"Jake Sim?" you said.

"He's the best tutor I have. Top of the class last semester. Top of the class now.

You knew Jake Sim. Well, you didn't know him. You knew of him. Everyone did. The guy who showed up to every party with a new girl and left with whoever he wanted. The guy who never raised his voice but always got the last word. The guy who'd held a door open for you once and looked at you like he was already bored.

"He's a fuckboy," you said not thinking she heard.

Professor Lee didn't blink. "He's also the only reason six people are passing this class right now. You start Monday. His schedule is at the bottom."

You walked out of that office with your 38 percent and a new low.

Karina and Giselle were waiting for you outside, perched on a bench, phones in hand, looking like they'd been there for hours.

"Your face says disaster," Karina said.

"I have a tutor."

"Okay?"

"Jake Sim."

Giselle's head snapped up. "Jake Sim?"

"Unfortunately."

Karina burst out laughing. "The Jake Sim?"

"Yes."

"The one who went through three sororities in one semester?"

"Yes."

"The one who corrected Sunghoon's drink order at a party and then made out with his date an hour later?"

"Karina." you screamed.

"I'm just saying!" She was grinning now. "Damn. Not Jake."

"I know."

"But also..." Giselle tilted her head. "Damn. Jake is kinda hot."

"I don't care if he's hot. He's a walking red flag with good bone structure."

"And he's your tutor." Karina wiped a tear from her eye. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I'm going to fail."

You sat down between them and put your head in your hands. "He's going to be insufferable. You know he's going to be insufferable. He's going to sit there with that stupid smirk and explain basic statistics like I'm a child and I'm going to have to pretend I don't want to throw my textbook at his head."

"Or," Giselle said, "you could just let him be hot and enjoy the view."

"I'm not going to enjoy anything."

"You've never even talked to him."

"I don't need to talk to him to know I hate him."

Karina patted your back. "That's the spirit."

Jake was mid-bite into his sandwich when Sunghoon kicked his foot under the table.

"You got assigned a tutoring student?"

Jake chewed. Swallowed. "Yeah."

"Who?"

"Does it matter?"

Jay leaned forward. "It matters cause we are nosy."

Heeseung was already scrolling through his phone. "Professor Lee's class? She sent out the list this morning."

Jake took another bite. He'd seen the name. He'd read it twice. He'd spent maybe longer than necessary staring at it.

He knew who you were. Everyone did. The girl who walked into parties like she owned them. The girl who never asked for help. The girl who'd looked at him just once across a crowded room, and then looked away like he wasn't worth a second glance.

"You're being weird," Jungwon said from the end of the table.

"I'm not being weird."

"You're not talking. That's weird for you."

Jake set his sandwich down. "It's Y/N."

Silence.

Then Sunghoon choked on his drink.

"The one who told Professor Kim to his face that his lecture was boring?"

"That's her."

Jay whistled. "She needs a tutor? I thought she had everything figured out."

"Apparently not."

Jungwon shrugged. "She's going to hate it."

"She's going to hate me."

"Probably."

Jake thought about that. Thought about your face the one time you'd looked at him. You hadn't smiled. Hadn't blushed. Hadn't done any of the things girls usually did when they looked at him.

You'd just looked. And then you'd walked away.

"I don't know," Heeseung said slowly. "She's hot. Like, really hot. Independent. People come to her for help. This might be interesting."

"Interesting how?" Jake asked.

"I don't know. Just... interesting. She's not going to fall all over you like everyone else does."

Jake picked up his sandwich. "I'm not trying to make her fall all over me."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm just tutoring her. That's it."

Sunghoon snorted. "Famous last words."

Jake didn't respond. But he couldn't stop thinking about your name on that paper.

Y/N.

He wondered if you'd text him first or if he'd have to reach out.

He wondered if you'd show up on Monday with that same look on your face like you had nothing to prove to anyone.

He wondered what it would take to make you look at him twice.

Three days before your first session, Karina dragged you to a party.

"I need to get out," she said.

"You need to get out. I need to study."

"No babes you need to drink."

The party was at some guy's house you didn't catch the name to and you didn't care. The music was too loud, the cups were sticky, and within twenty minutes, you'd lost Karina to the dance floor and Giselle to a guy who looked like he played club sports.

You were on your third drink when you saw him.

Jake.

He was on a couch in the corner, and there was a girl in his lap.

Not sitting next to him. Not leaning against him. Fully in his lap, her legs draped over his thigh, her lips hovering near his ear. His hand was on her waist. He wasn't kissing her but it was clearly heading there.

You recognized the girl. Wonyoung. She was in your psych class. She'd spent the entire semester batting her eyelashes at every guy within a ten foot radius.

Of course it was Wonyoung.

You looked away. Drank. Looked back.

His hand had moved lower.

"Ew," you said to no one.

Karina appeared at your elbow. "What?"

"Jake Sim. With the one and only."

Karina followed your gaze. "Oh. Yeah. That's Wonyoung. She's been trying to get his attention for weeks."

"He's letting her."

"That's what he does." Karina shrugged. "He's always like that. A different girl every week. Sometimes every night. It's his whole thing."

"His whole thing is gross."

"His whole thing is effective. Look at her. She's practically melting."

You took another drink. "I have to let him teach me statistics."

"Poor you."

"I'm serious. How am I supposed to sit across from someone who acts like that?"

"You could try not staring at him."

"Shut up."

Karina grabbed your hand. "Come on. You're too sober. We're dancing."

She pulled you onto the floor. The music shifted something with a bass you could feel in your chest. You let yourself move. Let yourself forget about the F and the tutoring and the way Jake's hand had looked on Wonyoung's waist.

A guy found you. Tall. Dark hair. Cute in a forgettable way. He smiled at you and you smiled back because why not, and then his hands were on your hips and you were dancing with him.

It was fine. It was nothing.

But across the room, someone was watching.

"She's here," Sunghoon said.

Jake didn't have to ask who. He'd seen you the second you walked in. The way the room shifted when you entered. The way people looked at you like you were the main character and they were just extras.

"Yeah," Jake said. "I saw her."

Wonyoung was still in his lap. He'd forgotten she was there until she shifted and pressed closer. He should focus on her. She was pretty. She was interested. She was easy.

But his eyes kept finding you.

You were dancing with some guy now. Some random guy who'd probably never talked to you before tonight. His hands were on your hips. You were laughing at something he said.

"Why is she dancing with him?" Jake asked.

Sunghoon looked. "Because she's at a party? Because he asked? Why do you care?"

"I don't."

"You're staring."

"I'm observing."

"Heeseung called it." Jay appeared on Jake's other side. "He said you'd be interested."

"I'm not interested."

"You've looked at her twelve times in the last ten minutes."

Jake pulled his eyes away. Wonyoung was looking at him expectantly. He'd missed something she'd said.

"Sorry," he said. "What?"

"I asked if you wanted to go somewhere quieter."

The implication was clear. A month ago, he would have said yes. A week ago, he would have said yes. But tonight, for some reason, the word stuck in his throat.

"I have an early class," he said.

Wonyoung's face flickered. "Oh."

She didn't look convinced, but she got off his lap. Walked away without looking back.

Sunghoon raised his eyebrows. "You just let her go."

"She's not going anywhere."

"She's going to find someone else."

"Good for her."

Jake stood up. He needed water. Or air. Or something that wasn't watching you dance with someone else.

He pushed through the crowd toward the back of the house. The hallway was quieter. The bathroom door was cracked open, light spilling out.

He was about to walk past when you stepped out.

You nearly collided with his chest.

"Oh-" You looked up. Your eyes were glassy. You were tipsy. Maybe more than tipsy. "You."

"Me."

"I was just thinking about you."

"Good things?"

"I was thinking about how much I don't want to see you on Monday."

Jake leaned against the wall. Arms crossed. Calm. "That's funny. I was thinking about how much I'm looking forward to it."

"You're lying."

"I don't lie."

"Everyone lies."

"Not me." He tilted his head. "You're drunk."

"I'm tipsy. There's a difference."

"You're going to be hungover on Monday."

"I'm going to be fine on Monday."

"We'll see."

You stepped closer. Pointed a finger at his chest. "You're my teacher now. That's so weird."

"I'm your tutor. Not your teacher."

"Same thing."

"Different thing."

"You're correcting me already?" Your eyes narrowed. "We haven't even started."

"I'm just preparing you."

"For what?"

"For me."

You stared at him. He stared back.

"I hate you," you said.

Jake smiled. Slow. "Monday. Library. Third floor. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

"I'm never late."

"You were late to Professor Kim's lecture three times last semester."

Your mouth opened. Closed. "How do you know that?"

"I pay attention."

You blinked at him. Then you shook your head and pushed past him, stumbling slightly on your way back to the party.

Jake watched you go.

He was definitely looking forward to Monday.

You showed up at 6:58 because you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of being late.

The library was mostly empty on a Monday night. Third floor was silent except for the hum of the vending machine and the squeak of your shoes on the floor.

Jake was already there. Of course he was.

He was sitting at a table near the window, laptop open, textbook out, pens lined up perfectly. He looked up when you approached.

"You're early," he said.

"I'm on time."

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit down."

You sat. Dropped your bag on the floor. Crossed your arms.

"So." He closed his laptop. "Show me your exam."

"No."

"I can help you by explaining why you failed."

Your jaw tightened. "I didn't fail. I got a 38. That's not technically failing. That's... adjacent to failing."

"38 is failing."

"It's a soft fail."

"There's no such thing."

"There is if I say there is."

Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "You're going to be difficult, aren't you?"

"I'm not difficult. I'm particular."

"Same thing, different font."

You almost smiled. Almost. "Fine." You pulled the exam out of your bag and slid it across the table. "There. Happy?"

He picked it up. Read it. Didn't react. "Okay," he said. "Here's the problem. You don't know how to study."

"I know how to study."

"You know how to memorize things the night before and hope for the best. That's not studying."

"It's worked so far."

"Has it?" He held up the exam. "Because this looks like your luck ran out."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"Here's how this is going to work," he said. "You're going to stop pretending you're too good for this. I'm going to stop pretending you're not smart. And we're both going to get through this without killing each other."

"That last part isn't guaranteed."

He almost smiled. "Deal."

He stood up. Walked to the whiteboard the library kept in the corner. Picked up a marker.

"Come here."

You didn't move.

"I'm not going to bite." He looked over his shoulder. "Unless you want me to."

"Enough with the games Sim."

"Then come here so I can actually teach you something."

You stood up. Walked to the whiteboard. Stood as far away from him as possible while still being able to see.

He drew a curve. Labeled it. Started explaining. And he was good at it.

Not condescending. Not slow. Just clear. He asked questions and waited for answers. He didn't fill the silence when you were thinking. He let you struggle until you got it.

A hour in, you understood p-values.

"This shouldn't make sense."

"But it does."

He capped the marker. "Same time Wednesday."

"Yeah."

"Try not to be so angry next time."

"I'm not angry. You grabbed your bag. Walked toward the stairs.

"Hey," he called. You turned.

Jake was leaning against the whiteboard, arms crossed. "You're not stupid. You just don't like being bad at things. There's a difference."

"That's like the second time you've said that."

"Because you keep needing to hear it."

You left. But you thought about it the whole walk home.

The sessions blurred together. Two weeks. Four sessions. Then six.

You stopped fighting it somewhere around session three. Not because you'd given up but because you'd started to actually get it. The material made sense when Jake explained it. He had a way of breaking things down that didn't make you feel like an idiot.

He was still cocky. Still insufferable. Still looked at you like he knew something you didn't.

But you weren't snapping at him anymore. You were learning.

"You're different," Karina said one day at lunch.

"I'm not different."

"You smiled at your phone. Three times. In a row."

"I was looking at memes."

"You were texting Jake."

"I was texting Jake about homework." You threw a fry at her.

Giselle watched the exchange with amusement. "She's not wrong. You've been in a good mood lately."

"I'm in a normal mood."

"You failed a midterm and you're being tutored by a fuckboy. You should be miserable."

"Maybe I've accepted my fate."

You were mid-bite into your sandwich when a shadow fell over the table.

"Hey."

You looked up. Jake was standing there. Holding your jacket.

The jacket you'd left at his apartment two days ago after a session that ran late. The jacket you'd completely forgotten about until this exact moment.

"You left this," he said. "You keep leaving things at my place."

"I don't do it on purpose."

"Sure you don't."

He set the jacket on the table. His fingers brushed yours. Too long to be accidental.

Everyone was watching. Not just Karina and Giselle, who had both gone completely still. But the tables around you. The people walking past. The girl at the fountain who'd been trying to get Jake's attention for weeks.

Wonyoung. She was standing near your table, coffee in hand, eyes locked on you. On the jacket. On the way Jake was looking at you.

"Thanks," you said, pulling the jacket toward you.

"See you Thursday," Jake said. He walked away.

The second he was out of earshot, Karina slammed her hands on the table and screamed.

"What the fuck was that!?"

"Nothing."

"That was not nothing. That was something. He brought you your jacket. He remembered your jacket. He came to find you to give you your jacket."

"He's polite."

"He's not polite. He's a fuckboy. Fuckboys don't return jackets. They keep them as trophies."

Giselle was staring at you. "You've been to his apartment."

"For tutoring."

"You're lying."

"I'm not"

"Y/N." Karina grabbed your wrist. "Look at me. Are you sleeping with him?"

"No!"

"Are you going to sleep with him?"

"I don't- I haven't- I don't know."

Karina and Giselle exchanged a look.

"Oh my God," Giselle whispered. "She likes him."

"I don't like him."

"You like him."

"I tolerate him."

Across the courtyard, Wonyoung was still watching.

She found you after class two days later.

You were walking across campus, earbuds in, not paying attention, when a hand grabbed your arm.

You spun around. Wonyoung.

"What the hell?" you said, pulling your arm back.

"Sorry." She didn't look sorry. "I need to talk to you."

"About?"

"Jake."

You sighed. "I don't have time for this."

"It'll take two minutes."

You looked at her. She was smaller than you remembered. Prettier, too, in a polished, intentional way. Her nails were done. Her hair was curled. She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine.

"Fine," you said. "Talk."

"What's going on with you and Jake?"

"Nothing."

"He brought you your jacket."

"He's my tutor. He was being nice."

Wonyoung's eyes narrowed. "Jake isn't nice."

"Then why do you want him so badly?"

The question caught her off guard. Her composure cracked, just slightly.

"I've been trying to get his attention for months," she said. "Months. And he's never looked at me the way he looks at you."

You didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm not trying to be mean," Wonyoung continued. "I just want to know. Are you together? Is that a thing?"

"We're not together."

"But you want to be."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

She stepped back. Crossed her arms. "Fine. Whatever. Just... don't waste him. If you're not serious about him, let him go."

"I don't think Jake Sim is the kind of guy you need to protect."

"Maybe not." Wonyoung turned to walk away. Then stopped. "But you're not the only one who sees something in him."

She left.

You stood there for a long moment.

Then you pulled out your phone.

You: Some girl just cornered me about you.

Jake: Which one?

You: Wonyoung.

Jake: Ah.

You: That's all you have to say?

Jake: She's harmless.

You: She wants you.

Jake: A lot of people want me.

You: Cocky.

Jake: Honest.

You: Same thing.

Jake: Different font.

You almost smiled.

Jake: See you Thursday.

You: See you Thursday.

You brought it up during your next session.

Not on purpose. It just slipped out.

"So Wonyoung," you said, not looking up from your notebook.

Jake didn't look up either. "What about her?"

"You two have history?"

"Define history."

"I saw her at that party cuddled up with you."

He paused. Then set his pen down. "That was before we started tutoring."

"So?"

"So, nothing. She was there. I was there. It didn't mean anything."

"It looked like it meant something."

Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "Are you jealous?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Your face is red." Jake smiled. Slow. "You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm... curious."

"About my romantic history?"

"About whether you're going to keep doing that while you're supposed to be tutoring me."

"Would it bother you if I did?"

You looked at him. Really looked."Yes," you said.

The word hung in the air.

Jake didn't smile. Didn't tease. He just looked at you, and something shifted in his expression. Something softer.

"Good," he said.

"Good?"

"Good that it would bother you." He picked up his pen. "It would bother me too. If it were the other way around."

You didn't know what to say to that. So you looked back down at your notebook and pretended to study.

But you could feel him watching you. And for the first time, you didn't hate it.

It happened after a late session.

You'd been studying for three hours. Your brain was fried. Your eyes were tired. And Jake had been looking at you all night like you were something he wanted to eat.

"You're staring," you said.

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"About how you bite your lip when you're concentrating."

Your pen stopped moving.

"Don't," you said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because we're supposed to be studying."

"We've been studying for three hours. Take a break."

"I don't need a break."

"You do." He stood up. Walked around the table. Leaned against it, right next to your chair. "You've been tensing your shoulders for the last hour. You haven't blinked in thirty seconds. You need a break."

"I need to pass this class."

"You will. But tonight you need to relax."

You looked up at him. He was close. Too close.

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

Jake's hand came up to your face. Slow. Deliberate. His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Let me," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you need."

You should have said no. You should have packed your bag and walked out and gone home and thought about this in the morning. Instead, you kissed him.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't tentative. It was hungry and frustrated and tasted like every argument you'd been having for weeks. His hands were in your hair. Your hands were on his chest. He pulled you up from the chair and pressed you against the table.

"There she is," he murmured against your mouth.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You kissed him harder.

He laughed. Then his hands were under your shirt and your hands were in his hair and you had never wanted anyone the way you wanted him right now.

"Bedroom," he said.

"Yeah."

He took your hand.

His bedroom was dark. The sheets were rumpled. It smelled like him, clean, with something underneath that you couldn't name. He pushed the door closed and turned to look at you.

"Last chance," he said.

"For what?"

"To change your mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

He kissed you again. Slower this time. His hands slid under your shirt, palms flat against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra. You gasped against his mouth.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"I want you to stop talking."

"That's not how this works." He pulled back. Looked at you. His eyes were dark. Serious. "I need to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you want this. Say you want me. Not because you're stressed. Not because of the tutoring. Because you've been thinking about this as much as I have."

Your heart was pounding.

"How do you know I've been thinking about it?"

"Because you're here. Because you kissed me first. Because you're looking at me right now like you want to climb inside my skin." He tilted his head. "Am I wrong?"

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.

"I want you," you said against his mouth. "I've wanted you since the party. Since the first session. Since you said good girl like it meant something."

"It meant something."

"Then show me."

He took his time. Unhurried. Every touch deliberate. Every kiss slower than the last. You tried to rush him. You grabbed at his belt, tugged at his shirt, tried to flip him over. He caught your wrists. Held them above your head.

"Not yet," he said. Voice low. Firm.

"Jake-"

"I've been waiting for this." His lips brushed your ear. "I'm not going to rush. You're not going to rush. You're going to take what I give you. Understood?"

You glared at him. "You're not the boss of me."

"Tonight I am."

"That's cute."

He squeezed your wrists. Not hard. Just enough. "You want to test me? Go ahead. But you're not going to win."

"You're insufferable."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

He smiled. Then he released your wrists and his mouth was on your neck, your collarbone, lower. He kissed down your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He took his time there too, mouthing at the sensitive skin, breathing hot against you.

"You're so tense," he murmured.

"I'm not tense."

"You're shaking."

"I'm cold."

"You're not cold."

He looked up at you. Held your gaze. Then he lowered his mouth where you wanted him most.

You gasped. Your hands flew to his hair.

"That's it," he said against you. "Hold on."

He worked you slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. Every time you got close, he pulled back. Every time you whined, he smiled.

"Please," you finally said.

"Please what?"

"Please don't stop."

"Good girl."

He didn't stop.

His mouth was everywhere tongue flat against you, then pointed, then circling exactly where you needed him most. He groaned against your skin like he was the one getting pleased, like tasting you was his reward, not yours. His hands pinned your hips down when you tried to squirm away, holding you open for him, taking his time. He wasn't in a rush. He wanted to watch you fall apart.

When you came, you came hard, back arching off the bed, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He didn't let you recover. He kissed up your body, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

You reached for him, pulled him up, tried to flip him onto his back.

He didn't move.

"Not yet," he said.

"Jake-"

"You think we're done?" He pressed his forehead to yours. His breath was hot. His voice was low. "We're just getting started."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

"Pop quiz."

You blinked. "What?"

He pulled back. Sat up on his knees. Looked down at you spread out beneath him flushed, wet, still shaking from your orgasm.

"You've been learning a lot in our sessions," he said. "But I want to make sure you're paying attention."

"To statistics?"

"To me."

He reached for his belt. Unbuckled it slowly. Pulled it free from the loops.

"This is a different kind of lesson," he said. "But the rules are the same. I ask a question. You answer. If you get it right, you get rewarded."

"And if I get it wrong?"

He folded the belt in half. Tapped it against his palm.

"You get punished."

You moaned, your stomach flipped. Heat pooled low in your belly.

"What kind of questions?"

"We'll start easy." He leaned down, kissed your neck, bit softly at your collarbone. "What's the formula for a confidence interval?"

"You're joking."

"I never joke about education."

You stared at him. He stared back. His eyes were dark. Serious. Waiting.

"Sample mean," you said slowly, "plus or minus the critical value times the standard error."

"Good job."

He kissed you. Deep. Rewarding. His hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you already wet, already ready.

"That's one," he said against your mouth. "Want another?"

"Yes."

"Then pay attention."

He flipped you onto your stomach. Pulled your hips up. The belt was still in his hand.

"What's a Type I error?" he asked.

"False positive," you said quickly. "Rejecting a true null hypothesis."

"Good."

He pushed into you from behind. No warning. No slow build. Just full, deep, stretching you open. You cried out, fingers gripping the sheets.

"Jake- fuck"

"That's one point." He pulled out almost all the way. Held there. "What's a Type II error?"

You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. He was barely inside you, just the tip, and you could feel yourself clenching around nothing.

"Jake, please-"

"Wrong answer."

The belt came down on your ass. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to sting. You gasped.

"Type II error," he said calmly. "False negative. Failing to reject a false null hypothesis." He pushed back in, slow, torturous. "Try again."

"Type II-" You couldn't focus. He was moving now, shallow thrusts, not enough. "Type II is false negative-"

"Full sentence."

"Type II error is failing to reject- fuck- failing to reject a false null hypothesis."

"Good fucking girl."

He snapped his hips forward. Hard. Deep. You moaned into the pillow.

"You want another question?"

"Yes Jakey please"

"What's the difference between a one-tailed and a two-tailed test?"

You knew this. But he was fucking you now, really fucking you, and every thrust pushed the answer further out of your brain.

"A one-tailed-" He hit a spot that made your vision white out. "A one-tailed tests in one direction- two-tailed tests both-"

"Both what?"

"Both directions-"

"And when do you use each?"

"I don't- fuck, Jake- I can't-"

The belt came down again. Harder this time.

"Incorrect," he said. His voice was colder now. Disappointed. "You're not even trying."

"I am trying-"

"You're distracted." He pulled out. Flipped you onto your back. Stared down at you. "You're so fucked out you can't even answer basic questions."

Your face burned. From the sex. From the shame. From the way he was looking at you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Sorry isn't good enough."

He grabbed your chin. Forced you to look at him.

"You wanted this. You wanted me. Now you're going to take what I give you and you're going to earn it."

"Yes Jake"

"Shut up."

He pushed back inside you. Harder than before. Faster. His hand closed around your throat not squeezing, just holding, just reminding you who was in charge.

"I've been patient," he said, fucking you with each word. "I've been nice. I've let you be bratty and difficult and act like you're too good for this. But right now? Right now you're just a girl on her back, taking my cock because she can't handle a few simple questions."

Your eyes watered. From the sting. From the heat. From the way his words were making you feel things you didn't want to name.

"Say it," he said.

"Say what-"

"Say you're mine. Right now. In this bed. You're fucking mine."

"Mmm I'm yours-"

"Louder."

"I'm yours Jake, all yours."

He kissed you. Bruising. Claiming. His hand moved from your throat to your hair, pulling, tilting your head back.

"One more question," he said. "Get it right and I'll let you cum."

"Okay-"

"What's the probability that I'm going to stop until you've cum at least three more times?"

You blinked at him.

"That's not a real question-"

"Wrong answer."

He pulled out. Flipped you over again. Pulled your hips up and drove back in, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.

You came without warning. Without permission. Your body just broke, clenching around him, sobbing into the pillow.

He didn't stop.

"That's one," he said. "Two more to go."

"Jake- I can't-"

"You can. And you fucking will slut."

He fucked you through it. Through the oversensitivity, through the tears, through the way your arms gave out and your face pressed into the mattress.

When you came again, it was on his command. His voice in your ear. And your body obeyed.

"You're learning," he said.

He pulled out. Rolled you onto your back one last time. Stared down at you all wrecked, crying, completely undone.

"One more," he said.

"Fuck I can't-"

"You can."

He pushed back inside you. Slow this time. Gentle. His thumb found your clit and circled softly, coaxing, not demanding.

"Look at me," he said.

You looked at him.

His face was different now. Softer. His eyes were dark but not cold. He pulled you on top of him while watching you like you were something precious.

"Cum for me," he said quietly. "One more time. Nice and slow."

You came apart rolling your hips, letting it wash over you. He followed right after, buried deep, forehead pressed to yours.

Neither of you moved.

His hand came up to your face. Wiped your tears.

"You did good," he said.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No," you agreed. "I don't."

He pulled out. Pulled you against his chest. Wrapped his arms around you.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

"For tutoring?"

"For whatever you want."

You laughed. It came out weak.

"Yeah," you said. "Same time tomorrow."

After that first night, something shifted.

Not dramatically. Not with words or labels or awkward conversations. It just happened. Slowly. Naturally.

Tutoring sessions still happened. Twice a week, sometimes three times. Jake still explained statistics with that infuriating calm, and you still rolled your eyes and snapped at him when he got too cocky. But now, when the session ended, you didn't leave right away.

The first time you stayed, it was because you were tired. Really tired. You'd been up late studying for a different exam, and when Jake finished explaining p-values for the third time, you put your head down on the table and didn't pick it back up.

"You can't sleep here," he said.

"I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes."

"You're snoring."

"I don't snore."

"You're snoring right now."

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. He was smiling with a shine to his eyes.

"Come on," he said. "The couch is more comfortable."

That was the first night you fell asleep on his couch. He threw a blanket over you and sat on the floor next to you, grading papers by the light of his laptop. When you woke up at 2 AM, he was asleep sitting up, head tilted back, mouth slightly open.

You should have gone home.

You didn't.

You pulled him down onto the couch next to you, and he wrapped an arm around you without waking up, and you fell back asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

After that, it became a thing.

Some nights you slept together the real kind, the messy kind, the kind that left you breathless and sore and smiling into the dark. Other nights you just watched movies. He liked action. You liked horror. You compromised on thrillers and spent most of the time arguing about the plot.

He made you popcorn on the stove, not the microwave, because he was "not a savage." You made fun of him for it. Then you ate three servings.

You never talked about what you were.

Not once.

You were tutoring. You were sleeping together. You were cuddling on his couch at 1 AM, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, your head on his chest.

But you weren't together.

Or maybe you were. Neither of you said it.

Karina asked. Of course she did.

"So," she said one day at lunch, "are you guys like... together together?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

"Because we haven't talked about it."

"You've slept together multiple times."

"I'm aware."

"You cuddle?"

"...Yes."

"You text him good morning?"

"That's private."

"That's a yes." Karina leaned back. "You're together. You just haven't admitted it yet."

"We're not not together."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I don't know what it means."

Giselle snorted. "That's the most non answer I've ever heard."

But they weren't wrong. Something had changed. You felt it every time Jake looked at you. Every time his hand found yours under the table. Every time he said good night like he meant stay.

You just didn't know how to name it.

Neither did he.

Jake's friends noticed before he did.

Or maybe they noticed first. He'd been different lately. Softer. He laughed more. He checked his phone more. He left parties early without explanation.

"You're whipped," Sunghoon said.

"I'm not whipped."

"You left Jay's party at 10 PM because she texted you."

"I was tired."

"You've never been tired at parties."

Jake didn't have an answer for that.

They were at their usual table on campus, halfway through lunch. Jay was picking at his food. Heeseung was scrolling on his phone.

"So," Jay said, "are you going to ask her out or what?"

"We're already... doing things."

"Doing things isn't dating."

"We watch movies."

"That's not dating either."

"We sleep together."

Jay raised his eyebrows. "Okay, that's closer. But still not dating."

Jake ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what we are."

"Then ask her."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

Because he was scared. Because he'd never done this before. Because every time he looked at you, he felt something he couldn't name, and naming it made it real, and real meant he could lose it.

"Because," he said.

"Great reason."

Heeseung looked up from his phone. "You like her."

"I know I like her."

"Then do something about it."

Jake was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up.

"Where are you going?" Sunghoon asked.

"To find her. She has class in twenty minutes. I'm going to walk with her."

Jay cheered. "That's adorable."

"Shut up."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing."

Jake flipped him off and walked away.

Behind him, he heard Sunghoon say, "Told you. Whipped."

He didn't turn around.

You were sitting on a bench near the science building, Karina on one side and Giselle on the other, when the topic of Jake came up.

It always came up lately.

"So," Karina said, kicking your foot, "have you guys talked about it yet?"

"Talked about what?"

"About what you are."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know what to say."

Giselle leaned in. "You could start with 'I like you.'"

"I don't even know if he wants that."

Karina stared at you. "Are you serious?"

"What?"

"He cuddles you. He makes you popcorn. He walked you home in the rain last week. He looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He looks at everyone like that."

"He absolutely does not. I've seen him look at other girls. He looks at them like he's deciding what to order for dinner. He looks at you like he's already eaten and he's still hungry."

Giselle nodded. "She's right. He's down bad."

"He's not down bad."

"He texted you good morning every day for two weeks."

You laughed. "You guys are insane."

"We're realistic. You're the one who's in denial."

"Fine. Maybe I like him."

"Maybe?"

"Okay. I like him."

"And?" Karina prompted.

"And... I don't know what to do about it."

"You could start by not hiding it."

"I'm not hiding it."

"You literally just whispered 'I like him' like it was a secret."

"It's not a secret."

"Then say it louder."

"I like him," you said, normal volume.

"Louder."

"I like him!"

"And?"

"I like Jake Sim!."

"And?"

"And I want him to be my boyfriend!."

The words echoed across the courtyard.

You froze.

Because standing ten feet away, right at the edge of the path, was Jake.

He had his hands in his pockets. His head was tilted. And he was smiling.

"Is that so?" he asked.

Your face went red. Karina and Giselle dissolved into giggles behind you.

"Jake-" you started.

"I like you too, by the way." He walked closer. Stopped in front of you. "And I want to be your boyfriend."

"You heard that?"

"Everyone heard that."

You looked around. A few people were staring. Someone was openly filming.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah." Jake was still smiling. "So. Boyfriend?"

"Shut up."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a shut up."

"I'll take that as a yes."

He leaned down and kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. Karina whooped. Giselle clapped.

When he pulled back, your face was somehow even redder.

"I hate you," you said.

"No, you don't."

"You're right," you agreed.

"Good. Now walk me to class."

"You walk me to class."

He laughed. Took your hand. Pulled you up from the bench.

"See you later," he said to Karina and Giselle.

You didn't look back. Jake's hand was warm in yours.

"So," he said. "Boyfriend."

"Don't push it."

"Too late. I'm pushing it."

"You're insufferable."

"Your insufferable boyfriend."

You stopped walking. Looked at him.

"My boyfriend," you said.

"Yeah."

"Like, officially?"

"Like officially."

You kissed him again. Quick. Soft.

"Wow that was easy hmm okay," you said.

"Okay?"

"Okay, boyfriend."

He grinned.

"Now walk me to class," you said.

"Yes, ma'am."

He didn't let go of your hand the whole way.

You were exhausted.

Not because you hadn't slept. You had. But you'd slept with Jake, which meant you'd stayed up late talking, then not talking, then talking again. By the time you actually fell asleep, it was almost 3 AM.

Now you were in Professor Lee's lecture, and your eyelids were winning the war.

You rested your head on your hand. Blinked. Blinked again.

Your eyes closed.

"You're falling asleep," a voice whispered.

Jake. He was sitting next to you. He'd started sitting next to you in every class you shared, which was three. He said it was "strategic." You said it was "clingy."

"I'm not falling asleep," you murmured. "I'm resting my eyes."Your head slipped off your hand. You caught yourself just before it hit the desk.

Jake laughed quietly.

"Go away," you mumbled.

"No."

"Then let me sleep."

"You can't sleep in class."

"Watch me."

You put your head down on the desk. Your eyes closed. The professor's voice faded into background noise.

You were almost there. Almost asleep.

Then you felt it.

Jake's hand on your thigh.

You didn't move. Didn't react. Maybe he was just...

His hand slid higher. Your eyes opened.

"Jake," you whispered.

"Shh."

"What are you doing?"

"Keeping you awake."

"This isn't keeping me awake."

His fingers found the button of your jeans. Your breath caught.

"Stop," you whispered.

"Do you want me to stop?"

You didn't answer. He took that as a no.

Jake's fingers worked the button of your jeans open. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.

You should have stopped him.

You were in class. In the third row. Professor Lee was ten feet away, droning on about statistical significance. There were people on either side of you. People behind you. People who could look up at any moment and see exactly what was happening.

You should have stopped him.

You didn't.

His hand slipped inside your jeans. Past the waistband of your underwear. His fingers were warm, fingertips rough against your skin, and he moved with the confidence of someone who already knew exactly where to touch.

"You're wet," he murmured, so quiet only you could hear.

"Jake."

"You've been thinking about this?"

"No."

"Liar."

His finger circled your clit. Once. Twice. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound.

"Look at me," he said.

You turned your head. His eyes were dark. Focused. That stupid smirk was gone, replaced by something hungrier.

"Don't make a sound," he said.

"I won't."

He slid a finger inside you.

Your hand flew to your mouth. You pressed your knuckles against your lips, breathing hard through your nose. The professor kept talking. No one looked back. No one knew.

Except Jake.

He added a second finger. Curled them. Hit a spot that made your vision blur.

"Jake," you breathed.

"Shh."

"Someone's going to see."

"Then you'd better be quiet love."

He pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. His thumb pressed against your clit with every thrust. You were gripping the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles were white.

"So tight," he murmured. "You're going to cum already?"

"No."

"You're close. I can feel it."

"You can't-"

"I can feel everything." He leaned closer. His lips brushed your ear. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me. You're dripping down my fingers princess."

Your face burned. Your body burned. Everything burned.

"Please," you whispered.

"Please what?"

"Please don't stop."

He didn't.

His fingers moved faster. Harder. His thumb pressed down. You were shaking, legs trembling under the desk, teeth sinking into your knuckle to muffle the sounds.

"That's it," he whispered. "Cum for me. Right here. In class. With everyone watching."

It ripped through you, sudden and violent, your back arching, your eyes squeezing shut. You bit down so hard on your hand you left marks. Jake's fingers kept moving, working you through it, prolonging it until you were nothing but static.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was smiling.

"I hate you."

"You just came on my fingers in the middle of class."You're going to thank me later."

He pulled his hand out of your jeans. Slowly. Deliberately. And then still watching you he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.

One by one.

His eyes never left yours. You forgot how to breathe.

"Jake," you said. Your voice came out strangled.

"Yeah?"

"We need to leave."

"Class isn't over."

"I don't care."

"You don't?"

"No."

You stood up. Grabbed your bag. Your legs were still shaking. Jake watched you with that infuriating calm, like he knew exactly what was coming next.

"Y/N," he said.

"Get up Jake."

"Where are we going?"

"Bathroom. Janitor's closet. Your car. I don't care. Get up."

He stood. Sling his bag over his shoulder. His hand found the small of your back as you walked toward the door. Professor Lee didn't even look up.

The second you were in the hallway, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the stairwell.

"Impatient," he said.

"Shut up."

"You dragged me out of class."

"Shut up."

"You must really want-"

You pushed him against the wall of the stairwell and kissed him. Hard. His hands went to your waist. Yours went to his belt.

"Someone could come in," he said against your mouth.

"Then you'd better be quiet."

He laughed. "Learning from me?"

"You started it in class."

"I was keeping you awake."

"You think you're funny," you said while dropping to your knees.

Jake's breath hitched.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah. Oh."

Your hands found his belt. Unbuckled it. Pulled it open. His jeans came next, then his boxers, and he was already hard, already leaking, already looking down at you like he couldn't believe this was happening.

"You've been thinking about this," you said.

"Every day."

"Every session?"

"Every single one."

You wrapped your hand around him. Stroked once. Twice. He groaned, head falling back against the wall.

"Shh," you said. "Be quiet."

"You be quiet."

"I'm not the one who's going to make noise."

"You're about to be."

You leaned forward. Took him in your mouth.

His hand flew to your hair. Not pushing. Just holding. Just feeling.

You started slow. Teasing. Tongue flat against the underside, then pointed, then circling the tip. He tasted like salt and soap and something else you couldn't name.

"Jesus," he breathed.

You pulled off. Looked up at him.

"If I can be quiet during class," you said, "you can be quiet in a stairwell."

"That's different-"

His grip tightened in your hair. "You're evil," he said.

"You like it."

"I hate it."

"No, you don't."

You took him again. Deeper this time. He groaned, low and rough, and you felt it in your chest.

You set a rhythm. Slow. Deliberate. Every time he got close to the edge, you pulled back. Let him cool down. Started again.

He was a mess in your hands. Leaning against the wall, head back, jaw slack, breathing in short, sharp gasps.

"You're killing me," he whispered.

You took him deeper. Swallowed around him. His hips jerked.

"Fuck-"

A door opened above you.

Footsteps. Echoing down the stairs.

Someone was coming.

Jake's eyes flew open. He reached for your shoulders, tried to pull you off.

"Stop," he whispered. "Someone's-"

You didn't stop.

"Y/N-"

You looked up at him. Didn't let go. Didn't slow down.

His face was going through all kinds of emotions. Fear and pleasure and something darker, something hungrier. He was frozen, torn between pushing you away and holding you there.

The footsteps got closer.

Jake clamped a hand over his own mouth.

You smiled around him.

The footsteps passed. A door opened. Closed.

Silence.

Jake pulled you off by your hair. Not hard. Just enough.

"You didn't stop," he said.

"And?"

His eyes were black. His chest was heaving.

"You're going to regret that," he said.

"No, I'm not."

He grabbed you by the jaw and pressed you against the wall, back to concrete, his body flush against your chest.

"You think you're in control," he said into your ear.

"I know I am."

"You're not."

His hand fisted in your hair. Tilted your head back.

"Open," he said.

You opened your mouth.

He pushed inside. Not gentle. Not slow. Rough and deep and exactly what you'd been waiting for.

"You wanted to play," he said, thrusting into your mouth. "Now you're going to finish what you started."

His hand held you in place. His hips snapped forward. He fucked your mouth like he'd been holding back the whole time and he had finally snapped.

You gagged. Tears pricked your eyes. You didn't pull away.

"That's it," he groaned. "That's my girl."

He was messy. Sloppy. Spit dripped down your chin. He didn't care. Neither did you.

"I'm close," he said. "You're going to take all of it like a champ right?"

You looked up at him. Nodded as best you could.

He came with a choked sound, buried deep in your throat, and you swallowed everything. Didn't miss a drop.

He pulled out. Stepped back to admire you.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Looked up at him.

He was wrecked. Hair a mess. Chest still heaving. Looking at you like you'd just ruined him for anyone else.

"Good girl," he said, voice hoarse.

You stood up. Fixed your clothes. Fixed his.

"We're going to be late for class," you said.

"I don't care."

"You should care. You're a tutor."

"I'm your tutor." He kissed you. Soft this time. Almost sweet. He took your hand. Led you back toward the door.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

"Same stairwell?"

"Same stairwell."

You laughed. Pushed the door open.

The hallway was empty.

No one knew what had just happened.

That was the best part, it was yours and Jakes dirty secret.

Parties weren't your thing anymore. Or maybe they were, but you'd rather be on Jake's couch, wrapped in his hoodie, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin while some terrible action movie played in the background.

But Jake had asked.

"Come with me," he'd said, tugging on the sleeve of his black button down. The one that made your brain short-circuit.

"Why?"

"Because I want to show you off."

"You want to show me off?"

"Yeah." He said it like it was obvious. "You're hot. I'm hot. We're hot together. People should know."

So now you were here.

The music was loud enough to feel in your teeth, and the lights were low enough that you could pretend no one was staring.

But they were staring.

Because you walked in with Jake's hand on your lower back, his fingers pressed into the curve of your waist, and everyone noticed.

That's Jake's girl.

Damn, they look good together.

You danced with Jake. You drank something sweet that he handed you. You met his friends properly met them, not just the passing introductions from before.

"I'm going to grab a drink. You want one?"

"Yeah. Same thing."

"Be right back."

He disappeared into the crowd.

That's when she found you.

"You think you're so special."

You turned. Wonyoung.

She was standing a few feet away, drink in hand, eyes sharp. She looked good she always looked good but there was something brittle about her tonight. Something desperate.

"Wonyoung," you said.

"Don't say my name like you know me."

"I don't know you. That's the point."

She stepped closer. "You think you've won."

"I'm not playing a game."

She stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell her perfume. "He's going to get bored of you," she said. "He gets bored of everyone. You're not special. You're just the one who said no first. That's all this is. A challenge. Once he wins, he'll move on."

"You already tried that line."

"Because it's true."

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

You tilted your head. "Because I'm here. And you're not."

Her face twisted. "You're such a bitch."

"And you're obsessed with my boyfriend. Which one's worse?"

"You're not even-"

"I'm not even what? His girlfriend?" You smiled. "I am. He asked. I said yes. Sorry you had to find out like this."

Wonyoung's face went red. Then white. Then red again.

"You're lying." She looked like she wanted to throw her drink in your face. You almost wished she would. At least then you'd have an excuse.

But before she could move, a hand landed on your waist. Jake.

"I leave for five minutes," he said, voice calm, "and you're already causing trouble."

"I'm not causing anything. She started it."

Jake looked at Wonyoung. His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes went cold.

"Wonyoung," he said. "We've talked about this."

"Have we?" She laughed. "You've been ignoring me for weeks. You don't return my texts. You don't even look at me anymore."

"Because I have nothing to say to you."

"You had plenty to say before."

"That was before." He stepped closer to you. His hand stayed on your waist. "Before her."

Wonyoung's eyes flicked to you. Filled with something ugly.

"I'm going to say this once," Jake said. "Stay away from her. Stay away from me. If I hear about you coming near her again, talking to her, texting her, even looking at her I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what you've been doing."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Wonyoung stared at him. Then at you. Then back at him.

"I loved you," she whispered.

"No." Jake shook his head. "You wanted to win me. There's a difference."

She didn't respond instead she turned and walked away.

Jake's hand was still on your waist. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, she's not worth my energy."

He watched your face for a long moment. Looking for cracks. Finding none. You let the silence stretch. Let your heartbeat slow. Then you looked up at him.

"I've been meaning to tell you something."

"I got a 95 on the test."

Jake blinked. "What?"

"The exam. The one you've been tutoring me for. 95 percent."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Show me."

You pulled out your phone. Opened the grade portal. Turned the screen toward him.

95. Right there. Jake stared at it. Then at you. Then back at the screen.

"You did that," he said.

"We did that."

"No." He shook his head. "You did that. I just explained things. You did the work."

"Jake-"

"95 percent." He was smiling now. The one that made your chest ache. "That's my girl."

Your face went warm. "Don't."

"My girl with the 95."

"Jake."

"My girl who's going to pass the class with flying colors because she's smarter than she gives herself credit for."

"Okay, okayyyy"

"My girl."

He kissed you.

Not hard. Not desperate. Soft. Slow. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"I'm proud of you," he said. "Like, really proud."

"I know."

"Like, I'm going to tell everyone how proud I am."

"Please don't."

"Too late. I'm already texting Sunghoon."

"Jake!"

He was already typing. Grinning. You laughed. Hit his chest. He caught your hand and held it.

"Same time tomorrow?"

You looked at him. The cocky tutor who'd gotten under your skin. The guy who remembered your coffee order and mopped on Mondays and looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

"Yeah," you said. "Same time tomorrow."

He kissed you again. And the party kept playing.

But neither of you noticed.