their money down on Goldilocks.”

“60%? Not after last week.”

Your brows furrowed in deeply, what do they mean “put their money down”? Is Jungwon the prospect of illegal gambling?

Your head swam in a million different directions before you realized that the stands were being vacated deeper into the basement. Suddenly, the shock seemed to dissipate and the temperature in the room felt utterly too warm. You stood back up, legs as strong as under-chilled jello, and saw the stands slowly become deserted. Your eyes glanced toward the center-ring where Jungwon had been only moments before but had vacated as well. It was time you left too. 

Before someone found you here.

You ran up the steps and out of the shower, through the thankfully still empty locker room, out of the overly modern gym. You passed through rows of equipment, spotting Jungwon’s abandoned water bottle and picking it up off the ground. You didn’t even know why you picked it up, you just did it on instinct and rushed out to your car. 

And all you could think about on the drive to your apartment was: is Jungwon okay?

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The screen of your phone on the darkest setting was still too bright as it shone in your face. The cursor blinked in its home on the message bar. A bar devoid of text. 

You didn’t know what to tell him. What to say. What to ask. It was all amiss to you. You’d known Jungwon since freshman year and never in those three years did you think of him as a guy that would knock a guy out so hard that blood pooled out of his mouth. So, what on Earth were you supposed to text him?

“Hi I followed you to the gym and saw you turn some guy into a pulp! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hi do you know that fighting people, especially in an underground fighting ring where people bid on your success/failure, is super dangerous in multiple ways??”

You sighed and threw your phone to the other side of the bed. He’d probably text you tomorrow, you’d figure out what to say. Hopefully. 

Because if Jungwon was involved in illegal gambling and fighting — he was putting himself in so much risk. You couldn’t freak out, couldn’t go around accusing him. You needed to stay level headed. 

Jungwon didn’t text you the next day but he did text you the day after. Sometime around noon your phone pinged and Jungwon’s name lit up on your screen. 

wonie: Hey wyd rn?

You hesitated at first. You tried to convince yourself that you just needed more time to think about what to say to him but you knew that you were just dreading a conversation that was inevitable. 

You: not much, u?

wonie: Bored

wonie: And my roommate brought his friends over and they’re loud asf

You: LOL

You: just come over! we can watch a movie or smth

wonie: Want me to pick up snacks?

You: nah i have some from last time!!

He wasn’t what you expected when you opened the door. Maybe it was because the Jungwon you’d seen that night was stuck in your head: the way his sweaty muscles reflected the light, the way his chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, the way the ends of his hair were slightly wet, the blooming bruise under his clenched jaw — it wouldn’t leave your mind. 

But now he stood in front of you in his classic GAP grey hoodie, wispy bangs falling into his eyes, bright smile on his lips, and a jaw devoid of any discoloration. 

“Hey,” His eyes lit up as soon as he saw you and he wasted no time at the door. Just strutted in like he was your roommate, taking his shoes off and walking to the kitchen, “Do you still have that apple flavored green tea?”

You raised your brow at him, “Bro, do you know how hard it was to find those again? I had to go to a Chinese grocery store just to find them.”

Jungwon held up the last bottle, the red and gold label almost completely hidden in his large hand. He shook it slightly as he spoke:

“Wanna split it with me?” 

You looked at him with a flat face and crossed arms, “Fine.” How were you supposed to say no to that charming smile he shot you?

That charming smile turned into a victorious one that he didn’t even try to hide. It stayed plastered on his face as his hand reached up to your cabinet, grabbed too small glasses, filled them with ice, and then poured the tea equally into each glass. Your body slid past his as you reached up into the cabinet as well, picking up a bowl and pour out some chili-lime rolled tortilla chips. He took the empty packet from your hands and tossed it in the trash. 

“So, what movie do you wanna watch?” He asked, making his way over to your couch. 

“Mm,” You hummed in thought, “I’m not sure, what are you in the mood for?” 

“Not a rom-com. So, don’t ask.”

“Yeesh, what’s wrong with rom-coms?”

“They’re cringey, predictable, and boring.”

“I thought you loved Your Eyes Only!”

He gave you an intentionally nervous smile. 

“Wow. Okay.”

“Sorry,” He laughed softly and curled up on your couch, shoving the decorative pillow away with his leg. 

You sat next to him, taking the glass he handed you and setting it on the coffee table. Jungwon never used the coffee table. He’d just hold the drink in his hand, taking big sips of his drink and finishing it within the first ten minutes. He’d also pick up your drink and set it on a coaster because he knew you wouldn’t finish it before the condensation began to drip onto the table. 

“Hey, I think that new short series came out on Netflix.”

“Which series?” You clicked on the Netflix account and picked your profile. 

“It’s called ‘Manifesto: Day 1’.”

“Oh the alien one?” 

“Yeah!” He watched you search it up, “The fighting in it looks sick.” 

Jungwon’s brow raised slightly as he watched your body stiffen at the word “fighting”. The sip he took from the glass was audible but he laid his suspicion to rest as you fumblingly turned on the show. The list of episodes appeared, including Walk the Line the first episode which was an hour and 12 minutes long. 

“Each episode is an hour?!” You exclaimed only for Jungwon to laugh in return. 

“It’ll be good, don't worry.”

“Yeah okay.” You leaned back into the couch as the show began to play. 

The episode was apparently over an hour long but it didn’t feel that way — and not for any good reason. The show in its violence and action drew your focus on sweatstained memories and whims of concern. 

One of the characters had strapped someone to a chair and proceeded to yell at him with all the grace of a grizzly bear. Upon not receiving the answer he was looking for, he gave the tied man a swift punch across the face. It hit you hard — metaphorically — the memory of Jungwon’s bandaged fist pounding across his opponent’s face so hard that it left a sound reverberating in the small stadium. 

You weren’t sure if you’d flinched or not but Jungwon’s hand had instinctively moved closer to you. Perhaps in comfort. But you just stared at those knuckles — those slightly reddened knuckles — knowing exactly what they were used for just a couple nights ago. It sent a shiver down your spine. 

The bruises the characters wore, the ones they tried to hide, filled your mind with potent worry of all the injuries Jungwon had had to hide. Did he have his ribs wrapped under his big hoodies? Did he buy concealer to hide the bruising to his jaw? Has he ever gone to the ER not knowing how to explain his injuries? Has he laid awake at night in pain and had no one to talk to?

Your shoulders tensed involuntarily but unnoticeably — unnoticeably to anyone but Jungwon that is. 

Unfortunately, that very man was sitting next to you, dragging his eyes across your tense body. 

“Y/N.”

You jumped at the sound of your name falling from his lips. The flinch had him sitting up and staring at you intensely, eyebrows furrowed and all. Your shaky gaze met his steady one and it incited you with the most gnawing anxiety you’d ever experienced. You begged him in your mind not to ask. Of course, he did. 

“Did something happen?” 

Your heart stuttered out of beat and your voice was a bit too sanitized as you spoke, “What? No! Nothing happened!”

Jungwon’s face fell into an incredulous expression. His hand grabbed the remote and paused the episode before looking back at you. Staring as if the answer would appear on your forehead if he waited long enough. 

“Y/N, I’ve known you for long enough to know when you’re lying to me.”

Your voice filled with bittersweet laughter, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“What doesn’t mean anything.” His brows creased impossibly more. 

“I mean, it doesn’t matter how long you know someone. You never really know if they’re lying to you or not.”

Jungwon straightened and sharpened his gaze, “What does that mean?” He pressed. 

You wracked your brain for an answer it didn’t have.

“Nothing. It means nothing, forget about it.”

“No, tell me. It’s obviously bothering you.”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it, Wonie.”

“Woah, hey,” He held up his hands in surrender, “I’m just trying to communicate with you. I want to know what’s wrong because I care about you.”

“You should worry more about yourself, don’t you think?” You laughed as if it would lighten the thick tension building between you.

“What do you mean by that?” He had this half smile on his face as if he was prepared to turn sweet or sour depending on your response. 

A cold sweat ran across your forehead, “I mean you should really care more about yourself.”

“I take care of myself just fine.”

“Yeah… right. Sure.”

“What is wrong with you? You’re acting weird? You know I can tell when something’s wrong, we’ve been best friends long enough for that.”

“No, you can’t.” You argued, your voice starting to rise along with your body as you stood up, “I just told you it doesn’t matter how long you know someone. One day you can wake up and find out that they’ve been lying to you for years before you even close your eyes for the night!”

Something about the way he stayed completely silent with his dark eyes boring into your own had your heart falling to the floor.

“What did you find out?” He asked carefully, standing up slowly.

It was in this silence that you realized that he was waiting for your answer with a held breath, you were waiting for your answer with shallow rapid ones. Seeing him from this angle — him standing right in front of you with his broad shoulders and his big hoodie hiding his disciplined body — being hyper-aware of how aggressive Jungwon could be if he wanted to, it was a sobering thought. One that incited more fear than necessary. Jungwon was your sweet and selfless best friend: he’d never hurt you.

You swallowed thickly despite the fact.

“Nothi–”

“Tell me.”

“Jungwon…” The name was shrouded in tones of concern, fear, and disappointment.

You could see it in the gleam of his eye: the last bit of hope that you hadn’t found out dimming. You took such a deep breath your lungs stretched to its fullest capacity. You were annoyed at Jungwon for not telling you his Friday itinerary, you can’t be hypocritical and refuse to tell him you know. So, you released your breath of air and braced for impact.

“Jungwon, I followed you to the gym on Friday,” You watched his face pale and his eyes widen, “And I know that’s weird and kind of stalker-ish and part of me felt bad at first. But we have bigger fish to fry because why are you in some sort of secret, underground, WWE, fight club? And if that wasn’t illegal enough, why are there people betting on your victory?”

None of your questions were answered, “How did you get down there?” His hands came to rest on your upper arms. His touch stiffened your body into a board.

“What?” You spoke again before he could repeat the question: “How else? I went in through the shower.” 

“You went into the men’s locker room?” His face conveyed just how appalled he felt.

“Ok, if we’re counting cardinal sins, I think being a part of an illegal underground boxing ring and enabling illegal gambling takes the cake here.”

Jungwon closed his eyes and sighed, attempting to push your response from his mind.

“Did anybody see you?”

“Uh,” You shrunk from the intensity of his gaze, “Well, I mean I’m sure someone did but like I couldn’t name someone off the top of my head.”

Jungwon moved his hands to drag them against his face.

“Y/N, what were you doing there?! Why did you follow me?!”

“To see if you were telling the truth about going to the gym! I mean, Jungwon you’re always unavailable on Fridays and you left our study session so fast you might qualify as having superspeed! God forbid I’m a little curious to see where you go on Fridays!” 

“And?” He threw his hands up in the air, “I was at the gym. Like I said.”

Your brows furrowed in offense, “No, you weren’t? The gym is the upper floor, you were playing Rocky down in the basement with some poor guy — that you absolutely smoked, by the way — but that is not the gym!”

Jungwon looked at you as if you’d grown three heads. You felt like maybe you had. 

Jungwon licked his lips once he’d arranged his thoughts, “Okay, first of all: it's not wrestling and it's not boxing. Which means WWE and Rocky do not work as analogies.” You shook your head and rolled your eyes, “Second of all, I don’t really give a damn, Y/N. You put yourself in so much danger just by being at that gym and you have no idea.”

He ran a hand through his blond hair and you caught the way he winced when he tightened his jaw.

“Jungwon,” You spoke in a grave tone.

“No, you listen to me.” He demanded in seriousness you’d never heard from him before, “You are so lucky that nobody saw you. I don’t want to see you there, I don’t want to hear about you being there, ever again. The people there are dangerous—”

“What like you?” You asked before you could stop yourself and the question hit him like a truck, “You go there. I saw what you did— What you can do.” Pure, unadulterated fear flashed in those deep browns. “It’s literally a fight club, Jungwon. Obviously it's dangerous. There are people beating up others for fun… and money.”

Jungwon huffed out a disbelieving smile, “You have no idea.”

“Then how about you tell me instead of being cryptic. But that’s what you do, isn’t it?” The words were pulled from somewhere deep in your heart, “You make a life-threatening decision and then you don’t tell anyone because you don’t think it's that big of a deal. Or am I the only one who doesn’t know?”

“Y/N, the fight club is run by crime syndicates.”

You looked like the image of stupid with the way your eyes widened and mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“What?”

“Yeah,” He spoke overwhelmingly calmly, “So, when I tell you that it’s dangerous and you should never go there again, you will listen to me.” His voice left no room for negotiation.

“And what about you? Why are you going to a fight club run by the South Korean mafia? I can’t let you go back there either.”

“I have to.”

“Oh, what a load of bull,” You rolled your eyes, “You have free will, Jungwon. Please use it to value your life.”

“Y/N, I can’t.” You knew what he would say before he said it, “I’m contracted under one of the syndicates as a fighter.”

“And you can’t get out?”

“The only way is if I bought myself out.”

“Okay,” You spoke like it was the simplest thing in the world, “Then buy yourself out.”

It only made him laugh.

Like really laugh. An uncontrollable, unceasing laugh that was tinged with something akin to bitterness.

“Why are you laughing?” You asked exhausted and beyond annoyed.

“Do you seriously think it's that easy?”

“I don’t know, Jungwon.” You were finally yelling. Your voice had been rising throughout the argument but seeing Jungwon’s lack of self-preservation sent you over the edge. “Maybe I’d understand if you actually responded to me instead of tossing me bread crumbs and hoping I’ve had my fill.”

Jungwon’s expression was so flat that it was difficult to imagine that he was laughing mere moments ago.

“You want the truth?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, “God, yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to get for the past ten minutes.”

“I can’t buy myself out because I can’t afford to.” His eyes had never looked as dark as they did now, “I have too large of a debt to buy myself out.”

“How much?” You sighed.

Jungwon looked at something — nothing in specific — just so he wouldn’t have to look you in the eyes.

“Well, the whole reason I joined is because they said that they’d pay my tuition if I joined their fight club team.”

“Who?” Eyebrows creased as you pressed for information.

“Belift.” He took your silence as a cue to keep going. “You know I’m a black belt in taekwondo, right? When I was searching for scholarships to pay for tuition, I saw one that required a black belt in a martial art. The scholarship said that if you could prove it with pictures of your accolades or with videos then you’d receive at least five-million South Korean Won.”

“Five-million? Just for proving you had a black belt?”

“No.” Jungwon answered, his tone wrapping the word in gravity, “The scholarship was something that had to be continuously earned. The scholarship is employment-based.” He sighed and closed his eyes, when they opened they were filled with newfound focus, “Okay, basically, the scholarship functions as a job. Once you’re accepted, you join their ‘staff’ or their ‘team’ and you compete against other candidates who received scholarships. You get five-million if you win the mini tournament they have. Then you get an opportunity to fight against another opponent for seven-hundred-fifty-thousand. And it keeps going on: you fight, you win, you get paid. They pay your monthly installment for tuition using your balance and you keep fighting for them.”

Your mind stalled as you tried to wrap your head around the specifics of the deal. As you were processing, a memory washed itself to the surface of your brain. The announcers talking about Jakah’s performance last week.

“Wait so then, what happens if you lose?”

He took a deep breath, “Then the amount of money you would have won from the fight is subtracted from your balance.”

You nodded. You expected that.

“So, let me get this straight,” You began to clarify, “You joined this fight club. You won the beginning tournament against other scholarship applicants and won five-million. Then you were offered to fight again with a bag of seven-hundred-fifty-thousand each win. But if you’re in debt with the syndicate — Belift — then how many times did you lose? Because if it's just a couple million then I have some savings.” His eyes filled with a poisonous mix of adoration and shame. “I can buy you out, Wonie.”

“Seventy.”

“Pardon?”

“My debt is seventy-million.”

The air felt too thin to stay in your lungs. Your brain felt too small to carry all your thoughts.

“God, Jungwon, how many times did you lose?!”

Jungwon’s eyes became unfocused — as if he suddenly became detached from the conversation, or perhaps the topic of conversation.

“After you win five times, you enter into a different level and the price of victory becomes higher. I won five times so the victory pay-out became one-and-a-half-million. Then after you win another ten times, the pay-out is two-million. And of course, as you progress to higher levels, you fight stronger opponents.”

“Ok so at what level did you start losing?”

“Seven-million.” He informed but was quick to add, “I lost a lot but not as much as you think.”

“You lost ten times?”

“No.”

You raised a brow, encouraging him to continue.

“I lost more than that but I’ve won some back,” He ran a hand through his hair, “Then lost it again, then won it back.” His his locked onto yours, “But it’s not because I’m a bad fighter.”

You furrowed your brows, “Jungwon, I was there on Friday night. I know you’re not a bad fighter.”

“No, no, listen to me,” He placed his strong hands on your upper arms again, “Before I made it into the seven-million bracket, I was undefeated. I was on track to winning against everyone on every syndicate's roster. After I made it into that final bracket, I started losing.”

“Because your opponents got stronger?”

“No,” Jungwon’s head fell but his hands remained steady on your arms, “Every Friday it’s something new. This Friday wasn’t so bad… but it still sucked.”

“What are you talking about?”

He pulled his head up to look you in the eye, “Someone filled my water bottle with vinegar.”

“What?!”

“I found out after the first round after chugging it.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“That’s why I went so hard yesterday. I needed to end the match quickly because I was getting dehydrated.”

Your lips downturned in concern. 

He paused for a moment before continuing, “And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t mad. Last week it was laxatives.”

“It was what?!” Your hand flew to your mouth to hold back your laugh.

Jungwon sighed, “Yes. My only options were to run out of the ring like a sissy or crap my pants in front of a thousand or more people.”

Your eyes stared at him wide but blank — unassuming.

“Obviously, I ran out of the ring, Y/N.” He tried to school his face into annoyance amid your outburst of laughter. “Yeah well, there have been other things too: stealing my mouth guard, blaring noises in my ears to throw off my balance, sanding the soles of my shoes flat, stealing my clothes. Everything you could think of.”

He took in the soft expression you gave him: eyebrows pulled, lips marked downward, eyes glimmering in empathy. He hated seeing it. He didn’t want you to feel pity for him or think of him as weak. That’s the last thing he wanted.

“Yeah well, I’ll let you know what happens next week.”

“No, what? Jungwon, who is doing this?” You asked him, “The sabotage is literally so unfair, get them to stop.”

“I would if I could. But I don’t know who’s doing it and I don’t think the staff would do anything about it.”

“Why not?”

“One of the rules is: in the ring anything goes. That's why I said that it’s neither wrestling or boxing. You can use any fight style, you can do anything, as long as you don’t bring a weapon and you look out for the tap-outs.”

“So, you can pretty much beat the demons out of a man until he taps-out? That’s so stupid… you’re gonna get yourself killed, Wonie.”

“Yeah but I haven’t yet.”

“Wait, but I have a question.” You watched Jungwon give you a nod with expectant eyes, “If the rule is that anything goes in the ring then all of the sabotage that happens outside of the ring is punishable, right?”

He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, “Honestly, I don’t know. My manager and the rest of the fighters for Belift know about the sabotage but no one knows who’s doing it or how to stop it. They usually don’t target the same thing twice. I think they stole my water bottle twice because the laxatives worked so well.”

He spoke in a joking manner but his words tinged the air with salt. It caused your heart to ache for him — he wasn’t safe, he was being sabotaged, and he couldn’t escape. Before you could overthink it, you wrapped your arms around his middle and held him tightly. As if your arms were strong enough to keep him safe. As if your head pressed against his chest did anything to alleviate the ache in his heart. 

His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he dipped his head to rest on yours, “I’m sorry I kept this from you but you have to understand. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get wrapped up in this mess…” He paused, his chest rose and fell as his heart picked up, “I wanted to protect you. I want to keep you safe. So please, don’t go to the gym again.” 

A wave of helplessness washed you onto the shore of reality. You wanted to help Jungwon but what could you do? You can’t fight. You can’t pay his debt. 

“Wait here.” You commanded before running into your room and grabbing that dark blue plastic bottle. “Here,” You held the water bottle out to him, “I grabbed this on the way out of the gym last night.”

Jungwon furrowed his brows before walking to your door and grabbing his blue backpack. Zipping it open, he pulled out the same blue water bottle: Decilis University Class of 2027. 

Your faces mirrored each other — eyebrows creased and eyes full of suspicion. Jungwon flipped the bottle to see the bottom of it, he turned it toward you so you could see. You mirrored his actions and showed him the bottom of the bottle you held. 

Even though the rest of the bottles were identical, only the bottom of one of them claimed in plain letters: Yang Jungwon.

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“I’ve never used a different water bottle.” He glanced down at you with your eyes glued to the bottles.

“I know you haven’t. Which is why I wanna know how you suddenly acquired a second one.”

“I really don’t know. I took my water bottle downstairs.”

You turned to stare at him, “Wonie, if you didn’t leave this water bottle upstairs and you know for a fact that you brought it down to the basement then that means someone switched the water bottles.”

Jungwon furrowed his brows and then sat next to you on the couch, “Wait, what do you mean?”

“The water bottle I took home on Friday is Water Bottle A and the bottle that you took home on Friday is Water Bottle B.” Jungwon nodded his head, “You took Water Bottle A from the cafe, to the gym, and to the basement, but when you drank from it there was no longer water in it it but vinegar. And you came home with Water Bottle B and I found Water Bottle A on the floor of the gym. That means that somewhere between your arrival in the basement and the moment you drank from it in your fight, someone switched the bottles.”

Jungwon paused to compute the theory, “Okay, but that’s assuming I had Water Bottle A when I walked into the gym. And assuming someone bought our university’s water bottle just to trick me.”

“True…” You frowned, “But how would you even get a second water bottle? And how would you not realize that you were using two?”

Jungwon shrugged.

“Also, if they did switch your bottles on Friday, they probably did it last Friday too. Just, you know, with laxatives instead of vinegar.”

“Can we please not talk about that?” Jungwon dropped his head, his reddened ears hidden behind tuffs of blond hair.

You giggled at his embarrassment which caused his face to get even redder — just not for the reason you thought.

With his elbows on his knees, he turned his head to look at you, “So, how do we prove that they’ve been switching my water bottle?”

“Easy,” You smiled cunningly. “Go to the gym and make sure to leave Water Bottle B there and keep Water Bottle A with you. Then on Friday, take Water Bottle A with you to the basement, then when you go home that night see if you have Water Bottle A or B.”

He nodded, “But that won’t tell us who’s switching the bottles.”

“No, it won’t, unless…” You refrained from finishing the thought.

“No.” 

“Jungwon—”

“I said ‘no’.”

“It’d be the easiest way to see who’s sabotaging you!”

“It’d also be the easiest way to put you in danger.” His gaze held you in a firm grip, “We don’t know when this person is switching the bottles and if the other fighters see that you’re coming in with me?” He let out a huff, “You were never safe there to begin with but if you come in with me then you’ll have a bright red target painted on your back.”

“You’re being dramatic, Jungwon.”

For a moment he just stared at you like you as if you’d started speaking another language. It made you feel dumb, like you were missing something.

“Y/N, there are people that owe these crime syndicates more money than I do. Some of them get off to beating up other people, some get off to watching others get their ass handed to them. Most of the people there lost in fights to me. Most of them hate me.” He paused and his gaze softened, “They will use any opportunity to get at me including hurting those I care about… I will not let you get hurt.”

You nodded because you did understand him, but he wasn’t seeing things from your perspective.

“Jungwon, I get that. I get that you want to keep me safe but I also want to keep you safe. I don’t want you to be stuck in this cycle of fighting for these syndicates and getting deeper in debt while they keep exploiting you for money.” You hoped your eyes conveyed all your desperation, in case your words failed you, “I don’t want to lay in bed every Friday night not knowing whether or not you’ll be going home to your seven centimeter dorm mattress or a hospital bed.”

Jungwon set his hand on the space between your kneecap and thigh — a safe space, close enough to be intimate, far enough to be platonic — his thumb stoked your skin only once but it was enough for a shiver to run up your spine. His eyes were filled with the pain you only get from restraint.

“I know you’re worried, but please let me handle this.”

His hand felt heavy on your knee, like he was grounding you — or maybe himself — before he took the bottles and shoved them in his backpack. Stepping into his shoes and turning to look at you for a breath of a moment. Then he stepped out the door, locking it before he left.

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It would be advantageous to say that you and Jungwon acted like nothing happened. Like you went about the next week as you always had: giggling in lectures, eating underwhelming cafeteria food, sending Instagram Reels at stupidly late hours into the night, “wya” and “wyd” texts, impromptu hang outs at your dorm, and cafe study dates at your part-time job. But none of this happened this week albeit for a text or two and one Reel you hadn’t even opened yet. The week was categorized in unsent messages, stolen glances, and hearts full of unspoken words.

Friday wasn’t as mundane as the days before, not with the whirlwind of anxiety trapping itself in your body. Your leg bounced rapidly where you sat before you got up and paced then sat back down again. Restless and repetitive. Your whole body felt unbearably hot though your air conditioner was blowing enough cold air to give goosebumps. Your mind shuffled through thoughts, theories, and hypotheticals like the flash cards you helped Jungwon study for economics. Your car keys glimmered at you like a precious diamond at the feet of a burglar.

It was only natural that you’d find yourself parked on the side of the street by the gym.

Close enough to get there quickly, far enough to not attract suspicion. You’d seen enough movies.

You dressed in a pair of jeans, a plain shirt, a baseball cap, and a black face mask. Something simple and inconspicuous — something forgettable. You peeked into the windows of the gym which framed the empty gym. The attendant at the desk got up spinned in his chair absent-mindedly with his AirPods in and his thumb scrolling through videos. You took the chance to crack the door open, slide through, and sneak past him and behind the large equipment. He didn’t look over once.

You checked the spot where Water Bottle A had been last week, with the spot being empty, you turned your sight on the locker rooms. Since you were here, three hours earlier than you had been last week, you figured a couple things would be different. 

In fact, there were a lot of factors you were working with that were based off of assumptions. The first being, since Jungwon is in the highest fighting bracket and people started leaving after his match — the other brackets likely had their matches before him. The second being, since he never mentioned the scholarship having a gender requirement, there are likely women fighters as well. Which means the women’s locker room would have a door — or shower — to the basement too.

The only problem was getting down there without being seen. You walked into the locker room seeing it mostly empty and walked up to locker that was available. You glanced at the two girls who were in there, who were busy lacing up their shoes or braiding their hair out of their face. Your eyes glanced at their lockers to see two silver name plates: Huh Yunjin and Kim Chaewon. They were fighters in the basement. 

With your locker door swung out, it hid your face from view and you used the opportunity to removed the jeans and shirt, revealing a workout set underneath — as if you were about to ‘hit the gym’ or whatever Jungwon usually says. You thought this might happen. The girls would be waiting for you to leave so that they could get down to the basement; you needed them to think you were just here to workout so that you could follow them without being on their radar. 

So, you stepped out into the gym, walked to a machine, pretended to look for your headphones, and then walked back into the locker room. To find it perfectly empty. You threw on the jeans and tshirt and rushed to the back. And of course, the seventh shower was closed off only this time you had to figure out how to open it. You twisted and pulled the knobs but neither of them did anything. You grabbed the showerhead, examined it, pulled at it — nothing. You pressed on every tile all the way to the floor — again, nothing. You grabbed the hot handle again and pushed in and then twisted it like a normal doorknob — effectively opening the door. 

A strikingly similar staircase to the one in the men’s locker room opened up and you walked down with all the confidence of familiarity. The stands were packed but they were’t quite full yet. You looked to the direction the betters had gone after Jungwon’s match — on the ground floor there was an opening which led to a long counter with recpetionist and lines of people waiting to place their bets. You walked in and watched what the people did: how and in what order. Then you repeated.

First, stop at the ATM and draw some cash.

Second, check the roster and their percentage of winning:

Bracket 1 Male — KEONHO | 57.84% vs WOONHAK | 42.16% Female — YOONCHAE | 48.61 % vs IROHA | 51.39%

Bracket 2 Male — YUMA | 48.12% vs SUNGHO | 51.88% JUHOON | 47.46% vs RIWOO | 52.54%  MARTIN | 46.88% vs JO | 53.22% Female — EUNCHAE | 63.25% vs HAERIN | 36.75%

Bracket 3 Male — MAKI | 50.00% vs JAMES | 50.00% SUNOO | 78.88% vs TAKI | 21.12% NI-KI | 80.58% vs BAMKYU 20.42% Female — HYEIN | 78.62 vs MINJU | 21.38% MANON | 49.99% vs DANIELLE | 50.01%

Bracket 4 Male — HYUKA | 22.23% vs JAY | 77.77% SUNGHOON 63.25% vs NICHOLAS | 46.75%   EJ | 43.97% vs JAKE | 56.03% Female — YUNJIN | 65.00% vs LARA | 35.00%       HANNI | 67.36% vs MEGAN | 32.74%       KAZUHA | 57.82% vs WONHEE 42.28%

Bracket 5 Male — YEONJUN | 48.33% vs EVAN | 51.77%   SOOBIN | 13.44% vs K | 86.56%   TYUN | 42.98% vs JAKAH | 57.02% Female — SAKURA 79.00% vs DANIELA | 21.00%       CHAEWON | 55.39% vs YUNAH | 44.61%       MINJI | 55.55% vs SOPHIA | 44.45%

Third, place bets at the counter — with the most strategic and thorough consideration in order to make the most money possible.

Of course, you would not be making any bets today. Or ever. Because it’s illegal — then again, being here probably is too, but you’re not really itching to add to your crimes. So you backed out and found a seat high up in the stands, out of view from most of the crowd, near the passage to the women's locker room. And you waited. Through 18 long matches before you saw him. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him like this before, you’d seen him like this a week ago. Dark blue shorts and a simple black tank that hugged his frame deliciously. His thick biceps on full display and his broad shoulder wider with his chest puffed slightly. You watched him set down his water bottle on a stool at the corner that he would enter the ring on. The answer to whether or not that bottle was the one he’d entered with, whether it actually held water, or if someone had yet to tamper with it, could only be answered in time. 

Tyun was the opponent on the other side. He stood at around the same height as Jungwon and looked to be similarly muscular. Your eyes squinted as you watched Jungwon take in the sight of his opponent. He looked stiff and on edge. Had the sabotage already happened? Did it have anything to do with the water bottle at all or had they moved onto a different tactic. Your leg bounced slightly in your seat before you realized that the rapid motion would draw unwanted attention. You sat as inconspicuously as you could and kept your gaze on the dark blue water bottle resting on the stool. The announcers began their opening statements.

“Well, I don’t know about you Dino but I, for one, am beyond excited to see this match play out.”

“You’re not the only one S.Coups. You, me, and the rest of this crowd are ready to see this match between two of the best fighters we have in the club.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Today, in the orange shorts, we have BigHit's TYUN, who specializes in traditional boxing. We expect to see a lot of feints, well-timed strikes, and strong follow through on those punches.”

“He’s also impeccable at blocking, don’t forget S.Coups.”

“Right, of course.”

You took in the information and attempted to cross reference it with Jungwon’s fighting style but it hit you — you don’t know what his fighting style is. The only time you have ever seen Jungwon fight was last week. A fight which he said that he had been intentionally more aggressive in, in order to end the fight quickly. His default fighting style is an enigma to you.

“In the blue shorts we have Belift’s JAKAH, who specializes in taekwondo. Tonight, you’ll see from him more leg work: kicks, dodges, body-locks and things of that sort. The kid is quick on his feet, let me tell you.”

“And aggressive too! Last week was abnormal for JAKAH — throwing mean punches and taking hits head on instead of dodging and assessing how best to attack.”

“That’s true, Dino, we did see a different side to JAKAH last week. Perhaps, we’ll see a different side to him today.”

“You think he’ll recover from his losing streak? Or was last week just a stroke of luck?”

You held back a huff of annoyance. Jungwon didn’t believe in luck. He believed in hard work and maybe the tiniest bit of Fate — but not luck.

“I’m not sure but seeing as TYUN is a reigning champion in the ring… Well, let’s just say I have my money on the safer side.”

Half the group erupted in boastful laughs and presumptuous whoops. You watched Jungwon shake his head before he pointed at a roll of bandages on the ground. A guy around the same age as him handed it to him. It was then that you realized a bit of a crowd had gathered in Jungwon’s corner: some dressed like coaches or managers, some dressed like fighters. Jungwon seemed familiar with all of them or if he wasn’t, it didn’t show. It was his lack of concern that had you not blinking your eye twice at them — until their bodies began to obstruct the view of the water bottle.

“I don’t know about that, Dino, JAKAH has the better odds today with over 57 percent.”

“Yeah, but TYUN has stayed consistent in his wins and losses.” Dino argued and you watched a tall, slightly pale, incredibly buff man with nice brows call Jungwon and say something that looked along the lines of “this announcer can shove it”. “JAKAH was undefeated until about three matches into the fifth bracket. Then he went on this massive losing streak which he had yet to fully recover from.”

“Top ten mysteries of the world, huh?”

Jungwon’s coach began to advise him, using punching and blocking gestures to demonstrate his points. The blond man nodded and began to jump slightly, shuffling his feet and lightening his steps. A woman — manager, maybe — handed him his mouth guard and offered him a towel which he rejected. The crowd, which had entertained itself with side-chatter, had begun to dwindle in volume and shift their attention to the ring in the center. 

You glanced over at Jungwon’s opponent and felt a wave of anxious heat flood through your veins. They did look evenly matched. Too even. But from the sounds of it, their fighting styles seemed contrasting. Like rocks versus water. Your head filled with silent prayers of victory as the buzzer sounded.

Jungwon continued to bounce between feet, keeping himself between groundedness and charge. Tyun seemed entirely more relaxed. He shuffled around Jungwon — the two of them in a dance with their steps on different beats — before Tyun advanced with jabs that were made for nothing but distraction. To pull his focus on his hands. Left. Right. Left Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Right. Right. And then knee up to Jungwon’s abdomen — which thankfully, the blond managed to dodge. Jungwon advanced this time, just as quickly as he dodged, he swept his feet under Tyun’s causing him to jump back. 

You chanced a look toward Jungwon’s team who crowded around his corner, yelling cheers and suggestions that sounded more like commands. Jungwon ignored all of them, bringing his fists up to his face and exchanging them with Tyun. Firsts knock into fists, knuckles digging into forearms, legs in constant limbo between pursuit and retreat. 

“JAKAH throws a steady one! And TYUN takes the opening! His fist just reaches his nose! Another light jab — it looks like he’s stunned! And a full-force punch blocked by JAKAH’s arms!”

“I don’t know S.Coups, that looks like it hurts. Hey, have you ever broken your forearm while blocking?”

“Hah! Not me personally, but there have been stranger things when it comes to JAKAH.”

You exhaled steadily as the crowd roared in laughter. Jungwon was backing up in light bounces and shaking his arms out. You weren’t a fighter but it was a telltale sign that the punch had left bruises that would soon start blooming.

Jungwon rolled his shoulders and took the same stance as before: fists up to his face with his fingers facing him. Tyun had a mirroring stance. Then in the blink of an eye, Jungwon rushed toward him and sent a kick low on the man’s stomach, too fast for him to block completely, which caused his hand to get wedge between his stomach and Jungwon's foot. With the momentum garnered, Jungwon used the foot he had on the ground to jump closer and folded his raised leg back in toward his chest before launching it up at Tyun’s face. Still stunned from the sudden kick to his gut, Tyun fails to dodge the attack fully and is left with a bloody nose. On instinct, Tyun jumps out of Jungwon’s area of attack and keeps his legs bent and his body small and defensive. 

“Whew, that’s the champion I remember! And it seems like the crowd remembers him too if the jeers are any indication, huh, Dino?”

“Yeah, what a flawless double-kick from JAKAH. The change in strategy from a boxing style to his familiar taekwondo was the perfect ruse and surprise to knock Tyun off his balance.”

You released a breath that had caught itself unknowingly in your lungs. The team in Jungwon’s corner was going wild — all nine of them, still there and still cheering. You noticed that six of them were in simple tanks and shorts, much like the outfit Jungwon was wearing to fight in. The other three were in black, one of them with white lettering that read: COACH.

“And he caught him!” The announcer’s voice rang in the room, pulling your gaze from the sidelines to the center ring. “TYUN’s got a hold of JAKAH’s leg, mid-kick. Now pulling him to the mat!”

Your heart raced, pulse pounding so loud in your ears that it drowned the announcer out. You watched Tyun straddle a fallen Jungwon, landing an immediate punch across his jaw. The jaw that had been hit only a week prior. Jungwon moved his hands to push him off but another punch landed across his nose — it had you wondering if that spot was chosen because of convenience or personal vendetta. Jungwon moved his hands to his face, blocking the onslaught of punches but TYUN didn’t let up, instead standing up and readying his elbow to dig into Jungwon’s ribs as he fell on them. 

Your hand flew over your mouth, leg bouncing uncontrollably, as Jungwon rolled over just in time. But as he scrambled to get back up amid the blood rushing out of his nose, Tyun grabbed his left shoulder and his waist and pulled him back before sliding his left hand over Jungwon’s neck and placing him in a headlock. 

“Oh! The tide turns quickly with TYUN in the ring!”

“Oh yeah. I heard some of the betters have started calling him ‘The Magician’.”

Jungwon's hands tugged at Tyun’s arms in a vain attempt to get free. You watched his legs flail to find a grip — anything, any advantage to free himself. His face got redder, his hands more desperate, his legs more erratic. The air felt unbearable. Like you were sitting in a furnace with freshly chopped wood. The sight of him struggling, the sight of his body thrashing in desperation, the sight of his eyes closing and opening erratically, it pulled your stomach in knots and drew sweat onto your brow.

Then his hand tapped repeatedly on the other man’s bicep and without hesitation the vice he had on Jungwon was released. Jungwon coughed so loudly it reached all the way up to your seat in the makeshift stadium. His coughs were scratchy like they came from the depths of his lungs and gasped for air greedily and hungrily. His feet caught on each other as he crawled and stumbled toward his corner. Hand convulsing in a “give me” motion until his blue bottle met his hand. 

His back fell on the ropes of the ring, his whole body weight supported as he leaned on them. His fingers fumbled the open the cap, coughs still falling from his chapped lips, and when he pulled the cap off, those same lips found the mouth of the bottle. He tilted it up and drank ravenously from it. His throat worked around two big gulps before he spat out a fountain of clear liquid. 

“Yikes… didn’t this happen last week? I’m starting to think JAKAH doesn’t wash his water bottles….”

The rage you felt from the crowd's easygoing laughter and gossip nearly overtook the worry swelling in your heart. Your eyes took in the way Jungwon’s face scrunched up, the way his coughs became more frequent, the way the bottle slipped from his hands, and his knees inched closer to the floor. As if he’d already accepted his defeat, he just wasn’t ready to let go yet. 

His team rapped their hands on the floor, yelling at him, trying to get his attention but he didn’t listen. Didn’t spare them a glance. Just swiped a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and tried to find solidity in his body again. You imagined it must have been hard. He had just been choked of all the breath in his lungs and missed out on over a minute of fresh oxygen to his blood. He almost passed out, his limbs must still be recovering, his throat must feel ornamented in glass shards, and his brain must be all fogged up without the oxygen to help him think. Then add on whatever mystery liquid had found itself in his bottle that night.

How come you didn’t see who switched the bottles? 

The buzzer sounded before you could answer that question. This time, Jungwon didn’t bounce between his feet, he barely kept them steady on the ground. He was leaning to his right, like his axis had tilted and his chest rose and fell in a strange pattern. Tyun took the opportunity in stride, a quick feint with his right which Jungwon blocked. A feint with his left, then with his right. Then he grabbed Jungwon’s biceps and slammed his knee into his torso. Then he pushed him back and twisted his hips to send a deathly punch to Jungwon’s face.

Your body begged you to look away, your heart begged you to watch. It was the least you could do. The least to share in his pain. 

Thankfully, he side-stepped out of the way; unluckily, his balance caused him to stumble halfway to the ground. He pushed up, eyes always on his opponent. Tyun rushed him, throwing firm cuts and landing them anywhere he could. Jungwon’s reaction time was a fraction of what it had been before and his strength looked to be significantly minimized as well. After a moment, he held his head completely, suffering through the barrage of punches. He wobbled and fell to his knees, his body teetering like it was about to fall off the edge. Tyun stepped back, confident and in no rush, before sending a kick that tipped Jungwon over and onto his back.

It was like he became a fraction of the fighter he was before. It was easy to see — you didn’t need to be his best friend to see that — not when everyone else was aware of it too. Angry yells and strings of curses protruding from the betters in the stands. People began to stand and scream insults and mockeries at the fallen man below. Jungwon’s head lolled to the side, as if his neck had no strength to support it. His arms twitched and his body tensed but he couldn’t get it to do anything beyond bracing for the incoming impact. 

A kick to the ribs. A strong hand that pulled at the fabric of the black tank. A fist to the eye. Then again to the jaw. And a slam back down onto the mat for good measure. Tyun stepped back, body lax, as the referee counted from one to five in a booming voice. Jungwon’s eyes didn’t flutter open, he didn’t tap into some untouched strength. He just laid there on the ground. Unmoving. Soundless. Bloodied.

The picture of defeat.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Pushing through the crowd was not easy. Not when hundreds of bodies were pushing and shoving in either eagerness or bitterness. You happened to fall in the former as you rushed to follow where the team was taking Jungwon. Unease swam through your mind like a rushing river. Was he okay? What happened? He was doing fine and then suddenly he wasn’t. Was the lack of oxygen too much? Were the hits to his head too hard? Does he have a concussion? Should he go to the doctor? How would he get there? Who will take him home in this condition?

The fear settling right onto your shoulders had you moving faster than before. Rushing past the center ring and to the wall at the back under some bleachers. You pushed through a set of matte black painted doors that you had seen Jungwon and his team go through. It opened into a hallway with slightly yellow, slightly dim overhead lights. 

“Make sure he’s not dying on me, alright? I got other people to worry about, right now.” A man grumbled before opening and walking through another door deeper into the hallway. 

You walked to the door, barely registered the bickering behind the thin wood, until a familiar voice punctured through. 

“I couldn’t breathe, Riki.” Jungwon yelled, his voice scratchy and unusually deep. 

“All I’m saying,” Another deep voice with a slight Japanese accent said slowly, “Is that you know that bottle is a risk and you still chose to drink from it.”

“You’ve never been choked have you?” A softer voice asked, likely directed at the boy with the Japanese accent. 

“Riki,” Jungwon said after a sigh, “There’s nothing I can do to stop the sabotage unless I know who’s behind it. It was a calculated risk.” 

Your brows furrowed in concern. Jungwon’s words were slurring slightly, his intonation was off kilter, and his volume was somewhere between too loud and too mumbly. 

“Yeah, a risk that caused you twenty blows to the head.” A different voice spoke flatly.

“Everclear.” This voice came out in a perfect American accent before returning to Seoul Korean, “They put everclear in your bottle and you chugged it.”

“Genuinely, how can you tell that that’s everclear just by smelling.” An Australian man asked in English. 

“I know my alcohol.” The American responded before returning to Korean, “Anyway, this is ninety-five percent, high proof alcohol, and he chugged it. If he didn’t lose equilibrium from getting choked, he lost it about five minutes after drinking this.”

“Yeah, his reaction time slowed significantly.” A sweet voice spoke next. 

“And there’s no point in talking to him right now because he genuinely looks on the verge of passing out. Great.” The first guy — Riki — said. 

It was at this remark that you opened the door, immediately locking eyes with a red-flushed Jungwon, who stood up straight at the sight of you. 

“Y/N?!”

“Jungwon!” You grabbed his head, ignoring the simmering confusion gracing the room, and checked his eyes for any abnormality. “How’s your head?”

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” His eyes were wide in shock. From the closeness, you could see his face already beginning to swell, the dried blood crusted on the edges of his nostrils, and a split on his bottom lip. 

“Oh God, Jungwon!” You exclaimed, “Do you need to go to the hospital? I’ll drive you. Can you walk? Where are your other injuries?” Your hands fumbled to the hem of his tank top, about to pull it up to assess the injuries to his abdomen, when Jungwon’s firm hand caught your wrists. 

His body swayed unsteadily for a moment, he blinked harshly at you, as if he was forcing his eyes to focus on your face and begging his brain to produce a worthwhile thought. 

“I told you not to come here again.” His voice teetered on the edge of passion and breathlessness, “I thought I made that clear.”

His voice held a harshness he had never before taken with you. 

“Yes, I know that but—”

“But what?!” He nearly yelled, the force behind his voice causing him to shuffle his feet to find his balance. “There’s nothing — nothing! — you can tell me that would convince me that you being here was a good idea!” 

“Not even—”

“Nothing!” He slid his hands to your shoulders but for what reason, it was harder to tell. To maximize the intensity of his words or to keep him balanced via your support. “How long have you been here? Who saw you? Damn it, Y/N.” His fingers squeezed your shoulders as he dropped his head. 

You assumed he did it to hide his face. Too ashamed to grimace in front of you or show any sign of pain, fragility, or weakness. 

“Jungwon, I’m just trying to help you.”

“Helping me would be staying away.” He grumbled, blinking his eyes back in focus to you. “Not intentionally disobeying me when I specifically asked you not to come here. What were you going to do?”

“I couldn’t sit at home knowing that you were going to fight someone and unfairly at that!” You argued back, hands coming up and taking hold of his forearms. Gently, knowing all that they’ve been through tonight alone. “I couldn’t sit back while you were here, alone, facing unknown threats from unknown people.”

“I’ve been doing that for the better part of a year, Y/N, I don’t need you here, risking your safety, attracting unwanted attention, worrying me, and distracting me from my job.”

“This is not a job.”

Jungwon brought a hand to his head and stumbled back slightly. He stood frozen for a moment before shaking his head and turning his tired, fuzzy vision onto you. 

“You’re here because you want to protect me from liabilities?” He asked rhetorically, “You are a liability.” 

You took a deep breath, expecting this outcome but bursting at the seams with annoyance all the same, “You’re saying I’ve made things worse by being here?” 

“Yes!” His voice hit your ears sharply. 

“Fine.” You nodded and turned to leave. Footsteps fast and gaze anywhere but the seven pairs of eyes in the room. Jungwon’s hand grabbed your upper arm sloppily and his gaze met yours flat, exhausted, and disappointed. 

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Back into the arena? Back into the gym? Then out to your car? In the dark? With dozens of fighters pent up from losses or high on victory adrenaline? With hundreds of angry betters and happy ones who think they can double their luck?” He didn’t even stop to laugh, “You think I’m gonna let you go out there and put yourself in more danger than you already are?”

“And what are you going to do?” You asked angrily, the words highlighting the way his eyes blurred in and out of focus, the way his body leaned too far to the right, the way his body was perpetually stiffened — as if the injuries increased in pain when he let loose.

And even with the drunken daze hindering his abilities to stand, talk, see, and think, it was obvious, his desperation. Your shirt clenched slightly in his fist, the furrow in his brows, and the helplessness veiling his dark brown eyes. Desperation was evident in the small details of Jungwon’s being. 

His devotion to keeping you safe was no longer enough. 

You watched the thought conceptualize as his grip tightened fractionally.

“I’ll make sure she gets out,” A tall man placed his strong hand on the blond’s shoulder. He had a small cut on his right cheek and a gaze soft enough to cover the room in confident peace. “There’s nothing you can do in this state, so let me take her home.”

Jungwon’s shoulders released their tension before tensing up again. If he tried to bite back a grimace, he failed. 

“And I,” A man, with angular eyes and the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen, walked toward you, stopping a safe distance away, “Will make sure he’s okay and taken care of.” Something about the way he stared at you as he spoke gave you the impression that he was a man of his word. And you nodded slightly and mumbled a thank you. 

And with one last look at Jungwon — or the wreck of him that Tyun left behind — you walked off with his friend. Hat pulled down and mask pulled up, the other boy dressed in a black hoodie and sweats. He led you down the hallway, around various corners, through an exit door, and up a staircase. 

The night air was cold and crisp as you led him to your car a few streets out, pleading with him to just let you drive yourself home, promising to text him when you did, and thanking him before driving away. The air of your apartment wasn’t any warmer, not even after a mindless shower, not even after you threw your duvet over your body and snuggled into the sheets. 

It was then that you thought: maybe the chill had nothing to do with the temperature in the air but everything to do with the warmth of Jungwon’s words.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

If the week prior had been isolating and strenuous on your relationship with Jungwon, the next week was infinitely worse. You had texted Jungwon’s friend — Heeseung, the one who offered to take you home — that you had gotten there safely. That being his only condition in letting you drive off alone. You had contemplated texting Jungwon too but the cursor blinked on the message bar continuously for minutes. You hadn’t typed a thing.

Instead, you messaged Heeseung. You asked how Jungwon was, if he had any severe injuries, if he had gone to the hospital, if he was at home recovering, and similar things of that nature. Heeseung responded quickly, said he was at Jay’s apartment. Jay, being the man with the sharp jawline. He informed that Jungwon was recovering but he was resting after the harsh beating. Told you that Jungwon wouldn’t be attending any of his lectures this week.

You had swallowed thickly and said thank you. Then went about your week as normally as you possibly could without your twin flame by your side. You attended your own lectures with disinterest but you eagerly met with Jungwon’s professors to get notes for the lectures that he missed. You went to the cafeteria, walking in with no appetite and leaving with even less of one. You skipped out on library study sessions, cafe study sessions, and you picked up extra shifts at the cafe you worked at. Pouring the espresso shot and steaming the milk had been something you’d intentionally been precise with, but you found yourself calling the customer’s name before you even realized you’d finished the drink.

As the days neared closer and closer to Friday, you itched to know. To know if Jungwon had recovered. To know if he was fighting again on Friday. To know if you should tell him what you saw or didn’t see. To know which bottle he had come home with. To know if he was still mad at you.

You: hey heeseung! i was just wondering if there was an update on jungwon’s condition?

heeseung (wonie’s friend): Hey yeah he’s ok

You: is he back at his dorm or is he still at jay’s

heeseung (wonie’s friend): Uhh I think he should be back at his dorm tonight but he’s not rn

You: oh is he at jay’s

heeseung (wonie’s friend): Yes

You: can i come see him?

heeseung (wonie’s friend): Uhhh no I don’t think so

You: why not?

heeseung (wonie’s friend): Because he’s napping rn

You: he’s not there is he? jungwon hates taking naps

heeseung (wonie’s friend): Yeah no he’s not there. Sorry

You: is he at the gym? 

You: will he be there on friday?

The bold “read” timestamp mocked you for a good 15 minutes before you got up. Changing into workout clothes and grabbing your things. Pulling up to the gym, you noted that it didn’t have that uncanny feeling anymore. Perhaps it was because of the time of day, perhaps it was because you were familiar with a different feeling that it brought you: worry. 

You saw him much before he saw you, though it took you a minute to find him. The gym was much larger than you thought and had an annex which led to a room with two small dingy boxing rings and a couple of punching bags. The bruises on his face were turning a sickly yellow, indicating the nearness of a full recovery. The split on his lip was scabbed over and healing nicely — you assumed that was largely due to the immediate dousing of alcohol it got, thanks to the everclear. The rest of his injuries were hidden beneath his clothing. The strength of his punches against the heavy bag and the lightness of his feet as he kept them moving proved the after effects of low oxygen and everclear had long filtered out of his body.

He looked good. Strong. Determined. Healthy. Glowy. Handsome.

It almost drew you into your cowardice. To flee from him before your boldness made you even more of a liability than you already were. But by that point he had already turned his gaze up to see you. And stopped the rocking of the punching bag. His heavy breaths were the only sound that traveled between you two and it made your mind race. What was he thinking? Was he mad? Why wasn’t he saying anything? 

He closed his eyes and released a deep sigh.

“I just came to give you this.” You announced, holding up your duffel bag with two hands.

“Your bag?” He asked with his brows drawn upward. His voice had returned to normal: no longer deep, scratchy, and cold. Just sweet, gentle, and warm. Just Jungwon.

“Well, no,” You unzipped it, “What’s in it.” You clarified and subconsciously registered his slow approach to you. You turned your gaze up to see him fully. He wore a black compression shirt and a pair of black sweats — the dark colors contrasting the lightness of his hair. “Here.”

His face was framed in incredulity as he took the rectangular box from your hand, “What is this?”

“Open it.”

At your command, his fingers made quick work and freed the product from the box. A 40oz, dark blue, steel water bottle — one of the trendy ones. 

“I know you loved your old one,” You started, “But I think this one would be safer.”

He flipped the bottle over to see the bottom and smiled slightly at the neatly written letters of his name. Letters written by you. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You agreed, an ocean of words held behind the floodgates of your sudden anxiety. “I know you probably don’t want to know but I didn’t see it happen.” He raised a brow at your vagueness, “I’m gonna need a little more than that.”

  “The water bottle, I didn’t see anyone take it or change it. So, it must’ve happened before I got there or maybe when I wasn’t paying attention.”

Jungwon twisted the steel bottle in his hands, his mind chewing on the new information, “Yeah, I made sure that I had Water Bottle A before I set it down on that stool.”

You furrowed your brows slightly, “So then, sometime during the match? Someone switched it?”

Jungwon nodded, pressing his lips together, and staring at the bottle in his hands, “Yeah…”

“But the only people in that corner the whole match were…”

“My friends, my coach, and my managers,” He finished for you, “Yeah, I know.”

“And no one saw who did it?”

Jungwon shook his head before setting the bottle down. And stepping closer to you.

“Thank you… for the bottle,” His tone betrayed the next word that would come out of his mouth before he even formed the next sound, “But, you know I can’t have you here.”

You turned your eyes downcast and tried to pretend like dejection wasn’t seeping into skin like a soft but consistent rain. His hand found a vacancy on your shoulder and took it — another liminal space between intimacy and platonicity — which caused you to shift your gaze to him.

“These past two weeks… I’ve felt more estranged from you than I ever have and I’ve hated every minute of it.” He sighed as if it would alleviate any of the ache in his heart, “I care about you too much to keep going like that.” This thumb brushed softly on your shoulder, “I want us to go back to normal. The way we were before you found out about all of this.”

You knew exactly what that meant, exactly what he was asking you to do. Forget all you ever saw, all he ever told you. Pretend none of it happened. Tell your heart to not care so much.

“I’ll handle it, alright?” His voice warm enough to smooth the wrinkles on your forehead, “Don’t worry about me.”

“You know I can’t do that.” You whispered. 

His eyes shifted between yours and his finger traced the strap of your workout tank top, “Yeah but I’d like it if you’d try.”

As you took in his pleading eyes and felt the worry of his fidgeting hand, you supposed, it was the least you could do. For him. To pretend like everything was normal. To not add to his stress. To not make things worse for him. 

You broke eye contact, “Only if you come over and finish watching Manifesto: Day 1 with me.”

His soft laugh drew a smile to your lips. 

“Want me to bring snacks?”

You shook your head, “No, me and the apple green tea will be waiting for you Saturday night.” You told him, choosing Saturday since you knew he wouldn’t be able to attend on Friday. You hesitated to step back — to leave the warmth that his nearness radiated.

“Good.” He returned, his eyes had never left your face, fingers never stopped fiddling with your top, and his voice gave the impression that his mind wasn’t thinking about the current conversation at all. Not with a sight so beautiful in front of him. 

But all things must come to an end, as you stepped away from his touch and pulled your gaze from him. Increasing the distance between your bodies but somehow feeling less estranged than you had in weeks. You passed through the front door and into the parking lot, driving off with more of a day in mind than a destination.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

It would be a lie to say that you were calm on Friday. No, you were anything but. You knew you’d be jittery and anxious from the start so you called the White Fang Cafe, asked if you could take another shift, desperate to distract yourself. You even pulled a double but your hopes fell flat as you found your mind embracing the thought of him only seconds after you’d promised not to think of him again.

Everything brought your thoughts back to him. The iced americano you made for a customer named Harua reminded you of the cafe study dates that Jungwon and you would always do — ones where he’d always get an iced americano even if he said he’d try something new. The chocolate croissant you warmed up reminded you of the time he had argued that a chocolate strawberry croissant should be invented and not taking your word for it that it definitely already had been. The order of a lemon, ginger, honey tea reminded you of when he showed up to your apartment the week you caught a bad cold — you riddled off the recipe from the cafe and watched him follow your words perfectly from the domestic lighting of your kitchen.

For twelve long hours, your thoughts branched in every direction and yet they were all rooted in one thing: Jungwon. Not even the comfort of your bed could dispel your mind from thoughts of Jungwon. Not when your mind depicted his strong arms wrapped around you and the warmth of his body sheltering you from every threat — even the cold. You only wished you could’ve done the same for him.

As promised, a little after five, you heard a few soft knocks emanating from the front door. Your feet rushed there like a kid to a tree on Christmas morning. You swung the door open excitedly, nearly knocking a picture frame off the wall as it slammed slightly into it. Just beyond the threshold of your apartment stood your best friend in all his glory. Freshly washed hair, a black shirt that clung to his chest and arms as if it were slightly too small, and a pair of grey sweatpants that you forced your eyes to look away from.

You were expecting a face slightly more beaten than what he had. His jaw was starting to paint on the purple of a bruise and his lip definitely tore open again but other than that. He seemed fine. Perhaps his fight with Tyun was uncharacteristically brutal. Or maybe Jungwon had won his last fight.

“Hi,” He licked his dried lips, taking in your appearance as if it were something to admire. Though you were only in a tank top and simple pajama shorts.

“Hi,” You returned the greeting and stepped out of his way. 

His eyes swept across your apartment, taking in the coffee table which was arranged with chili lime chips, buttered popcorn, and his favorite jelly candies. Alongside two bottles of apple green tea and two cups with ice. The TV displayed the next episode on the screen, titled TFW (That Feeling When). 

“That eager to see me, huh?” He teased as he kicked off his shoes and took his seat on your couch. The same spot he always sat in. Grabbing his bottle of apple green tea and pouring it into the glass. 

Your laugh came out slightly unnaturally. Any normal person wouldn’t be able to tell but Jungwon was not just any normal person. You curled up on your side of the small couch and pressed play. Reaching over and grabbing the tea bottle, struggling slightly to break the seal. You switched hands and tried to recover your pride but before you could give a second attempt, Jungwon held his hand open, offering his help. You placed the bottle in his hands and watched them make quick work of the seal before pouring the golden liquid into your cup and twisting the cap back on. 

Wordlessly, he sat back and returned his attention to the show. Yet your eyes stayed glued to him. Him and the small curve of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the glimmer of his blond strands as the setting sun hit them, the light reflecting his dark brown eyes, and the dimple forming on his cheek as he fought back a sly smile. 

Manifesto: Day 1 was primarily an action show — it’s why Jungwon chose it — but the episode you were on had quite a large subplot of romance. The main characters out on the sands of a beach, the summer sun setting sipping behind the waves. It was ideal. Serene. Perfect, almost. An image of peace amid chaos. It was these scenes that had Jungwon pulling his brows together and letting the edges of his lips downturn.

The end credits of the episode began to roll and the soft music did nothing to hide the tension that had suddenly grown. You took a small sip of your drink and then turned to blond only to find him staring out into space. The second to last episode began to play, dark and action-packed, and fitting for the mood that had settled in the room like a thick autumn fog.

The sun dipped behind the horizon and the frames of the show flashed by before you could register that you had made it to the final episode. Vaguely, you remembered the scenes but they felt more like apparitions than anything real — or as real as a television show could feel — and while the final words were spoken by the characters, their voices were drowned out by the weight of Jungwon’s stare. 

His eyes seemed darker than usual, they seemed to carry more pain than they ever had before. The way his eyes bore into yours told a thousand words, ones you weren’t quite ready to see fall from his pretty lips. 

Jungwon wasn’t the type of person to give you the outline and have you color it in. He doesn’t like small talk, or beating around the bush, or making someone read between the lines. He doesn’t speak with fine print in the footnotes of his sentences and he hated peeling bandaids off. 

“Y/N, I think we need to talk.”

Avoiding it was pointless. When Jungwon made his mind up about something, that was it. There was no negotiation. And yet somehow, you found yourself shaking your head. 

“No…” You stood up, shaking your head as you looked down at him. 

He averted his eyes from you and released a deep sigh, “I got a message last night. A picture of you and I at the gym.” He paused, “There was no caption, no number attached, but the message was clear.” He turned to look into your eyes. “You aren’t safe.” 

Your brows creased, “Okay but that’s fine, right? We agreed that I’d never go to the gym again.” Your heart thumped erratically as if it knew something your brain hadn’t found out yet. 

Jungwon bowed his head and then shook it slightly, standing up from his spot on the couch and turning to pour every emotion held within his dark eyes into yours. You could barely hear him over the rush of blood in your veins.

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long.” He whispered, placing his hands on your biceps. “I’ve put you in more and more danger and I was careless.” His thumbs brushed your skin. He swallowed painfully, eyebrows creasing as he desperately searched for the right words. “I know I told you that staying away from the gym was enough, but it’s far too late for that now.” Hesitance chased the path of his eyes as he looked back at yours, “Your life has been put at risk because of me and I—” He ripped his head to the side, pressing his lips together. 

He slid his hands across your shoulders and up your neck, before cupping your cheeks — entirely intimate, barely if at all platonic — and holding your gaze all the same. There was no room for argument in his words. The hot press of fear crawled up the back of your neck: everpresent, ever-unwelcome.

“Y/N, I love you more than I could ever express. Which is why I refuse to put you in danger any longer.” His voice was gruff and his eyes shone glossy. “Please don’t misunderstand me when I tell you that I would give everything just to have you… but I can’t — I won’t — be the reason that someone hurts you.”

You shook your head and swallowed, eyes stinging and filling with bitter tears, “So what does that mean? What are you saying?” His eyebrows furrowed deeper at the way your voice restrained the emotion bursting within your heart. A biohazardous concoction of emotions: fear, sadness, frustration, disappointment, embarrassment, longing, dread, love. All in a vile poison seeping through your veins.

Jungwon licked his drying lips, “I’m saying this is it for us. Being around me puts you in too much danger. I’m not willing to risk your life just because I love you.” His voice faltered at the end of his sentence. 

“But that’s not your choice to make, Jungwon!” Your voice was brittle and you tried to ignore how comforting his hands felt as he swiped your tears away. “You don’t get to decide whether I can stop being around you or not.”

“This is the only way to protect you. This is the only solution. There’s no other choice.” 

He chewed slightly on his bottom lip. Your lips shivered as you tried to form words but your voice had been robbed from you. There was everything to say and no way to put it — not in a way that Jungwon would ever agree with. He cared for you too dearly to stand idle in the face of what could hurt you. Even if the thing that could hurt you is himself.

Jungwon’s dark eyes dragged from your equally intensive gaze, down your tear stained cheeks, and landed on your quivering lips. He stared at them with the utmost of longing, as if he was grieving something within reach that was never to be had. Your eyes followed suit. 

Breaths mixed with essays of unspoken words amid love confession tainted with dreadful farewells. You almost despised how easy it was for him to cause butterflies to invade your stomach despite the ever-growing pit. 

He was utterly selfish. At least that’s what he told himself as he closed the distance between the two of you. Stopping only centimeters away from your face. 

“God, I love you more than you will ever know.” He whispered, waiting for a rebuttal or a rejection. The silence encouraged his eyes to close and his lips to brush yours like a feather. Like you were delicate. Like he wasn’t allowing himself to commit. 

He heaved a breath onto your lips and pressed your foreheads together. With his eyes closed, he couldn’t see the tears flowing from your eyes or the way your face contorted as you spoke. 

“You’re saying that you’re leaving me because you love me…” You paused to renew your fading voice, “If that’s true then… I really wish you loved me less.” 

Your vision took in the way his screwed shut — big tears dropping from the sides of his pretty eyes. And as if he couldn’t endure the sight of your grief caused at his hand, he moved his lips up to your forehead and pressed a soft kiss.

Then he ripped his hands from you as if he knew that if he kept holding onto you, he would never let you go. 

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

“Okay,” You breathed out and set down the iced vanilla latte on the table, “I’m really glad you agreed to come see me.” You slid into the seat across from your guest. He looked much different in the lighting of the cafe — not necessarily because of the lighting but because he forwent the boxing shorts and compression shirts.

“Yeah, no problem.” He gave you a small smile, “And thanks for the free latte.”

“Of course! It’s the least I could do to repay this favor.” He nodded and took a sip of the latte, “Also technically, I got it for free too, since I work here.”

At his nod, you felt maybe you had invalidated his gratefulness at your gesture. You frowned slightly and pulled out your notebook and pen before you began to speak.

“Alright, so, like I said on the phone, I had a few questions about the whole uh… gym thing,” You introduced, “And I was wondering if you’d be able to give me some answers.”

“Yeah, I actually had a question about that.” He continued at your nod, “Why don’t you just ask Jungwon?”

It was incredibly difficult to ignore the way your heart ached at the sound of his name, “Oh, you know him. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” After a sip of your own drink, you asked your first question. “So, let’s start with the basics: how does the betting system actually work?”

Heeseung sighed as he gathered his thoughts, “Well, I’ve never actually placed a bet there but I know the basic procedure. You first draw cash from the ATM.” He paused, considering what he just said, before adding to it, “All bets must be paid in cash because they want the littlest paper or digital trail possible. After they draw the money, they check the scoreboard and the percentage chance of winning that each fighter has in their respective matches. After they decide who to vote for, they bring their bets to the front desks, fill out a piece of paper with their betting information, and give it to the attendants.”

You nodded. Everything that he informed you of was what you had already seen when you were last there. You saw the ATMs, you saw the scoreboard, you saw the three attendants at their desks handing slips of betting information. Since he wasn’t offering information beyond that, you had to pry it out yourself.

“So, what happens to the betting money and how do people get paid?”

Heeseung didn’t miss a beat, “The attendants collect the money into pools: one for each fighter. The pools’ amount is based on the amount collected from those voting for them. The pool of whoever wins the fight, keeps its money and adds on the pool from the loser. The money is then distributed from the joined pool but it's all based on percentages.”

Both yours and Heeseung’s attention was drawn at the booming voice from behind the counter. Your heart dropped to the floor as your coworker called some customer’s name to pick up their drink. It was unfortunate that the name “Jungyeon” sounded a bit too much like “Jungwon”. You shook your head to rid your body of the sudden adrenaline and to regain focus. “Uh… wait I’m confused, what do you mean?” You asked him to clarify.

Heeseung sighed, “You should really just get Jungwon to tell you, he’s a business major and knows how to talk about money in a way that’s more… understandable.”

“No, no,” You waved your hands, “You’re doing just fine! Maybe just an example would help me understand it more!”

He took a moment to consider before nodding his head, “Alright, let’s say Jungwon and I are in a match together. The odds of me winning are higher than Jungwon by a sixty-eight percent to thirty-two percent split… don’t look at me like that.”

You dropped your raised brow and stifled a laugh, “Sorry, continue.”

“More people are willing to bet on me than Jungwon because I’m more likely to win. However their payout is smaller. For example, if you were to bet fifteen-thousand on me then you’d only receive eighteen-thousand if I won. But if you put fifteen-thousand on Jungwon then you’d get twenty-two-thousand if he won, because he had worse odds.”

“Oh,” You dragged the sound out, “Okay, I get it. The reward you get from betting is bigger when you bet on the underdog because it's more risky!”

“Yeah, exactly. But that’s just one layer of many. The next thing you have to understand is what happens to the money after one of us wins. If my betting pool is one-million and Jungwon’s is five-hundred-thousand, the pool of the loser is allocated to the pool of the winner. Meaning, if I won, then that five-hundred-thousand from Jungwon’s pool would be allocated to mine.”

“Got it. The winner gets all the money.”

“Well, not really.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink, his furrowed brows a clear sign of his deliberation in how to explain, “That one-point-five-million would then be distributed among the betters and to the syndicate of the champion. The syndicate always places a bet on their fighter, so if their fighter wins then they receive their payout. But normal betters also receive theirs.”

“Wait, so the winner of the fight doesn’t get any money?”

“Uh…” He thought for a moment, looking off to the other side of the cafe and then back toward you, “I’m not sure how other syndicates do it but in BE:LIFT, they give a set price per match. At the level Jungwon and I fight at, we receive seven-million per win. Jungwon, I believe, has his winnings deposited directly toward his tuition but I have mine deposited to my bank account.”

You nodded, scribbling down a note that was just out of Heeseung’s view, “Alright so just to recap: the more the odds are in favor of a person, the less the payout will be if you bet on that fighter and both pools of bets are collected to be distributed to the betters of the champion?”

“Correct.”

“Okay, great.” You furrowed your brows and began bouncing your leg. You were unsure how Heeseung would take the next topic and if he’d refuse to answer. You needed to broach the subject very carefully in order to get the information you wanted. 

Where Jungwon was a guy that struggled to beat around the bush, you could do it all day long. Jungwon was direct, straightforward, and blunt to a fault, but you could play between the lines, skid along the edge, and walk gracefully across eggshells — getting the answer you wanted without having the person know that they’d given it to you.

“Actually, Heeseung, I was wondering,” You took a sip of your drink to feign nonchalance, “Jungwon mentioned that anything goes in the ring but how does that pertain to sabotage?”

Heeseung sat back in his seat, visually and literally taken aback, “Wow, um… I guess, sabotage isn’t really allowed. I mean, Jungwon is really the first person that I’ve seen get sabotaged but even then, I only know he gets sabotaged because I’m his friend. I don’t think others know.”

“Okay…” Your heart began to speed up a little at the prospect of having to prod for more information, “But I thought the sabotage had been going on for a while? You’re saying that no one but you, Jungwon, and the other five have noticed?”

The man chewed slightly on the straw of his drink, “I guess it has been a while hasn’t it? Jungwon doesn’t like to talk about it much.” He took a breath before continuing, “The sabotage that they put Jungwon through has been pretty undercover. Not only how they pull it off but the actual things themselves. Like, one time they stole Jungwon’s mouthguard, which meant the whole game he had to be extra careful not to get hit in the face. Which slows you down more than you’d realize.”

“Yeah, I bet…” You frowned. You’d seen Jungwon get hit in the face more times than you liked, but you never realized how much worse it could have been if he didn’t have something as simple as a mouthguard. 

Snapshots of Jungwon flashed through your mind: one where leaned against the bars of the boxing ring, skin glistening with sweat, and his eyes glancing toward the crowd; one where he sat in your living room, face petrified with fear, and his voice tense in worry; another where his body convulsed, his feet scrambled to purchase solid ground, and his hands clawing desperately at another man's arm around his neck; another where he brings his lips so close to yours they barely brush, and you know he wants more, you know you want more, but he rips his hands away and calls it noble, even as he leaves with two bloodied hearts in his wake.

You pressed your eyes together to rid yourself of the thoughts — the memories — and instead bring your attention to the task at hand.

You knew what you wanted to ask — you’d been wanting to ask it since Jungwon told you that the people who could have sabotaged him on the night you were there were the nine people in his corner. You figured that it wasn’t the other six fighters because they had no reason to sabotage Jungwon who was, not only their friend, but also not their opponent. Fighters from the syndicates did not fight each other. Therefore, the only other suspects are the managers and the coach. Who almost equally didn’t have a reason to sabotage Jungwon. 

You tread carefully with your next question, “Aren’t the managers or the coach supposed to make sure that you guys have all the things you need to fight, though?”

“Yeah, and they usually do.” Heeseung sighed, “I don’t know, maybe… no, that can’t be it.”

“What?”

“Well, our managers are relatively new.” He shrugged, “One of them was hired four months ago and the other was hired maybe two weeks later? I was gonna say that it might be that they forgot to make sure he had his mouthguard because they were new. But they had been working for about two months at the time of this incident.”

You nodded, the scratch of your pen against paper drowning in the sound of the collective chatter in the cafe. “Is anyone figuring it out?” You asked next, your eyes glancing at him while you continued to write, “Shouldn’t the coach or someone do something about this ongoing sabotage?”

Heeseung scratched his forehead, “He really should be but… I’m not sure if he is.” Heesueng tapped his fingers rhythmically on the surface of the table, “I think he mentioned it to Kim Taeho once but nothing has happened to stop it.” “Who’s Kim Taeho?”

“The big boss…” He said with his eyes pointed, “The man at the top.” “Right, so shouldn’t he want Jungwon to win all of his fights? Isn’t he forced to bet on all his fighters? Why hasn’t he done anything to stop this?”

“I’m not sure,” His face was downcast, “And yeah, he is forced to bet for all his fighters. It's a rule all the syndicates have. Even if the odds aren’t in their favor at all, they still have to put an equal wager on their fighter.”

“An equal wager to the other syndic—”

“Y/N.” A voice next to you spoke flatly. You turned to see your manager's unamused face, “Your shift started ten minutes ago.”

Both you and Heeseung stared at her like deers in headlights.

“Oh.”

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

You had officially met all the prerequisites to be instated in a mental asylum. On the blank part of your wall, next to your window and parallel to your bed, you had sticky notes and thin red washi-tape to mimic those detective boards in all the movies. Among an array of sticky notes were three that were all in a row, they read: The Coach, Manager 1, and Manager 2. Both managers had been crossed out leaving just the coach, you had asked Heeseung for the coach’s name before you had left for your shift. His name, in fine print on the sticky note, was Park Hyun. 

Your conversation with Heeseung had turned out to be more fruitful than you had ever anticipated it to be. You were able to remove the two managers from your small list of suspects based on two conversations you had: one with Jungwon and one with Heeseung. From your conversation with Jungwon, a few weeks ago, you had learnt that the sabotage had been happening for the better part of a year. In your conversation with Heeseung, you had learnt that the managers had only been working there for about four months — making it impossible for them to have been pulling off the sabotage. This left only one suspect: the coach.

The next thing to do was to answer why the coach was sabotaging his own fighter. Though the answer was obvious, right? You would only sabotage someone if you were betting for the other side. The coach must be sabotaging Jungwon to ensure that he loses in order to win his bets every time, instead of helping him become an unbeatable opponent. Therefore, the only thing you had left to do was prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the coach was sabotaging Jungwon because he was betting against him. Once you did that, you could send off your evidence to this Kim Taeho guy and get Jungwon fair chances to dig himself out of his own grave.

The only issue was: how were you going to prove the coach was sabotaging and betting against Jungwon? And how would you get the leader of a crime syndicate to look or care about the evidence — if you could even get his contact information in the first place. You ripped your gaze from the mess of sticky notes and red washi-tape, pacing around your room, and fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. 

Your eyes glanced at the phone tossed haphazardly on your bed. A slightly worn polaroid of you and Jungwon, with big smiles and frosting smeared over your faces at Jungwon’s birthday last year, laid sandwiched between your phone and its clear case. Your eyes stung at the sight and a panging pain entered your wounded heart. You hadn’t spoken to him in days and you had discovered that the absence of his words hurt more than his goodbye ever did. 

Under normal circumstances, you could have asked Jungwon for help and he would’ve been at your side before you could even finish the ask. Because that was Jungwon. He stole your bottle straight from your hands, wordlessly, to help you open the cap. He walked into your apartment like he owned it and he took care of it like he lived there. Dinners where he’d do all your dishes, not just the ones he dirtied. Without asking, he’d take your trash out, giving you a small smile when he’d come back to find the bag already replaced. Like teamwork came just as naturally to the two of you as acts of service came to him. 

You wondered whether he’d even pick up if you called. This was Jungwon, he’d always pick up as soon as he saw the flash of your face and name light up his screen. Then again, this was Jungwon, who would do anything and everything in his power to keep you safe, even if it cost him everything. 

Taking a deep breath, you opted for the next best solution to get the evidence you needed. Coming to terms with the fact that if Jungwon ever found out, he would blow a fuse. But the mission was to not be caught, anyway.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you stepped off the bus and walked the two blocks to the parking lot of the HYBE gym. Cap securely over the wig that you had purchased just a few days before; glasses pushed up over your eyes and mask pulled over your nose. You’d seen many girls wearing the same set of leggings and a tight fit jacket in their gym vlogs, taking inspiration, you had purchased them as well. 

The gym was in a weird limbo between busy and empty. At five on a Wednesday morning, only the true early birds and unfortunate employees were gracing the walls with their presence. And you, of course, as you deliberately chose to come in right as the doors opened, when the sleep deprived teenage employees would be too busy fighting to stay awake than pay attention to whoever was walking through the doors. 

You entered as the employee turned around in his chair and headed toward the women’s locker room. Thankfully, you traversed the labyrinth of gym machines without being stopped and walked into the locker room uninterrupted. The room was a ghost town, silent except for the rapid beating of your heart. This being the second time you’d done this, you opened the secret shower door with ease and shut it softly behind you. Your steps against the stairs were feather-light, ensuring that if anyone was in the basement, they wouldn’t be notified of your presence.

 The basement looked completely different than it did on Friday nights. The lights were off, albeit for a few that stayed lit no matter what per safety policies. You stopped on the end of the staircase, listening for any sounds of life, searching for any movement. Upon finding none, you moved lightly and quickly toward the stairs that run down the bleachers. Only two steps in and you realized that the bleachers squeak as you move. You ducked down, hiding in case someone were around, before slowly crawling to the edge of the bleachers. Grabbing a hold of the railing, you climbed down the support beams at the back and landed softly on the concrete ground below. Flushed between the wall and the bleachers, you slid through the small alleyway and made your way toward the reception desks. Glancing all the while, conscious of the danger with the hairs on your arm standing up and the erratic thumping in your ribcage. 

As you rounded the desk to sit before the computer screen, you realized that the brightness of the screen would attract too much attention — as well as any sounds. The need for the password was also prevalent in your mind. You made quick work of your black jacket, covering the monitor with it after you pressed the mute button on the keyboard. The screen was dulled by the jacket before you got the brightness to turn down completely. 

Remembering the password problem, you put to use the hours of hacking practice you’d picked up solely for this moment. It was one thing practicing on your own laptop when if all went wrong, you knew the password. Even though you’d hacked into your own computer at least seven times and had watched a plethora of different hacking tutorials on YouTube for hours beforehand. There was an itching thought in your head of: what if it didn’t work. 

The bright green letters against the black background did nothing to quell your anxiety but as the log in page was overridden and you were let into the HYBE USER’s desktop, you thanked the you of the past for burning her eyes out with hacking videos for days on end. If only you would let yourself do this to fix your grades over the past few weeks.

Your eyes scanned quickly over the desk top when you spotted a flash of light out of your peripheral. Light in a concentrated beam that could only be a flashlight. Faintly, you could hear footsteps from the flashlight’s owner — far enough to be distant, close enough to compromise you — and that flew you into faster action. You pulled the thumb drive from your pocket and quietly shoved it into the monitor's USB port. You clicked on an Excel sheet titled “POBs 2026” and saw a list of names and numbers. Downloading the file to the thumb drive, you glanced for any other documents that might have been worthy of your attention. Conscious of the ever-growing footsteps. 

“Huegh!” 

Your head whipped toward the sound. 

“Heugh, Heugh!” 

Your eyes took in the beam of light and sudden movements, as if the hand that held it was sending jabs. With a closer ear, you listen to the sounds of his footsteps amid the array of “heughs” he was heaving. The sound of his shoes on the ground was not indicative of hard concrete but something lighter. Something that only the boxing ring would have been able to produce.

Thankful for the extra time, you pulled the thumb drive out.

“Man what are you doing?” Another voice rang out in the basement. 

“Oh c’mon,” The heugh guy responded, “We got nothing to do and there's a boxing ring in the middle of the room.” 

You clicked the “log out” button on the computer and turned the monitor off as the men conversed. Carefully sliding out of the seat since the speaking had ceased, you were waiting and listening for any clue of what the men were to do next. Then the fan in computer began to whir. 

“What’s that?”

“It’s coming from over there.”

As swiftly as you could, you ducked under the desk and tucked your body as small as possible. You heard their footsteps approach amid the whirring of the fan and the steady beams of the flashlights. Your lungs begged for you to breathe and the back of your neck began to overheat. 

“Oh, y’know what?” One of the men let his arm fall to his side, “It’s probably just the computers.”

“Have they ever done that before?”

“Uh… yeah, I’m sure they have.” Said the one and you were sure that he had some Know It All complex.

“Alright then,” The sound of a hand hitting a person’s back emitted from behind the desk, “What do you say we have a little spar in the ring, huh?”

The other man made a sound of indecision, “Ah, sure, why not?”

You waited until they invaded the ring and the sounds of their fists knocking into the other’s palms filled the room before you evacuated. Out from under the desk, carefully stepping under the row of bleachers and heading for the opposite end of the locker room entrance. You took measured steps until you got close to the door and gathered all your bravery. 

Only twenty feet to your left was the ring, and eight feet in front of you was the door to the back hallways where you had argued with Jungwon after his match. You had the cover of darkness on your side and the attention drawn away from you — you just had to commit. You’d come so far already. But the heat at the back of your neck, sweat on your brow, and chill in your bones had you rethinking. 

What would happen if you got caught? Your need for adventure, need for a story, need for a mystery, is what got you in this situation in the first place. But now, you’re face to face with circumstances that you’re not fully certain of the consequences for. 

What if they caught you down here? What if they found the flash drive in the pocket of your black leggings? These aren’t mall cops, these are people who are hired by South Korean crime syndicates whether they know it or not. Would they drag you to their bosses? Would they take their anger out on you? Would they pull off your disguise and recognize your face and punish Jungwon for your trespassing and burglary? 

What would Jungwon say if he found out? Was this exactly what he was afraid of? That you’d do something stupid and reckless and get yourself killed? 

You shook your head. Barely registering the “coaching” that the one man was giving his other but fully aware that it sounded like the blind leading the blind. You took a deep, steady breath and then peeked toward the ring. With their attention diverted you moved quickly — not enough to be running — and quietly toward the door, pulling it open and entering a pitch black hallway. 

You attempted to create a map in your mind of what the hallway had looked like when you had walked through it last. The edges of your memory recalled the turns, just barely. Whether to take a right or a left, how many doors you’d pass before the next turn. Though all your mind could focus on was the after. When you reached the black doors at the end of the hallway and pulled them open. The doors to this basement kept an illegal fight club and an even more illegal betting operation from the eyes of the general public. Which means, the doors most likely have an alarm system. You have no clearance, no alibi, no voucher, just a full disguise and pair of sneakers you hoped would take you all the way to the bus stop a couple blocks off. 

With a deep breath and a starting pace, you push the back doors open and ran out at your fullest speed. The wind rushing through the air almost covered the sound of the alarm system you set off but there was nothing that would distract you. Nothing to make you turn back or slow you down. You sped past passersby on the sidewalk and watched the bus approach the stop. Boarding the bus, you swiped the bus-card you had just purchased that morning in cash and sat down next to an old man.

The doors to the bus shut, having welcomed only normal civilians, but you were too smart — or paranoid — to end the chase there. The syndicates had money and the city had CCTV everywhere. You needed to get lost in it. Which is why you pushed into the 6am train station in Seoul, and got off in Cheongju. Took a bus to a different entrance to the station at Cheongju and boarded during the 7:30am rush toward Daejeon. From Daejon you walked into a department store, paid and changed outfits, then walked to the train station again. From Daejon all the way to Daegu. Waiting and pretending to shop in a mall near the train station. Then you boarded toward Busan, changed outfits again in the back of a store in the streetmarket, before boarding the two-and-a-half hour train from Busan to Seoul during the work commute rush. 

You pushed your apartment door open as the time rounded to 9pm. Kicking off your shoes and shrugging off your new jacket. You pulled the thumb drive from your pocket — the only thing that you had kept since that morning, besides the straight black wig that you’d been wearing all day. Double checking that your door was locked and your windows were shut, you walked into your room where your laptop and phone had sat all day. Naively, you checked your phone for messages from Jungwon. Heart crushing when you scrolled through all your notifications to find nothing from Jungwon. Just the same message you’d received the day he walked out. 

wonie: I’m otw so make sure you have that green tea

You: can you just focus on not crashing your car please?

wonie: Lmao

A sorrowful smile rose onto your lips before tears sprung in your eyes. 

All you wanted was for him to be free from his never ending cycle of exploitation.

All he wanted was to keep you away from his mess in order to keep you safe.

It felt like neither of you were getting what you wanted. 

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

You shoved the thumb drive into your laptop out of necessity — a need to make all the work you did feel like it was worth it — rather than an actual desire to see what was on that excel sheet. You risked your safety more than you ever had for some document that you hoped would provide you with incriminating evidence but really, you had no idea. 

The file popped up on your desktop and with a double-click, the entire year’s receipts for the betting opened before your eyes. The columns held all the necessary information: the bettor’s name; the time they placed the bet, the odds of the fighters at the time the bet was placed, the name of the fighter they chose to bet on, their bet amount, their calculated pay out, their bank account number, and their contact information. All the information one would need to calculate and distribute the winnings of their bet.

You scrolled through the list — taking it all in — before your focus zeroed in. Hitting control F, you searched Park Hyun’s name and found 27 matching results. 27 bets placed under Jungwon’s coach’s name and not a single one was placed in favor of Jungwon’s victory. He had voted against Jungwon every single time. 

Despite the odds — wait, no, the odds were split. 

Your brows furrowed as you took in the percentages of the bets. Every bet he placed was when the odds evened out: 50-50, 49-51, 52-48, 51-48, 47-53, 55-45, 46-54. Every bet fell within even odds. From experience, you knew that Jungwon’s fights always started at 9pm. But all of these bets were made at various times. 9:13pm, 9:21pm, 9:09pm, 9:17pm, no consistency other than that the best were placed after the fights had started. 

You recalled what Heeseung had told you in the cafe. The more even the odds are, the more pay that you get. But the odds aren't always even when the fighting starts. The odds of Jungwon winning in his fight against Tyun were well in his favor: 57.02%. Yet, looking at the document now, the coach had placed his bet halfway through the fight, likely after a timeout was called after the chokehold. The odds had fallen from 57.02% to 49.89% and it was at this moment that the coach had placed the bet. When the odds had evened out in his favor. 

Though, it didn’t seem like he thought Tyun would pull that chokehold move because after he did, the odds had evened out and the sabotage hadn’t occurred yet. After Jungwon had drank the everclear, his odds had plummeted to 36% and the payout was a fraction of what it was when the odds were split. The coach must have realized how badly the odds would fall and placed his bet just before Jungwon had drank from his bottle. 

It was strange. It was almost unbelievable that a man who was supposed to support and help Jungwon had been the one orchestrating his downfall the entire time. Your cursor hovered over the exit button of the excel sheet, having seen enough and wanting to rest from the eventful day. But a name kept scratching in the back of your mind like nails on a chalkboard: Kim Taeho. The syndicate boss who should have been voting in favor of Jungwon the whole time. Had he been? Or was he just like the coach? 

Kim Taeho’s name appeared dozens more times than the coach’s. He had seven male fighters and five female fighters and all of which — you checked thoroughly — he had been voting in favor of. Even down to the last fight. 

Kim Taeho | 21:00 |  JAKAH 37.33% vs SOOBIN 63.66% | SOOBIN | $1000 | $148 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *********@gmail.com

At 21:00 sharp, every fight, he placed his bet in favor of Jungwon — regardless of the odds. You nodded your head as if you’d made up your mind. You would send Kim Taeho all the fights that the coach voted against Jungwon in. You’d note that there was foul play involved and that he should check the integrity of his staff. And maybe, if you were lucky, he’d fire the coach and Jungwon would have a fair chance at crawling out of his debt. And maybe, if you were extremely lucky, he’d find his way back to you after he was safe again. 

With the motivation electrifying through your veins, you began to highlight the cells of Park Hyun’s voting information:

Park Hyun | 21:01 | JAKAH 78.12% vs BAMKYU 22.98% | BAMKYU | $1000 | $2340 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com

Park Hyun | 21:13 | JAKAH 53.01% vs JO 47.99% | JO | $1000 | $1780 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com

Park Hyun | 21:27 | JAKAH 57.02% vs TYUN 43.98% | TYUN | $1000 | $1570 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com

Park Hyun | 21:18 | JAKAH 48.00% vs SOOBIN 52.00% | SOOBIN | $100 | $148 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com

As you highlighted the last four rows, you recalled the events for each of these fights — except for the most recent one with a fighter named Soobin, which Jungwon had told you nothing about — and each of their respective sabotages. In the fight against a guy named Bamkyu, Jungwon’s water bottle had been filled with laxatives, which caused him to run from the fight even though the odds were fully in his favor. In his fight with Jo, he was given vinegar in place of the water, which caused him to fight more brutally in order to prevent over-dehydration. His fight against Tyun seemed to go off the rails. The everclear would have pushed the odds to even out, but the coach had not anticipated Tyun’s own intellect to even out the stakes all by himself. The everclear pushed the odds to fall too far into the margins of Tyun’s success which capped the amount of the payout. 

You brows furrowed as you cross referenced the starting odds with the odds of when the coach placed his bets. The day the laxatives were used, Jungwon had over 70% chance of winning. The day the vinegar was used, he had a 59% chance of winning. The fight against Tyun had him at a 63% chance of winning. And the most recent fight, which you knew nothing of other than that he came home relatively unscathed, had placed his odds at 37%. The split between the odds and severity of the sabotage was a pattern too loud to miss. 

The more the odds were in favor of Jungwon, the harsher the sabotage became. This realization left a bitter tongue and a deep ache in your heart. Involuntarily, you imagined Jungwon checking the scoreboard and noting his favor in odds. Had he found peace in that? Had he found comfort in the prospect of his probable victory? Or had it put him on edge? Had it brought his guard up at the expectation of a harsh attack coming from one of his blind spots? 

Just as you were about to save the document, your eyes caught on the number that falls at the very end of the columns: Midnight Bank 20180917. The coach’s bank account number. 

With shaky fingers, you scrolled up to the nearest row with Kim Taeho’s name, scanning past the information to reach the final column and reading it off in the silence of your held breath and still heart. Midnight Bank 20180917.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The air in the room felt sticky. Too warm, too stuffy, as it clung to every millimeter of skin. The crowd was too talkative. Too joyous, too carefree, as they swirled their lavishly bartended drinks. The sight was too tense. Too terrifying, too uncanny, as he wrapped his fists in white bandages and bit down in the black mouthguard. 

Like a familiar friend, that anxious heat crawled its way onto the back of your neck — resting there. Your breath was entirely uneven despite the deep inhales and long exhales you’d been doing to train it back to consistency. Your leg bounced uncontrollably and you were certain one of the bettors would say something in just a moment, but their thoughts and their preferences were the least of your concerns. Not when Jungwon stood with his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed on his all-too-familiar foe.

Your phone buzzed and you drew your attention to it at lightning speed. An email was left with no subject line, just PDF and a caption: For your sake, I hope he wins. With shaky fingers, you tapped the screen and the PDF came into full view. A contract. 

A contract that put everything on the line.

Since the night that you had reviewed the Excel sheet, you’d taken risks that not only would have sent Jungwon into a coma but also could have gotten you killed. After a couple nights of rest and planning. You had opened your laptop once again, clicking open the Decelis University website and typing in Jungwon’s username and password instead of yours. Because of course, you knew his log in. 

You’d used it before to submit his assignments when he couldn’t or when he needed to check his grades. You’d never used it to check his financial statements.That was always private — too private — a boundary you couldn’t overstep. Somehow, that boundary seemed like nothing when it came in the way of securing a better future for him. 

You scrolled and opened the PDF of his statements. Monthly payments toward the total of Jungwon’s tuition, room and board, downpayments, parking passes, and a section called “allowance” which gets filtered straight to Jungwon’s bank account. The receipt of these payments noted the bank of the payer to be: Midnight Bank ****0917, corresponding with the bank account both Kim Taeho and Park Hyun were filtering their winnings to. The contact information for the payer was noted to be Kim Taeho himself. You scrolled to the end of the receipt to see the fine print which read: All payments are final. No refunds are allowed.

With these words, you set your plan into action. 

Immediately, you purchased a subscription to the strongest VPN on the market and created a burner email address. You bussed to the busiest public library in Seoul and drafted a very carefully worded email along with an attachment to the Excel sheet. The Excel sheet being highlighted with the necessary and incriminating information.

To whom it may concern,

Attached in the file below are the betting records of the 2026 year so far. As noted by the highlighting, Kim Taeho has been betting in favor of his fighter JAKAH and sending his winnings to a bank account number 20180917 at Midnight Bank. JAKAH’s coach and employee of Kim Taeho, Park Hyun, has been betting against JAKAH, his own fighter, and yet sending it to the same bank account: Midnight Bank 20180917. 

Upon further research, the bank account was found to be in Kim Taeho’s name. Is this not grounds for double betting? I’m certain that this kind of fraud would not be tolerated among the syndicates gathered that make events like these possible. Should they find out, would your syndicate not face immense repercussions for this fraud?

I have no interest in exposing you to the people you work with nor am I interested in extorting you for money. What I want, in exchange for the hard drive of this information and the access to this email account to prevent the scheduled emails to every contact on this Excel sheet from being sent, is the complete forgiveness of JAKAH (Yang Jungwon)’s debt. 

The emails are scheduled to be sent on Friday at 23:59. If I do not have confirmation that JAKAH (Yang Jungwon) has been forgiven of any debt that he has with you and is released from any obligation he has with you by 23:59, the emails will be sent. If I have confirmation before then that my requests have been fulfilled in good faith with evidence to prove it, then I will send an email with the log in, in order for you to manually close the emails yourself. I will also ship the hard drive to the front office of the HYBE gym. 

Thank you for your understanding.

You left no signature. Just the attachment of the spreadsheet and a quick glance at your VPN which changed your location every three seconds. South Korea one moment, Brazil the next, then onto Turkey, before heading to Milawe. You hit send on the email and walked out of the library toward the busiest tourist street in the city.

You weren’t expecting a response within the first 72 hours. Which kept you running the VPN all hours of the day. You had known they’d consider your threat a bluff, then they’d realize that you had everything you needed in order to out them. Then they’d devise a plan. You had known some sort of trickery was coming, you just hadn’t known what. 

As the days ticked by, a consistent anxiety welcomed itself into your heart. You hadn’t emailed back, dedicated to keeping communication as minimal as possible. When you woke up that Friday morning with no response, you prepared yourself to cut your losses. Once you send the emails and expose Belift, things might get more complicated for Jungwon, or everything would fizzle out. You’d assess the damage and move onto plan B. 

Until then, you kept hope in your heart. Even as you entered the gym with your new gym membership, under a different name and paid in cash, thanks to the new increased security. You slipped into the locker room and down the stairs just before the 21:00 match started. Emboldened by the leverage you had over Belift, you had taken a seat right in the front — looking straight ahead to the reason you had even started doing this in the first place. Yang Jungwon. 

It was in this ante period that you received the response email from Belift. And the PDF which sent a chill to the marrow of your bones. You knew the trick was coming. You just didn’t know that it’d threaten everything you’d worked for. 

The PDF was a photocopy of a contract that had recently been drawn and signed. A contract that stated:

As decided by the executives of Belift Lab, the debt of Yang Jungwon will be wholly and completely forgiven should he win his next upcoming fight. As per Yang Jungwon’s request, upon his victory, Belift Lab or any of its affiliates will never attempt to contact or engage with Yang Jungwon and his loved ones. 

Alternatively, in the case of Yang Jungwon’s defeat, he will carry on as a fighter of Belift Lab to eliminate his debt through his labor. Upon his defeat, Jungwon shall be legally required to pay off any accumulated debt to Belift Lab regardless of circumstances. 

Jungwon was now contractually bound to his freedom or his exploitation. If he won the fight, you would send Belift your evidence and Jungwon would be forgiven of his debt. If he lost, you would still have to send your evidence, but Jungwon would be legally obligated to pay off his debt. 

The loud buzzer swept over the makeshift arena. 

“Welcome back to another round in the men’s fifth bracket!” The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, “Listen Dino, I don’t know about you but I have been anticipating this fight all night.”

“Me too, S.Coups. I’m sure the audience is well aware but these two fighters have recently butt heads which ended in a brutal victory.” The crowd uproared, “Yes, that’s right folks. Welcome to the rematch between Jakah of Belift and BigHit’s Tyun.”

Suddenly, Jungwon’s abnormally tensed shoulders made sense. Your breath was stolen straight from your lungs and the entire room fell into white noise. Jungwon began to switch his weight between his feet — lightening his step — though it seemed that his legs were stiffer than they’d ever been before. The image of his face turning purple-ish red as he clawed as the arm preventing him from breathing was seared into your mind. And you were only a bystander. You couldn’t imagine the way Jungwon must have felt as his mind begged his body to forget what happened last time and to focus on not repeating history. 

“And Jakah takes the offensive!”

Jungwon lunged at Tyun, aiming a clean strike to the ribs. Tyun twisted out of the way but not fast enough for the speed that Jungwon was going. His first two knuckles clipped Tyun’s side, causing Jungwon to shift his feet closer and send another strike to the man’s face. Tyun’s bandaged hands blocked the strike and he jumped away from Jungwon.

“Man, it seems like Jakah has a bit of pent up rage… I haven’t seen him this aggressive in a fight for a while.” 

Your eyes chanced a glance toward Jungwon’s corner where the coach and managers stood waiting in bated breath. Jay and Heeseung stood there as well, Jay’s arms wrapped around the water bottle you’d gifted Jungwon, as if he was guarding it with his life. 

By the time you looked back over, Jungwon and Tyun had given up on dancing around each other and the latter was sending a barrage of feints with occasional strikes. Jungwon’s forearms were getting battered but he kept his guard up. He stayed like that for a while before he caught one of Tyun’s arms, pulled it, and twisted it behind the man’s back before shoving him face first onto the floor of the ring.

“Ohhh, ouch!”

“Man, that has got to hurt!”

The crowd echoed the announcers in various synonymous sentiments as the buzzer announced the end of the first round. Jungwon released his hold on his opponent and walked over to his corner, beckoning Jay for his water bottle and taking a test sip before chugging it. With your eyes tunneled onto him — the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the imprint of his hard abs on his white tank — you could barely hear the announcers informing the crowd of Jungwon’s increase in odds. 

Before you could fully register it, the match began again. Shifting feet and tiny grunts was all that filled the room as passed strikes between each other. Jungwon pursued Tyun to the edge of the ring, his opponent’s feet only a meter away from the rails before suddenly, he pushed himself back onto the rail, held the bars, and pushed his feet square into Jungwon’s abdomen. Jungwon stumbled back, nearly losing his balance, and failed to block the punch that landed straight onto his nose. 

“Oh, that’s definitely broken.”

“Speaking from experience, huh?”

Tyun grabbed Jungwon’s arm and threw him to his knees while he was still stunned. His hand grabbing one of his shoulders and sliding his arm across the plain of his neck. The everpresent heat on the back of your neck seemed to replicate Tyun’s actions, as if it knew this was what you had been most afraid of since the fight began.

Without warning or indication, Jungwon pulled Tyun’s left arm forward and reached back to grab ahold of the back of his right knee, standing up and bringing his opponent with him. With his feet off the ground, Tyun could do nothing to stop or brace himself as Jungwon jumped backward, sending them both to the floor, only with Tyun’s body as a cushion to break Jungwon’s fall.

“Jakah is on fire today!”

“He escaped out of that chokehold, picked Tyun up from behind, slammed him into the ground, and held him down for over five seconds, meaning: the second round is over!”

Your face had become sweaty like it was you that had been in that ring. But from the sight of Jungwon pushing his sweaty hair back and having it stay in a swept position, you assumed that he must be perspiring more than you could ever know. Of course, he would be. Everything was on the line for him. His freedom to leave the fighting and his freedom to pursue you. 

Without needing to be asked, Jungwon’s manager handed him a face cloth, which he took gratefully. He shoved his face into the fabric and rubbed the sticky sweat and grime off of his skin. Your heart dropped to the craters of the Earth when Jungwon ripped the cloth away from his face and began to cough. He tossed the cloth over the rails of the ring and shook his head, placing a hand over his chest and taking deep breaths. 

Before he was fully prepared, the buzzer signaled the start of the third round and Tyun sprung into action. He sent a jab that Jungwon barely dodged, causing him to stumble off to the side. Another jab, a feint, right, left, right, right, left, all blocked or dodged sloppily. Until Tyun dropped down low and sent a punch to his gut, leaving Jungwon in a fit of coughs. Another knee to his gut — his abdomen having already been targeted multiple times. Tyun’s strong hands pushed Jungwon backwards before sending three clean strikes. One to his left jaw, one under his chin, and another across his left jaw. 

Jungwon fell backwards, immediately scrambling to get back up before Tyun kicked his stomach, forcing the blond to curl up into a centipede. Whatever was on that cloth had thrown Jungwon into a state of distraction that he struggled to free himself from. And as he was on the ground, trying to ignore the pounding of Tyun foot as it slammed into his back, trying to ignore the blaring “five, four, three” of the announcers, trying to ignore the burn in his lungs, he peeled his eyes open to look at the crowd. His hopeless eyes met your worried ones. As if Fate had directed your gazes to align. As if Fate had given him a guiding hand in his most crucial moment. 

Memories of the last time he’d seen you crept up at the edges of his mind. Your tear-tracked face held in his hands. His lips brushing yours, careful to not press too hard that he might stay there with you in his arms forever. The sound of your voice as you pleaded him not to go in words cut open the chambers of his heart. 

All it took was one small victory and everything he’s ever wanted would rest at his feet. 

With renewed strength, Jungwon rolled over and out of the way of Tyun’s foot, just before the announcers made it to “one”. With the momentum and the opportunity of one of Tyun’s legs raised, Jungwon swept his feet out and knocked him to the floor. Without hesitation, Jungwon straddled the man’s waist, gripped his shirt, and swung punch after punch toward the man’s face. Every blow was blocked by expert hands. 

As Jungwon drew back for another punch, Tyun grabbed his hips and attempted to twist their positions, but Jungwon was quick to slide away from getting pinned to the floor. The two exchanged blows, knocked fists, and blocked strikes, all while shuffling around each other. Jungwon increased the speed of his feet, sent a feint directly into Tyun’s line of sight, before twisting around him and leaving his view completely. As the other man turned to keep his eyes on Jungwon, the blond sent a brutal kick to the other man’s gut. With Tyun’s hands lowering to protect his abdomen, Jungwon slammed his foot into his opponent's face and sent him stumbling back. Without mercy, Jungwon shuffled his left foot toward the right and twisted his body, sending a roundhouse kick that dug into the cheekbone of the other fighter. 

Tyun dropped to his knees, breath heavy and shallow, eyes closed and body tipping toward the floor. Jungwon shoved his foot in the other’s chest and held him down. The adrenaline drowned out the countdown from five.

“Five…” He couldn’t look at you.

“Four…” Not until he knew he had won.

“Three…” Until he knew you were safe.

“Two…” Until he knew he could—

“One!” 

The referee raised Jungwon’s arm up and blew his whistle, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Cheering, jeering, and booing. Standing, clapping, and fist pumping. And all he saw was you. With tears in your eyes and the biggest smile he thinks he’s ever seen you wear. 

And before he even knew it, he was hopping over the railing of the ring. Blood rushing and pounding in his ears as he ran toward you. You followed suit, hopping over the small guard rail and running just a few steps to where he had already gotten over to you. 

His left hand found your waist and his right found your cheek and he turned the both of you to the side so that he wouldn’t crash into you at full force. Well at least with his body, for his lips were all but graceful as they crashed onto yours, his hand at your waist immediately moving to your left cheek to angle your face to fit his perfectly. He kissed hungrily and greedily like he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t stop to breathe, he just moved his lips against yours as if it was the only thing he needed to stay alive. 

As soon as you brought your hands to his hard chest, he slid his hands down to hold your waist, pulling your body flush against his and never removing his lips from your own. How could he when you kissed him back with a mirroring fervor and slid your hands up to card through his hair.

Jungwon had fought for every South Korean Won he had made in the ring. Millions of won had been added to his name. But there — with you in his arms, clinging to him, and exchanging dozens of heated kisses like you were making up for lost time — that was the richest Jungwon had ever been. 

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

“And when someone asks for a caramel macchiato, what they’re really asking for is a caramel latte.”

His dark brows furrowed under his recently dyed brown hair, “Why wouldn’t they just ask for a caramel latte then?” 

“Well, because they’re going off of the menu from Starbucks.”

His dark brown eyes held thinly veiled confusion before he nodded and leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his toned arms as the black work shirt stretched over his muscles. You glanced over to him, a different — more bashful — heat crawling up your neck as he stared at you.

“Don’t worry,” You told him, “You’ll get the hang of it soon.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure?”

“Why were there?” He narrowed his eyes, “At the fight.”

Your throat worked around a swallow, “Oh, uh I was just…” 

A million reasons flashed through your mind — none of them even bordering on the truth — and it brought all of your thoughts to a halt. This entire situation: you finding out about Jungwon’s secret life, it all started from a lie. Now that you had Jungwon, you couldn’t lose him again. So you took a deep breath and began the long explanation.

“You told me that in order to keep me safe, you had to leave my life completely. And to be honest? I’d rather fear for my life everyday than say goodbye to you forever.” You eyes poured into his steady, deep, brown ones, “I talked to Heeseung, found out who was sabotaging you, broke into the Hybe gym basement to get proof—”

“I’m sorry, you what?!”

“And then, I found out that Kim Taeho was double betting and tampering with the odds by sabotaging you, in order to get an even split and make the most amount of money possible while winning every time.”

“How the he—”

“And then I essentially blackmailed him into forgiving your debt,”

He straightened, “Tell me you’re joking…”

“But don’t worry I stayed anonymous and used a VPN.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“And then drew up a contract that would forgive your debt as long as you won the fight — which you did — and here we are!”

Jungwon grabbed your upper shoulders, “Y/N… Please tell me this is a joke.”

You could see the worry laced into every feature: his creased brows, his wide eyes, his downturned lips.

“Jungwon, you always talk about keeping me safe. I wanted to find a way to make sure you were safe.” You hesitated to keep going, “Even when you signed the contract, you were thinking about me. That if you won the fight and were forgiven, you requested that they stayed away from you.”

“I wouldn’t sign the contract unless that was added.” He confessed, “What good would getting rid of my debt be if they took something — someone — else from me in its place.” His hands slid to the hem of your sleeves, playing with the fabric. “And it’s the best decision I ever made because now, I’m finding out that you blackmailed a crime syndicate that most definitely has a grudge against both you and I.”

You tried not to look too horrified by the logistics of your impulsive decisions. 

“And if I didn’t make them sign a contract to stay away from you,” His eyes dropped down, unable to look you in the eye, “Who would’ve gotten me an actual job to start chipping away at my tuition?”

“With or without me, you would have found a way to pay for college and keep on living a good life.” You rolled your eyes.

“‘With or without you’?” He repeated incredulously, “Without you I would still be spending Friday nights drinking laxatives, vinegar, and everclear or shoving my face into a chloroform face towel and getting my ass handed to me. Without you I’d have spent my entire life saving pennies to pay off an impossible debt.” His cat-like eyes took upon every frame of seriousness, “My life doesn’t exist without you, Y/N.”

A shy smile rose onto your lips. Because you may know Yang Jungwon inside and out as your best friend. But Yang Jungwon, your boyfriend, was still uncharted territory. Regardless of if this was the 50th time he’d pulled you in by your waist and pressed gentle, loving kisses against your lips. 

“Jungwon,” You pressed against his chest, “This was the one condition my manager had!” You argued through the sweet pecks he placed in between words, “No PDA!”

He giggled before placing another kiss onto your forehead, “Fine, but once we’re off the clock, I’m never letting you go.”

His hands fell from you and the warmth he left behind lingered like a promise. 

“I might need you to sign a contract for that.”

“What for?” He asked, picking up a dish to rinse off, “You’ll just blackmail me anyway.”

© jjongbat 2026 — all works are without ai and belong solely to jjongbat unless otherwise specified. please do not steal, repost, or re-upload without credit.

Being a vampire was so tedious.

Sunghoon always had to wear sun protection no matter where he went, constantly sporting long sleeves and jeans despite the weather. His face always had a white cast on it from the constant layers of sunscreen he reapplied on his skin. He could never sit near the windows in his classes either, always having to choose the seat farthest from the light. And when the sun began to pierce through the glass and creep across the floor, he would have to quietly gather his things and move before the delicate rays would even get a chance to brush against his (heavily guarded) skin. Summer was miserable for him, and he could never enjoy the beach like his friends did. He always had to obsessively monitor the UV index like a wannabe “alpha male” checking their stocks and bitcoin.

He’d always have to drink his human blood in class, too, always cautiously sipping on the viscous liquid from his black thermos and pretending like it was coffee. The metallic scent lingered in his nose for hours afterward no matter how quickly he swallowed it down, and he’d constantly have to lap at his lips to hide the faint burgundy stains before someone noticed.

Eating normal food was equally annoying. Technically, vampires could consume human food if they wanted to, but it tasted like damp cardboard at best and expired garbage at worst. Still, pretending to eat was necessary when he was around other people, which meant Sunghoon had spent the last several years mastering the art of pushing food around on a plate while nodding through conversations. And not only was it annoying, but Sunghoon genuinely had to fight for his life during lunch whenever his classmates or friends had garlic in their food, which was nearly all the time considering how much garlic Koreans used on a day-to-day basis. (He hadn’t lived long enough to evolve to where he was immune to garlic. Curse immortality.)

Everything was such a hassle. Not to mention the sheer internal humiliation he was facing. Vampires used to be feared once as creatures of the night, blood-sucking ravagers that made people light incense at their doors and hang garlic wreaths on their windows. But that was centuries ago, and now, Sunghoon spent most of his immortal existence trying to pass his university classes and buying bulk sunscreen at the Costco that was so busy he had almost let himself wilt in the sun one day. Don’t even mention the fact that vampires were so romanticized that nobody could take them seriously— he had a real bone to pick with Robert Pattinson.

Despite that, surprisingly, that wasn’t the vampire’s biggest problem.

No, the biggest problem that Sunghoon was facing was you.

His biggest problem sat three seats away from him every Friday from 11 AM to 11:50 AM. His biggest problem smelled so fucking good that it nearly made Sunghoon moan out loud the first time he ever walked past you in class. His biggest problem was the cute little human that was so nervous and meek that not once had you spoken up in class. Sunghoon didn’t know if he hated being around you because it made him almost go feral, or if he liked you because you smelled so delicious that Fridays were genuinely the only thing he looked forward to.

He couldn’t help but always stare at you during class, his brain throbbing with how fucking tasty your blood smelled from under your skin. Sometimes, Sunghoon caught himself imagining what it would feel like to sink his fangs into your throat– to break through your epidermis, taste warmth, dig his fangs into your veins and drink until your pulse finally slowed beneath his mouth. The thoughts were intrusive, violent, and embarrassingly frequent. 

And sometimes, when you sat close enough, Sunghoon could practically hear your blood throbbing and rushing through your veins– so hot and tempting. You had to be AB+, Sunghoon could just smell it lingering in the air, the scent of the protein-rich blood type. It made him feel like how he was when he first turned. Back then, even a mere paper cut would send his tastebuds into turmoil. He had never reacted this strongly to a human before, let alone someone in a random university discussion section.

He just wanted to bite you so fucking bad that it made his sharp fangs ache with desire.

“Alright, everyone,” your TA, Heeseung, called out from the front of the classroom. “Since the midterm project is due in a month, I’m assigning partners today.” Everyone’s expressions flickered with disappointment and annoyance, but Sunghoon barely looked up from his laptop. Why were people complaining when it was literally in the syllabus…

Usually, group projects didn’t bother him. Humans tended to avoid him naturally anyway– something about his permanent blank expression and tendency to stare too long made most people keep their distance. It worked out well for him. The less interaction he had with humans, the less likely he was to accidentally reveal his identity. He didn’t care if he ended up with most of the work anyway; he was infinitely more competent than the rest of his peers.

But when Heeseung opened his mouth to reveal the first pair, the two names that he didn’t expect fell from his lips. “Sunghoon and Y/N?” the TA looked at the both of you with satisfied smiles.

Sunghoon’s entire body went rigid, and if he had any blood flowing through his system, then it would’ve flooded his entire face with a flush. Slowly, carefully, the vampire lifted his head to glance at you, mustering up all of the courage he could. And of course, you met eyes with him. You looked equally surprised, blinking at the TA before your gaze awkwardly shifted back toward him. You sent him a small and awkward smile, accompanied with a tiny wave of your hand. Sunghoon could only stare back before he realized he was being kind of rude, so he offered you a nod of his head to acknowledge your greeting.

After class, he planned to approach you after everyone filed out of the classroom, but you surprised him as you came up to him. “Hi,” you said quietly, clutching your notebook against your chest as you approached him. “Uhm, I’m Y/N. I guess we’re partners now...”

Sunghoon stared at your face. Your pulse fluttered immediately beneath your skin, bumping rapidly under your points. He could hear and feel all of it. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the smooth flow of blood moving through your veins, the warmth radiating off your body in waves strong enough to take him under. He wanted to thank Heeseung for giving him the best opportunity to drain your blood– fuck, he should treat the TA to a meal or something for giving him the tastiest meal possible.

“Uhm, Sunghoon?”

His eyes snapped back up to your face as he swallowed the drool accumulating in his mouth. “Yes?” he answered quickly. He heard your heartbeat speed up, pounding even harder at his response.

“Uhm, uh… do you want to exchange numbers and text about the project later? I have to go back to my place before I have work…” You shyly smiled. Sunghoon nodded, fumbling his cellphone out of his pocket. You gently took it from his cold hands, punching in your number and saving your contact under your first and last name with “(ethics discussion)” at the end of your name. “Uhm, I’ll see you later!” You waved cheerfully before skedaddling off, your sneakers squeaking against the tiled floors.

Oh, he was so going to eat you.

You texted back at 9 PM, when Sunghoon was comfortably lounging on his couch with a blood bag in his left hand and the television remote in the other.

He perked up, opening your chat box to see you diligently asking about the project.

y/n l/n (ethics discussion): hi sunghoon! i just got out of work, sorry for the late text. y/n l/n (ethics discussion): do u want to meet up this weekend to start the project? Park Sunghoon: Yes. My schedule is free this weekend. Park Sunghoon: We can do tomorrow if that is not too soon. y/n l/n (ethics discussion): YAY awesome! ur so hardworking y/n l/n (ethics discussion): uhmm do u want to meet at the library? Park Sunghoon: Yes. I will be at the library. What time? y/n l/n (ethics discussion): UHMM maybe liek uhmmm 4pm if that’s not too late? I wanna sleep in hehehe Park Sunghoon: Okay. We can meet. I will get there early to reserve us a table. y/n l/n (ethics discussion): oke but don’t feel like u have to get there early!! thanks sunghoon n gn! Park Sunghoon: Goodnight.

The next day, Sunghoon arrived to the library at 3:15 PM sharp.

He really didn’t mean to come that early– but he was just so fucking hungry, he just couldn’t wait to sink his fangs into you.

He walked around the library, trying to find a secluded area. He scored the jackpot when he found a table nestled in the corner of the vast library, away from any open windows and private enough that most people wouldn’t walk by it. He had already organized all of the materials they needed for the project into neat piles: his ethics textbook, laptop, notes, printed sources, and color-coded sticky tabs.

He sat for the next 35 minutes, leaning back and staring at the project guidelines. Nobody walked past in the last half an hour, making Sunghoon even more giddy. He was gonna bite you, and you were going to be sooo tasty. He was practically drooling at the thought of ingesting your delectable blood, squirming in his seat as his body caught up with the excitement

Sunghoon paused. His eyes slowly drifted around, examining his surroundings once more. He spotted at least three cameras, the lens practically staring him down and winking at him with a red light every couple of seconds. He frowned. What was he thinking? Dracula, he was being so stupid.

He couldn’t just eat you here, especially when he was just assigned to be your project partner. Humans were annoyingly investigative nowadays, too. If you suddenly disappeared after meeting him alone for the first time, he would immediately become the prime suspect. Heeseung assigned you both to be project partners just yesterday in front of at least 19 other witnesses. And even worse— your text messages were sitting right there on his phone, immediately pointing him as the culprit.

Fuck, murder was so complicated in the modern age. Sunghoon missed it when he could simply go in, suck some blood, and disappear into the night to become a village legend.

The vampire grimaced, clicking his tongue irritably and leaned back into his chair with a sigh. Maybe he’d just take a little blood instead…? Ugh, but even though Sunghoon had lived for wayy too long, he still couldn’t find the proper balance between “just a little bit more” and “certain death.” And he was sure that if he didn’t take enough, you’d remember and report him for being a weird cannibal pervert.

Sunghoon’s overthinking was interrupted as his nose caught the whiff of something familiar and enticing.

His tongue instinctively darted out, as if he could taste it in the air. It sat exquisite, heated, and heavy on his senses. He sniffed, trying to hide the fact that he was really smelling the aroma of delicious blood. Soon, you stumbled into his sight, holding an Iced Americano with your sneakers squeaking against the floor. His grip tightened on his mechanical pencil, and he instantly covered his mouth. He felt like Edward Cullen in that science class.

“Sorry, Sunghoon! Were you waiting long?” You pouted, making quick work to set down your Americano on the table and pulling out all of your things.

“It is fine,” he coldly dismissed, looking at his things before looking back up. He was momentarily stunned when he finally looked at you properly. You looked… endearing. You wore an oversized hoodie that swallowed the top of your legs, your hair slightly messy like you had rushed to get ready, and your lips were glossy and plump. He could hear your heart pumping wildly, trying to supply oxygen back to your muscles. You definitely ran here.

“Are– are you mad? I’m sorry…” You meekly mumbled again. He felt a bit sad, honestly, at how pathetic you seemed. You looked like a kicked puppy. Sunghoon sighed, reluctantly reassuring you once more. After all, blood tasted worse when emotions were sullen, and he wanted to optimize your flavor.

“I’m not mad, I promise,” he tried to lay it on thick, a tone of reassurance that he was sure to placate you. And placate you, it did. You instantly perked up, a smile stretching across your lips.

“Yay, okay. Uhm, should we get started?” You asked. He nodded.

“Yes, I already have the guidelines pulled up–”

“Really? Can I see?” You cheerfully cut him off, immediately invading his personal space as you pulled your chair next to him, your head craning to look at his laptop. He caught a whiff of your shampoo, so soft and clean and melding into the fragrance of your perfume. “This looks hard– can I scroll?” You peered up at him with sparkling eyes, and Sunghoon couldn’t say no.

“Sure,” he replied. You smiled and scrolled through the PDF, groaning silently.

“A 10-pager? Seems like it’s not gonna be too hard, but I hope Heeseung isn’t strict. He’s grading it, right?” You looked at him for silent approval. He gave you back a nod in response, his jaw clenching at your close proximity. His gaze naturally drifted down to your neck, where he could almost see through your skin the beats of your pulse throbbing against the junction of your neck and under your jaw. He swallowed and looked back at your eyes, where you looked a bit confused. “Uhm, okay, I’ll share a document, and then we can get started!”

Sunghoon watched as you went back to open your laptop, decorated in cute stickers messily with the remnants of old glue still sticking to the case. “Sunghoon, should we do an ice breaker before we start?” You asked shyly. He raised an eyebrow. An icebreaker? “Like– ya know, to know each other better… I think it’ll make our synergy better!”

“Sure, we can do an ice breaker. What should we do? Name, year, major?” He asked, going along with your wishes. If he did, you’d probably like him better, right? Maybe it’ll help him suck your blood faster…

“Sounds good! Uhm, my name is Y/N, I’m a second year, and then I’m an Philosophy major! How about you?” You chirped, looking up at him eager, your cheeks.

“My name is Sunghoon, I am a third year, and I am a Business major,” he parroted the template. You looked satisfied with his response.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were older than me!” You giggled, clicking something on your laptop. “Sunghoon, what’s your email?” You pouted.

“Here, give me your laptop, I will type it in for you,” he smoothly replied. You slid the laptop towards him, allowing him to punch in his email so that you guys could share the document. You clapped, only your palms hitting together while your fingers outstretched, resonating a silent smacking sound. Meanwhile, he was struggling to type his email, pressing in the line key-by-key with slow fingers. You didn’t seem to notice, too distracted by rose-colored glasses apparently.

“Awesome! I’m so grateful we’re partners, Sunghoon. You seem like such a diligent worker,” You unexpectedly praised him. Sunghoon’s eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden compliment. Nonetheless, he responded politely with a steady thanks. He opened the shared document, already seeing that you had pasted down the project guidelines to the empty sheet.

“Uhm, let’s see… So, let’s pick a specific argument first! Since our project is about the ethics of human interaction, uhm… let’s see…” You hummed, and Sunghoon nearly mistook your vocal projection for the sound of your blood humming in your veins. He stared at you directly, the contact never wavering from your face. For some reason, your BPM became rapid, and he could sense the warmth of your blood travelling to your face. You kept glancing between him and your laptop screen, your expression seemingly awkward.

“Oh, how about uhm, intent vs. impact! I think it’s prevalent enough everywhere to be easy, but if you think about it enough, you could really get in there!” You suggested, your posture straightening as you looked at Sunghoon.

“Hm? Could you tell me about it more?” He coaxed you gently with a low voice. You pursed your lips, your arms coming up and tensing in front of your chest before you nodded.

“Well…” You tucked your legs beneath your chair thoughtfully, tilting your head to the left and glancing at one of the library shelves before looking back at him, “Like, if someone wants to hurt another person but chooses not to, does that still make them a bad person?” You smiled, eyes silently seeking for his approval yet again, and when you didn’t get it, you continued to ramble, “Because technically, everyone has intrusive thoughts sometimes, right? But I think restraint matters more than the thought itself.”

Restraint. Sunghoon almost laughed. You had no idea, you really had no idea.

“I think intent matters,” you continued softly. “Like… if someone is trying really hard not to hurt another person, then they probably care about them, right?”

Sunghoon stared at you for a long moment before quietly asking, “And if they still want to?” You blinked, a little taken aback.

“Want to what?” You asked, your voice coated thicky with sweetness and innocence.

Hurt you, devour you, sink teeth into your throat until the coppery smell and metallic taste drowned out every coherent thought lingering.

Instead, Sunghoon simply gestured vaguely toward the assignment sheet. “Cause harm,” he answered smoothly, as if his thirst didn’t make his head ring.

“Oh.” You nodded slowly. “I dunno… I think wanting something isn’t immoral by itself.” You shrugged, your voice shrinking, “It’s more about whether they act on it…?” Your voice trailed off, waiting for Sunghoon to approve of what it was saying before further explaining. The older man nodded with you.

“Sure– I think it is a good argument to make.” He smiled. Your entire body seemed to have relaxed when he finally showed you a semblance of his approval.

“Okay, yay, great!” You cheerfully responded, beginning to messily construct an outline of your shared paper. Sunghoon silently watched you as you worked. Your brows furrowed slightly as you began to concentrate, your bottom lip getting trapped between your teeth every few seconds while you typed. Every time you slightly leaned forward to read something on the screen, the neckline of your hoodie shifted just enough to expose more of your throat.

It was genuinely becoming difficult for him to think. Even more so when you casually began suggesting more ideas to him, as if you were mocking his situation.

“Maybe we can talk about how restraint itself is a form of care?” you proposed absentmindedly. “Like… choosing not to hurt someone even when you really want to. Ah, wait but… if you really think about it, if you really want to hurt someone, that could make you like… an asshole or something, right? I dunno…” Your thoughts seemed to flurry out of your mouth. “I’m experiencing so much cognitive dissonance right now thinking about our arguments…”

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened around his mechanical pencil hard enough for the plastic to creak. You looked up at the sound immediately. “You okay, Sunghoon?” You tilted your head with a furrow of your eyebrows and a confused little pout. He nodded, sharply inhaling.

“My mind is crowded.” He breathed out. “Just thinking about ethics too hard, you know?”

“Mmm, I get ya!” You giggled, and Sunghoon was beginning to think you were a little oblivious to your surroundings. Meanwhile, he could hear everything. The soft inhales of your breaths, the tiny swallows in your throat after each sip of coffee, and especially the steady pulse beneath your skin. Your body and organ complexes were disgustingly loud. “Oh!” You suddenly perked up again. “We should probably divide the workload.”

“Okay,” he nonchalantly responded, trying to steady his own breathing, inhaling and exhaling through his nose as you continued to babble on.

“You seem smart, so maybe you can handle the philosophical theories?” You smiled sheepishly. “And I can do the case studies and formatting?” Smart? He supposed living for over a century did give him a slight academic advantage.

“That works.”

“Yay.” You clapped softly again. “Oh, and we should probably exchange schedules too.”

He nodded once more while you reached for your phone, sending him a quick text with a picture of your schedule. He slowly worked through his phone, trying to find a picture of his schedule and scrolling on the screen with a single, determined finger. You watched, curious as the supposed third year university student struggled to find one simple photo. He cursed in his head. Samsung phones have been out for 38 years already, shit– how am I still bad at this?

Sunghoon grumbled under his breath, thumb hovering uncertainly over his screen while he tried to figure out how to attach the image. You stared for a moment before quietly laughing.

“…You don’t know how to send photos, Sunghoon?”

He jumped, not even realizing that you crept up to be beside him. His senses were dulled with the sheer amount of concentration he was using to try to send a photo to you. “I do,” he immediately defended. You tilted your head, looking like you didn’t exactly believe him.

“Sunghoon, you have your brightness at maximum.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” He retorted, his voice sharper than he intended.

“Oh my God.” You dissolved into another laugh, shoulders jumping up and down as your whole body was wracked with the sounds of your amusement. “Give me your phone.”

Sunghoon reluctantly handed it over, and your fingers brushed his briefly. Warm. So warm. His throat tightened instantly, and he swallowed down the bubble of hunger that was creeping up his throat. Meanwhile, you blinked down at his phone before gasping quietly. “Wait.” Your body froze.

Sunghoon stiffened. Shit, did you accidentally find his masterlist of every vampire who went to your university? Did you stumble upon the website he used for discreet blood bag shipping? Oh my Dracula, you probably found that stupid video Jake took on his phone when they were mixing blood packets with cranberry juice to make that stupid Vampire’s Kiss cocktail–

“Your font size is HUGE.”

The vampire breathed a sigh of relief. “What?”

“I swear, my grandma’s phone looks like this too.” You giggled, squinting at his screen. “Why is everything the size of a billboard?”

“My eyes are bad,” he defended flatly, crossing his arms, noticing the way you were momentarily distracted at the motion. He looked down briefly to see his muscles bulging, amused at your reaction. You quickly snapped out of it.

“Aren’t you like– 20 something??”

Sunghoon paused. Technically, he was closer to one hundred and 20 something, but you didn’t need to know that. “My eyes are still bad,” he repeated stubbornly. You dissolved into laughter beside him, the sound startlingly bright in the quiet library. Sunghoon stared at you, momentarily distracted from his hunger by the way your nose scrunched as you laughed so hard.

Cute.

The thought appeared so suddenly in his brain that it genuinely irritated him.

You were supposed to be food. Not cute.

You worked through his phone more, adjusting the brightness to a lower setting. “Dude, your phone probably dies in like– three hours with the screen this bright.”

“I like seeing my screen.” He raised up his hands, the urge to defend himself with every attack on his phone getting stronger and stronger.

“You’re kind of like an old man.”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes slightly. “You are very talkative.”

Your laughter instantly died. “Oh.” You shrunk a little into yourself. “Sorry.” Your pulse dipped sadly beneath your skin, and Sunghoon immediately regretted speaking. He was beginning to notice that your emotions affected your scent more than other humans. He knew that emotions could affect the taste, but he could literally inhale and digest the aroma of sulkiness permeating off of your skin. Happiness made your blood smell sweeter somehow, relieving like ice cream on a hot sunny day. Meanwhile embarrassment and sadness dulled the fragrance into something muted.

“No,” he corrected awkwardly. “I did not mean it negatively.” You blinked at him. “I just mean…” He paused. Dracula, social interaction with humans was awful. “I do not mind listening to you.”

The silence afterward was deafening, and Sunghoon was almost afraid that he said something wrong when suddenly, your heartbeat abruptly skyrocketed. “Oh,” you squeaked softly. Sunghoon frowned slightly. Why were you reacting like that? You quickly looked away from him, pretending to fix his phone settings while your whole body seemed to rush with blood. “Uhm, okay! I fixed your brightness and your font size a little.”

“A little?”

“Yes. I left it a bit big because apparently, you’re eighty years old.” Close enough, he supposed.

“You are mean,” he deadpanned.

You gasped dramatically. “I’m literally helping you!” 

“Yeah? By calling me old?” He poked his cheek with his tongue. You huffed, handing his phone back to him with both hands. Sunghoon took it from you carefully, and yet again, your fingers brushed. So fucking warm, even at your fingertips. He was so distracted that he almost didn’t pick up on how fast your heart was pumping again, and how the blood was hustling towards your cheeks. 

You had already turned back toward your laptop, entirely oblivious to the internal warfare happening beside you. “Okay!” You chirped. “Back to ethics before we both fail!”

You pulled your chair closer to him without asking and seemed to have relaxed, because you continued to ramble on about literally anything. Your voice grew louder with every passing minute, words spilling out easier and easier the more comfortable you became around him. He was impressed with the way you multitasked– typing and babbling off as if words simply generated from your throat. Sometimes you’d randomly trail off topic entirely, rambling about your coworkers, complaining about your professors, or making dramatic comments about how hard the paper was (even though you were hard carrying the articulation of each sentence.)

Hours had passed, and before he knew it, the front desk worker’s voice crackled over the speaker. “It is now 10 PM, the library is now closed. I repeated, it is now 10 PM, the library is now closed.”

“It’s already 10 PM? Wow, I didn’t even notice. We’ve been here for six hours!” You gasped, quickly slamming your laptop shut and shoving everything into your backpack. Sunghoon was pleasantly surprised too. Time had gone by so fast that he didn’t realize that 6 hours had already passed since you’ve guys started. He glanced down at his laptop, amused as he only saw one page of the 10-pager written.

“Seems like we have gotten a lot of work done,” he joked. You giggled, nodding as you stood up. You nearly tripped, and he heard your heartbeat spike as you almost slipped on the wooden floor. “Careful now,” he said lowly, watching you with keen eyes as he packed his own bag. You smiled shyly and nodded. He stood up, and you both began to walk together out of the library.

“I’m hungry,” You complained. “Uhm— so, I’ll text you later and we can meet another time this week? Sounds good?” You smiled, giving him a thumbs-up.

“Yes, that works for me.” He nodded. “I will see you later. Text me when you get home so I know you arrived safely.” And yet again, your blood began to splotch on your cheeks.

“Okaayy, will do! Get home safe~” you chirped, before prattling off to the parking garage. Sunghoon waited, looking around discreetly to see if anyone was nearby. He tucked himself into a blind spot, before his figure dispersed into bats, leaving only a shadow of a vampire behind.

“Hi Sunghoon!”

Your bright and cheery voice was something that he had gotten used to over the past week, seeing you at the library almost everyday. Sunghoon didn’t expect to work with you so often, but it just happened naturally, your “hard working days” escalating as each day passed until they became so consistent that it was sort of an expectation to see you so often. Throughout the week, he seemed to get to know you more and more–

Not enough to stop viewing you as his potential blood bag, obviously.

But he wasn’t exactly finding out useful things either, which he feels is somewhat of a step-up. Maybe he’ll earn good karma points for being a sympathetic blood-sucker. He knew you actually hated Iced Americanos, but only ordered them to “fit in.” He found out you gnawed on your little fingers when you were stressed, biting off the dead skin that bordered your nails when things got especially tough for your brain. He also knew you worked too much, slept too little, and apologized every time you spoke for longer than thirty seconds.

Maybe Sunghoon was just getting weirder the more he hung out with you. He didn’t know– as long as he got what he wanted out of it. 

“Hello, Y/N,” he greeted back, already situated at a table. The library was too crowded these days with midterms approaching, so instead, you guys found a cozy little cafe to study at in the city. You offered him a ride, but Jake was already going into the city, so he hitched a ride with his roommate.

“Am I late again?” You pouted, your hair frazzled and hoodie haphazardly dangling over the expanse of your head. He shook his head with a charming smile.

“Just on time, I promise.” He gave you a quick nod.

“Wait— you know what? You’re right. You’re the one who’s always early. Why do I always feel late?” You grumbled, sitting down. You looked so delicate, so fragile. The undertone of your skin was slightly off, not as warm as usual. There were dark bags under your eyes, hollowing out your face and making you look gauntly. Sunghoon grumbled under his breath– if you were sick, then how else would he get his protein from your blood?

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You blinked at him, almost surprised by the question. “Hm?” You quickly smiled quickly, as if it was an instinct. “Yeah! Why?”

Your heartbeat was slower than usual, pumping sluggishly as if doing the bare minimum to keep you alive. Your movements were too, even the way you reached for your laptop seemed to not be as hyperactive as you usually were. “You look tired,” he answered simply.

You laughed weakly. “Really? Do I?”

“Yes,” he answered. Your shoulders dropped. It was like finally being seen was alleviating a weird pressure from your body.

“I had two shifts back-to-back yesterday.” You sighed. You pulled your sleeves over your hands, nervously rubbing your wrists together. “And then I stayed up finishing another paper for one of my philosophy classes…” Sunghoon frowned.

Humans were strange creatures, indeed. You required sleep, food, water, sunlight, emotional support, and apparently eight million hours of studying just to survive through the perilous journey of university. How exhausting– he could just stay up all night until his brain felt ready to take an exam, or work on a paper until it was revised to perfection. Being a vampire did have its perks.

“You should have rested,” he stated obviously. You smiled, trying to hold back a snarky remark. Sunghoon seemed to have noticed the resistance in your expression, because he added a very short, “I am serious. You should rest and take care of yourself. This is not good for your wellbeing or health.” Sunghoon suddenly became aware of how blunt he sounded. Most humans usually found him cold when he spoke like that, so he sort of expected a weird reaction from you, but instead, you only stared at him for a moment before a soft giggle escaped your lips.

“That almost sounded like you were worried about me, Sunghoon.” Your voice was almost teasing. 

He was, because if you collapsed from exhaustion, your blood quality would worsen heavily, and all of the medicine that would be pumped into you if you fainted from exhaustion would make it taste like shit. “I just need my project partner functioning,” he replied smoothly. Your smile widened at his words.

“Mhmm.” You hummed, your tone indicating to him that you didn’t exactly believe him. He narrowed his eyes, perplexed at the subtle gauge.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Your heartbeat sped up. It seemed to do that a lot around him, and he didn’t know why. All that he knew was that it was making him start drooling a little–

Sunghoon blinked once, forcing himself to focus. Your heartbeat was doing that thing again. It was pumping faster in uneven beats. It was noticeable, and he almost considered asking you if you had a family history of heart conditions or heart palpitations or something along those lines. As you were typing on your laptop, he suddenly picked up on something. It was barely visible to the eye, but of course, his keen pupils locked onto it. Your hands were shaking, trembling delicately at the tips and moving down to wrack at your digits. He inhaled sharply, pretending to take a deep breath when his sharp nose caught a whiff of something unusual– your blood wasn’t as sweet as usual. Were your glucose levels down?

“Did you eat today?” he asked suddenly. You looked up suddenly at his abrupt question.

“…What?” You replied dumbly.

He frowned slightly, wrinkles forming in between his thick eyebrows. “Food. Did you eat.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You laughed weakly. “I mean, uh, yeah, kind of? I had a granola bar– it was really good! It had chocolate chips, those are my favorite types of granola bars!”

Sunghoon exhaled deeply through his nose. A granola bar was not food. That was, at best, a suggestion of food. “That is not enough.”

That got a real laugh out of you this time. “Sure it is, Sunghoon! Don’t worry, I’ll be fine! Why are you so particular about my breakfast anyway?”

Because if you collapsed or passed out or fainted, it’d be so inconvenient. You’d taste bland, just like the hospital. And then for the sake of optimizing your blood (and morally, he guessed), he’d have to wait until you were in your prime health condition. Because–

“Because you are my project partner.” You hummed like you accepted that explanation, but your eyes lingered on him a second too long, like you were trying to decipher if there was something else underneath it.

“You should order something,” he added after a moment.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically.

Your stomach betrayed you immediately after with an embarrassing grumble. You snapped your head towards him, eyes as wide as saucers. You looked around before slowly sinking into your hoodie so you could disappear inside it. “…That was not me,” you whispered, tightening the strings around your hood. Sunghoon’s lips twitched, amused at your sudden, cute behavior. He abruptly stood up when your stomach made another rumble.

“Where are you going?” You asked, a hint of concern laced in your voice. Your body tensed as you sat up properly.

“Food,” he answered, grabbing his wallet off the table.

“For you?” You raised an eyebrow, your body relaxed at the answer he gave you.

“For you,” he corrected, “We are at a cafe. You should have ordered something before starting your work.”

“That’s not– you don’t need to do that,” you rushed out immediately, already reaching for your bag. “I can just–  I’ll go grab something–”

“You will sit.”

His commanding voice left you stunned, and Sunghoon paused for half a second, as if he himself was surprised by his own tone too. He then adjusted his coat as if nothing had happened. “I will return.”

His weird, formal tone made you chuckle under your breath. You watched his back as he left to order something from the table. He looked so endearing as he leaned in, nose nearly pressing against the glass as he carefully read the description. Huh, maybe his eyes were really that bad. But your attention was more focused on the cashier, who was giggling and blushing as Sunghoon pointed out a few pastries. You pouted, a weird sulking feeling in your chest. The older man seemed to sense it for an odd reason, because he looked around with a confused expression before looking back at the cash register.

When he came back, he put down a white paper box filled to the brim with pastries. There was pain au chocolat, a few different fruit danishes, and a Dubai Chocolate mochi donut. You raised an eyebrow at the last choice, to which he shrugged.

“I heard it is trendy amongst young people nowadays,” he explained, also settling down a cup of refreshing iced tea for you. You looked at him, then at the food, then back at him before a shy smile spread across your lips. A quiet breath of laughter escaped your lips. It was so Sunghoon to act so old.

“You didn’t have to go out of your way to do this for me,” you softly said, “I’m sorry… thank you, Sunghoon. I’ll pay you back—“

“No.” He firmly shook his head as he sat down.

“No?” You whimpered out, confused. He crossed his arms and laid back in his chair, which was unnatural for him. Usually, you noticed that he had a perfect upright posture all of the time.

“No, do not apologize, do not pay me back. I did not go out of my way for this. I wanted to eat something too.” He gingerly picked up the Dubai Chocolate mochi donut, breaking off a doughy ball and plopping it in his mouth. You stared at him, gauging the taste based on his reaction. His jaw and mouth didn’t move at all, and it seemed to be stuck for some reason. He then tentatively chewed down, his jaw clenching with every bite.

“Is it bad?” You asked cautiously.

“Very much so,” he honestly answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down the dessert. You giggled. He watched as you picked up the pain au chocolat and take a bite, the crispy pastry wrinkling under your teeth and producing a satisfying crunch. Your body relaxed slightly, and he felt your pulse even out and smelt your blood sweeten. For some reason, his senses were relieved as they picked up on these cues. You then took a sip of the tea, your shoulder scrunching up in satisfaction as you let out an excited hum.

“This is soo yummy, Sunghoon! What did you order?” You peeked up at him through your lashes. Sunghoon cleared his throat and re-crossed his arms.

“I believe I bought a honey-citron tea. Something along those lines. I heard it is good for your health– at least, that is what the description said.”

Yes, good for your health so that you’ll be primed to be feasted on. A nourished human always tasted better.

“You’re so kind, Sunghoon,” you confessed bashfully, your voice quiet and meek. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his hands relaxing where they were crossed momentarily as he seemed to ingest the word slowly. He bought you tea because you looked pale, bought pastries because your pulse sounded weak, and watched the color slowly return to your face with a starving stomach. He wasn’t sure that was exactly kind of him, but if it made you think of him better, he could just take it. Why not at this point.

“Okay, let us get back to work when you are full,” he spoke up after a while, finally sitting up straight. You nodded, clumsily wiping your hands on a few napkins before reverting your attention back to your laptop. He watched as you rapidly tapped away on your keyboard, filling your shared document with more arguments and evidence. Your heart rapidly pumped, slamming against your ribs like it was trying to escape your body. Sunghoon was confused– your heart worked in such mysterious ways that not even a century-old vampire could decipher it.

By the time the café lights dimmed and your cups sat long empty, hours had somehow slipped away from both of you. It was only 4 PM, but it somehow already felt so late in the day that even Sunghoon would have been tired. He stared at you as you packed, your movements regaining their sluggish feel as you slowly slid your laptop into its pouch within your backpack.

“Do– do you need a ride home, Sunghoon?” You yawned. Sunghoon smiled, feeling a weird affection as your mouth stretched to escape its drowsiness. It was the endearment that you would feel for a pet, in a sort of way.

“It will be alright, my roommate Jaeyun can take me home.” He nodded. He looked down at his phone, only to see…

jaeyun: LOL  jaeyun: Dude I’m in Busan rn ur never gonna guess who I’m with rn jaeyun: IM WITH RIKII the vampire who tried biting u cuz he didnt know u were vampire rmbr Sunghoon: I am waiting to get picked up by you. jaeyun: WAIT SHIT I FORGOT U WERE OUT 😭😭 jaeyun: lmfaoo mb bro Ur better off flying back to the apt man My bad fr

Sunghoon exhaled. Over a century of living, and this was his most trusted friend and emergency contact. “Nevermind. I guess I will walk.”

“Eh? It’s too far, Sunghoon! Let me take you home!” You fussed. Not wanting to expend your energy arguing, he simply agreed. You looked a bit taken aback, surprised that he conceded so easily to you, but you led him to your car anyways.

Your vehicle had a cute omamori hanging off of the rear view window, some cute figurines stuck to the dashboard, receipts crinkled as they were shoved into the cup holders, and a hoodie splayed out in the backseat, little pieces of you tucked into every possible crevice in the car. Within the confines of your vehicle, the air had traces of fresh cotton and linen from your air freshener, but underneath it all was you. Your warm skin, flavored lip balm, fragrant perfume, and even the hint of your scented lotion, but most prominent to his nose was the unmistakable metallic sweetness that only you permeated.

Sunghoon felt like he should roll down a window or something, because he was practically swallowing down the scent of your blood. He stared at you as you backed out of your parking spot, before beginning the drive to your apartment. “Can– Can I roll down a window?” He gulped. You glanced at him before nodding. He practically jammed his finger trying to press down on the window button, letting out a sigh of relief as your scent washed away in the evening wind. He stuck his head out of the window like a wolf, and the thought would have repulsed him if he weren’t so desperate to prevent himself from sucking your blood right now.

If he sucked your blood and you died, you’d crash the car. Then, the police would come, and they would see the two noticeable bite marks caving your neck in. And then he’d look like a weird cannibal vampire wannabe criminal or whatever– too complicated.

“Thank you for the ride. Text me when we should meet up again. I should be free all week apart from my classes.” Sunghoon nearly barreled out of the car. “Goodnight!” You giggled and waved goodbye, watching as his figure disappeared into his apartment building before pulling off yourself.

❛❛LOVE HUNGER AT FIRST SIGHT.❞ ── 1

Another week had passed, and Sunghoon was beginning to realize that befriending was probably not the brightest idea.

The more time he spent around you, the harder it became to ignore the pulse beating beneath your skin. Not to mention, he had been rationing his portions on blood bags to truly savor the moment when he could finally relish in the taste of your iron on his tongue. He should’ve just kept a distance from you– not be around you so much because day by day, it was becoming increasingly difficult to subtly find chances to drain you dry.

Just like any other day, you both were working hard on your project. With it being finished and needing revision, you were, for the first time, slacking. Your head was buried in your crossed arms, which laid upon the wooden table. Your eyes kept blinking slowly, and Sunghoon would’ve been concerned about your blood sugar again if you didn’t smell so sickeningly sweet.

“I’m– I’m gonna take a nap…” You yawned, your eyelids pulling shut, lashes fluttering so delicately and fanning across your cheekbones. “W– wake me up, five mins…” You slurred. Sunghoon watched as you easily slipped into a slumber, your body going lax and mouth falling agape as soft huffs of air left your lips.

Sunghoon’s fingers clenched into fists, his fingernails digging into the wrinkles of his palms, forming a protective case around his calluses. Every inhale felt like a trap. If his stomach was normal, it would’ve been grumbling right now. He hadn’t had a blood pack since yesterday, and that nearly made him throw up from how fucking disgusting it was– a blood pack of pig’s blood diluted with coconut water? Give him a break. 

Your blood pressure was decreasing, dipping down. He could feel the way your circulation became sluggish and sense the lowered levels of oxygen. That means it wouldn’t pump like a water fountain, shooting out in satisfying geysers if he dug his fangs into you. That means it’ll be a slow drink. Wouldn’t that be more satisfying? Slowly draining out your blood as it filled his mouth with metal, filling his stomach milliliter by milliliter. It’ll be a bit watered down, but it’s okay– because you were so vulnerable and delicate now, an easy target for his teeth to finally sink in–

Sunghoon didn’t realize how close he was to you until he could breathe in and have your perfume practically get swallowed with every inhale. He opened his mouth, and his canines extended into sharp points, the tips of them gleaming in the bright light. So close so close so close just a little more and i’ll be so full yes yes yes

“Sunghoon?”

Your eyes fluttered open, and your mouth was so close to his. He awkwardly clamped his lips together shut, clearing his throat. His fangs instantly retracted as soon as you woke up, hiding in his gumline. You blinked, vision clearing and breath hitching at your sudden proximity. You then felt the presence of his big hand resting on the top rail of your wooden chair.

“Sunghoon?” You whispered again. “Has it been five minutes already?” You murmured. He nodded, trying his best to slowly back away and give you space. Shit– what was he thinking? He wasn’t a feral animal, like those werewolves who went crazy at a mere atom of pheromones lingering in the air. But he was surely acting like one– driven by the insane hunger that came with being what he was, a blood-sucking ravager that only cared about the smell of metal and proteins.

“Mhm.” He hummed lowly in response, his voice barely a whisper too. You blinked, still staring up at him. Silence loomed over the both of you for a moment before you spoke up, catching the vampire off-guard.

“Sunghoon… do– do you like me…?” You softly asked, your rationale still clouded by the short sleep your brain was phased into, not sifting the sudden question through the humiliation-check filter in your mind. You sounded uncertain, but Sunghoon had to give you a bit of credit– not even the bravest person he knew some 60 years ago would have the guts to ask this bold question.

“You should not say things like that when you’re half-asleep,” he replied, voice still muted. Your bottom lip jutted out into a pout.

“…Why?” you asked, eyes blinking lightly as if you were somehow amused at his response. His slight reprimand should’ve been the end of it, but of course you had to ask. You always pried into what he was thinking. “…Is it bad if you do?” you murmured, trying to solve the case. You shifted in your chair just a little, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve.  “I mean…” You added after a pause, voice still soft and gentle. “It’s not like I’d be weird about it.”

And for the first time in his 120+ years of living, he was stunned, speechless. Sure, he’s received confessions before, but this was surprisingly the first time the young vampire had been in a situation like this, where he was being coaxed into confessing.

“Where is this coming from?” He tried to change the subject. You ignored him and smiled.

“Do you, Sunghoon?” You finally sat up, revealing a mark on your cheek from your good slumber. You stretched your arms wide, your back arching to relieve your body from the tension. You leaned forward just a little, resting your cheek against your hand, and Sunghoon realized for the first time that you might be a bit more coy than he thought.

“Answer my question first.” He crossed his arms stubbornly. You giggled.

“Well, you always listen to me really well and give me thoughtful advice— and I know that’s bare minimum, but you also go out of your way to take care of me. When we walk outside, you always stubbornly make sure I’m on the inner part of the sidewalk. And you always stare at me, Sunghoon. Like— you look at me so much that I always think I have something on my face. But then I check my phone camera and I don't.” You kept pricking up a finger, counting down every “sign” that you believed indicated his growing affection from you.

“You always call me or text me, too. And then you always remember weird things about me. You always notice when something’s wrong, too,” you continued, looking up as if trying to pull more examples from your brain. “Like when I’m tired, or sad, or stressed, and then you always know what to do after to make me feel better.”

By the time you were finished rambling, you had counted past ten fingers. Sunghoon didn’t even realize there were enough instances to count an entire hand to show that he liked you, much less more than two hands. You smiled awkwardly as you outstretched all ten fingers with open palms to him, as if showing off how much he potentially liked you. 

“It’s either you like me, or maybe I’m reading into it too much… I dunno…” Your shyness came back tenfold, making your arteries pump ferociously and your cheeks warm with enough heat to set something ablaze. Sunghoon stared at the wrinkles in your hands, each running a river through the lighter skin.

Could a vampire really like someone? Especially someone that he had once calculated the blood volume of? Roughly 4.5 liters. Nine pints. That was approximately how much blood sat inside your body right now, circulating beneath your skin in endless loops. He knew because vampires were taught these things, useful things.

Sunghoon remembered the first time he met you, he wasn’t exactly wondering what your favorite color was. He was wondering how much blood loss your body could tolerate before passing out. The first time you smiled at him, he did not think about your lips. He thought about how inflamed they were with the sensitive multitude of blood vessels beneath the skin. 

Now he knew useless things, like your daily habits that you barely noticed yourself, the way that your entire face and neck would warm up with blood rushing to it, not just your cheeks. He knew what you wanted to pursue after college, the life that you wanted to live, and the stupid shit that you put on your bucket list. None of these things helped him hunt or feed like a vampire should. Does that mean Sunghoon liked you how a human would?

“I do. I like you.” He breathed out before he could give it a second thought. You smiled, your heart pumping so wildly that even he was a bit afraid it might burst through your chest. He finally understood why your heartbeat was so erratic around him. Because you liked him too, right?

You ducked your head shyly, smiling into your sleeves. “Okay,” you mumbled softly. “I like you too, Sunghoon.” You blinked slowly. “Should we go on a date after this?” You said, scratching your nape nervously. “I’ve never liked anyone before– it’s new to me…”

“Me too,” Sunghoon confessed, “It is also my first time being in… uhm…” For the first time, Sunghoon was at a loss for words. “You know…” He added, just to be safe. You giggled, shyly outstretching your hand, reaching for his cold one. You were surprised at how frigid his skin was, feeling like a porcelain piece.

“Your hands are so cold…” You murmured, wrapping his large hands into your smaller ones, permeating your body heat to transfer to his. “Sorry,” you mumbled suddenly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Sunghoon stared at your fingers hooked between his. Neither did he. He had lived through conflicts, technological revolutions, and economic booms, yet somehow, he had never experienced such an intimate and tender moment with a girl. “I do not know either,” he admitted quietly. You smiled and giggled.

“That’s okay, Sunghoon. We can figure it out together, right?” You looked at him hopefully. He nodded. Being a vampire was tedious enough already, and now, Sunghoon had to navigate dating the very girl he intended to turn into a blood bag.

Being your boyfriend might kill him before his hunger would.

❛❛MOUTHS WERE MADE FOR MORE THAN BITING❞ ── 2

The next week, you and Sunghoon scored a 92 on the paper.

Heeseung returned the paper back with only minor comments, praising the both of you guys for your in-depth argument despite how simple the topic was. You both took it gracefully, and ended the Friday off with a dinner date.

You and Sunghoon chose to continue to get to know each other more. Although it didn’t exactly feel like it for both of you, with how close you had both gotten, you had basically known each other for only a month and had already developed feelings.

“It just– I dunno. It doesn’t feel fast to me, but I feel awkward knowing that we’ve known each other for like two weeks, and we already confessed, and then the next step is dating, right? But like– I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right…” You had candidly revealed your feelings to Sunghoon one night as you sat in your car, drinking milkshakes as a reward after another day of hard work on your paper. He really didn’t understand. After all, after 120+ years of living, time had become such a feeble thing anyway. Whether it was two weeks, three, or even a year, he had all the time in the world to stick a label when you wanted it. (If you even lasted a year before he ate you, that is.)

“That is okay. We can go at your pace. I am not sure how to date either.” Sunghoon’s tongue scooped up the Java Chip milkshake, curling it into his taste buds. It tasted fucking disgusting, but you didn’t need to know that, especially since you looked so content sipping on your strawberry shake.

“That’s okay! We’re just figuring it out, right?” You chirped, your voice brimming with anticipation. He nodded, an amused smile spreading across his lips.

“I guess so.” Moreso, he’s figuring out when he should suck your blood. (But for some reason, the sentiment didn't feel sincere to him anymore.)

You started figuring it out where things were familiar. Study sessions at different cafes you wanted to try, spending countless nights in the library focusing on your respective work. These were safe places that you knew you couldn’t mess up, places that you and Sunghoon knew how to navigate each other in. You sat close to Sunghoon, constantly peeking at his laptop when he worked. He always let you into his bubble, keeping an arm available for you to tug on or hold his hand with.

And then, the familiar routines began to stretch out of your comfort zone. Instead of going to the library, you decided to do dinner. (Well, it was more of Sunghoon playing with his food while you kept gushing about the amazing cuisine.) And then these dinners turned into late-night walks where you both rumbled on about more meaningless things, sometimes meaningful as you interlocked hands and swung them on a pendulum. And then these walks turned into countless hours spent sitting in your car, burning gas because neither of you wanted the night to end.

You bridged the gap between physical touch, too, getting comfortable enough to tug on his sleeve whenever you wanted his attention or allowing him to place a firm hand on your back when navigating crowded areas. Sunghoon realized that dating a human was– it was pretty easy, actually. He didn’t understand why other humans kept complaining about their relationships.

All Sunghoon had to do was be there for you, and it was as easy as pie. He simply listened when you needed to vent, hugged you tightly when you needed to cry, and carried snacks in his bag when he sensed your glycemic index was low. And sometimes, he even used his vampiric perks, following you in a swarm of bats to ensure you got home safely and being accessible even at the worst hours of the night because he never slept.

And before both of you knew it, time had passed so quickly that three months had passed, putting you both into the Spring semester with a new label on your relationship tacked on.

Sunghoon learned way more things in those three months. Not as a person or someone who liked him, not even as a blood bag, but as a girlfriend. He discovered that your love language was words of affirmation, learned that you didn’t really make decisions until you had at least three opinions (with him being one of those three), and that even after being with him for quite a while now, your cardiovascular system never faltered in activity, only heightened.

Yet oddly enough, there was one thing that you and Sunghoon hadn’t breached.

It was his apartment.

He was always over at yours, an extra toothbrush in your bathroom, and his clothes filling your closet to the brim. Every time you wanted to have a baking date, movie night, or just wanted to chill together privately, you guys always ended up at your place. Never his.

Looking back, Sunghoon realized he had become strangely talented at redirecting you.

He’d always suggest to go to yours because you had more baking supplies, your television was bigger, and your roommate, Chowon, was never home. And on the off-chance that your roommate finally did come home, Sunghoon would insist that Jake was so loud that it’d be like having a third-wheel hovering over the both of you the entire time.

Because unlike your apartment, which smelled like vanilla candles, air freshener, and room spray, his smelled like blood. Literally. His refrigerator was currently stuffed with labeled blood bags. The pantry contained emergency freeze-dried containers of blood. It’s a miracle how the iron smell hadn’t suffused to his neighbors. Sunghoon’s bathroom was stocked to the brim with enough sunscreen to slather on a blue whale and still have extra bottles for him.

Yeah, if you went to his apartment, then he’d have to either hide half of his existence, trust you with it, or probably kill you.

As much as the last option was what Sunghoon was anticipating, none of them were ideal..

Which was exactly why, when your text popped up later that evening, his undead heart felt like it dropped to his ass. 

Y/N (girlfriend): chowon brought someone over and i think they’re… having sex Y/N (girlfriend):  :( Y/N (girlfriend): can i come to yours?

He left the text on read shamelessly, throwing his phone on the couch and mechanically going to knock on Jake’s door. “Jaeyun. My girlfriend wants to come over. Code Red,” he bluntly said, trying to hide the panic that was building up.

Jake swung the door open, racing past Sunghoon in a blurred flash, compiling all of the blood bags in the fridge into his empty arms. “What the hell are you standing around for? Go hide the ones in the pantry!” Jake shrieked, scrambling back to his own room to hide the refrigerated packs in the his mini-fridge. Sunghoon ripped open the tall, white pantry doors and began stuffing emergency blood packets into his puffer jackets winter boots in the spare coat closet and– and a rice container that… was purely there just for show, honestly.

“Jaeyun, when did we get this rice container? And why?”

“Oh, it was a gift from Jay…” Jake paused. Sunghoon stared at the Australian vampire, who had punctured a blood bag with a straw and was sucking on the dark red liquid. When the two were absolutely sure that there would be no way that you would even by chance stumble upon a blood pack, Sunghoon grabbed his phone from the couch.

Y/N (girlfriend): hoon? Y/N (girlfriend): helloo? Y/N (girlfriend): if u dont want me to come over thats ok :(  hoon (boyfieee): Sorry. I am cleaning to make the place look presentable for You. hoon (boyfieee): come Now. If you are able. Y/N (girlfriend): YAYY! Y/N (girlfriend): can i stay the night hoonie? Y/N (girlfriend): i jus dont want to have the awkward uhhh… yk… morning after convo with the random guy…

His eyes slowly lifted from his phone to Jake, who was still holding a punctured blood bag like a juice pouch. “She wants to stay the night,” Sunghoon said blankly. Jake nearly choked on the blood he was drinking.

“Your first sleepover is happening before she’s seen our apartment?” Jake hissed. “Dude, you still have your stupid UV sleeves hanging in the bathroom.” Sunghoon looked toward the hallway, where his bathroom was, and where his protective UV sleeves were dangling over the shower curtain rod. “And we don’t even sleep– what are you gonna do? Just lay there for like eight hours?”

He imagined you curled up in his bed, filling the empty space of the full-sized mattress. Your steady heartbeat would thud thud thud right up against his chest, peaceful and content. Your scent would be trapped in his enclosed space with nowhere to escape but into his nostrils. He then imagined the look of horror on your face if you opened his spare coat closet to see freeze-dried packets of blood stuffed in all his clothes, and too many thoughts about biting you as you slept over ransacked any rationale. He ignored Jake’s rhetorical question and shook his head before looking back at his phone.

hoonie (boyfieee): Yes. You can stay. hoonie (boyfieee): Bring toothbrush. I believe I have everything elese you may need. hoonie (boyfieee): else*

This was either the worst idea he’s ever had or a great milestone in your relationship.

You arrived 15 minutes later, your car keys dangling from your fingers and an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. Jake was sitting on the couch, watching television when Sunghoon opened the door for you. “Hi Hoon! Hi Jake.” You nodded your head towards the Australian boy.

“Hey!” Jake greeted back with a tense smile, his cheeks puffing up as he sunk deeper into the couch. You waved your hand again awkwardly before directing your focus back to Sunghoon.

“Where– uhm, can I put my stuff, Hoon?” You shyly asked. Sunghoon led you to his bedroom down the hall. It was fairly simple and clean, with black and white bedsheets, his full-sized bed tucked in the corner, and a black wooden desk perched up against his wall to face away from his window. He had so many candles lit, gothic white ones trailing wax down a candelabra. The room smelled just like Sunghoon, clean with base notes of musk and sandalwood. You spun around, taking in his room as you set your overnight bag on the floor.

“Your room is so…”

Sunghoon stiffened. Was it too weird? Too gothic? Too antique? Too vampire-coded? Damn it, he knew he should’ve gotten rid of that stupid iron candle holder– didn’t young people these days have simple glass holders?

“It’s so clean and nice, Hoon! It’s suits you so wel!” You gushed with a smile so bright that it rivaled the flickering flames of his lit candles. His tense shoulders dropped as he let out a small breath of relief.

“Thank you.” He nodded. Your eyes wandered everywhere with innocent curiosity. His dresser had a few, black decorations on it. His clothes were all neatly tucked away. His nightstand had a lamp on it, some hand-cream, and a box of tissues. The blackout curtains were drawn tightly over the windows despite it barely being evening.

“Hoon, you should get more Vitamin D.” You pouted. “I feel like you’re always covered up, too.”

“I take supplements,” he replied hastily. You giggled.

“One day I’m gonna force you outside. Maybe if we’re ever in the mood for it, we could take a loooong hike and watch the sunrise!” Sunghoon only hummed in response. That honestly sounded fucking awful, but he’ll let you be optimistic about your future dates.

You wandered toward his bookshelf next, fingers ghosting over the spines. His shelf was crammed with thick, old books jammed next to each other, pressing up against the sides of the wooden storage. You skimmed your fingertips over one particularly thick book, your eyebrows furrowing together as you read the title. 

“Hoon,” you carefully pulled out one hardcover. “Why do you own an Economics 101 book from the 1950’s?” You smiled.

“I like reading about the economy back then, so I do not make any poor financial decisions,” he answered perfectly. Damn, he was good at this.

“Can I pull a book out?” You asked with sparkling eyes. He nodded. You pushed a book towards you, your fingertip digging into the pages behind the spine. You opened it, smiling. “Wow, this is so old too!” You scanned the back of the cover, looking confused. “This is from a library– wow, so cool. It’s like an artifact!”

His eyes bulged out of his head. He knew what book you were looking at. He reached out to grab it from you when your finger traced the remnants of faded ink. “Park Sunghoon checked this book out in 1939?” You whispered. He winced, his outstretched hand curling into a defeated fist. “That’s so cool! You guys had the same name!” Damn, he knew he should’ve returned that library book 87 years ago.

You put the book back, sliding it in perfectly between two other thick books. Sunghoon watched you carefully, his tongue darting from between his lips to nervously lick at them. The two of you stood there awkwardly for a second before your shoulders sagged.

“Sorry,” you mumbled suddenly.

“For what?” He was confused.

“I feel like– I dunno– awkward, like I’m intruding or ruining the mood...” You rubbed your sleeves together nervously. “The roommate thing just stressed me out, and I feel like I asked you so last minute, and– and– I dunno, I feel like I pressured you.”

Sunghoon’s expression softened slightly. “You did not pressure me into anything, Y/N,” he said in that soothing, low voice of him. You looked up at him with hopeful and relieved eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He nodded once. “You can stay here as long as you want.”

Your heartbeat picked up as it usually did when he said anything reassuring to you. You sat down on the edge of his bed, albeit a bit cautious and nervous. “Can we just do nothing tonight?”

Sunghoon leaned against his desk. “Just nothing?”

“Yes, absolutely nothing!”  You smiled up at him. He smiled and sat to the right of you, letting you rest your body against his. Your head immediately tucked into his shoulder, hands playing with his right hand while his left arm slung around your shoulders. Your pulse was drumming against your soft slowly, but not as quick as it usually was. It felt relaxed, and Sunghoon came to the conclusion that you were comfortable here, in his space.

Then his eyes drifted lower without meaning to. Your neck peeked out from the collar of your hoodie when you tilted your head back slightly. Warn, thin skin that he could easily pierce into. He could practically trace the route your blood traveled beneath it. He licked his lips again, his ears drowning in the sound of your blood moving in your circulatory system. It only got louder and louder.

Four months. It had been four months since he’s met you, and two since you’ve been dating, yet it’s been three months of dates, hand-holding, and falling asleep on his shoulder. Three months of carrying snacks for you and listening to your problems and memorizing your preferred cafe order that wasn’t Americano.

It made him so hungry, so fucking hungry to be next to you so long– to smell the intoxicating and metallic aroma of your blood.

Sunghoon swallowed hard, and you must’ve heard the sound, because you perked up immediately, facing him as you looked up. “You okay?” you asked quietly, “Hungry? Should we order takeout?” His eyes shifted back to yours. You were so close. You had shifted even closer to him him without him noticing. Your knees thighs were pressing up against each other, and your scent was wrapping around him immediately, washing out the clean smell of his lit candles.

“I am not hungry,” he answered, lying through his teeth.

Because right now, all he wanted to do was eat. His eyes fluttered down to your lips, so soft and red, skin almost bursting with a vermillion hue. The skin was so thin, and if he looked close enough, he could see the wrinkles and the parts where they peeled. Your blood vessels were packed so closely together, gathering enough warmth to set him ablaze. 

“We can just stay here– just the two of us,” he murmured, voice dipping into a lower octave and coating itself in a seductive honey. For a moment, a weird thought pushed itself into his mind. Do lips taste different from skin? How would your blood gush from your mouth? Would it flow down in a steady stream, or burst out into tiny jets? You were saying something, your pretty lips opening and closing to project words, but Sunghoon was too distracted with seeing rather than hearing.

Without realizing, he leaned in closer, the proximity between you decreasing. He could smell your tinted lip balm swiped across your lips, pathetically trying to mask the iron scent underneath your skin. Your breath hitched as he began bridging the gap between your faces. Useless thoughts began to surface in his mind.

One bite. Just one. Right there.

His eyes dropped to your mouth again. Your hand abruptly reached up and grabbed his shirt, crumpled up at his stomach. “Hoon,” you whispered softly, your breathy tone almost making your voice sound like a whimper. He gently let go of your hand, bringing it up to gently caress your cheek. Your pulse began drumming so hard against your skin that he was afraid it was burst through and break, and he honestly didn’t mind the sound of that.

“Can I?” he asked, a murmur deep in his throat. You swallowed, gulping down the tension as you nodded. You nodded, not wanting your voice to betray the thick want clouding your mind. He leaned in slowly, fangs instinctively protracting as hunger took over his brain, but as soon as he pressed his cold lips to yours, his canines were flat like they usually were. His mind blanked. He pulled away, leaving you with only a peck as your first kiss.

When he properly looked at your face, your mouth was parted, letting out soft and content breaths. “Hoonie– kiss– please, kiss me again.” You whispered. You didn’t have to ask him twice. He pressed his lips to yours again, firmer this time, charged with a desire to have your breath mingling with his. He understood now why Jake bragged about kissing humans so much– it was addicting. He didn’t even remember why he wanted your mouth on his anymore, all he wanted was to kiss you breathless.

Forget about feeding from you, couldn’t he just devour you like this?

(The next morning, when you went to cook breakfast, you had asked Jake who had just woken up why his fridge was literally empty. And why all of the windows were open, but the curtains were all drawn shut. And why there were enough candles lit everywhere to cause a fire hazard. You also had somehow stumbled upon Sunghoon’s limitless sunscreen stock in his bathroom. The Australian vampire merely shrugged and bolted back to his room.)

❛❛LEAVE YOUR MARK ON MY NECK THAT IT'S YOURS.❞ ── 3

After your first kiss, Jake wouldn’t let Sunghoon live it down for weeks.

Not that Sunghoon had cared, he had better things to think about. Like now, instead of greeting him with your usual shy wave, you’d grab his collar and pull him down for a bashful peck to greet him instead. Or how you looked after giving said-peck, eyes half-lidded and cheeks warm, like you wanted one more but were too shy to ask. And he learned that he might be addicted to kisses now, because all he could think about when you were both apart was how much he wish you were together.

Being a vampire was tedious, but at least it was simple in theory. All he had to think about was drinking blood, biting people, staying away from garlic, and keeping out of the sun. But now, there was a new complication laying down on all of his vampiric responsibilities, effectively crushing all of them as priorities. And that obviously was you.

You were supposed to be one of his simple vampire duties– the biting people and drinking blood part. But you were slowly beginning to be phased out of that aspect of his duties. You were becoming a new duty of your own, in fact, something that Jake liked to call “boyfriend duty.”

“Boyfriend duty?” Sunghoon had repeated slowly. Jake nodded, leaning back in their couch, sipping on a Blood Mary cocktail despite it being 11 AM on a Wednesday. (Jake swore up and down that he had invented the cocktail in the 1920s. Sunghoon honestly believed him.)

“Yeah. Instead of just suckin’ blood, you also suck face.” Jake snickered, amused at his own joke. “Seems like you got a lot on your plate now, Mr. Bloodsucker.”

Sunghoon had sent the Australian a glare, narrowing his eyes as he stood up. None of what the former man had learned firsthand being with you had been in his original “Vampire 101” lessons. There was no precedent in befriending a girl, becoming said-girl’s boyfriend, and reforming the thoughts of food to a person he cared for. 

He was still a vampire. The most vampiric vampire ever. He still drank blood from the diminishing stock in his fridge (blame Jake for his unusual recent obsession with bloody cocktails.) He still shoved his hand in the freeze-dried blood bags when he wanted to switch up his meal texture. And he even developed a weird habit of hissing at garlic. (He had no idea where that came from, but that’s for another time.) 

But when you were around, he didn’t just feel like just a vampire anymore. He felt, oddly enough, like a human again. Even though he technically died when he was 21 years old over a century ago with bite marks piercing his neck, he has never felt more alive than when you shyly pressed your lips to his with a soft whisper of his name. Sunghoon didn’t want to breach into this territory of thinking, but he was afraid that maybeeee he didn’t want to bite you that badly anymore. But as soon as he heard your heartbeat, his stomach would say differently. He was, to put it shortly, confused.

“Sunghoon, do you think I should add more of the spice packet?”

He looked at the ramen, which was a baby pink color. He snorted. “Y/N, you must have added about three drops of the spice packet.” He gently took the red packet from your hands to glide his chopsticks on either side of it, effectively spilling the entire sauce inside. You gulped nervously.

“Hoon, I dunno if I can handle all that…” You said anxiously. Sunghoon shrugged and began to vigorously stir the ramen with his chopsticks.

“If you cannot eat this, then I will just make you another one.”

You both were in your apartment, making dinner for your movie night. You wanted to order takeout, but the delivery fees almost cost as much as your utility bills, so you both opted for some ramyeon in your pantry. Cooking together sounded more fun anyways. You hovered over Sunghoon, watching as he stirred the pot with a weird precision. His chopsticks were upright, and he was going around the walls in perfect circles.

“Hoon, it looks like you’ve never cooked ramyeon before.” You giggled. Sunghoon shrugged.

“It is mostly Jaeyun who cooks ramyeon. He says he is better at it,” Sunghoon replied. You nodded with an “ahhh…”, watching as your boyfriend worked the pot.

“You look so handsome right now, Hoon. Like a househusband.” You smiled, leaning against the counter. He breathed a laugh out of his nose, incredulous at your sudden comment. His brows were slightly furrowed, shoulders squared and upright as his chopsticks moved with an unnecessary level of concentration for instant noodles.

The kitchen light cast warm tones across his face, softening his sharp features. It still amazed you sometimes– how someone who looked so intimidating in class months ago now stood in your kitchen making ramyeon while wearing a hoodie that you gave him for your one-monthiversary.

“Hoonie, can I tell you something?” You suddenly spoke up. He nodded. “Honestly, when I first saw you in class, I thought you were really cute. I’m really grateful we got to be project partners.”

The vampire was a bit stunned at your confession. He didn’t realize you perceived him before you guys became partners. “You thought I was cute?” he repeated slowly, the question mark hanging off the end of the sentence. You looked away shyly, picking at the sleeve hanging over your hands.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Scary-cute though.” You chuckled. “It’s ‘cause you always stared at me, Hoon. I swear you did– tell me you did or else I’ll die from embarrassment.”

Your boyfriend only responded with a simple nod of his head. Well, the only reason why he stared so much was because he was always so fuckin’ hungry. Not because he was your secret admirer or anything– but he supposed he didn’t really have to say all that for the sake of preserving your feelings. “I was, Y/N,” he affirmed your suspicions. “You are strangely more perceptive than I had initially thought.”

“Heh, what can I say?” You boasted, looking smug. Sunghoon poured the ramyeon into two separate bowls. “But why were you staring at me so much?” You helped him set one of the bowls on the coffee table, settling down on the couch right in front of the television.

“Because you intrigued me,” he explained, not entirely lying. Your blood intrigued me. You seemed really satisfied with the answer, your sweatpant-clad legs jumping up and down to show how giddy his response made you. You picked up the remote, flicking through the endless options of dramas to watch. Sunghoon really didn’t like dramas at first. He had explained to you that he hated them, saying that they were unrealistic, too cheesy, and had too many logical inaccuracies.

You scrolled through title after title while sitting cross-legged on the couch, legs buried under the fluffy blanket, entirely concentrated on finding something “good enough” to please him. “Oh, how about this? It’s supposed to be cheesy! It’s called EN-DRAMA!” You suggested. Sunghoon read the description, and grew even more perplexed. But he simply shrugged and let you put on whatever you wanted.

You both began watching the drama, slurping down your ramyeon. You were able to tolerate the spice enough to finish your bowl, but it didn’t stop you from hissing. Sunghoon snickered under his breath at the sounds. You sounded like a cute little vampire, and your noises almost made him instinctively let out a hiss of his own. He left his bowl steaming on the coffee table, pulling you into his side, keeping your shoulders pressed together. He strew the blanket over his own lap, resting his head on yours.

For some reason, you were really immersed in the drama, letting out soft gasps as the seven boys in the scene tried to piece together who really confessed. You leaned in closer, your warm palm bracing your body on Sunghoon’s thigh. The vampire sucked in a breath as your body heat radiated through the blanket to his skin. With how poor your posture was in that position, your neck and back slouched, Sunghoon had a clear view of your neck. You were wearing a shirt with the collar cut, pulled down to reveal the expanse of your shoulder and neck. He gulped.

He watched as your left hand drew to your right shoulder, your fingernails scraping against the skin, leaving red marks to surface. “Are you itchy?” he asked quietly, eyes following the path your fingers carved across your skin.

“Hm?” You absentmindedly scratched again. “Oh. I think it’s cuz’ some threads are loose.” You tugged the neckline lower to adjust it. Sunghoon wished you hadn’t done that. More skin peeked through, exposing your upper arm. He could feel the crimson liquid pooling underneath to where you had scratched.

He was starving, and he didn’t even realize it until your precious skin was exposed to his leering eyes. He licked his lips, instinctively leaning forward, his fanged mouth drawn to warm epidermis. “Hoon?” You suddenly looked at him. When you did, you could feel his breath fan across your lips. You instantly covered your mouth.

“Does my breath smell?” Sunghoon pulled away, almost offended. You shook your head vigorously.

“Mine probably does, Hoon! What’re you doing, trying to kiss me after I ate this spicy ass ramen?” You whined. He chuckled at your cute reaction, his palm cupping over your fingers, gently prying it away from your mouth.

“Do you think I care about ramyeon breath?” he asked quietly. Not at all. What he cared about was the plump, swollen, and sheen with the reddish-hue of the broth skin of your lips. “I want to kiss you, even if you have ramyeon breath. Can I kiss you, Y/N? I want to kiss you so bad.”

You nodded eagerly to his plea, feeling a heat curl up in your lower tummy at how calm yet desperate he sounded. He placed a soft kiss to your knuckles, before cupping your cheek and leaning in to press soft pecks to your mouth. You reciprocated, your breathing turning ragged as he kept capturing your mouth with no time to catch up. With every soft kiss, he hesitated, as if thinking whether or not to kiss you again– yet every time, he conceded, meeting your lips with his as if he couldn’t convince himself to stop in the split second he pulled away.

His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck, fingers wrapping around the back of it, pulling you in closer. Warm. Your skin was always so warm. You pulled away to properly catch your breath, fingers twisted in the material of his hoodie. “You’re always so cold…” You whispered. “Hoonie, should– should I warm you up?” You shyly asked. He nodded, eyes stared shamelessly down at your lips as he licked his own, tasting the disgusting flavor of the spicy ramyeon. His hands moved to your shoulders awkwardly, patting them firmly as if he were congratulating you for something. You laughed, endeared by his cute action.

“Sunghoon, you can touch me… down here…” You gently held his hands, dragging them to your waist. “Is– is this, okay?” Your voice was barely audible to his ears. Sunghoon nodded.

“Yes–” he gulped, “is– is this okay for you, too?” He murmured. You nodded with a nervous giggle. The position was, admittedly a bit awkward, with his torso contorted to face you as he continued to sit and his hands clumsily placed on your waist. Your body was also angled weirdly into the couch cushions, the blanket crumpled up in your lap. 

“Are you comfortable like this?” you asked, soft chuckles spilling your lips from how jittery you were. He looked around, then looked down at your bodies, distantly touching each other. He wasn’t exactly content like this.

“Not really,” he honestly confessed. You adjusted yourself on the couch, your knees bumping up against each other and a muttered apology coming from your mouth. Sunghoon’s lips curled into a confused and intrigued frown as he watched you shuffle, your leg throwing its knee over his thighs. He froze as he realized what you were doing. You had either leg settled on both sides of his own before you gently lowered your weight onto him.

“Is– is this fine too, Hoon?” You mumbled. Your hands instinctively grabbed his shoulders for balance while his own reflexively tightened around your waist to steady you. He nodded eagerly. Your warmth was entirely surrounding him now, and your face was inches away from him once more.

“Hi.” You breathed out, your body trembling from nerves.

“Hello,” he greeted back, his frown flipping into a soft smile, so utterly endeared by how bold yet nervous you were. “Do you feel awkward, Y/N?”

“A little, Hoonie. Am I doing too much?” You bit your lip. As your teeth indented the thin skin, blood drew to where it was pressing, reddening your soft mouth even more.

“Not enough, Y/N,” he responded, surging forward to kiss you again. Sunghoon thought for a moment that, instead of those stupid blood bags, one of these days he could live off of these warm lips, packed with the blossoms of blood vessels that narrowed as his cold lips pressed against them. You kissed back, retiring the silly cute pecks that you did. Sunghoon devoured your mouth, trying his hardest to prevent his fangs from protracting.

He found out a bit funny how much effort he was exerting not to stick out his fangs, considering months ago, he would’ve taken the first chance to sink them into your mouth. But now, all he was focused on was eating you alive in a completely different way— memorizing the shape of your smile between kisses, the tiny breaths you let out when he pulled you closer, and the warmth that kept permeating to his cold skin as you instinctively leaned closer into his body.

His hands tightened at your waist, settling more confidently as his muscular arms snaked around them. The angle was, admittedly still a bit uncomfortable. His hips were beginning to hurt, and your knees kept bumping against the couch cushion, but neither of you bothered to readjust, too caught up in each other’s lips. He pulled away, pupils dilated and entranced on the way your mouth was looking now. They were swollen, slick with the amount of spit you were swapping. They were so pretty looking, almost beguiling him into just fucking swallowing them until the both of you couldn’t breathe anymore. But you were still letting out cute pants, so instead, he sufficed with pressing his mouth to your cheek, before leaning towards your jaw. You squirmed around, bringing your shoulders to the side of his face as the ticklish sensation overwhelmed your instincts.

“Hoon, that tickles…” You whined. He let out a breathy laugh, his kisses trailing down to his neck. As if mocking him, he felt the beats under your jaw drum faster, beckoning him to come near. He licked his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point. He couldn’t stop– his mouth kept attacking that one specific area, pressing so many kisses to it that you thought he was about to imprint the shape of his lips onto that piece of skin.

His fangs were protracting– he could feel the ache in his gumline signaling to him that his teeth were sharpening. But he didn’t want to bite you anymore. He was sure of it with the way anxiety pricked his nerves with the thought of actually draining you dry to the point where you were cold and sickly.

So instead, his cold lips came together, suckling on your pulse point. You let out a gasp, but the vampire could barely register it. He was sucking on your skin, and for a moment, his irises flashed red. It felt like sucking your blood, without the satisfying flavor of the metal on his tongue. But with the way he was devouring your skin was close– so close so close it almost drew him back to his vampiric instincts of drawing blood. And in a way, he was. He could feel how, under his mouth and below your skin, how your blood vessels crackled and exploded, releasing the tiniest amount of blood to the surface.

He pulled away when you nudged his head gently, only to see a bright purple mark adorning your neck. He looked nervous when you finally made eye-contact. Did he hurt you? Did you not want it anymore? Did he go too far? But all of his apprehensions were washed away as the tide brought in a wide smile. “Hoon… It– it feels really, good, more?”

Sunghoon let out a sigh of relief. “More?” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You nodded. His lips curled into a sweet smile. “Okay– but tell me if you want to stop.”

And by the time you told him to stop, your neck was a canvas painted with his love bites, a beautiful artwork of his growing adoration for you.

Days later, Sunghoon and Jake were sitting at the island of their apartment kitchen. 

“You know, vampires can’t get hickeys.”

Jake was lapping at a bloodsicle, the frozen hemoglobin staining the Australian vampire’s lips and teeth. “Really?” Sunghoon asked, surprised.

“Yeah, we don’t have blood, genius,” Jake retorted, “Dude, I’m a genius. This popsicle is so damn good. I need to start patenting my recipes or else some other dickhead vampire is gonna claim my shit again.” Jake let out a satisfied moan at the taste of his ice bar.

“Well, is there a next step to our relationship that I must take, Jaeyun?” Sunghoon asked, looking down at his notebook. These days, Sunghoon had been trying to take lessons on relationships. He supposed this was good for stimulating his brain– learning something new and unfamiliar, breaching a territory he was sure that no other vampire had. It had been a while since the hickey incident, and now he was opening up to Jake, wanting to explore more in the vast unknownness of dating.

“Sex, duh.”

“Sex?” Sunghoon looked surprised. “Like– mating?”

“Yeah, sex, man. Y’know? Fuckin’, copulating, making love– that sort of stuff.” Jake bit off a chunk of the popsicle. “But you know, sex isn’t just about reproduction, right? You’ve been alive for like, 120 years already man. Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

Sunghoon would’ve blushed if he had blood. Jake’s mouth fell agape. “No way.”

“Well, I was busy with other things, Jaeyun. Like not burning alive and all of that,” Sunghoon grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Jake sighed, pointing his half-eaten bloodsicle at the slightly-younger man.

“Well, take notes, Sunghoon. Sex isn’t just about mating or feeling good. It’s also about intimacy, trust, and communication. This is a major step for relationships, you know?”

“So, I ask Y/N if she wants to do sex?” Sunghoon asked. Jake seemed thoughtful for a moment before he bit off another chunk of his bloody ice bar.

“Yes– you should breach the thought, but don’t force the topic. Just ask her if she’s ready– well. Okay, hold on.” Jake seemed to be gathering all of his thoughts to formulate a concise explanation and plan for Sunghoon, which the man was patient to receive. “Okay so– first, you guys are like– you guys gotta get in the mood, right? Let’s say you guys are kissing and making out and whatnot. You gotta ask how she feels, ya know? Check in and read the mood, then ask really carefully.” Jake waved his frozen treat around dramatically. “And if she says no, then cool. You just kiss, cuddle, do whatever you two lovebirds usually do.”

Sunghoon wrote down this advice ferociously, nodding his head to everything that Jake said. Everything sounded like common sense– just make sure that you’re comfortable and you both do things you want to do. “Oh, and another thing— don’t think of your relationship as like– having checkpoints. It’s not like, you kiss, then make out, then have sex, you know. I mean, it is lowkey like that for you guys, but don’t dwell on it too much. Relationships don’t have a linear timeline.” Jake expressed. Sunghoon nodded once more.

“Thank you for the advice, Jaeyun,” The vampire sincerely said. Jake smiled and patted the other’s back.

“Dude, of course.”

That night, Sunghoon was laying awake in his bed. (What else would he be doing? Sleeping?) He was scrolling through his phone, watching plenty of Youtube videos about relationship advice and how to get to the “next level.” He somehow found himself in a rabbit hole of niche internet blogs, countless articles flooding his screen about How to Have Sex for the First Time and A Virgin’s Guide to Pleasure.

Although humans were complicated, he was glad that at least he had these guides to help him through his struggles. He read through pieces telling him how to set the mood with candles and roses, editorials about how to properly perform foreplay to prepare someone for sex. It was almost an information overload for his brain– too many possibilities of how your first time could go was actually making the vampire nervous. If it did go at all, of course. He’s been a vampire for over a century, so surely he could wait as long as you wanted to wait before your first time.

Suddenly, a notification swiped down on his phone.

Y/N (girlfriend): hoonieeee!!! WYD!!! hoon (boyfieee): Hello Baby. I am just reading. Do you need something?

Sunghoon felt a bit smug as he called you a pet name. He had recently learned in a stupid KDrama you guys watched that boyfriends commonly called their girlfriends pet names, and he wanted to apply what he just learned.

Y/N (girlfriend): heheee not much baby <3 Y/N (girlfriend): anyways wanna come over after my final next fri and cook din? been craving sum real food… Y/N (girlfriend): like steak?

Steak sounded good. Steak had iron in it.

hoon (boyfieee): Yes. I cannot wait to be there. Y/N (girlfriend): yayyy!! Y/N (girlfriend): missin u already lol

Sunghoon exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the screen.

hoon (boyfieee): I miss you too. Do not fret. You will see me soon. hoon (boyfieee): Do well on your final. I will reward you.

He stared at his own message for a second. It didn’t exactly feel like himself. A reward? Was that the right word? But before he could overthink it, you replied.

Y/N (girlfriend): omg are you gonna kiss me when i’m done Y/N (girlfriend): i’m gonna ACE THIS EXAM!!!!

Sunghoon laughed. So cute. You were always so cute.

hoon (boyfieee): Focus on studying, needy girl. hoon (boyfieee): But yes, I will. :)

In a way, it was a reward for himself too, right?

❛❛I'LL EVEN PLUCK THE SUN, THE MOON FOR YOU❞ ── 4

“Hoonie, hi! I bought a meannn cut of ribeye!”

Sunghoon entered your apartment like he owned it. (It almost felt like he did with how often he was over. Maybe he should start offering to pay rent or something.) “Did you, now? Was it expensive? Show me the receipt, baby, I will pay for it.”

“Eek, so dreamy, Hoon, you’re making a woman swoon! But don’t worry, this is on me! And I bought rosemary and thyme and some fancy Kerrygold Irish Butter, but you’re allergic to garlic right? So I didn’t buy any!” You triumphantly said, as if it were the greatest achievement in the world to remember your boyfriend’s food sensitivities. Sunghoon smiled.

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate it.” He entered the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He hugged you from behind, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “What sides do you want, baby?”

“I was thinkinggg…. maybe just mashed potatoes or asparagus or something?” You suggested, “Look in my fridge, Hoonie, you can pick!”

The vampire begrudgingly unraveled his arms from your body to wash his hands before he opened your fridge. The cold air hit him in the face so hard that he backed up. He looked through your very normal groceries: eggs, milk, bacon. He scrunched his nose at your terrible way of hiding garlic, tucked away in a bunch of paper towels secured with a rubber band in a deep corner behind your juice carton. It was endearing to see how much you cared for him.

He opened your drawers to see lettuce, bell peppers, cucumbers and– ah, there it was. A bunch of asparagus. He pulled it out and began rinsing the vegetables under the sink as you salted the steak. The steak was bloody, with red juices leaking onto your wooden cutting board and soaking through the splinters. But it was strangely unappetizing. Animal’s blood always was, but for some reason, the smell of it was pungent and repulsive. Sunghoon sniffled, rubbing a finger under his nose.

“Hoon, wash your hands,” you gently chided. He listened to you, moving the vegetables to the counter to rest in a bowl while he washed his hands. He then broke off the thick, fibrous stalks off the asparagus to get rid of the bitter stems. He learned that they were bad for humans. “How do you want to prepare the asparagus, Hoon?” You hummed as you leaned forward on the counter, watching as your boyfriend started snapping the asparagus.

“What do you think is good?” He responded, not really caring because it would taste shitty no matter how well it was prepared.

“Uhmm~ lemon and parmesan? Seared on a pan is really good…” You murmured. Sunghoon nodded half-heartedly, tossing the stalks in the trash. He pulled a pan from your cabinets, flipping it and settling it on the gas stove. You watched intently as he turned on the stove, pulling his phone in his other hand to look up a recipe. He looked effortlessly sexy, with his (oddly transparent) veins emphasized through his skin and his sleeves rolled up to expose his built forearms. You wiped your mouth to get rid of the drool you were about to trail in your mouth.

“Wash your hands, baby,” he chided in the same tone you used earlier. You bounded to the sink and did as told.

“Hmph. Acting like we don’t swap spit every time we see each other. What’s a little drool, anyways?” You huffed. He seemed a bit scandalized at your response, with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

“That is a bit— a bit vulgar…” Sunghoon muttered. You laughed and skipped back towards him, leaning over his side to look at the recipe he was watching. You helped him oil up the pan before he carefully picked a couple of asparagus to settle inside, letting the vegetable sizzle in the liquid fat.

While the asparagus were searing in the pan, Sunghoon was slicing up lemons while you shredded parmesan. “This is so fun, Hoon. I’m so excited to eat– I’m literally drooling,” you rambled. The asparagus hissed in the pan, letting the smokiness of its natural flavors fill the air. You turned on the hood fan as Sunghoon flipped them carefully with tongs. “Oooh, my boyfriend is a chef…! Make room, I’m putting the steak on.”

He pulled out another pan for your steak while you seasoned the meat with freshly cracked black pepper. Your fingers rubbed the spice into the lean cut, your other hand reaching to oil up the pan with a neutral oil. “You like your steak medium rare, right?” You hummed. Sunghoon nodded, letting out a half-hearted sound for an answer. He didn’t like his steak any sort of way.

“Yes, as do you, right?” He looked at you for confirmation. You nodded, letting out a sound of awe as you dropped the steak into the pan. Sunghoon took the asparagus off the stove once he deemed it perfectly seared, pulling out two plates to start the curation of a beautiful dinner display. When you pulled your steak off the pan, it had a beautiful crust and smelled utterly divine. And when you sliced it open, it had a a perfect wall-to-wall cook, the center a gorgeous pink with a gray band lining the edges. 

You carefully plated the steak alongside the asparagus, astounded by your once-in-a-lifetime perfect cooking ability. Maybe your boyfriend’s presence buffed your skill a little bit. You snapped a quick pic, a candid one with Sunghoon’s hand blocking a bit of the plate. “Ugh, Hoon, your hand was in the way!” You whined, but when the picture appeared on your phone, his hand was gone. “Oh, I guess not.” You shrugged, completely missing how tense he had gotten at that small exchange. “Well, let’s eat dinner, Hoon!”

Sunghoon obediently took the plate to the small dining table. “Should we watch a movie after, Hoon?” You squealed, clapping your hands eagerly as the seductive aroma of the amazing steak and asparagus filled your senses. Sunghoon nodded. He couldn’t lie, even as a vampire, the steak dinner was tempting him. 

You both dug into your meal, you way more ecstatic about it then him. Humans were funny– Sunghoon only needed blood to sustain him, physically and mentally. But seeing you get so excited over a steak dinner compared earlier in the week where you constantly complained about having instant ramen for dinner the fifth time in a week during finals felt more nourishing than even having your blood in a packet. You were chewing eagerly, your cheeks puffing with every bite and muted satisfied sound escaping your mouth.

After dinner and dishes, you both ended up collapsed in the couch with your fluffy blanket entangling both of your bodies together. You were sitting comfortably in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as you watched a random American movie. You were fiddling with Sunghoon’s thick and pretty fingers, rubbing your thumb against his pale knuckles. His chin was resting on your shoulder, mouth buried in the crook of your neck as he absentmindedly pressed kisses to it.

You weren’t really focused on the movie much. How could you be when your irresistible boyfriend couldn’t get his mouth off of you? You squirmed as his lips landed close to your ear, tickling you. “Hoon, the movie…” You mumbled, though you could give less of a shit about it at this point.

“I am watching…” he said, clearly not watching. You snorted softly, leaning further back into him. His arms tightened around your waist instinctively, keeping you settled comfortably in his lap. The television continuing streaming your shitty movie, but neither of you have been paying attention to the plot at this point. (That was barely even there, in the first place.)

Your fingers continued tracing over his pale hands as his lips continued to wander. His arms loosened so his hands could hold you, his large hands splaying across the expanse of your sides. “So clingy…” you muttered.

“Finals stole you from me,” he said, matter-of-factly. He continued to litter your skin with his soft kisses, and eventually, you couldn’t help yourself from meeting his mouth. He smiled as you both kissed, teeth clacking against each other as the innocent kisses evolved into a needy claim of each other. The pace became rapid as you contorted your body, setlting in his lap so that you were properly facing him. Your arms circled around his neck, pulling you closer. Sunghoon could tell you were still being clumsy, but that made it even more endearing. You were acting so needy, and it was igniting a new feeling in the vampire.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jake’s voice became present.  “Okay so– first, you guys are like– you guys gotta get in the mood, right? Let’s say you guys are kissing and making out and whatnot. You gotta ask how she feels, ya know? Check in and read the mood, then ask really carefully.” Sunghoon pulled away, a hand moving to gently cup your cheek, his thumbpad gently stroking your soft skin.

“Baby, are you feeling okay?” He mumbled. You nodded. “Okay– you need to tell me if it is uncomfortable,” he murmured. Your fingers slid into the hair at the nape of his neck as you nodded, pulling him back into you. His eyes fluttered shut as he got lost in the feeling of your sweet kisses, devouring him more than he could have ever done to you.

You shifted your hips over his, trying to get comfortable, but the movement pulled out a strangled groan from Sunghoon’s throat. You shifted away, alarmed. “Hoon? Does it hurt?” You softly asked. He shook his head, steadying your body by gripping onto you. His kisses moved down to pepper onto your neck, leaving hickeys in its wake. He was getting so hungry, so hungry… But it wasn’t the typical hollowness that left his stomach growling. It was a flame that kept flickering, pooling an unfamiliar heat in his body that left him shivering.

He bit down onto your neck instinctively despite his fangs not protracting, leaving only safe indents where his teeth were. You whimpered, squirming your head away. He bit again– Oh? This almost felt like the real thing. He was tempted to draw his fangs, but a pressing question had taken priority in his mouth.

“Baby, do– do you want to take the next step?”

The question startled you. You stilled, gripping his buff shoulders to pull him away from you, looking him in the eye. Sunghoon smiled comfortingly, trying to show you that he was completely relaxed, even though he was consumed with anxiety. If he had a functioning heart, it would be rapidly thumping just like yours.

“Uhm– Hoon, I– I dunno…” You confessed nervously, trying to widen your distance out of fear. “Uh– Hoon, I– I’m still a virgin and– and I don’t know if I’m ready yet…” You were stumbling over your words, heavy breaths escaping you as you tried to regulate your nerves. Sunghoon gently rubbed your hip, trying to soothe you.

“That is okay, Y/N,” he said softly, “I am one too. A virgin, I mean,” he added in an attempt to pacify your worries. “And we do not have to do anything you do not want to.” He nodded confidently. You smiled, and he could feel your heartbeat level out as your shoulders relaxed.

Vampirism was inherently about taking, taking, taking. Taking blood, taking lives, and taking apart people from the inside. But nothing about this relationship was about taking, not the way he intended. He was supposed to take your blood, drain your veins dry for all that they could give– but now he was in your space, making you feel comforted, denying his own instincts just to preserve every bit of you.

“I love you,” Sunghoon abruptly whispered. “I love you, Y/N.” He was suddenly overwhelmed with his emotions– guilt and adoration. The idea of him eating you before getting to this point filled him with so much shame that it was choking him. A few months ago, you were just considered a mere blood bag, reduced down to food and fuel. But now, the thought of it made him sick, the thought that he would’ve simply gotten over you in seconds with a deep pitch of his fangs. That you wouldn’t be here, your heart beating for him and only him. That you would just be another cold body without any blood and another unsolved case. Oh. Sunghoon felt like he was going to seriously throw up. He’s not even sure if vampires could throw up.

“You make me feel…” Alive, human, mortal. “... you make me feel so happy.” Is what he finalized with.

You gently grabbed his jaw, turning his face back toward you. “I love you too,” you said. “I love you so much, Hoon. And you make me happy, too.” You nodded. His throat tightened. Of course you loved him, because you only knew his good sides, not the sides that thought about indulging in your crimson proteins or planned to date you just to fucking consume you.

You leaned forward first this time, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before curling back into his chest. Sunghoon wrapped the blanket tighter around both of you, keeping the both of you warm. The movie credits had long begun rolling, nearing the end. You yawned quietly, mouth stretching as a signal of your drowsiness settling in. 

“Tired?” he asked.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

“Of course, baby.”

Your breathing eventually evened out against him. And while you drifted closer to sleep in his arms, Sunghoon stayed awake. Well, mostly because he was a vampire, but he was sure that even if he wasn’t, he’d remain awake. You looked so calm and peaceful and vulnerable that he felt obligated to stay awake and watch over you, making the most minuscule movements of his life. And Sunghoon would have revelled in that stillness of yours if he was still craving to eat you, but instead his hunger was swallowed down, suppressed by the love he had for you.

Summer came, bringing in a blistering heat. You didn’t go back to your hometown like you usually did. Instead, you stayed in your apartment during the three months off of school, choosing to remain with your boyfriend.

Over the 17 weeks that you guys stayed within proximity of each other, dates lined your calendar nearly every single day. Normally, you would’ve gotten sick of spending so much time with someone, but Sunghoon’s presence in your life settled right where it belonged that it felt like he had always existed alongside you. Your roommate had subletted her room to someone who was barely ever there, giving Sunghoon the perfect opportunity to basically move in with you. He was still officially living with Jake, his name still on the lease. But he practically became your new roommate with how often he was at your place.

The sunny season shined a new light upon your boyfriend. You came to find yourself endeared and amused by how much he cared about UV protection. After you told him you found his stock of sunscreen in his bathroom, he gave up hiding it and began piling his supply in your place as well. You always had an umbrella ready for when he finally obliged to take walks in the morning and long protective sleeves and leggings for whenever you guys went out while the sun was.

Summer left as soon as it came, and suddenly fall was beginning to settle in as a new semester begun.

You admittedly cried a little. Sunghoon was now in his fourth year and you were a third year, meaning that graduation would fall upon him. It felt like you met him too late, you had cried to him one night. But Sunghoon knew both of you had all of the time in the world. He was a vampire after all, he had centuries to kill, and he could spend eternity with you if he wanted to. (He said that to you, minus the whole vampire shtick. You had laughed and smacked his arm, but he meant it entirely.)

Time continued moving despite your protests and tears. Soon, your laptop was flooded with assignments and your notebooks were filled with redundant philosophy and sociology jargon. Even though you said for the third year in a row that you would finally get your shit together, your color-coded journal became increasingly empty and your working hours began to bleed into dawn.

A part of you feared that you would unintentionally find distance with Sunghoon, with how your workloads had nearly doubled since last year. But he found a way to weave himself into your daily life. He walked you to class, waited for you even at the dead of night, and showed up at your apartment with takeout whenever you texted him that you were hungry. (He had simply began putting the hours of the day into you while night time became his productive space. Being a vampire did have its perks.)

Stressful was an understatement to describe your semester, and even Sunghoon couldn’t deny that it was creeping into him too. So when Jake appeared with a wide, anticipatory grin and a Doorlist notification on his phone, the slightly-younger vampire felt like he was genuinely going to punch the Australian.

“I am not going to a party,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

“Dude, it’s Jay’s party. We have to go. It’s his last rager!” Jake whined.

“You and I both know that is not true. We are also a bit too old to be attending parties now.”

“You are never too old to attend a party, Hoon.” Jake nodded. “Matter-of-fact, we’re supposed to be at the legal drinking age right now. We should be at that party. And it’s Jay, man! Remember when he found out that we were vampires, and he was soo chill about it too.”

“Firstly, he found out that you were a vampire, and then you revealed my identity as one under no pressure.” Sunghoon gritted his teeth. “And what if we are in a situation where Jay is intoxicated, and then he says something like, ‘Oh, by the way, these are my two vampire friends!” Sunghoon was blubbering for the first time in his life, his eloquent manner of speaking vanishing.

“Hoon, who is going to believe that?” Jake groaned.

“Drunk words are sober truth,” Sunghoon replied solemnly, “Plus, there will be other girls there. And I do not want Y/N to get the wrong idea.” He nodded, crossing his arms. It was the perfect reason, and he’s sure Jake knew it. So when the Australian vampire spoke up, Sunghoon nearly choked.

“I heard from Y/N’s roomie that they’re going.”

Sunghoon froze, stunned as Jake dropped the final bomb that he knew would make the slightly-younger vampire explode. He ignored the fact that Jake knew your roommate to press the older vampire. “Y/N is going? Y/N did not tell me.” Sunghoon gritted his teeth. He knew he sounded like a possessive boyfriend, but he didn’t care about his tone.

“Oh? Really? She RSVP’d as going on the Doorlist, though?” Jake showed Sunghoon for proof. Sunghoon felt like he was about to explode.

“RSVP me too,” Sunghoon conceded. Jake pumped his fist.

“Yes, bro, let’s go!” He cheerfully said. Sunghoon checked his phone when a notification slid in.

Y/N (girlfriend): babeeee my roomie is dragging me to jay’s party this weekend. can u come with me plsss? hoon (boyfieee): YES. hoon (boyfieee): I mean. Yes. Let’s go together. Jaeyun and I will pick you up, okay? And your roommate too, I suppose. Y/N (girlfriend): yay!! oki, c u hoon <3

❛❛THREE PEOPLE, TWO SETS OF FANGS❞ ── 5

Sunghoon waited outside patiently of your apartment complex, sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s car. His fingers drummed impatiently on the window switch, just wanting you to come out already.

“Bro, chill, lover boy.” Jake snorted. Sunghoon let out a small hiss, watching the door, waiting for the hinges to creak and the fortified wood to swing open. His leg jumped up and down as he counted the seconds until he’d see you bound down the stairs with a cute smile on your face. Maybe in a cute outfit, too. He’d never really seen your party getups, and you both have never been to the bars together.

The vampire’s breath hitched as the door to your complex swung open, revealing two women. It was you and your roommate and Dracula– you were absolutely stunning. Wearing an outfit that would bring any mortal, and immortal, to their knees. It wasn’t even that revealing or particularly sexy, but you brought out the best of it. Your hair was styled beautifully, bouncing with every step you took. You were smiling widely while talking to your Chowon, radiating a brightness that could rival the sun and scar his vampiric skin.

Jake let out a low whistle. "Damn." Sunghoon's head snapped toward him.

"What?" He growled.

“Not Y/N, dumbass. Chowon. Damn, she’s so pretty.” Jake fixed his hair in the mirror again. The backdoor suddenly swung open, and the noisy sounds of two girls clamoring into the back of a car filled the atmosphere.

"Hoonie!" you beamed. Immediately, every trace of irritation disappeared from the vampire’s face.

"Hello, baby,” he greeted back casually, turning around to look at you. You leaned forward with a small giggle, your knees bumping into the center console as you reached to kiss his cheek. Sunghoon practically melted. Your perfume was intoxicating, and it was almost accentuating your natural smell. Your lips were painted a deep color, and he’s sure that your kiss just left a lipstick mark on his face.

Yeah, Sunghoon wasn’t sure he would survive this party.

You spent the entire ride leaning forward between the seats, chatting animatedly with Jake and Chowon while Sunghoon sat quietly in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing at you whenever he thought you weren't looking. (You caught him staring every single time he thought he was being subtle, and it always brought a small smile to your lips.)

By the time Jake pulled into the crowded street outside the party house, music was already rattling the windows and Sunghoon was sure he spotted some guy already yakking in the neighbor’s bushes.

"Oh my God, it's packed," you gasped excitedly. Sunghoon immediately wanted to go home. The front lawn was crowded, Red Solo cups already littered on the grass. The bass from the speakers was so loud that he could feel it vibrating through the asphalt of the street. There was so many people that Sunghoon was picking up on enough pulses to have his head ringing.

"Fun," he deadpanned. Jake parked on the street, a bit away from the party so that nobody would yak on his tires. The four of you walked to the venue, with your Chowon hitting it off with Jake while you swung your hands with Sunghoon. As soon as you entered the venue, you were sucked into another world with strobing lights to replace the night sky and loud EDM music in place of the chirping crickets. Sunghoon was already regretting his decision. He should’ve just asked if you guys could stay in and have a nice little comfortable date to yourself that didn’t involve over 100 people cramped into a two-story house.

“Be careful. Men are wolves.” Sunghoon said seriously. You giggled.

“Aren’t you a man?” You teasingly asked.

“I’m not a wolf.” He was genuinely repulsed at your question. He was a vampire, a respectable vampire. Werewolves were all instincts and impulses, pheromones and whatnot. Vampires were supposed to be creatures of restraint, sophistication, and control. (Whether that was actually true was up for debate, considering Jake was already losing his mind on the Bloody Mary’s he snuck into the party.)

“Hoon? Should we get a drink too?” You asked, glancing at Jake who was downing his homemade cocktails like he had just found water in a desert. Sunghoon looked around. Everyone else was drunk off of their minds, and the place stunk of booze and body odor. He scrunched his nose.

“Do you want one? I will not get one,” he replied, crossing his arms. You pouted.

“You’re so responsible, Hoon. I’ll try a cup of jungle juice!” You cheerfully spoke. He held your hand, letting you drag him to the bar where Jay’s friend, Sunoo, was standing. He poured a cup that looked like it was wayyy too big of a serving for one gal before sending you a thumbs up.

You took a sip, your eyebrows raising in satisfaction. “Oh? This is dangerous. It tastes like pure juice.”

“Jay’s secret recipe!” Sunoo yelled over the hard bass. You turned around to laugh at Sunoo’s remark when you heard Jake cheer.

“Yoo, Hoon, man, I found Jay! Come say hi!” The Australian rambunctiously yelled, an arm looped around Chowon’s waist. For a brief moment, Sunghoon’s attention shifted to look at the older man. Then, he felt a body press up against him, muttering an apology as it squeezed past. Then another person followed, and then an entire group of freshmen guys yelling about the jungle juice slipped past. And suddenly, you weren’t in his line of vision anymore.

Sunghoon’s head snapped around, trying his best to locate you. He even tried to sniff you out (maybe he was part-werewolf), to no avail. He couldn’t even single out the aroma of your sweet blood with the large crowd, the musty smell of sweaty bodies filling his senses instead. His nose scrunched up in pure disgust.

"Y/N?" He raised his voice, but nobody answered back.

Meanwhile, you were being swept in an entirely different direction. "Hoon?" you called out nervously, standing on your toes to try to get a glimpse of his familiar black hair amongst the seat of people. But the crowd had completely swallowed the both of you up into different currents. "Great." You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone, only to feel a pang of frustration from the lack of bars.

"Looking for someone?" A voice asked. It was way too soft to be heard above the crowd, yet somehow, you had distinguished it amongst the screams, singing, and EDM. You turned around, your nose nearly bumping into the chest of a stranger. You looked up. He had a gentle and easygoing smile on his lips, an amicable sign that looked like it could put anyone at ease. Yet for some reason, it made you a bit unnerved.

"Yeah," you laughed awkwardly. "I lost my boyfriend." The pale man licked his lips, raising an eyebrow in surprise and vague disappointment.

"Boyfriend, huh?" He replied.

"Mhm." You hummed, a bit weirded out.

"Lucky guy,” he commented. His eyes drifted briefly toward your neck and wrist, before slowly looking back at your face. His smile never left. He leaned in to speak into your ear, "My name's Sangwon."

A chill crawled down your spine. When he stepped closer, his eyes looked exactly like how Sunghoon’s used to when he stared at you during class.

“Yeah, I’m pretty lucky too. Nice to meet you Sangwon.” You nervously chuckled, taking a cautious step back, trying your hardest to put at least some semblance of distance between the both of you despite the packed party. You intentionally didn’t give your name, feeling more and more creeped out the more you looked at him. Sure, he was attractive, but he was giving you the heebie-jeebies for some reason. “Uhm– I’m going to find my boyfriend, yeah.”

“Do you need me to accompany you? It’s really crowded,” he murmured, his voice blaring sirens in your ear despite how soft-spoken he was.

“No– oh no, that’s really okay… I mean, I’ll be fine.” You swallowed. Sangwon tilted his head.

“Your boyfriend wouldn't want you wandering around alone, would he?” His voice lulled almost into a purr. You scoffed, now getting a bit angry at the sheer audacity of this man. Alright, now he was just being downright freaky. Before you could decline again, a wave of people pushed through the room. Someone bumped your shoulder, sending you stumbling slightly. Sangwon's hand immediately shot out to steady you. His grip was cold, almost as cold as Sunghoon’s usual body temperature and way too cold for the hot and heavy-air atmosphere you were in. You stared at him, but made a point not to thank him.

His pointer and middle fingerpads brushed against the inside of your wrist before he let go of your wrist, his digits slowly unfurling around your bone and skin. His smile seemed to widen as he brushed up against the epidermis. “Your heart's beating really fast,” he whispered.

“Uh... what?”

“Probably the music.” He laughed lightly. “And the crowd.”

“Riiiight…” You drawled out. What a freak! You inched away, backing up. Sangwon seemed to follow, as if you had him on a fishing line that magically pulled him. His eyes dropped down, and for a second you were disgusted to see it fall to your lips, but then it dropped lower. You were about to smack him, thinking he was staring at your chest or something, but his gaze shifted slightly to the right. You could see as the red and white lights flashed on his face that his pupils were dilating, his focus seemingly on one thing:

Your neck.

His mouth fell agape, and you could see his canines protruding, thinning of into sharp peaks. Your breath hitched. The pleasant smile he had been wearing all conversation suddenly looked strained, as if he were forcing it into place.

"Are you okay?" you asked cautiously. Suddenly, the breath was knocked out of you as you were pulled back into someone’s chest. You didn’t have to look behind you to know who it was, because the cold and broad muscle was one that you had been slotted up against for endless nights. A firm, left arm wrapped around the top of your chest, locking you into a protective embrace.

“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” Sunghoon hissed. Sangwon's eyes flickered from Sunghoon's face to the arm wrapped around you. Then, slowly, a real and oddly amused smile spread across his lips.

"Oh." The single syllable carried a strange understanding, and it felt like you were suddenly on the outsider of an inside joke. "She's yours." Sangwon raised both hands, as if surrendering. "I'm not trying to cause any trouble."

"You were staring at her neck." The accusation left Sunghoon immediately. You blinked, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. What an oddly specific thing to say. You looked at Sunghoon, and suddenly you didn’t recognize him anymore. When you looked back at Sangwon, it felt less like two strangers meeting and more like two predators sizing each other up.

“So?” Sangwon sighed. "You know how difficult it is to find good donors these days,” he complained, almost whining. Your mouth fell agape in pure discombobulation. Donors? What the hell was he talking about, and why does it seem like Sunghoon understood?

“She is not– She is not a donor.” Sunghoon swallowed, almost sounding pained. “She is my girlfriend, and I love her.” You would’ve cooed if you weren’t so fucking scared and confused. Sangwon looked you up and down before glancing at Sunghoon again.

"How long?" He licked his lips.

Sunghoon's jaw clenched. "That's none of your business,” he spat out.

"Months?" Sangwon guessed. “Months, and you haven’t fed?

FED???

"What does that mean? Hoonie– baby– what does that mean?” You asked, his protective grip on you suddenly feeling suffocating, the weight of his muscular arm now feeling too heavy for your liking. Sangwon barked out a laugh.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"Stop. Talking.” Sunghoon didn’t know why he didn’t just pull away. He was so caught up in his anger and disgust

"No, seriously." He pointed between the two of you. "You mean to tell me you've been dating her for months and you're still surviving off bagged blood?"

The color drained from your face. What the fuck does he mean bagged blood. It was like your head was on a swivel with the way you kept looking at your boyfriend and the random stranger.

"...What? Babe, what the hell is he talking about–” You began to nervously ramble. Sunghoon looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Unfortunately for him, Sangwon seemed to be having the time of his life, a cheshire-like grin spreading on his lips as he kept talking.

"Dude, that's insane. You're telling me you've been sleeping next to this girl every night and haven't taken a single sip?" The words were beginning to form a horrifying picture. Was your boyfriend a fucking cannibal or something? Sunghoon's eyes flashed dangerously.

"One more word and I'll rip your throat out." He snarled. The threat came out so naturally and so unlike your delicate boyfriend who was always precious smiles and soft words. 

The EDM was pounding your ear drums, and your heart rate was accelerating. You nervously began to paw at Sunghoon’s arm nervously, your throat closing up and breath stuttering with every heavyset inhale. "H-Hoon..." you whispered. Your voice was barely audible. For the first time since you'd known him, his touch didn't comfort you. It felt like a trap. Sunghoon immediately loosened his grip, hurt flashing across his face.

Sangwon laughed, his eyes wrinkling into gentle crescents despite his mocking demeanor. "See?" He said in a whiny tone. "Now you've gone and scared her. It’s okay, you should feel special. Do you know how hard it is for vampires to love?”

As you looked back at Sangwon, for a split second, your eyes caught something gleaming in the light. A sharp pair of fangs. Your breath caught. You turned around to face your boyfriend.

And when you looked at Sunghoon, he was baring the same set of sharp teeth.

Your boyfriend was a fucking vampire.

You stumbled forwards, out of his grip and towards Sangwon. Realizing you were in between two fucking vampires, you stumbled out to the side, letting your feet lead you away. You heard faintly hear Sunghoon call your name, and hear his footsteps pounding against the floor as they followed after you. By the time you got outside, you thought that the fresh air would let you breathe again, but every inhale seemed to weigh more down on your lungs.

“Baby, please– just listen to me, please, baby.” Sunghoon continuously begged behind you, his voice following you like a loyal puppy.

“Sunghoon– you–” You didn’t even know what to say. What could you? You were standing outside a frat house at midnight after discovering your boyfriend was apparently a vampire. Like the mythical creature that wasn’t supposed to be fucking real, vampire.

“Baby, please,” Sunghoon repeated. You spun around. He nearly bumped into you, his chest nearly slamming against your nose. You backed up, putting some distance between the both of you.

“Are you a vampire?”

The question sounded ridiculous. It wasn’t a sentence that you’d ever thought you’d say. You couldn’t even fucking imagine what situation you would ever use it in, yet here you were, in front of your supposed vampire boyfriend. The second the question left your mouth, Sunghoon's face crumpled. He couldn't even deny it now that he was confronted directly, and his silence was answer enough.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh my God.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh my God.” Your hands flew into your hair. Everything suddenly made sense. The sunscreen, the garlic allergy, the weird staring and formal way of speaking. His fucking books from forever ago and his odd fascination with the Victorian and Gothic eras. His cold skin, his weird fixation with giving you hickeys, and the way he never seemed to get tired. And oh my goodness this is why you could never use the bathroom with him because he doesn’t even show up in mirrors– Your knees nearly buckled, your mind getting crushed with the sheer amount of realizations in your relationship thus far. “Is it true, Sunghoon?” You whispered, “That you’re really a vampire?”

“Yes.” The answer came quietly.

“You lied to me.” Your voice cracked. Sunghoon looked like you'd stabbed him with a wooden stake.

“I know, baby–”

“For months!” You added.

“I know.” He exhaled.

“You let me think you were normal!” Sunghoon’s heart was physically aching, a feeling that he hadn’t experienced a century ago. His heart couldn’t ache. It wasn’t even pumping. But of course, it was you who had pulled out such a strong emotion out of him.

“I wanted to be, Y/N. Please– I really wanted to be normal. For you,” he murmured. For the first time since you’ve met Sunghoon, he looked scared. “I did not mean to lie to you forever,” he said quietly. “I just— I was just waiting for the right time!”

“And when was that?” you demanded. “When we graduated? When we got married? When I was eighty, on my deathbed, while you still look as young as ever, Sunghoon?” Each question made him flinch.

“I do not know,” was all he could say. The music from inside the house pulsed faintly through the walls, but all you could feel was the silence that was lingering over both of your heads.

“Were you really going to drink my blood?” You quietly asked. Sunghoon froze. The question clearly wasn't the one he'd been expecting, but he couldn’t lie to you anymore. He nodded slowly once.

“A long time ago,” he whispered, “But not anymore. Not anymore,” he mumbled. Your question sent him off into a bizarre, desperate, and incoherent rambling. He was muttering to himself, his gaze focused on the hard grass beneath your feet. He took a cautious step forward. “I would rather starve. I promise you, baby.” He sniffled, and when he looked up again, he was crying.

“Sunghoon…” you mumbled, unable to resist cupping his cold skin and wiping away his tear. He nuzzled his cheek into your warm palm, his eyes fluttering shut. He wasn’t the scary bloodsucker that Sangwon made him out to me. No, he was still your sweet boyfriend Sunghoon.

“I–” He choked out. “I– Your blood smelled so good when I first met you…” He confessed. “The first time we became project partners, I wasn't happy because I liked you. I was happy because it made it so much easier for me to just drink you up. But you are sweet– you are so so sweet, Y/N, just like your blood. And every time we met up, we got closer and– and you made me feel something I haven’t felt in over a hundred years. I don’t know when it happened, Y/N, but I didn’t just want your blood anymore. I wanted you.” He was breathless as he rambled on and on, and he would continue until there was no more air in his lungs as long as you were convinced and you didn’t leave him.

“Hoon, I’m– I’m really mad still…” your voice cracked, your fingers clumsily coming up to rub away as a tear slipped down your cheek. “You– you still lied to me… and– and you wanted to suck my blood. I dunno how I feel about that, Hoon…” you murmured, “but I can’t deny that I haven’t been at my happiest with you. And admittedly, I don’t think I can say that I hate you…”

Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled with the tears that lined his ducts. He sniffled, his pale hands rubbing against each other at the palms to help soothe himself. "You do not have to forgive me tonight," he said quickly, as if the words had been waiting behind his teeth. "Or tomorrow. Or next week." His gaze dropped to the pavement. "Honestly, I do not know if I would forgive me." He laughed weakly, wiping at his tear-stained face.

"I understand if you are scared of me, too,” he spoke lowly. You couldn’t deny it. You were scared. Not exactly of Sunghoon, but of everything you had just learned. It was too much for a college student to process. That vampires apparently existed. And your boyfriend was one. And that same boyfriend who kissed your forehead before exams and made you your favorite instant ramyeon when you were sick had once looked at you and thought about draining all your blood.

It was way too much.

"I’m sorry, Hoon– I– I think… I need a second. Away. From you,” you hesitantly said. Sunghoon nodded in understanding. “I’ll– I’ll call an uber. And I’ll call you eventually, Hoon. When I’ve sorted everything out.”

Sunghoon spent a week in absolute misery.

The first day, he kept staring at all of the pictures of you he had on his phone. The second day, he went through your social media, stalking your account to see your minimal amount of photos posted and to see if you had put anything on your stories. The third day, he was contemplating whether or not it’d be worth it to bake himself in the Sun. He wasn’t even sure how he made it through the rest of the four days without actually dying.

"For the love of Dracula, man." Jake threw a throw pillow directly at his face. Sunghoon didn't even flinch. The pillow hit him square in the fact before it slowly slid off. "Get up, you’re embarrassing our entire species. Vampires don’t sulk, we smolder, man." Jake looked at the untouched blood packets littering the coffee table. "And when was the last time you ate, dude? You’re making our apartment look like a fucking crime scene in the making. And you look paler than usual, man, damn. You look like Nosferatu.”

"I am not hungry. And do not compare me to him. That feels blasphemous.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Have you texted her at least?”

“I am waiting for her to text me. She is the one who said she needed space, so I must wait for her.” Sunghoon sighed, rubbing his forehead despite himself. Jake winced.

“Man, it must be really bad if you’re touching your face..” He gave a firm pat to Sunghoon’s back. “Well, look on the bright side, man. She probably won’t break up with you if she just said she needed space, right?” Jake tried. Sunghoon nodded, but there were no emotions on his listless face.

“But what if she decides to after a week?” Sunghoon sniffled. Jake rolled his eyes.

“Man, I think if anything, if I found out my boyfriend was a vampire, it would make him hotter!” Jake tried once more. Sunghoon nodded again, but there wasn’t exactly a positive or negative reaction. He wasn’t exactly scared of being dumped. He was more terrified of the fact that he could have scarred you. He was terrified that instead of picturing him as your boyfriend, all you would see is a set of fangs, ready to dig into you and kill you at any moment.

He felt like throwing up. It was probably because of the malnourishment, but he felt sick at the thought of you thinking that he would kill you. And the truth was that he did at one point, but even though he changed his mind about it, the concept had still existed at one point. And for you, every perspective and sweet memory the two of you shared was probably now stained by his foolish intentions. He wanted to rip his hair out. He was nearly about to actually when his phone began to ring.

He lunged for his phone on the coffee table, his heart feeling lighter as he read the contact. It was yours. He picked up before the second ring could even happen. “Y/N? Babe? Is that you?” He meekly spoke.

“Hoon? Can you come over?” You asked through the phone. His heart felt like it was breaking into two as he heard your soft sniffles that you tried so hard to suppress.

“Yes. I will be there. I–” He let out a defeated sigh. “I will be there in five minutes. I am going to fly,” he honestly admitted as he walked to the balcony door. His fingers pulled back the black-out curtains for a moment to reveal the weather outside. The Sun was almost mocking him, shining brightly despite his gloomy mood, and he hissed silently as the ray caught on his exposed arm.

“What? What do you mean fly, Hoon? Like– fly with your vampiric powers?” You fussed. He winced.

“Yes. I love you. Five minutes, babe.”

And as promised, he was outside the door to your apartment in five minutes. He was about to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open, revealing you in all your glory. You looked, well, like a mess to be honest. Your eyes were puffy, lips pouty, and you were drowning in an oversized sweatshirt that Sunghoon was sure belonged to him. He would’ve felt upset at your condition if you didn’t wear his clothes, because to him, it was a sign that you still loved him some way.

Sunghoon missed you so much. He missed you so much that it felt like his skin was peeling off. Oh, maybe it was. He was standing a little bit in the Sun. You gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled him inside your apartment. The curtains were drawn shut, and the living room was illuminated by a warm standing lamp at the end of your couch. The dark atmosphere made him swallow. Were you really sulking in such a dim environment, just as he was?

“I missed you.” He breathed out without thinking. You looked stunned that he spoke up first, but soon, a soft smile spread across your lips.

“I missed you too, Hoon…” you responded, “Let’s– Let’s talk in my room, okay?” You proposed. He nodded obediently. He’d walk into incoming traffic if you asked him in that sweet tone. He followed you and noticed immediately that his sunscreen brand was still on your dresser and that his phone charger was still plugged into the wall. A ghost of a grin haunted his expression.

“Can I just– ask you something?” You exhaled. “How much of our relationship was real? How much of it did you really feel?”

“All of it.” The answer came immediately. You were taken aback at how fast he replied. “I think… for the most part, I was in denial about my feelings. You were my first everything, Y/N,” he confessed, his hands beginning to tremor with the intensity of his passion. “My first girlfriend, my first kiss, and my first love.” He nodded. “Even after over 120 years of living.”

“120 YEARS?” You yelped. He winced, his broad frame curling into himself. He looked less of a vampire and more of a frightened kitten.

“Yes… I am around 120 years old… Give or take?” His shoulders shrugged up with a sheepish look on his face. “But that is not relevant right now…?” He waved his hands dismissively. “All that matters is that I, Park Sunghoon the vampire, am sincerely in love with you.” He nodded, before twisting his expression. “Was that too cheesy?”

“A little bit.” You laughed wetly. You slowly opened your arms, and Sunghoon hesitantly allowed himself to fall into it. Even though he was a muscular vampire, he felt so small in your warm embrace. “I’m still mad, Hoon…” you admitted. “But I can’t lie and say that our relationship doesn’t mean anything to me. Because you’ve been my boyfriend first for a while now, and to me, being a vampire is a secondary thing. Does that make sense?” You kissed his forehead softly, and you could feel the muscles ease under your lips.

“Yes…” he murmured softly. You smiled.

“Although I’ll probably be a little mad for a while. Just ‘cuz you lied to me. And I think I can get past the part where you wanted to suck my blood because you said you don’t want to anymore, I guess. It’s a little muddy there.” You scratched your head. He nodded against your chest.

“I am sorry. I can apologize a million times until you are not mad anymore. On my knees, too. Or you can hang me upside down by my feet like a bat if that makes you happier.” He added. You smiled and gently smoothed down the back of his sleek, black hair before cupping his pale face.

“Maybe later, baby. I just think I want to spend some missed time with my boyfriend right now.”

❛❛THIS SWEET SCENT, FANGS GLOWING RED❞ ── + 1

“Baby, are you okay?”

It had been a while since you and Sunghoon had made up, but somehow looked even sicker than he did when he first appeared on your doorstep. Your boyfriend was already naturally cold and pale, but his white skin somehow turned greyish and practically translucent enough to see the outline of his bone structure. He couldn’t even go out, his skin becoming even more sensitive to UV rays no matter how much he covered himself up. Even a puffer jacket couldn’t stop the sunlight from penetrating through to his skin.

“I am fine,” he said weakly. He was currently bundled up in all of your blankets, laying down in your bed with a hot pack on his forehead. You weren’t sure this would heal him up, and Sunghoon honestly wasn’t sure himself, but he reassured you that it was the thought that counts and that ,“he’s a vampire, so he’ll probably live.”

After three days of his sickness and still no sign of recovery, you called in professional reinforcements.

“Yeah, I dunno man.” Jake shrugged as he casually sucked on his blood pack. He offered some to Sunghoon, who shrugged with a repulsed scrunch of his nose. “Are you hungry, man? You didn’t eat for a like– a week when you guys didn’t talk. Maybe it’s like his stomach shrank or something.” Jake tried to find a reason.

“I have not had a blood pack since before our fight,” Sunghoon admitted honestly, “I tried to, but they taste repulsive for some odd reason.”

“Ohh…” Jake’s mouth formed into a surprised circle. “Have you tried drinking Y/N’s blood?”

“Are you crazy!? That is why we did not speak in the first place, you lunatic!” Sunghoon growled before bursting out into a fit of coughs.

“I mean, you haven’t had any form of sustenance, and you’re disgusted by other blood. If she’s your girl, and you wanted to drink her blood before, logically wouldn’t it be better if you just drank her blood?” Jake suggested.

“What if– what if I hurt you, Y/N?” Sunghoon swallowed, wincing as the dry lining of his esophagus itched. 

“I can always push you off, you know?” You smiled. “I’m not that weak and fragile, Hoon.” Your words were firm, but apparently not firm enough to convince Sunghoon. He was gnawing at his bottom lip anxiously, but you could see how his canines looked sharper than they usually were.

“Okay…” Sunghoon finally conceded. Jake left, taking a bottle of his roommate’s sunscreen that he forgot on the coffee table as “payment” for his help. After the Australian vampire left, you settled into bed with Sunghoon. He sat up properly, letting you sit in his lap. The blanket that had covered his long legs was now strewn across your bed, bunched up on the side against your wall.

“If it hurts, just please slap the immortality out of me.” Sunghoon nodded firmly. You laughed, gently cupping his gaunt face so that he could look at you properly.

“I trust you, baby, just trust yourself too, hm?” The pads of your thumb rubbed up against his cheeks. He let out a small breath before burying his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply, as if he could breathe you into your lungs and keep you locked in there forever. A small pleased grunt left his lips, the sound raspy and dry.

“You smell s’good…” he mumbled. You kept looking at his face, taking note of every microexpression he made. His thick eyebrows twitched together, the muscles forming wrinkles at the center. His nose fluttered up and down like a bunny sniffing out for carrots. And then he opened his mouth, and your heart felt like it stopped. (Sunghoon knew it only paced faster.)

Past his plump lips and lining his red mouth was his two sharp fangs, gleaming with how sharp they were. “Gonna sink them into your neck, baby… right here…” Sunghoon’s voice whispered as his jaw hinged wide open. Your fingers instinctively curled, gripping his t-shirt into your clammy grasp. You squeezed your eyes shut, body tensing to brace for the impact of his teeth. Sunghoon immediately felt the tension ripple through your muscles. He gently skimmed his delicate fingers up and down your sides to soothe you. The gesture was so sweet and gentle compared to the threat posed by his pointed canines.

His touch coaxed the stiffness from your muscles bit by bit. The room seemed to narrow until there was nothing but his cold fingertips, your booming heartbeat, and the warmth of his breath ghosting across your throat.

The second you finally relaxed–

CRUNCH! 

The sound exploded through the bedroom. You bit your bottom lip so hard that it drew blood from the thin skin. Your back arched into a rigid bow, chest pressing against his and shoulders coming together to pull into your sides. Sunghoon’s grip on your waist tightened to stabilize your trembling body. He couldn’t speak, too busy with his mouth buried in your neck, but he gently squeezed at your sides to show you that he was there for you.

You felt his lips come down to surround his open mouth before he began to suck. A pleased groan left his mouth as your blood flooded his tastebuds. It was sweeter than anything he could’ve imagined, and for a second, he wondered if Eve felt this way beneath the tree, staring up at the apple before biting into it, only to discover that temptation had never done it justice.

And as soon as that second was over, every thought became incoherent to him, flushing away in a whirlpool. His eyes fluttered shut as he continued to suckle on your neck, his enclosed lips forming a hickey around the two prominent holes pierced in your skin. Sunghoon had spent months trying to convince himself that he didn’t want it anymore because it just wasn’t right, but as soon as the first drop of blood hit his tongue, he was sure he could get drunk purely off the taste alone. You really were AB+, huh.

Every beat of your heart pulsed beneath his lips steadily like a metronome, and every tremor that ran through your body reminded him that you trusted him enough to be this close. Sunghoon’s body was beginning to get flooded with a dizzying warmth that didn’t originate from your blood– no, it was all rushing to his head.

Your boyfriend tightened his grip on your waist, a shaky breath escaping him. If he wasn't careful, he might become addicted to this– the tantalizing cocktail of devotion and satiation that only drinking his girlfriend’s blood could mix up. He drank you down in in slow, greedy pulls, as if trying to savor everything flowing into his mouth. You could feel the faint movement of his Adam’s apple against your skin, each bobbing motion grounding him deeper, as if he were taking more than just blood—like he was taking pieces of your warmth, your heartbeat, your very presence.

Eventually, a dull buzz crept into your head and your strength began to slip from your muscles. Your fingers loosened their hold on his shirt, moving up to curl into fists and weakly rap at his broad shoulders.

He hesitated before pulling off, his breath hitching as he slowly lifted his head from your neck. You took in his expression as his face came back into your focal point. His lips were parted, thinly stained with the crimson tint of your blood, and his eyes were glowing a dark red. Yet, his pupils were unfocused and hazy, as if he was just abruptly woken up from the best dream he’s ever had in his life. As he blinked himself back to reality, his gaze focused on you.

You looked sickly, almost as sick as he was before he drank your blood. You were swaying slightly, your eyes fluttering open and shut like you were learning how they worked for the first time. He licked his lips to gather the remainders of your blood into his mouth. So fucking warm. So sweet. Sooo good, too good. It was everything he dreamt of and more. His eyes flickered to where he punctured your neck. Sunghoon had to bite his lips to suppress an audible groan from escaping his mouth. He abruptly dove back into your neck, but not to drink from you even more. He flattened his tongue and laved it over the two open wounds to seal them with his saliva, effectively cutting off any more blood flow and any more temptation to steal his rationale away.

“Hoon– Hoon, baby…” You whimpered. He pulled back, afraid at the way you sounded almost wounded. But then, he felt it. He glanced down to see your legs, spread and bordering his firm thighs, and in between, your heated core pressed against his prominent bulge. He bit his lip, trembling at the new and pleasurable sensation. “Hoon– did you get hard from drinking– drinking my blood?” You whispered. You sounded flattered and flabbergasted all at once.

Sunghoon felt dread wash upon him. As sexy as the situation was, the explanation was not. He sucked down the humiliation as he opened his mouth to rationalize his sudden spike of arousal. “Vampires do not produce blood. Therefore, when we intake blood, it may rush to certain parts of our bodies. I believe that, with such a– a desirable situation… it effectively decided to trail to my…” He didn’t finish his sentence, letting his newfound virility complete his explanation for him.

You giggled. “Do you– do you want to put it to use, Hoonie?” Your voice dipped down into a velvety purr, and Sunghoon was sure that if he wasn’t a vampire, his dick would’ve been instantly up the moment you looked at him with those hooded eyelids. 

“Yes– fuck, yes.” He groaned out, gripping your hips tightly. Your hand tentatively reached down to grope his bulge through his sweats in order to truly feel what you were working with. A small gasp slipped past your open lips as your hand wrapped around his girth– and for the first time that you’ve met Sunghoon, he wasn’t frigid.

“It’s so warm, Hoonie…” You mumbled, your fingers laying over the soft material of his trousers, not quite gripping his clothed cock properly. “I– Can I see it?” You whispered. He nodded, pushing down his sweats and boxers down to his thigh. You gasped as his erection sprung up. It was red, leaking, and full of life.

“Do– do you like it?” He asked, trying to steady his voice so he didn’t seem nervous. You nodded slowly. Your brain was still trying to keep up with the situation– got your blood sucked, now should you suck his dick or…– But your thoughts became useless and all tied down to one thing. Sunghoon’s impressive cock bobbing up and down with every breath he took.

“I like it a lot, Hoonie…” you giggled. You cupped your palm under your chin to spit in it before gliding your enclosed palm down his length. He shuddered, his hips jolting up as soon as your warm hand made contact with his heated shaft. Everything he had learned went out the window– There were no candles or roses prepared, no kissing or making out beforehand either. But if he got to this position, where your delicate hand was stroking him so eagerly, then he guessed he didn’t really need those articles anyways, right?

“Your hand is so soft, Y/N. So warm too– almost as warm as your blood,” he muttered, “You are doing so good…” He hissed through his teeth as your grip tightened on his cock. Even though your spit wasn’t as a sufficient enough lubrication and there was still a bit of friction, he was in his most euphoric state. Sunghoon realized for a second that he would’ve never gotten to experience something so so good and utterly divine if it weren’t for you.

“Love you, baby…” Sunghoon suddenly said to remind you of his genuine affection. You smiled bashfully up at him.

“I love you too, Hoonie…” your voice was so sweet that he could taste it in his mouth. Or maybe it was the taste of your blood still lingering. Regardless, his heart was swelling. He leaned back against the headboard, one large hand flattened on your hip and the other hand bracing his body on the mattress. He was admiring your face, looking at the way you had small indents on your bottom lip from where you bit it and the noticeable flush coming back to your faces. Sunghoon could feel your heartbeat reverberating against your bones– could feel himself within your heartbeat. And he never wanted to feel anything else than this.

“Can I touch you too?” Sunghoon asked softly. You nodded silently, eyebrows wrinkling in concentration as you continued to stroke him. You were more playing with his cock at this point, squeezing your hand in random intervals and intently watching the way precum was beading at the tip with every upward stroke. While you were concentrated, his free hand smoothly made its way to your shorts, pressing two curious fingers up against your clothed cunt. You whimpered, lips curling up in a sensitive pout as your legs twitched together. He pressed harder, observing the way you reacted to his gentle touch.

He jolted as you found your rhythm with your hand, your erratic strokes becoming steady pumps. Your soft palms, slicked with your saliva, was making him dizzy. He felt like all the blood that he sucked out of you was rushing to his dick instead of circulating throughout his body. His hips were gyrating upwards as he absentmindedly chased the pleasure surge. Fuck, it felt like he was about to faint– or die. He’d be fine as long as you kept that firm grip on his cock and kept staring at him so prettily–

“Oh, Hoon!” You gasped. Bursts of his cum erupted from his slit, landing to coat the back of your hands and the sides of your fingers. He swallowed, panting as your hand slowly kept dragging up and down to help ease him from his high.

“Fuck– Oh my Dracula.” He breathed out raggedly. “I did not know that– that it could ever feel this good.”

“You’re telling me you never masturbated in your century of living?” You snorted. He nodded.

“My dick has not been hard since a century ago, babe.” He reminded with a cheeky smile. You giggled, shimmying out of your shorts and pulling down your underwear. You were still a bit shy, but after making Sunghoon fall apart once with just your hand, you were gaining a newfound confidence to pleasure him even more. As soon as you sat back on his thighs to part your legs, it was like all time had stopped for him. His pupils dilated as they stared at your most sacred parts– beautiful and warm and so wet. He licked his lips as a new hunger drummed through his veins. Not a hunger for your blood, but a sudden craving for the sweet nectar your body was producing. He tentatively brought up a finger to rub at your clit, once again recalling what he read in those articles.

“Hoonie– it feels good when you touch there…” You whispered. He swallowed and nodded to acknowledge your words, before extending a second finger to circle your precious bud. You bit your lip as you watched Sunghoon explore your body, his keen eyes trying to catch every single microscopic movement you were making to gauge what was most pleasurable to you. It was endearing, in a way, that a vampire with a century’s worth of knowledge was still able to learn new things.

He daringly used his two fingers to spread your lower lips, revealing your inner parts. You were just wet, so wet that Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with himself. “Going inside…” he muttered as he slowly dipped a finger inside of your hole. He sucked in a breath as your heat sucked in his finger. His digit was wrapped in a warmth so much more heated than your blood. You squirmed, prompting him to keep his left hand firm hand on your knee so that you couldn’t shy away.

“What does it feel like, baby?” He crooned.

“Feels weird– just feels like something is inside, Hoon…” You admitted honestly. With as light as a touch he could possibly muster up, he slowly sunk his finger in deeper until your folds were surrounding the base of his digit. You let out a shaky breath as he pumped in and out– in and out. “Oh– it feels kinda good, Hoon… your finger is so long…” You smiled, feeling his fingertip prodding around inside of you. He eased in a second finger before realizing that he hasn’t even kissed you yet. He awkwardly craned his neck to peck your nose before placing a soft and tender kiss to your lips.

“Tell me how it feels– if it feels good or bad. I want to know everything about what your body likes.” Sunghoon’s breath fanned out against his lips before it disappeared as he pulled back. You nodded, a hiccup stuck in your throat as his fingers twisted around and curled upwards.

“Feels good, Hoon. Your– your fingers feel really good… and it feels even better because it’s you,” you mumbled, your hips beginning its chase towards his hand. “I love you…”

“I love you too,” he responded instantly. It would be a major offense if he let you say it with even a millisecond between his own affirmation of affection. “I want you to– to finish for me. Just as you let me for you.” He licked his lips, thick eyebrows furrowing towards his nose bridge as he pressed in a third finger. “Can you do that for me, please?” He smiled with all of his teeth, showing off his sharp fangs. You swallowed and nodded, letting out soft pants as your body rocked up and down, essentially grinding down on his three fingers.

“Yes– yes, I can, Hoonie. I can…” You whimpered. You sounded so delicious, soft whines escaping your lips that rang melodious in his keen ears. Your tight heat was clenching around his fingers, choking them with how much you were clenching down. It was odd and overwhelming all at once, a sensation that Sunghoon internally promised to explore more. “Hoonie– I think ‘m gonna come.” You breathed out, high in your throat. “I’m coming– Hoonie– ah!” You shrieked, nimble fingers gripping at his wrists as your hips gave one last jolt. He kissed your cheek gently, using his plump lips to ground you as you came. He gave you one, two, three more pumps of his fingers before easing them out of you.

“Are you okay? Is it good?” He eyed the way your legs were trembling, and your hips were still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You smiled and nodded. He looked at his fingers, coated in your viscous release. Your natural, musky scent was enticing. Enticing enough to eat. He lapped at his fingers, groaning as the delicious taste of your fluids spread across his tongue. You let out a whimper at the sexy sight, your hole clenching as a new spike of arousal hit your core.

“Sunghoon, can– can you go inside…?” Your eyes drifted down to your boyfriend’s hard cock, ready to go again.

He nodded, whispering out a few, “Yeah, yes– yeah…” as if trying to soothe himself before the final entree of your three course sex meal. “Do you think it will be easier for you to sit on it? Or on your back?” He asked, skimming his fingertips across your bare thigh. You licked your lips. It would’ve been easier to take it on your back, but really, you wanted to be on top of Sunghoon and make him lose control, just as he almost had when his face was buried in your neck.

“Can I ride you, Hoonie?” You asked sweetly. He closed his heads, his head slumping forward with a more audible groan.

“Yes– fuck, yes. You can do anything you want to me,” he muttered. You sat up with your knees, adjusting your body until your dripping heat was hovering over his erection. You bit your lip as you gripped his impressive size by the base, steadying it so that you could sloooowwwlyyyy sink down. You winced as your hole began stretching around his thick tip, causing his hands to shoot up and grip your hips.

“Are you okay, baby? Does it hurt?” He tried not to panic, but you could tell he was worrying by the tremor in his voice.

“A little– it’s okay, Hoon. I just have to get used to it,” you said through shaky breaths. He steadied your trembling body, allowing you to lower yourself at your own pace.

“There we go, baby… It is okay… you are doing so well…” he leaned forward to whisper praises in your ear, breath hot against your sensitive skin. “There we go, taking me so good. Just go slow– little by little. I am here for you. We can stop at any time…” he mumbled, trying to ease your body so it could relax and open up even more for him. Airy moans slipped past your parted lips as you gradually got adjusted to his size, your tight cunt taking one inch, then two, and then another until eventually, you were seated on his lap and filled to the brim with his fat cock.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck.” Sunghoon thought he’s never cursed this much in his life up until this moment. Your warm insides were wrapped around him so tightly that, if his body had proper circulation, he was sure that your pussy would have cut it off by now. Your inner walls were massaging his length, feeling up against the ridges of his translucent veins and bringing him a pleasure greater than intaking blood.

“Sunghoon!” You kept gasping out chants of his name, your thighs quivering so much that he he didn’t know what to do. Your two palms kept themselves steady on his chest, bracing your entire body as it adjusted to his cock.

“It is okay, baby. You’re doing so well…” He kissed the side of your cheek, peppering the expanse of skin with soft pecks. “There we go– just sit still. Move when you are ready.”  He cooed. You nodded, tears pooling in your waterline as you squirmed around, trying your best to get used to the overwhelming and new feeling of being so fucking full. Soft grunts spilled from your lips as you slowly ascended, and Sunghoon felt like he was being turned again with how much was hitting every part of his nerve. Your slick walls gripped him as you pulled up, sucking him in as if they never wanted to get off of him. He hissed, a hand flying to rest on your hip.

“Hoon– Hoonie, kiss please…” You whined, sounding so utterly undone and pathetic that, as if by magnetic force, his lips immediately attracted themselves to yours. Your hips rolled forward, prompting a groan to pass his parted mouth. You moved slowly, feeling Sunghoon’s girth press up against your walls, moving around to map around every single bit of your insides.

Your kisses became uncoordinated, your lips moving from his mouth to its corners, before falling down to his jaw until you eventually latched onto his neck. Your sweet pecks turned into harsher sucking, and then Sunghoon felt something oddly familiar. You were biting down on his neck, as if you had fangs of your own. The thought made him impossibly harder, imagining your tiny mouth crowded by sharp canines and glaring back at him with red irises. He huffed as he craned his neck back to allow you to mouth at his skin. He smoothed down your hair as he felt you try to suck a mark to imprint your touch– it was in vain, but it was so endearing to him.

A foreign tightness began to coil up in his lower gut. Your movements were becoming erratic now– your hips running towards your peak like a chicken with its head cut off. Your fingertips weren’t holding his biceps anymore, instead your fingers curled until your nails were indenting crescents into his muscles. “Hoon– Hoon…” you mewled incessantly, as if it would kill you if you stopped making such lewd sounds. Your vision was blurring again, and you could feel the wetness of a tear rolling down your cheek. Sunghoon’s thumb gently came up to wipe it away before his large palm encompassed the expanse of your cheek.

“There we go… My baby is so pretty, chasing her pleasure. That is it– come on.” He choked out, his breathing heavier than he wanted it to sound. He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped before letting out a loud exhale as you clenched around him. Fuck it. Sounding seductive and in control was the least of his concern. Not when his beautiful girlfriend was riding him like a champ.

Everything was so fucking warm– your bodies, the air, and especially your blood. When Sunghoon breathed in the hot and heavy atmosphere, the aroma of your sweet, sweet elixir of life made him dizzy. His mind was clouded. Nothing could ever come close to this intoxicating feeling– not even having a second taste of your blood could compare to the feeling of your insides fucking milking him for everything he had. With a load grunt, Sunghoon lurched forward, burying himself into the deepest parts of your insides as he came.

You gasped his name, but Sunghoon could barely register it. His head was ringing as more warmth spurted from his cock, coating your insides white. He hissed, a thumb drawing to your pretty bud to rub you, wanting you to follow him to the finish line. And with a few uncoordinated circles, your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him into your sweaty embrace as you came around his cock.

“Hoon– Hoon, fuck, I love you so much!” You squealed, nearly incoherent. He didn’t care that you were nearly suffocating him with your tight hug because all he wanted was to feel your tight heat come around him– again again and again. But against his desires, he pulled out, leaving his cum to drip out of your cunt.

“Oh– I was not supposed to finish inside,” he muttered, eyes blown wide. You giggled and pressed a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek as you sat against his thighs.

“It’s okay, Hoon.” You hummed, cupping his face gently. The warmth from his skin slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind the pale boyfriend that you were so accustomed to. You caressed his soft, cold skin with a loving smile on your lips before pecking his own. “I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, leaving a grin in its wake.

“I love you too…” he murmured back.

Being a vampire was tedious.

But if this is where immortality had led him to– a sweet girlfriend with even sweeter blood– then he guessed he could live with it for another century or two.

RUDE by @ptolemaeiia. I don’t really enjoy social media aus but this one 🤭 contains smut

DIAMONS ON YOUR BACK by @elsietopia 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 contains smut i love this sm

OUR LITTLE SECRET @muffinmaster-83 when you and your boyfriend are in the same proximity— he tries his hardest to remain professional… but he loves you too much that he can’t hide his true feelings. sfw

FAILING STUDENT by @soulenha nerd riki headcanons contains smut

THE WAY I LOVED YOU @yourtmie angst exes i love this

SUNGHOON

COME KISS ME AND BITE ME by @enchive sunghoon just wants to bite you, so why is the universe making it so complicated for him? alternatively-- the five times where sunghoon wants to bite you + the one time he actually does. contains smut

KISSING STRANGERS by @ptolemaeiia bsf to lovers | you and your best friend sunghoon spend months preparing to move in together as roomates— from furniture shopping to pinterest moodboards, you’ve got it all planned. But when— two weeks before moving in, he starts dating someone— the appartment suddenly feels like a very bad idea… contains smut

JUST LET IT LOOSE by @vivvangel it's just not fair for your boyfriend, sunghoon, to wear the seemingly harmless but way too effective combo of gray sweatpants and a black tshirt. contains smut

FOREIGNERS CAN FUCK TOO brazilian reader x hoon smut!