“Hey, you.” You lean against the doorframe, hiding your hands behind your back.

Today, the sight of your boyfriend makes your heart race faster than usual.

“Hey, baby.” Jooyeon’s smile stretches wide. The wheels of his chair spin as he turns to face you, arms already inviting you for a hug. “You’re back.”

“I have a little surprise for you,” you say, your voice dropping an octave to sound even more mysterious.

“Your period is over?”

Your brows furrow for a second. “Yes and no… It is over but why would that…”

Jooyeon puts a hand on his chest, his face twisting into a theatrical mask of agony. “These five days have been long and torturous, baby.”

You blink rapidly as you take a brief pause before answering. “Anyways,” you shake your head. “I got you an early birthday gift.”

“Oh my,” he breathes, straightening up a little; his eyes suddenly light up with a captivated surprise.

“Sit down,” you say, still standing at a safe distance.

He nods once, his lips stretching in that boyish wonder of his. “Yes, ma’am.”

From the doorframe, you can literally see how his pupils dilated; how he radiates this breathless intensity while rubbing his palms against the fabric of his pants. You have his full attention and his curiosity is almost electric.

“Close your eyes.” You step forward, keeping your hands strictly behind your back. “No peeking.”

“Shit,” he lets out a low chuckle, his brows shooting up. He shuts his eyes but the grin stays permanent on his lips. He can’t help but try to guess: “Is it that…”

“Better,” you cut him off, smiling just as big as him now. The excitement is impossible to contain.

You hold out the tickets in front of his face. “Okay, open.”

First, his gaze focuses on the bold letters. Then, on the logo staring back at him; it’s a logo he’s perfectly familiar with and a small grin starts to form slowly on his lips. He reads the words silently, his brows then crashing in confusion.

“What,” he whispers, grabbing the paper from your fingers so he can look closely. His eyes dart across the text speedily. “Did you print these out yourself?” He laughs. “Since when are you so handy?”

For a second you only blink at him, puzzled. “No! Why would I joke about this? They’re real, baby. I got them for you.”

“These are World Cup tickets, baby.” He mutters quietly, looking you straight in the eyes.

“And we are going,” you say, chest swelling with pride and joy.

Jooyeon stands up so fast he almost falls on his face. He looks at the tickets, then at you, then back at the tickets… then, he yells.

They are very real.

“Are you serious?” He drops the paper on the bed, the biggest dumbfounded expression splitting his face as he grabs you by the waist and spins you around. “Are you crazy?? How???”

“I’ll do anything for you,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Happy early birthday.”

Jooyeon stares at you; dark eyes, gleaming so bright that you can feel your heart grow warm as you get lost inside them. A moment passes and you notice his gaze begins to sparkle with actual tears.

He sets you on the ground and cups your face, the action rushed and a little harsh due to his strong excitement; it only makes the breathless kiss even sweeter.

“You are crazy,” he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. “You are the most incredible person on the planet. And you are my girlfriend.”

“I am,” you nod, chuckling along.

“How did I get so lucky?” The question slips as a low whisper.

Before you can say or do anything, he jolts, as if he got struck by a lightning bolt.

“I’m going to the World Cup, baby!” He screams, sprinting into the hallway only in his white socks.

You watch him running a lap around the whole apartment, laughing at the sight of him pumping fists in the air, yelling for the entire building to hear. At one point, you are pretty sure you hear the balcony door open - then, him screaming in the open air.

When he bursts back into the bedroom, he falls to his knees in front of you; chest rising and falling in a wild speed.

“I actually can’t breathe,” he laughs, flushed with joy. He slides his hands up your body, surprisingly slow.

“You have a flight to book,” you say, the corners of your mouth curling at the view of his blushing face decorated with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

You brush a stray hair from his forehead. He is so handsome, gazing up at you with a sea of love in his eyes.

“Later,” he murmurs, quieter. “There’s something else I need to do first.”

A small, soft oh slips from your mouth.

Without breaking the eye contact, Jooyeon takes off his flannel shirt, leaving it on the ground. His hands then return on your body but not before they unzip your jeans, dragging them down your legs until they are tossed away too.

“Jooyeon,” you murmur before a quiet gasp escapes you - he guides you a step or two backwards until you’re pressed against the edge of his desk.

“Just stay right here for me,” he mutters, his body hot, flooded with want.

He leans in, his teeth grazing your skin as he grabs the hem of your panties with his mouth; simultaneously, his fingers are hooked beneath the elastic, pulling them down your thighs.

The new sparkle in your eyes makes him smile as he pushes one of your legs up, holding it with his secure grip while leaning in even further. His warm breaths come in perfect contact with your clit, the smirk on his lips gradually vanishing as he relishes your familiar scent, your pretty shape; the way he can already sense the delight that’s swirling inside you because you breathe faster than normal - and he hasn’t even properly touched you yet.

“Missed you, baby,” he whispers, low, his eyes fluttering shut as his tongue smoothly traces your folds. One thorough drag is all it takes for his cock to thicken. “I’m so fucking hungry.”

But his hands remain firmly on you, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Your breath shudders out slow as he flattens his skilled tongue against your heat, continuing the steady movements - he licks you at a low, easy speed, but lasciviously; sliding from your entrance to your most sensitive point.

A louder moan escapes you when he draws a deliberate circle around your clit, the patterns effectively strengthening the sensation before they turn into an open mouthed kiss.

“Fuck, you taste amazing, babygirl.” he groans, his gaze flicking up to see your face twist in pleasure. “You always do.” He brings two of his fingers, placing them in between your slick folds; they slide down with ease, then dip inside your warmth almost effortlessly. “Shit… already so wet.”

The thrill of his calloused fingertips between your pussy lips was enough to make your jaw go slack, but when they insert you, slow and fully - till they curve deep deep inside, - your breathing comes to a halt.

You moan his name, melting inside from the way he magnifies the pleasure, stroke by stroke.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and and pleasant. “Dripping just from my tongue. You deserve the best, baby. I love you, you know that, right?”

Though he barely looks because he craves to put his mouth back on you, his eyes finally lower - the very moment he pulls out his fingers; they’re all sticky and wet.

He quickly licks the mess up, then spits on the tip of his digits, smearing the moisture all over your folds before parting them with his tongue.

The shift in the energy shoots a wave of electricity through you on the instant; this time, he moves faster, more demanding. His jaw clenches as he completely focuses on the momentum, on the way your hips react, twitching positively against his face.

Your voice elevates, pleading, just like every part of your body as he pushes his fingers back inside you, keeping them moving up and down while his mouth moves against you, just the way you love it.

“Oh my god—“ you grab a handful of his blonde hair, pulling with desperation; it definitely hurts but he likes it.

Your head falls back as your thighs start to tremble; Jooyeon remembers that they always threaten to close when your climax is near, so he strengthens his grip, preventing you from moving (or collapsing).

“Good girl,” he breathes heavily against your skin, shooting you a quick look. “Stay still, baby. You’re so fuckin’ close, aren’t you?”

You nod in a rush, a whimpering sound slipping through your lips. You can’t form a word that isn’t please, or his name.

The squelching doubles in the room, the sound mixing with every small crack in your voice. Your arousal trickles down your inner thigh as Jooyeon’s firm, long fingers fuck you expertly; your walls throb and clench around them, like they know exactly what’s coming.

“You turn me on so bad, baby.” He pauses for a second, his touch shifting through your folds to press at your clit and rub softly. “But I don’t want to stop… I wanna keep eating this pussy,” he murmurs. Something in the way you squirm against his desk, or in the way your gaze - so gone and hazy - makes him chuckle, breathlessly and attractive. “You have no idea how sweet you are.”

You don’t answer right away, not with words at least. Your fist around his soft hair tightens, guiding him forward. Then, you whine something, you’re not sure what because your mind is entirely blurry.

When your walls are wrapped around his fingers again, they clasp onto them hard and tightly, and Jooyeon’s muscled tongue grinds again your clit instead of simply licking and lapping.

It grinds, good and harsh; again and again and again.

Until the scorching heat snaps. Your toes curl, your sweaty thighs close, but this time he allows it, meanwhile his curved digits stay inside you, keeping you full while you orgasm against his panting mouth, clit throbbing beneath his tongue.

You feel every spark of the relish, every single wave… when your eyes flutter open, you see him slowly back away with a deep sigh.

His handsome face is even more flushed now; his entire mouth is slick and shiny, his forehead glistens with sweat.

“That was amazing,” you breathe, gently moving your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” he agrees, looking into your dazed eyes. He unzips his pants, swiftly taking out his erected cock. His slick fingers close around the length; they’re soaked from your intense orgasm. “Now I can really start eating,” he grins determined, leaning forward after you sit on top of his desk, legs spread wide.

He’s never been happier. He feels so damn lucky.

— ♡ thank you for reading! || copyright © joocomics 2026 all rights reserved. do not repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms.

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It is not even 8:00 AM and your nervous system is already short-circuiting. As the junior creative coordinator for a fashion brand that’s desperately trying to look high-end, managing the autumn social media campaign was supposed to be your big break. But instead, it's a nightmare.

Around you, almost every single thing that could go wrong, goes wrong; with cheery pop music blasting in the background, clashing with the shouting crew members.

And then, as you balance a cardboard tray of coffees in your hand, the true catastrophe strikes.

Your phone buzzes in your other hand. You immediately answer, pressing it to your ear as you brace for impact.

“He’s not coming,” they say. “Food poisoning.”

The line goes dead and you freeze just as you’re about to hand a latte to the lead stylist.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening.

If you don’t find a replacement male model who can fit these clothes and actually wear them well by eight thirty, your head would be the first one on the chopping block. Your career will be over before it even starts.

You collapse into a nearby folding chair, your mind spinning rapidly. Most people are still alseep, others will demand triple the emergency rate... You have exactly thirty minutes to find a miracle.

Someone quietly steps into your line of sight, wearing the brand’s upcoming new distressed denim jacket, the fabric stretching perfectly across his broad frame. His black hair, freshly accented with blonde highlights he got for a recent shoot, has been expertly tousled by the hairstylist. Jungsu; the only stroke of good luck you had experienced all week. And also, the boy you had grown up with few doors down from each other in the same peaceful neighbourhood.

You weren’t inseparable best friends, you used to move in different friend groups, but you do share good, warm memories thanks to both of your parents.

“Is it that bad?” He asks, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Worse,” you groan. “The guy who was supposed to shoot with you had food poisoning. Now I have thirty minutes to find someone to replace him.”

Jungsu leans against the catering table, his gaze lingering on your face. You’re too busy scrolling through your contacts to notice the soft, protective look in his eyes.

“Well… in the meantime, why don’t I start with my solo shots?”

“That sounds good,” you breathe, already dialling the number you were looking for. “Thank you, Jungsu.”

Jungsu calls out to the brooding photographer, letting him know he’s ready to begin while you get some air. As he steps onto the gray paper, turning his camera persona on, you wait for her to pick up - the senior patternmaker on the design team.

She’s the kind of woman who uses every opportunity to show photos of her children. “Look at my beautiful boy,” she’s told you many times, holding up her phone with pictures of her twenty something son with perfect cheekbones.

Please, please, please pick up, you plead quietly.

Seven minutes later the deal is done.

Finally, when the door to the studio opens twenty minutes later, you turn around, expecting to see a grateful, excited young man, eager to save the day. Instead, you’re met with someone who clearly does not want to be here, his reluctance is well hidden behind a mask of cool detachment.

He’s tall, with an elegant, attractive face framed by rich dark hair; oddly enough, every strand is already neatly, no - perfectly - styled. Is this a warning to the hairstylist to not dare touch it? He looks to be around the same age as Jungsu, carrying that same youthful energy but with an entirely different vibe. Even dressed down in casual gray sweatpants and a plain tank top under an oversized jersey, he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine.

His dark eyes quickly scan the place, and while his expression remains guarded, you instantly recognise the icy edge in his posture before he even speaks. Then, they shift back to you.

“Are you the woman who weaponised my mother at eight in the morning?”

For a moment, you can only stand there, blinking. You quickly swallow the lump in your throat and decide to start by introducing yourself, like normal humans do.

“I’m the junior creative coordinator,” you make one step forward, trying to recover your professional composure. “And I didn't weaponise her. She is my colleague and I respect her a lot. I kindly asked her to help me a save a sinking ship. Nice to meet you...”

“Seungmin” he says, ignoring your outstretched hand. He takes a second to look past you; toward the vanity mirror where the hairstylist is busy tidying up some products. “Right, well... “the help” involved her threatening to cut off my car insurance if I didn't sprint down here to play dress-up. Where are these clothes so I can get this over with?”

Okay…

The stylist swoops in just in time, scanning his impressive frame and her eyes light up with hope.

In the meantime, Jungsu who just finished with his first shots, steps off the main stage, his eyes narrowing at the rude encounter.

An intense wave of adrenaline hits your veins as you brace yourself for what’s about to happen next. Yes, Seungmin is gorgeous, there’s no denying that. But he is also unpredictable. And clearly doesn’t want to be here.

You refuse to allow his moody behaviour to ruin your last and only chance to save this campaign, though. You have to make it work.

“He’s going to be a nightmare,” Jungsu mutters secretively when he steps beside you. “Do you want me to call my agency? I might be able to get a backup for noontime.” His voice is low, laced with familiar protectiveness.

You rub your temples, the pounding in your head finally starting to ease. Looking up at him, a small, appreciative smile touches your lips; one that makes Jungsu’s chest tighten.

“There’s no time,” you whisper; there's something comforting in the direct eye contact that follows between you, it makes the on-going storm in the studio fade in the background for a split second. “But thank you, Jungsu. Seriously, you’re the only thing keeping me from not going insane right now.”

As the words leave your mouth, it flashes through your mind just how much he has done for you. Jungsu has always just... been there. Throughout all these years, he's always been the one to pull you out of the fire. Even now, when you're supposed to be two independent adults living your own separate lives, here he is. Still showing up when you need it most.

He nods, his jaw clenching subtly as Seungmin appears from the dressing room, the stylist circling around him. He can see the way he looks at you - not with the compliance of an employee, but the sharp interest of a hunter.

The stylist had thrown him into a gray wool coat over a dark turtleneck; the exact counterpart to Jungsu’s denim-and-leather look. He slides his hands into the pockets as he steps in front of the gray backdrop. When his head tilts back, his gaze drops to the camera lens. It’s not a practiced model face, but a pure look of unbothered indifference.

And it works.

The camera clicks. The photographer yells: “Yes! Hold that stare!”

The camera clicks again. Then again.

Seungmin shifts his weight, turning his shoulder to the light. He looks cool, completely detached from the world around him, yet there's something so sensual about his dark gaze. You watch him on the monitor, iPad in hand. Jungsu watches him while leaning against the table, lifting a bottle of water to his face.

Neither of you can look away.

You can’t help but lean closer to the monitor, lips parting in awe. For the first time all morning, the scowl leaves your face. “Wow, he’s a natural…”

Hearing your praise, Seungmin shoots a sideways glance at Jungsu, eyebrow slightly raising in a silent challenge. Two minutes ago, he didn’t care about this damn shoot, but hearing the admiration in your voice… it makes him want to hear it again.

“Great,” the photographer nods. “We’re good on the coat.”

Several other promotional solo shots follow, and with each one, the studio starts looking more like a silent war zone. An interesting kind of rivalry forms between the two models; an obvious one.

In the next thirty minutes, you notice that neither of them looks strictly at the camera - they are too busy looking at each other now, matching pose for pose, each eager to be the one who makes you nod in approval.

“They have amazing chemistry,” the photographer whispers to you as the stylist hurries to welcome the two men for the next wardrobe change. “It’s edgy and… intense. Very nice. Do they know each other from somewhere?”

“No…” you reply, slow and quiet. “I don’t think so.”

You can only stand there, clutching the tablet to your chest, entirely oblivious to the weird undercurrents vibrating through the air. What’s this bizarre clash of egos?

You can tell Seungmin has a tricky personality. It’s obvious he absolutely hates that he was dragged here. You figure that he secretly wants to do the job flawlessly while simultaneously being as difficult as possible just to spite everyone in the room.

But what you can’t understand is why Jungsu is biting so hard.

The Jungsu you know is a calm guy who never lets people like Seungmin get under his skin. He knows how to lock into his own craft, he stopped wasting time comparing himself to attention seekers a long time ago. He simply focuses on himself and his work. For years he’s tried to teach you the same, reminding you that life is easier when you tune out the noise and focus on your own growth. Yet, every time Seungmin takes a step forward, he breaks his own rule, matching him with a look of raw intensity you’ve never seen from him before.

Why are they acting like this? You wonder. You simply can’t comprehend what this rivalry truly is about or what it means. Or, what are the reasons behind this unprovoked attitude.

Or, why your own casual praise acts like gasoline.

Three minutes later, the two boys emmerge from the dressing room. This time, their outfits don’t contrast, but instead match with the same casual aesthetic.

You push the confusion to the back of your mind and take a breath.

Jungsu wears a heavy knit, gray crew neck sweater with relaxed fit trousers. Seungmin, on the other hand, wears an oversized charcoal hoodie under a structured vest with dark gray cargo pants.

The temperature between them immediately drops when you walk into their space. They stand about three feet apart, both of them suddenly shifting their focus entirely to you.

You stop in front of Jungsu first; to straighten the thick knit of his sweater. “Great job on the solos,” you offer an encouraging smile.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his tone slightly softening. His posture relaxes as you smooth the fabric over his shoulders with a light touch.

“Let’s tuck just the front edge into the waistband, give it that effortless French tuck,” you suggest as he stands perfectly still.

As your fingers work the fabric around his waist, Jungsu can smell the subtle floral scent of your perfume; you’re so close. He can’t help but gaze directly at your face, wishing you could look up, see the heat inside him through his eyes. But maybe it's for the better that you don't - there's a high chance of him melting on the spot right there and then. His temperature has risen from the heavy, thick clothing dangerously high enough already.

“Perfect,” you chirp, patting his arm while turning your attention to Seungmin.

“Am I getting the French tuck treatment too, boss?” He arches an eyebrow, watching you with an amused, lazy smirk.

“No,” you answer bluntly, entirely focused on his outfit as you step right into his personal space.

You reach for the hood of his sweater, pulling it out from beneath the vest and slightly smoothing it against his back. Then, your hands move to his chest in order to adjust the heavy zippers so they hang symmetrically.

Seungmin doesn’t move. And he doesn’t comment on anything, but his smirk noticeably fades. He stays surprisingly quiet, simply tracking the faint dark circles under your eyes, a result from your frantic morning. He also notices the small lines between your brows the second they furrow in stress. To his own surprise, he finds that those details don’t take away from how pretty you are; they make you even more interesting to look at. You’re not some perfectly manicured, artificial model, one you’d expect to meet in an industry like this. You are… real. And gorgeous even when thoroughly exhausted.

“The sleeves look too neat,” you complain, grabbing his left arm to push the knit fabric towards his elbow, roughly messing up the neat folds as quick and efficient as possible. “There… they shouldn’t look like a stylist just spent ten minutes on them.”

“Whatever you say,” he murmurs lowly; his voice comes out strangely intimately for a crowded studio.

Jungsu shifts his weight, his expression tightening all over again as he forces his attention on his shoes.

He dislikes how comfortable Seungmin looks with you. And he further dislikes that you don’t seem intimidated by him at all. In fact… it looks like you’re starting to feel comfortable with him too.

You step back, looking at both of them with hands on your hips, analysing the looks and the way they look effortlessly fine together despite the tension. As you study them silently, you can't ignore the way your knees suddenly feel weak; their gazes fixate entirely on you, both dead serious and anticipating, but the underlying emotions are undeniably different. In one pair of eyes, there's a distinct softness that feels like a quiet anchor in all of this chaos. In the other, there's something entirely unfamiliar, a sharp, knowing look that no one in the room could possibly understand.

You force your feet to step back and look away, swallowing the little lump in your throat. With a strict enough tone, you briefly introduce the parallel city concept which is supposed to feel cool and urban, then move onto the instructions.

“Alright, listen,” you point between them. “Jungsu, I want you looking off-camera to the right. Look thoughtful, like you’re waiting for the train. Seungmin, you stay on the left. Put your hands in your pockets, slouch just a little bit, and look straight past the lens. You aren’t friends, you aren’t enemies, you’re just… two guys occupying the same city landscape.”

“So, ignore him?” Seungmin asks, casting a brief glance at Jungsu. “Easy enough.”

“Just play your part, okay?” Jungsu retorts, voice tight. He takes a few steps, positioning with ease.

Shoving his hands deep into his cargo pants, Seungmin lets out a short, quiet laugh. His shoulders drop into a casual slouch that somehow looks impressively photogenic.

“Perfect! Don’t move!” The photographer shouts in excitement behind the camera.

The studio lights flash.

Jungsu's polite boy next door energy melts away as he adjusts his stance, projecting a commanding charm.

“Perfect, Jungsu!” You cheer from behind the screen. “That’s exactly the look we need.”

A tight smile wants to make its way on Jungsu's lips, but he remains composed. His chest expands as he catches your eyes brightening.

But Seungmin is not about to let him keep that victory. On the next click, he shifts, matching Jungsu's intensity with such magnetic power that makes your heart skip a beat.

“They look incredible,” you whisper excitedly to the stylist who steps beside you. “Look at them.”

The praise hangs in the air like electricity. To you, it’s a professional feedback to keep the energy up. But to the boys standing inches apart, your words are fuel poured directly into fire.

“Seungmin, drop the chin just a little bit,” you instruct as the shutter goes in rapid succession. “Excellent.”

Every compliment you throw out doesn’t easen the tension - it weaponises it. They’re fighting a silent war to be the only owner of your approval.

“Let’s bring it a little closer,” the photographer waves his hand to adjust the lighting grids. “Imagine you’re passing each other on a crowded sidewalk. I want a near miss frame. Don’t make eye contact.”

You step forward, the volume of the competitive energy in the room magnifying with your nearness.

“Jungsu, start from the left side. Seungmin, you’ll go from the right. On the photographer’s count, just cross paths naturally.”

“Naturally,” Seungmin repeats with a mocking edge to his voice. He walks to his starting mark, hands still hidden in his pockets, his dark gaze locked on Jungsu.

Jungsu takes his position silently, shoulders straight. There’s something fiercely protective about the expression he makes. Like he owns this territory.

“Action!”

They move at the same time; Jungsu with a steady, purposeful stride, Seungmin with a loose, predatory grace. As they close the distance in the centre of the gray backdrop, the space between them suddenly shrinks.

They were supposed to pass seamlessly, but Seungmin didn’t yield an inch of the centre line. His broad shoulder bumps into Jungsu's with a heavy, deliberate thud.

Jungsu stumbles half a step. “Hey, watch it!” He snaps, stopping dead in his tracks, then turning around.

Seungmin turns too; with a slow, unbothered smirk that doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. “The director said crowded sidewalk. People bump into each other. Get used to it.”

“You did that on purpose,” Jungsu’s voice drops in an unfamiliar way; usually it sounds mellow and velvety, now it only sounds threatening. “You’ve been throwing attitude since the second you walked in here,” he steps closer, his chest heaving under the sweater. “She’s trying to do her job and you’re treating this like it’s a joke.”

“Guys, please,” you say, your heart suddenly skipping as you step toward the edge of the backdrop. “We’re almost done.”

“I’m doing exactly what they want.” Seungmin’s smirk widens, condescending. He keeps his attention strictly on Jungsu, like you’re no longer there anymore. “Maybe if you spent less time desperately seeking approval, and more time focusing on your posing, we’d be wrapped by now. But I get it. It must be hard watching someone else do your job better than you.”

That was the breaking point.

“You arrogant prick,” Jungsu snaps. He lunges forward, grabbing the collar of Seungmin’s vest.

Seungmin’s reaction is instantaneous - he grabs Jungsu’s wrists, twisting his grip so he can break his hold and shove him backwards.

You shriek, dropping your iPad onto the nearby chair. “Jungsu! Seungmin! Stop!!”

The whole studio erupts into pure chaos, but before anyone can intervene, Jungsu’s fist flies, landing against Seungmin’s jaw.

After the sickening smack, Seungmin’s head snaps to the side, his hair falling over his eyes. A collective gasp echoes through the room as your jaw instantly drops.

You’re in disbelief with the satisfied smirk that spreads across his face; it lasts only a second before both of them hit the floor, tumbling into a chaotic mess of limbs.

“Separate them! Now!” The stylist yells, her voice cracking in panic.

The wardrobe assistant and the hairstylist rush to the set, grabbing Jungsu by the shoulders. Next moment, Seungmin scrambles to his feet, breathing heavily; he stays there, wordless and flushed, with a split bottom lip, but he looks like he’s ready to dive back in if he needs to.

Jungsu, on the other hand, shakes off the men with a violent shrug. His breathing is ragged, his eyes - dark like a storm. He is starting to rapidly sweat. The studio fans are working on full blast but they don’t do anything to cool the heat radiating from the anger that had suddenly erupted inside him.

“Both of you, stop it right now!” you shout, stepping directly between them. Your own chest is heaving too, your gaze cold from a mixture of anger, shock and disappointment.

The only sound that follows after is the frantic breathing of the two men standing on the now torn paper; one of them bleeding, both of them staring at you, waiting to see how you’re going to react to the disaster they had just created.

You take a slow, deep breath, forcing your racing heart down into your stomach. You’re not a referee. You’re certainly not their mother. You’re just trying to do your job, and you refuse to let two inflated egos ruin the campaign you had spent weeks pulling together.

When you finally speak up, your voice is entirely collected; for the first time the crew hears this kind of quiet authority from you and they freeze.

“Here is what is going to happen next,” you begin, eyes scanning Seungmin before cutting sharply over to Jungsu. “Both of you are going to walk over to the vanity chairs. The makeup artist is going to retouch your faces. And then, we’re going to continue this shoot smoothly, professionally. Not a single interruption. No one in this room deserves to have their time wasted because the two of you decided to treat a corporate set like a schoolyard.”

Neither of them answers; Seungmin’s dark gaze narrows slightly, while Jungsu looks down, a flash of guilt replacing the anger in his expression.

“Once the final picture is taken, we are officially wrapped,” you continue, your tone dropping an octave colder, “the three of us are going to have a serious conversation privately, and we will decide what your professional relations with this brand are going to look like moving forward. Am I understood?”

Jungsu gives a stiff, miserable nod, his gaze glued to the floor in shame. Seungmin just stares at you for a long moment before letting out a cynical sigh, turning to the makeup station.

“Ten minute break, everyone.” You announce to the room, breaking the spell of silence.

Without waiting for a response, you march out of the heavy doors, desperately needing to escape the heat of the studio. When you’re outside, you lean back against the railing, your hands slightly trembling as the adrenaline finally begins to fade.

I’m never working with Seungmin again, you tell yourself fiercely. No matter how incredible he looks through the lens, he is too much trouble.

Before you can spiral further, your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s a text - from Seungmin’s mother.

Earlier in the morning, right after he had nailed his first set of solo shots, you snapped a quick behind the scene photo of him and sent it to his mother as a thank you. Now, her reply is on your screen, long and emotional, making your chest twist as you read it.

Oh, sweetie, you have no idea what this means to me! Thank you so much. I’m sitting at my desk tearing up looking at this photo. I will be completely honest with you. Lately, Seungmin has been lost. He hasn’t been able to find a job to settle into, and the last IT consulting company fired him three weeks ago. He pretends he doesn’t care, but he’s been very discouraged. I was so worried about him… I am so incredibly happy that the two of you get to work together now. Please let me know how it goes and take care of him! ❤️

All her hopes are now heavy on your shoulders.

You close your eyes, letting your head lean back against the concrete wall. Banning Seungmin from the brand is going to be a lot harder than you thought.

— ♡ thank you for reading! || copyright © joocomics 2026 all rights reserved. do not repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms.

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Needing a quick hiding spot, you finally decide to duck behind the thick overgrown hydrangea bushes. You plunge into the dark shadows only to collide directly with a solid wall of chest and heat. First, you gasp. Then, a warm, calloused hand clamps gently over your mouth.

“Shh,” the familiar voice whispers right against your ear. “You're going to give us away.”

You relax and pull Seungmin's hand away from your face. “You scared the shit out of me, dummy.” You hiss under your breath.

For so many years now... you’ve been hiding together during neighborhood games, sharing sleeping bags at camp and scraping your knees on the same hot asphalt.

But tonight, something feels different. His touch carries a sharp, strong pull that brings a foreign sort of friction.

The hydrangeas force you inches apart; the space is barely enough for one person. You lean back against the fence, but your foot catches on a root. Instinctively, Seungmin grabs you securely by the waist, steadying you. And he doesn't let go.

Up close, you see how much his jawline has sharpened, it's no longer soft and boyish; the well fitted white tee shows how much his shoulders have broadened over the last two years as his chest rises and falls against yours. It's not just from running - the game just started.

He murmurs your name, his voice making your skin tingle like never before.

“Yeah?” you whisper, your heart suddenly hammering so loud you're terrified he can hear it through your ribs, or... feel it, through his hand pressed against your waist.

“Your...” his eyes drop to your mouth before drtifting back to your eyes. He swallows and then: “I think my bracelet got tangled in the ribbon on your collar.”

He doesn’t move; his hand remains suspended right at the dip of your collarbone, his knuckles hovering just milimeters from your bare skin. Like that, the familiar, comfortable warmth that defines your friendship turns into live electricity. A dizzying wave of whiplash hits you the moment his gaze lowers to your lips one more time, dark and intense.

Is this right... wanting your best friend to lean down, and erase those last few inches and kiss you?

“Found you!” A blinding beam of a flashlight cuts through the leaves, shattering the silence between you and Seungmin. The spell breaks as a triumphant shout erupts from outside the bushes. “You're out! Both of you! Come out, come out.”

HAN HYEONGJUN • THE DARE

🎧 now playing... eyes off you - prettymuch

“Are you insane?” Hyeongjun whispers, his face burning red. “Absolutely not, I'm not doing that. I'll look like a creep.”

“Come on, man,” Jiseok chimes in, “let us help you for once.”

“Just say the words, coward,” Jooyeon tosses a peanut at Hyeongjun's shoulder. “Tell her she's the hottest girl you've ever seen. Easiest fifty bucks you'll ever make.”

“Maybe don't...” Gunil tries to speak up, but Seungmin suddenly starts chanting, lifting his beer bottle in the air:

“This is the summer of Han Hyeongjun, everyone!”

Hyeongjun stands up on shaky legs. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. Fifty bucks cash! Jooyeon calls out behind him. You have to say the words!

As he walks across the lawn, the space between his friends and the oak tree feels miles long. He stops just at the edge of the picnic blanket where you and your friend are sat.

You, the prettiest girl he has ever seen, in the prettiest green dress he has ever seen, stop talking mid-sentence to look up, eyes narrowing slightly as you take in his tall, panicked frame.

“Hi,” he breathes, then clears his throat quickly, forcing himself to look down at you. “I'm... I'm really sorry to interrupt your evening, but I just... I had to come over here and tell you that...”

The words come out heavy, entirely ridiculous hanging in the cool evening air. Hyeongjun just wants to sprint back to his apartment and lock the door for a week.

Fuck those fifty bucks.

“I draw sometimes too,” he blurts out.

You blink, your defensive expression shifting into confusion. You glance down at the open sketchbook in your lap where a half-finished sketch of the park's fountain sits.

“What?” you ask quietly, watching him just hover there, his shoulders hitching up to his ears.

“Your... your sketchbook. I just noticed that you're drawing, and not reading, or... scrolling on your phone like everyone else. I'm sorry, that was incredibly awkward. I'll just... go.”

He can see the collective disappointment on his friends' faces once he turns around, but he doesn't care anymore. He’s relieved that he at least chose a normal, human sentence.

And then, just as he's about to take his second step, he hears your melodic voice, the tilt making his heart race faster.

“Wait!”

Not wasting a second, he turns, noticing your friend lean back with an intrigued smile. You shift on the plaid blanket, the sketchbook tilting onto your bare legs as your hair catches the last rays of golden hour light.

“Did you just use that as a pick up line because your friends dared you to get my number, or do you really draw?” you ask, observing his coy face with a newfound curiosity.

“A bit of both,” he answers, letting out a self-depricating laugh. “I'm Hyeongjun.” Though his neck feels hot like he has a fever, his posture visibly relaxes a bit.

“Nice to meet you, Hyeongjun.” You beam with the prettiest smile Han Hyeongjun has ever seen.

LEE JOOYEON • FISH OUT OF WATER

🎧 now playing... nothing really matters - madonna

You press your forehead against the cool glass of the charter bus window, watching the highway blur past. Two rows ahead of you, the starting defensive line is currently screaming at a nintendo switch screen, while across the aisle, the backup goalkeeper is meticulously wrapping his lucky athletic tape around his left shin for the third time this hour, whispering what sounds like a prayer to the gods.

Jesus, you hate football.

Footsteps echo down the aisle, cutting through the bass of a Kendrick Lamar track blasting from someone's portable speaker. You look up as Jooyeon slides into the empty seat beside you, a massive grin stretching across his face; he’s dressed in his usual varsity track jacket.

“Comfortable?” he asks, handing you a coffee, then slinging an arm over the top of the headrest.

You slowly close the laptop, giving him a flat, unamused look. “I have never felt more out of my depth in my entire life. Your teammate over there is literally kissing his… shin pads.”

“Hey, don't knock the rituals.” Jooyeon laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “You look like you're about to write a psychological horror piece instead of a sports article.”

“I really don't know how me getting dragged to this is going to be useful,” you say, gesturing vaguely to the chaotic bus around you. You take a sip, then continue: “People want to know why you crashed a golf cart into the university fountain, Jooyeon, not which Mario Kart character your teammates identify with.”

“But they already know about all of that. That's why I'm in the doghouse,” he points out, a ring of annoyance briefly tilting his voice. “If you just write a boring apology piece, nobody's going to buy it. Nobody’s going to forgive me. But if you show what happens here... how much pressure is not only on me, but all these guys, how hard we work and how we actually function when we aren't being idiots at frat parties... that's a real story.”

Your eyes narrow as you study the relaxed, confident tilt of his head a little more. “You know, I'm aware why you're doing this. You don't care about journalism, and you certainly don't care about the university’s newspaper. You just want me to write a stunning piece so you can get back on the field. And to make the campus girls forget you are a menace.”

Jooyeon's grin falters just for a second, a sudden serious flash crossing his eyes before he masks it. “Is that what you really think of me?”

“I've spent three years watching football players on this campus," you stand your ground despite the slight flutter in your chest; all because of the way he holds his gaze on you - like there’s absolutely nothing more important or interesting that could steal his attention right now. “Give me one good reason to think you're any different.”

Jooyeon continues looking at you for a long moment, the rowdy noise of the bus fading into the background between you. Then, a soft, breathy laugh escapes him as he shakes his head, reaching into his duffel bag. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, giving an ending to this conversation. He pulls out a slightly crushed paper bag, holding it out to you. “Blueberry muffin. To prove my dedication to the cause, you know.”

You stare down at the little bag, then up at his ridiculously charming face - at his glinting eyes which you see almost every day now. You let out a defeated sigh and accept the sweet treat, realising with a jolt just how easily he has woven himself into your life.

copyright © joocomics 2026 all rights reserved. do not repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms. | check out the dragon pony version here!