Mornings at the bookstore always start the same way.

The soft click of the key turning in the lock, the bell ringing at your presence. The quiet shuffling of your feet across the wooden floors. The aroma of your first coffee for the day mingling with the faint scent of books. The quickening rhythm of the city slipping through the glass windows along with golden patches of sunlight where the packed shelves stand in neat towering rows. It’s something you had grown used to, a comforting routine you cannot imagine unfolding in a different way.

You flip the bookstore’s sign to Open and take a sip of your coffee.

Just another day at work. Another day of unpacking books, arranging displays, and helping customers find the right story - nothing out of the ordinary. Those are your favorite activities to do.

And yet, your mind is drifting elsewhere.

More in particular, back to the day when a stranger, looking completely out of place among the books, wandered into the store. He didn’t stay long, but he stayed long enough to catch your attention; to make you want to take another secret glimpse of his unfamiliar face as you were dealing with two customers at the front desk.

He stayed long enough to leave an impression - and to make you immediately recognise him the second time he returned. Dark brown hair, slightly messy, but enhancing his attractiveness. Sharp, distinct face. Slim figure with broad shoulders. Bold flickering gaze.

You can’t mistake him, even his aura makes the air inside the store shift the moment he walks in.

The first time he just walked around mindlessly; hands casually resting inside his pockets as he scanned the shelves, looking like someone who’s killing time than searching for a book. He didn’t pick up anything nor did he ask you questions.

The second time, he stood in front of the non-fiction section for a little bit longer. You tried to keep yourself busy, but every time his black leather jacket interrupted the silence with a muffled noise, your eyes flickered to his direction on the instant. Wanting to find out what led somebody like him here made you curious of every small movement of his. You continued to follow his figure discreetly until you were foolishly pretending to be completing tasks on the computer.

It was an innocent curiosity.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, but why did it felt like you got caught when he came up at the front desk that day, and told you the things he did? With hands still hidden in his pockets and head tilted to the side as if he was the one analysing you, not you - him.

You replay the conversation in your head, word for word, because you haven’t forgotten a single bit from it. The same heat you felt in that moment rises to your face again.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask if I’m looking for a book?”

To be honest, you were surprised to hear such melodious voice. Perhaps, based on his sharp features and edgy clothes, you expected a more coarse tone, but eventually as you kept talking more, you realised it fits him perfectly.

“I… I thought you were in the middle of reading something so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“But you didn’t ask me the other day either.”

“I had customers who were purchasing books and you left too quickly.”

“Right, right, that makes sense. I was starting to think that I intimidate you.” He flashed his brows at you with intrigue. His expression remained casual as a flirtatious smirk settled subtly on his lips. “Or that you just like staring at me.”

“Keeping an eye on our customers while they’re browsing is a part of my job.”

After that response, his smile widened. No other stranger has ever smiled at you so comfortably like that before.

Based on his body language as he was getting closer it seemed like he was entertained by your answers. “When it comes to us… I think it’s me keeping an eye on you.”

You were at loss for words.

Keeping an eye on you? A guy like him? You like to think that you do possess a decent, acceptable amount of self-confidence, but one week later - you still can’t come up with a reason why he would be interested in someone like you.

You didn’t ask why. Instead, you tried to play it casual, dismissing his comment by asking if he was searching for a specific title or an author. That’s what he was waiting for, right?

He laughed - to which you weren’t surprised.

You know how to spot a reader; someone with passion for literature, someone who prefers getting lost in a fictional world rather than in the overwhelming reality. He is not one of them.

Lee Jooyeon is not a reader.

Truthfully, you doubt he's ever held a book open for longer than two minutes in his life. He’s the type of person who prefers entirely different sensations - to be outside, lost in thick crowds, banging rock music, alcohol and smoke, places where things happen all at once and they happen loud.

He did not tell you all of that himself, but it’s not hard to guess.

On his third visit is when you learned his name. That’s when you also seen him last. Lee Jooyeon - it suits his face perfectly just like the way his voice perfectly matches his lips.

“So why books?”

“I grew up a reader.” You slightly shrugged shoulders; to you that explains everything, but Jooyeon who was having a difficult time understanding you, was staring at you silently, expecting to hear more. “This is my favorite place to be.”

“Aren’t you too young to stay here all day? I thought only old people work in bookstores and libraries.”

To that, you chuckled, meanwhile, his expression remained the same - calm, as if he were merely stating an obvious fact rather than making conversation.

He was leaning against the front desk, elbows resting on the wood, his body tilted just enough to bring him closer. Close enough that you could see the sharp angles of his face - the strong cut of his jawline, the high curve of his cheekbones, and the sensual shape of his lips as they moved; close enough that you found yourself staring a little too often.

You remember the adrenaline rush tightening in your stomach from the closeness so clearly, it’s still lingering. It wasn’t fear, nor discomfort, just an unfamiliar thrill that caught you off guard.

But you didn’t pull back. Nothing was stopping you from doing it, you simply didn’t mind.

You’re just not used to feeling like this… like you’re standing at the edge of something unpredictable, something a little reckless. You’re not the kind of person who seeks out such adrenaline rushes.

“I don’t know, it’s too quiet.” Jooyeon murmured after a brief pause - a pause that had you struggling to look away from him; at that moment his eyes were fixed on the glass door, watching the people walking by on the street. “Time must pass too damn slowly here. I’d hate it.”

And that’s when you knew for sure. He is the opposite side of the coin.

After that, you finally asked him what he did for a living. He said he worked at a bar but didn’t mention which one. You could have pressed for details, but you didn’t. Not because you weren’t curious, but because you didn’t want to seem noisy, like the type to show up unannounced, to dig too deep into a life he wasn’t quite willing to share yet. So instead, you shifted the subject, asking him how he spent his free time - something easy, something casual. Pretty much, the things he already knows about you, - but he didn’t really respond to that either, not directly, anyway.

Once again, he brought the focus back on you without you even realising it. Eventually, you’ll notice he does that a lot.

“Depends,” his voice was thoughtful as something darker was dancing in his eyes, “I’d like to spend some of it with you, though.”

Your breath caught for a split second. “Here?”

A smirk, that at this point, was getting familiar to you, creeped onto his lips as he shrugged shoulders. But his voice sounded serious as he said: “As long as the cameras don’t catch us.”

It must’ve been written all over your face - how caught off guard you were, how you struggled to form a response. You didn’t want to push him away, but you didn’t know how to handle someone like him either; someone who said things so boldly, so effortlessly, making you question whether he was serious or simply teasing. And last, but not least - because you refuse to disobey the rules and ethics of your job.

Before you could answer, the bell above the door chimed, and a customer walked in. Undeniably, you were relieved.

Of course, Jooyeon noticed. The smirk appeared again. “Maybe next time.”

That’s what he said before leaving - the day you learned each other’s names. Exactly five days ago.

And now? Now, you can’t stop looking at the door.

No matter what task you’re trying to complete - sorting through deliveries, rearranging shelves, wiping down the counter, - you find yourself glancing up at the entrance. Just like you did yesterday. And the day before that.

You tell yourself it’s ridiculous, that you’re only wondering, not waiting.

And then, an hour before your shift ends, just when it starts to rain, he walks in.

For a split second, you think you’re imagining things. That your mind is playing tricks on you, conjuring him up just because you had been thinking about him too often.

But there he is, standing at the door. His dark eyes scan the store before they spot yours. He looks the same - messy hair, slightly worn out graphic t-shirt beneath his leather jacket, posture lazy, but somehow controlled.

And yet, something in your wordless exchange feels different. Could it be because he was anticipating this moment too?

You feel your fingers tighten around the book you’re holding, slightly too hard, so you turn back around to place it on the shelf.

“Were you waiting for someone?” The question comes out with a teasing tilt beneath his calm voice, like he already knows the answer - the answer you’re going to refrain from telling him.

“No.” Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You startled me, that’s all.”

Jooyeon’s lips quirk upward in amusement, but he doesn’t call you out on the lie. Instead, he closes the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps. “Really?”

That same feeling in your stomach, a mix of nerves and something warmer you don’t know how to name, because you’ve never felt it before… it’s magnifying as he stops behind you.

You glance to the side, acknowledging the lack of space between you as you exhale. “Yeah, really.”

The bookstore is already too small…

Jooyeon hums, unconvinced; his hand lifts to fix a crease in the collar of your shirt.

Your heart stutters at how casually his fingers move. This is the first time he touches you, not directly, but still… how does it come so effortlessly to him?

“Uhm, I have to take these down to the stockroom.” You pick up a pile of books, trying to distract yourself from the bubbling excitement in your chest. It makes your heart pound too fast, it almost feels unhealthy. “I’ll be right back.”

Before you even have time to protest, he swiftly steals half of the novels from your hands. “Let me help you out.”

Together, you go down the stairs leading into the stockroom. Jooyeon follows after you, quietly watching where you’re going to place the stack of books so he can leave the rest there too.

“Are there more?” He shoots you a quick look before running a hand through his hair.

“Uhm, there are some deliveries left to sort, but…”

“Let’s go then,” he cuts you off, already heading back.

“Wait, you don’t have to help me, that’s—“

“I told you I’d like to spend some time with you, didn’t I?”

You watch him hang both of his hands over the railing; a flirtatious smile creeping on his lips.

You can only stare at him. An excitement and a sense of wonder over what could happen next intertwine inside your stomach.

“It’s okay,” he says more quietly, catching onto the fact you feel slightly guilty, this is your job, after all. “You’ll buy me a coffee or something.”

And like that, he runs up the stairs.

Thanks to his help, the task got accomplished way quicker, but you barely had time to think about it; you were moving on autopilot, too occupied by pondering why he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

─── ✍︎

Jooyeon had been here for less than five minutes, yet the day already feels completely different. Completely new. You try to keep it cool but the adrenaline prickling beneath your skin at the sight of him makes it nearly impossible.

“This is for you.” You slide the coffee towards him across the counter. “For helping me the other day.”

“Ah!” Jooyeon nods, pressing his lips into a thin line, but you can tell he’s holding back a grin. “You actually bought me a coffee.”

“I did,” you mumble nervously as you fail to read the sudden shift in his expression, “don’t you drink coffee? I can get you something else if—“

“No, I do drink coffee, thanks.”

Jooyeon’s fingers curl around the paper cup. They’re long, slim, but as you admire their movements, you get the impression they’d feel firm and assertive against your body.

You force to look away, to focus on anything other than his hands, when you catch something else - something small, but noticeable enough.

A fading bruise around his knuckles. It’s not fresh, but it’s obvious enough to make your stomach tighten.

Jooyeon’s voice cuts through the space between you, low and teasing. “I was just hoping to get something else.”

You glance back up at him. “Like what?” The question drops from your tongue quickly, unplanned. Perhaps if you just took a second to observe the smile in his gleaming eyes more closely before speaking…

Jooyeon shrugs shoulders nonchalantly. “A kiss maybe.”

He’s not testing the waters. He’s diving right in.

“Oh,” you breathe out, sliding palms across the desk.

The possibility of his lips on yours makes the ground feel unstable beneath your feeet.

“What? Is it too greedy?” He laughs. “It can be on the cheek.” He turns his face, tapping his sharp jawline with a finger.

Heat rushes up your neck. You can’t help but feel exposed, like the desire is written across your face. Light embarrassment blooms beneath your skin, not only because he might notice, but because the craving stirring inside you is so undeniable.

You do want to know what he feels like against your palm; how he tastes under your tongue. You’ve been thinking about it night after night.

You lean in, elbows resting on the surface, mirroring his own. And then, your breathing stops from the gentle contact against his cheek.

The surprising thing is not how the kiss has you feeling - you knew that touching him with your lips would bring you butterflies, even if it’s innocently on the cheek just for a brief second.

It’s the way your body refuses to restore distance. Your figure remains leaning over the counter, eyes inspecting the face in front of you. His features are even more striking up close.

The pounding of your heartbeat is loud, drowning out the sounds of the street. The space around you blurrs like a painting, and the faint scent of his cologne only influences this surreal feeling even more.

You catch Jooyeon’s gaze dropping to your lips, only to flicker up and then lower again. He reaches to tease your bottom lip, brushing one thumb against it.

The unexpected touch almost has you lose your footing.

He inspects the texture of your mouth, the appealing shape of your lips, stretching the silence between you long enough to see you close your eyes. He’s enjoying it - your confusion, your excitment… the reactions you can barely hide.

The next second, you hear his voice murmuring…“Unfortunately, I’m too greedy.”

Right before he catches your lips.

It was inevitable. The tension was leading to this all along.

The action is rushed, resulting in you wincing over the desk and clenching at his jacket out of need to support yourself, but secretly - to bring him closer.

Your stomach twists excitedly at this new, rich feeling. He’s kissing you like he has you already figured out. Hands cupping your face, lips leading yours in an addictive dance that brings a fog to your brain. You cannot think of anything else except kissing him back, again and again.

His fingers press against your jawline, at the same time as his bold tongue licks your lower lip, swiftly making its way through. You let out a quiet inhale as your lips separate for a second only to meet again.

The thrill, wet and sweet, stirrs up the heat in your stomach. Somehow, something in that wave manages to clear a part of your mind.

“Jooyeon, we can’t,” you back away, shaking your head once at him; it feels woozy like the room is about to start spinning. “Not here. I’m working.”

For a moment, you struggle to look up at him. Did this really just happen? If you meet his eyes, will you want to do it again?

Your hands are trembling, you realise, when you unknowingly brush the tip of your fingers against your mouth.

Jooyeon hums in agreement, his eyes slowly looking away. “You taste just as sweet as you look,” he whispers before waving for goodbye.

You’re in bed, tossing around in poor attempts to fall asleep. But there’s curiosity keeping you awake.

You grab your phone to open Instagram. A handful of results pop up after you type his name.

Many random guys appear, none of whom are him. There’s a fitness trainer, a teenager, a soundcloud rapper. And then… one that by some chance could be him.

The username is vague, but the name Jooyeon is written in the bio. The profile picture is dark and blurry, maybe a city skyline or something? You can’t tell.

Two posts. 21 followers. 21 following. Private.

Unfortunately, that’s all.

Your eyes flutter shut as you exhale before looking at the glowing screen again. It could be Jooyeon. Or it could be a complete stranger with the same name. You don’t know.

But you kissed him… your fingers curled around his jacket as he pulled you closer with hands at the nape of your neck. And yet, you can’t confirm his name online? Something as simple as that?

You don’t even have his number yet.

But that didn’t stop you from welcoming his tongue in your mouth…

It’s so not you. This whole situation.

You toss your phone onto the mattress beside you; his name still stuck in your mind. It’s frustrating… not knowing when you want to discover everything about him so badly.

─── ✍︎

Few days later, Jooyeon comes back.

You’re just in the middle of displaying the Staff Picks sign when he walks in, shifting the rhythm of your calm routine with his presence.

The air inside the shop no longer carries just the scent of books, not since he started coming by. Now there’s something else. A restless anticipation that coils in the back of your brain, unabling you to focus on your day the way you used to.

Is he going to stop by today?

When is he going to walk in?

What if he got bored of you and you never see him again?

Is this a crush? Why are you waiting for him? Why do you feel like this?

The hours of waiting settles into the atmosphere, causing the space to feel different as it mingles with your perfume; the same one you bought with your first paycheck, and used to save for special occasions because of how ridiculously expensive it is. Ever since meeting him you started wearing it to work - ordinary days, even when there’s no certainty he’d show up.

But you put it on nonetheless. As though you want to be prepared, but for what?

Once he’s actually here, your mind finally stills.

“You look pretty today.”

Pretty… something about the way he says it tickles your brain.

“Thank you,” you say, hoping the heat won’t fully reach your cheeks.

For a moment, he simply watches you with that maddeningly enticing gaze, so inquisitive in his usual calm manner.

As you go behind the counter, just to avoid looking at him for too long, Jooyeon tilts his head, exhaling through his nose before speaking.

“By the way,” he slips hands into his pockets, a contemplative edge settling over his expression. “Have you seen my lighter? I’ve been looking everywhere, but I can’t seem to find it.”

“Your lighter?” you tilt your head, brows furrowing as you think.

“Yeah.” His voice slows, thoughtful. “I might’ve dropped it somewhere around here… or down in the stockroom.

“I haven’t seen any lighters but I can check downstairs just in case.”

Jooyeon straightens a bit. “I don’t want to take up your time if you’re busy, though. I can swing by the shop across the street.”

You hesitate just for a second hefore shaking your head. “No, it’s fine. My break’s almost up anyway.” You catch his gaze for a second longer. “We can look together.”

You grab the keys and head to the front door, flipping the sign to be back in 15 minuters and twisting the lock with a quiet click. Behind you, you catch a glimpse of one of his fleeting smirks.

The soft snap of the lock echoes faintly in the still air, and it reminds you - in a few short steps, the two of you will be alone, tucked away behind closed doors. In a space no one else can enter.

You’ve searched every corner - behind crates, shelves, under the stack of delivery boxes by the back wall. But the lighter Jooyeon is looking for is nowhere to be found.

“Well… that’s a bummer,” he mutters with a soft sigh. “It was a cool gift from one of my friends.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, crouching beside another stack of boxes, moving them to the side to check. “It’s probably hiding somewhere stupid.”

“Probably,” he murmurs above you.

You glance up to find him watching you. Close, hands still tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He looks like he’s thinking something but hasn’t decided when he should say it yet.

“You’re staring,” you say with a quiet, nervous laugh, returning your gaze to the dusty floor, “instead of searching.”

“You make it too easy,” he answers; the words casual on the surface, but tense underneath. “Besides, you’re already doing fine on your knees.”

You try so hard not to instantly blush as a small smile tugs at your lips in spite of yourself. You push to your feet, brushing the back of your pants instinctively.

“No lighter,” you glance around. “If it turns up somehow, I’ll let you know.”

How exactly? You don’t even have his number.

For the first time in a few minutes, you and Jooyeon properly lock eyes.

“You’re sweet.” He smirks… in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

Here it is… The word he used the other day. After you kissed.

Is this repetition on purpose? Is it some sort of a sign that something is about to happen again?

“You’re always so sweet,” he adds, head tilted just slightly as it seems like he is concentrating more on your body language rather than what is leaving his mouth.

His voice still carries a flirtatious edge - in that casual, effortless manner of his that has you wondering if he really means the things he says.

You shift, not uncomfortably, just aware of the space between you…of the tension that’s making it feel smaller and hotter than it actually is. Of the low thrum in your chest that picks up when he speaks like this.

“There’s no cameras here?” He suddenly asks, eyes flicking up to the corners of the ceiling as he takes a quiet step closer.

“No,” you reply, your voice lower without meaning to be.

“That’s strange.” A glint of amusement lights his eyes. “Anything can happen in a place like this. You’d think they’d be more responsible, right?”

“It’s a small independent store so,” you mumble as a nervous shrug rolls off your shoulders, “but yeah, maybe they should.”

You shift on your feet as the space between you shrinks so much you’re unsure where to look - his mouth, his eyes, or the sharp line of his neck - a sight so captivating it makes you salivate.

His lips are dangerously close now, and your mind involuntarily recalls the taste of them - a taste you’ve never quite been able to forget.

You can’t help the blush creeping onto your cheeks as his hand finds your jaw, gentle but sure. His gaze falls on your lips, confidently, like he’s certain that he’s going to conquer them soon.

“Do you want this as much as I do?” He leans in; his warmth brushing against you.

As if your body doesn’t already give it away, you nod. Your fingers catch lightly in the fabric of his t-shirt as an attempt to steady yourself.

Jooyeon’s other hand shifts to your hip, but it doesn’t rest there. His thumb drags once over the curve before he intentionally guides you two steps back. The patience between you getting thinner and thinner.

“Are you greedy like me?” He asks next.

The same moment your back bumps into the edge of the stockroom table. It’s wide, sturdy and cluttered, half-buried from empty boxes, a stack of customer orders and another with extra copies of books already displayed. Not the kind of surface you’d expect to be a part of a scene like this, but here you are - pressed against it, with Jooyeon’s nearness becoming almost like a weight on your skin.

You shake your head dismissively. You wouldn’t describe yourself as greedy. But one thing is for sure - you do want that feeling again, the one that lit you up like a match when you kissed at the front desk that day.

“No?” The corner of his mouth twitches mischievously. “I can tell. You’re one of those good girls that take what they’re given and never ask for more, aren’t you?”

“I’d say so,” you mutter, voice tight.

And the next second, you’re kissing - wet, rushed and open, all teeth and heat as your hands can’t stay still. You can hardly keep up, but you don’t have much time.

You reach to grab at the leather of his jacket, but this time, Jooyeon lets it slip off his shoulders.

You don’t stop kissing as his hands find your waist again, pinching your skin beneath your shirt as if he wants your body to get familiar with his touch as soon as possible.

This is inappropriate your brain repeats over and over again. Not here… But your body has never felt this way before. How are you supposed to resist a guy like him?

The realisation of your doing hits you the moment you lift arms so he can remove your top.

“Fuck, look at this,” he grunts in approval, tugging at your lace bra so your nipples poke out, “such pretty tits.” He leans forward, catching one of them with his mouth.

Your lips part as he groans against your skin, mouth closing around your breast with hungry intent, like he wants to leave a mark. A whine escapes you before you can catch it, sharp with desire and laced in embarrassment; his sounds are eager, unfiltered, making your skin burn hotter.

His lips release your boob with a pop, only to be replaced by the warm lick of his tongue. He laps at your sensitive nipple, drawing another shaky breath from your lungs. All the while, his fingers, unwilling to waste a second more, undo the button of your pants.

The fabric slips down your legs and puddles at your feet with a soft thud, the sound oddly loud in the cold, quiet space. The excitment flooding your veins is brand new as cool air meets your bare skin, making you shudder. Not from cold so much, but from how exposed you suddenly feel. From the way he looks at you. His dark eyes are gleaming with something close to triumph, like having you like this is a victory.

“If only we had more time,” he muses against your throat, “I’d eat you up.” His bold tongue slides up your neck, ending in a wet, open mouthed kiss just below your ear.

Your whole body ignites at his choice of words.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He rests a palm against your panties, getting familiar with the outline of your intimate pussy lips. “You’d like it if I press my tongue right here?”

“Yeah,” the answer escapes you in the form of a moan, edged in desperation. “I’d like that...”

Another moan slips - quieter and discreet, but just as needy. His middle finger pushes against the wet patch you’ve created; slow, teasing circles.

You wish you could vocalise the things you want like he does. Easy, effortlessly.

“Fuck, bet she tastes even sweeter.” An airy chuckle drops from his tongue, slightly mocking yet so erotic - like everything that comes out of his mouth.

The following second, your breath turns even, your jaw goes slack - after a quick, swift adjustment of your panties, the same finger, long and slim, slides inside you.

“Holy shit,” Jooyeon gasps; his voice warm on your face as he glides further, “you’re tight!” His playful demeanour shifts to something serious when his gaze finally drops as he begins to add his ring finger. “I’ll have to strech you really good.”

You squeeze right away, tighter, hotter - it makes him groan in sync with you as one of your hands grabs onto his shirt.

“Jooyeon,” you trail off, feeling how the rush follows the steady rhythm of his touch. Back and forth, drowning in your arousal. “Fuck—”

You’re unsure what exactly you’re asking for. All you know is that you need him even closer. All of him.

But your words keep stumbling in your throat.

“Shit, listen to this, baby.” A smirk of mischief tugs at his lips, his two fingers now pumping in and out of you quicker. “So fucking soaked,” he murmurs, wanting to see you flustered over your own noises.

He also wants to hear your reaction once he curls them just right.

“Fuck!” your voice cracks, your head tilting back, helplessly.

The burning heat in your core rises strikingly, making your lower half twitch. Undeniably, your composure is slipping, causing the arms holding you in place to halt, your chest and shoulders - to heave.

“One more,” Jooyeon says, slowing the pace.

“More?” you slowly lift your head, gaze glinting with exclamation.

Not responding right away, Jooyeon signals you to sit on top of the table after emptying you. Once you settle, palms propped on the surface, he bends your knees, spreading you open with eyes drinking up the sight of you.

“You’re not gonna take me easy, babe,” he says at once, guiding his sticky fingers back to your entrance. “I don’t want to hurt this pretty cunt.”

The first two finggers slip in smoothly, your body welcoming them with a slick, needy pull. But the third, despite how wet you are, slightly struggles. Jooyeon doesn’t rush, just presses slowly and precise. Your whine elevates higher, thinner - the stretch burns, just a little, unfamilliar and sweet, as your walls pulse, trying to adjust.

“Almost,” he murmurs, a thick string of spit suddenly hanging from his lips. Soon, it lands, instantly trickling down your slick while you tremble around his fingers. It does soothe the sting a bit, and your walls let him sink deeper. “There you go,” he coos. “Look at you, all full.”

The words come out like a praise, but the smirk behind them makes them feel like a sneer. Maybe it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does… but it does.

“Oh m-my God…” you choke in wonderment, consumed in the fullness, in the warmth winding tighter with every second. You curl toes in the air, already close.

Jooyeon watches you like he’s trying to memorise it all - your flushed pretty face, your parted lips, the disbelief in your expression as he pushes until he’s knuckles deep inside you. The wet, messy sounds you make are loud, squelching excitingly. But what really gets to him is you and how far gone you already are.

“I’m gonna—” you gasp, your voice barely holding together.

“Just from my fingers?” he comments satisfied, keeping the calculated motions, like he’s studying you second by second; drag after drag. “Go ahead,” he says and his tone dips so low allmost like a threat. “I won’t stop until I feel you sqeeze tighter.”

“Please,” you pant, closing your eyes shut, “don’t stop…”

The tension coiled in your belly is now unbearable, the stretch has faded into something electric. Your thighs tremble around his wrist as he maintains the pressure steady, fingers angled perfectly.

“Let me feel it,” his mouth brushes your warm cheek as he whispers. ”Come on, babydoll…”

Then, you do. You break; your cry catches in your throat before tumbling out in a desperate, wrecked sound.

“Good fucking girl.”

Soon enough, Jooyeon’s hand stills, letting your body ride it out as you shudder close to him. At first he watches silently, your slick dripping onto his palm. Finally, he says: “Should we replace them with something else now?”

You blink at him, your breath starting to even out.

“Tell me.” His free hand moves on the back of your neck to bring you closer.

But what makes you wince surprised is the smack, firm and unexpected, landing directly onto your aroused clit.

“Y-yes,” you breathe out, then bite your lower lip.

“Fuck, you enjoy this too?” Jooyeon asks impressed, locking eyes with you before slapping you again. Then, again - same place but doubling the pressure.

You fail at suppressing your moans, raw, with slight guilt beneath them… because you do, you’re enjoying it so much. Every small nerve in your body keeps reacting to his touch, no matter how light or strong it is.

No matter how gentle or… degrading.

His hand stops at once, but he remains near, inspecting the twitching of your lips.

“Ask for it,” he insists with an unrelenting tone.

“I want it… please,” you breathe, his sharp eyes dizzying you. “Give it to me,” you try again.

But he still doesn’t budge.

“I want it…” he murmurs slowly, tilting his head, waiting. “Please…?”

“Please, Jooyeon…” you finish.

He steps back.

You can finally draw in a breath.

It’s both ridiculous and amazing… how strongly you can crave someone who you barely know; how despite your desire for him, his proximity steals the oxygen right out of your body once he closes in.

Jooyeon titters, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Relax, pretty. I’m just messing with you.” He glances at his belt, undoing it with quick, yet still laid-back motions. “I’m not your first, am I?”

“No, you’re not,” you answer, immediately catching the relief that slips from his mouth.

In the next moment, your gaze curiously flickers to his crotch. He doesn’t bother removing any other clothing - he lowers his jeans just enough to pull it out and settles in front of you; your legs easily welcome him by moving around his waist.

The sight of his erection suddenly near you quickens your pulse with exhilaration. He’s the kind of size you’ve only gotten the chance to see on your laptop screen, but never in real life.

He lifts his bruised hand, spitting on his fingertips. His steady, relaxed strokes smear the shiny moisture along his skin, lightly brushing over the swollen, flushed head before lowering it.

You don’t miss a single movement of his - his erotic actions, the seductive aura radiating from his body… they’re enough to fuel you with a new wave of pleasure; genuine pleasure and marvel you’ve never felt before from watching or reading any erotic content.

Then, he suddenly snaps you out of your daze. “I don’t take care of girls during sex,” he says, “I fuck them.”

“Okay.” You reply; too quickly, too lame. The regret bites you immediately.

Jooyeon chuckles, low and husky. “You’re cute.”

His snickering deepens your embarrassment, making you wish you could turn back time.

This doesn’t distracts him, though. He drags the head of his cock up your slick folds with slow precision. Each glide of his tip over your sensitive clit sends a jolt through your core. Your hips twitch as a helpless mewl escapes your lips. Then, your head falls to the side, gaze locked on the way he massages the bud while collecting more from your arousal. And you feel it beneath your skin, in your tightening core too - how this maddening teasing can take you there again…

Soon, he pauses, right at your entrance.

“Keep them open like this for me,” he presses one hand into your thigh, holding you wide as he starts to sink in.

Each inch stretches you open, slow and steady. Your breath catches, eyes fluttering shut as your throbbing walls hesitate to take him fully. The friction is perfect, though, electrifying.

Your mind starts to blur, your thoughts slipping into deep haze with each push of his hips, flooding your system with a thrill of rapture. This leads you to completely forgetting about your surroundings.

Like you’re here, but also somewhere else at the same time… floating from pleasure.

“Fuck!” Jooyeon groans, squeezing his eyes as you grip him to the base. “Fuck yeah, baby.”

Your eyes roll back, a broken sounds spills from your lips. He starts to move freely, hips rolling into you with force. The rush that had been teasing you till this moment, explodes into euphoria.

“Ah, good fuckin’ pussy…” he hisses, the slamming of his body against you echoes around the stockroom, mixing with the pressure in his voice. “I knew it’d take me well.”

Before you even have time to register it, he grabs your leg, throws it over his shoulder, forcing your body to tilt back. Now, after this small change in the position, everything hits differently.

“Oh, fuck!” You whimper, nearly forgetting how to breathe from how good it feels.

Your dazed eyes flicker to Jooyeon’s face. His mouth hangs open, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. He’s concentrated, restless… and staggering attractive like this. Completely lost and wild in the feel of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he overpowers your sounds with a groan. “So deep, right? My whole cock’s filling you up, you feel it?”

You feel it in every part of your being. It’s soaking your bones, wrapping your mind into a fog you never want to leave.

It’s hard to describe but he keeps hitting something inside you, something secret that makes you grip him harsh every time he finds it. Like a button you didn’t know existed.

“So deep,” you whimper, nodding overwhelmed. “Please… p-please, don’t stop, please...”

Jooyeon’s lips twitch, pleased. The changes in your behaviour, in the way you look at him breathless… it feeds something primal in him.

“Who knew a sweet doll like you could moan like that?” His darkening gaze fixates on your face. “You sound like a true whore, sweetheart.”

The way your innocence melts with each thrust without your manners disappearing arouses him more than he expected. He’s used to straightforward girls with big, bold mouths. Girls who climb into his lap before even asking for his name.

You squeal when he slams in just right, and instinctively your hand flies up to cover your mouth.

Jooyeon easens the pace, sensing you’re close. He rolls his hips deeper, slower, letting the moment stretch. “You’re such a pretty sight right now,” he breaks the silence at once, “hiding down here, letting me use you however I like.”

You’re trying to catch your breath but it’s difficult when he’s still inside you, hard and throbbing against your walls.

Without a warning, his hips crash into you, smashing that sweet spot. Your hips jerk and you squeal desperately once more.

Your eyes quickly flicker back at him when he reaches for your chin. The movement is sudden and demanding as his fingertips sink into your flesh.

“You feel that?” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “How you squeeze my dick when I’m rough with you?”

“I do,” you whisper in response.

It’s true - his rough grip comes with an exciting thrill that makes your core muscles pulse; your skin flushed and buzzing. Meanwhile, in your chest there’s warm anticipation spreading - to feel him do it again.

To feel him move the way he did a moment ago. Those slow drags feel almost cruel now. You’re willing to beg if he asks you to.

“And you call yourself a good girl?” He presses his fingertips harder, just for a second before letting go, tilting your head to the side.

Your voice rises on the instant once he resumes his previous, fierce pace, pulling needy sounds from you that you can’t contain even if you tried. With each second, they only turn louder, transforming into something pornographic - but you’re not in the right mindset to dwell on that. If you did, you’d realise you can’t remember the last time your voice raised this high.

Jooyeon groans, unable to control his voice any longer either. “Yeah, keep screaming like that… you naughty slut.”

With one swift motion, his arm knocks the stack of empty boxes off the desk. They crash to the ground and before you can register the sound, he lays you back.

His actions are rushed and commanding. There’s nothing gentle about them, and yet they feel so good.

Your gaze meets the ceiling, but not for long; the strong slamming of his cock, over and over again, has your vision blurring, your breath stuttering.

The desk creaks loudly beneath you but all you can focus on is the wild pleasure tearing through you. A wave so new, threatening to snap any moment.

“Fuck, come around me, slut!” Jooyeon growls. His grip strengthens around your hips, dragging you down onto him. “C’mon—give it to me.“ His head falls back, a guttural moan crawling out of his throat at the feel of your walls, tightening, so close to release.

Your back arches off the surface. Just when his gaze lands back upon you.

“Rub yourself.”

His command brings immediate heat to your cheeks. Despite feeling flustered to do something you’ve only done secretly under the sheets of your bed - your hand obeys almost promptly.

“Mm, good fucking slut,” he draws out, voice thick with hunger. “Show me how you do it, let me see…” his eyes watch the speedy circles for a moment before returning to your bouncing chest. “Faster… rub that pussy faster.”

You choke on your sounds as you hurry to succumb to this demand too.

It’s an irresistible combination… his powerful thrusts and the additional stimulation on your clit; his husky voice, condescending, and the fierce nature of his touch regardless on which part of you it lands… All these separate sensations blend effectively together, throwing you over the edge.

And then it happens. His name falls from your lips - soft, breathy, unplanned. Just before you fall apart.

“Jooyeon—“

It happens so fast. You don’t even realise you’ve said it until it’s in the air.

Despite it all, Jooyeon hears it.

And even after the eventful night which follows that day, it’s the sound of your voice moaning his name that he can’t get out of his head.

─── ✍︎

You know people have different definitions of what happened between you and Jooyeon. You also know that he doesn’t seem the type to lay things out clearly, to make promises and pretend to be someone he’s not… to want to put a definition on what happened between you just yet.

Or… ever.

You may not have as much experience as him, but you understand how guys like him view relationships.

Two days have passed and you’re furious with yourself for caring. You told yourself it was fine if it was just a one-time thing - a little excitement to break the monotony of your routine. People your age do it all the time. It shouldn’t mean anything.

And yet, every time the store’s door swings open and it’s not him walking in, a quiet disappointment tightens in your chest.

You do care.

You’re not someone who can kiss a person casually without getting attached. You’ve never been. Then how did you get here? Kissing a guy like him who has trouble written all over his face… over his knuckles.

The memories flash through your mind - his hands on your skin, his mouth claiming yours, the way his eyes burned into you… and you question them. Could they really mean nothing?

You rise on your feet and start reorganising books on the fantasy/sci-fi shelf, desperate to silence the noise in your head. But your thoughts shift yet again. Back to that brief moment behind the counter that day…

After you went back upstairs, he reached across the counter, stealing a small, colorful piece of paper from the stack near the register. Then, he snatched your pen too.

His handwriting was a little messy, but his bruised fingers moved with ease. There was no hesitation, like whatever he was writing didn’t require consideration.

“In case you find my lighter,” he said; his voice was back to casual and smooth.

You remember how he slid the note your way, how your fingertips brushed against the paper before picking it up. The same pink paper that’s currently hidden beneath your phonecase.

“I could’ve just added my number into your contacts,” you smiled.

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged, “but isn’t this something a guy in a book would do?”

You can call him.

If he wasn’t interested in you at all, why would he give you his number after you had sex? But then… why should you be the one to reach out first?

Your fingers twitch toward your phone, still buried in your back pocket, but you hesitate.

Maybe you’re overthinking it. Maybe he’s waiting for you to call. Or maybe he isn’t.

The bell over the store’s entrance chimes, your heart leaps before you can stop it. But it’s just a middle aged woman with a list clutched in her hands.

You exhale out of pure frustration at your own self. It’s ridiculous - this anticipation. You have work to do, a life to live. You are not the kind of person who waits around, checking their phone every five minutes because of a guy.

You don’t want to be.

─── ✍︎

It’s a quiet afternoon, an uneventful workday that makes time pass slower than usual. You’re outside the bookstore, coffee cup in hand, savoring the last minutes of your break in Jiseok’s company. He drops by often, always bringing you a fresh pastry and a drink from the café across the street where he works.

Though brief, his presence is a welcomed reprieve. Even the most meaningless conversation with him feels easy and you get along effortlessly.

Eventually, he glances at his watch, sighing. “Time flies.”

You’re both about to say goodbye and head back to work when a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

Jooyeon.

He’s across the street, stepping out of a sleek black car. After slamming the door shut, he turns, scanning the passing crowd. Then, his gaze finds yours. But he doesn’t wave. He doesn’t call out or cross the street. He just leans against the car with focus locked on you.

Seeing him for the first time after that day immediately ignites back the familiar warmth inside you. This time, however, it’s mixed with frustration. And maybe something else, slightly more dangerous, but still unknown.

All these days… and not a single visit. Not even for five minutes. He left you thinking that maybe that was it, that maybe you meant nothing more than a hook up.

Jiseok, unaware of your distraction, pulls you back in the moment. “You good?”

You blink, forcing yourself to break the eye contact. “Yeah,” you nod as if shaking off a spell. “I should get back inside too.”

Jiseok stretches, exhaling deeply through his nose. “See you later then,” he says before turning. “Or tomorrow if I don’t catch you.”

“Thanks for the coffee!” You chirp, stepping inside the bookstore.

The city noise fade as you walk behind the counter; the anticipation has your heart racing, your mind counting the seconds left until the bell chimes.

You have no idea what to expect, nor enough time to run through the possibillities; to consider the best and worst ways this encounter could unfold - because before you can even steady your pulse, he’s already here.

His lips curl at the sight of you. “You never called.”

His tone is light, and he’s watching you closely, measuring your reaction from a distance. He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed so you can’t be sure if he’s really waited for you to call as he makes it sound. If anything, he’s clearly amused.

“I never found your lighter.”

“Ah, I see…” his voice dips lazily.

That’s when you notice it - a faint streak of red on his left brow.

He steps forward, exhaling a short laugh as he leans onto the counter, bracing himself on his elbows. He’s a breath away - you can smell the faintest trace of smoke and mint clinging to him, - but your gaze drops, softening as it lands on his hands.

The small, fading bruise you’d noticed before is gone, replaced by several fresh ones. Darker, angrier. The knuckles of his right hand are raw, the skin split in places, a stark contrast against his pale complexion.

You can’t play along anymore.

“What happened?” Your fingers move forward before you can think twice; it’s so delicate that it barely feels like a touch, but it’s enough to make Jooyeon tense and pull away.

Startled by the sudden movement, you glance up. You wouldn’t call his reaction dismissive, it’s something else - a moment of surprise or perhaps even panic. A second later, you figure it out - you’ve never really… touched him.

Not until he’s touched you first.

The silence between you grows thick, pressing in from all sides. Thankfully, he finally speaks up. “Thought it’s obvious.” He forces a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reaches his eyes.

You glance briefly at his lips. For some reason seeing them unharmed brings you a strange type of relief.

“It is,” you murmur, “but I want to know if it was something serious.”

“Why?” Jooyeon tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharpening.

Faking nonchalance crossed your mind for a moment, but you immediately decide against it. If you want honesty from him - you need to be honest too.

“You’ve learned so much about my life from being here,” you admit. “But I know nothing about yours.”

When his hands return to the counter, they don’t stay still this time. Absently, they tap against the wood as his own attention shifts to the bruises too - fresh memories of the previous night. His lips part slightly, as if he might say something, but he hesitates.

The unreadable expression on his face makes your stomach twist with something close to irritation. You don’t need a full explanation, not right away. All you want to know if he’s trying to open up. If he’s even willing to let you in.

Because the truth is, he’s already slipped into your life effortlessly. And you like having him here.

“I got into a fight at work, that’s all.” He says, and this time, it’s dissmisive.

Pushing for more won’t get you anywhere so you look away, nodding. “Okay.”

He barely gives time to your answer to settle between you.

“I want to kiss you.”

Your gaze snaps back at him.

“But I don’t want to cause you trouble.” He doesn’t rush to continue. He lets his words land, watching how they shift something in your expression.

A faint smile plays at his mouth as his focus drops to your lips, and like that - the alluring spark of pine in his gaze vanishes, getting replaced by something more intense. As if causing you trouble is something he secretly wants to do because it sounds entertaining.

What should you say?

Not now.

I want to kiss you too.

What we did last time can’t happen again.

Not now… but don’t go. Wait for me.

Your head spins with options, each one laced with consequences.

“Something on your mind?” He tilts his head, watching you like he sees right through you. That makes his easy smile last a moment longer. “What? You don’t want me here?”

Once again, it hits you just how much he doesn’t fit in this place. Not with that smug grin and unfiltered mouth. Not with that scarred skin and black leather jacket steeped in cigarette smoke.

And you try, you really do, to resist all of it. It’s clear what he’s here for. But what if deep down you want the same?

What if you’e growing an addiction?

“Look, customers will be coming in soon,” you murmur, eyes skimming anywhere but his, “I won’t have time to talk anyway. Maybe come by another day?”

Jooyeon’s features tighten, like he’s struggling to process your words. With a swift motion, his hand catches your name badge and pulls you closer.

“Is that what you think I'm here for?” The lower tone, intimate and quiet, sends a shiver down your spine. “To chat?”

His ravishingly carved face… his alluring eyes, practically daring you to give in… it all makes your thoughts falter.

You wet your lips without meaning to, just as he lets go of your badge, letting it fall back against your chest. A dry chuckle escapes him as he watches you stay frozen in place.

Exactly the reaction he expected.

And then, suddenly he’s close again; his voice softening with a hint of secrecy. “Your body says otherwise.”

“What I mean is… this can’t turn into a regular thing,” you say quickly, like if you don’t say it now, you’ll never say it at all.

His brows lift, curious and amused. His gaze trails down you body with slow precision, searching for any signs of hesitation. Then, your eyes meet again. Yours are glassy, soft from longing mixed with restraint. His - lit with intent.

“This…” He repeats the word with a pensive tone, letting his lips quirk into something maddeningly cheeky.

He wants you to finish the sentence.

“The stockroom.”

“The stockroom…” He hums in playful contemplation. “You didn’t say no. So does that mean… you’ll take me downstairs one last time?” He straightens slightly.

Your breath shortens at the question laced in mischief. But still, no words come. You don’t need them. Instead, you step out from behind the counter, brushing fingertips against his hand as you pass. You flip the sign and lock the door.

You lead the way to the back; each step thickens the silence. Then, you push the wooden door open and close it behind him with a soft click.

In a flash, your back is pushed against the cold surface. Jooyeon’s bruised hands cup your jaw.

The kiss comes immediately. There’s tension, and something that makes it feel urgent. For a moment it has you thinking that maybe he’s been holding himself back all day. Maybe he’s been thinking of you all these days he didn’t drop by.

Maybe this is turning into something.

“Turn around.” He commands, forehead still pressed against yours, as if he wants to see you obey while also wanting to keep his tongue in your mouth for a little longer.

The voices in your head fade; your body listens.

Jooyeon takes your wrists, forcing them high against the door.

Your head turns to the side as the rest of you stills with warm anticipation. Soon, the thrill tangles with something stronger, more desperate as his touch slides down your sides, stimulating every single nerve in your body.

As if his hands know their way, he shifts, effortlessly unbuttoning your trousers without even looking. The clothing material grazes your legs, then the cool air hits the area between your thighs - your underwear is pulled to the ground too.

The presence of his touch is warm against your waist again, but this time accompanied by a steady squeeze from his fingertips. He grounds himself in the curve of your lower back, your hips and ass while his teasing lips trail the shell of your ear.

“Naughty.”

A deliberate slap lands on your cheek, forcing your mouth open. The sharp sound echoes throughout the walls, bringing immediate heat to your face - this might be the filthiest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“I don’t think you realise what a naughty girl you are.”

You jolt when he strikes again. Then - one more time, - almost erasing the thoughts in your brain for a moment.

The third slap is when the realisation hits you - how heavy Jooyeon’s hand is. You don’t need to see him to know he isn’t putting real effort in smacking you. And yet, the action makes you wince against the door with its stinging thrill every time.

“Do you?”

It takes you a moment to realise this is a question. All parts of your brain are completely distracted by his fingertips now near your pussy lips. They’re wet from his spit as he presses them in between, and the more they slide back and forth, the higher your body temperature rises.

“Jooyeon…”

Your mouth salivates, your fingers almost crawling at the door.

“I know baby, I know,” he coos in response, pretending to have some pity while inviting his fingers through your entrance. “You want it really bad, don’t you?”

“I do,” You let out a whine as you ever so slightly rock into his touch; chasing the rushing flood of delight. “So bad…”

Warm shivers coarse through you as his lips keep caressing the shell of your ear, heating it up with his breaths. His fingers curl towards the right angle, aiming deeper. As a response, your pussy flutters, producing alluringly wet sounds at every move.

“Yeah, that’s right… you do.” Jooyeon whispers, flexing his hand in order to hit your sweet spot in a relentless speed.

The pace intensifies in an instant; you can’t decide if Jooyeon is simply this impatient by nature or if it’s the stolen time pushing him to take what he wants fast. Either way, he knows you well now… he’s learned enough about you - pretty much, every spot that makes you melt with just a few flicks of his fingers.

The proof is there, in the way your legs threaten to buckle beneath you. In the frantic rhythm of your chest, rising and falling in quick, shallow waves. And in the sounds… so impossible to control or suppress, spilling out of you, echoing throughout the space.

“This pussy has been waiting for me,” he rasps proudly before his words melt into a lazy laugh, “my hand is fuckin’ soaked.”

Your lips part, a weak protest trembles in your throat, but it dies the moment his fingers curl just right. Your body answers before you, causing your spine to arch. “Please—” A helpless sound slips out. “Can I… please…”

Jooyeon’s lips let out a hushed laugh. His touch vanishes.

“Why did you tell me to leave if you want my cock so bad, darling?” He asks, landing another sharp slap to your ass; his tone rough and calculated, similar to his touch.

The question cuts right through the chaos in your head.

“I— I don’t know,” you whine, helpless from the fire under your skin.

Your parted legs twitch with anticipation, nerves crackling. The sharp sound of his zipper behind you makes your breath hitch. Instinctively, you turn your head.

Your eyes fall - his thick length is exposed, the flushed tip glistening.

A spark of desire pulls you forward. Without hesitation, you trail palms up his chest, kissing him. Your fingers find he hem of his shirt, eager to pull it up, to feel more of him - his heat, his skin, the way his body tenses under your touch.

But before you can take what you want, Jooyeon’s hand clamps around your jaw, halting your movement. Your fingers slip away.

“Did I say you can turn around?” He mutters with voice low and gravelly. His eyes narrow at you. “When did your little dirty hands got so bold?”

Your disappointment flashes too quickly to hide and he grins at it. Then, he twirls you back around, his hand pressing firmly on the back of your head.

“Stay there,” he instructs. His breath is hot against your neck as he pushes your cheek against the door.

The wood is cold, a sharp contrast to the burning heat across your skin, that’s also pooling low in your core.

You hear him behind you - the rustle of clothes, the deliberate rhythm of his hand as he strokes himself. After a moment, his hand settles on your hip, gripping with purpose; his hard length enters you in a single unrelenting thrust.

The sensation flows through you like a drug you’ve been craving to take for days. You can’t even make a sound. Just brace your palms against the door and remember to breathe as he adjusts both hands tight around your waist.

“One minute you’re all diligent and smart,” Jooyeon grunts, lifting a hand to press it against your head. “The next you go dumb. Not very convenient for a bookseller… don’t you think?”

The pace he sets is fast; every movement is angled just right, hitting the spot that makes your breath hitch. The sounds of your skin meeting fills the stockroom, echoing recklessly; erasing every last thought of caution you previously had.

“Maybe I should put my dick in your mouth to shut you up,” he says; you can hear the devilish smirk. “How about that, babydoll?”

His eyes rake over the curve of your spine, the way your ass bounces with each slick smack.

“Jooyeon—“ your voice breaks into a mewl, “please…”

“Please what?” Jooyeon lets out a wicked chuckle. “Begging me to fuck your mouth or to stay inside your small cunt? Speak.”

“Stay,” you plead, dangerously louder. “Stay inside me, please!”

“There you go,” he titters low, voice laced in artificial sweetness. His half-lidded eyes gaze down enticed by your jiggly cheeks. “The naughty slut can speak!”

Your orgasm builds and builds, wanting so badly to get you to your peak as Jooyeon’s hands grasp onto you, fingernails grazing your bare skin.

“I know you're a smart bookworm, sweetheart.” He says but you’re struggling to focus; your mind is too clouded, your whole body humming. “You just go a little dumb from my cock, but that’s okay… I kinda like it.”

You shriek - the climax slams into you, turning your brain blank. Jooyeon’s deep groan of approval vibrates at your ear.

“You liked that?” He asks, satisfied. Then, he thrusts one last time - so deep and hard that a white flash sparks behind your eyes. “You like creaming my cock, don’t you? So needy for it… you can barely stand.”

He pulls out with a sharp exhale, stepping back to create some distance but not enough to take his eyes off you.

For you it’s a little bit harder - your limbs feel like jelly, trembling beneath the weight of your climax. Your knees bend, and you remain squatting against the door, heart thudding in your chest.

Jooyeon stands there, face flushed and smug, watching you with a gaze that’s enough to pin you in place. Then, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

He pulls it out, but he doesn’t glance at the screen right away, instead, he stares at you for a second longer before answering.

“Yeah,” he says, low and flat. “I told you, I’ll be there.”

His eyes are still focused entirely on your face. Like the person on the other end isn’t of importance. Not right now, at least. Or not at all.

You can’t hear what the other person is saying, you can only watch Jooyeon pause, the eye contact remaining steady between you, unwavering. He slowly lifts his other hand, his index finger gesturing you to get closer.

Your breath catches as his lips part again.

“Not a problem,” he forms a half-smirk; at you or the caller - you don’t know for sure. He hangs up without saying goodbye, then walks to the desk to leave his phone. “What are you still doing there, doll? Legs not working?”

You open your mouth to respond but the words stick in your throat.

“Crawl then.” His smoot voice dips mischievously; the dark amusement shoots straight through you.

Before your mind fully catches up, your body is already obeying. Dazed, with knees against the cold floor, you make your way toward him slowly.

Jooyeon stills, savouring each second of the moment. At once, his fist begins moving along his throbbing cock. “Come on,” he drawls. “Before someone starts looking for their favorite bookseller.”

He knows you’re on edge because of the risk. He also knows you’re still going to choose to have a few more stolen minutes with him. And beneath his words he’s making fun of you for it.

Once you reach him, he crouches, and his hands find your hips, trailing over your curve before giving a sharp, possessive squeeze.

“Fuck, this body…” he murmurs more like he’s talking to himself, “drives me insane.”

Then, he takes a hold of your jaw, tilting your face until you’re forced to meet his eyes. “Up, up, up…” the intensity in his gaze doesn’t falter. “On your feet…”

You rise slowly, still slightly unsteady, but his other hand finds your waist to keep you anchored. “There you go… I think I can use you some more, hm…”

He guides you backwards until you press against the nearest bookshelf. The wooden frame rattles as your back meets it.

Before you know it, he’s holding your one leg draped over his arm, and shoving himself back into you with a groan.

The new angle is sharper, deeper… somehow even more striking than anything you’ve done so far.

Your moans spill out without restraints; Jooyeon, close enough to kiss you, swallows them all like air. Your voice is hoarse now, worn thin from the high pleasure coursing through you. But that new rasp, a sexy mixture of desperation and exhaustion is like a sweet, addicting treat on his tongue.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, trailing a hand up your figure only to rest it around your neck. “Look at the mess you become… and you’re gonna pretend you don’t want me around?”

Your jaw drops for a silent yelp, only for your teeth to sink into your bottom lip, preventing the approaching whimpers.

“Open,“ Jooyeon grunts, not approving of the possible silence. As he observes your mouth slowly opening again, his fingers tighten a little bit. “Yeah, baby, I wanna hear you… want you whimpering like a little bitch.” He squeezes at the sides of your throat, just to send a quick shiver down your spine.

You can’t answer. Not when his thrusts keep coming, not with the way your breath stutters at the weight of his hand. Not with the heat of his gaze that only darkens as you pulse around him.

Your hands search for anything to hold onto… anything to keep you tethered while your system floods with heat and passion. His demanding fingers remain locked as his perfect length drags amazingly through your trembling walls.

“Say my name,” he mutters.

Your palms fist pleadingly in his shirt, your eyes rolling back at your skull as the rush grows fast - too fast. The grip on your throat somehow speeding up the process to your release.

“Say my name,” he repeats, his voice rougher this time; not in a mean way but rather just… thirsty; craving something only he knows about. “Say it.”

The grip tightens and you open your eyes. You look like you’re about to shatter in his hands. Like he’s about to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

“J-Joo… Jooyeon—“

It comes out shaky and wrecked, but it instantly sinks into his fogged mind, sparking something inside his chest too.

His hand retrieves, and you cough once, unable to catch up easily with your breaths. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his frame; the high so strong it almost feels frightening.

A book or two tumble from the shelf as Jooyeon puts all effort into focusing on maintaining his motions, magnifying them, even as he’s close to falling apart just the same.

He’s drowning in the way you feel in that moment - hot, dripping, squishing tight - drowning in the sound of your voice breaking right at his ear. In the thrill of your fingers pulling on his hair.

Another title lands on the ground with a thud as he makes the final thrusts against you, sharp and quick, making your thighs quiver.

When he finally lets go of you, neither of you speaks, because neither of you really knows what to say. You just breathe, heavy and scattered. Dizzy and suddenly much lighter. But the feeling of something being left unsaid, unfinished, lingering in the thick air is definitely mutual.

You keep him company for a few minutes while he smokes a cigarette outside, then slip back inside after he leaves.

Not even a full minute later two girls around your age walk in. They offer a quick hello, polite but distracted, before going back into their hushed conversation.

But the store is small. You hear everything.

“No, that was him! Jooyeon!” The taller girl insists, barely lowering her voice. She picks up a book from the nearest shelf, but her eyes never leave her friend. “My sister went to high school with him. She had the biggest crush, but… his reputation has always been a little shady. She never told me details but it’s obvious he’s the kind of guy you’re better off staying away from.”

─── ✍︎

Luckily, Jiseok stops by the next afternoon, and that keeps your mind occupied with something else other than the things you heard yesterday.

You take another bite from the cinnamon roll he brought, listening to his story - a silly moment from work with his middle aged coworker; he had a lot of those, and he effortlessly made them ten times funnier with his theatrical gestures and impressive abilities to mimic the expressions of those involved in his stories.

Just as you burst in laughter again, the bell chimes, and the two of you see Jooyeon.

For some reason he pauses at the door. His gaze slowly alternates between you and Jiseok as his lips part. “Am I interrupting something?” His voice is steady but he doesn’t seem relaxed like usual. He recognises him.

You shake your head, still smiling. “No, we’re just chatting. This is Jiseok,” you point at the black haired boy beside you who hurries to wave. “He works at the café across the street. Keeps me well fed,” you laugh before picking up your cup to take a sip.

Jooyeon’s gaze falls on the counter - on the coffee, on the last few bites left of the sweet treat. Instead of getting closer to all of that, he chooses to remain on the opposite side of the store, leaned back against a near shelf.

“Perks of knowing a barista.” Jiseok offers a friendly grin.

“I’m Jooyeon.”

You turn to the boy next to you as he murmurs a quick nice to meet you. You catch his eyes briefly scanning Jooyeon, and you know he’s noticing the same things you are - the unreadable expression, the crooked, barely formed smile that looks forced, especially accompanied by his flat uninterested tone.

“Well,” he emits a sigh with an improvised look at his watch, “duty calls.”

And like that, you’re left with Jooyeon in the familiar silence of the bookstore.

Finally, he steps forward, gaze piercing through the glass door. “You two always do that?”

You raise a brow. “Do what?”

“This…” His hand gestures vaguely at the counter. “Keeping each other fed.”

“Oh, you mean the coffee? Yeah, he brings me stuff all the time.”

Jooyeon tilts his chin higher, fixating his eyes upon your face. “He brings you stuff all the time?”

“Yeah, sometimes he brings me whatever’s left at the end of his shift.” You shrug shoulders lightly, taking another sip.

“Must be nice,” he crosses arms in front of his chest, “getting free shit from your… café guy.”

“He’s not my café guy.” You laugh, holding onto your cup. “He’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, yeah. I doubt he thinks the same thing.” His lips curve into a smirk but his eyes have a flame that makes it feel like no other.

You hold onto his gaze, responding to that smile despite not being entirely sure of its meaning.

“Are you one of those guys who think a boy and a girl can’t be friends without it turning into something else?”

“I don’t know,” his voice slightly dips thoughtfully, “I’ve never really met a girl who only wanted to be friends with me.”

The corners of his lips curve as he pauses long enough for the implication to sink in.

“Not my fault.” He shrugs as you scoff. “You’re pretty chatty today,” he swiftly changes the subject. “Did that guy brighten your mood?”

“You mean Jiseok?” you remind him of his name. “I’m just having a good day.”

“I can make it even better.” His voice dips like he has something on his mind. “I want to take you for a walk.”

“For a walk?” You giggle. “Sounds like you’re planning to put me on a leash.”

Noticing a small tag that must’ve slipped silently from one of the new arrivals, you step away from the counter. As you bend to pick it up, Jooyeon shifts too, not leaving you out of sight.

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You strengthen, then turn around only to catch him smirking with intent. “Weirdo,” you roll your eyes.

But you can’t stop the flush that rises to your cheeks so you look away.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” He teases. “So, what do you say? Can I take you for a ride around the city or something?”

“I finish work at seven.”

The cool wind brushes against your face as you slightly roll down the window. The streets glow in passing lights, the road is quiet but not empty still. Jooyeon’s eyes gaze ahead as he keeps one hand on the wheel. His expression looks even sharper beneath the illuminating lights, even more magnetic.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as a moment of silence settles in his car - it doesn’t feel awkward nor empty, you’ve been talking a lot since he picked you up after work. In fact, this is your longest conversation with him so far.

Eventually, you turn to him, settling your vision upon his jawline colored in neon hues. “Which club do you work at? You never mentioned it.”

“I haven’t?” He murmurs almost to himself. Then, as the seconds pass by, he half-grins. “Can you even name a single club? Has a good girl like you ever set foot in such place?”

“Jooyeon,” you scowl at his teasing, “I know what a club is! I’m not that sheltered.”

He shoots you a quick glance, then looks back at the road. “Sure you do.”

“Drive me there,” you say before you can stop yourself, “I want to see it.”

Falling for someone whose past, and present, is still a locked door is not easy. It’s kind of terrifying even.

But right now, you feel some sort of spell in this intimate darkness that you share. You feel hope creeping through - that if you press gently, he’ll open up a little.

The turn signal clicks in the silence. Jooyeon doesn’t look at you as his grip slightly tightens around the wheel. “It’s not far from here.” He offers you a discreet smile as a response.

Your chest flutters warmly. It feels like you unlocked a small achievement.

With quiet anticipation, you sip on your drink. The music keeps humming from the speakers while Jooyeon drives, and it doesn’t take long before he slows down the car.

“Right here,” he lifts a finger, gesturing toward the building; though it’s a smaller one, it immediately grabs one’s attention with its flashing lights. “There are much better clubs, though. If you plan on going wild this weekend.”

You roll your eyes at the comment as he continues ahead.

You don’t know where he’s going to take you next, but you don’t mind. You don’t even feel the need to ask. All that matters right now is that you’re next to him.

You can explore the city with him like this, aimlessly and quietly, for what feels like forever.

─── ✍︎

You get the bad news a week later. The bookstore is closing.

Your boss and her husband have been talking about moving abroad for over a year, and now the decision is final. The paperwork is in motion and the shop’s days are numbered.

Fortunately, you’re not too affected, because you have your second job - copywriting from home, - and that’s steady enough to carry you through while you start the search for a new nine-to-five. Still, there’s a dull ache in your chest. You’re going to miss not only the two of them, but the place too. It holds a lot of memories.

You’re halfway through telling your closest friend the news over the phone, when you hear your name echo from the stairwell. You turn to see your boss emerging from the stockroom. Her eyes are bright with something you can’t read just yet.

“Is this yours?”

You glance behind your shoulder, still holding the phone to your ear.

She must have noticed the way your eyes bulge, because she grins before stepping forward to hand you the lighter between her fingers. “Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“Thanks,” you say slowly, still perplexed where could she possibly have discovered it. “But I—“

“You started smoking?!” Your friend squeals in disbelief through the speaker.

“No!” You murmur repeatedly; you almost forgot she’s still on the phone, overhearing everything. “It’s not mine.” You lower your voice as your boss returns downstairs.

“Oh… Ohhh!!!” Your friend connects the dots. “Is it… Have you seen him lately?”

“Not since that night.”

“Well, now you have a reason to call him! Right?”

“Yeah,” you say, hesitating. “That was the deal.”

“Or,” her voice shifts, a sly note creeping in, “you could just show up at the bar. Be spontaneous like him for once.”

“Isn’t that kind of invasive?”

“No, babe, it’s a night club! People are supposed to go there and have fun!”

“You know what I mean,” you murmur.

“I know, I know,” she says softer this time. “But come on. He drops by your work all the time! It’s your turn now.”

“Okay,” you run a finger along the edge of the counter, “I’ll think about it.”

“Which means,” she mutters lowly, “you’re going to chicken out.”

“No! I promise.” You manage a half-smile though she can’t see it. “Seriously, I’ll think about it.”

What you settle on eventually is to give him a call.

You’re not quite bold enough to just show up somewhere uninvited, not yet. Besides, between long shifts at the bookstore and the endless cycle of job applications, the idea of putting on real shoes for a club with banging music feels more exhausting than exciting.

So you call.

It rings. Once. Twice. Then goes to voicemail. You stare at the screen; something forms in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe he had a long shift last night and he’s catching up on sleep. Maybe he’s driving. Or maybe he left his phone in the car. He’ll call you back.

But he doesn’t.

Hours pass. You close up the bookstore just as the last streaks of daylight start fading, and head home. You choose the longer route this time, wanting to enjoy the cool spring air a little longer as the season is slowly nearing its end.

In one hand, you carry a newly released novel you’re excited to read at home, in the other - your phone. You dial again.

Maybe he saw the first missed call and meant to reply but got distracted.

Your heart is loud in your chest, your teeth chewing your bottom lip in anticipation. But the long signals just keep going. You count them one by one as they leave you without an answer.

─── ✍︎

You’re not stupid. You can see what’s happening here - Jooyeon got what he wanted, and now he’s pulling away, hoping you’ll take the hint without him having to say the words out loud. Deliberately turning something which at one point felt real into a casual thing.

Even after all the ways he made you believe it was more than that.

You keep analysing the ways he looked at you, the way he laughed at your silly retellings of the books you read, the way he lingered in the store like he didn’t want to leave. All of it felt genuine, real… but now, you have to face reality.

You have to admit it no matter how ashamed it may make you feel. You were tricked.

Someone who actually cares wouldn’t ignore your calls for two days straight. He’d send a message. A check-in. Hey, busy. I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Something. But he didn’t. He decided to stay silent, and that silence tells you more than any conversation with him could.

When your shift ends and you find him standing outside the bookstore, leaning against his car like nothing’s changed, it takes everything in you to keep your expression still.

You lock the front door, leaving the keys to hang in your hand. There’s a weird flutter in your chest and you can’t tell if it’s anger or something stupid like hope.

Maybe both.

You silently slide into the passenger seat. He doesn't look at you, just starts the engine and pulls into traffic like this is some sort of a continuation of your drive around the city date.

The streets start to blur, familiar ones. He’s driving towards your place. Of course he is. He wouldn’t want to complicate things further by taking you on another date.

After a stretch of silence, he speaks first. “How was your day?”

His voice is laced with tension - not too much, just enough for you to recognise it; it’s a similar kind of tension you heard from him the day he met Jiseok.

You turn your head slowly, watching him, unsure if you want to scream or laugh. You turn back around, fidgeting with the keys.

You don’t answer right away, you let the question hang between you, allowing it to enrage you with its normalcy - the normalcy he’s trying so hard to force.

“Busy,” you reply, “they’re closing the store.”

“What?” Jooyeon murmurs. His eyes flick to you, then back to the road. “Why would they do that?”

“They have other plans for the future,” you say, chewing on your lip.

“Bummer,” he sighs; he’s back to his usual self now. He’s back to Jooyeon who didn’t disappear for two days, Jooyeon who didn’t left you spiraling, overthinking every single action, every word you’ve ever said. “I’m sorry, I know you loved that place.”

“I called you few times.” You finally spit it out.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he brings a hand to his face, rubbing his chin; maybe that’s something he does when he’s nervous or when he’s lying. Time will tell. “Work got hectic. I was knocked out the entire weekend.”

He suppresses a laugh, then taps few times on the wheel as he approaches the traffic lights.

“So much that you couldn’t send me a single message for two days?” The words come out sharper than you intended.

A frown of disapproval settles on your face when you pierce his expression with your eyes.

Until he… snaps.

“I work at a night club for god’s sake!” He raises his voice, cold; louder than you’ve ever heard it. Too focused on the road, he misses out on the way your startled body flinches next to him. “Do you think I hear my phone every time it rings?”

You go completely still. His frustration fills the space and the car suddenly feels smaller, like the air's been pulled out of it.

A moment of hesitation follows as you register his words, his change of behaviour; the thick shift in his tone. You force yourself to look away. Instead, you peer through the window, watching the streetlights sliding past one by one.

Anywhere but him.

When your time to response arrives, somehow, your voice remains calm. Sure, it does feel a little bit thinner, maybe shakier at the edges, but it’s still gentle.

“I’m not saying you should answer every time I call,” you say quietly, “but I do expect the person I’m trying to reach to call me back the next day. That’s all. It’s what people do.”

You did good - you said how you feel while keeping yourself composed. Now, all that’s left is to not burst in tears before you get home. You can’t let him see you cry. You don’t want to cry.

But you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it in. It’s just… everything’s been too much lately. It feels like everything you’ve been clinging to is slipping right through your fingers.

Jooyeon doesn’t speak, not until you’ve reached your apartment and he parks near the entrance.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he emits a sharp sigh, dragging both hands through his hair. “It’s been rough the last couple of days.”

That doesn’t make you feel any better.

It only makes you feel further frustrated with yourself because you crave to enter his world and take some of the weight off his shoulders. But how can you - when you don’t know where any of that weight is even coming from?

“I’m not sure what to do with that.” You admit after turning to look at him.

His mouth opens, then closes again, like every single excuse he can come up with is too hollow and stupid. “It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

You can’t fight back the bitter smirk that forms on your lips. How can he not see it? It is simple… so, so simple. If only he lets you in...

You shift in your seat, arms crossed as your heart hammers, dangerously close to a heartbreak.

“Things have been crazy at work, and I just… I get in my head sometimes, okay? It’s not you.” He unbuckles his belt, turning like he wants to close the distance that’s still very much there. “Seeing you is the only thing I look forward to lately.”

Your heart twists at his words; at one of his hands coming in light contact with your face.

“Hey, look at me.” He coos, coaxing. You glance his way, reluctantly, and as a result he smiles - like that one look is completely enough. “Wanna come over at my place?” He asks softly, almost playfully. “I don’t have books, but I’ve got a killer vinyl collection. I’ll let you pick what we listen to.”

You offer a faint smile that doesn’t reaches your gloomy eyes. “I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed early tonight.”

Jooyeon’s smile falters. You see the shift immediately - the quiet panic he tries to hide behind a casual laugh. “Come on, baby,” he says, leaning in just slightly. “You don’t even have to stay long. Just… hang out for one drink. One song.”

In that moment, you realise how easily this cycle could keep happening. How quickly one simple apology can turn into another kiss, and how effortlessly that kiss can turn into another forgotten call, another fight, another sorry, until you finally make it stop and ask… where is this going? What are we?

Who are you?

“Please… I know I messed up. I know I should’ve called. Can I make it up to you?”

His voice goes quieter with each word, more raw. But it effectively reaches your heart. You can feel it slowly untangling that knot of pressure.

“Okay,” you exhale at once. “I’m picking the music, though.”

“Deal.” Jooyeon nods victoriously. Without wasting a second, he positions his hands on the steering wheel.

“Oh, almost forgot,” you murmur, unzipping the bag on your lap. You find it quickly as you tucked it into one of the little pockets inside so it doesn’t get lost again. “Your lighter.”

“No way, you found the little guy!” he cheers with a broad grin.

“Well, my boss did actually,” you admit. “Now she thinks I’m hiding that I smoke.”

“How scandalous.” Jooyeon teases, already driving down the empty street.

An hour later, the night slows down even more - at the sound of the record player spinning in circles, at his arm wrapped around you like that’s exactly where you belong… on his couch, talking with him about small things - customers, weird dreams, movies, music and concerts you’ve been to… concerts you wanted to go to, but missed out on.

He makes you laugh until your stomach hurts. And later, he takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom. There are no questions when you kiss. Only a mutual understanding of the fact neither of you wants the night to end just yet.

Your bodies connect, but it feels different this time. Maybe because you’re at his apartment, it feels intimate and private. Special.

You really have to block this word out of your mind.

Finally, you get to strip each other fully from your clothes; to be as loud as you need. Finally, you get to sit on top of him, explore the skin of his chest - warm, with a blooming bruise on his ribs.

“It’s from that fight I told you about,” he says quietly, pulling you closer so you’re face to face, “it’s disappearing already, don’t worry about it.”

“And it won’t happen again?” you ask, eyes tracing his feautures in the quiet dark, lit only by streaks of light slipping in from the world outside.

“It won’t,” he murmurs against your lips - soft and reasurring, like the kiss that follows.

Afterwards, you drift off beside him. Wrapped in his sheets, his breath steady and warm against the back of your neck, his arm resting on your hip, anchoring you in a moment of serenity.

Is anything fixed, though? Not really. But for one night, things are easy with him again.

─── ✍︎

Though you went to bed feeling content, sleep barely found you. By 6:30 AM you’re already awake, phone in hand and outlining an article due later this week as the faint hum of the city leaks through the window.

Next to you, Jooyeon lies sprawled on his stomach, half-covered from the sheets. He shifts, his back muscles move as he stretches one arm lazily toward you. His fingertips brush your thigh as he stirs.

You allow yourself to watch him for a moment - his hair is a mess, one side of his face is creased softly from the pillow, his mouth is relaxed, and his eyes are still closed as though what he’s been dreaming of doesn’t want to let go of him just yet.

“What time is it?” He mumbles with a low, thicker voice.

“Six thirty.”

“And you’re up already?” He groans into the pillow. “You’re crazy.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, threading fingers gently through his hair. “Go back to bed. You need the rest.”

You think he might’ve drifted off again until he rolls toward you, propping himself on an elbow.

“You wear glasses?” He asks as if he just discovered something rare. “I’ve never seen you wear glasses.”

Caught off guard, your eyes dart between your phone and the crooked smile that’s starting to show on his lips.

“I wear contact lenses at work, it’s easier.”

Jooyeon smirks freely now, then lets his gaze flicker to the glowing screen. “Texting someone?” He raises a brow.

“No,” you shake your head, “I have a remote job so I’m jotting down some notes for an article I’m working on. It’s boring.”

“Nothing you write could be boring.”

“You haven’t even read it,” you laugh.

“Then read it to me.”

And so you do - you read the few rough paragraphs you have so far, and he listens, tucking fingertips in the warmth between your bare thighs, watching your chest move peacefully from your steady breaths.

When you’re done, he shifts even closer. “You’re so smart,” he says, almost in a whisper.

You can’t help, but laugh again, nudging him lightly with your knee. “You say it like I just solved world peace or something.”

“What I mean is,” he grins with his eyes suddenly gleaming, “you can make the most mundane things sound impressive.”

The butterflies lingering in your stomach flutter wilder as you glance at him. Your smile now covers your entire face.

“And you look extremely hot with these glasses on,” he continues, giving you a gentle pinch; a subtle, but familiar tension wraps around his lazy voice.

“Yeah, yeah…” you roll your eyes at him. You lock your phone and turn to put it away - just something to distract you from the electricity that’s running through your body.

“You don’t believe me?” His tone elevates in a playful disbelief. Then, his confident grip finds your wrist, guiding it toward him. “What about now?”

Your hand automatically palms him. He’s so hard that you can feel his cock pressing against the fabric of his underwear, twitching beneath your touch. The corners of his mouth are tugged by a faint smirk before he lets out a low moan - his hand applies some pressure and your fingers tighten.

“Do you know how many times I’ve woken up wanting your mouth around my cock?” He asks, but he does not give you a time to answer.

He grazes your lips with his wet tongue, stealing your breath with a kiss - one that lands so powerfully, you’d almost describe it as desperate if you didn’t know him.

Your touch continues rubbing in light patterns before shifting to the waistband. “Well, I’m here now.”

“You are,” Jooyeon hums, “gonna play with it?”

Biting your lip, you nod coyly. There’s a brand new excitment flooding your veins as you settle between his spread out thighs, tugging down the elastic.

“You like having things in your mouth, don’t you?” He slowly reaches for you, pressing down against your bottom lip. “I’ve seen you chew on that pencil of yours.” Gazing at you through a haze of sleep, eyes heavy lidded, he follows the automatic movement of your tongue that peeks out, swiping the tip of his thumb. “Spit on it.”

When you do, he exhales slowly, watching the string fall between you with fascination. He looks completely mesmerised - by the sight of you wearing his loose t-shirt, glasses slightly slipping down your nose…

You’re gorgeous.

Locking fingers around him, gently and warm, you make the first strokes with precision. A small groan crawls out of his throat, leisurely.

Your tongue salivates more as you study the satisfied look in his gaze that tracks the movements of your tongue - licking a strip from the base all the way to his tip; wrapping lips around it. The taste of him, masculine, new, slightly salty, arouses your senses, awakening something deeper as your mouth moves around him in slow, deliberate rhythm. There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s not that you’re trying to be a tease as you suck softly… you just want to… savour him.

You don’t just want to please him - you want to leave something unforgettable. You want to brand this into his memory, make it one of those moments he’ll think back to when he’s alone.

You want to make it a core memory. If you ever told him that, he’d probably laugh. He’d call it ridiculous or silly. He wouldn’t understand.

Your lips, now slippery, easily glide lower, stretching further in order to adjust around his thickness. They apply the perfect amount of pressure, releasing more and more moisture with the help of your roaming tongue. Your careful grip continues to twist.

“Fuck,” Jooyeon exhales in relief; it sounds like something closer to amazement. “Why didn’t we do this sooner,” he trails off.

His words cause your eyes to light up and you invite them upon his face. A smirk, half playful, half daring, is stretching his lips.

“Your mouth is incredible, baby,” he gasps as you squeeze his tip tighter before detaching with a pop. “Holy fuck— I want to see you take all of it… think you can do that for me?” His tone dips as he tries to make it come out more tender.

“I can try,” you murmur, easening your fist until it completely stills. “Will you help me out?” You take his hand, guiding it toward your head.

For a moment, Jooyeon goes quiet, just staring at you; eyes dark with something between awe and desire. It’s wild how easily you get to him. The way your voice softens into genuine curiousity that crawls under his skin, setting it on fire like no dirty talk ever has. It turns him on more than the filthiest things he’s ever heard whispered in his ear - and he’s heard a lot.

“Of course, doll,” he coos, tapping your chin with the shiny tip of his cock. He notices your gaze drop. “What’s going through that little head of yours?”

“I… It’s really big.”

He titters, still resting comfortably against the cushions. “You like it in your pussy, right?” He asks lightly, like the answer to this is a known fact. “You’ll like it in your mouth too.”

“I already do,” you admit, caressing his thigh. Too easily to your own surprise.

“Shit,” Jooyeon sighs, giving himself a few firm strokes. “I’m not used to hearing you talk like that, baby… drives me crazy.”

His fist picks up the speed now, each stroke more desperate than the last, and you realise you could watch him like this for hours - chasing pleasure, breathless and lost in the moment. His groans spill freely in the air between you. Something about the way he doesn’t even try to hold back makes your pulse quicken.

He’s breathtakingly handsome - he always is, but especially now. With hair tousled and messy from the pillows; brows drawn tight with tension.

Acknowledging the warmth spreading inside you, your thighs discreetly shift. You’re completely naked underneath his shirt, so even the lightest squeeze from your muscles brings a thrill to your core. In addition, the gradual change of his breathing makes your clit throb for touch.

Until his hand retrieves so he can spit on his fingers; they smear it along his skin, brushing over the vein that travels up his length.

“My smart little slut is obsessed with that cock, huh?” he bites on his bottom lip, placing a hand on top of your skull. “Say aaah!”

Your mouth opens, welcoming an inch. Then another - Jooyeon lowers you down, eager to chase your tight throat. Instantly, you feel the stretch in both cheeks, abrupt and warm. Eventually the last bit of his thick base disappears through your lips too; his hand keeps you pressed against his pelvis, making the moment last.

The corners of your mouth begin to drool as you slobber uncontrollably.

“One,” he counts patiently, “two… three…”

Unable to endure any longer, you gag. The sound reverberates through Jooyeon’s body and he groans approvingly - yeah, it’s filthy, but to him it sounds like a seductive purring at his ear.

“Fuck, you have so much spit, baby.” He mutters, locking back fingers around his cock. “Look at that, it’s soaked.”

His fist effortlessly slides up and down; you lean just a fraction, listening closely to the slick noise of your saliva on his skin - it excites your brain immensely, clouding it further as you listen.

You glance at him, half-teasing, half-curious. “You like it?”

“What do you think?” His brows lift in a challenge, but when you pause long enough to make him wonder, he breaks into a quiet laugh. “Of course I do, I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

You smile coyly, and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. This only smears the drool on your cheek, and Jooyeon, too tempted to wait another minute, says: “Now, show me your pussy.”

You find the hem of his dark t-shirt and lift it slowly; his gaze brightens at the sight but quickly returns to your face. “The other way,” he specifies.

You turn around slowly, guiding your legs to either side of his hips until you’re straddling him - now, faced with the view of the door of his bedroom. Your knees sink into the mattress as your body settles over his. Bringing the shirt to your stomach with one hand, you lean forward a bit.

Jooyeon’s fingers momentarily find the heat between your thighs.

The position feels so different than everything you’ve done before but you don’t have time to overthink it - the moment his touch comes in contact with your pulsing hole, you whine in desperation, arching spine.

“There she is,” he announces; his tone is a thrilling mixture of pride and amusement. “Already wet… just from getting a single taste from my cock.”

He drags out his long fingers then grasps your ass cheek with his big palm. The jiggle of your flesh pulls out a hissing noise from his mouth; as though he needs to hold back from sinking his teeth.

“This is such a good view, baby, fuck—“ he says with an erotic rasp. “Get a little closer.”

You carefully move backwards, gaze landing on his erection that’s still twitching hard. Once he speaks again, the realisation that you’re practically hovering over his mouth hits you like a truck.

“Relax…” his hot breath caresses your pussy lips, so inviting, “just a little lower, get comfy.” He moves firm hands on the sides of your body, anchoring you to the surface of his face so you don’t slip away.

His smile dissipates the second he sticks out his tongue to lick you up. Immediately, not even a second later, he goes for another stripe - slower, and more intense. Your body trembles from the warm thrill, causing his fingertips to dig harder into your skin.

“Holy fuck,” he gasps beneath you. “So fucking sweet.”

At first his tongue swirls slow, without any particular direction, but then you start to notice… how instead of flicking and twirling, he flattens it in order to lick through your folds with deep, strong dragging motions.

The sensation makes you moan louder to which he immediately responds by dragging his tongue up your slick even harder only to switch to an open mouthed kiss.

His dilated eyes stay closed as his pink lips find your sensitive clit, stimulating the bud with a playful sucking. The teasing pressure sends a ripple of pleasure through you, and though the dirty sound of it makes your mind glitch, your hips move on its own, rolling down to seek more.

“Mmm… more—” Jooyeon’s groans of approval vibrate against your slick. His right hand lands a steady smack on your hip, encouraging you to grind on his mouth again.

And before you realise, as he makes out with your cunt like he can’t decide whether to take his time with you or just eat you up in one big bite - you’re doing it. You sway your lower half, eyes shut in bliss thanks to his bold tongue; fists clenching around the sheets as you leak right onto his soft lips.

And in those few seconds, Jooyeon’s mind turns overheated with a single thought running through it - harder, faster, harsher. He wants to hear you cum right here, right now.

“Come on, baby.” He grips your ass, so strongly, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, pressing you back and forth on his warm face. “Come on…” The groans slipping from his wet lips elevate beneath you; the sounds are so profound, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever gotten the privilege of ever having.

“God— don’t stop, please,” you moan, finally getting a hold of his cock in front of you.

Until now, you’ve been too overwhelmed to think, too consumed to respond in any way other than moaning for more. But now, you close fingers around him, barely using any strength.

“Right there,” you mewl weakly, hearing him instantly respond with a muffled groan, “fuck! I’m cumming—”

And when the waves roll through you, you stop thinking altogether. Letting out sounds of pleasure you can’t fake even if you tried.

Jooyeon feels every single twitch of your thighs, each grind of your slick folds as you give into the euphoria; he feels how your motions shift from measured to sluggish as overstimulation starts creeping in.

Then - his voice cracks, so involuntary it sends a new jolt straight through you. His chest trembles under you as a gasp escapes him - sharp and unguarded. Neither of you notice the exact moment it happens… or what exactly about the mild touch of your fist provokes it… but all it takes is one more rub of your pussy, warm and oozing, against his lips and he…

“Oh fuck—” the guttural noise leaves his throat; something between a gasp and a whimpering sound you’ve never heard from him before. It instantly cuts through the haze, shifting your focus on his uneasy feet, kicking one or two times. On the way his whole body jerks off the bed as the pulses of pleasure shake through him.

His cum shoots out of his cock, causing the slick glide of your palm to stutter for a second as it all lands messily on your face. Strings of hot arousal spray the lenses of your glasses, a few more - your chin and lips. A few droplets get caught in your hair.

Jooyeon can do nothing but tighten his grip against your waist, like he’s holding on for dear life, toes curling against the sheets.

The silence in the room stretches, the only sound now is his overwhelmed panting, shallow and hot between your sweating thighs. You shift away slowly, every movement extra careful. When you turn to face him, your breath is still catching in uneven waves.

Jooyeon chuckles as his gaze lands on you, “Fuck, I wish I could’ve seen that.”

The grin tugging at his lips though lazy is evidently stunned, like he’s trying to catch up with what happened. And once he does, he continues staring - like he’s about to devour you with all of that cum on your face.

You slide your messy glasses off, leaving them on the bed. Jooyeon curls one arm behind his head while the other stays draped over his chest. But it’s the sight of his face that makes your stomach swirl.

Half of it glistens in the soft light, a mixture of sweat and arousal - your arousal, your mark. It’s all over his mouth, the curve of his jaw, his nose. His hair clings in places, a few playful strands falling over his forehead. His lips are swollen and parted because he’s still normalising his breathing.

And somehow, it only makes him look even more devastatingly beautiful.

“You’re staring,” he says amused.

Your lips twitch for a moment. “Can you blame me?” you murmur back.

He exhales a laugh, closing his eyes for a brief second. “Come here.” His fingers reach lazily toward you, brushing the inside of your wrist. “Just… stay like this for a bit,” his hoarse voice drops softer. “Maybe I can sleep for an hour more.”

And you do - after you clean yourself up, you return to bed and you stay. You lean in, settling beside him; your heartbeat once frantic, slows to a steady, calm rhythm. Neither of you says anything more. The silence wraps around you both like a soft blanket.

And like that, though you hadn’t meant to, you drift off too.

─── ✍︎

“Officially off duty?” A familiar voice calls as the bell chimes.

You turn to see Jiseok walking in. The last strands of sunlight spill down the street behing his shoulders.

“Your caffeine dealer has arrived,” he says with a grin, handing you a small paperbag.,“but this time I’m bringing something else. Consider it a reward for surviving the day.”

“Thanks,” you smile, accepting the package without any questions. “Are you heading home?”

“Yeah, that was enough for today,” he waves a hand, “I have so much studying to do.” He exhales, leaning exhausted against the counter.

“Was the exam this Friday?” You glance at him while putting on your jacket.

“Yeah, I already feel my brain dissolving.”

The way he groans against the counter has you laughing quietly. “The stuggles of a noble programming student slash part-time barista,” you tease with a grin.

“Speaking of struggles,” he lifts his head, spotting you with keys in hand. “We’re hosting a singles party at the café in two weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” Jiseok says dryly. “Manager’s idea, not mine.”

“Sounds tragic.”

“It will be,” he lifts hands, “but I’ll be in charge of the music so…”

“Is this your way of making it sound better so I’ll actually come?” you ask, raising a brow as you flip the last switch behind the counter.

“Depends,” he chuckles. “Are you gonna come because you’re single or because you’ll keep an eye on me in case some dangerously flirty strangers try to eat me alive? You know… because of how absurdly charming I am?”

“Maybe I’ll come for the free drinks,” you tease, grabbing your tote bag and heading toward the staircase.

“Wow,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically, “and here I thought we had something special.”

“We do,” you smirk over your shoulder. “It’s called friendship, remember?”

Jiseok raises both hands in mock surrender, the crooked smile not leaving his lips. “I know, I know. Just putting the option out there...”

You laugh softly, shaking your head.

Jiseok’s flirty jokes always land soft. It’s like he’s testing the waters without expecting anything in return. Yeah, maybe he does have a small crush on you, as your boss says. But you know he’d never push. It’s just not the type of person he is. Jiseok always respects your space and boundaries. Whatever feelings he may have, he carries them lightly, because he values you as a friend. Guys like him are rare nowadays.

“I don’t know if watching people struggle with small talk is my thing,” you say at once.

“Fair enough,” he nods. The lightness in his voice suddenly dips, though. “Hey, is everything alright? You’ve been making jokes and all but… I dunno. You seem a little off.”

You pause with your hand on the stair rail. “Oh, uh… I’m fine, just… some things have been happening lately.” You hesitate, then add: “Let’s keep this between us, alright?” You glance around before meetin his gaze again. “The store’s closing.”

Jiseok’s posture straightens as the humour from earlier drains from his face. This is the first time you see his smile actually faltering.

“Shit...” His voice is much quieter now. “It always kind of felt… like it’s yours.”

“Yeah, it’s weird.” You smile, but it doesn’t reaches your eyes. “I can’t do anything about it, though. I’m just trying to get used to the fact that it will be gone soon.”

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I know how much it means to you.”

You nod in appreciation. Though you haven’t known each other long - four months or maybe less, - he noticed how much you care about the store.

“I’ll go check the stockroom, be right back,” you murmur.

“Alright,” he pushes off the counter. “I’ll wait outside.”

You disappear into the back room briefly, doing the usual quick check up. When you return upstairs, the store is quiet. Dusk gently slips through the windows. You give the place one last look before flipping the lights and heading to the front.

Your hand is on the doorknob when you hear it. Jiseok’s voice.

But he’s not alone. You stop mid-motion, realising there’s another voice. Perfectly familiar, but hostile like never before. Like a dog baring its teeth.

“What the fuck are you trying to say here?” Jooyeon snarls; you can hear the slow burn of his aggravation even through the muffled glass.

“What I’m saying is…” Jiseok’s voice follows, much more composed. “For whatever reason every time I come by lately she looks upset. That’s not like her.”

Upon hearing this you step back from the door. It feels… wrong. Like you’re not supposed to hear this, but you can’t stop yourself.

“Make your point already,” Jooyeon snaps.

You step closer again, slow and silent; your ear is just close enough to catch more.

“It started after you showed up.”

Your eyes narrow, breath caught in your throat as you wait for a response.

“Whatever happens between me and her…”

And then - your phone rings. The vibration rattles against your thigh as you yank it out of your pocket, cursing under your breath.

It’s your boss. You pick up the call; it’s brief, something about the upcoming discount campaign. When you hang up, you glance at the door again but the voices have gone silent.

Whatever Jooyeon was about to say, you missed it. Well, you weren’t supposed to hear it anyway.

You flip the sign to CLOSED, step outside and lock the door. The chilly air does nothing to settle the restless energy swirling in your chest, to fix the tangled thoughts in your head.

Maybe this is a good sign - his jealousy. And a good opportunity for you to finally make your relationship… real. Or clearer, at least. Maybe his jealousy means he wants more too, but doesn’t know other ways to show it.

You can’t help but think this could be the moment where things finally start to make sense between you.

He’s sitting on the curb near the side of the building, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. The smoke coils lazily around his face as the dim streetlights light up his features. The moment he catches the metallic click of the key, he tilts his head in your direction.

“Finally,” he draws, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Thought you were never coming out.”

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as you walk closer, but there’s something guarded in his eyes… it makes you pause before speaking up.

“You didn’t have to wait,” you hug your bag closer to your side. “Where’s Jiseok?”

Jooyeon tilts his chin higher, eyes tracing your standing figure. He takes another drag, using the moment to hold his gaze on you.

“He said he had to go,” he shrugs, smoke slipping from his lips after each syllable. As you nod quietly, his eyes lower, deliberately slow. His smirk curls in that familiar way that always has you wondering what to expect. “Pretty skirt you got there,” he remarks.

You tilt your head, letting a subtly sly grin appear. “No hi, or how was work? Just… my skirt?”

“What? I can’t appreciate good taste when I see it?”

Though his gaze has left the area of your thighs, the heat still lingers, making you tense.

“Well,” you tug lightly at the hem, “glad you noticed.”

“I notice everything, sweetheart.” His eyes sweep you once again; and though his tone is still casual, the way he looks at you is anything but that. His deep smirk falters as he takes a final drag before rubbing the cigarette against the pavement. The ember dies and he keeps the stub between his two fingers.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, hesitating how you should continue with the conversation. As his voice from earlier replays in your head, pressing harder against your mind, the silence between you only grows longer and heavier.

“You’re quiet,” you say, attempting a nonchalant tone that probably doesn’t quite land. To make it better or potentially worse, you pick a phrase of his own: “What’s going through that little head of yours?”

“Nothing,” he exhales, not catching your teasing as he glances at his feet. “Just tired. I don’t really want to go to work tonight.”

“Can’t you take a day off? You do look exhausted.”

“It’s not that easy,” he shakes his head, straightening. He walks to the nearby trash bin, tossing the stub of his cigarette. “Let’s go, I’ll drop you home.”

“Actually,” you adjust the bag over your shoulder, “I’m seeing a friend, so…”

Jooyeon’s brow arches slightly, his unreadable expression not shifting even a bit. “Okay, I’ll drive you.”

You narrow eyes, crossing arms in front of your chest. Something about him tonight feels so… off. “You don't have to play chauffeur every time I leave work.”

“That’s not what I’m doing, though,” he fires back almost tauntingly.

And just as quickly, you say: “Then what are you doing?” The question spills softly; discreetly hopeful.

You stare at him for a moment, waiting.

“I just wanted to see you.” He simply answers, his voice quieter now. Like usual, there’s that edge behind it, the one you can never seem to brake.

But it’s still something.

He sighs, forcing his eyes away. He heads where his car is but then stops mid-step at the sound of your voice calling his name.

"Jooyeon…” you take a small step forward. "Do you have something to tell me?”

“Like what?” He asks calmly.

You shake your head lightly, but your eyes waver, betraying your true feelings. “I don’t know… anything.”

Jooyeon drags a hand across his jaw. For a moment you think he might actually say something. But then, he shakes his head dismissively, opening the door to the driver’s seat.

─── ✍︎

You step out of the cab and pause at the entrance, suddenly unsure if you should go through this.

You’ve never been here before. He never invited you. You’re not dating to pay him visits like this. Still, remembering your friend’s advice you proceed, and walk in.

He said the club is nothing fancy, but it actually looks pretty impressive inside.

Bodies are already swaying slightly out of rhythm, pressed too close to your liking. You squeeze past the bar and you spot a woman behind the shiny counter.

“Hi, sorry,” you approach her, raising your voice over the music. “I’m looking for someone who works here. Jooyeon?” Noticing she barely looks up from her clipboard, you continue: “He works at the bar… he has brown hair, and…”

“No one by that name works here.”

“Sorry?”

She finally glances at you. “We don’t have anyone named Jooyeon on staff. Never have.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in. By the time you accept he lied to you, the woman has already walked away.

The night air hits you like a slap as you push through the doors and step out onto the sidewalk. Your short dress sways from the sudden breeze, brushing against your thighs as the chill clings to your skin. The music dulls behind you, but your pulse doesn’t slow. Not even a little bit.

You pull out your phone and find his name. Your fingers shake as you press the screen. He picks up on the third ring.

“Hey,” he answers casually; there’s noise overpowering his casual voice, surely coming from a crowd. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Your throat turns tighter but you manage to maintain your tone steady. “What are you up to?”

“Working. You?”

“Oh, you’re at the club?” You say almost too high-pitched. “That’s funny, because I was literally just there, but I didn’’t see you.”

A pause. For a brief moment you only listen to the strong chatter around him.

“What?”

“I was at the club, the one you said you worked at. I asked about you, but they didn’t know who I was talking about.”

“Why would you go there?”

You blink, stunned by the immediate tension in his tone. “Because I wanted to,” you shoot back.

“Jesus,” he cuts you off, pissed. “Are you my overprotective girlfriend or something? What’s next? Tracking my phone or looking through my search history?”

Your chest tightens. He doesn’t sound even close to apologetic. Just mad.

Someone shouts his name, urging him to go somewhere, because they’re waiting for him.

“You told me you work there,” you say almost in a whisper of disbelief; but then, just seconds later the anger consumes you without permission. “You drove me there and told me you work there, you lied to my face! Why lie to me?!”

“Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your drama!” He raises his voice before cooling it back into indifference. “I have to go.”

He hangs up.

─── ✍︎

“Can I come over?”

You sigh, sinking further into the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. You hold your phone pressed to your ear with one hand while the other is gripping the edge of a mug with lukewarm tea you’ve forgotten to drink ever since he called.

“You’re unbelievable.” You mutter as frustration rises in your chest - a scorching type of frustration you’ve never felt before in your life.

You picture him sitting alone in his car. It’s probably parked somewhere near the bookstore because he doesn’t know you have the day off. His fingers are probably tapping the steering wheel in that jittery rhythm he picks up whenever he needs a few seconds to find the right worrds.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he says, “I want to talk.”

“Tell me what?” you snap. “That you lied about working at that night club? That maybe there are other things you’ve lied about too? Why would I want to sit here and listen to that?”

On the other end, he goes quiet. But he’s not gone, like he was last night. You hear rustling of fabrics as he shifts in his seat, the clicking of his keys as they jingle in his lap.

“Please,” he says softer now, “I can explain… just… let me come over. I’ll tell you everything.”

You hesitate before admitting:

“I don’t even know if this—” you stop yourself, but then you close your eyes, leaning back against the cushions and you continue: “I don’t know if this… relationship without labels is for me. I don’t think I want to keep doing something that feels so unsure and distant all the time.”

There’s a silence so long you think he might hang up again. But then he speaks. “I get it,” he says slowly, “but it’s not like that.”

You don’t say anything, just draw your brows together.

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, okay?” he adds quickly. “I’m just… I’m not built for the serious relationship thing, you know. That’s not where I’m at. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you around.”

Your heart twists. You exhale quietly, trying to push out the words you should say right now - that it’s over; whatever this thing was between you. That it was a mistake.

“I like what we have, I really do,” Jooyeon’s voice turns smoother, “I’m not interested in anyone else. When I’m with you… it’s different.”

He’s good at this - saying just enough to keep you close.

“Look, let me come over,” he says, “I’ll explain everything, and after that if you want me gone, I’ll go.”

You don’t respond right away. You just sit there, staring at the front door. Imagining him walk in and how despite everything… in some twisted way his presence would feel right.

“You can come tomorrow,” you say before you have time to reconsider.

“Tomorrow,” he repeats, and the subtle shift in his voice makes the word sound like a mixture between agreement and a question.

“Yeah, 18:30.”

“I’ll be there,” he says firmly.

You hang up without waiting for a response.

─── ✍︎

Your friend is about to take a bite from her croissant when you slide a colorful paper back on the table between you. She grins like a kid waking up on Christmas morning and that’s enough to make your entire week better.

“Is it time?”

You nod, leaning in as if the two of you are scheming about someone’s downfall, and not exchanging spicy romance books.

“My Killer Vacation,” she announces solemnly, “a brash bounty hunter and an energetic elementary school teacher become the murder-solving team no one asked for… okay, fun!”

“You mentioned you’ve been in the mood for a mystery thriller,” you say before taking a sip from your drink.

“I did,” she smirks. “And what’s better than a mystery thriller with a steamy plot to make my toes curl?”

She cackles along and hands over your title. The blue, summary cover immediately catches your eye. It Happened One Summer by Tessa Bailey. “Isn’t this about a fisherman?” You flip to the back.

“Have you read it?”

“No, but I’ve seen it a lot,” you say.

You both take a moment to flip through the pages. It’s your tradition - gifting each other the most unserious, utterly spicy and cliché love stories you can find, and buddy reading them. It started last year after a really bad day and never really stopped.

“Wait, we got each other books by the same author,” your friend grins, “this is a first.” She puts the novel away then intertwines fingers in front of her. In a flash her tone shifts. “Okay, are we going to talk about him? The liar?”

You sigh, unsure where to start. “Yeah, he… lied to me,” you admit. “He said he works at this night club, but I went there and turns out no one by that name works there.”

“That’s weird. Did you ask him about it?”

“Yeah, he got all defensive. Like I crossed a line by just wanting to know the truth.”

She stares at you for a moment, frowning. “Maybe there’s an explanation… I mean, there are people who lie about their jobs because they’re embarrassed.”

“I don’t know anyone else so comfortable in their own skin, though…”

Your friend nods slowly. “If he’s hiding something you deserve to know what it is. Even if he’s just ashamed of something he thinks is lame. Secrets aren’t sexy.”

“They’re not,” you chuckle barely.

“Ask the fisherman,” she jokes, wanting to make you laugh.

After finishing your drinks and catching up, she heads home, but you stay a little longer. You read two chapters of the book she got you, wanting the minutes to pass quicker. It’s just another silly story, but a safe one - where everyone eventually gets their happy ending.

─── 18:30

After you open the door and see him, your heart begins to thump so fast it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. There’s no sight of the Jooyeon you know.

The person standing in front of you is a stranger from a weird dream. He’s wearing a hoodie you’ve never seen before and his hair is neatly pushed behind his ears, but his face…

His face is beaten up. A deep bruise is spreading across his cheekbone like a sick painting. His lip is split. There’s a cut over his eyebrow, swollen and red.

All you can manage is a whisper of his name.

He slightly winces as though the smallest sound is painful to him right now. “Hi,” he says, then smiles.

The smile is crooked and hesitant, but it still feels familiar. It’s his.

The fog of shock clouding your mind starts to dissipate and you finally remember how to move. You step aside to let him in.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly as he knows what you’re about to ask. His voice is rough like gravel.

“You look like hell,” you shoot back, walking after him.

He laughs, but the sound is heavy and dry. “Damn, you really know how to make a guy feel special.”

He settles on the couch, fingers laced tightly as he rests both elbows on his knees. His eyes lift to meet yours.

For a moment there’s just silence - not the awkward kind, but tauting and uncertain.

“First, it was your hands,” you speak slowly, “now it’s your face. What’s going on?”

You catch the sigh slipping from his lips. He knows the question has come. But that doesn’t make it easier to answer.

You move to sit next to him. “Jooyeon… you can talk to me. Does this happen often?”

He nods once, fixated upon his pale knuckles, scarred with scarlet marks. His eyes look almost too calm as he observes them.

“It happens like two or three times a week,” he says plainly. “Sometimes more, depends.”

“On what?” You press.

Out of nowhere, he stands up, pushing his hair back in frustration. He paces once before facing you again with lowered eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

You cautiously riise from the couch, standing firm.

“Does this have to do with you lying about the club?” You meet his eyes and he nods, tightening his lips. You step closer. “Then help me understand… talk to me.”

But when you reach out, he flinches, and lifts a hand in front of his stomach - like a shield. The motion makes something in your chest ache. Still, that doesn’t stop you. You lift the hem of his hoodie.

There’s no gasp or anything; just raw affliction darkening your eyes and the colors of his angry bruises. Meanwhile, he simply smirks bitterly.

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” he tugs down the hoodie.

“This is too much,” you murmur.

“This is nothing.” He counters.

“Jooyeon—”

“I owe someone money,” he cuts you off sharply; locking eyes with you at last. “A lot of money. More than I can pay back with a normal job. I fight to make cash, alright?” He lets the confession sit between you before continuing. “That’s why I lied about the club. I didn’t think you’d get it.”

“Can’t you—”

“This is the fastest way, okay?” He snaps. “I made my choice.” He pauses before his voice dips dismissively. “So please, just… don’t ask me anything else about it.”

Your arms wrap around your body without meaning to. “I see…”

He steps forward, but you retreat. You’re not entirely sure why or how.

Jooyeon’s expression darkens. “You’re not scared me of now, are you?”

“No,” you say as your gaze darts up and down. “Of course not.”

Rubbing a hand along his jaw, Jooyeon mutters, sounding even more bitter. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m not scared, Jooyeon. I’m just… worried about you. There has to be another way, something safer. Legal.”

“So you’re judging me?” His tone sharpens. “Look, maybe you don’t take advice from people like me, but you seriously need to stop living in that fantasy world of yours for a second. And see the world like it is.”

You lift your chin higher. Your voice trembles slightly, but doesn’t break. “I don’t think the problem is with me.”

“Of course you don’t,” he scoffs, short and bitter.

“You’re the one avoiding everything. You’re scared to face reality and admit that you don’t have it all together. So you shut people out and hide.”

Jooyeon’s mouth twists. “And in case I do that…” He pauses, shrugging. “What’s the point? You’re not going to accept me anyway, not really.”

“That’s not true,” you say, but your voice is softer, unsure.

“It is,” he says firmly. “You’re already looking at me like I need fixing!” that almost animalistic tone you heard that night slips again.

“I’m looking at you like someone I want to understand!”

He shakes his head, stepping back. “No, you want to fix me, make me fit into your dream life… But I’m not that guy.”

You don’t answer, just stay silent for a moment. Then, you catch his eyes flick to the door.

“I came here to tell you the truth, and I did,” he takes a breath, like the rest he has to say is harder to let out. “I like you, a lot. But we’re good when things are simple. When we don’t overthink every damn word. I just want to enjoy this without all the pressure and labels.”

“So you want to keep sleeping together,” you say carefully, “but not be a part of each other’s lives?”

A moment passes, his tense expression slightly softens as he looks away from you. “Yeah…”

The wall between you is suddenly so high you barely recognise him. Or maybe it was always there, and you, too charmed by him, just refused to see it. Maybe he’s right… maybe you’ve really lost yourself in something that only exists in your imagination.

“I don’t think that’s what I want,” you finally admit.

“Oh.” The word barely lands as he stares at you. “I really thought we were on the same page.”

“We’re not.”

For a few moments, neither of you speaks. The only sound in the room is the sound of your breaths between you. Then, he nods just once.

“Okay,” he says more to himself than to you. The resignation in his voice stings in ways you did not expect. “I guess that’s it then.”

You keep your eyes trained on the floor, forcing your tone to stay neutral as possible. “Take care of yourself.”

He walks toward the door with that unhurried stride, placing one hand on the knob. “You too.”

But just as he starts to turn the handle, you call out his name quietly.

He stills, glancing back at you.

You don’t move closer. You just hold out your hand, the red lighter resting between your fingers. Though it doesn’t belong to you, you hold it tight. “You forgot it again,” you murmur, eyes flicking to his face, but not enough to meet his.

He crosses the space without a word, then plucks the lighter from your hand. His fingers graze yours briefly and something in your chest clenches, causing you to glance up.

He quickly turns back towards the door, as if he suddenly can’t bare to even look at you anymore. He suddenly stops again, just standing there, silent and still. Until his low voice speaks up.

“You know…” he starts slowly. “The first time I left it behind… It wasn’t an accident. I just needed a reason to take you downstairs and fuck you.”

The usual cockiness is missing as he says it. The smug twitch of his mouth too.

It hits harder than you expect. Not because it’s cruel but… because a part of you has always wondered if the disappearance of the lighter was a made up story. Now, you’re relieved, no… you’re glad he said it, but also not really.

You’re certain he’s telling the truth, you don’t doubt it. It’s written all over his face. It’s in the rawness of his voice that does not tremble even once.

Instead, it keeps talking - louder and clearer.

“That’s the kind of guy I am,” he adds, lifting a hand in a mock salute with a hollow grin.

Like he’s mocking himself.

Then, the door clicks shut behind him, and he’s gone.

─── two weeks later

The bell rings softly as you crouch by the lowest shelf, pressing a red 45% OFF sticker on a paperback. You glance up to see your boss’s son stepping inside. He’s a rare sight around here.

“Hey,” he nods at you; expression unreadable as always. “I’m here to grab the donation load,” he says, already heading toward the stockroom without another word.

That’s how Hyeongjun is. He shows up - maybe once a month, - always aloof and brief.

You return to your task, leaving the book and walking to the counter to grab another one, when something or someone catches your eye through the window.

A tall guy you’ve only seen once before strides casually past the store. You recognise him instantly - bleached hair, half pulled into a small, loose bun, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He dropped off Jooyeon one night just before your shift ended.

You carelessly leave the roll of stickers onto the counter, and push through the door, stepping into the late morning sun.

“Hey!” You call loud enough to be heard over the low hum of traffic.

The guy stops mid step, glancing over his shoulder. His brows pinch slightly; not unkind, just confused. Something you’d expect from someone being stopped by a stranger out of nowhere.

You slow down your footsteps as you approach. Your heart kicks up a notch - all of a sudden you feel unsure. What if he doesn’t know about the fights? What if they’re not as close with Jooyeon as it seemed?

Still, you swallow and take the chance.

“Sorry to stop you like this,” you begin. “You were with Jooyeon that night, right? You dropped him off here?”

“Yeah,” he gives a small nod, “that was me.”

“You’re friends?” you ask, tone slightly tilted. “Close friends?”

He studies you for a second before simply answering: “We are.”

“I just… I need to ask you something…”

His expression remains the same but now his posture slightly shifts; he’s more on alert or just curious. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Though he doesn’t offer more, there’s a nice calmness in his tone that manages to ease the rush of nerves prickling at your neck. So, you drop the question.

“Do you know where the fights take place?”

end of part one.

copyright © joocomics 2025 all rights reserved. do not repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms.

a.note ! if you see this, then it means you probably read the full story, and for that - thank you! writing this was a long process, a long rollercoaster of emotions, but i’m beyond excited to be finally sharing this with you. thank you for your patience, as well as the support and excitement you showed me while i was working on the project for the past few months - the final result wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for you. you kept me motivated and inspired! hope you enjoyed bookstore joo ♡ now… onto part two.

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⧽ part one — completed — 23k+

“ In that moment, you realise how easily this cycle could keep happening. How quickly one simple apology can turn into another kiss, and how effortlessly that kiss can turn into another forgotten call, another fight, another sorry, until you finally make it stop and ask… where is this going? What are we? Who are you? ”

⧽ extra scene — completed — 4.9k

“ Jooyeon’s eyes are fixed somewhere beyond the city lights, the wind lifts his hair. How could he tell you about the very first fight he won here? How could he express what that memory means to him? ”

note: includes jooyeon backstory

⧽ part two — completed — 24.2k

“ Up close, you realise how little he’s actually hurt, fortunately. There are no broken bones, no swelling to worry about. Just a split lip and a trail of dark blood staining his chin, with sweat clinging to him like a second skin. The damage isn’t on his face, it’s in the way he won’t look at you. ”

⧽ part three — to be written — currently 0.0k

...

⧽ part four — to be written — currently 0.0k

…

At first, what Jooyeon liked about you was the fact you never asked any questions.

You were calm in a world where everything around him moved too fast and recklessly. You never challenged his deflections, didn’t pull at the loose ends of his lies… you just accepted what he gave, and never pried, making it easy for him to hide his true colors; to tell you just enough to keep you close, and never enough to let you in.

Until somewhere along the line, you started seeing through him. You started asking questions, small and harmless at first. Strangely, he didn’t mind it, though. Somehow, you made it seem… not too bad. Not so annoying. You snuck underneath his skin slow and careful, like you were warmth soaking his bones after he’s been freezing cold.

Until you got too close, and he had to pull away before it all crashed down. Before you see his real face.

Now he tells himself that letting you in was a mistake from the start.

Of course detached and casual wouldn’t sit right with you. You’re the kind of person who needs meaning in everything you do. You crave emotional connection, not just sex. You nourish what you care about, gently and faithfully, you believe love can grow strong if it’s watered enough. You believe in things like soulmates and love at first sight. Those stupid books definitely poisoned your head, filling it with the delusion that love has a happy ending. He’s noticed the way you get excited over cheesy metaphors and the meant-to-be tropes. But he knows in real life there’s no neat resolutions. Love isn’t a magical force that heals a corrupted soul. It’s just another thing that eventually breaks you.

What the hell did he think would happen?

Maybe he thought he could handle it, that he could enjoy your softness without giving up his armor. One thing he did not expect to happen, though, now that you’re gone, is everything else to feel either too much, or not enough. He’s not sure which is worse.

Everything tastes overwhelming lately - the lights, the noise, the crowd shouting his name, the empty victories. The adrenaline rushes he used to chase don’t fulfill him like they used to. Winning doesn’t light him up so much anymore. Seeing you before a fight used to be a hit of something powerful that made him even more dangerous in the ring. Your voice, your little smirks, your concern… they all reminded him that he can fight for something, not just against everything.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s been questioning his life - the constant warpath he calls a daily routine. For the first time, he’s wondering if maybe there’s something else waiting for him out there. Maybe he keeps missing it because he’s too stuck in this cycle created of old habits…

Or maybe losing you is just messing with his head.

No, he’s fine. It’s better this way, he knows it. In nights like this, he doesn’t have the luxury to dwell, anyway.

He needs to stick to what he’s good at - throwing fists, drinking and waking up next to girls whose names he doesn’t bother remembering. That’s who he’s always been.

“Are you good?”

Jooyeon, recognising Seungmin’s voice, doesn’t look up. He’s busy wrapping his knuckles, pulling the tape tight.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he mutters, voice flat. His hands move on autopilot, precise and practiced, but his mind is somewhere else entirely.

Earlier, he tried really hard to shut out the voices, the ones that have been slipping at all the wrong moments: when he’s drinking, when he’s leaving the bar with a random girl he picked up while drinking, and now… before he steps into the ring.

Whatever. The frustration they pile up inside him doubles his chances to win.

“How do you think it’s gonna go tonight?” Seungmin asks.

Jooyeon shoots him a glance, brow lifting. “You doubting me or something?”

“I don’t doubt your skills,” Seungmin chuckles. “It’s your mind that worries me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jooyeon snorts.

“You’ve been acting off,” his friend says, stepping closer. “You’ve been drinking a lot, sleeping less…”

“I’m fine.” Jooyeon lies with the same ease he loops the wrap around his bruised hand. “Feeling great.”

He tries not to think about you, but he almost called you twice. He almost texted you too. Almost showed up at your door. He even drove by bookstore Pluto last week - not to say hi, just to check if you were there.

You weren’t, and the bookstore wasn’t there either, it’s officially closed for good. Your second home as you liked to call it. The last piece that had tethered him to you disappeared along with it too.

That late afternoon, he sat in his car longer than he should’ve had. He immediately knew that it wasn’t you who had placed the crooked sign CLOSED PERMANENTLY. You’d never tape something so carelessly. Whoever closed the place didn’t care enough to straighten it.

Where are you now? his mind wandered. Are you meeting new people? He pictured you living a life that doesn’t have him in it, and in his mind you were… smiling. You were unburdened.

While his life kept looping in the same brutal circle, you escaped the old patterns. You stepped through the door and left it closed shut behind you - it makes perfect sense that he wasn’t on the other side anymore.

That was the point.

“Yo!” Someone shouts behind him. “You’re up! Move!”

It’s the second time they call for him. Seungmin flicks a look at Jooyeon, half-expecting one of his usual cutting remarks; he is known not just for his good fists, but for his sharp tongue that’s just as merciless. Courtesy has never lasted long in his mouth - before or during a fight.

But Jooyeon doesn’t snap back. He rises in silence. To say Seungmin is surprised would be an understatement.

Jooyeon heads to the narrow stairwell. Heat already emerges from the basement, thick with noise and anticipation. The air reeks of sweat and beer, too many people are pressed way too close in a space not large enough to hold them all.

When he enters, the lights spill over his sharp features; his brown hair is slipped back with a few strands shaping his face. His presence, commanding and effortlessly confident, instantly makes the crowd buzz with agitation.

The bodies are packed tight - it’s a swelling crowd, mixture of regulars and adrenaline junkies hungry for violence. Their roaring seeps through the walls that are scribbled with graffiti from previous fighters. Their hands wave cash at the betting table in the far corner.

Jooyeon’s heartbeat automatically syncs to this noise - a constant clash of insults and laughter that he got used to years ago. His muscle memory takes over, shoulders rolling back as he dissects his opponent with a calm yet sharpening gaze.

He steps through the gate into the chain-link cage, the heavy mesh rattles shut behind him. A haze of cigarette smoke hangs low, curling around the harsh overhead lights. He begins to circle, his movements fluid and predatory, fueled by the rhythmic bass thrumming through the floorboards from the club above. The crowd up there is oblivious, their energy shaking the air as he locks eyes with his target.

His opponent lunges first. But Jooyeon is fast to duck low. In a flash, he aims into the man’s torso, sending him stumbling. The crowd erupts; some in rage, others in satisfaction.

When he steps to the side simultaneously cracking a sharp elbow into his jaw, the impact vibrates up his arm, brutal and satisfying. The man recovers quicker than expected, though. He lands a solid punch to Jooyeon’s shoulder which jolts him, but not enough.

“Good,” Jooyeon grins, shaking it off. “I was starting to get bored.”

If anything, that heightens his greed.

A lot happens in a single second. A slam in the ribs. A strike to the cheekbone. Another and another. The crowd surges toward the chain link, their fingers hooking into the heavy mesh as their voices grow louder in anger.

To Jooyeon, the rhythm comes naturally. His mind is empty. Instead his muscle memory and his intuition work together in carrying him through the violent dance.

He takes a second to wipe the blood from his lip with the back of his hand before planting his feet and driving forward - like that, the man is sent directly into the wires,.

Jooyeon welcomes the advantage. A swift uppercut snaps the target’s head back, and with a final blow - the perfect strike as someone from the crowd shouts - he drops to the concrete floor with a heavy thud.

The booming echo of victory, of Jooyeon’s name, bounces off the painted walls.

He stands there in the center, bloody mouth and feral eyes; glistening chest heaving wildly as sweat rolls down his spine. His knuckles are throbbing beneath their wraps - a nice reminder that he’s alive.

Raw, warm reminder, that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

─── ✍︎

The café is quiet enough to talk and loud enough to silence your lingering nerves. A warm beam of afternoon sunlight spills across the table, warming your knuckles as they rest around the glass.

Across from you, Seungmin taps his thumb against his own cup. He clears his throat, his gaze dropping as he temporarily lifts a hand to rub his jaw.

“Look, you don’t need to give me an answer now. Take your time. Besides…” he huffs a dry breath. “We can’t go this week anyway.”

You look up, sensing the shift in his tone. “Why not?” The hesitation in his eyes as they waver for a split second make your stomach twist with worry.

“He took a rough hit in a fight recently. He’s… recovering.”

“Oh my god.” A cold rush spikes through you. “Is he in the hospital? How bad is it?”

“No, no,” Seungmin says quickly, palms open to settle your panic. “He’s at home, resting. Much better than before, I promise. You don’t need to worry.”

But your mind is already racing back to that one midnight phone call - the one neither of you has repeated since. You can still hear his voice, it was quiet, dangerously thin in a way, with a faint heavy slur that you just couldn’t place at the time. You thought he was exhausted. But now the realisation hits. He was bleeding.

He was in pain.

You shove the memory back down before you experience those few minutes all over again.

Then, quitier, Seungmin adds: “Unless you’d prefer to go see him now…”

You let out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-mortification. “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” you murmur, staring down at your coffee. “He wouldn’t like that.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin agrees simply, “he wouldn’t.” He studies you for a moment, his gaze calm over the rim of his cup as he takes a sip. “Can I ask you something? Why are you doing this? Really?”

The question surely comes unexpected, but it doesn’t feel like an intrusion. Despite knowing Seungmin for such a short time, he’s become the only person you can talk to about this without filtering anything. The bell chimes as a customer enters, a soft breeze drifts through.

“I want to show him that I accept him,” you say, honest. “Exactly as he is. Not the version he thinks he has to be.” Seungmin doesn’t comment. But his silence is inviting, welcoming, his expression softens, polite, and that pushes you forward. “He’s convinced himself that he’s… too much, or that he’s not built for anything good, and he’s wrong.”

He watches you silently for a long second, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, he lets out a weary sigh. “Alright,” he nods. “I’ll take you, but not this week. Not until he’s steady again.”

“Thank you,” you say, a small appreciative smile slowly settling on your face. A feeling of relief crashes over you so sudden and quick it leaves you momentarily lightheaded.

Seungmin leans back and folds his arms with a pensive look, the sunlight catching the lines of his profile. “God, he’s going to kill me for this. But if it actually helps him, then… I guess it’s worth the funeral.”

“I really appreciate your help, Seungmin.”

You catch his expression shifting subtly. His focus darts past you toward the street. He reaches for his drink, eyes narrowing at something outside.

“Is there some kind of event going on over there or something?” he asks, nodding toward the window.

You follow his gaze, turning a little. Your usual café is mid-transformation. Two employees are busy taping pink and red hearts all over the windows. “Singles party,” you tell him. “It’s tonight.”

He lets out a low, amused breath. “At a café?”

“Yeah, they hosted one a while back and it was a success, so…” you shrug casually. “A friend of mine works there. Usually I grab my coffee from him, but he warned me that the decorating process was going to be chaotic. Figured this place would be better for some privacy.”

Your voice remains light, but something tugs in your chest - that faint uncertainty you’ve been carrying around Jiseok for weeks now.

He did warn you about the upcoming chaos. But before that… there was almost nothing. No jokes over the counter. No updates about the love lives of his fellow coworkers. He’s been distant, claiming that he’s always too busy to talk. You’ve replayed many moments in your head, trying to figure out what made him go so quiet, but you can’t pinpoint the thing you did wrong.

“You can come,” you offer lightly. “I’m going to drop by to see how’s he handling everything.”

“Nah,” he waves off the suggestion with a discreet curve on his lips. “I’m good.”

You raise a brow, chuckling. “What, too cool for paper hearts and some mingling?”

“No,” he laughs; the sound is genuine as he rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flicking to the side. “I’m… seeing someone. It’s not official yet. But I’m not interested in meeting anyone else.”

That confession catches you off guard. A sincere warmth blooms in your chest at the sight of his hopeful smile. “Good,” you say, your own lips curving into a joyful look. “You seem happy?”

Seungmin pauses for a heartbeat, then meets your eyes with a newfound clarity. “Yeah. She makes me really happy.”

The place is drowning in pink.

A sea of paper hearts dangles from the ceiling - alongside red cupids, oversized and tiny, shooting arrows in every direction. Glittery banners drape across the beige wall, declaring Love Is In The Air and Love Happens When You Least Expect It in aggressively cheerful lettering. The energy is relatively chill, but still buzzing with the warm thrill of possibillity as upbeat pop music thumps softly through the decorated space.

You slip off your jacket and make your way toward the bar.

Jiseok is behind the counter, focused on lining up shot glasses. His hair falls into his eyes, his shoulders slightly tense, likely dealing with people already yelling drink orders at him.

“Hey,” you greet him, offering a half-smile.

He glances up instantly. For a split, split second, he brightens - and you catch a glimpse of the old Kwak Jiseok, the one who always greeted you with a beaming grin and a latte in hand. But then he settles back into something reserved. The stiffness is subtle, but impossible for you to not notice it.

“Hey.” he echoes, voice light and careful. “You made it.”

“Maybe the first party wasn’t so bad,” you joke, though the distance between you feels like a physical thing. When the corner of his mouth slightly curves upwards, you take advantage of the moment: “Do you have a minute?”

He wipes his hands on a towel, hesitant for a second. “Yeah, uhm… Let me finish this tray. You can sit over there by the window,” he tilts his chin toward a small round top that hasn’t been claimed by singles yet. “It will be gone any minute now, so move fast.”

You slip away, weaving through glittering hearts and chattering strangers, then sink into the chair.

Out of habit, you fish out your phone. However, you open Instagram with purpose. Ignoring the flood of cat reels and book memes, you hit the search bar. Of course, his name is already there, leading to the private account that might be his. You don’t know for certain, you never got the chance to ask.

Still the same blurry photo that’s too grainy to tell what it is. Still no bio. The only change is that two posts has turned into three posts.

You press your thumb against the screen as if you can magically force the images to load. You want to call him. You want to hear his voice. You need to know how bad it was. If he’s sleeping, if he’s eating… If he’s—

“Hey.”

Jiseok’s voice snaps you out of the spiral.

You place the phone aside as he sets two cold sodas on the table before pulling out the opposite chair. His smile is small and polite rather than familiar. As he drops down with a heavy sigh, you realise how long it’s really been since the two of you had a real conversation.

He twists off the caps one after another. The fizz hisses, rising small bubbles that tickle your nose when you take a sip.

“Thanks,” you smile.

You catch the way he shifts the moment your focus settles on him; how his hands brace against the edge of the table as he leans back, like he needs something solid beneath him. He looks different.

“So,” he aims for a casual tone, but there’s an unfamiliar weight to it; one he’s never carried before. “How did that job interview go? The publishing house, right?”

“Oh.” You pause. The excitement rises anyway, though, it’s impossible to hold down. It’s like a soda fizzing up too quickly and a grin blooms on your lips. “It went… really well, actually. I start on Monday.”

“Wait, what?” his brows shoot up; whatever tension he was carrying, now it finally snaps. “That’s huge! Congrats!” he raises his soda. “I’ll drink to that.”

You clink your can against his, the soft metallic sound seals something small and good between you.

He takes a longer sip, then leans forward, elbows planted on the table. There’s no attempt to hide it anymore, his attention is entirely yours. “So… you’re really doing this.” his eyes search yours, curious and careful. “First day at a dream job. Are you nervous?”

His voice dips on the last word, like he’s trying not to scare you with too much attention or something.

“A little,” you admit, a light chuckle easing your shoulders. “But mostly just ready. You know how much I loved the bookstore, but… this is what I’ve been waiting for.”

Jiseok nods slowly. Something in his expression softens. “You deserve it.” He says, and it doesn’t sound like empty encouragement for the sake of it. More like a fact he’s turned over in his head and decided to stand by.

You almost ask him about all the things that have been eating you. Almost. But tonight isn’t the night. So, holding onto your soda, you choose to stick to this moment instead. “Thanks, Jiseok. That means a lot.”

He glances down, then back up, a grin easing its way onto his face. “Just promise me you’ll actually celebrate,” he says. “No staying in with books, or whatever other boring stuff you do for fun. Deal?”

You laugh; the knot in your chest loosening completely. “Deal. I promise.”

Jiseok leans back, more relaxed now. “Good,” he replies. “When someone is actually happy… it rubs off on the rest of us, you know.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer, letting the warmth of that idea settle. You open your mouth, just about to ask how he’s been doing lately but the question dies on your tongue as his entire expression snaps. His eyes widen in sudden alarm, his posture going instantly rigid as if a wire just pulled tight through his spine.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He straightens in a way that’s just pure, bracing tension. Fear, almost. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Your smile vanishes. “What? What happened?”

He doesn’t look at you. His big eyes remain locked over your shoulder, wide and unblinking, as if a horror movie is playing behind you. “My ex-girlfriend just walked in.” His voice drops to a tense whisper.

His ex?!

“Does she know you work here?”

Finally, he drags his gaze back to you, his features twisting in a grimace. “No idea. Not from me, that’s for sure. We haven’t spoken in… God, two years.” He lets out a stressed exhale, shifting uncomfortably in his seat like he’s trapped. “I really can’t do this right now.”

You huff a soft laugh , leaning in to catch his eye. “Hey, it was bound to happen eventually. And honestly? You’ve got a full bar and a line of people waiting to get tipsy on pink cocktails. It’s the perfect distraction. Just… breathe.”

Your words earn a reluctant, shaky laugh from him. “Thanks,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I needed that.”

You tilt your head, voice gentler now. “Why did you two break up? If it’s okay to ask.”

His shoulders sag at the question. “She said it wasn’t working. Or, in other words, she found someone better.”

You snort softly, lifting brows in a challenge. “If he were so much better, she wouldn’t be at a singles party, would she?”

That does it. His mouth twitches into a real, wide smile, the kind that makes his eyes glint even brighter. He taps the table twice in appreciation before pushing to his feet, the rigid tension in his shoulders finally loosening.

“You’re something else,” he laughs.

You watch him walk off back to the bar with a noticeably steadier posture. After all, you’re glad you decided to come tonight.

─── ✍︎ two weeks later

The club is suffocating. A suffocating blend of neon heat and bass that vibrates deep inside your ribs, continuously hitting you like a physical weight. Strobing lights slice through the darkness, sharp and disorienting, you don’t know in which direction to look first.

Seungmin keeps you close as you weave your way through the crowd, hand hovering just inches from the small of your back, guiding you without breaking your personal space. He keeps glancing at you as fleeting flashes shoot at your face, searching your eyes for a sign to turn back.

Such sign never comes, and eventually he leans closer:

“So, this is where Jooyeon works,” he shouts over the roar, gesturing toward the long, mahogany stretch of the bar bathed in a red glow. “Up there mostly.”

A hesitant, dry chuckle escapes him, but it barely carries over the music. “But sometimes… he’s down here.”

He pushes open a heavy steel door you didn’t even notice, tucked into the shadows. Your eyes drop to a staircase that descends into something darker, smelling of damp concrete.

“Careful,” he warns, taking the first few steps.

You follow, and the air immediately shifts as much bigger primal noise rushes up to meet you. There’s aggressive shouting, and stale, heavy air with lingering scent of cigarettes you can almost taste in your mouth. And a raw heat of a hundred bodies packed into a confined space.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, the room opens into a basement centered around a brutal, floor to ceiling chain-link cage. The mesh rattles loudly as the bodies slam against it.

“Looks like we’re right on time,” Seungmin murmurs, voice tighter.

A man with a megaphone appears, but you can’t tell from where exactly. The spotlight over the center is nearly blinding.

“He’s back for the kill, everybody,” his booming voice overpowers the feverish roar. “Give it up for Jooyeon!”

The crowd erupts into a feral chant.

He steps out of the shadows, looking completely unreachable, lethal. Watching him slide his mouthguard into place, you can’t deny how painfully well he fits into this vicious atmosphere. His bare chest rises and falls with a cold, calculated focus while the bold lights throw sharp shadows over his handsome face. There’s an undeniable sense of belonging in the way he moves; as brutal as this secret world is, it fits him in some kind of twisted, perfect way.

Though your stomach twists at the sight, at the sound of so much anger pulsing in your ears, you can’t unsee that magnetic part of him; he holds the entire room in his fist and he knows it.

The crowd roars, faltering your restless thoughts. Men begin to chant his name in a rhythmic snarl as he counters his opponent’s first move with a fierce ease. You barely keep up with their speed; the violence becomes a blur, sending cold shivers down your spine despite the humid air clinging to your neck. Inside you, an unsteady tension coils tighter with every next strike.

Until Jooyeon’s gaze snaps toward the stairs.

For a split second, he sees you. His eyes go wide with something between panic and disbelief that nearly masks his adrenaline fueled rage. In that single split second, he’s exposed… vulnerable in the one place he’s never allowed himself to be.

His opponent senses the hesitation and determinedly lunges his way. The sound is sickening. A dull thud echoes against the chain ink.

Your exterior, so out of place, completely cracks. Your eyes snap shut. “I’ll wait outside,” you stammer, though the noise nearly drowns you out before the words even leave your lips.

He’s the one who took the hit, but it feels like you’re the one struggling to breathe.

The brawl follows you up the stairs - every shout, every blow echoes inside your skull. When you push through the door and step into the night, the air cools your lungs but not enough.

Not even a minute later, Seungmin appears. At first he doesn’t say anything; he clearly doesn’t know what words to use, or how much it is even appropriate for him to say right now. He just stands there, looking back and forth between you, hands buried in his pockets.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs eventually. “It’s rough in there… sometimes brutal. It takes some time to get used to it.”

“What if I can’t get used to it, though?”

Seungmin’s eyes drop to his feet; they hold a quiet concern he doesn’t really want to draw attention to.

Now, both of you are silent again, just staring at the cracked pavement.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I do know this…” slowly, he turns to face you with quiet certainty. “I’ve never seen Jooyeon care about anyone before. Not the way he cares about you.”

Instead of your pulse easing at his words, it spikes. A knot of fear curls tightly in your stomach, and a startled laugh escapes you before you can hide it - small, breathy and dangerously hopeful. You want this to be true so badly it feels terrifying.

“He visited you all the time when you worked at that bookstore,” he continues more casually now. “You remember that, right? Trust me, Jooyeon never leaves this place unless he’s going home to sleep. And he never talks about you,” he adds after a brief pause. “Not even to me.”

“That sounds…” You frown, blinking in sudden confusion. “Bad.”

“It’s not,” he offers a warm, knowing smile. “It just means he wants to protect you.”

You don’t know what Jooyeon will say when he comes out - you have no idea which version of him will emerge through that door. You don’t know what he will look like - will he be furious? Will he raise his voice, or will he punish you with nothing but that one intense look in his eyes - the familiar stare that empties your lungs? Or maybe it will be something worse… maybe he will choose not to come out and see you at all.

Before you can even begin to process Seungmin’s words, the door bursts open, so hard it ricochets off the brick wall.

Jooyeon storms out like something just snapped off its leash, his chest heaving with frantic breaths. The cold air hits him but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He reaches up and yanks the hair tie from the messy knot he had his hair in for the fight. The dark strands spill down around his face, masking some of the tension in his features.

The nearby streetlights immediately catch his black satin shorts that hang low on his hips, revealing the lean muscles of his legs, the fresh bruising starting to bloom across his thigh.

You hate the sight of blood on him. You hate the dark smudges of violence on his lips; your stomach aches at the way they glint under the yellow light. Yet… you can’t deny the way he still looks impossibly striking.

Each bruise along his ribs is carved out by the sweat shining on his skin, but it’s his glowering eyes that steal your balance. It’s as if an invisible hand closes around your throat the second they lock on you, stopping you from functioning.

“What,” he rasps, low and shredded, “are you doing here?” He stops two steps away from you, as if he can’t stand being any closer. He’s vibrating with tension, fists still half-curled from the fight.

You try to form the words, - you rehearsed this conversation at home more than once - but he’s already shaking his head. Like he regrets even giving you the chance to speak.

His gaze snaps past you, landing on Seungmin who remains standing at an appropriate distance.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” His voice raises with a dangerous, harsh rasp. “Why would you bring her here?”

“Jooyeon—” you start, reaching for his attention.

“You know how—” he bites the rest of the sentence back, a sharp breath escaping his lungs instead.

“I asked him to bring me,” you say, your voice ringing out louder with intent. “It was my idea.”

Jooyeon swings back toward you, eyes dark and storming. For a second there’s silence between you, so taunting it feels like it’s about to swallow the street whole. A car passes on the road, its headlights sweeping across his bruised face in a sudden flash.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He says through gritted teeth; his words are held by the absolute thinnest thread of control.

“Hey, man.” Seungmin steps in carefully, palms raised to soften the tension. “She can decide for herself, come on…”

Jooyeon’s glare cuts to him. He doesn’t even need to speak for his friend to fall quiet again. “I’ll deal with you later,” he mutters before his cold attention returns to you.

Seungmin exhales, recognising the shift, and decides to slowly retreat. “I’ll be inside.”

You barely register his departure. It’s just you and Jooyeon again. He’s furious. And bleeding - again. Breathtaking in a way that makes you want to scream. You can’t take your eyes off this raw, pulsing reality of him.

His brows furrows, the harsh light deepening the sharp edges of his face. “Stop looking at me,” he snaps breathily, his eyes flashing with a defensive anger.

“Jooyeon,…” you whisper; it’s a weak, fragile sound, loaded with hope despite everything that just happened.

“Don’t!” he barks the word, sharp like shattered glass.

You flinch, your chest tightening as you instantly turn toward the empty street, staring at nothing. The silence that forms is suffocating. You can hear him shifting his weight behind you, his breathing ragged. He sounds like he’s cornered by his own overlapping emotions.

“I don’t want to see you here again,” he says and this time, the heat vanishes from his voice, lowering into a toneless command. “I’m serious. Go home.”

“Can I say one thing?”

Jooyeon’s head throbs with the aftermath of the fight; yours aches with the pressure of all the things you want to say. You draw in a breath to find your voice again.

“I came here because I want to understand,” you say quietly, but with a surprising firmness. “The parts of your life you think I’d judge. The parts you’re so convinced would make me run away.”

More silence. It twists something helpless in your chest. When you turn back, you find him collapsed against the brick wall, crouched low with his elbows braced on his knees. His fingers are threaded through his hair, gripping tight, like he’s trying to hold himself together by force.

You step closer, heart stuttering as you squat down in front of him. You search for his eyes even as he keeps them locked on the pavement. But he refuses to look at you. Gently risking it, you reach out, brushing a strand of hair from his damped forehead; too consumed by the sight of him, you don’t notice the trembling of your hand.

“Come home with me,” you plead. “The fight’s over, right? You don’t have to stay. You can leave with me.”

Up close, you realise how little he’s actually hurt, fortunately. There are no broken bones, no swelling to worry about. Just a split lip and a trail of dark blood staining his chin, with sweat clinging to him like a second skin. The damage isn’t on his face, it’s in the way he won’t look at you.

“I’ll let you pick what we listen to this time,” you force a crooked half-smile, but your lips start to tremble.

“I’m calling you a cab.” His voice is final - the kind of tone that leaves no room for objections. “Give me your phone.”

“I’m here to make an effort, Jooyeon. I’m not just going to leave you like this.”

“This is not a place for you!” He erupts. “What part of this don’t you understand?!” He is practically radiating heat, his entire body wound tight enough to snap, yet you stay rooted right where you are, refusing to back down from his fury.

For a second, he really looks like he might fracture under the weight of it all. Or explode under the unfamiliar glow of your eyes - where pain and longing burn together like one. There’s something in the way he watches you… like he might grab your wrist and drag you out into the street, shove you in the first cab that slows down. Or pull you into him and kiss you.

He leans in slightly, his face stopping just inches from yours. “Keep looking at me,” he hisses, his voice dropping in a predatory rumble. His hand lifts to grip your jaw, his fingers rough and unyielding against your skin. “Look at me closely. Is this what you wanted to see? Does this fit into your perfect little fantasy?”

“You really expect me to see some kind of monster,” you whisper, your voice stable despite the intensity of his grip.

Slowly, you rise and his hand drops. He straightens too, but he doesn’t restore the closeness. The deafening silence lasts for a moment before you finally get the courage to ask:

“Do you really not remember?”

“Remember what?” he mutters; there’s disinterest sharpening his tone.

“That night,” you pick each word carefully, like it might detonate if one of them slips mishandled. “When you called me at two in the morning. You were drunk and asked me to stay on the phone with you.”

He laughs, short and hollow; the sound lands somewhere in your ribs, aching like a bruise you didn’t know you had.

“So? I was wasted. Probably just trying to get you to come over to have sex.”

“No,” you murmur with a slow shake of your head. “You never said anything like that.”

You don’t look away, and you allow the silence to stretch, because you know he hates it - especially when he doesn’t know what to say. His gaze flickers, just for a second, and doubt slips in.

You wonder if he’s lying. You’d like to believe the memory is there, buried under his shame and everything else he refuses to let himself feel.

You want to believe he remembers you reading to him until his breathing evened out. That he remembers falling asleep with your voice in his ear. That he’s just too embarrassed to admit it.

So, you let it go. Instead, you simply say: “I think you were hurt.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” His voice is quieter now, temporarily stripped of its armor.

“Because I’m giving you a chance to make this right.”

“There’s nothing right about me!” He steps closer, frustration sharpening every line of his face until he looks like he is carved from tension. “How do you not get it? This… u-us…” he stumbles over the word like it’s choking him. “It’s not going to work. Someone fucked up like me doesn’t get to be with a girl like you! That’s not how the world works.” His breath stutters. “Fuck—Why did you even come here for god’s sake?! After all the shit I said that day? How can you look at me right now?”

“I told you already,” you say, your voice starting to shake with the effort to stay composed. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be disgusted,” he mutters. His brows furrow deeply, a brief flicker of confusion slipping into his dark eyes. Then, his voice thickens as he doubles down: “I used you.”

“Maybe,” you admit.

He steps closer. Not abruptly, but slow; slow steps that shorten the space between you, until there’s nowhere left to retreat. Your back meets the cool brick wall. He doesn’t touch you. His presence alone is enough to cage you in, his arms braced on either side - close enough that you can smell sweat and iron along with something familliar that makes your heart clench. The sheer gravity of his presence is meant to make you recoil, to remind you that he belongs to this violent world - and you don’t.

His breath stutters, this time ghosting over your cheek, as his eyes search your face, like he’s trying to memorise it before it’s taken from him.

You lift your hand slowly; the way you’d reach out for something wounded and wild, your fingers hovering for a second before settling against his warm skin. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear; an intimate gesture that feels too much to bare. As you allow your fingertips to brush lightly along his cheek, your gaze drifts to his mouth; the split lip still bleeds faintly, because of you.

Jooyeon shuts his eyes, breath drawing in like it hurts. “Don’t do this to yourself…” he murmurs, voice barely there. “Didn’t you tell me once you were a good girl? That you take what you’re given and never ask for more?”

He opens his eyes, letting them flick to your parted lips before stopping on yours. “I believed you. That’s what I liked about you. It made this… easy.”

These words - they are the final cut meant to push you away. But you don’t flinch.

“Just that?” you ask, your low tone matching his. “There’s nothing else you like about me?”

Jooyeon presses his lips together. There’s something he refuses to say crowding behind his teeth.

You lean in, careful. Your lips aim for his, but as always, he’s faster. He turns his head at the last second and your kiss lands against his cheek instead. Soft, devastating. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t face you either. He just stays there, frozen like a statue.

“Do yourself a favour,” his hands curl slightly against the brick wall beside your head. “and just stay away from me.”

“I will.” The words come out quieter, but at least they no longer shake.

You see his jaw pulse - regret or relief, you can’t tell. For a moment, you think he might try to stop you, reach out, or do something. But he remains still and silent.

“Next time you’re drunk and in pain,” you add, forcing yourself to meet his hollow gaze one last time, “call someone else. I’m deleting your number.”

You don’t wait for his reaction. You step past him, and the space between you immediately feels immense. You walk away from the wall, the club, his wounded body… the version of yourself that would have stayed, trying to fix things. You don’t look back. Even as something inside you splinters quietly with every beat of your heart, you keep walking.

On the other hand, Jooyeon stays there, leaning against the wall, wondering why you never asked if he won the fight.

─── ✍︎

It’s your second week at the publishing house, but everything still carries that electrifying newness, like the untouched spine of a new book. Every day, you come here, and for a full hour it feels like you’re dreaming.

Your desk is by the window, there are editorial notes already scattered on it, an open notebook with quickly slanted thoughts and a blinking cursor on your laptop screen. There’s enough proof that this is finally happening - you’re starting to belong here. Or at least, you’re learning how to.

Focus, you command yourself, massaging the tension in your temples. But Jooyeon is there again, drifting through your thoughts like a ghost who refuses to leave. You let out a long breath, pressing your lips together to keep your composure. You’re here to work, to build something of your own, yet the memory of him remains that one line you can’t seem to edit out.

The sudden buzz of your phone breaks the trance at once.

Jiseok: this is too funny not to tell you

Jiseok: i actually talked to my ex at the singles party after you left

Jiseok: turns out she has a boyfriend :D

Jiseok: she was there because her (single) friend didn’t want to go alone

A smile stretches on your face. It feels like things slowly but surely are finally settling back to normal with Jiseok. You open the app, your thumbs flying across the screen.

no way

well… guess the universe wanted to clear the air for you

The typing bubbles dance on the screen immediately, but you’re interrupted before he replies.

“Hey,” a voice says, melodic.

You look up to see a woman from the neighbouring department. Danielle, if you remember correctly. You noticed her on day one; she has a polished, confident posture and even more confident eyes.

“We’re thinking of going out this Friday, a few people from the office,” she says, leaning a hand on the edge of your desk. “Dinner first, then maybe a club if we’re still standing. You should come.”

“Sure,” you smile, “I’d like that.”

She nods with a polite smile, then continues down the row of desks.

As you turn back to your monitor, you feel a lingering attention from across the room. Near the shelves with advance manuscripts, you catch Jiung failing miserably at pretending to be busy.

When your eyes meet, he quickly jolts upright, then lifts a hand in a quiet, almost bashful thumbs-up. His lips move silently, forming a: nice!

You offer a sincere smile in return, and he looks away a second later, lips still curled.

He’s been a constant, gentle presence since your first hour here, offering help whenever you need it. He’s the one who showed you how the coffee machine works. The one who patiently navigated you through the labyrinth of different departments without once making you feel slow or stupid for asking newbie questions.

As outside the near window the city keeps moving, you return quietly to your document, and finally start typing.

Some time later, you push back from your desk and head toward the breakroom, desperate for a second caffeine hit to carry you through the rest of the day. As you wait for your cup to fill, a shadow falls over the counter. It’s Jiung, clutching a stack of manuscripts.

“Refueling?” he asks, voice dropping into an amusing, conspiratiorial whisper.

You tilt your head, a friendly spark in your eyes. “Always. You?”

He nods, a bashful smile tugging at his mouth. “Always.” His gaze flickers to the floor before meeting yours with a sudden, quiet braveness. “So, uh… I overheard Danielle earlier. You’re going? To the club thing?”

“Yeah, I am.” You respond, the warm scent of coffee rising between you. “Are you?”

Jiung lets out a breath that’s half-laugh, half-defeat. “I wasn’t going to. Usually my Friday nights involve gaming… sometimes reading. But…” he shifts the weight of the manuscripts, his ears turning pink. “If you’re going to be there, I can come too.”

“Of course, I would like it if you join.” you beam with delight, picking up your mug. Truthfully, the thought of a crowded club after work makes your own introverted heart sink a little too, but the sight of his nerves makes you want to bridge the gap.

His face lights up, the pink on his ears spreading to his cheeks.

As you walk back to your desk, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You sink into your chair and check your notifications. It’s Jiseok again.

Jiseok: anyway, you celebrating that new job anytime soon or what?

A sudden burst of spontaneity spikes through you, and you type back quickly.

how about tonight?

Jiseok’s reply is almost instant:

Jiseok: name the place and i’m there

You slide the phone in your pocket. Jiung is already halfway to his cubicle, his shoulders a bit tense from balancing the pile of manuscripts.

“Jiung!”

He stops and spins around, the stack of papers wobbling in his arms. His eyes look back at you, glinting curious behind the glasses.

“I think I can use a drink tonight,” you smile, tilting your head playfully. “Does a quick stop with a few of my friends at the pub down the street sound too bad?”

Jiung blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sudden invitation. But then, a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face. The pink in his cheeks deepens from excitement.

“Tonight?” He repeats. “Yeah. No, that doesn’t sound too bad. Not bad at all. I’d… I’d really like that.”

He offers a nod, then turns with a steadier smile on his lips, the manuscripts shifting dangerously against his chest.

You and your best friend are tucked into a corner booth with Jiseok who’s currently invested in the chaotic retelling of her last dating disaster. He’s laughing, leaning back with his beer; exactly the same as he’s always been - cheerful, easygoing and unfiltered. When he notices someone hovering near the edge of your table, he’s the first to wave them over.

“You must be Jiung!” he says brightly, sliding over to make room.

Jiung looks a little like he’s suddenly stepped into another dimension. Without the office lights and piles of paper around him, he looks somehow softer in his dark blue charcoal sweater.

“I am,” he smiles back. “Jiseok?” he asks, voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

Jiseok nods with a grin, offering a hand. “I’ve heard you’re the one keeping her sane at the new job.”

Jiseok being his usual friendly self visibly brings Jiung relief; his shoulders relax as he takes a seat, realising he won’t be interrogated or anything like that. He catches you watching and gives you a small, private nod - thank you for the invite.

Once all of the glasses hit empty, you slide out of the booth. “I think it’s my turn.”

Your friend is already on her feet, looping her arm through yours. Jiseok and Jiung are in a surprisingly deep debate about a video game you have never heard of.

As soon as you reach the crowded mahogany bar, safely out of earshot, she nudges you with her elbow. “Okay, he is great!” her face lights up with excitment. “You didn’t tell me he’s that cute?”

“He’s my coworker,” you laugh, knowing exactly what’s going through her mind. Ignoring the heat rising in your neck, you try to grab the bartender’s attention.

“Please,” she shakes her head. “He’s crushing on you, hard. It’s written all over those glasses.”

You give the order, then you glance back at the table. Jiung is laughing at something Jiseok says, but it’s like he immediately feels your gaze - his eyes drift toward the bar, searching for you. He offers a shy, fleeting smile before quickly looking back at his hands.

“See!” she squeals under her breath. “Total goner.” Her teasing grin suddenly falters when she catches the look on your face.

You’re silently staring at the counter, your mind drifting somewhere far away from Jiung, from this place. She sighs, her expression softening into something fiercely protective. She reaches out, squeezing your forearm. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about him.” Her voice loses its usual playful edge. “Aw, babe… he’s not coming back. And it’s for the better.”

You open your mouth, but she’s already on a roll. “He better stay away, because I swear I’ll beat his ass if I catch him on the street!” she declares, eyes flashing with a loyal fire. “I don’t care if he has skills or whatever, I’m taking him down. He doesn’t get to just break your heart and run.”

She shakes her head, physically trying to wave the image of him away. “Look at that guy over there,” she nods toward the booth. “He’s kind, sincere and he’s here.” She picks up two of the drinks. “Don’t let those memories ruin your good night.”

─── ✍︎ friday night

The team dinner flows with shared plates, clinking glasses and an relatively easy conversation. Although, beneath it all, the night carries a strange type of… energy; it’s that mutual awareness that everyone at the table is still half-masked. It’s that awareness only coworkers have: you don’t know their worst parts yet, and they don’t know yours.

Jiung is a few seats away, angled toward you in a subtle way that doesn’t call attention to itself. He draws you into the conversation, always making sure you’re included. He asks what you’ve been reading lately, and you share a few titles, offering glimpses of yourself while still holding back, careful not to overshare, or be too much. After that night out with your best friend and Jiseok, the tentative politeness of coworkers between you and Jiung has vanished. You speak way more freely now; it feels nice getting to know someone new. Your laughter is never forced - you like him.

Jiung clearly feels the spark, too. It’s in the way he watches you, there’s a silent readiness to take things a step further. But he remains cautious, because his intiution picks up on that invisible line you don’t even realise you’ve drawn.

You hesitate. And the kind guy he is - Jiung respects it.

At one moment, Danielle shifts the subject. “My boyfriend is at this club not too far from here. Why don’t we finish the night there?”

A chorus of yeahs and why nots follows.

The walk from the uber to the building feels longer than it actually is. Of all the places. Of all the shiny, famous clubs in the city… why this one?

Every step makes a voice in your head blast louder: Will he be there? And another one pathetically tries to shout over it, unsuccessful: it doesn’t matter.

You meant every word you said in that alleyway. His presence will not change anything.

But by the time you reach the entrance, your stomach has coiled into a tight knot that’s not going away. The bass greets you first, deep, heavy vibrations hit your fluttering chest. And then, through the pulsing crowd, you see him.

He’s behind the bar, moving with a fluid ease under the blinking neon lights. He looks up at exactly the wrong moment. As if you pulled him by an invisible thread. When your eyes collide across the room, it’s like the entire floor tilts beneath your feet. Your heart kicks against your ribs, and a sudden, prickling heat rises to your neck.

The shift on Jooyeon’s face is instantaneous. Surprise? Disbelief? It flickers for a fraction of a second before he slowly leans forward, bracing his hands against the edge of the bar. That familliar mask of indifference he manages so well snaps back into place, but this time, it’s edged with something darker.

You can only imagine the amusement twisting inside him. He was always so sure you didn’t even know places like this existed.

“Drinks?” someone shouts over the music.

You force yourself back into the present, following the group to a table tucked just off the main floor. Its position is almost cruel - you can see the bar perfectly if you let yourself.

And from where he’s standing, Jooyeon can see you, too.

You settle down, determined to not get distracted. This is your first night out with your coworkers. First impressions are important. You can’t be the quiet one, or the strange one, the girl out of place who keeps getting lost in her thoughts instead of having fun.

You laugh at a joke you only half-hear, taking a sip of the drink that burns all the way down, wanting the rhythm of the night carry you.

And you feel it, you know it without having to look. Every time Jooyeon turns to fill a glass or take an order, his gaze inevitably cuts through the crowd to find you. Everything unsaid stretches thin across the distance, overpowering the bass, wrapping tight around your throat.

“You okay?” Jiung leans in, his voice a soft contrast to the noise.

He doesn’t look at the bar where you are; he’s looking only at you. You like how genuine, uncomplicated his concern is.

Jooyeon’s hands move on muscle memory, filling glasses to the right line. He’s supposed to be working, but his attention keeps slipping.

What are you doing? You don’t belong here. Not around this kind of crowd. In his head, he brings back your quiet corner in the bookstore, your soft concentration and worn out jeans. Seeing you here feels like all this time he’s been holding onto a lie. A mirage. It throws him off.

So, he keeps watching without meaning to.

It seems like your laughter is genuine, and when you listen, you really listen - tilting your head as if every person at that table deserves your absolute, undivided attention. And then there’s that guy beside you. He’s sitting too close, his posture so obviously, pathetically trying to claim you.

It’s stupid. Jooyeon knows that. He lost the right to care the day he shut the door to your apartment and never returned.

“Hey, man.”

Jooyeon doesn’t look up, he already knows the voice. This guy has been coming in a lot lately, always fishing for free drinks and acting like they’re old friends.

“Usual,” he says.

Jooyeon finaly glances up. “Sure, but you’re paying tonight.”

The man’s grin falters before quickly reforming. He’s already had a few before arriving here - his eyes are glassy, his speech slurring. “Oh, come on. You know me.”

“That’s exactly why.” Jooyeon’s voice is flat as he slides a clean glass across the counter. “I can’t keep giving you free drinks, man. You need to pay at some point.”

The man murmurs something under his breath, but Jooyeon misses it. Over the man’s shoulder, he sees you taking a selfie with the guy who’s trying too hard. There’s a smile on your lips as you lean in against him.

Jooyeon slides the finished drink across. The man grabs it, downing half of it in one heavy gulp.

“See?” the man flashes another crooked, unsteady grin. “One drink… wasn’t so hard.”

And Jooyeon doesn’t know what it is - maybe it’s this guy who refuses to take no for an answer, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s having a miserable night. Or maybe it’s your unexpected presence. Something inside him cracks.

He braces both hands on the edge of the bar, leaning in. “Listen to me carefully, man.” He says, his voice drop-dead quiet. “You’re paying. Or this is your last night here.”

The man scoffs. Jooyeon, on the other hand, in his head begins counting to ten.

One, two… Just like Seungmin taught him.

“You got a real attitude tonight, kid.” The man barks, leaning over the counter. Five, six… “Did something crawl up your ass, or what?”

That is when the heat floods Jooyeon’s chest, hot and blinding. One moment there’s noise and that guy’s ugly provoking grin, and the next, Jooyeon’s fist connects in a brutal punch. Bone meets bone. The man stumbles backward, crashing into a barstool as blood instantly blooms from his nose. The shock erases the annoying grin off his mouth.

“Jooyeon, stop!” someone shouts.

Hands grab him immediately from behind. A senior staff member wraps an arm around his chest, dragging him back before he can take another step.

He struggles once, his chest heaving until the weight of what he’s done crashes in all at once. All eyes have turned toward the bar.

Jooyeon looks past the chaos, past the staff trying to keep him contained, past the man being helped to his feet.

And there you are - standing halfway out of your chair, your eyes wide. But it’s not fear he sees in them, it’s something far worse. Concern. Pity.

A firm hand squeezes his shoulder, pulling him toward the back. A voice murmurs something about the back room; something about him needing to take a break. He ignores everyone.

The back door clicks shut behind him, cutting off the pounding club music. However, there’s ringing in his ears that becomes obvious outside in the chilly night air. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling a ragged breath as he pulls a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He lits it, his hand steady.

Staring straight ahead into the dark alley, he takes one long drag, letting the smoke burn its way down his throat before releasing it into the air. Out of nowhere, someone sits down on the crate beside him. He doesn’t look - he’s not interested.

“Hey,” a girl says. Her voice is tired, lacking any flirtation. “You got an extra one?”

Without breaking his gaze from the distance, Jooyeon pulls another cigarette from the pack and holds it out, thumbing his lighter open for her. His jaw is tight, irritated by the intrusion, but too drained to argue.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, leaning in to catch the flame.

For a moment it’s almost peaceful. Then, her phone rings.

She groans, but answers anyway. “What?” A brief pause. “No, I told you. I don’t want this.” She sighs, rubbing her temples. “Look, nothing is ever going to happen between us. Don’t call me anymore.”

Jooyeon exhales through his nose, the smoke curlng around the sound. He cannot bare another second of this. He’s just about to tell her, politely or not, to take her drama somewhere else when she abruptly hangs up.

She slumps forward, elbows on her knees and cigarette dangling between her fingers. “God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Shitty night, huh?”

“Yeah.” His flat answer better be enough of a sign that he’s not looking for a conversation.

But she doesn’t take the hint.

“I can’t afford a decent apartment,” she starts, the words tumbling out as if they’ve been waiting for an audience. “I hate my job. And the guy I thought I’d see casually - just for fun, to take the edge off, you know - now wants me to meet his mom!” She lets out a humorless laugh. “He called me a bitch when I told him I didn’t want to. Can you believe that?”

Jooyeon keeps his gaze fixed ahead, letting her words pass without judgment.

“What about you?” she asks suddenly, turning to look at him.

He doesn’t answer right away. In the quiet of the alley, he can hear the bass thumping faintly through the brick wall behind them. And behind his eyes, there’s still an image that won’t leave him alone.

“I fucked up the only chance I had with an amazing girl,” he says finally. “And now I miss her.”

The words sit between them, heavy. It’s strange; he doesn’t know how that works, but confessing your deepest secrets to a stranger feels easier than offering them to the people who actually deserve the truth.

That’s all he had to say before crushing the cigarette beneath his foot.

He steps back inside, the noise swallowing him whole the second the door closes. He stops by the narrow employee sink to wash his hands, keeping his eyes down, stubbornly ignoring his own reflection in the mirror as he does so. After he dries his hands, he’s ready to reclaim his post behind the bar, but then, he sees her.

His boss is leaning against the doorway, her lips curved into a sinister smile. She is clearly pleased the space has cleared out and it’s just the two of them all alone.

“You’ve been grumpy lately,” she says with an intrigued tilt of her head. “Where’s that charming smile of yours? The one I like so much?” She forces an artificial pout onto her red lips.

Jooyeon sighs. “I’ve gotta get back to the bar.”

He moves to pass her, but she only shifts closer. The movement brings a wave of her perfume, a scent he never learned to like; it’s way too sweet. She lifts a finger, running it along his cheek, like she’s tracing something she owns.

He doesn’t pull away.

“Stick around after your shift,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to a demanding purr. “I have something to tell you.”

“Do it now,” he shoots back. “I have plans.”

He doesn’t.

She tilts her head, studying his expression as she leans back against the door. “We’re getting married. But that wouldn’t be a problem, would it?”

Jooyeon’s gaze lowers to her chest despite himself - her manicured fingers toy with the zipper of her shirt, just enough to reveal the red lace beneath.

He stands there, looking at her pushed up boobs, now almost completely exposed, and he’s thinking… does she actually believe he ever cared about her relationship with that man?

But back to her question - yes, it would be a problem. Her soon-to-be-husband is the kind of man nobody wants to have beef with; his name alone closes mouths shut around here. He knows exactly what kind of trouble this is, and how hard it would be to crawl back out if a word about him and her ever comes out.

This is it. This is the moment he can step back. He can do the right thing for once.

“No,” he says instead. “I don’t care.”

Her smirk blooms instantly. She unzips the rest of her shirt and lets it drop to the floor before cutting the distance between them. Her hands come up, settling at the back of his neck, pulling him toward her mouth.

“Good,” she purrs. “I’m not ready for this to end.”

Jooyeon doesn’t want this - not anymore. But he kisses her. Not because he feels anything, but because right now, any distraction is better than sitting alone with his thoughts.

His shift ends without any new confrontations. Just the usual wiping down the bar, stacking glasses and clocking out. He leaves through the front exit, jacket pulled tight.

Despite the night cool biting at his skin, he doesn’t take the short way home. Instead, he turns down a side street, then another, following the repetitive route he’s been taking for weeks now. His steps slow when he finally approaches the empty space - it used to be a clothing store, but now it’s just a big, dark rectangle of glass and dust. The sign FOR SELL still hangs in the window.

Jooyeon stops in front of it just like he did last time, pack of cigarettes in hand. He steps closer to look through the glass. There is absolutely nothing left inside, just empty concrete floor and exposed pillars.

Something familiar pulls at him again as he stands in the same spot. There’s a new want gnawing at him lately, quiet but relentless, to build something clean, something stable. On his own.

Watching the open floor, he wishes, stupidly, that it will wait for him a little longer, as if places could choose you back.

He steps back and turns to leave when he stops again. He can’t mistake him - the café guy stands a few meters away, staring down at his phone.

What a shitty night for real, Jooyeon thinks and lights a cigarette.

─── ✍︎

Tonight, you’re in a dress. Nothing fancy, but you made sure it’s not too plain either, you also added a thin silver chain around your neck that catches the light. You don’t have big expectations, but you wanted to put in the effort.

Jiung will be here soon. Your coworker, your guide, and the guy you’ve finally convinced yourself you’re allowed to let into your life.

The doorbell rings and you check the time. There are still thirty minutes. Your heart skips in a sudden beat of surprise. Maybe he got nervous and got a little early by accident; that would be cute.

You open the door and a drift of biting, cold air rushes in.

It’s Jooyeon. He’s leaning heavily against the hallway wall, looking like the wood is the only thing keeping him on his feet. Fresh blood streaks his jawline. His lip is split again, the raw edge weeping red. A darkening purple bloom across his cheekbone.

The way your brows pinch already says enough, though. He looks bad.

“Hey,” he says, his voice carrying a jagged weight that vibrates in the small space. His eyes lift to yours, and he manages a ghost of a smile - a habit of pretending his presence is something normal. But his gaze remains distant, clouded by pain. “Hi, beautiful.”

Your body immediately reacts with instinct surges - are you okay? Come in. Let me help you. Your hands twitch at your side, aching to reach out and steady him.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, and the coldness in your tone costs you more than you let show.

His smile falters, the last bits of light in his eyes dimming. “Can I please come in?”

You don’t move. It’s so difficult not to move toward him, to not pull him into the safety of your home. Behind you, the table is set for two, and the clock is ticking toward a version of your life that doesn’t include blood and bruises.

“You’re bleeding.” You say in a fragile line between anger ans heartbreak.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he continues, words tumbling messily. “I know. But… I’ll take the couch. I swear. I’m really not in the mood to go home tonight.” He swallows hard, wincing as he parts his bloody lips, voice dropping to a distant whisper. “Please… I just—I want to stay with you.”

You force your gaze down, remembering to breathe. The scent of the sharp blood and something burnt clinging to his jacket fills your lungs.

“Even if there’s a wall between us,” he adds, even quieter. “We don’t have to be in the same room.”

The hallway hums with the distant sound of an elevator, and a siren blocks away as the two of you stand there in agonising silence. Your apartment glows warm and inviting behind you, while the minutes pass steadily toward Jiung’s arrival.

You want to be strong, you want to… but you can’t fight what your heart truly desires.

You step aside, finally meeting his exhausted eyes. “Come in.”

Jooyeon exhales, like he’s been holding his breath since the very moment that the door opened. He slips past you carefully, one arm tucked against his ribs. It’s like the apartment registers him immediately - his presence shifts the air; the memories of his last visit make the space feel a little smaller.

“Have you eaten something?” you ask, walking toward the kitchen.

You don’t want to stand close to him just yet. You can’t. He follows you like a wounded animal, collapsing on the first chair he sees.

“Not really,” he murmurs.

“I’ll get you something,” you say, already moving to get the first-aid kit from the cabinet. “I ordered food about fifteen minutes ago.”

You don’t mention that the extra portions were meant for someone else.

Jooyeon doesn’t respond. He silently watches you move with frantic precision, your dress swaying with every step. He leans back slightly, a sharp flash of recognition crossing his face. And then… your phone buzzes. He does not recognise the name on the screen, yet his stomach tightens, so certain, like his entire body knows before his mind is able to catch up.

The dress you’re wearing. The two glasses waiting on the table. The candle burning. The faint, anticipatory neatness of the room.

You have a date.

He reaches for your phone and puts it on mute. Only for the noise in his head to grow louder, making all of his thoughts spiteful.

Just as you unwrap the paper of the sandwiches you ordered, Jiung, hangs up.

“Grilled turkey,” you say, your voice carefully neutral as you slide the plate across the table. You walk back to the fridge. “Would you like mustard on this? Or mayo?”

Jooyeon looks down at the food, then back up at you, his expression unreadable. “Mustard’s fine.”

You return with a small jar of mustard, then set a beer in front of him too. He doesn’t reach for anything, yet.

You don’t drink beer. Why would you keep something you don’t drink in your fridge? Because you were expecting someone who does.

“You got a call,” he says finally, forcing the words out like a courtesy.

You pick up the phone, checking the notification. Your expession softens in something apologetic. “I should call back,” you say. “It’s from work.”

Work. Yeah.

Jooyeon nods, he even smiles a little, as something in him goes cold. He can see it clear as day now - you and that selfie guy from the bar. Work. So, he’s a coworker? He probably knows how to talk about books, Jooyeon can bet. He’s probably the kind of guy who always has something to add when you mention an author you like instead of asking who’s that? He probably doesn’t need to think of jokes to cover up his lack of knowledge.

He can’t stay still. Not when he can make out your voice, low and polite; a small laugh you try to keep contained. It makes him feel sick. He steps out on the small balcony, needing to feel the cold air hit his lungs. He lights up a smoke, his hand still shaking a little, and he stares out at the city.

He leans against the railing, telling himself this is what he asked for. Because it is. This is the wall he wanted to build between you the day you met. He really thought he could live with it; he doesn’t understand what went wrong.

You join Jooyeon a moment later. A cardigan hangs loose over your bare shoulders, sleeves almost swallowing your hands as you pull it tight against the evening chill. You stop beside him, maintaining a careful distance, not too close, but not too far. In the dim light, the shallow cut on his cheek looks like a jagged shadow, and the exhaustion in his eyes is heavy enough to feel like a cold shiver against your skin.

“There was a fire the other day,,” he says suddenly, gaze fixed on the skyline. He lifts a finger towards the buildings flickering in the distance, the city lights shimmering as it moves for two seconds. “Right there. Did you hear about it?”

You blink, caught off guard; not by the news, but by the sharp way the question pulls you out of the careful phrases you’d rehearsed for your conversation. “No,” you admit. “When?”

“In the morning. Around five or six.” He exhales a plume of smoke that vanishes in the cold air. “Just a couple of blocks from here.”

“Oh.” Your gaze drifts over the horizon as you go quiet.

This is what I know how to talk about, Jooyeon thinks, irritation curling inward. Fights. Fires. Damage. Aftermath of damage. Money. More damage.

He hates that he doesn’t have better stories for you - stories that fit the girl in the pretty floral dress.

“Let’s get back inside,” you suggest. “Your sandwich will get cold.”

Jooyeon follows without protest.

You can tell he’s forcing the food down mostly to avoid being rude, not because he has an appetite. A few minutes pass as he eats at the small table in heavy silence. When he pushes the plate away, you finally move in, dragging the near chair closer. You gather the cotton pads, the antiseptic and a clean cloth, then position yourself in front of him.

“Look up,” you whisper.

Jooyeon hesitates, his chin lifting extra slowly. Up close, the damage is more visceral. The antiseptic stings as you dab it against the split in his lip; a careful touch, almost reverent, like you’re afraid of hurting him more. He hisses through his teeth, his hand briefly twitching toward you before he pulls it back; as if he was about to touch a hot stove and burn himself.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

You don’t know what you’re apologising for. The pain? The fact you’re letting him stay? For not letting him come in sooner?

Jooyeon’s eyes drop to your necklace, then flicker back to yours. “He’s late. Your guy.”

You pause just for a second, cotton pad hovering above his cheek. Does he know? A flicker of embarassment rises, though unnecessary. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve done something wrong. You both moved on, haven’t you?

“He’s not my guy,” you say, though it tastes a little bitter. You move the cloth a little higher and he flinches instinctively.

“You should’ve told me,” he says at last, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “Whatever you had… you didn’t have to cancel because of me.”

You press gently at his cheekbone, and he lets out a shuddering breath. “You don’t need to worry about that,” you say; tone much lighter than the voices in your head. “Does it hurt?” You ask.

He waits a few seconds, leaning into the touch of the damp fabric, as his eyes flutter shut. “Not anymore,” he rasps. “That call… was that a coworker? From the new job?”

With chest tightening, you nod. “Yeah, I work at a publishing house now.” For some reason it feels strange how much he doesn’t know about what your current life looks like.

You almost freeze when his eyes lock onto yours, dark and searching. The surprise on his face lasts a single second, but you see it. “They’re lucky to have you.”

For the first time since he got here, your heart eases its uneven thudding. All because of his recognition.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he adds, voice deepening. You’re so close you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the faint erratic thrum of his pulse. “For…” he trails off, the apology stretching into everything he doesn’t know how to put into words; into everything he can’t make sense of.

Until it just… ends where it started. Unfinished.

His silence hangs in the air like a suspended breath. For a moment you consider saying a hundred different things to him. However, you decide it’s best to just offer a single word. “Done.” You stand up and gather all the supplies from the table.

You head to your room, choosing to turn on the fairy lights that decorate your window instead of the big light. You pull a blanket from the wardrobe and a pillow from the bed. Before returning to the living area, you quickly smooth the sheets back into place.

“You should take the bed,” you say when you come back, tossing the blanket and pillow on the couch.

Jooyeon shakes his head immediately.

“I fall asleep on the couch all the time anyway,” you reassure him, “I read until my eyes give up, it’s not a problem, really.”

“No, I’m taking the couch. End of story.”

You open your mouth to argue, then close it at the sight of his unwavering expression. “Okay,” you sigh. “Then…” you gesture vaguely toward the bathroom. “If you’d like to shower before sleeping… I think I have a few oversized things that could fit you.”

Instead of waiting for him to agree or disagree, you turn toward your open bedroom. Watching him just stand there with an unreadable expression makes you nervous, and you’d like to keep yourself busy, so you don’t have to look at him, struggling to understand what you see.

You find a worn t-shirt, soft and stretched from too many washes, and a pair of loose shorts that should do for one night. When you return, Jooyeon is undressing. You’ve seen him bruised in different places before. Still, you freeze; it’s not something you can ever get used to. The purple-yellow blooms along his ribs, the fading mark on his shoulder…

“You don’t have to look at them,” he says, quietly but defensive.

“I’m sorry…” your gaze lowers. Finally, you step closer to hand him the clothes. “I can wash yours,” you suggest, noticing that his eyes are back to being avoidant of you again. “I have a dryer. If I put them now, they’ll be done for tomorrow.”

The suggestion follows with silence long enough for you to suddenly feel self-conscious. But then, he looks up from the clothes in his hands, still neatly folded the way you offered them, and something passes through his eyes; something foreign, yet strangely warm enough to ease the bitter feeling in your stomach.

“Okay,” he nods. He doesn’t say anything else as he takes the towel you brought and disappears behind the door. The sound of running water follows him a few seconds later.

You start gathering his clothes, feeling heat everywhere all over you - your neck, your face, your chest where your heart feels heavy and far from steady unlike your hands.

He emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later, steam curling out behind him. His hair is damp, and stray droplets of water still cling to his skin , tracing lines down his neck.

Because the bathroom opens directly into your bedroom, he doesn’t go far; he sinks onto the edge of your bed, his frame slumping from exhaustion - one that feels as much mental as it is physical. The bed is the first thing he can reach, and he sits there, silhouetted in the glow of the vanity mirror nearby. He begins to rub his head with the small towel, the movement mechanical and weary, like it’s the last thing he wants to waste his last bits of energy on.

You watch him silently, how almost peculiar he looks against the soft duvet and the neatness of your room, warmly lit by the tender glow of the fairy lights; the contrast is a stinging reminder of the chaos he carries with him.

Then you move closer, noting the faint flush the steam has left on his cheeks. “Can I?” you ask softly, holding up the bottle of cream. “It will help the bruises fade quicker.”

He shoots you a brief glance, then sets the towel aside in silent permission.

Kneeling beside him, you feel the residual heat radiating from his skin. You squeeze a bit of cream onto your fingers, warming it between your palms before applying it to his shoulder in careful, steady circles. You force yourself to focus on the task - the slide of your hands, the light pressure, the exact amount of friction needed to avoid causing him further pain - because thinking about the man himself right now is harder.

This closeness, this contact… it does something to you. Before, you used to feel reckless when you were with Jooyeon. Now, you don’t feel anything similar to that. You don’t feel hope either. You just feel… sad. Like you’re mourning something or someone who was never yours to begin with.

A long audible sigh escapes him, causing your fingers to slow their pace even more. When his head tilts to the side, seemingly lighter from the sudden relief, you glide your touch toward his neck - gentle, cautious and hyper aware of his reactions. He sits perfectly still beneath your hands, eyes half-lidded, his body surrending its tension with each slow stroke of your fingers.

Without a word, he turns to face you. A single droplet of water falls from his damp hair, landing on the bruised shoulder you’ve just tended to. But in this moment, the world narrows down to his gaze, heavy, fixed entirely on your eyes.

Swallowing, you see a faint crease appear between his brows. You’ve seen that before. And that’s how you know - even the smallest move right now could either fix, or, ruin everything.

But when he leans in, you let him. You let him kiss you. Something inside you whispers don’t; it’s quiet but persistent. Yet, you decide to ignore it.

Too easily, you melt into his touch as he cups the side of your face, gently; a kind of gentleness that almost doesn’t feel right on him. His other hand slides up your thigh, getting lost beneath your skirt. Your skin heats up at the thrill of his calloused fingers, scratching you lightly up and down.

The kiss feels intimate like no other kiss you’ve experienced before; more intimate than cleaning his wounds and seeing him twitch from the pain. It feels deep from long restraint or waiting. And the taste… mint and smoke, so familliar. It scares you just how fast your system remembers the way to open for him like a door, just by a single touch of his, welcoming him entirely like he doesn’t belong anywhere else.

His grip on you slightly tightens, like he can’t help it. Like he needs to hold you there, pressed into him. The pressure snaps you out of the moment.

“We shouldn’t,” you mumble breathlessly.

You can almost feel his speedy pulse where your thumb still presses against his collarbone. Until you pull your hand away too.

“I know,” he mutters, voice low and groggy. “I know.” He repeats, this time sounding more like a failed attempt to convince himself.

Yet, he can’t find the strength to detach from you completely; he roams under your skirt, as if your warmth is a trap he has no desire to escape.

“We can never really stay away from each other, can we?” he murmurs, hooded eyes drifting down to your lap. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he’s talking to himself or the air. His voice slows, his expression tightening as if he’s given himself the chance to finally untangle some of his thoughts. “No matter how much we try we just…”

“Jooyeon, don’t,” you whisper like a plea.

But he is past the point of stopping. “I miss you every day,” he continues, talking like a drunk man who’s drowning in suppressed memories. But he’s completely sober. “I’ll get it if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either. But I do. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing… you’re just… always there. In my head.”

The air between you thickens, with the kind of weight that only comes when a truth finally swims to the surface. For a moment you try to hold onto your resolve, to remember why you shouldn’t, but his words… so raw and unpolished… they snap the last of your defenses.

You lean into him, your forehead coming to rest against his shoulder, right beside the bruise you were just tending to.

He lets out a jagged exhale, his hand tightening its grip beneath your skirt, pulling you closer until you’re straddling his lap. He doesn’t say it’s okay. He doesn’t promise it’s going to be different from now on, or easy. But when his lips brush yours again, with that earlier softness, you can feel how he’s been starving for this.

And that’s all that matters.

The warmth of his body sneaks through the thin layer of your dress, bringing heat into your stomach, until there’s no time nor space left for logic. Every inch of him beneath you grows, solid; you can feel it trying to press against you even through the thick, cotton fabric.

He hums low and deep, his large palms cupping your ass, gripping the flesh like he’s grounding himself. You haven’t forgotten how exciting it is - to be touched with such hunger, like you’re something rare that’s going to melt away in between his fingers if he’s not fast enough.

Your eyes stay shut at the contact of his lips, your arms locked around his shoulders. Jooyeon’s breath catches and then - a sudden, rasping snap. An unmistakable noise of his fingers ripping your lace panties apart.

You pull back slightly, swallowing as the heat pulses between your thighs. You can feel his gaze inspecting the move of your throat, the heaving of your chest; it’s weary, but still heedful of every flicker of emotion you show.

Can he see beneath the surface, though? Can he feel the deeper intent behind your hands? Does he know how desperate you are to offer him a sanctuary?

“Lay down,” you hear yourself whisper against his mouth. “You need to relax.”

Hesitation crosses Jooyeon’s face, as if he’s sure he must have misheard you. But the doubt lasts only a second. When your fingers press against his chest to guide him back, gentle as always, he lets himself fall into the mattress.

You move on your feet, catching your teared underwear before it drops and leaving it beside him.

Kneeling, you slowly undo his towel, revealing the hard length that was pressing insistently against his abdomen. Your breath slides over his heated skin as you guide your face over it, moving slightly higher to press a small, tender kiss - right beneath his belly button. You offer another one, then a third one, all in the same area on his stomach. You shift toward his left hip, then you travel to his ribs, placing a soft kiss near a fading bruise.

You feel the weight of his eyes, exhausted but sharp, lingering on the top of your head as your soft lips scatter the softest smooches, trying to help him focus on this single, quiet moment.

The relief goes deeper into his bones once you get a hold of him, licking the back of your palm before doing so. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering shut as his head sinks into the mattress, the last of the fight finally draining out of him; your fingers squeeze - slightly tentative at first, but after a few more strokes, they find their pace.

His left hand forms a fist around your sheets, the other one finds your teared panties. “You’re so good to me,” he murmurs, not opening his eyes. The only movements come from his breathing that’s picking up, the jumping of his adam’s apple. “Baby…”

You swallow at this new, vulnerable side of him, unfolding like nothing you’ve ever seen before - all from your touch. It’s jarring… the man who is always on guard, in control, always watching for the next move, finally chooses to be blind and raw in your presence.

“Shh,” you soothe him, thumb swiping to catch the transparent precum leaking down the side of his length. You smear it all over the head; slow, measured motions. “You don’t need to say anything right now.”

Jooyeon shudders, his back temporarily arching off the bed. His fingers noticeably tighten around the black lace as he brings his hand to his face, rough knuckles brushing against his lips; they part wider when your tongue traces him from base to top before the warmth of your mouth envelops half of him a moment later. His teeth graze his knuckles as he moans - an unfamilliar, mellow sound.

The pleasure flows, invading his veins in steady waves as you go lower, spit dripping down every inch. It overpowers the pain, the anxiety and anger.

Then, you slide back to the tip extra slowly, like you have all the time in the world, sucking tenderly before detaching, your sloppy fist still working around the base. Jooyeon’s fist pressed against his mouth eases only a little bit after your touch vanishes; his other one releases the cotton fabric slowly.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re already adjusted over his lap again, lifting your skirt just enough to take him in your palm. You take a moment to massage your clit with a few grinding motions, up and down, smearing the moisture that’s coating every inch of his. Gaze locked onto the way his crude expression softens in bliss, you guide him to your entrance, then slowly sink down.

You remember the sensation - just how overwhelming he can feel at first. It’s not a feeling you’ll get used to easily. Your jaw goes slack, a silent moan threatening to come out.

He immediately reaches for your waist, but you softly stop him before he can even touch you. “Let me,” you whisper. It’s not a command, yet his hands retrieve to where they were. “Just stay like this for me a little bit.”

You let a few seconds pass, letting him feel every pulse and throb of your walls, tight and excited to welcome him. When you start to move, you move slow and sensual. You want to roll your hips erotically, but you’re also cautious not to overwhelm him too quickly.

You leave your dress to fall loose, gently planting your palms against his stomach instead of bothering to hold it up; the flowy fabric brushing his skin with every motion.

From that moment, the pleasure only rises, and Jooyeon’s mouth remains permanently open. The breaths escaping him are heavy, shallow and deep.

Soon, both of you begin moaning around the same time. You - steadily, too focused on keeping the momentum going. He - weak and brittle like you’ve never witnessed him before.

Wet noises emerge beneath your dress as you keep rolling your hips against him, occasionally lifting in the process while your pussy walls tighten from the high pleasure.

“I… ah, f-fuck—“ Jooyeon almost chokes. “Baby… s-slow…” His head presses back into the mattress, the jittery movement revealing his adam’s apple jumping.

“What was that?” You ask quietly, running your nails against his chest, a slow gentle line. “I can’t hear you so well.”

You’re not lying; he talks too lowly, and as if there’s something stuck in his throat that keeps him from speaking clearly. The multiplying moans keep interrupting his speech too.

“I can’t do t-this right now,” he admits, and the frown of his brows turns even sharper. His entire face scrunches before he tries to look at you for the first time in a while. “I won’t last.”

You look down at him - he has stars in his eyes.

“That’s okay,” you whisper, pausing your movements, so you can lean over; be closer to him. “You don’t have to.”

He can’t help but move his hand at the back of your neck to pull you in until there’s no more space between you. His fingers press, firm, desperate till your lips connect.

When your body starts moving again, faster and stronger, ruining the last bits of his composure, he cries out into your mouth… Even then, his hand doesn’t leave you for a second. Even then, he keeps you pressed close.

You wake up around midnight. Not from a nightmare, or because you’re too hot or too cold. No sudden movements or sounds outside on the street jolt you awake. It’s the night itself, you realise eventually. The fact that after everything, Jooyeon is here - he stayed.

Your mind never fully settled, it kept circling even while your body surrendered to sleep. Now it pulls you back to the surface, thoughts spiralling in restless loops you can’t silence. Fragments of the unexpected evening keep replaying without asking permission - from the ring at the door to the akward silence at the table.

Your bedroom is washed in faint blue light from the city outside, shadows stretching long and soft across the ceiling, and you just lay there, suspended between sleep and awareness with his arm draped loosely across your waist.

Suddenly, a vibration hums against the wood of the nightstand, lighting up the darkness with a white glow. It’s his phone. Yours is still forgotten somewhere in the living room.

He doesn’t stir, his breathing remains deep and even. Jooyeon is a heavy sleeper - it’s one of those small things you have learned about him over time; the kind of random details that seem insignificant on the surface, but mean everything to you. Unlocking such quiet glimpses into who he really is always feels like a hard won privilege.

Your eyes linger on the screen curiously. Way too quickly, you begin to line up neat excuses in your head about why you should check the notification. What if it’s urgent? What if someone needs him?

You shift carefully, slow enough not to jostle the bed and glance down. It’s a message from someone with the name Jungsu.

Jungsu: Happy Birthday! An hour late, sorry.

Birthday??? One more message arrives.

Jungsu: I heard what happened. Hope tonight wasn’t too rough.

You look at the date on the screen as if it might make you recall something, but the numbers stay indifferent.

It’s his birthday… and he never said anything.

You let the phone dim on its own, the light fades until the room returns to blue shadows and his quiet breathing. A hollow surprise opens up inside you. Once again, you’re reminded there are entire rooms inside him that you’ve never been invited into.

You turn onto the other side, not being so careful this time. For a second you think he might awake, but he doesn’t. He only shifts beside you slightly, brows creasing before smoothing again.

You study his face in the dark - the fresh bruising, the tired lines even sleep can’t erase.

Happy birthday. The words echo silently in your mind.

You wonder how many people remembered, and how many people congratulated him. You wonder if he spent the evening fighting because he forgot, or because he wanted to forget it’s his birthday. You wonder why the thought of him being alone on a day like this pains you so much - more than anything else that has brought you pain lately.

─── ✍︎

It’s the next day - another day of work, and the familiar soft fatigue of new routines settling onto your shoulders. The publishing house still feels a little unreal at certain hours, most often in the afternoon when you leave to catch the bus home. Today has been busy, but the quiet pride that comes with being trusted with someone else’s words makes that business feel pleasant.

Your keys jingle against the door, and you push it open with your hip, balancing the small cardboard box in your arms. The apartment greets you with its usual comforting stillnes, but as you step inside, a silhoutte on the balcony catches your eye, making your heart skip a jagged beat.

For a second you think you might have hallucinated the morning - when you left the extra key on the table with a small note lock up when you go. You assumed that by the time you returned, Jooyeon would be gone. You had already rehearsed your lonely return; the empty rooms, the echo of his absence, eating this cake alone while waiting for a “i’m busy” text to arrive.

You walk to the balcony, unsure what to expect next. Certainly, you don’t expect to see him sitting on the narrow balcony chair, one ankle hooked over the other knee, and a book in hand - one of the many stacked unevenly beside the couch. It looks like he isn’t just skimming. His brows are knitted in concentration and the ash on his forgotten cigarette has grown dangerously long, dangling over the railing; it’s going to crumble into the breeze any moment.

The sight steals any words from your mouth. When he finally senses you and looks up, the sudden flicker of surprise in his dark eyes makes it impossible to speak.

“Hey,” he says, voice raspy and low from hours of silence. He looks down at the book, a rare, sheepish shadow crossing his face. “Uhm… hope you don’t mind.”

“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” you manage, shifting the box; the physical proof of a hope you hadn’t dared to admit.

“Oh… yeah.” He clears his throat, closing the book, slowly, like he needs a few more seconds to search for proper words. “Sorry about that. I just… I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” you smile. “Do you want to come inside? Have you had any coffee?”

“No, actually. I could have a cup.”

He stands and follows you in, moving with a slight stiffness, dressed in his freshly washed clothes. He settles onto the same chair where, only last night you had carefully cleaned his wounds. When the coffee machine starts hissing and popping, the moment suddenly feels both fragile and profound. Domestic.

You set the steaming mug in front of him. He murmurs a quiet thanks, lifting his gaze to track your movements.

“I have something for you,” you say softly.

His expression shifts to a perplexed look, his dark brows knitting together as the soft sunlight shines over his bruised cheekbone.

You slide the cardboard box across the table. With careful, steady fingers, you peel back the flaps, revealing a small but perfect strawberry vanilla cake. The light coming from the near window catches the gloss of the frosting.

“Happy belated birthday,” you whisper.

The silence that follows is like a missing echo. Jooyeon’s eyes narrow as he stares at the cake for a long moment, completely wordless from his bewilderment. His throat moves once, his hands twitching on the wooden table as if he wants to reach out but can’t remember how. There’s a visible war unfolding in his eyes; gratitude clashing with the urge to pull away and run.

“How did you know?” he asks, keeping his gaze fixed on the icing, saying happy birthday.

You feel a flush creep up your neck and you nervously shift on your feet. You are aware that this might piss him off, but as scary as his anger is, the thought of hiding it feels worse.

“I… I saw a message on your phone last night,” you admit. Your next words tumble out in an awkward rush. “I wasn’t snooping, I promise. It was just sitting there on my nightstand, and… I couldn’t fall asleep when the screen lit up. I’d never go through your stuff. I just saw it.”

He goes quiet again, a neutral expression that makes the air shift. Before you can even offer him a fork, he stands up abruptly.

“I have to go,” he says, his voice now distant. He reaches for his jacket mainly to escape your eyes. “I just remembered I’ve got an early shift today. We’re short staffed. Thanks, though. It looks… good.”

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything, he’s already moving toward the hallway. His movements are suddenly jagged but efficient, as if he’s trying to outrun the vulnerability of the moment you had. The shared coffee. The cake. The fact you learned something about him. Clearly, it’s all too much.

“Jooyeon?” you call out, voice small due to his sudden departure.

He pauses, hand reaching for the doorknob. His shoulders are pulled tight as he turns.

“You can drop by after your shift tonight?” you offer, your heart hammering from the hopeful question, and all the possible answers he can give. “For the cake? It’ll still be here.”

You can see the slight rise and fall of his chest, the internal struggle he’s having with such simple invitation. When he speaks, his voice is flat; there’s no longer from the raspy wamrth it had on the balcony. “It’d be too late,” he says. “I’ll be finishing up in the middle of the night. Don’t wait up.”

The lock clicks into place before you can tell him that you wouldn’t mind the hour. You’re left standing in the kitchen with a birthday cake, too large for one person, and two steaming mugs with coffee.

The clock on the microwave shows 2:42 AM when the doorbell rings. You’re curled in your bed, in your oversized pajamas, glasses sliding down your nose as you lose yourself in the final act of a movie you’ve already seen years ago.

Could it be him? There isn’t anyone else who could be visiting you at this hour. You pull the door open, and it is him - slightly disheveled, with his leather jacket unzipped, and brown hair messy from the blowing wind. He looks like a man who’s been in a rush on his way here. His eyes track over you, lingering on the frames of your glasses.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs; the low, gravelly undertone cutting softly through the silent hallway.

“I thought you said it’d be too late,” you breathe, stepping back to let him in.

The familiar tobacco trails after him as he steps inside. He watches you shut the door, his gaze intense and unreadable as it slips to the soft fabric of your sleepwear.

“It is late, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I’m watching an interesting movie,” you respond with a small shrug, feeling a bit self-conscious as you adjust your glasses. You would’ve picked a less worn out pajamas if you’d known he was going to show up. “And it’s Friday anyway. I don’t have to be up early tomorrow.”

Jooyeon stares at you, his guard visibly crumbling as you get closer. You look gentle, and approachable in a way that terrifies and draws him in all at once. You look beautiful, though he’d probably sooner choke than admit it out loud - especially after doing something he said he wouldn’t do.

He breaks the tension by clearing his throat and looking away. His gaze lands on the kitchen counter and he walks over to pick up the cardboard box.

“So,” he looks back at you with a half-smirk, “are we going to cut this thing?”

You reach out for a drawer and pull out a single, slender candle; your excitment is bubbling over as you press it into the center of the frosting. It sits perfectly atop the simple vanilla cake, nestled between a ring of fresh, glossy strawberries. When you light it up, the tiny flame casts a flickering, honey glow over the counter.

“Okay,” you say, voice bright as you carefully take the cake in your hands. “Make a wish,” you smile, a little breathless as you look at him. “And don’t tell me what it is, or it won’t count.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he grins, sticking out his tongue at you teasingly.

You find yourself wishing you could read him like one of your books. You want to know what’s going through his mind in this very moment so badly. Whatever it is, you send a silent plea into the air, hoping whatever secret desire he has, turns true one day.

Jooyeon blows out the candle. Before you can grab a knife, before you can even clap to congratulate him, he leans down and takes a playful, messily oversized bite right out of the side of the cake. His teeth sink straight through the fluffy sponge layer, coming away with a thick smear of white frosting. He chews with a triumphant, boyish smile.

“Okay,” you burst into a surprised laugh, the sound filling the quiet apartment. “No cutting, no plates… we’re just going for it.”

Too busy savoring the sugar, he doesn’t answer immediately. He uses his thumb to swipe a dollop of stray frosting from the corner of his mouth, the movement pulling slightly at the dark bruise painting his cheekbone. He doesn’t seem to notice pain, slowly sucking the sweetness off his finger while his dark eyes never leave yours. A new, lopsided grin breaks across his face - the kind of rare, genuine grin not many get to see.

“Good choice,” he mumbles, his voice thicker with satisfaction. “I might eat the whole thing myself if you’re not fast enough.”

You chuckle, setting the cake down on the counter. A frisky warmth has completely replaced the last bits of lingering tension from earlier, making your heart skip. You can hear him slowly remove his jacket, and tossing it over one of the chairs.

Your eyes quickly lock with his again as he asks: “Wanna taste?” A sly look makes its way on his face.

It’s an invitation that makes your heart thump even faster. It’s not the first time you hear his voice drop into this rumbling challenge, but the sound strips away the last of your breath regardless.

Jooyeon tilts his head slightly, presenting his cheek where a stray smudge of frosting still clings to it. Your lips brush against the cool sweetness on his jaw; meanwhile, the scent of him, a mixture of rain, nicotine and… something uniquely him, greets you.

Two seconds after your tongue makes contact, gathering more of the sugary frosting, his hand finds the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you there. His head turns as he tilts your chin back - to catch your mouth with his, claiming the taste of vanilla and frantic heat.

You sink into him, into the intensity of his lips; they hold unspoken tension that almost makes you dizzy.

The moment doesn’t remain still for long. Groaning low in his throat, he hooks hands under your thighs and swiftly places you on top of the flat surface.

His hands are everywhere - on your waist, trailing up your back, pulling you flush against his chest where pure chaos is stirring up. And yours, shifting back instinctively to find balance, sinks into the cake.

You jump slightly, pulling your hand only to see your fingers, and a good portion of your palm, all plastered in frosting. “Oh my god,” you wheeze, glancing at the ruin of the cake.

Jooyeon pauses, his chest heaving excitedly as he looks down at the mess you made. It makes him chuckle; a low but warm, new sound - so new that for a split second you forget about the ridiculous accident.

“Waste of a good cake,” he murmurs. But he doesn’t look annoyed nor let down. If anything, he looks like he’s genuinely enjoying the chaos.

A smile tugs at your lips; relief and amusement all at once. “You distracted me!” you then shoot at him, an embarrassed giggle escaping you.

Then, you notice it - the glint in his eyes that are permanently fixed on you; it deepens as he finds the zipper of his black cargo pants, pulling at it unrushed.

“Tsk, not my fault you’re clumsy.” The corner of his mouth twitches in a teasing smirk. “I thought a good girl like you would know where to keep her hands.”

His pants and his dark underwear drop to his thighs. Instantly, a dreamy spark forms in your eyes as they start scanning his revealed skin. Your stomach makes a tiny flip at the view of his dick growing harder under the weight of your curious gaze.

An adrenaline spikes in your veins. You can’t tell if it’s the sugar crashing through your system at such a late hour, or the heavy way Jooyeon is looking at you, but a sudden spark of boldness flares up in you. You lower your frosting-stained hand, letting it slip under the elastic of your shorts. You don’t look down, or anywhere else; you keep your eyes on him.

“Here?” you question, soft. Just when you spot your clit.

Jooyeon’s jaw visibly tightens as you take your time with your actions. His gaze clouds over with hunger, slowly alternating up and down - between your beautiful eyes and the bare inviting line of skin exposed just above the hem of your shorts… between your teeth grazing your lip and the hand buried in your underwear.

It’s always like this… whenever you say something remotely provocative in that quiet, tender tone of yours, his brain temporarily shuts down and suddenly the only thing he can do is stare.

Every time.

“Right there,” he manages. His fist wraps around his dick; it’s thickened even more, immediately responding with a twitch the second his fingers close around it. “You know what to do.”

You wet your mouth, tracking a path down his body. It doesn’t take long for his grip to intensify. But the same applies for yours, too.

The nature of this situation makes your skin burn, and yet, you can’t look away. You’re enjoying it more than you’d admit; not that you need to - your speeding fingers already show enough. The frosting that was sticking to them smears all over your folds, leaving dirty stains on your panties.

Jooyeon reaches for the strap around your shoulder, it’s not too tight and he easily tugs it down, freeing your boob. But he doesn’t stop there - he pulls at your top some more, until the other is out too. Fascinated, as if he is seeing your breasts for the first time, he immediately grabs them; large hand, cold and bruised, sending shivers down your spine, switching between your tits, squeezing and jiggling the flesh.

Below, his member leaks with pre-cum, but he doesn’t glance its way. He gets distracted by something else - a thought, spontaneous and silly, that flashes through his mind. It lasts just for a second, but the idea is dirty enough to pique his interest. Something shifts his expression as he decides to completely indulge in it.

Before you can even register the sudden change in his demeanor, Jooyeon sinks his hand directly into the cake, scooping up a messy handful of frosting and crumbs.

His clean hand rests on your thigh while the other smears the thick, sweet hanful of cake over your tits. You gasp at the cool sensation, a vast contrast to the heat that’s swirling in your stomach. Your fingers quickly escape your shorts, but not to stop him - to hold onto the edge of the counter for better control.

The playful glint in Jooyeon’s eyes melts into something captivating as his hand moves left to right, dragging the sticky frosting across your skin without bothering to be precise with it.

Finally, your fingers fly up, burying themselves deep into his hair as he leans down, his mouth brushing against your left boob where the mess is thickest. Then, his tongue swipes, licking away the sweetness with such intensity, you forget how to breathe.

A soft sound of surprise escapes you as your fingers tighten around the dark strands of his hair. His tongue keeps moving, warm and heavy, making the sticky sensation vanish beneath its scorching warmth. Your nipples harden all over again.

“Told you,” he mutters against the moist path between your tits; on his way to shift to your other breast, “that I’m gonna eat you up one day.” The erotic rumble of his voice sends a jolt of heat through your body; you feel it settle low in your tummy.

Soon, his lips find the rest of the smeared dessert. However, not wanting to just leave your left boob alone after all that attention, he lifts a hand and takes your stiff nipple between his fingers.

Your back arches slightly against him, a clear moan crawling out of your throat.

“Sweet,” he murmurs to himself while devouring the mess clinging to you.

Stroke after stroke, his tongue works swiftly, picking up cream in a way that leaves your entire being tingling.

His chest heaves with excitement as he takes his time around your stained nipple, swirling and nipping with teeth until his mouth finally envelops it whole. He sucks with a pleased groan, then tugs hard, eyes flicking upward to see your reaction.

Your entire face contorts in pleasure as his gaze remains upon you, waiting to meet yours. His busy fingers drop the other stiff bud only to start twisting it again. All while his mouth continues lapping, like it insists on consuming every single crumb.

“Jooyeon,” you whine, clinging to him.

Instead of responding, Jooyeon drags his tongue up - towards the column of your throat. He traces the line as you swallow thickly, trembling from the thrill. Now, as he finally slows down for a second, you notice his ragged breathing… how dark the hunger in his eyes actually is.

How strong the heat radiating off your bodies is - the one coming from his mouth, and the one building inside your core.

Without a word, he catches onto your bottom lip and pulls with his teeth; a rushed, harsh gesture that has you fisting on his shirt to bring him closer.

“I can’t just stand here and watch,” he suddenly says, roaming his palms up your body; they are no longer cold, but warm and sticky as they cup your tits to push them together. “Every inch of you makes my mouth water.”

Shivers go down your spine as he buries his face into your neck, peppering the area with hot kisses, biting the sensitive skin there too.

“Then, don’t.” Your words slip almost like a plea, airy and weak. You feel how the massaging motions of his grip ease just enough for his thumbs to slowly brush your hard nipples. “You can do whatever you want to me,” you say, eyes fluttering shut under the control of his eager mouth.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say,” Jooyeon answers against your ear before nipping at it, his voice still heavy with desire, but suddenly grave.

There’s no time to respond - he pulls your shorts and your messy panties, discarding them somewhere on the floor. A confident hold on your thighs parts them wide and next thing you feel is his warm breath fanning your slick folds; your entrance that’s clenching over nothing.

Jooyeon levels his gaze with your heat - you can feel the intensity of it burning through your skin, he is so close - but his mouth shifts to the left, moving across your inner thigh.

He lets out a slow sigh, his nose rubbing against your plush flesh. The familiar scent of you makes him pause and swallow. Is it your smell, or the sight he missed so badly… something causes his fingers to sink deeper into your skin as they keep your legs spread open, knees pushed back.

Or maybe he just expected you to start squirming the moment he sinks his teeth into your skin. The pressure is firm and sudden, landing with a sharp intensity that brings your attention down on the instant. It follows with a shooting thrill as he waits for a second longer, pressing just hard enough to leave an aching heat that tingles against your thigh after he backs away.

But although your breath stutters, your body only subtly twitches, completely surrendering and leaving itself fully to him.

His eyes scan the fresh mark of his teeth, a flare of satisfaction passes through them. Then, he leans back in, dangerously near your slickness, and presses two open mouthed kisses before his mouth returns to the little shape he just carved with his teeth. He gives the spot a soothing smooch. But the tenderness doesn’t last long; with him it never does. His jaw tightens as he begins to nibble on the bruising mark again, slow, rhythmic tension that has you twitch needily against him.

His flat tongue swipes at the sensitised flesh as his dominant hand drops, two of its digits coming in contact with your pussy lips; they effortlessly slide downward, suddenly shiny.

You moan out his name softly, your stomach tensing from the rising rush.

“Mmm, now we’re matching.” Jooyeon drawls as he slowly pulls away, scattering few wet kisses around the bruise. “When did you get so wet, doll?” He separates your folds, his eyes drifting towards them; they take in the sight of the glistening essence, the hypnotising moves of your hole... “She wants it bad.”

Then, he traces it all with his flat tongue; his palm not leaving your thigh, keeping you nicely exposed. Your sweet taste provokes a guttural noise from him as he immediately leans in for another lick, still drooling from his previous feast. There’s a small path of saliva trickling down his chin, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t even realise, as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking like he’s trying to eat it whole.

You squirm on top of the counter, your moisture doubling under the rapid stimulation.

Pleased, Jooyeon detaches to catch his breath. His firm touch glides up and down, then presses against your aroused your clit; the pressure making your toes curl in the air. “The cake tastes way better when it’s mixed with your juices,” he notes, bringing the collected essence to his tongue.

You stare at him with your mouth agape as he sucks on his fingers with slow satisfaction. Even now, you still can’t fully get used to his provocative way of speaking in such moments. His unapologetic confidence always catches you entirely off guard, leaving you so overwhelmed that you feel as if you’ve swallowed your tongue, unable to form a single coherent sentence.

Heat rushes up your neck, forcing you to glance away. “Don’t,” you trail off, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking you.

As always, he is too quick. His fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head back up as he refuses to miss the reaction on your face. Your glasses slightly slip down your nose at the movement.

“Don’t what?” He challenges, quirking an eyebrow with anticipation. “Don’t what, baby?” A slow, creeping smirk appears to match his teasing tone. He enjoys your flustered silence, yet he can’t help but brush his thumb across your lower lip to coax a response out of you.

You swallow, unable to control your excited breathing as his spare hand moves to your heat, reviving the stimulation. He makes sure to move extra slow.

“Nothing,” you stutter, biting your lip as you fail to keep your eyes on his; they dart to his lips, his neck, the messy strands of hair dangling in front of his forehead.

His thumb shifts, pressing firmer to force your mouth open just a fraction. A small, low chuckle escapes him, thoroughly amused by your desperate attempts to stay composed under his scrutiny. “Am I embarrassing you when I talk like that?” he asks.

You shake your head in an unconvinsing response. His thumb is still inside, exploring the slippery side of your cheek.

He laughs aloud this time; a rich sound that lets you know exactly how much you just lied to him. “You’re cute,” he murmurs. Then, as his digit slowly slips out through your lips, the smirk returns with a sharper edge. “But I’d appreaciate it if you don’t interrupt me like that again.”

The playful warning hangs in the air between you as he tightens the grip on your chin. Before you can manage an apology, he is squatting again, mouthing at your cunt.

Your thighs jitter as his tongue drags up, right in between your slick, puffy folds, again and again; the sounds of pure indulgence rumble and vibrate, sending electricity through your system.

The moment your hand sinks into his hair, Jooyeon’s gaze lifts to your face, watching all that coyness vanish.

The hidden side of you - the one kept locked away from the world and saved only for him - surfaces visibly in your features. In your gasping mouth, your furrowing brows, crashing together as if the pleasure is too much for you to bare. Your entire pretty face tightens into a dazed, breathless mask of relish as he keeps himself sealed to you, taking your responses with satisfaction.

Your fingers curl around the roots of his hair, your hold growing stronger the longer his tongue keeps working on you, savoring the exciting taste that has now completely replaced the vanilla frosting. You can feel yourself getting close, just as two of his fingers slip into you, curving deeply through measured motions.

The amazing friction magnifies the pleasure further, the sensations of the swift strokes and his swirling tongue now running through you like shock waves; they make you buck against him, your grip on the marble edge intensifying.

You yield to him until he detaches, lips smeared with the arousal he provoked in you. His fingers pull out only so he can taste you directly from your entrance - it drips right onto his tongue when he sticks it inside.

Your voice grows louder in the kitchen, your orgasm feeling dangerously near. The rush in your lower belly tightens as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing speedily to push you there even quicker; at the same time, his tongue remains attached to your hole, pushing against it messily, as if your taste is intoxicating.

Not a minute later, your expression shifts to a sharp focus, then melts, helpless and completely undone. You tried to let him know you’re going to come, but the only thing that left your mouth was a raw cry.

Jooyeon knew, anyway.

Consuming, heavy satisfaction spreads through your veins. Your whole body shudders on the counter, Jooyeon’s tongue still clinging to you, his breathing only intensifying the warmth between your legs till they shake.

When you finally open your eyes, you see he’s a mess - nose and chin glistening under the light; his scarred lips, too, swollen and slick, with an alluring tint of red. You can’t put it into words, how the chaos only adds to his beauty.

Staring back into your glowing eyes, he straightens, a crooked little smirk spreading across his face. He radiates a subtle pride, but complete satisfaction? Not just yet.

He rolls his tongue inside his mouth, then releases the thick string onto his palm, spreading it along his hard length. Considering how soaked you are, he doesn’t need the extra lubrication to make his way inside you; but he likes the smooth feeling as well as the noise.

His hands settle on your waist, steadying you as every inch slides in effortlesly, causing a whimper of his name to spill from your tongue. Your arousal instantly mixes with his spit, creating a tiny puddle on the marble surface as he picks up a balanced pace - not slow, but not too fast either. It brings immediate pleasure, but it also brings back… memories. It already feels like a lifetime ago when he first claimed you like this in the stockroom of bookstore Pluto.

Whimpering, you peel off your sore palms from the counter and lean back to rest on your elbows. A new, hotter knot is forming in your core, pulsing with every movement. The squelching sounds already fill the space as his thick size stretches you; quickly, the noise rises in volume when he decides to close your legs and bring them together, gaze strictly glued to the arousing view.

“She’s always so loud for me,” he mutters lowly, quietly, so he does not interrupt the squelching. You’re still struggling to adjust, and yet, he can see a new wave of slick going down your skin.

He pulls out, making your jaw sag open, then he teases the flushed head by running it up your slippery folds, smacking it a few times. “Fuck—” the word transforms into a long, pornographic growl as he enters you again.

The angle is more than effective, making your eyes roll back the second his tip hits that special spot. It doesn’t take long before his rhythm increases; one sturdy hand keeping your legs crossed as he starts to glide freely, receiving nothing but the most helpless yet beautiful whines in return.

“Perfect little pussy,” he groans as your continuous sounds spur him on. “So sweet, so pretty… can’t look away.” The rush is fogging up his mind, however, he can’t stop noticing all the little details that make you so sexy, so perfect for him, commanding his eyes to stay completely focused on you. “Shit, I’m so hard. You make my cock so fucking hard, baby… you feel it?”

It’s like your beauty, your whole energy fills the entire room, anchoring his attention despite the frantic rush inside him. Your thighs look impossibly soft, your pussy - gentle, shiny, wrapped around him to perfection. Even your white socks, bunched at your ankles draw his eyes, looking cute and pure against his thoughts.

“And so fuckin’ tight,” his breath stutters as his cock throbs hard against your walls, every drag pulling another wave of pleasure, another moan. “She doesn’t want to let go, huh, doll?”

You can feel your next climax building, low in your stomach, as he maintains the deep, smooth pumps. Every time your bodies meet, he grunts in a way that shows you that he’s getting close too, but he wants to make this last longer.

Your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut. There’s a dull ache spreading persisently across your spine; it throbs with soreness even as Jooyeon moves with rhythmic ease, keeping an intentional, confident momentum. But you can’t complain; you dismiss the trembling of your leg muscles too. It’s a sweet kind of pain.

As if he felt the throbbing radiating through your skin, Jooyeon puts his motions to a halt, then slowly parts your legs. “Think you can stand on your feet for me?”

You know he can feel, see everything in that moment as he peers into your hazy eyes - the way you flutter around him just by the way he looks at you, the soft little exhale you release at the question. The way you’re somehow always… anticipating the next thing he will ask of you.

His lips curve for a second when you nod, like he already knew the answer. The exhaustion in your muscles make it a challenge to stand up straight, but you don’t need to. Jooyeon’s arm goes around your spine to turn you around. You catch your breath as his hand adjusts your hips toward him with ease, then trail up your back to guide your upper half down.

This time, his fingers press against your sides in an iron grip, the secure hold allowing him to increase the pressure of the way he pushes his cock inside you.

You brace your hands on the counter, a much overwhelming sensation shooting through you as he effortlessly transitions to an urgent rhythm. “God, you’re so wet,” he whispers in awe; the compliment followed by a slap on your ass.

You are. Soon, the arousal starts slowly dripping down your inner thighs, as Jooyeon’s fingers knead at your cheeks, keeping them spread so he can watch his dick disappear within you. He groans, digging his bruising touch into your soft skin; his sounds elevate with a subtle desperate edge, clashing with the claps of your bodies.

“You love this big cock, don’t you?”

A whine escapes your lips, your warm cheek now pressed against the cool marble as you tilt your head to the side. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth, the rush intensifying with every pound of his hips.

“Tell me you love it,” he mutters, reaching for the bunched fabric of your top; his fist grips tightly, demanding a reaction. “Tell me how much you love this fuckin’ cock… Say it.”

“I do,” you whine, unable to focus on anything else, but the fast sliding of his hard length; how full and hot it makes you feel. “I l-love it… love it s-so much.”

You moan louder, gripping the edge of the counter while more warmth spreads across your skin as Jooyeon’s hand lands on your butt with a sharp sting, again and again.

“That’s right,” he drawls, steadying your hips at the perfect angle as your walls start to clamp around him, stronger; the thrill makes his stomach tighten, his voice strain. “You do. I know you do. Fuck—” He tenses, his words fracturing into a ragged whisper.

His voice adds to the heat in your lower tummy, making your whole body pulse.

“Gonna cum on it, baby,” his tone slightly hardens with a desperate force, his movements strengthening; one hand secures your hip as the other crawls up your shoulder blades. “Gonna cum all over my big cock, huh? Shit—Say it. Be a good slut, baby. Say it.”

Your mewls break under the pressure, a harsh smack landing to your ass cheek before you can utter anything.

“I’m cumming,” you whimper, tone close to breaking. “Jooyeon, y-your cock, fuck—please… ‘m cumming!”

As your heartbeat goes wild, suddenly your breathing stops, your mind becomes a blur. The thrilling sensation crashes through you, shattering your voice into a sob; your pussy tightens violently, your thighs shaking out of control.

The euphoria is so strong, you don’t even realise when exactly Jooyeon slips out to release, his free hand pressing your hips against him.

His fist moves fast, and the second his head falls back, his voice rises, blissful - the thrill of his solid balls pressing into your plush ass giving it an exciting vibration - only to gradually fall into something breathless as the last warm drop of his cum settles on your lower back.

─── ✍︎

Jooyeon is driving towards your place. His thumb drums against the wheel in a perfect, unconscious sync with a metal track blasting from the speakers. The rhythm comes naturally to him almost - a giveaway that he’s in a rare, good mood today.

On the passenger seat beside him sits a bouquet of peonies, a brright pop of pink, wrapped in brown paper. The very first flowers he’s ever brought for you; for any woman. And it’s not because there’s an occasion or an apology. He saw them at a stand and thought of you - more specifically, how you look when you wake up in the morning, - so he bought them.

He’s trying. He’s putting in the work to be the man who does things like flowers and chocolates without an occasion. He wants to get better at expressing what he feels inside. To you. He could care less if other people get him or not.

“Hey,” you answer after you pick up his call, your voice dropping quitier.

“I’ll see you in about three minutes,” he says; there’s lightness in his tone you haven’t heard in months. “Two, actually.”

“Uhm, Jooyeon, wait—you can’t come over.” Your words tumble out. “I’m busy.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Busy with what?”

“I’m… I’m with my colleague. We’re finishing up a project,” you murmur, your eyes drifting toward the kitchen where Jiung takes a sip of his tea.

The line stays quiet for a long second, the only sound is the distant hum of the car engine. “Well,” he rasps, “I’m already at the door. Might as well let me in.”

Another silence follows, one that allows him to catch the brief rustle - the curtains? He doesn’t look up to see if you’re checking the window to see if he’s joking. He kills the engine and steps out of the car, grabbing the empty energy drink from the console; it was sitting there, forgotten, for almost a week. He tosses it into the bin as he passes, the well familliar bitter thoughts flickering through his mind.

He hates that he’s aware of himself doing this - dragging out the seconds, stalling before he has to see him in your apartment. He reaches the porch with nothing but his keys in his hand. Then, he knocks twice on the door. Instead of ringing the bell like he always does.

Inside, Jiung looks up from the keyboard of his MacBook, a surprised curve on his lips. “Did you order food?”

Shit. Panic spikes in your chest.

You drop your phone carelessly on the couch, standing there frozen, entirely paralysed by the choice before you.

What do you do first? Do you quickly tell Jiung about Jooyeon - warn him about the storm that’s about to enter the place? Or do you just go ahead and open the door? With every second that ticks by, you can practically feel Jooyeon’s irritation magnifying, intoxicating the air. He’s getting more and more frustrated with every breath you waste, you know it.

“Uhm, no,” you stutter as you walk to the table. “Actually… that’s a friend.”

“Oh?” Jiung exclaims with genuine curiosity. “That’s… nice. I’d love to meet more of your friends.”

He is too kind. It makes the guilt in your stomach twist even harder.

“He’s not…” you try to search for the right words to describe Jooyeon; to encapsulate the heavy, intimidating presence he carries, but the vocabulary just isn’t coming to you. “He’s not like my other friends. Please, just… don’t take anything he says or does personally.”

Jiung blinks, his smile faltering into confusion. “Okay?”

Before he can ask anything, you turn and rush towards the front door. When you open it, you find Jooyeon waiting with one hand against the wall, gaze down.

On the surface, he looks uncomfortably calm when his eyes snap up at you. But his gaze is dangerous, burning while a few messy strands of dark hair sharpen his features even more. His vision flickers past your shoulder, tracking the laptop screen before landing on the male figure.

“Finally,” he mutters, pushing his weight off the wall.

He doesn’t wait to be invited inside. He walks past you, brushing your shoulder as he storms into the apartment without a shred of hesitation.

Upon seeing him, Jiung immediately stands up, adjusting his posture to offer a welcome smile and a handshake.

Jooyeon eyes the extended hand for an agonising second before he finally accepts it. His grip is firm, bordering on a power move. “Jooyeon.” He introduces himself with an unbothered tone; his face remains entirely unsmiling.

Without waiting for Jiung to reply, he pulls a nearby chair. He pulls it with a loud scrape against the floor and sits down comfortably, letting it be known that he’s been here before - that he’s been here first - and leans all the way back into the seat.

“Nice to meet you, Jooyeon.” Jiung nods after clearing his throat, maintaining his composure despite Jooyeon’s cold demeanour. “I’m Jiung.”

He adds that he’s your colleague, but Jooyeon doesn’t even look up at the explanation. He reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out his lighter, immediately flicking the lid open and shut, playing with it to keep his fingers busy. His lack of surprise makes it glaringly clear that he already knows exactly who Jiung is.

A heavy silence drops over the small room; the only sound is the maddening snap of the metallic lighter. Click-clack, click-clack. Jiung sits there, looking increasingly uncomfortable as his fingers hover over the keyboard.

Desperate to break the ice, you open your mouth to speak - at the exact same time Jooyeon finally decides to look up.

“Do you want—“

“So,” he interrupts you seamlessly. He snaps the lighter closed one last time. “What’s that project about that keeps you two so busy?”

Jiung is visibly a little intimidated by the sudden interrogation, but he remains polite. He carefully explains the details of the highly anticipated memoir from a world-famous thriller authour. It’s massive. Everyone at the publishing house is racing against the clock to finish the final developmental edits before the legal team finalises the print approval.

You desperately need to escape this. “I’m going to make more tea.” You mutter to no one in particular, retreating to the counter.

You fill the kettle, your ears trying to catch every word from behind you as the noise of the water rises. Jooyeon doesn’t make it easier. He cuts off Jiung with a passive-aggressive comment.

“Must be a huge deal,” he muses, voice dipping with a mocking undertone that makes your stomach drop, “since you felt the need to come all the way over here on a day off.”

Jiung tries to defuse the growing tension. “It’s a pretty brutal deadline with this manuscript,” he explains, trying to sound casual. “But we’re a team after all. Everyone helps out however they can so the global release can go smoothly. Plus, she’s still new to some of the legal print approval formatting, I wanted to make sure she wasn’t having any trouble.”

Jooyeon’s fingers pause on the lighter. A small, unreadable smirk touches his lips. “She’s a quick learner.” His voice is smooth, carrying a double meaning.

You step back into the room. You lock eyes with Jooyeon and deliberately place the steaming mug in front of him with a hard, warning glare. Drop the attitude, it says.

Before he can say anything more, a sharp snap of a laptop closing cuts through. Both of your heads turn toward Jiung - he’s on his feet, sliding his MacBook inside his messenger bag.

“I think we’ve done enough work for today,” he keeps his voice soft and professional. He looks at you with a gentle, reassuring nod. “We’re in a good place with the manuscript. I can handle what’s left from home tonight.”

Jooyeon watches him move, his thumb pressing on the metallic edge of his lighter. He doesn’t say anything, but the rigid line of his shoulders and the possessive glare of his eyes say everything.

Pure unfiltered jealousy. Pride.

Jiung slings his bag over his shoulder and offers you a polite smile on his way out. “See you in the office tomorrow.”

The front door clicks shut and you let out a sigh. Fixing your eyes on Jooyeon, you turn slowly, crossing your arms as you walk balk towards the table. “What was that?” You demand, your voice slightly shaky with adrenaline.

He shrugs casually, turning to finally pick up the cup of tea you made him. He takes a slow sip. “What was what?” His voice slows to that familiar unbothered sound.

“The interrogation? The passive aggressive comments?” You take one more step forward. “You basically forced my guest out of my own home! My colleague!”

Jooyeon sets the mug down and looks up at you, his gaze flashing in mock innocence. “I was just making a conversation,” he replies, leaning against the edge of the table. “What?” He barks at your insistent expression. “I introduced myself. I asked about your work. I was being very friendly.”

Friendly leaves his lips with a dry, mocking edge that makes it sound like a dark joke. There wasn’t a single polite bone in his body during that interaction and he knows it.

You refuse to buy his act. You did once… you are not making that mistake again.

“Friendly?” You repeat, staring him down. “Are you kidding?”

Jooyeon shifts his weight silently, maintaining his defensive walls stay firmly up.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you continue. “You can’t keep treating my friends like they’re a threat to you.”

You turn your back on him, needing to put some physical distance between you before the tension swallows you whole. The sudden movement immediately breaks his calm facade.

“A threat?” He echoes, bitter. His sharp tone drips with offence at your choice of word. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He erases the space between you in a heartbeat, his stride silent, but almost explosive. Your breath hitches as his frame now completely blocks the rest of the room. Your back hits the solid surface of the wall.

He plants one hand flat, right beside your head, leaning in so close that you feel the furious heat of his breathing.

“I don’t look at a guy like that and see a threat,” his voice drops to a possessive whisper, it vibrates right through you.

Your chest falls and rises faster than it did a moment ago, warming up at the weight of his angry gaze. It almost brushes his as your heart hammers erratically, overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions.

“Then what do you see?” A new wave of irritation flares up. You lift your hands and press them flat against his chest, pushing with all the strength you have. But he doesn’t budge. “Back up!” You snap. “I’m sick of you using your womaniser tactics every time you can’t handle a simple conversation.”

Jooyeon’s eyes darken further as your palms slam against his solid chest one last time. However, a spark of amusement starts dancing in his eyes as he looks down at the frown on your face. He likes it. He likes it when you refuse to let the anger shrink you.

He lets out a low laugh that brushes over your lips. Then, his voice turns into a deep dare: “Calm down, you’re making my dick hard.”

Your eyes snap at him furiously, just for a second, before he finally decides to let you escape. The heavy tension remains unchanged, though.

“You can’t take anything seriously, can you?” You throw at him.

He steps closer again, the shift in his gaze is powerful enough to stop your pacing on the instant. “I was simply reminding you who you belong to,” he says, the quiet tone sending a shiver down your spine.

“Jiung is a friend,” you insist.

“Yeah, like Jiseok was your friend, right?” He retorts, a sarcastic hint bleeding into his tone.

“Why are you bringing up Jiseok?” An old frustration enters your chest.

“Whatever,” he waves a hand as he tries to brush past it. “My point is—“

“No,” you refuse to let him slide. You step right back into his space, refusing to change the subject. “No. Tell me. You told him something, didn’t you? That day at the bookstore. When I heard you raising your voice at him?”

He rolls his eyes, a harsh, defensive sneer twisting his expression before he snaps under your persistent questioning.

“Yeah, I did!” He barks, stepping directly into your face. “I told him to mind his fucking business! Somebody had to. Of course, it couldn’t be you, because you clearly like the attention.”

You stand there, completely stunned. His accusation hits you like a physical blow to the chest. For a moment the room goes entirely silent, only his words echoing in your head, cutting you deep. You can only let out a short, breathless laugh of sheer disbelief.

How could he think something like that?

The explosive frustration drains from Jooyeon’s posture and he shifts his weight, watching the hurt break through your defenses. The satisfaction he felt a moment ago vanishes, replaced by an unfamiliar hesitation. He looks away, then quickly locks his gaze back on you. His tone drops to a strange, almost vulnerable register.

“How come when other guys want to look after you it’s fine,” he asks, his words laced in defensive confusion, “but when I do it, it’s a problem?”

“Because you don’t know what boundaries are,” you answer quietly. “And you’re not protecting me, Jooyeon. You just think you are, but you’re not. You just want to control me.”

He freezes for a moment, your words strike an invisible nerve that stills his posture. Until the dark focus returns in his eyes.

“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” He murmurs, taking a deliberate step toward you. “Like the smart reader you are.”

You instinctively back up, but your back meets the wall again. He doesn’t stop until you’re trapped against it and his presence dominates all your senses. His hand lifts to rest beside your head.

“You shouldn’t forget that I…” he lowers, his breath hot against your mouth. “I know you too. I know you a little too well.”

Under his heavy demeanor, a wave of well familiar shyness washes over you. You try to glance down, to look anywhere but at the focus in his dark eyes, but his finger instantly tilts your chin back up.

“In fact,” his tone dips, a slight amusement creeping beneath, his compelling eyes holding you captive, gleaming with a sharp hypnotic emotion, “I think I’m the only one who’s seen the real you.”

to be continued…

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

a.note ! to anyone who still keeps up with this story - thank you! thank you for being patient with me. thank you for supporting my vision from the start. and just thank you for welcoming my imagination in general, for trusting my ideas and letting me share my excitement with you. writing wouldn't be so fun and fulfilling without you, guys! and this story specifically... i've already mentioned countless times how much it means to me, it has been such an escape during two hard periods of my life, and i keep pouring so much of myself in it still to this day - but... you, your comments, reactions and feedback only make it even more important to me! this got a little messy, but i am beyond excited to hit the post button as i write it, so i'm babbling. thank you! my hands are shaking, wow. enjoy!!

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