⧽ 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!!

MASTERLIST || JOIN MY TAGLIST

🏷️: @kawaiislutt @certifiedmarkleetrash @dear-h @lelestarmy @astro-doll-the-star @clairedamoon @xhfics @rossy1080 @xionvlog @enhypens-hoe