Mingi’s Favorite Song

Well not what you were doing really, what he was doing.

You were with your own group, you giggling with one of the members next you. He felt a smile on his lips as he saw you laugh. Your group was scheduled to go up later and he was sure you were nervously anticipating it.

His smile dropped just as fast.

A hand tapped your shoulder from behind. You turned, looking back and up to the man. He smiled, leaning down and whispering something in your ear. You nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

His jaw ticked at your face, brows scrunching up in that way they did whenever you were concentrating as you listened to whatever the man said. His foot tapped rapidly under his seat as he let out a loud huff.

Seonghwa looked to his side, a smile growing as he followed his gaze a couple rows down.

"Doesn't look like something to get this upset over," he laughed, patting his leg and sitting back. Hongjoong let out another huff, never letting his eyes leave you. You were getting up, following the guy somewhere up the stairs. He lost sight of you and he turned forward, now aware of Mingi and Yunho looking back and smiling evilly at him from the row in front.

"Got something to say Cap?" Mingi arched a brow at him and Yunho laughed.

"Drop it," Hongjoong grumbled, sitting back and crossing his arms.

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

"What did he want?" Hongjoong's voice was a whisper against your ear as you stepped out from your changing room. Your skirt sparkled in the low light of back stage, your hand mid adjustmest of your mic.

You turned to see him, smiling at him in that way that made his resolve melt.

"Joongie~" you gave him a peck on the cheek and swung his hand in between you two. He let out a sigh.

"Angel really," he laughed at himself now, seeing the look of complete adoration you were giving him. "What am I going to do with you when you're too friendly with other men and I can't stand them even walking past you," he sighed.

You laughed, his own kiss finding your cheek as your members called you over for first positions.

"I guess you'll have to try a little harder."

"At keeping your attention or averting theirs?"

You smiled at him for a moment, the glowing expression turning into something playful and teasing.

"Yes."

Park Seonghwa

Seonghwa had no idea how to even start explaining this situation.

One moment he was eating lunch with his girlfriend at her favorite cafe, watching you run to the bathroom with that adorable half run you did when you were in a rush but trying not to seem like it.

And the next he was tapping his finger on the table as he watched you over the the rim of his cup, you happily laughing at a table of what he assumed as old friends.

One of the girls was telling you some story, showing you something on her phone. You leaned down to see, a smile lighting up your face.

Of course he never minded you having friends, he normally loved seeing you interact with them. How you laughed and pulled people towards you with that same aura that pulled him towards you in the first place.

But was it so wrong of him to feel a little dejected when he finally was able to sneak you out from both of your schedules to go out for the day just for you to get stollen away again by your friends from college.

He sighed, putting his cup down and pulling out his phone.

The screen stayed black as he pretended to swipe while glancing at you. You were leaning on the back of a chair now, looking at someone elses phone and laughed.

His jaw ticked when one of the guys put a hand over yours on the chair. When he didn't move it he finally couldn't take it anymore.

He cleared his throat loudly, practically fake yelling. The sound traveled across the room, drawing your attention. You looked over, Seonghwa nodding at the chair across from him and the melting ice in your cup. He saw acknowledgement flash in your eyes as you turned back to your friends. You waved and came back to your table.

"Sorry," you laughed, sitting back down and taking a drink. "Got stuck in a story."

Seonghwa glanced over at your friends for a second, the guy from before still watching you. He took a breath and stood, you watching him closely wondering where he was going.

"Love?"

He stepped over to your side of the table, leaning down and tipping your chin up. Your eyes widened as he leaned down and kissed you.

When he backed away your shocked face drew a laugh out of him.

"As much as I love your social ability, I really wish it was easier to keep your attention all to myself," he whispered, smiling slyly as he sat back down. You coughed, smiling and looking at him with shock and amusement.

He winked at you, taking another drink from his latte.

"So... what was the story?"

Jeong Yunho

Yunho looked appalled.

Mingi was laughing hysterically behind him.

Hongjoong was trying his best to mediate but... failing as his own laughter took over him.

Wooyoung and Yeosang... well they just weren’t helping in the slightest.

The five of them were out shopping, not really looking for anything in particular besides some fresh air and a good walk. They were going through the gaming section, Yeosang winning in a demo game against Wooyoung and Mingi when Yunho heard an all to familiar sound.

He smiled immediately, perking up form the shelves and looking around. Hongjoong came up to him, looking around confused.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, holding the game the other three were playing. Yeosang gave a cheer as he won another round, followed by a matching pair of groans.

"I thought I heard..." there it was again.

Your unmistakable laugh.

His smile widened and he stepped into the outer aisle and looked into the neighboring ones.

He didn't know what you were doing today, having left early enough this morning that you were still dead asleep. He had tried to say goodbye but you were too groggy to even hear him.

He skipped into the next aisle, sliding to a stop when he saw you. He was about to call out to you when he saw who you were talking to. It was another manager, you two were probably there to get supplies for the big practice coming up next week.

But the way he was looking at you... he was not having it in the slightest. Hongjoong had just caught up with him, the other three in tow when you laughed at something he said again. Your back was turned, crouched down on the floor to look at some of the drinks.

He was leaning down, hands on his knees and a look on his face that said more than just coworkers.

Mingi started laughing the moment he saw Yunho's face distort into disgust. Wooyoung was arguing with Yeosang about the game still, making more noise in the background.

Hongjoong was desperately looking back and forth and trying to them all to quiet down. The noise drew your attention and you looked towards them.

You smiled, sweet like honey and stood. You hummed as you went up to them, trying to not seem too happy about seeing him. He knew you didn't like your coworkers knowing about you two since they got uptight about working with you but good lord.

This was too much.

He looked down at you and smiled, ruffling your hair a bit before looking back up at the man still by the drinks. He was upright now, giving a polite but stiff smile and bow.

"And who's this?" he asked, his voice taking that deep tone you always made fun of. You turned to your coworker, introducing him.

"Just a work friend, were prepping for the practices next week," you hummed, taking a step back and looking Hongjoong and the game in his hand. Immediately you went into the game, drawing Wooyoung and Yeosang from their argument. Mingi was still laughing behind Yunho as his hand found its way to your back. One glare and a head jab towards the exit was all it took.

When you looked back to see your coworker gone you looked to your boyfriend confused.

"What? We still needed too--"

"We'll go with you," Yunho interjected immediately, offering his hand to you and pulling you along.

You didn't need to know your perfect puppy of a boyfriend had a jealous streak to him.

Kang Yeosang

Yeosang shocked you every time something like this happened.

Even his confession to you was quiet and thoughtful. You had never known him to really have an outburst unless it was pent up over weeks. He was always just so... level headed.

Level headed could go straight in the trash for all he cared now.

It was raining heavily outside the main building. He had rushed out of practice to catch you before you left. He knew you left your umbrella at home and he knew you would just run home if no one stopped you.

He ran through the halls, Seonghwa calling after him as he went. He found you right outside the front door. He swung his umbrella around his arm once, smiling as he jogged up to the door.

He stopped before opening it.

Someone was holding an umbrella out to you, it was like a scene out of a movie. A car drove by, headlights shining through the rain and bouncing off the rain in your hair. He knew you didn't mean to be making that face of confusion, the one that made you look like a little puppy looking up at him.

He had no clue who the guy was or why he was even at the company building. He felt his chest twist when your hand moved up to grab the umbrella. He grabbed the door handle and swung it open without a second thought.

You always loved to tease him that his muscles were just for show with his lack of bite back with the members. He lets them tease and flick at him as much as they want and has always taking your jabs easily. He knew he could argue more but what was the point most of the time.

Now. Now was the point.

He pushed the mans hand away, along with his umbrella and opened his own. He swung it above both of your heads, ignoring how the shoulder of his jacket was getting soaked as he covered you.

You looked over at him, eyes wide with that same adorably confused look he loved. You smiled at him before glancing back at the other man. You think he was a delivery worker but you really had no idea. Yeosang wasn't looking at you, even as his free hand made its way around your waist. He was giving the other man a once over.

You were taken aback for a moment at the look in his eyes. It looked like pure judgement at first before morphing into amusement. You blinked at him for moment.

This had happened a couple of times before and it always took you aback. The look in his eyes as he judged whoever it was that you were talking to before an amused look took over his expression. You could tell what he was thinking immediately when that smile took over.

'I'm better'

You took a breath as his gaze finally left him as he took his umbrella back and nodded, walking away. He looked down to you, the rain glitter in your hair and eyes now filled with awareness. His confidence gave way to a sheepish grin.

"What?"

"You have a horrible jealousy streak in you," you sighed, reaching up and fixing his hair. You laughed as he pouted at you.

"You always tell me to fight back but when I do you make fun of me," he whined at you. You rolled your eyes, looking back through the door to see the rest of the boys shaking their heads and laughing.

You smiled, thinking of how he must of looked running out of practice to get to you before you got in the rain.

"Alright," you grabbed his hand from your waist and threaded your fingers with him. "I guess it is pretty cute seeing you smug for once."

Choi San

San was actually watching happily.

You were dancing with Yunho in the practice room, him trying to teach you a move they just added to a song. You were actually doing pretty decent, Wooyoung calling out directions from the floor in front of you two.

He was in the corner across the room with Yeosang ordering drinks for everyone. He smiled watching you making a mini version of the movements as Yunho showed you again. He was about to leave the drink ordering to Yeosang and go join you when the backup dancers came in. They were practicing with them for part of practice today and were coming in to set up over break.

But the a couple went and joined your little lesson, standing on either side of You and Yunho and copying the movements.

You laughed as one of them freestyled a bit, doing a wave with their arms towards you. You continued it down the line, all of you laughing as it came back.

The dancer that stood next to you smiled down at you in a way San knew all too well.

The same way he knew he looked at you all the time when you did anything cute. The way he looked at you all the time.

He took a breath, crossing his arms and leaning back on the wall. Yeosang's voice drifted off in his head as he focused in on your face in the mirror.

You were completely oblivious to the look you were receiving. Yunho had noticed it though, looking back at San and giving a pursed, amused smile at seeing his face.

Yunho put a hand on your back, pushing you a bit forward towards Wooyoung. You looked back at him confused as Woo let out a laugh, both gestured back to where San was standing. Both you and the dancer looked back to him.

The dancer caught one glance at the dark look on his face and gave you a quick bow before walking away, pale and stiff. You tilted your head and came over, looking up at him and grabbing his hand.

"Whats wrong?" you looked over to where Yeosang was still happily scrolling through drinks, looking over to his phone screen. "Did they not have the strawberry one you like?"

San felt his frustration melting away as you tapped Yeosang to show you his screen. He turned it towards you, pointing out a couple as he scrolled for what he wanted. You nodded along, stopping when you saw San's normal drink and looking back to him.

"Hun, its right here why are you upset?" Your brows rose when you saw his face again. "oh you’re not upset anymore, was it really the drink?"

He smiled, you could always read him so well even when he wasn't in a talkative mood. He ruffled your hair, you complaining in response. This seemed to always happen when he felt even a twinge of jealousy, you would come back to him and completely take the feeling away.

You looked back to him and sighed.

"Well I'm going back to my 'lesson'," you huffed, rushing back to Yunho and Wooyoung. Wooyoung looked back to San and laughed loudly, Yunho following suit.

You looked at them confused, not seeing San putting a hand over his face as it flushed. It was embarrassing how well they read him too.

Song Mingi

Mingi had zero clue that it was jealousy he was feeling.

He had that look on his face when he was confused, concerned, and shocked all at the same time. He watched your performance from last night. You were in the dorm kitchen with Seonghwa and San, the three of you debating over the best type of hot chocolate. He knew rationally you were right there in his kitchen, arguing over his hot chocolate, wearing his pajamas. Yet....

His chest was twisting painfully at your image on the screen, dancing with your other members with the male backup dancers.

You put a hand around your partners neck, arcing back and moving your hips, looked at the camera and smiling as you sung your line. You looked ridiculously attractive as the scarf around your waist fluttered behind you as you let go of the mans neck and walked to the middle of the stage and meeting up with the other members.

He didn't feel it as his leg started to shake under him as he watched the backup dancers circle around behind you all.

He was only drawn out of his focus when Seonghwa dropped down next to him on the couch, you and San still arguing in the kitchen. You were saying something about whipped vs heavy cream when Seonghwa sighed.

"They're gunna be at it for another hour if you don't stop her," he laughed, patting the back of Mingi's head. Mingi looked at him for a moment, glancing at the kitchen before going back to the screen.

The dancers were kneeling in front of you now as you mime moved their heads around. His brows furrowed again. Seonghwa looked between the screen and him for a moment before laughing under his breath.

"You look like a wounded puppy you know," he stood and dragged him up from the couch, pushing him towards the kitchen. "Go break them up and stop making yourself upset."

Mingi stumbled into the kitchen, a pout deep on his face as he watched you laugh at whatever San was fighting you on and cut open a hot chocolate packet. You were pouring it into a cup when you looked over San's shoulder to see your boyfriend staring at you confused.

You laughed, smiling at him and handing San a spoon.

"Mix this for me, even if your opinion on flavors is severely mess up," you patted his shoulder as he made a face at you, still grabbing the spoon and mug to mix the drink.

He watched you walk up to him, again thinking rationally you were smiling at him, in his apartment, hand coming to rest on his arm. But...

"You dance well with other men," he grumbled under his breath. You tilted your head at him, confused as you glanced to the living room. Realization dawned on your face at the performance from last night played on the screen.

You felt a laugh slip from you as you grabbed his hand, pulling him further into the kitchen and grabbing another mug and hot chocolate packet.

"I didn't know you could get jealous," you said as you poured some milk into the mug. "I guess this is a good taste of your own medicine. Look at how you act on stage and guess how I feel," you smiled at him over your shoulder. He looked at you appalled.

San laughed, handing you your mug and the spoon. You poured the packet and stirred as he went up to his friend.

"She's got you on that one," he patted his back as he passed to go sit with their senior. Mingi let out a huff and stepped behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and rest his head on top of yours.

"I don't like the new choreo," he whined quietly as you laughed.

"Oh you big baby," you flipped around with his mug. "What am I gunna do with you," you whispered, going on your toes and kissing his nose.

He fought a smile as he leaned down to kiss you.

Maybe he should act jealous more often if it got you to tease him like this every time.

Jung Wooyoung

Wooyoung's too confident in himself to get jealous… sorta.

Really it was almost annoying when you were being blatantly hit on and you would look over at him and he is just smiling, sending you a teasing wave and wink.

That being said you were not expecting anything different from this night out.

All the members were at a local pub, live music and people talking loudly around them. They were crammed at a table, talking over the music and taking shot after shot. Wooyoung was laughing at something San said when Mingi bumped his shoulder.

"I think you're being called," he nodded his head over to the bar where you were, a overly cheery bartender leaning to far over the bar top and talking to you about something. Obviously he wasn't paying much attention since you were sending furious looks to the table where your boyfriend sat.

Wooyoung laughed under his breath. He smiled at you and winked, just as he aways did. You sent a dark glare over your shoulder before turning back to him, hair flipping over your shoulder.

Wooyoungs smile faltered when you turned, Yunho letting out a laugh.

"You know it bothers you when people hit on her, why do you act like it doesn't," he clapped a hand on Mingi's shoulder as he leaned over the table and grabbed another bottle. Wooyoung rolled his eyes and set his easy smile back into place.

You were still talking to the bartender, the man now push a shot to you in your favorite shade of purple. His jaw ticked.

You were talking to him a lot huh?

His finger tapped on his bottle rapidly for a moment before he let out an aggressive sigh. He downed a shot and stood, chair scraping and drawing the tables attention.

"Oh my gosh he's actually gunna do something," San gasped, coming out of his drowse to pay attention to this.

"This should go down on the calendars," Seonghwa laughed. Wooyoung felt his head buzz as he stepped up behind you, catching the tail end the question he asked you.

"--plans for after this? I get off soon," he smiled at you. Wooyoung took a breath and ran a hand down your spine. You straightened, eyes wide as you looked to him.

After that little wink earlier you had no faith he would come get you out of this conversation. But now his hand rested warm on your back, glasses pushing back his hair and an easy smile on his lips as he looked at the bartender.

"Another round," he nodded to the table where everyone waved. The bartender gave a strained smile and looked back at you, apparently missing how you were looking at Wooyoung.

"Be right back Hun," the tender winked at you and walked away.

"You suck," you griped, grabbing at his shirt. Wooyoung wanted to laugh and tease you, wanted to kiss the top of your head and sit you back at the table and ignore all this. But his hand stayed firm on your back as he watched the bartender grab a couple more bottles.

He never made it seem like this stuff affected him but really... how could it not. He thought getting you to date him would be the hardest part, he never considered keeping everyone off you while dating him would be worse.

You drew people to you at a rate he could never keep up. Every guy that came up to you made his jaw tick and chest twist. But he really did love the glares you would send him when he would smile at you, and loved your nagging when you finally got back to him.

He could only hold out so long though.

You tilted your head and tapped at his side, finally winning his attention. He looked to you, his thoughts being wiped clean at your stare. The lights caught in your eyes in a way that they almost twinkled, cheeks flushed a bit from the shots you took when you first got there.

"You're right," he laughed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and pulling you away from the bar. "Lets go before he comes back."

Choi Jongho

Jongho has this air about him.

You honestly don't even know if he knows what jealousy feels like.

Jongho unfortunately knew exactly what it felt like, feeling it all to often. Like right now.

You were just getting a drink from the vending machine, hard focused on the options as you poked the corner of his card to your cheek and pushed air from one cheek to the other.

He was happily watching you, adoring the look you got when you were trying to make a decision and couldn't choose. He was about to call you back over when someone else came up from behind you. He leaned down to talk to you, pointing at one of the options and sending you a glance.

Jongho's smile fell, his jaw ticking as the mans hand moved up to go to your back before stopping and going back to his side. You didn't pay him any mind, barely even nodding at him as you stayed focused on what to choose.

Finally you chose, he could see your eyes brighten as you tapped his card and pressed two buttons. Two cans of coffee dropped and you grabbed them, the man looking at the second can expectantly.

He grasped his hands together tightly, leaning forward and tapping his foot on the ground. He took a deep breathe, watching your face morph into confusion at whatever he was saying.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, Yeosang's voice came from behind him flooded with amusement.

"Practice starts back up soon. I would uh..." he looked between Jongho and the scene playing out across the room. "Wrap up whatever that is quickly."

Jongho stood up so fast Yeosang jumped back a bit.

"Good luck," he laughed quietly as he watched his friend stride over to where you were.

Jongho's arms casually draped itself over your shoulders, a hand grabbing the second can from you.

"Practice is starting soon," he said quietly, eyes moving from your cheek to the man now looking at you both.

He looked shocked, giving an awkward bow and a loud swallow before jerkily walking away. You could feel his smile against your cheek as his gave you a peck. You rolled your eyes.

"I can't imagine that was warranted," you turned a bit to look at him. He had that sly smile on his face that made you suspicious of everything he said after. It always was something to get you in trouble, and you always fell for it with that look.

"It was fully warranted," he moved to open the can and take a drink, slipping his card out of your hand and tapping it against your forehead with a little laugh. "You're just blind to your charms."

You gave him a smile, letting him pull you to the practice room as they started up again.

Really his jealousy showed it self in such an odd way, but you couldn't lie as you sat down, watching him go back to the members and talking about the dance move they were learning.

It wasn't the worst thing to see him act like that.

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

“We don’t have time.” He growls in his low deep register, his hands finding your face before his lips press into yours. You’re pressed on time, he’s annoyed, you can feel the heat still coming off him and he’s still sweaty from the performance. He pulls you back, turns you toward a table with a mirror on it. He bends you over, your palms flat on the desk in front of you. You watch him in the mirror, pulling your dress up and over your hips, his hands fumbling to get his pants down too, all in a rush. You know he just needs to relieve some stress, some pent up aggression, and you? You’re happy to oblige.

“You look so pretty tonight I’m going to try not to mess up your makeup too much.” He says, and you feel him. Hard and thick, his large hands parting your legs, more as he slips the head of his cock against your entrance. You gasp as he starts to sink into you, you’re wet but Mingi is large, thick. You’d think you’d be used to it by now, but it takes your breath away, as he presses all the way forward, his mouth falling open with a grunt as he fills you completely.

“Mingi!” You gasp, “Fuck.” You don’t really know what else to say. Your brain short circuiting from the sudden feeling of fullness. You feel it in your throat, like you’re gagging on him, and you struggle to grasp onto the flat top in front of you. He starts to move, not too fast, but hard. He knows how to use his hips and the way he rolls into you steals your breath, and punches a sound from you with each deep stroke. “Fuck!” You cry as he holds you down by your hips, the desk beneath you shakes with every single thrust. He grunts and growls and his eyes sear into the mirror, watching as he wrecks you.

“Keep quiet.” He growls, “Just take it for me.” You gladly accept, though every thrust makes you whimper or whine. You bite your bottom lip to muffle yourself, or at least attempt to. Your eyes water, the edge of the table beneath you starts to bite, you know you’ll have a bruise or two but for now it feels good. To have Mingi pinning you down beneath him, his cock gliding in and out of you, hitting that spot with every stroke. The next thrust is harder, as if it’s a test, and you fail, your moan coming out of you loud and involuntary. He doesn’t miss a beat. His hand reaches forward cupping around your mouth, he groans as you clench around him, “Look at yourself, baby.” Your eyes water as he continues rolling his hips into you, but you look.

You see yourself jolting forward with every thrust, tears starting to roll down your cheeks, Mingi’s large ring adorned fingers pressing hard into your mouth. You see him, looking down at the place where the two of you connected, watching as his cock sank in and came out soaked in your arousal, wet and creamy. He groans at the sight and then he looks at you. His gaze is direct and searing into you as you moan against his palm. His cock twitches at the sight, at the sounds coming from your pussy, he’s close. You arch against him, clench around him, you beg for him to let go without words. He shudders, a feral growl ripping from his chest as he presses forward, letting go, his hand clenching over your lips as you let out a muffled moan. Your own orgasm crashing over you, both of you shaking and panting as he pulls his hands from your mouth. You both take a minute as he pumps his cum deep into you, your legs shaking. When he finally pulls out of you it’s a mad dash to dress.

“Mingi-ah!?” A voice muffled behind the door searching for him as you both try to regain some type of composure. Mingi’s appetite is relentless, his energy never ending, so it’s hard for him to pull away. Especially because it’s you. His fingers move to wipe away smudged lipstick and you look up at him. His anger seemed to have gone, now he just looked soft.

“You wanna talk about it?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, right?” He asks and you nod.

“You still shined Min, it’s just a little hiccup.” He nods, unsure but smirking anyway. “I know you have to go. We’ll talk when you get home.” He nods.

“I’m happy you came back to see me after that.” He smirked, I think I just needed to see you.”

“Mingi-ah!!” San called for him again closer now.

“You should go.” You sigh.

“Maybe her and her situationship are back together,” Seonghwa offers, in the corner of the sectional, splitting Jongho and Yeosang. His dark brows wiggle, “Maybe he listened to the episode and decided to get his shit together.”

“Do you think he knows who she is?” Yunho wonders, undeniably intrigued. He curses under his breath, he missed a shot in the game. “Do you think we’ll ever find out who she is?”

“No,” Wooyoung and the other six answer as one. Yunho frowns. 

“It’s all so lame,” Wooyoung complains. “You’re all obsessed with her and you don’t even know who she is. Is a woman having sex really that interesting?” 

“Why are you whittling her down to just a woman who has sex?” San argues back, leaning his elbows on his knees now, eyeing Wooyoung from under his brows across the couch. “Women like her are basically nonexistent. Did you listen to the episode on anal?”

Wooyoung cringes, but Hongjoong speaks up, “No one is into anal.” 

“Yeah, not even her, I’d bet,” Wooyoung’s rebuttal is under his breath, he shakes his head as he pulls out his phone. He opens Instagram, scrolling through his feed, liking every bikini picture he sees. It gets boring after about six, so he refreshes his feed, and his eyes catch on the several circles at the top of his screen. Story posts. 

He clicks the first one he sees, Huh Yunjin. He remembers her, he fucked her a few months ago, he thinks. It was another themed party, a wear anything but clothes party, and she wore toilet paper around her boobs and butt. Wooyoung wonders if she still has the sweatpants and shirt he let her wear after he ripped it off of her.

The story post is a cute selfie of her and another girl, it takes Wooyoung four whole seconds of staring at the selfie with his thumb held on the screen to realize the other girl is you. Then he realizes he hasn’t seen you since the day you flipped shit on him at the gym. He screenshots it, opens his camera roll, and zooms in until he can see every pixel.

You look different. You’re smiling, happy about the two drinks in your hands, but there’s something off. Something different. He can’t figure it out. Why the fuck would he be able to figure it out just by a screenshotted picture from Yunjin’s story?

He locks his phone, throwing it on his lap, and brings his attention back to the conversation being held around him, except there is no conversation. Mingi and Yunho are yelling, he has no idea how he blocked that out, and the other five are leaning in closer to the TV, watching their FIFA match as if it was a real soccer game happening in front of their eyes. 

Wooyoung announces, “I’m in the mood to drink.”

Seonghwa doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “It’s a Monday.”

Jongho turns his head, interested and apparently also in the mood to drink, “Jungwon’s frat is throwing tonight.”

“San?” Wooyoung tips his chin in San’s direction, like if San said yes, he’d say yes. That’s usually how partying goes— how everything goes, really. 

San makes a face that tells Wooyoung he doesn’t care either way. “Sure,” he shrugs, “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“I wanna come,” Yunho interjects, ripping his eyes away from the screen just long enough to look at Wooyoung with begging eyes. 

“I’m not your keeper,” Wooyoung doesn’t know why Yunho still asks. 

“I am,” Mingi’s lips pin upward in a teasing grin. “I’ll come, too, my first class is at noon tomorrow.” 

“As if any of you ever go to class,” Seonghwa snickers. 

“I go to class,” comes from Hongjoong and Yeosang, at the same time. They look at each other and grin, proud of their studious efforts.

“Let’s all go,” Jongho offers, sitting up straight, lips pinned in something mischievous. “We can infiltrate their house.”

“I don’t care about infiltrating,” Wooyoung’s head finds the back cushions, spreading his knees. “I want to drink and fuck and leave.”

Yeosang, ignoring Wooyoung, offers, “I’ll drive, if we want to squeeze into my car.”

They’ve all fit into Yeosang’s SUV before, after a serious game of Tetris, bending and forcing limbs into places they’re not supposed to go. But it works, and Wooyoung doesn’t mind stretching himself to fit, as long as the night ends with him stretching someone else to fit. 

“You can’t only go to class and work forever,” Yunjin’s arms are crossed in your doorway, her hair tied up over her head, her casual-but-cool outfit trumping yours completely. You’re still in the shirt you wore to bed, shorts hidden somewhere beneath, flip-flops on your feet, hair dirty as fuck and slicked back because of it. You had two classes earlier today, too.

“Yes I can,” you argue, your laptop screen suddenly beyond interesting. Soobin was right, it is a small campus, and it’s not like you were just avoiding one person, you’ve been avoiding three. “I really have to finish this report, Jen, it’s due tomorrow.”

“You finished it a week ago,” she sighs as she walks into your bedroom, leaning onto your desk, arms still crossed. Fuck her for knowing you so well. “You partied while you were dating him. You’ve never had any issues going out, so why start now?”

“Did I miss the part where your boyfriend cheated on you?” You sit back in your desk chair, lifting your feet until your toes rested on the edge of the slab of light wood. “Oh, wait, that was me. And he cheated on me with a man. Can’t a girl take a couple weeks to wallow in her heartbreak?”

“You came home that night feeling two emotions. Anger, and relief.” She turns to the side, one leg crossed over the other, the lower half of her tall body leaned up against the desk. “You weren’t crying because you were sad, girl, you were crying because he cheated on you. You admitted it!”

“I was confused!” you argue, voice pitched in defense. “I was with him for over a year, Jen. I thought I was going to marry him.”

“You were with him for six months, maybe nine if I feel like being generous,” she smacks her teeth. “You were never going to marry him and you know it. That basket was a cry for attention, and he gave you a reality check instead. I’ve comforted you for two weeks and let you sit and wallow or whatever, but tonight, we’re going out.”

“I’m not leaving this apartment,” you threaten.

“Jihyo will drag you out of this apartment with her bare fucking hands,” she threatens back, in the same tone you used on her. You stare at each other for a moment, a stand-off, before the side of her cherry-red lips tugs upward in a smile. Her smile makes you smile, and then the two of you are laughing like you weren’t arguing a second ago.

Your laughter blends into a groan as you tip your head back, closing your eyes. You really aren’t in the mood to party, and you especially aren’t in the mood to go to some fuckass frat you’ve been to maybe three times in your life. If Yeonjun was at Wooyoung’s frat the night of the zip-tie party, then he could easily be there tonight, too. You aren’t in the mood to think about what you’ll do, what you’ll feel if you see him.

Realization hits you like a slap across the face when Yunjin’s words process. Your eyes snap open, “You invited the girls over to pregame?”

Yunjin shrugs, a sly grin still playing on her lips. “You need a push.”

“It’s only been two weeks!” you shout, exasperated.

“Two weeks too long,” she complains, pushing herself off the desk. “You’re twenty-one and hot, there’s no reason for you to sit in here and deteriorate.”

“There’s no reason for me to go out,” you argue, rolling yourself backward as she moves toward your closet, watching. “I’m not like you, Jen, I’m not gonna go kiss randoms or fuck someone in the bathroom, that’s not going to make me feel better.”

She sorts through hangers, ordering, “You need to do laundry, this closet is empty.” Pulling out a random top, she makes a face like she’s semi-impressed by it, “You don’t need to kiss randoms or have sex in a bathroom. All you need is a good night out with your girl friends, at the very least it will help jump-start your heart into healing.”

Your bottom lip folds over. “What do I do if I see him? What if he’s with Beomgyu?”

She throws the top on your bed, and holds out her left hand to count on it. “You’ll have me, Jihyo, Momo, Sana, Tzuyu, Nayeon and Chaeyoung as your personal human shields. You won’t see him.”

“And, what? You guys are gonna circle me all night?” you raise your brows, sarcasm in your question. 

“Like fucking hawks,” Yunjin grins like she was already in agreement with the others. “Get up and get showered, and please wash your hair.”

Your lips part, offended. “I was going to wash my hair today anyways!”

She started bothering you about this party before your first class, early this morning. Well, really, she mentioned it last night, and then first thing when she woke up and met you in the kitchen, then once when you got home, and you suppose now she’s officially made the decision for you.

Yunjin wasn’t wrong. You’ve spent two weeks meticulously tiptoeing around campus, keeping an eye over your shoulder on the way to class and back, you’ve been terrified of the jingle over the door at the gym, where you work. You think the fear of seeing them, any three of them, might be overshadowing what emotions you actually feel toward your breakup. 

You’ve heard from Yeonjun several times. The next day he left voicemails on your phone, apologizing profusely, trying and failing terribly to explain the situation. He’s texted you, he’s emailed you, he’s gone as far as saying he’ll kick Beomgyu out of the apartment if it meant you’d get back together with him. You haven’t answered a single message, but you haven’t blocked him, either. It’s strangely easy to ignore, the calls, texts, emails, he’s strangely easy to ignore. Like there’s an imaginary wall up between you and the entire situation. Like you can’t seem to process it, let alone get over it, or try to move past it.

It’s not like it never happened, but it’s put a pin in your entire life like seeing him in bed with someone else has frozen time itself. Nothing outside of school and work seems to exist, or matter, nothing outside of your bedroom-classroom-gym bubble seems to be real.

It’s strange. You feel strange. You aren’t ready to figure out what that means.

After a long shower and an extensive post-shower routine, you still feel like you’re floating through the motions of doing your hair, your makeup. It’s like you’re living outside of your own body, but you don’t really feel an ache, or the hollowness in the space where Yeonjun once filled. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

You jump, throwing your eyeliner pen across your vanity. Whipping your head to the doorway, Jihyo stands as perfect as she always does, smiling wide, shoulders back, chin upward, radiating a comforting dominance you’ve never seen anyone else able to replicate. She’s holding a can in her left hand, a martini glass in her right, she isn’t taking no for an answer.

Her long, dark hair is in a high ponytail, baggy pants on her legs, a top that just covers what it needs to. Her tanned, golden skin glows from the fluorescent light of your vanity, or the LED lights, whatever they are. She looks hot.

Her hips move in a slow sway as she saunters across your bedroom, setting your martini glass down beside your array of compacts. “Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” she asks, her lips a sparkling, glossy pink.

You shake your head before answering, “Jen might have picked something out, I didn’t look.”

“I know you don’t want to go,” she changes the subject, her voice keeping the same confident, smooth cadence she always has. “And I know parties here are a dime a dozen, but tonight is the night you’re finally gonna break out of this funk.”

You haven’t spoken to the other girls about any of it. Not about Yeonjun cheating on you, not about who with, but you don’t mind that Yunjin passed the message along. It’s easier if you don’t have to talk about it.

Your mouth still feels dry. You try a smile, sipping your martini, feeling the absence of all three olives. “I’m not in a funk,” you lie straight through your teeth, “it is what it is.”

“That’s the funk,” she bends down enough to where you have to shift your head down to keep her eye. “You’re not a passive girl. You might have been with him, but that’s not you at your core. From now on, we’re focusing on bringing that back out of you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you basically murmur. “Not being argumentative, or loud, or angry. Being chill.”

“Being passive isn’t being chill,” she stands again, taking a sip of her own drink. “Being passive is allowing yourself to get walked all over, and that’s what you’ve spent the last year doing. Tonight is the first step in undoing all of that shit.”

You think of San, who has seen you since the day he met you at the Penny. When he was reading you just by your coffee order. Or Yunho, who you were able to talk to so freely, so much that you let words slip that you wouldn’t say to any of the women in this house beside Yunjin. You think about Wooyoung, the banter between you, how exhilarating and entertaining it is for a man to not only match your energy, but to send it back to you tenfold. Why is it so easy to be yourself around them? Why does everyone else require a mask?

You haven’t been able to bring yourself to sit in front of your microphone in two weeks, you don’t have anything happy or funny to say, you can’t think of a single topic when you have notebooks upon notebooks with topics written down. You feel disconnected from her, Unscripted, your alter-ego, she feels too far away, hidden beneath too many layers of shit. You miss her.

Your nod to Jihyo isn’t convincing, but it’s there. And it seems to be enough for her, because she smiles wide and orders, “When you’re done getting ready, you’re coming out to the living room and we’re all taking shots. We’re getting you fucked up tonight.”

You laugh, more of an amused huff of breath through your nose as you reach for your eyeliner pen. “If I’m getting fucked up, then you’re all getting fucked up, too.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” she drawls as she heads for your bedroom door again. You keep your eyes on her, just because she looks so fucking good walking away.

She’s right, and it’s easy to realize, easy to come to terms with. You let Yeonjun get away with murder in your relationship. He set the schedule, called the shots, chose your future, and you let him. You think you’ve let all the boyfriends you’ve ever had do the same. None of your boyfriends have seen the sarcastic, witty, loud-mouthed part of you, or the part that seems like she’d enjoy black coffee– hard and mad and serious and shit. 

It’s hard to tell which part of you is the alter-ego now.

“I brought you an outfit!” Yunjin announces, skipping into your room with clothes on hangers. She lays them down on your bed, and then leaves just as fast. “We want to take shots soon, so be quick!”

Maybe you never needed an alter-ego to begin with.

Honestly, Wooyoung doesn’t really like house parties that much. But this time of year the campus is always buzzing with them, including his own frat, and he always participates, so who the fuck is he kidding? He goes for the same reasons, and those are the only reasons parties are actually enjoyable. Drinking and fucking, smoking and fucking, sober and fucking, it doesn’t matter what comes first, just what comes after.

“My boy.” He spots Jungwon first, or Jungwon spots him. The president of his frat, a little taller than Wooyoung, he has a cute face but the personality of an oiled fucking machine. If there’s anyone that loves fucking just as much as Wooyoung, it’s Jungwon. Brown, shaggy hair that sits over his forehead, a lean but sculpted body, clothes that always look tailored to him, Jungwon might be just as rich, just as attractive as Wooyoung, too.

He remembers eventually and cringes. He clasps the younger man’s hand, bringing him into a quick embrace with a pat to his back, grinning. “Good to see you, bro.”

“You brought the family,” Jungwon eyes the pack of animals striding in behind Wooyoung, already on the prowl. They actually managed to fit all eight of them into Yeosang’s car.

Wooyoung nods with a small chuckle, “Couldn’t miss a banger. All your boys here?”

“They’re here,” Jungwon nods. “Good luck finding them, though.”

Wooyoung needs the luck, because Jungwon’s frat house is about six times bigger than Wooyoung’s. Not that Wooyoung was the president, that was Hongjoong, if any of them paid any mind to the dynamics of it all. Wooyoung thinks their entire house could fit into the living room he stood in right now. It was one of the rich frats on campus, with a brick-layed exterior, pillars on the porch, one of the houses that gets cleaned weekly by a service sworn-in and is paid for by donating alumni. Wooyoung, nor the rest of his frat, had any interest in having to take care of something as massive as this.

A blonde makes her presence known, fitting right into the space under Jungwon’s bicep, and Wooyoung takes that as his cue to leave. He sees Mingi’s head of dark, cropped hair beside Yunho’s head of blonde, and uses it as a beacon to weave his way through people, making eyes at a certain few on the way. He sneaks in between the couple and neither of them react, like the spot was already his.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Yunho asks, eyes darting all over the living room, art hung high on the ceilings.

“Why?” Mingi asks, turning his head toward Yunho. “You got plans for after or something?”

“His plans are on the back porch, wherever the smokers are,” Wooyoung adds. “How many miles do we have to walk before we can get a fucking drink?”

“San brought beers,” Yunho makes a face, like he’s just realizing he already lost the younger man. “Fuck, why does he go everywhere except toward the kitchen? That’s where liquor is dispersed.”

“I don’t think those rules apply in a place like this,” Mingi says, stopping in his tracks. In the kitchen, the massive, huge room that is only a kitchen because it has appliances in the corner, is roaring. At their own parties, the kitchen counters are usually filled with liquor bottles, shot glasses, ashtrays full of cigarette butts. Not women.

Wooyoung grins ear to ear, “Nice.”

Music blares, and each pounding beat guides the women on the countertops, on the kitchen island. Hips sway, liquor is spilled, cheers are shouted, there’s a crowd for the elevated-surface-dancers. Wooyoung’s never been one to chase, but he’ll watch and enjoy the free show like his life depends on it.

“I need a drink,” Yunho complains, barely watching the show before him. “We’re not even going to be able to get inside that kitchen, let alone get a fucking drink. Where the hell did San go?”

Wooyoung thinks mini-skirts were created just for him. He loves legs, calves, strength and muscle curving the long stretch of skin. He loves heels especially for that reason, when women’s calves are outlined perfectly, flexed just because they took a step. It’s mesmerizing, entrancing, and it makes his dick open an eye in his pants.

“Wooyoung.” He snaps back to Yunho, who’s clearly still complaining. “Get us in there, we need drinks.”

Wooyoung smacks his teeth. Why is it up to him? Actually, that’s a question for them. He shakes his head in irritation, “Why is it up to me?” He was perfectly fine watching the show.

“Because I said so.” Yunho’s reply is short but lacking the sweet counterpart. He grabs onto Wooyoung’s arm and drags him forward, toward the kitchen. Wooyoung doesn’t let his feet drag, because he wants to drink, too, but he’d rather find San than be the small guy dragging the two big guys through a women-watching crowd.

He weaves through bodies, a few women catching his eye, and he caught theirs, too. After a few winks thrown and another few diversions from women he’s already tapped, he finally finds a liquor bottle at the very corner of one counter, centimeters away from a stiletto. 

He looks up, and gets an eyeful of thong. Grinning, he tilts his head, cocky smirk on his lips as he asks, “Can I grab this bottle without my hand getting stabbed?”

The girl looks down, and it dawns on her the same time it dawns on him who the other one is.

“Wooyoung?” she asks, but slides her feet over, letting him reach in for the bottle.

He gives her a nod of acknowledgement, “Jen.”

She bends until the backs of her thighs are kissing her calves. “It’s Yunjin to you.”

Still pretty. Still a bitch. His favorite. His smirk gets sloppier, “Yeah? I’m pretty sure you told me to call you Jen when I was inside you.”

Her cheeks go pink, eyes widening. “You can forget that ever happened, I already forgot.”

He hands the bottle to Yunho and Mingi behind him, all while keeping his eyes on the brunette in front of him. Licking his lips, he considers going for seconds. “That’s a shame, I think about it all the time.”

“Funny, because you never reached out,” she barks out, her eyes thinning.

“Isn’t it better to meet each other like this? Naturally? Organically? I hate that texting bullshit,” he leans his side against the counter, elbow propped up on the granite. “It works, clearly, since you forgot all about me. Want a reminder?”

“I’m not here for that,” she purrs, a smile playing on her own lips. “I’m here for my friend, to help her get over a breakup.”

“Yeah?” Wooyoung’s eyes slide to the rest of the women on countertops. “Which one is she?”

Yunjin looks, too, to point her out to Wooyoung. But her eyes go wide, color draining from her face, “Shit! Help me down.”

She throws an arm out, which Wooyoung quickly takes, keeping her stable as she leaps off the countertop. “What’s wrong?”

“I fucking lost her,” Yunjin panics, quickly pushing past him, Yunho and Mingi. Wooyoung’s face falls as he turns to his friends.

Yunho and Mingi are already giggling with pink cheeks. Mingi snorts, “Guess you can check her off the list for possible bed-warmers.”

Wooyoung scowls, “Give me the bottle.” Yunho hands it over, a tall, skinny bottle of Grey Goose, a top-shelf vodka. He unscrews the cap and brings it to his lips, sucking down three, deep gulps, enough to make him choke on it. He doesn’t choke, though, he makes a face that relays the feeling, instead.

“Be careful or you won’t be able to get it up,” Yunho snickers, Mingi’s laugh following his words.

“I can always get it up,” Wooyoung quips. “I’m half-hard already.”

Both Yunho and Mingi groan in disgust, but it’s true. He just got a face full of ass, and when she bent down he could smell her perfume, look straight down her top. No one could expect his dick to stay soft after that.

Wooyoung scans the kitchen in hopes of finding someone else to ease what has his pants tightening, but his eyes catch on something else entirely. He squints, blinking away what was hopefully dust in his eyes, for a second he thought he saw your boyfriend. He takes a step closer, Yunho and Mingi intrigued now, too, and it’s a weight sitting heavy on his chest that what he thinks he sees is true.

Your boyfriend. But he’s not alone– no, there’s a brunette at his side, short hair, cut shaggy and layered. He’s giggling at her, cheeks pink, she throws a hand into his hair at the nape of his neck, and pulls him down to kiss her. Wooyoung’s jaw drops.

“Why are you staring at those two guys?” Mingi asks, voice quiet like the three of them were being secretive. “Is there something you need to tell us, Woo?”

Wooyoung’s head whips to the side, “That’s a guy?”

“Yes, bro, look,” Mingi throws an arm in their direction. Wooyoung looks at her– his outfit, baggy jeans, a tight top on his middle. From the back, his gender is ambiguous as fuck. The kiss is short, the brunette turns, letting Wooyoung finally see his face, and his stomach drops to the floor.

He thinks back to what Yunjin said, she’s helping her friend through a breakup. Then he looks up at the counter, realizing the women still dancing above him are Momo, Sana, Chaeyoung, Nayeon and Tzuyu– all women he’s slept with before. Then Yunjin’s Instagram story dawns on him, and all the pieces start quickly sliding into place.

“That’s Virgin’s boyfriend,” Wooyoung tells the other two, like he doesn’t believe it himself. “Yunjin said they just broke up.”

“What?” Yunho asks, baffled. “What do you mean, that’s her boyfriend? He was just macking on the pretty guy.”

“I know,” Wooyoung is still staring, like he couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. He wonders when it happened, if it was before or after he saw you at the gym, if that’s why you snapped at him. “I mean, I don’t know, I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“Do you think she’s here?” Yunho asks, turning to Wooyoung, and he can see that glimmer in his eye again. “Does she know?”

“No,” Wooyoung blurts. “I don’t know, we just got here. She might be.”

“We should find her,” Yunho’s eyes are wider now, serious, problem-solving. “Tell her he’s here or something, I don’t know.”

“She probably knows already,” Wooyoung shrugs. “Yunjin just told me she’s gone.” 

It’s up for debate where you actually are in this big ass house.

You don’t care, anywhere is better than in the fucking kitchen where Yeonjun didn’t even see you. You were standing on the goddamn counter, basically a beacon, a sight to behold, and Yeonjun couldn’t pull away from Beomgyu long enough to notice. You didn’t want to be up there in the first place, that was Jihyo’s idea, and if Jihyo told you to jump off a cliff you’d ask her if you should dive. Your front was pressed to hers, Sana at your back, feeling the music and the liquor, letting your body give in to whatever was possessing it, finally relaxing before your world went upside down all over again.

You knew this would happen. You knew they would be there, that purging feeling in your stomach while you were getting ready wasn’t for nothing. But you still came, you still listened to your friends who told you they would shield you. That tonight was the turning point or whatever the fuck. 

You think you’re in some kind of game room, a pool table in the center of the large room with floor to ceiling windows, the air thick with a cloud of gray smoke from the people in the corner passing a bong around. You squeezed yourself between bodies to get through the kitchen, then you scurried down a hallway, then a weird, second one which curved, and it led you to two rooms: this one, and the one adjacent to it, which was some kind of den. There were more people in here, more bodies to hide behind, more space to make yourself invisible.

But you’re not invisible. You’re standing in the doorway in the tiniest shorts you’ve ever seen after abruptly stopping in a panic, your boots skidding against the hardwood. All eyes are on you for a few seconds, and those few seconds make you feel naked, too visible, too real. A guy on the other side of the pool table tilts his head, a cigarette between his lips, a smile tugging at the corner like he knew every thought going on inside your head, and wanted to make sure you knew, too.

You swallow down your physical panic as he makes his way over to you. “Never seen you before,” he drawls like you’re fresh meat, his voice soft, pretty. He’s pretty. Brown hair, curly and messy over his forehead, his body is lean, but strong, his clothes oversized but somehow fitted to his build exactly.

You force a smile. “I don’t usually come here.”

His lips tighten, the cherry of the cigarette burning a bright orange as he looks you up and down. “You should,” he says, smoke leaving his mouth with the word. He lifts his fingers, cigarette landing between two of them. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” you ask instead, pushing your shoulders back. You bottle up the panic inside you, throw the lid over the top, and store it somewhere deep, a place you won’t find until tomorrow. You’re single. You aren’t dating Yeonjun anymore– he has someone else, even if he’s texting you, making promises he won’t keep, he’s not yours anymore. Turning point.

He grins with a feline kind of stare, like he’s assessing you. “Jungwon,” he answers, some amusement laced in his tone. “Why is it that you don’t come here?”

Some people walk in from behind you, you shift to the left to give them access. Jungwon moves with you, then closer to you. You feel your breath stutter in your chest, and you think he might be able to smell the unease radiating off of you. 

“I don’t…” you start, then stop, because you don’t really have a reason. Maybe that’s reason enough. “I don’t have a reason to come here.”

“You do now,” he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, pulling. When he exhales, he asks, “Do you smoke?”

You shake your head, “‘m not a smoker. I drink, though.”

“But there’s no drink in your hand,” Jungwon points out, frowning. “I should fix that for you, shouldn’t I?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. He’s pretty and a smooth talker. You guess you should start the countdown now for when he makes a move, and when you inevitably reject him. You nod anyways, though, because at least he’s easy on the eyes, and offering to get you a drink. The last party you came to, your boyfriend didn’t even say hello.

He brings you back down the curved hallway, but veers off away from the kitchen, walking down a staircase into what you assume is the basement. Clouds of smoke follow behind him, dissipating into the air over your head, and it only gets worse when you’re in the basement.

There’s pong tables, couches, bean bags, a bar setup with stools, everywhere to sit, to stand, is full. You could say that for the entire house, but walking deeper into the basement, you notice that everyone’s eyes, everyone’s body shifts toward Jungwon. You wonder who he is all the way until you get to the back, which has a secondary bar tucked away in the corner. It’s smaller, quieter, with a movie-theater setup, a screen and a couch, there aren’t as many people. The people that are here, on the long, black leather couch, are all making out.

Jungwon doesn’t seem to care, he slips behind the bar like it's his. He lights a new cigarette, assessing the back of the bar like it was full and functional, and asks, “What do you drink?”

You sit on a stool, “Vodka.”

“Like, straight?” he asks, one chestnut brow popped. “Vodka on ice?”

“Usually at parties I’d be offered a beer or a seltzer or something,” you fold your arms over the table, propping your chin on your knuckles. “You want me carrying around a glass?”

“I didn’t plan on leaving this room without you, so no,” his lips pull into that feline smirk again and your stomach drops. “I planned on you drinking and finishing it right here, with me.”

You can feel your cheeks flush, a heat warming up your bare legs hanging off the bar stool. “Smooth,” you smile. “Do you have vermouth? Olive brine?”

“Don’t tell me you’re a martini girl,” he muses, slightly muffled from the cigarette between his teeth. “No martini glasses, but this will do.” He sets up a short tumbler glass for whiskey, or an old fashioned. Your eyes flare, but you don’t complain. He notices, “Martini drinker and you’re picky?”

You smile, a real smile. “I’m not picky…”

He lifts a brow, “But?”

“But my glass isn’t even chilled,” you scrunch your lips to one side, teasing. “I’m not tipping you for this, y’know.”

He snorts, pulling his cigarette from his teeth to lay it on the glass ashtray you didn’t even notice, right beside you. “What, forgot your wallet or something?”

You shrug, “Caught me. Left it at home, with my emergency olives.”

“You can tip me another way,” he says coolly, like he wasn’t trying to flirt. Your toes curl in your boots. He shakes your drink, getting it all cloudy, then pours it into your glass as if he’s been bartending for twenty years. “Taste it, then you can talk to me about how much of a tip it's worth.”

You bring your lips to the rim, eyeing Jungwon over the crystal. It takes like a martini, and like you said, you aren’t picky. His brows raise, “Well?”

“A martini’s a martini,,” you lick your top lip, lowering the glass back to the bar. You feel lighter. Flirting like this, without pressure, talking to a man who is clearly interested in you feels good. 

He leans over the thick slab of wood, amusement in his eyes. “But is it tip-worthy?”

You don’t know what inside you makes you ask, “Are we still talking about the same kind of tip?”

He smiles, and it’s a full, widespread grin. “You’re funny.”

“I can tell from how hard you laughed,” you tease, picking up your glass again. “I’m not the hookup kind, though. Hate to break it to you.”

“Ah,” he nods his understanding, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray while you sip your drink. “You’re the wine and dine type.”

“I’m the type that needs a genuine connection,” you correct. “And I just met you five minutes ago.”

“I’d say we have a pretty strong connection right now,” he says, cigarette between his lips as he re-lights it. “What do they say? Love at first sight?”

It makes you laugh, a straight punch from your gut. You take a deeper sip, then lean a little closer toward him, swirling your finger around the rim. “I don’t fuck at parties.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he counters, voice a low, heavy whisper. “I think you want to, but you’re reminding yourself that you don’t.” Your smile falters. “Or are you convincing yourself? I can’t tell.”

You did bring it up. Cheeks heating up again, you sputter, “I-I just came out of a breakup, he cheated on me. I’m not in the headspace to do anything with anyone.”

“All I did was make you a drink, baby,” he reminds you, voice soft as cotton. “I only brought you down here to get to know you.”

“You didn’t want to join the orgy on the couch?” you smirk, pointing a thumb behind you. Jungwon glances over, then laughs, a pretty song of delight.

“This is my bar,” he admits, then walks around the side of it toward you. He slips into the barstool beside yours, and says, “Only I can bring people down here. The people on the couch have either been here before, or got the go from me. No, I didn’t bring you down here to join the party on the couch, I brought you down here because I wanted to bring you into my space.”

You weigh his words, the look in his eye, then ask, “This is your house?”

His smile grows again. “You don’t even know who’s house you’re in?”

“Don’t care,” you admit, and it’s honest. “I came here to get drunk and have fun with my friends. They kind of forced me.”

“They forced you?” He reaches across the bar, arm disappearing below the slab of wood. He pulls a bottle back, a deep amber color, bourbon. He unscrews the cap, saying, “I don’t see your friends around now.”

“They’re upstairs,” you watch him as he brings the bottle up to his lips, trading tobacco for whiskey. “They tend to stray toward elevated surfaces, not basements.”

Jungwon smiles as he swallows down the liquor. “And you don’t?”

“I was up there,” you’re grinning, nodding. “But it definitely wasn’t my idea.”

“I’m sad I didn’t get to see,” he mutters, setting the uncapped bottle down on the wood. Licking his lips, he shrugs, “You could always put on a private show–”

“Virgin?” you hear from the doorway, a voice you haven’t heard in over two weeks. Your head turns at the sound of it, the familiarity, and you’re met with Jung Wooyoung standing confused in the entryway. “The hell are you doing down here?”

“Hi,” your lips flatten. You still feel the shame from snapping at him, not seeing him, not hearing from him or speaking to him in these past few weeks. You still haven’t decided how you’d explain your breakup with Yeonjun to him. 

“Yo,” Jungwon stretches an arm out, and Wooyoung clasps his hand when he walks over like the greeting was practiced. Now you’re confused. They know each other? Jungwon turns toward you with furrowed brows, “You’re a virgin?”

“No!” you answer too quickly, eyes blowing wide. “He just calls me that,” you side-eye Wooyoung, “because he’s an asshole.”

Even shameful, the sight of him still pisses you off. White tee, dark jeans, hair long and curling beneath his ears, he’s dressed better than he is at his own parties. Wooyoung still looks confused, “Why are you down here? People fuck down here.”

Jungwon melts into his defeat, and your lips pop open. “You said–” you point at Jungwon, then turn to Wooyoung, “he said he didn’t– I’m confused.”

“People come down here to fuck,” Wooyoung explains, pointing with a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s bedrooms behind the screen, a hallway through the door next to it. Sorry J, but you know you’re running a brothel down here, right?”

Your lips stay parted. “You said you didn’t bring me down here to fuck.”

“I didn’t,” Jungwon’s voice grows in pitch. “People just happen to come down here and–”

Wooyoung snorts, a laugh ripping through his chest. “I’m sorry,” he manages to get out, “I didn’t mean to cockblock, but she might be the worst person you could have brought down here.”

Your lips part further, jaw hitting the floor. “What?”

Jungwon’s face falls flat, and he pushes himself backward in the barstool, the legs making an ugly noise against the tiled floors. “Wait,” you blurt, trying to put the pieces together. “Why are you leaving? What the fuck is going on?”

“He brought you down here to fuck you, Virgin,” Wooyoung spells it out for you, his words still drowning in amusement. “Or did you know that already? I didn’t take you for the mid-party-fuck type, unless it’s your boyfriend, who I just saw upstairs, by the way.”

“I thought you said your boyfriend cheated on you,” comes from a confused Jungwon.

“He cheated on you?” Wooyoung’s eyes blow wide. “No, tell me it was with that guy, the brunette one with the pretty face–”

“Oh my god, can you both shut the fuck up?” you snap, silencing the two men. “Yes, he cheated on me with Beomgyu and no I’m not the hookup type and no I didn’t know this was the fucking sex room. You said people come down here to fuck? Why the fuck are you down here, then?”

As if on cue, one of the prettiest women you’ve ever seen is giggling as she passes through the entryway, her heels clicking against the tile as she walks toward Wooyoung. “Wooyoungie,” she whines, not reading the silence from you and Jungwon as she attaches herself to Wooyoung’s side. “Aren’t you taking me back?”

Your brows raise, and so, so slowly you turn your head toward Jungwon. With pointed eyes, you ask, “You brought me down here to ‘get to know me?’”

“If something came after getting to know you, I wouldn’t have said no to it,” he admits shamelessly.

You grab your martini, sucking the rest of it back like it was a shot. “‘Kay, I’m done here, officially going the fuck home.”

“Wait, Virgin,” Wooyoung calls for you as you’re halfway off the stool. “You said you were going to update me, but you haven’t updated me, and clearly there’s a lot to update me on.”

You can only see the back side of her, but you somehow manage to glimpse her tongue poking out of her lips where they were attached to Wooyoung’s neck. With a flat stare, you respond, “Clearly, you’re busy.”

Turning your head, Jungwon is already gone, the bottle of bourbon gone, too. Fucker. He left you here with Wooyoung. But you think being left here with Wooyoung might be better than Wooyoung leaving you here with Jungwon. 

“Baby, baby,” Wooyoung peels the woman off of him with his hands on her hips. Grinning, using what you think is every ounce of swagger he possesses, you watch as he convinces her, “Go wait for me in a room, okay? I’ll come to you, this won’t take long.”

And to your surprise, she listens. She turns for the door you now notice beside the screen and purrs, “Don’t take long, okay? I don’t wanna have to start without you.”

Once she’s out of earshot, you repeat every word she said in a whiny, mocking tone. Wooyoung smacks his teeth as he crosses his arms, “Shut up, she’s hot. How could you let Jungwon bring you down here?”

“What’s it matter to you?” you retort, brows knitting together. “He said he was getting me a drink.”

“And you decided the safe place to get a drink was in the room with naked people on the couch?” he asks, one of his arms flying behind him, referring to the now very naked people on the couch.

Heat lines your cheeks as your lips part, “Oh.” Shaking your head, voice drawing defensive, you argue, “They weren’t naked when I got down here, they were just making out. It was PG-thirteen.”

“You’re too naive for a guy like Jungwon,” Wooyoung’s arms cross tighter. “He’ll tear you to pieces.”

“Maybe I wanted to get torn to pieces,” you proclaim. You were contemplating it, at most, and you’re not naive. “Why are you grilling me? Go get fucked.”

“You’re not the hook-up type, you just said it yourself.” Wooyoung rakes a hand through his hair, “I didn’t want to be right about your boyfriend, you know.”

“Don’t get serious now,” your tone is vicious. “We’re barely even friends. You have no reason to be consoling me right now.”

“You’ve walked in on me jerking off and you walked in on me having sex,” he counters, voice flat. “Now we’re not friends?”

You sigh, exhaustion building from this conversation alone. “You irritate me.”

“What happened two weeks ago?” Wooyoung asks, and in his eyes you can see the concern, the genuine curiosity. “I want to make sense of what I just saw. I want to know.”

Lips scrunching, running both hands through your hair, you don’t have it in you to argue anymore. “Okay,” you preface, and let the rest of the story come tumbling out. From the night he gave you advice, to having sex with Yeonjun, to the basket, to catching him in bed with Beomgyu, you don’t miss a single detail from that night all the way up to today, all of your friends having to convince you to come out.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Wooyoung’s lips are tied tight to one side. “The marriage shit makes sense now, though. Projection, in a way, him holding on to what was left even though he was the one pulling out.”

Your brows raising is your only agreement, because you’ve thought all of this over already. Under your breath, you mutter, “Yeah, I’m sure, he only did that with me.”

You should have known that because he’s Wooyoung, he’d understand your play on words. “Wait, he didn’t cum inside you? Even though you were dating for that long, and he wanted to get you pregnant?” You shake your head. His head tilts, “Girl.”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s over,” you roll your eyes, sinking into the stool. “Can you go now? Go fuck enough for the both of us, since I won’t be having sex for a long, long time.”

Wooyoung studies you for a moment, eyes thin in a squint, debating. “How many bodies do you have?”

“Wooyoung!” you whisper-yell, looking around. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Now you’re shy? After telling me that whole story?” He laughs a little. “Answer.”

Your heartbeat picks up, feeling heat in your cheeks. “Four,” you mumble, so quietly you’re sure he can’t hear you. He cups his ear with his palm, and you repeat, louder, “Four.”

“I heard you the first time, I just wanted to be wrong,” he groans. Running his hands over his face, he stops when his fingers are wrapped around his jaw, “Have you never hooked up with anyone, literally ever?”

“No,” you answer, shameless. “I’ve always had boyfriends, I’m a lover girl.”

His face twinges with disgust, “Never say that again. You talked so much shit about him not fucking you right, and– you know, you should call Jungwon back in here. You should fuck him. You need to learn what good sex is.”

“I know what good sex is,” you argue, offended. “We had good sex, before… before Beomgyu. In the beginning. It was good!”

“Was it good or was it I think I might die good?” There’s a flush ripping through your entire body now, and Wooyoung takes your silence as an answer. “Did he at least make you cum?”

“Yes,” you reply too quickly. Wooyoung’s brows raise like he’s waiting for the rest. Self-consciously, you give him the rest, mumbling, “In the beginning.”

“When was the last time another person made you cum?” 

You don’t know. You can’t answer. Wooyoung chokes on a disbelieving laugh like this is the most diabolical thing he’s ever heard in his life. Shame bubbles up inside your gut, embarrassed that you stayed with him for so long, mortified that Wooyoung now knows all the nitty-gritty details.

“Not all of us fuck anything,” you snap, frustration boiling over. “At least I’ve never had chlamydia. Can you say the same?”

“I’ve never had sex without giving my partner at least one orgasm, can your ex say the fucking same?” he bites back, and every bit of anger behind the words is intentional. “Yes, I’ve had chlamydia, but I’ve been fucking for a long time and I’ve gotten so good at it, now everyone wants a piece. Is that my fault?”

“Not everyone,” you sneer, fingers curling into your stool. You can imagine it, right now, in your head, all the different ways he does it. If Unscripted were here, she’d be kicking that girl out of the bedroom and taking it for herself, experiencing in detail all the ways Jung Wooyoung makes his partners cum. She’d be fucking Wooyoung within seconds.

“And you’re some kind of saint because you don’t want to fuck me?” He laughs, and it’s coated in sarcasm. “Jesus, you wield the fact that I had chlamydia like it’s some kind of weapon against me. I took the medication, I’m clean, I’m safe.”

“Why are you trying to convince me?” You shoot your hand across the room again, damn near shouting. “Go tell the girl that’s waiting for you! Why do you give a fuck what I think about you?”

“Because you’re the one who can’t remember the last time she had an orgasm, and I can give one to you!” he finally shouts, in the same tone as you, and it renders you both quiet. He turns, running his hands through his hair like he was bringing himself back down to earth.

There’s butterflies in your stomach, static in your toes, your heart is banging against your chest. But the shame, the embarrassment, the anger, it’s all still there.

“What, is this some kind of pity offer?” you argue after a moment, and he starts laughing, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “Look, it’s the girl who got cheated on, let me offer her a free orgasm since her cheating ex-boyfriend rarely made her cum, too.”

“It’s not about you,” Wooyoung grits out, his body only turned halfway toward you. “That’s like, a crime, not making your partner finish. A sin.” He finally turns, and the severity on his face kinda freaks you out. “I could teach a fucking master-class on eating pussy, it’s simple. It’s ridiculous to me that women go around fucking guys who won’t make them cum.”

A laugh cracks from your chest. It’s small, at first, but then it tumbles into loud, obnoxious laughter. “You actually have to be kidding me,” you snort, sinking into the stool as you laugh. “You want to make me cum in spite of all the guys on earth who don’t make women cum? Are you a feminist all of the sudden?”

He walks closer to you, his expression stone-cold serious. “I enjoy it, Virgin, like it’s a fucking hobby. When was the last time he ate you out, just to eat you out? Nothing expected afterward?”

“You expect me to believe you won’t want anything after?”

“Answer my question.”

“Probably never,” you answer honestly, amusement still lying in your tone, laughter still breaking up your words. “I don’t think he’s ever gone down on me just to do it.”

Wooyoung groans in disgust, turning away like he couldn’t bear the sight of you. “God, and you dated him for over a year? This is the type of shit I mean when I say I could never be in a relationship, I can’t wrap my mind around dating someone if you’re not having good sex.”

Your lips fall flat, “Well, he was saving it for Beomgyu. What do you want me to fucking say to that, Wooyoung?”

“I want you to tell me to do it,” he answers, so shamelessly it makes your skin prickle with sweat. “I want you to tell me to show you what I’m talking about, to prove that my words are true. That’s what I want.”

You don’t do hook ups, Wooyoung doesn’t do relationships. You want sex to be fully about you, he’s giving you an option he says isn’t about you at all. The proposition is everything you’re against, everything you don’t want, but in his eyes, you see he’s being truthful, that he means every word he says. Yeonjun is upstairs with Beomgyu, there’s a girl just behind that door waiting for Wooyoung, and he… wants to eat you out.

“I don’t do hookups,” you whisper, looking up at him from where you sit on the stool.

“It’s not a hookup,” he shakes his head. “It’s a favor. One you don’t have to pay back.”

“Sex is about love to me, Wooy–”

“It doesn’t have to be,” his voice is calmer now, steadier. “Sex is fun, an experience, it can be a hobby. It’s about pleasure, and who doesn’t want to be pleased?”

You, you guess. That’s all you’ve wanted these past few months, it’s what you’ve been fucking begging for and he’s handing it to you on a silver platter. His words sound like they’re straight out of your own podcast.

“And all you want to do is eat me out?” you ask, brows raised.

“Well, can we kiss a little?” He tilts his head. “You have to be comfortable to cum, you won’t be comfortable if we walk in there and I tear your little shorts off.” A rush of something racks through you, landing in the base of your gut. You shiver. He smiles. “It’s like the night we met, instead this time, you’re actually gonna cum in a random bedroom at a frat party.”

That makes a smile tug at your lips, and before you know it, you’re nodding. It has to be the vodka, the pregame, the drinks you had before going on the counter, the martini you just chugged down. There’s no other explanation for how giddy you feel jumping off the stool and following Wooyoung straight through the door beside the movie screen. 

Heat spreads from your chest outward. You laugh, or try to, it comes out like a nervous sound of forced air, if anything. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you wonder, “I thought you were busy studying on Tuesday night.”

“Not busy enough to miss a handcuff party.” He sits up fully, leaning his chin into his elbows, arms hooked over the back edge of the couch. You creep closer after kicking off your shoes. 

“Is that what they’re called?” you ask, letting your purse fall from your shoulder to your fingers. “I’ve never been to one before.”

“They’re fun,” Soobin watches you carefully, like he’s reading your body language, or trying to. “If you’re tied to the right person.” 

“I was not,” you admit, pinning your arms behind your back, clasping your hands together. “Yunho made me shotgun, like, four beers. I don’t even like beer.” 

“Dirty martini, extra dirty, three olives,” Soobin recites from memory. “No, you’ve never been a Miller Lite kind of girl.” 

“Is Junie in his room?” You glance toward his closed bedroom door.

“He’s in there,” Soobin uncurls from the back of the couch, sinking into the plush leather again, focusing back on the cooking show. “He saw you with Yunho, too.” 

You took one step towards Yeonjun’s room before stopping in your tracks. Your neck snaps toward Soobin, “He was there?” 

“Weird, how you guys don’t talk when you’re in a relationship.” 

You don’t answer, already at Yeonjun’s door, pushing it open to see him exactly where you knew he’d be. At his desk, laptop open, headphones in his ears. Like he did to you Tuesday morning, you walk over to him and pluck one out of his ear. 

You skip greeting him. “So, I couldn’t come over Tuesday night because you were studying, but you could go to a frat party? That doesn’t interfere with your studying schedule?” 

He pushes his desk chair backward, looking up at you with a face that doesn’t read even the slightest bit of guilt. “I had been studying all day, I needed a break.” 

“And that involves frat parties, but not hanging out with your girlfriend?” You throw your purse onto his bed, hands landing on your hips. Anger brings your blood to a steady boil, skin steaming, a kettle ready to whistle. “Jesus Christ Yeonjun, you want to marry me but you can’t spend your Tuesday night with me?” 

“Hey,” he tries to soothe, eyebrows bent up in concern. He shakes his head before words can spill, “It was last minute, baby. I went with Soob and Gyu, I didn’t even drink.” 

“Did you get tied to anyone?”

“Did you?” he counters, and your mouth runs dry. He smiles, a small, soft grin, “I saw, but I’m not angry, am I?” 

Your lips bend downward in a frown, voice coming out quieter, like you didn’t want the answer as you ask, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you talk to me at the party? We could’ve gone together, been tied together.”

“Come here,” he soothes, holding his arms out. You look at him for a second before moving an inch. Sweats on his legs, a loose tee on his torso, but his hair is still styled from class earlier today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Your Yeonjun. 

You take a step toward him, and his hands land on your hips, giving you the okay to crawl onto his lap, feet dangling off the back of the chair as you settle over his thighs. Hands landing on his shoulders, you pout further, “They made me drink beer.”

He moves your hair away from your face, pouting with you, “How could they be so cruel?”

“You really don’t care that I went?” you ask, voice still small, partially guilty. “I didn’t even tell you I was going.” 

“I figured you needed to blow off some steam,” Yeonjun’s hands land on your bare thighs, warm palms smearing smooth strokes across your skin. “I haven’t been the most attentive lately.” 

“No,” you’re quick to answer. “You haven’t.”

“My pretty girl,” he reaches up for your cheeks, pulling you down to kiss him. A light peck, a greeting in the press of your lips. “Stay over tonight.”

You’re supposed to record tonight, an hour length episode on bondage. You should send Yunho a fruit basket for the idea. 

You hum, keeping your lips close to his. “Maybe.”

He kisses you again, one of his hands falling to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. He parts with your lips with his tongue, and you moan an almost silent noise into his mouth, a soft plea.

“Why maybe?” he whispers between kisses, teasing. “You’ve got a hot date? Choi San? Jeong Yunho?”

You smile, giggling into his mouth before pushing on his chest. “Shut up,” you press your forehead against his. “Your exam is tomorrow and I have a lot of shit to get done.”

You do, other than the podcast. His hands find your waist, slipping under your tee, warm against your skin. A shiver racks up your spine anyway, body giving into his touch, craving more, needing more. You don’t want to get your hopes up, even if he’s the one coming onto you. 

“Too much that you can’t make some time for me?” he’s smiling, voice too playful for the weight of his words. How did this get flipped on you?

Your response comes quickly. “That’s funny, coming from you.”

He frowns, voice suddenly sharp. “Do you think it’s easy? My classes? My assignments?”

“No,” you mumble, shameful. “I just think you can make more time than you let on.”

“So you think I’m a liar?” He sits back in the chair, leaving you with your hands on your thighs, disarmed. “You think that I enjoy spending all my time sitting at this desk, not doing the things you want me to do?”

Your cheeks feel hot, nails catching onto the skin of your thighs. “That’s not what I said, Junie.”

“You don’t have to say it,” he argues. “Do you think it felt good to see you tied to Jeong Yunho? Laughing with him? Smiling at him the way you smile at me?”

All the color drains from your face, leaving your skin feeling cold, your body stiff with discomfort and guilt. “I— you said you didn’t care that I went.”

“I don’t care,” he reiterates, voice still ridged with frustration. “I can’t care, because I know I’m not taking care of you the way I’m supposed to be. I was there to blow off steam, too, because all I can think about is cardiovascular hemodynamics when I should be thinking about you.”

You’re shaking your head before he finishes his sentence. “You don’t need to be thinking about me, focus on studying. I’m here, I’ll be here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

His lips bend in a small smile, hands landing on your thighs again, sliding his palms up and down reassuringly. “It’s okay, baby, I know, I just…” He glances at his laptop. “I need to finish this section.”

You swallow down your unease, mind drifting back to the party, to Wooyoung’s advice that you’ve refused to take for over a week now. Heat returns to your body, your hands landing over Yeonjun’s on your thighs. “Finish it in ten minutes.”

You can feel your heartbeat, moisture surfacing on your palms. You need this, you need him to lay you down, to remind you that he loves you. All of your questions from before the party have been answered: you clearly don’t respect him enough as a med student, you’re a shitty girlfriend for not giving him space, and you do fucking suck because all you can think about is still fucking sex. 

You pull your shirt over your head from the hem, throwing it to the floor beside you. Yeonjun watches, lips parting, eyes darkening to a moonless night.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, voice coming out sultry, like a glass of red wine. Your right hand slides down your stomach until it passes the hem of your shorts, the only layer separating you. You hear Yeonjun’s breath catch in his throat. 

Two fingers find your clit, adding pressure, swirling a small, precise circle. You release a pleased sigh, head falling to the side, eyes locked on Yeonjun whose gaze is focused on between your legs. 

“Study me,” you whisper just as your hips rock into your own hand, fingers picking up speed between your legs. Yeonjun’s brows furrow, nails sinking into your thighs, body sinking into the chair, dazed. 

“Fuck,” he groans out, voice layered with arousal, deep and seductive. 

“I’m so wet,” you whine, like it’s a complaint. But it’s not, the relief is immediate, body thrumming with pleasure as he watches your knuckles through your shorts. “D’you wanna feel?”

Finally, he looks up, and you can’t believe there’s a full second of debate before he’s grabbing you by your thighs and standing on his feet. In one quick motion he has you on your back, on his bed, legs spread and back arched. 

He tugs both his sweatpants and his briefs down his legs at once, crawling over you, helping you get your shorts down your calves, over the heels of your feet.

“Fuck me,” you whisper as he settles between your legs, before his lips meet yours. Your tongue slides into his mouth as you reach for the hem of his tee, breaking the kiss only to pull it over his head. He presses his chest against yours, and you swear the feeling of his skin against yours brings you closer. 

You can feel him sliding between your thighs, spreading the arousal you’ve spent the last few minutes gathering, unsurprisingly slippery. “Junie,” you pant into his mouth, back arching up into him, “inside, please.” 

He grunts like he’s letting go of the last bit of his restraint. Looking between your bodies, he lines himself up, and you brace yourself for the stretch, sucking in a tight breath, limbs locking. 

He groans as he pushes inside, savoring every inch of your heat, slowly filling you until he reaches the hilt. He's slow at first, like he always is, rocking into you softly, letting you feel every inch, every vein, every ridge. 

“Feel so good,” your boyfriend grits out, chin tucked to his chest, watching himself pull out and fill you up over and over. You reach for his face, keeping your song of pleasure quiet, legs hooking around his back as you pull his lips to yours. 

He picks up the pace, fucking into you steadily, making your lips go slack against his, the two of you breathing into each others’ mouths, fighting to keep quiet.

“Not gonna last like this,” he mutters into your mouth, voice tight. You whimper, using your legs around his middle to lift your hips, angling him upward so his cock curves right into the spot you needed it to. 

“Fuck,” the curse is sharp, his hips stuttering. “So tight, ‘h my god—”

“Wait, wait,” you pant, nails clawing into his shoulders, ankles crossing over his back. You’re not close, you’re barely dipping your toes into the pool of pleasure. You thought it’d be easier to reach the finish line, so wound-up, you assumed after a few measly touches you’d be coming undone. 

“Can’t,” he whines, voice strained, pitched and tight like he was two strokes away from finishing. 

And he was, much to your dismay. 

His pace quickens, staggered, rough, chasing his release until he pulls away, pulling out, he takes his length in his hand until he’s painting the expanse of your stomach white. 

You lay there, catching your breath, hating yourself for being disappointed. Wooyoung’s voice rings in your mind as you watch Yeonjun run a hand through his hair— three minutes of missionary. Was that even three minutes?

Yeonjun hops off the bed, no doubt in search of a towel to clean you up. You should just be happy he finally fucked you, you could work on the specifics later. That was progress. That was sound advice you received, used, and it fucking worked. 

It worked. 

“Are you okay?” Yeonjun asks, wiping your stomach with a warm, damp towel. 

You nod, reminding yourself to smile, “Yeah, ‘m fine. Happy.” He grins, so wide and full it makes the guilt weighing on your chest feel ten times heavier. “Will you be upset if I go? I still have to work on my multimedia report, it’s due tomorrow.” 

He crawls over you, then drops himself on the bed beside you, planting a kiss on your lips as soon as he lands. “I could never be upset with you, baby. You’re gonna be a big-shot reporter one day, aren’t you?” 

“A big-shot journalist,” you correct, smiling before you kiss him again. 

“I couldn’t take time away from you reaching your goal,” he presses another kiss to your forehead, voice soft, even if the wording makes it feel like a dig. “Go.” 

Go, Virgin. 

You crawl off the bed quicker than you mean to, finding your tee, your shorts. Guilt, disappointment and despair are swimming in your gut, a cocktail for you losing your patience, your temper and your mind if you don’t leave his condo now. You should be grateful. You should be happy you’ve made progress. 

But fuck, your insides feel hollow. You don’t feel any better than you did before. 

He mutters something about seeing you tomorrow, and you smile, kiss him once again, then sling your purse over your shoulder and get the fuck out of there. You don’t speak to Soobin, you don’t look at Beomgyu on the opposite side of the couch, you keep your gaze straight ahead as you make for the front door. 

Once you’re outside under the sunset, you finally breathe, filling your diaphragm with air and hope. This can’t be forever. You can’t be one of those wives that men talk about under the AITA subreddit, the ones who won’t fuck their husband because he fucking sucks. 

You can’t be in a sexless marriage. 

You can’t marry him at all.  

S&M by Rihanna is blasting in Wooyoung’s headphones, and only God and Unscripted could possibly answer why. 

“Good morning, afternoon, or goodnight, whatever time you’re listening to this week’s episode of Unscripted. Today, we have an exciting topic that I cannot wait to dive into. Bondage. And I know what you’re thinking: am I secretly really kinky? Well, I guess it’s not much of a secret after over fifty episodes, is it?” 

“If you don’t know what bondage is, then I’ll give you the Merriam-Webster definition. Bondage is a sadomasochistic practice—hence S&M for the intro—that involves the physical restraint of your partner. Or of you, depending on what you’re into. I’d like to start off with a story, if that’s cool with you.” 

Wooyoung internally groans as he stares at the treadmill screen with a blank expression. He needs her to get to the juicy part and fast. 

“This weekend, I went to a frat party. I know, so sophisticated, but it was enlightening in a very physical way. My wrist was zip-tied to a random guy, someone I had barely even met, and it got me thinking— do we all have someone that we're zip-tied to, whether it’s a physical, or an emotional bond?”

Wooyoung almost trips over his feet. She was at his party this weekend? What other frat on campus could have had the same themed party on the same weekend?

“Even though I was physically tied to this beautiful, tall, random ass man I’ve never spoken a word to, there was someone else at the party who is tied to a vastly different part of me. By midnight, the alleged rules state that all couples are to finish a pack of alcohol together, and then you could get your zip-tie cut off your wrists, and enjoy the party. Six beers down, I was freed, and trust me, I enjoyed that tall man and the party. But now, a few days later, I’ve come to realize what was supposed to be such a simple party theme might have changed the trajectory of my life forever.” 

Wooyoung smacks his teeth. Boring. No one cares about hearing about her life if it’s not the sexy bits, especially him. He doesn’t reach for his phone.

“I didn’t even know he was there, the other guy, not the sexy one I was tied to with a strap of plastic. But now that I know, I’m wondering, was I really ever tied to Mister Tall? Did I even consider the fact that I could be tied to Mister Tall? Or was I tied to someone else the whole time, and I couldn’t even enjoy that I was physically attached to a tall, sexy ass man?” 

Wooyoung is confused. So many words, so many words repeated, he thinks he lost somewhere around strap of plastic.

“Do we all find ourselves, at some point in our lives, attached, bonded to someone we know we shouldn’t be, but we can’t do anything about it? We can’t stop because we’re scared of what it’s like to not have them in our lives, we’re scared of what it’s like to feel fully alone again.”

Wooyoung has never disagreed with anything more. 

“Sex should be fun. It should be filled with curiosity, comfort, laughter, and pleasure. You should try new things, like bringing zip-ties to the bedroom or having a woman on your face while another is between your legs.”

That's something Wooyoung can agree with. He loves it when it feels personal. 

“It shouldn’t be… it shouldn’t feel like a chore. Or like you’re a hole or something, sorry, that’s foul wording, but it’s the truth. Sex is between two people, and it should feel that way, whether you’re bonded to the person or not. If you’re a guy listening, please take everything I just said to heart, and if you’re thinking ‘is this about me?’ then it is.”

Damn. This isn’t the usual fun and flirty sex talk he usually hears from her podcast. He guesses women like Unscripted go through shit, too. And here he thought she was just as free-spirited as he was. Wooyoung guesses everyone goes through shit— he wonders if he’ll ever feel anything close to what she’s going through, or something like what you’re going through. 

He laughs under his breath at the idea. Or tries to, at least, his breath cleared from his goddamn chest thanks to the speed of the treadmill. 

“My bad, someone sent in a question asking if I’d ever experienced a situationship and I needed to let everyone know that even I get lonely sometimes, and sleep with a man more than once. But anyways, let’s move on to the good shit, right?” 

Wooyoung peels his headphones off his ears and cringes when he realizes they’re as sweaty as he is. Resting them around his neck, he turns the treadmill off, wipes it down, and throws his bag over his shoulder all while still trying to catch his breath. 

It didn’t feel like an hour running through podcast episodes, at the end of this one he’ll be all caught up, and by this point he feels like he knows her a little better. He relates to her, in a weird, hatred-filled way, it’s like she’s the female version of him, but he’d rather fall off the treadmill than admit that to someone else. 

Especially San. 

He feels even weirder now that he’s come to terms with relating to her, but knowing that even she’s felt a level of romance before when he’s never felt it at all, makes him feel like an oddball. He leaves it up to a strong case of FOMO, but in his soul he knows he doesn’t actually want to experience it. 

Everyone he knows that’s in a relationship hates it in one way or another. Or they’re too stubborn to admit it, like you, very obviously just showing up for your shift behind the gym counter. 

“Virgin,” Wooyoung says by way of greeting. You’re shoving your bag under the counter when he says it, and when you look up, Wooyoung nearly jumps where he stands on the opposite side of the black acrylic. You look like shit.

“Damn,” Wooyoung mumbles, taking in your dark circles, your zombie-fied, lifeless looking skin. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I don’t have the energy for you today,” you respond, voice curt. No playful tone, no sarcasm, just the honest-to-god truth. It kinda hurts his feelings. 

“What happened?” Wooyoung asks, his tone concerned, and it surprises him that he cares. Instinct, not choice. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, throwing your phone onto the acrylic, a little hard for someone who’s trying to play off their state as fine. “Go home, Wooyoung.”

Something tugs at his gut, telling him to go. Instinct tells him not to press, not to get involved, but by now he’s in too deep to not be intrigued. 

“Does it have to do with the husband?” He pries anyway, crossing his sweaty forearms over the counter. “You look like shit.” 

You deadpan, eyes pointed, jaw locked. “Oh, really?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. Maybe the sarcastic part of you stays intact no matter what. “I had no idea, I guess running on no sleep and copious amounts of caffeine isn’t good for one’s appearance. Who woulda thought?”

“I’m serious,” he pushes, his front pressing up against the counter. He leans his cheek on his palm. “Are you sick or something? Why are you working?” 

“I’m not sick,” you mumble, changing directions, as if Wooyoung wouldn’t follow you. You should know him better than that by now. 

“Then what’s your deal?” He meets you at the opposite side, his sweaty arms leaving another mark on the acrylic. 

“God, Wooyoung, what if I’m just having a bad day?” Your voice is raised, basically shouting, sounding exasperated like he’s hit every single nerve he could reach. “And if something is wrong, maybe I don’t want to fucking talk to you about it!” 

His brows raise. Maybe he should have listened to his gut. It's never steered him wrong before, listening to his gut is how he hit his last personal record, six women in one day.

He can’t find it in himself to come up with a snarky response, so instead he taps the black acrylic twice in place of saying goodbye with his lips sealed tight, and carries himself back to his car like he never asked in the first place. He reminds himself he doesn’t care, not about you, not about your love life, he wouldn’t give a fuck if you never spoke to him again. 

He will admit that he kind of wants to know if his advice worked, though. A creeping thought has been breaching the walls of his mind lately, if he could really be the male version of Unscripted, if he started posting podcast episodes of himself talking about sex. Would he become as popular? Would he get as many listeners? Would people take his word as seriously as they take Unscripted’s?

The music playing from his speakers is a low hum all the way back to his house. His mind wanders, from you, the way you looked, to Unscripted, to himself. If sex is his singular, undeniable skill in this life, shouldn’t he do something with it?

“What’s wrong with you?” San asks from the kitchen as soon as Wooyoung closes the door behind him. Damn, did your shitty mood rub off on him?

“Nothing,” Wooyoung shrugs, crossing the living room. “I just left the gym. Did you know Virgin works there?”

“I feel like she appeared out of literally nowhere, and now she’s everywhere,” San indulges the topic while making a sandwich, which was really stuffing different meats and cheeses between two burger buns. Wooyoung thinks it’s Jongho’s turn to go to the grocery store. 

Wooyoung jingles his lanyard at his side, mindlessly listening to the keys playing a small tune. “She seemed weird,” Wooyoung mumbles, lost in thought again, staring at the makeshift sandwich like it's the most interesting thing in the world. 

Yunho walks in from the back door, eyes landing on San’s sandwich, too. “Ooh,” he perks up at the sight. “Can you make me one, too?” 

“Not enough bread,” San holds up the plastic bag that once held the burger buns, now empty. “Go yell at Jongho to go to the store.”

Yunho dips his chin toward Wooyoung, “Wanna go with me?” 

“Hell no,” Wooyoung makes a why-would-you-even-ask face. “It’s Jongho’s turn.” 

“He doesn’t follow the list,” Yunho walks to the fridge, peeling the blue sticky note from the stainless steel. Pinching it between two fingers, Yunho shows it to San and Wooyoung like it's a piece of treasure. “Do you see this list? We make this list for a reason.”

“We see the list,” San and Wooyoung respond as one, voices flat and monotonous. 

“You’re coming with me,” Yunho points at Wooyoung with his other hand. “You’re driving, let’s go.” 

He can’t even shower first? He still smells like sweat and whatever funk is left from your bad mood raining all over him. He doesn’t argue, though, Yunho’s a high-spirited guy and if there’s anyone who could fix Wooyoung’s attitude, it’s him. 

In the car, Yunho rambles about Tuesday’s party, the guy who warmed his bed that night. It's always been interesting to Wooyoung, how Yunho could play for both teams, how he never leaned toward one side over the other. If Wooyoung was honest with himself, he would have slept with a guy a long, long time ago. That day will come eventually. 

Somehow even that reminds him of you. Well, your possibly gay boyfriend, which isn’t doing great things for aforementioned eventually. He tips his head back until it’s leaning against the headrest, tuning Yunho out while he thinks about your sex life instead of his own. When he wonders if you’ve gotten the balls to suck his dick yet, he shivers, and decides to start listening to Yunho again. He fears eventually is nearing closer than he thought.

“Do you ever feel like that?” Oh shit, he wasn’t listening. “Like everything is already mapped out for you, but you don’t know if you’re following the steps? Or the road?”

“Like the yellow brick road?” Wooyoung quips with a sly grin. 

Yunho laughs, sinking further into the passenger seat, knees touching the glove compartment. He’s in workout clothes, sweatshorts, a loose tee, the same headband on his head he always wears. Wooyoung’s dressed in the same— perfect grocery store attire. 

“Why is everyone so deep today?” Wooyoung wonders out loud, turning into the parking lot of the grocery store. He needs to stop thinking so hard while he’s driving, he doesn’t remember getting here. 

“Who else? And deep in who?”

Wooyoung snorts at his lame joke. “I was listening to Unscripted earlier—”

“You hate Unscripted,” Yunho doesn’t let him finish, snapping his body sideways to look at Wooyoung. “Why the fuck were you listening to Unscripted?”

“I just was,” Wooyoung snaps. “And she was talking about the party on Tuesday, she was there.” 

“How many people away from her do you think we are?” Yunho asks, suddenly excited. “Do you think we know her already? Or do you think she’s a friend of a friend? Bro, you’ve probably fucked her.” 

“I have not fucked her,” Wooyoung argues while swiftly backing into a parking spot. The lot wasn’t too crowded for a Friday evening, everyone is probably out partying already. 

“How do you know?” Yunho unclips his seatbelt, folding his big ass to get out of Wooyoung’s low sports car. When they’re both out of the car and the door is locked, Yunho continues, “She doesn’t have an identity. She’s faceless, identity-less, she’s a sex ghost.”

“Sex ghost,” Wooyoung mumbles under his breath, and he’s reminded why the fuck he hates Unscripted so much. “That really bothers me, y’know, that you all listen to her and believe every word she says just because she’s a woman.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Yunho drags out. “I’ve heard it all already. You never mentioned how she got all deep.”

“She was supposed to talk about bondage, like cuffs and rope and tape and shit, but she started talking about this situationship she has, and how he was at the party, too. She seemed pissed or something.” 

Yunho hums, surprised. “I would have thought she was just like you, allergic to relationships of any kind.” 

“I thought that too,” Wooyoung nods while getting slapped across the face by the grocery store’s air conditioning. His nose crinkles, but maybe the air will wash off the rest of his Virgin funk. 

“That reminds me,” Yunho wonders out loud as he bee-lines toward the produce. Wooyoung grabs a basket and follows him. “That girl that almost passed out at the Penny, she was at the party, too.” 

“I know, she interrupted my threesome,” Wooyoung says, holding out the basket for Yunho to throw whatever was on the list inside. 

“So you’re friends,” Yunho turns, brows furrowed like it was a question. “Did you know her boyfriend doesn’t fuck her?”

“Unfortunately,” Wooyoung sighs. Is there no escaping you now? 

“She’s pretty,” Yunho turns again, holding up the blue sticky note, probably making sure he isn’t missing anything. “I’ll never understand staying in a relationship you aren’t happy in.” 

“She’s happy in her own strange way, I guess,” Wooyoung catches the vegetable Yunho throws into the basket. “I don't understand staying in a relationship, period. Could you imagine not having the opportunity to fuck two women at once, because you had a partner waiting for you at home?” 

“You’re twisted,” Yunho shakes his head. “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re getting your whore-ism out now. When you find a partner, you’re going to be more loyal than anyone else on the fucking planet, I guarantee it.” 

Wooyoung laughs, “Sure, and Virgin’s gonna break up with her boyfriend and blow through the frat like a fucking freight train.” 

When Yunho turns to look at him, there’s a twinkle in his eye, and Wooyoung swears it’s hope. There’s a part of him that doesn’t like it, that look, that glimmer. 

He doesn’t know what that says about him. 

You decided to put together a basket. A good job basket, or a be proud of your hard work basket, or a congratulations basket, even if you know Yeonjun doesn’t have his exam results yet. Maybe you’ll just call it an I love you basket. You raced to three different stores after your shift in a panic, worried about not only the episode you posted this morning, but also the fact that you kind of fucking hate your boyfriend.

Okay, you don’t hate him literally at all, but having sex with him didn’t feel right and it’s really freaking you the fuck out. So you need something to do, something tangible your hands can create, something that will help ease the tension in your spine because Yeonjun is supposed to be your forever and you don’t know if you can handle anything other than that.

Were you being too direct on the podcast? What if he somehow ends up listening to it, recognizes your voice, and realizes all the things you said were about him? You suppose if Yeonjun ends up listening to Unscripted, hearing himself in your words is the least of your problems.

You stuffed colorful highlighters, his favorite gel pens, trail mix, protein bars, gum, a brain-shaped stress ball and a handwritten note you wrote about fifteen minutes ago into a wicker basket you got for four bucks at the convenience store. You shift each gift in the basket, making sure each one is visible, then make sure the basket as a whole is visually appealing in height and color.

You’re stalling. It’s past eleven at night and you have no reason to go to Yeonjun’s condo other than to drop off this basket in hopes that Yeonjun feels your appreciation for all his hard work. You’re stalling because it’s not about the basket at all. 

“That’s cute.” You shriek, jumping off the carpeted floor you’re sitting on. Your roommate, Yunjin is standing in your doorway, staring at the basket you can’t seem to finish putting together. “Gift for Junie?”

Her hair, a pretty, chocolate brown, is curled up and pinned in different places, framing her face perfectly. She’s always so put together, even with a bare face, even in the middle of the night. You wish you could say the same, but you still haven’t slept, so you’re pretty sure you still resemble death itself.

“Yeah,” you smile, proud of your basket. You look up and over your shoulder at her, “Think he’ll like it?”

In her matching pink pajama set, she walks into your bedroom and crouches down into her legs beside you, ignoring all the wrappers and price tags you cut off of each gift strewn across your floor. “What’s it for? Are you telling him you’re pregnant or something?”

You choke on your own spit. “You think I’d get him colorful highlighters and a brain-shaped stress ball if I was pregnant?”

“Stress ball for him to use when he freaks out,” she points as she explains. “Then after he’s accepted it, highlighters to document each trimester and what symptoms you’re feeling.”

“That’s actually pretty accurate,” you sigh. “He had an exam today, this is congratulatory or something.” Then on a vulnerable note, you ask, “If I was pregnant, would you be happy for me?”

“Probably not at first,” she shrugs like that was the obvious answer. “You’re basically fresh out of the womb, your womb isn’t ready to have anything in it yet.”

“Stop saying womb,” you scrunch your face, amused. “He told me the other day that he wants to marry me as soon as we graduate, then he wants to get me pregnant.”

“Who cares what he wants?” She sits back on her butt, elbows landing on her bent knees. “You’re always worried about what he wants. What do you want?”

“Can I be honest?” you ask, then add, “can I also be really vulgar for a sec?” She nods with a grin, eyes flaring interest. Vulgar is her favorite. “I want good sex. Like, really good, world-shattering, it’s insane that I just survived sex.”

She doesn’t laugh. Her brows furrow, “You’ve been dating Yeonjun for over a year. Give a girl more context.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, unease and a little bit of embarrassment creeping up your spine. You don’t know why it feels so hard to say the words to her, when you can tell Wooyoung and half his frat with ease.

“We had sex last night,” you’re basically whispering, your voice is so low. “I’ve been asking– basically begging for… rougher sex, I don’t know. Sex where I actually feel like he wants me. Last night we had sex and it felt like I accidentally got him hard and he just needed to get off or something. It's always like that.”

“How long?” she asks, her face bent in concern, her already soft features somehow softer. You feel a weight lifted off your chest, maybe it’s because you’re finally confiding in one of your friends, maybe it’s because she’s a woman. You don’t know why you thought that she’d make fun of you.

“A long time,” your lips flatten, scrunching to one side. Then your chest feels tight, and you can feel the tears forming, but you refuse to let them spill. “He just told me he wants to marry me, to start a family with me, but I can’t even get him to have sex with me half the time, and the other half he’s finishing after legitimately four strokes.”

She frowns, reaching a hand out to land on your arm. “I’m sorry,” her voice is filled with pity. “Can you see yourself marrying him?”

“I did,” you blurt, then correct yourself, “I do. I can, I mean. Or I did until last night, and now I’m freaking out, so I made this basket.”

She glances at the basket again, everything inside it with cool, calculated eyes. “One more question, and then I’m done quizzing you, I swear. Is the basket for you, or is it for him?”

“For him,” you answer, but your brows furrow. Why would it be for you?

She hums. “You’re smart, babe. You’re good at seeing people who aren’t used to being seen, you’re good at making them feel special, because you have a big heart, and you care. Shitty sex aside, does he do that for you? Does he see you? Does he make you feel special?”

You swallow, face falling flat, eyes a little wider than they should be. You should be screaming yes, yes, yes at the top of your lungs, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t made you feel special since the six month mark, when the honeymoon phase was over and your relationship flipped overnight into seeing each other only when it was convenient, scheduled dates made weeks in advance, or the two of you coexisting in the same place but not together.

You don’t like how this feels. You don’t like how every sign seems to be pointing in the same direction, you won’t accept it. You can fix this, you can make it feel like the first few months again, you can bring back the spark you lost. 

You won’t give up on him. 

“I’m gonna bring him the basket,” you avert, quickly standing on your feet, not meeting Yunjin’s gaze. 

She doesn’t move, you can feel her eyes on you from the floor. “We could have a girl’s night instead, I have face masks in the fridge already. We can make popcorn and watch a movie, you don’t have to go there.” 

“I want to go there.” You pick up the basket from the floor and grab your purse from your desk, throwing it over your shoulder. 

Watching you cross the living room, she stays standing in your doorframe, arms crossed. When your fingers touch the door handle, she calls out, “You’re too young to be this stressed out over a man.” 

“He’s not just a man,” you look at her over your shoulder. “I’m committed to him.” 

You quickly turn away, you don’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes. You don’t know if this is the right choice, if your relationship is worth fighting for, if it should be this much of a battle. Yunjin seems to have the answer, and you don’t want to see it spelled out on her face. 

You keep your gaze straight ahead for the entire walk to Yeonjun’s condo, just in case the bushes along the sidewalk had some insight to add, too. It looks empty from the outside, all the lights are off, from where you stand it’s almost as if no one is home at all. Being a Friday night, three pre-med students should be home, asleep. You shouldn’t expect that of Tuesdays, though, you guess. You fish for your keyring from your purse before pushing the key to Yeonjun’s into the lock, turning it, then let yourself inside. 

The living room is dark. Eerily dark. The lights are off, even the corner lamp, the couch in pristine condition with the throw blanket folded perfectly over the back. You could see well enough from the moonlight pouring in through the windows, painting streaks of silver on the hardwood floor, on the furniture. The door beside Yeonjun’s opens, just enough for you to see Soobin’s dark eyes peeking through, then it opens halfway, and he leans up against the doorframe, his expression blank. No curiosity, no questions, as if he just wants to watch. 

It makes you panic. Blood surges through your veins, your breath picking up, you rush across the living room and open Yeonjun’s door, expecting to see anything but what was behind it. 

“No,” you whisper, taking in the sight before you, even under the blanket of night you could still make out both figures on the bed. The contents of your stomach fall to the floor, blood pounding beneath your skin, “No, no, this is a dream, I’m dreaming.” 

Beomgyu picks his head up first. Your name tumbles out of his mouth once in confusion, twice in panic, then he’s smacking Yeonjun’s bare back, his bare arms, pushing your naked boyfriend off of his own naked body like it’d somehow hide what you’ve already seen. 

“I’m dreaming, right?” you ask Beomgyu, who stares at you with terrified, wide eyes as Yeonjun blinks his eyes open. A little louder, your voice cracking on the word, you ask again, “Right?!”

“You’re cheating on me?” your voice cracks again on cheating. “You’re cheating on me with Beomgyu?”

Yeonjun sits up, confusion still sprinkled across his features, “Who? What are you doing here? What?” 

“Wake the fuck up,” you’re yelling now, and Beomgyu is scurrying off the sheets, trying to catch his footing on the floor. You point at him, “Don’t fucking move.”

Beomgyu stills like you froze him. Yeonjun comes to, glancing at you, then Beomgyu, then his face contorts in panic. “Baby, I can explain—”

“You can explain Beomgyu naked in your fucking bed?!” You’ve never yelled at him before. He’s never seen you truly angry. “You fucked me yesterday and Beomgyu’s naked in your fucking bed, Yeonjun?!” 

“You had sex with her yesterday?” Beomgyu interrupts, voice sharp, hurt laced into the question. 

Yeonjun sits up fully, pulling the sheets over his lap, and then he holds them over his obviously naked fucking body as he crawls toward the foot. “Baby, it’s not what it looks like— he’s just, we were studying, and then one thing led to another—”

You laugh, dropping the basket to the floor. Yeonjun stiffens, and you know it’s because he’s never heard that laugh before. “Studying for what? Did you even have an exam today?” You turn to Beomgyu who’s already looking at you, features still blown out with terror. “Answer me, you lying piece of shit.” 

Beomgyu’s head even stutters as he tries to shake it, “N-no.” 

“Gyu!” Yeonjun grits out under his breath, then he turns to you. “It’s not what it looks like, just let me explain.” 

You take a step closer to Beomgyu who’s hands are shaking as he covers his bare crotch. His chest is sinking and rising rapidly, you can smell the fear on him. “How long?” Beomgyu blinks. “How long have you been fucking my boyfriend, Beomgyu?!” 

“T-three months,” he stumbles over the words, taking a step away from you, his chest growing red in asymmetrical splotches. 

“Beomgyu!” Yeonjun is yelling now, panic ebbed in his tone, like he could have lied his way out of this. You think he might still try. “He’s lying, baby, listen to me. Listen to me, I’m your boyfriend.” 

“Is this why you won’t have sex with me?” you finally ask, reality becoming crystal clear. “Be honest, Yeonjun, I already fucking caught you, there’s no point in lying anymore. Is he why you won’t fuck me?”

Yeonjun’s face is beet red, color bleeding down onto his shoulders, his chest. Shame, panic, guilt, you couldn’t pinpoint what emotion has his clamped fingers shaking on the sheet. 

“Yes,” Yeonjun whispers. “But it’s just sex,” he defends,  “there’s no feelings involved. I love you, I want to marry you.” 

Beomgyu’s neck snaps, horror in his eyes, spilling from his dropped jaw. You would have already known he was lying even if you didn’t get the confirmation from Beomgyu. 

“I brought you this,” you pick up the basket from the floor, tossing it onto the bed, Yeonjun jumps backward as the contents spill across his baby blue sheets. His dark eyes turn glossy, a frown bending his lips as he glances at each gift. “You don’t deserve my effort or my kindness, you never deserved a second of the time I’ve wasted caring about you. Loving you.”

Your words come out even, almost practiced, as if you’ve been waiting a long, long time to say the words. Your chest aches, of course, but there’s a certain weightlessness to your body, something close to relief. You should be angrier. You should be tearing apart his bedroom, beating his ass and Beomgyu’s.

You can’t bring yourself to move an inch.You turn to the younger man, “I’ve known you since the day I met Yeonjun, you’ve been my friend all this time, Beomgyu. You’re just as guilty as he is.”

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu squeaks out. “I’m sorry… I— I love him.” 

You give him a weak smile, “So do I.” Turning to Yeonjun again, silent tears stream down his cheeks now, his upper body slouched over, defeated. You keep your shoulders back, steady. “Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t come to my apartment. Forget I ever existed.” 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, his voice heavy from crying. He picks his head up, panic still webbed across his features, “I’m not— I’m not gay. It's just… Beomgyu. It’s just Beomgyu.”

Anger strikes, but instead it’s because Wooyoung was fucking right. Again. God— how the fuck are you gonna tell him? After you flipped the fuck out on him earlier, you don’t know if you’ll ever get the chance to tell him. You wouldn’t approach someone after they snapped at you, but it might be for the better, anyway.

“I don’t fucking care what you are,” you blurt, harshly. “I care that you cheated on me, especially after I've spent weeks trying to figure out what's wrong with us. I hope you two are happy together.”

“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun yells out when you turn on your heel. “I love you, I’ll call you— I’m going to fix this, please–” 

You close the door behind you, pushing out a staggered, broken breath from between your lips. Soobin stands across from you, leaning against the back of the couch, body slouched casually like he’s been listening to the entire ordeal. 

“He really thinks he can fix it,” Soobin says first. You can hear Yeonjun yelling at Beomgyu behind the door. “He’s been trying to stop sleeping with Gyu for the past month. Couldn’t bring himself to.”

“You knew,” you whisper your understanding, jaw locked. There’s venom on your tongue as you ask, “Was it entertaining for you, watching me try over and over?”

Soobin shakes his head. “Not necessarily,” he cranes his neck, sinking into his shoulders, fingers clamped over the back of the couch. “I didn’t think it’d take so long for you to figure it out. It wasn’t my place to say anything.” 

You push off the door, a laugh coated in sarcasm tumbling off your tongue. “Right,” you nod, “because your loyalty is to Yeonjun, not to me.” 

Soobin shrugs. “If a guy stops fucking a girl like you, there’s only one clear answer why.”

“You’re just as fucking guilty as they are,” you spit out, striding past Soobin, towards the front door. “I hope I never see the three of you ever again.” 

“I wouldn’t bet your money on it,” Soobin calls after you. “It’s a small campus.” 

“This might seem tame for someone like me to have just discovered, but I swear I’m seeing the world in a whole different light. Yes, walk ‘em like a dog, sisters, but holy shit, have we all heard the sound of a man whimpering? How about begging? Have you ever seen tears streaming down a grown man’s cheeks because you won’t let him cum? I’m seeing the light, guys.” 

“I’ve never really given a fuck about a man’s pleasure before, I won’t lie. Their pleasure is guaranteed while we have to focus for ours, we really have to work for it, y’know? So why put that much effort into making a man finish, when he won’t do half as much for you? At least, if you asked me a week ago, that would’ve been my honest answer. Today, I still feel that way, but I’m a little more inclined to put in effort to make a man finish because a part of me is obsessed with seeing him suffer first.”

“And it’s not even just the edging. It's the persona, the character you’re letting yourself sink into before you even get started. I’ve been dominant in the bedroom before, and I know I was just telling you guys to not be afraid of it— but I think, maybe, the times I thought I was being dominant, I was just ensuring I got the same out of sex that my partner did. Now, today, I understand dominance. I understand the responsibility, the effort, the fact that someone is literally putting themself and their pleasure in your hands, and honestly, I don't understand why some men don’t solely get off on making their partner finish. What's hotter than that?” 

“Having someone beg for you, wanting you so carnally, so shamelessly. Tears streaming down their fuckin’ cheeks, guys, it was serious, I’m still recovering, if you can’t tell. Hopefully next episode I’ll have an update with the reverse side of things, and we’ll see if I’m as excited about it. Right now I’m fucking geeked. I hope you all enjoyed this week's episode, and now you know a little more about toys, for your pleasure, for his pleasure, for their pleasure. I hope your partner goes out and buys one just to use on you tonight. Catch you guys next week, unscripted, as always.” 

Damn, you hate hearing your voice recorded. You sound different than how your voice sounds in your head, somehow more nasally, annoying, even. You don’t understand why people listen to you, and continue to listen to you week after week, episode after episode. It’s not like you actually know what the fuck you’re talking about, even with the episode you uploaded last night, all of that information, stolen from a Reddit thread. 

But yet, never once have you actually felt like a fraud. To you, you’re playing a character, an unscripted version of you, but in the way that someone else is playing the character of you. Or, actually, you’re playing the character of you in a different universe, with a different personality, different confidence level, different relationship status. 

“What are you listening to, baby?” Yeonjun asks, climbing into his own bed behind you, stealing your headphone from your ear. Pressing his chest against your back, his head fits into the pocket between your neck and shoulder like it was meant to be. 

You slide down on your screen, lower your brightness, pause the podcast, and turn off bluetooth. “Nothing,” you murmur, backing into him, letting your body mold to his. “What were you doing?” 

“I went to the gym early,” he answers before planting a kiss on your cheek. “I have to study all day today, I have an exam on Friday.” 

You turn, throwing your arms over his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss you. Pink, plump and soft, your boyfriend’s lips, his kiss was your favorite, it’s comforting, home. But you don’t want to feel like you’re home. You kick the sheets off of your lower half, hooking one leg over his hip, splitting his lips with your tongue. “I want you,” you whisper.

He kisses you again, shifting his hips between your legs, one hand trailing down your hip, your thigh, just to hold your knee still. “I have to study,” he reminds you. “I wasn’t kidding. That’s why I got up so early, I need the day, baby.” 

“You can’t spare ten minutes?” you ask, but it comes out more like a whine. Your arms fall from his shoulders, landing on the sheets beneath you. “Skip the shower and fuck me instead. It won’t even take ten, Junie.” 

“I already showered,” he gives you an apologetic look, and then you smell his body wash, bright and citrus like lemon, herby like sage, hints of aloe. He places your headphone in the center of your chest before crawling off you, “I’m sorry.” 

You let out a sharp sigh, legs falling back down to the mattress, spread out like a shriveled fucking starfish. You stare at the ceiling while listening to him rummage around his bedroom, and after a minute or two, you sit up on your elbows, ready to argue. 

“You do understand that we have sex, like, once a week, right?” you ask, bitterness in your tone, clipping every word. 

At his desk, already sitting before his open laptop, he doesn’t even look at you as he responds, “I know, I look forward to it every week.”

Like it’s cheat day and you’re a fucking donut, as if he can only have you on the weekend or something. Anger bubbles up inside you, jaw locking, but instead of fighting for it, you climb off his bed. 

Everything in Yeonjun’s room is pristine. Pictures on his dresser never have a spec of dust, the wood of his furniture always shining, his bed always made. Clothes are never strewn on the floor, always hung up, in his hamper, he doesn’t even keep water on his nightstand. He will get up at two in the morning to fill up a glass for himself, then flip it over when he clears it, and let it dry on the rack in his sink. 

Even your clothes were folded up on the opposite nightstand, even if you know you threw them on the floor last night. Not that you had sex last night, but because you slept naked. He doesn’t even sleep naked. He must have folded them this morning, or maybe when he woke up at two for midnight hydration. 

“Where are you going?” he asks from the desk, brows in his hairline. You refuse to look at his feline features, the dark hair that’s no doubt drying perfectly in place, or even at his desk that has two notebooks, different colors for different purposes, a textbook, and a set of multicolored pens perfectly in a line beside his laptop. 

“Out,” you respond, tugging your jeans up your thighs. “Home, I don’t know. I’m leaving.” 

“Baby,” he tries, and his voice is soft, pleading. “Don’t be mad, are you mad?” 

“No,” you finally turn to him, your lips bent in a sad smile that takes every ounce of strength to force. “I’m not mad, I understand. I just want to give you space so you can study in a distraction-free environment.”

His lips spread in a smile, “Thank you, baby, you’re so thoughtful. C’mere.” He turns in his chair, holding out his arms for you. Standing in jeans and a bra, you cross his room, running your hands through his hair when you land between his knees. “I love you,” he whispers, then leans forward to press a kiss to your stomach. “You’re so good to me, don’t deserve you.” 

It’s you who doesn’t deserve him. Your hands fall to his cheeks, lifting his head to look at you, and you bend down to kiss him. Just one, soft peck, a singular kiss that has no intention of asking for more. You weren’t in the mood to get rejected twice before ten. 

You throw your headphones in your bag after pulling your shirt over your head, and make your way out to the living room, where Beomgyu and Soobin were surprisingly awake, at the kitchen counter eating breakfast. 

“Hey,” you greet, eyes already on the food between them. “Feed me, I’m starved.” In more ways than one. Beomgyu’s always been sexy. 

Beomgyu slides his plate over, “You’re leaving early.” 

Shaggy brown hair shooting in every direction sits atop his head, a short laugh tumbles through your lips at his disheveled appearance. “You’re up early. Too early to brush your hair, I guess.” 

“I have to put it back for class anyway,” Beomgyu shrugs. “I like to let it do what it wants before I put it in ponytail jail.” 

“You should just cut it like the rest of us do,” Soobin says like he’s said it a million times before. 

“I’m allowed to keep it long,” Beomgyu argues, like he’s also said it a million times before. “I just have to keep it neat, which it always is, hence why it looks like this at home.”

Chewing, your eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I seem to have hit a soft spot,” you interject. 

“Just cut it, and I won’t have to slick it back for you anymore,” Soobin’s hands land on the edge of the counter, his height looming over where Beomgyu sat across from him. 

Beomgyu leans back at the display of dominance, but his eyes thin, his shoulders squaring. “I slick it back myself. I asked you to do it one time, Soob.” 

Grabbing a few more pieces of bacon from his plate, you slip away from the counter, leaving them to their own argument that you accidentally instigated. “I’ll be leaving with this. Have fun studying today, boys.”

Soobin turns his head away from Beomgyu, landing on you, already halfway across the room. “Studying?” 

“Junie said you have an exam Friday,” your grip tightens on your bag, head nodding in the direction of Yeonjun’s bedroom. “So study up.” 

Soobin’s brows furrow, lips parting to speak, but Beomgyu cuts him off. “Thanks, girl,” he’s grinning ear to ear, gnawing on a piece of bacon. “Will you be back later?”

You shrug. “If he wants me to. We’ll see.” You wave before slipping through their front door, letting a long breath you didn’t know you were holding loose. 

Your chest hurts. No, maybe it’s your heart that aches, a tiny part of it still beating with underlying fear at the idea of feeling like this forever. It’s not even ten in the morning yet and you’ve felt enough emotion to last you three days. You don’t know why you didn’t listen to Wooyoung, you had yet another opportunity last night to… edge him, or whatever. You had the opportunity to bridge the gap, to fill in the blanks, to make your relationship feel whole again, and you didn’t take it. 

Why not? Unscripted would have edged him until he was a whimpering, blabbering, crying mess. Why is she so different from you? You’re still asking yourself the same question you asked yourself a thousand times while laying in Yeonjun’s bed last night. Starting your walk back into campus again, you curse yourself for promising Wooyoung an update. 

You curse yourself for asking Wooyoung’s advice in the first place. You don’t know what it is about him that’s so intriguing, that makes you feel so ambitious, maybe it’s because Unscripted is basically the girl version of him. Maybe a part of you is jealous, wants his confidence, his shamelessness, maybe part of you wants to be him entirely. You shake off the thoughts, you do not want to be Jung Wooyoung. He’s so careless that he caught an STD— and what about all the women he supposedly got pregnant?

You hate that he’s even on your fucking mind. It was mortifying having him catch you in his bedroom the night of his own goddamn party, and yet you went back to that very bedroom to ask him advice. You have to be losing your mind, or maybe you’re so fucking pent up you’d do just about anything to get your boyfriend to fuck you. 

Coming to the crosswalk that would bridge you over to your complex, you huff, waiting for the hand to turn into a little stick figure. Not anything— you wouldn’t do anything, clearly, because if that was true, you would have gotten fucked the night Wooyoung gave you advice. You would have gotten fucked a thousand times since. 

Instead of crossing over to your complex, you turn to the right, the crosswalk taking you to a strip mall that consists of a coffee shop, a hair salon, a nail salon, and the gym you work at. It was the perfect strip mall for college students, sitting just outside of campus, a quick walk no matter where you are. The coffee shop is bright; floor to ceiling windows, it somehow feels brighter than outside as you walk inside, bells over the glass doors chiming. 

You have class in two hours, and you don’t feel like napping beforehand, so coffee it is. A small shop, a coffee bar and a set of three different tables, all already occupied with students wearing headphones, laptops open in front of them. 

“Virgin!” Your head picks up to the register, and your eyes thin at the person standing behind it. Smiling, dimpled and muscled. 

“Biceps,” you respond, laced with annoyance at the newfound nickname now two people use. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Honestly, I don’t know your name,” he admits from behind the register. He wears an apron over his broad chest, a dark wine color against the black of his shirt, his name is printed on his right pec. San. 

“Good,” your smile is nothing short of sarcastic as you look up at the menu. You hum, lips folding into your mouth before you decide, “Medium vanilla latte, please.” 

“Got it,” he’s still smiling, dimples showing as he types on his screen. Turning to show you the total, he tilts his head as he looks you over, “I would have taken you for a black coffee kind of girl. You’re all hard and mad and serious and shit.” 

Your brows furrow as you tap your phone against the reader. “You very clearly do not know me at all,” you mutter, shaking your head.

His palms find the counter, shoulders meeting his ears as he leans forward, smirk playing on his lips. “You should let me get to know you, then.” 

“What?” It’s a natural reaction. “I— you were there— you know I have a boyfriend, Biceps.”

 “You were about to vomit at the idea of marrying him at the Penny,” he counters, brows high. “I wouldn’t say it’s all sunshine and rainbows in your relationship, would you?”

Your top lip lifts in pure disgust, and you guess it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back because immediately you’re blurting, “What are you proposing, then? Cheating on him? Leaving him, since that’s what everyone else thinks I should fucking do?” 

San doesn’t falter, everyone else means Wooyoung and you both know it. His smirk widens, a twinkle in his dark brown eyes, “No one said anything about cheating, Virgin. What are you thinking about, huh?”

“Are you going to make my fucking coffee or am I going to be stuck here all day waiting for it?” you snap, and not a single word comes out kind. He deserves it, for insinuating cheating on Yeonjun, insinuating that you thought about it first.

San eyes you, then keeps his eye on you as he saunters over to the bar, he only pulls his gaze away when he grabs the top plastic cup off the stack of thirty. You’re fuming, steam rising off your skin, fingertips clasped around your phone so hard you might crack the fucking screen. 

You let it boil down to a simmer before your drink is ready, and San calls your name out, leaving you dumbfounded. You walk up to the pick-up section of the coffee bar with a quirk in your brow, “Thought you didn’t know my name?”

“I lied,” he answers simply, sliding your drink toward you. “We’re throwing tonight, come.”

“You throw a party every other night.” You grab a straw from the container beside you, plucking it into the hole of your lid. “I’m banning myself from your parties. And Wooyoung’s bedroom.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “You know how many women are banned from Wooyoung’s bedroom? I think you might be first to ban yourself,” there’s humor in his voice now, a different kind of humor from the flirty banter he tried earlier. “Come. Leave the boyfriend at home.” 

Your lips tighten, uneasy. Curious, though, you ask, “Why should I leave him at home?” 

Biceps just smiles like a Cheshire fucking cat. “Just leave him at home, Virgin.” 

You can’t believe you’re back here.

You can believe it, because what the fuck else were you going to do, sit at home and sulk over Yeonjun not fucking you? Reread the last text he sent you that said not to come over because he’s still studying?

The text pissed you off, then you went through every stage of grief wondering if you were the problem. Do you not respect him enough as a med student? Are you a shitty girlfriend for not giving him the time he needs to study, so he can succeed in his future? Do you fucking suck because all you can think about is sex?

All signs seemed to point toward yes, and then that pissed you off, too. You’re no better than any of the frat guys inside the tall, two story house in front of you, all of which who will probably fuck the first person they lay eyes on tonight. That’s never been you. Serious boyfriend after serious boyfriend, since you were sixteen years old. Even in the short periods of time when you’ve single you didn’t do the casual sex thing, even though everyone around you seemed ecstatic to participate.

What if Yeonjun finds out you’re here? Will he be angry? Will he even care, or did it not matter because at least you weren’t bothering him?

The last question seemed to answer itself, so you stare at the devil’s mouth from the lawn in an outfit you put too much effort into, the beige door bleeding bass and techno music, reminding you that Biceps is inside, and he actually wants you here. You scratch at your arm that isn’t itchy, shifting your weight from foot to foot, watching as everyone else your age barrels through the front door like they owned the place.

Your feet want to move, but the thought of facing the horde of people inside alone, without a soul at your side, was starting to feel more mortifying than being caught trying to fuck your boyfriend–and failing–in someone else’s bedroom. You could have texted any of your friends to join you, but you didn’t want them to ask any questions, so you didn’t. You didn’t even tell your roommate you were going out, but Yunjin isn’t stupid. She took one look at your outfit and popped a brow, then asked if there was a change in the status of your relationship. You ignored the part of you that wanted to say yes, and told her it was for Yeonjun. 

For Yeonjun. 

Your feet start moving.

Last week, it was packed like sardines, there wasn’t room to do anything between sweaty bodies, and if you could move, you were slipping on the floor beneath you, the dark hardwood covered in a layer of beer, vodka and grime. This week, it was just as packed, the floor was just as slippery, but everyone seemed to be… tied up. 

Is this some kind of sick joke? Did San ask you to come here, tonight, on purpose?

Every person inside the house was a couple, and each couple you saw had a black zip-tie holding their wrists together. Some were holding hands, others didn’t look too happy about who they were tied to, you even spotted a girl making out with someone else, while zip-tied to another who did his best to look the other way. Witnessing that made you smile, just a little, because the lead in your stomach gets heavier when you realize that if you don’t leave right fucking now, you’re going to get zip-tied to someone, too.

“Virgin!”

You haven’t even made it past the fucking living room. You don’t look up, because maybe there’s an actual virgin here, and Biceps wasn’t calling for you from the edge of the kitchen. A second of reprieve goes by before he’s calling out your name, so you curse under your breath, and follow the direction of his voice.

Shirtless. So shirtless. So… lacking clothes, but only clothes, clothes is the only department Biceps is lacking in. Maybe you should just call him Body instead of Biceps, because every single inch of his upper half is sculpted, golden, gleaming with sweat. He doesn’t deserve a body so perfect. He calls you Virgin.

“Like what you see?” He wiggles his brows, a smirk already playing on his swollen, cherry-red lips. “One night without the boyfriend and she’s ready to risk it all.”

The girl he’s zip-tied to smacks her teeth. You didn’t even notice he was tied to anyone. She leans into his side, a pout on her lips, whining, “Sannie, when can we go upstairs? I’m bored.”

“Yeah, Sannie,” you can’t help but tease. “Take the girl upstairs, I’m leaving before anyone else sees me here.”

“Why? What? Don’t go,” San takes a step forward, dragging the girl with him. He transfers his beer to his tied hand before clamping his free one on your forearm, “You didn’t even get tied to anyone yet.”

You shake his hand off your forearm, “I don’t want to be tied to anyone.”

He grabs onto your forearm again with a straight face and turns on his heel. Skipping over your own feet, alarm bells pound in your chest, “San! I don’t want to be tied to anyone, I don’t even want to be here! Let me go.”

“No,” San answers, and for a second you think there might be more. An explanation, at least. He pulls you toward the kitchen, your shoulder bumping the blonde beside you, the girl whose wrist is tied to his. You shoot her an apologetic look, but she doesn’t seem to forgive you for the intrusion. 

“Here,” San announces as he comes to a stop, setting your forearm free when he places you across from an unnervingly tall guy with beige, blonde hair. “Virgin, this is Yunho, he brought beer. Where did the zip-ties go?”

Your lips go flat, an embarrassed flush kissing your cheeks. San is already off searching, leaving you alone with this… guy. Tall guy. Cute tall guy. 

“Do you like Miller?” Yunho asks, holding up the twelve pack in his other hand. He has a comforting look about him, hair softly unstyled, other than the nineties-style headband pushing his bangs back. His body language is nowhere near as uptight as your rigid spine, bent and relaxed, like the house was his. The tee hanging from his shoulders is loose, but leaves a sliver of skin between the hem and his jeans, sneakers on his feet dirtied and scuffed. 

“Um,” you blink, and then keep blinking, trying your hardest not to look at the pocket of skin between his shirt and jeans. You don’t know what to say. “No, but I shouldn’t be here, anyway. I should go–”

“I need a partner,” he offers. “We just have to finish the twelve-pack by midnight. And it’s,” he looks down at the invisible watch on his wrist, “probably really close to midnight. I already drank three, you drink five and I’ll drink four.”

San returns with a black zip-tie in hand, singing, “Wrists, ladies.”

The girl’s wrist is limp, her arm following San’s like she’s a puppet and he’s the puppeteer. You frown, “Biceps, I really don’t want to do this.” 

“You’re gonna leave Yunho hanging?” San’s body suddenly straightens out, brows tied together in a pout. “He needs your help, Virgin, he has nine beers to finish on his own.” 

When you look at Yunho, he’s nodding his agreement, looking at you like it would be the end of the world if you said no. You know you’re not going to get away with saying no, so you loose a defeated sigh, look away, and hold up your wrist for San to tie.

Yunho’s skin is soft against yours. His wrist is smaller than it seems, his arm smooth like he’s completely hairless. San ties the zip-tie just tight enough for you to be able to wiggle your wrist, like a bracelet that’s big enough to fit two wrists. 

“The second issue is that I don’t drink beer,” you muse after San drops your wrists, yours hanging, Yunho’s arm bent ever so slightly. Damn he’s tall. “I’m a dirty martini kind of girl.”

Yunho laughs under his breath, “Are you thirty years old? Where the fuck are you going, drinking dirty martinis? Is that what you were drinking at the Penny?”

“You were at Lucky Penny that night?” you ask before the memory resurfaces. He was at the Penny, sitting to your left, he was the one who asked Wooyoung what he did to you. As if you’d ever sleep with– where is he, anyway?

“Watched your skin get some color back into it as soon as you were away from the guy who’s trying to tradwife you,” Yunho responds, a glimmer in his chocolate brown eyes, a sly smirk on his lips. Your cheeks burn. “Clearly, that’s going well, since you’re here.”

“I’m only here because San told me to come.”

Yunho laughs to himself, “That’s what they all say.”

“Shut up and hand me a beer,” you gruff, holding your free palm out. Wordlessly, he reaches into the box of cans, using both of his hands and yours to crack open the beer. 

He hands it to you with a proud grin, “Only five more!”

“You said–” you stammer, “you said I only had to drink five!”

“I pre-gamed,” he shrugs without a glimpse of remorse. “The only way to get us untied is to finish all of them, so drink up, buttercup.”

At least it’s cold, you think as you bring the carbonated yeast up to your lips. It’s a mild beer, compared to something heavier with more taste, like a Guinness or a Yuengling. Those you certainly can’t get down, especially six of them, even if you were being forced to, like you were tonight. 

Force is still up for debate. You could have put your foot down, and the sentiment sits with you as Yunho takes you for a lap around the frat. The last time you were here, you barely had the patience to look around, your agenda was to get Yeonjun inside the house, and then inside a random bedroom. You didn’t miss much, as it seems, an old paint job on the flag-covered walls, a clearly thrifted, hand-me-down couch in the living room, the speaker system might be the only expensive thing in the house.

“So, tell me,” Yunho finally says after showing you the dirty bathroom that was already out of toilet paper. He cracks open your second beer for you before asking, “Where is your husband tonight?”

“At home,” you admit, “he has to study. He’s pre-med.” It’s easier to get the drink down now, easy enough that you suck down a gulp of it. “All he does is study.”

Yunho sucks in a breath through his teeth, and you know what it means. He explains anyway, “School is his whole life now, then work will be his whole life when he’s in a hospital. If he goes that route.”

“Tell me about it,” you find yourself agreeing. “I can’t even get him to fuck me half the time.” You gasp after it leaves your lips, covering your mouth with your can instead of your palm. Wide-eyed, you look up at Yunho, “Don’t repeat that.”

Yunho laughs, “I don’t have anyone to repeat it to. Can I ask you a question that you don’t have to answer?” Your nod is delayed. “Why are you dating him? If there’s no sex, and the future freaks you out?”

“There’s sex,” you correct him, kicking a crushed beer can out of your way. “Just not as much of it as I want. And it’s not the future that freaks me out, it’s the speed of it all, the way he’s expediting our future, that freaks me out. He wants me to graduate and pop out a baby.”

Yunho’s body shivers. He shivers. For you. “That’s too soon.”

“Thank you,” you nod along, taking another long sip of your beer. “I know it’s too soon, and I’m scared to bring it up again. Wooyoung said he probably already has a ring.”

Yunho’s brows furrow, “You told Wooyoung?”

Your lips flatten, “It was a series of unfortunate events that led me to telling Wooyoung. Is he here, by the way?”

You finally get back to the kitchen, the lights bright, a layer of smoke in the air, dimming them ever so slightly. “He’s here,” Yunho looks over the crowd, and you’re sure at his height, he could see everything. “He’s not big on themed parties. Knowing him, he’s probably already upstairs.”

“I would have thought being tied to a woman would be right up his alley.”

Yunho leans in close to say, “How’s he supposed to fuck her if his wrist is tied to hers?” When you turn to him, clearly taken aback by the notion, he laughs. “I think he’d much rather have her wrists tied together, if you know what I mean.”

You do know what he means, and god, it’s gotta be the beer that’s making your body heat like a fucking furnace. You wish Yeonjun would do something half as kinky as that. That’s a good idea for Unscripted. You laugh anyway, and even if it’s forced, it sounds breathy and natural. 

Yunho’s cool, probably the only normal one in the entire frat, if the other brothers are anything like Wooyoung or San. It’s nice, comfortable talking to him, he’s someone you aren’t scared to confide in, it’s easy to trust him, with his smooth words, playful demeanor, he seems like he’d be someone that everyone tells their secrets to because everyone knows he won’t share them. That’s your favorite kind of person.

“Have you ever shotgunned a beer before?”

Your neck snaps. “Do I look like a teenage boy?”

Yunho grins, ushering to the crowd around you, the people who seemed to have quieted. You think you just got engrossed in the conversation with Yunho. But as you take notice, there’s more and more people untied, drinking, moving freely.

“Oh shit, we’re late, aren’t we?” you ask, then turn to look up at him. 

“We can shotgun the rest back to back,” Yunho offers, nodding like you’ll agree. You’re sure he wants to be free of you, to go find someone to warm his own bed tonight.

“I’ve never done it,” you admit. “But I can definitely try.”

Yunho grins from ear to ear, “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s go on the back porch.”

It’s a quick walk through the kitchen, the crowd seemed to part for Yunho, he’s so tall that maybe the mass of people really are his red sea. The back door is already open, the wooden half pressed against what you can only assume is the pantry door, he pushes open the screen door and sets the box of beers down on a full, messy, glass table.

Ash trays filled with squished cigarette butts, the filters of joints, even a few airplane bottles of liquor have made their way into the glass trays. There’s less people on the porch, smokers, a few couples looking for a quieter place to talk. Deep wood, old and stained by sun, cracks in the floorboards, you have to assume their house is old. Really old.

Yunho doesn’t seem bothered by it as he sets the box of beers down, then pulls out two. “I’m gonna poke a hole at the bottom,” he holds up a beer can, your wrist limply mimicking his as he explains. “You’re gonna crack the can and chug it down as fast as you can. Okay?” 

You nod, too optimistic for the objective at hand, “Okay, I can do that, that’s easy. This is easy, right?”

“So easy,” he nods, clearly just as optimistic as you. You feel like he’s your coach right now, guiding you through gameplay or something. “Crack it, chug it, crush it.”

“Crack it, chug it, crush it,” you repeat under your breath as he grabs a set of keys from his back pocket. One silver and pointy, he uses it to poke a hole at the base of the beer can, then pushes it toward you. 

You suck in a breath before taking the can from his hands, and holding the hole up to your mouth. Yunho’s hand follows yours as you crack the lid, and then you start chugging. The carbonation makes it hard, heavy in your stomach, it’s still cold enough that it kinda hurts going down. Your brows furrow, but you keep going, you can hear him cheering for you or something, too focused on actually getting the bubbles down to listen. 

When you finish, you throw the can to the ground, and crush it with your foot. Yunho’s already clapping his (and your) hands, “You did it! You fucking did it!”

“Fuck, I have to do that three more times?” you ask, free hand flying to your stomach.

“You’re gonna burp,” Yunho’s lips tighten to the side in apology. “No judgment, I will too. But yeah, three more.”

You chug another, then Yunho shotguns his last two while you’re releasing all the fucking air in your gut, then you can finish chugging your last two. When the box is empty, he’s immediately racing you both into the kitchen, looking for whoever has the responsibility of carrying around scissors tonight.

You already know you’re fucking drunk. 

Wooyoung thinks he might have become one of God’s favorites.

Threesomes were usually hard to come by, a few and far between godsent activity. To have two threesomes in the timespan of one week, with two different sets of women, was unheard of. Insane behavior. Even for him.

He thought himself clever, zip-tying his wrist to another woman’s, then zip-tying his other wrist to another woman’s. He spent all of thirty minutes letting them get to know each other while they took turns feeding him liquor until he was suggesting they go upstairs, instead. 

He had a beautiful hour, a generous, orgasmic, sweat-filled hour of fucking until there were knocks at his door. Quick, hurried knocks, as if there were a fire outside and he needed to get the fuck out. Wooyoung quickly decided he would die there, with a redhead riding his face, and a pixie-cut bombshell between his legs, sucking the skin straight off his dick. The two women didn’t seem to share the sentiment, both of them stopping, going rigid as the door that was still being fucking knocked on.

“They’ll go away,” Wooyoung keeps his voice low, but assuring. His hands slide up the backs of the redhead’s thighs, squeezing her ass, he lands one encouraging smack before she lowers herself down again.

Bliss, pure fucking bliss. His eyes flutter closed, fingers sinking into her ass, moving her until she’s grinding against his tongue. He moans, but he’s not sure what he’s moaning at, the taste of the woman on his face or the woman who just took his cock down her throat until he reached the hilt.

“Hello?” is all he hears before there’s a pitched shriek sounding through the entire second floor of his home. “Oh my god!” He knows that voice. “Fuck, I can’t even get one and you get two? This is so unfair!”

Wooyoung genuinely can’t believe this is happening. The redhead jumps off his face, landing beside him, doing her best to cover herself up with his sheets. The girl between his legs pops her lips off his cock with a verbal noise, then turns her head toward the intruder.

You. Drunk, in his fucking bedroom. Wooyoung immediately barks out, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m sorry!” you squeal, palms already over your eyes, backing yourself up into his wall. When you bump into it, one of your hands flies to catch yourself, and you shimmy to the side, clearly searching for your escape. 

Wooyoung sits up on his elbows, unphased, watching you. “To your right a little more.” You bump into his dresser. He snorts, “Oh shit, my bad. Your left, my right.”

You laugh a little, a tiny giggle that lets Wooyoung know how much you drank tonight. You turn around to face away from him in the doorway, complaining, “I have to pee, all the other bathrooms are out of toilet paper.”

“What are you even doing here?” he asks, and the girl between his legs smacks his thigh. He hisses, looking at her, and her face has fallen flat, as if to say get her the fuck out of here.

“Biceps invited me,” you respond, hands on your hips now, tone light like Wooyoung didn’t have two girls naked in his room right now. “Can I pee in your bathroom? I won’t look, you can continue.”

Wooyoung’s head tilts to the side. He notices your little skirt, short enough that it shows off the muscle in your legs, the tiny heels on your feet. The top you’re wearing doesn’t quite reach your skirt, your hair flowing across the dark fabric, a little messy and unkempt at the ends. If you weren’t drunk and your life wasn’t such a mess he might have asked you to join them.

“Are you checking her out?” the redhead accuses from behind him in a whisper-yell. 

Wooyoung’s head snaps, “No, what are you talking about?” His voice is too high. He’s a better liar than that. The redhead smacks her lips together, clearly offended, then rolls off his bed. 

Wooyoung, disappointed, tries to save face. “No, don’t go, you were close. She’s leaving.” He turns his head toward you, who’s stealing a glance over your shoulder. “You’re leaving.”

“But I have to pee,” you whine. Whine. You even tap your little fucking kitten heel against his floor. 

Wooyoung’s back hits his mattress, both of his hands roughly rubbing at his face, pushing a muddled groan through his lips. “This can’t be happening to me right now.”

“I’m sorry!” you repeat, then scurry across his bedroom like a fucking rat in the subway. “I’ll be quick!” you yell, closing his bathroom door behind you. 

The girl between his legs sits back on her calves and whispers, “Who the fuck is that?”

Wooyoung can’t believe she’s still here, he certainly would have left if he was her. He doesn’t even have an explanation. “She’s someone who needs serious fucking help.”

“And you’re helping her?” The girl asks, as if Wooyoung being the one to help was inconceivable. 

Wooyoung sits on his elbows again, and frowns at his cock that’s already falling limp. He glances upward at the girl with just his eyes, “I guess.”

“Shame,” the girl says, crawling off the bed. Wooyoung doesn’t even have it in him to argue when she starts pulling her clothes on. “I could have gone all night.”

“You and me both,” he mumbles, watching her leave. At least she closes the door behind her.

When you finally come out of his bathroom, you’re still pulling your shirt down. Or fixing it, Wooyoung thinks, because you lean your back into the doorframe of his bathroom, using it as leverage as you slide your top over, centering it over your torso. 

“Need help?” Wooyoung asks, and it’s genuine. You’re the last person he expected to see tonight, and to see you this drunk, stumbling across his bedroom? In no way could this be a good sign.

“No,” you mumble, chin tucked into your chest, still trying to slide your top over. Wooyoung watches you struggle with a flat, unimpressed face, the poster board for patience as your body slowly but surely starts sliding off the doorframe. At least you catch yourself with a, “Woah.”

When you finally get your top fixed, you look up at him, and there’s not a thought behind your eyes until you notice he’s still laying there butt-ass naked. “Wooyoung!” you screech, then turn around again, covering your eyes. “You had time to put some fucking clothes on.”

Good to know your personality is still intact. “It’s my bedroom,” his tone is dripping in nonchalance as he stretches on his sheets, sighing in delight. “You’re the one intruding.”

“I had to!” you shout, “there’s no toilet paper, I had no choice.”

Wooyoung decides to show you mercy by pulling the sheets over his lower half. “I’m covered, Virgin Mary,” he muses, sitting up until his back is pressed against the headboard. “You never updated me.”

“Oh!” you say as you turn around, all your features blown out, your voice high. “It went well, super well. It was a good idea, thank you–”

“You didn’t do it,” Wooyoung cuts you off.

Your face goes flat, “I didn’t do it.”

He smacks his teeth, “Why not, pussy? I gave you the step-by-step.”

You whine, walking around his bed, sitting at the foot like you did just a few days ago. “It’s hard,” your head tips back, “I don’t know how you do it, how you do all of this.”

“It’s just sex,” Wooyoung argues. “It’s not that hard.”

“You have enough sex for, like, fifty people,” you bite back. “Of course it’s not hard for you.”

“You’ve been dating him forever!” Wooyoung is amused now, because what the fuck is the point of a relationship if you aren’t trying new shit all the time? “You’re telling me you aren’t comfortable enough to suck his dick?”

Wooyoung can see the flush on your cheeks as you shyly mumble, “I am.”

“Why are you here, anyway? Other than San inviting you, there has to be another reason you’re here and not picking out wedding invitations or whatever the fuck.”

You whine again, a frustrated, dragged out annoying sound. “He told me not to come over because he’s studying.” Wooyoung thins his eyes. “I’m serious!” You sound defensive. “I even tried to have sex with him this morning and he rejected me. He has an exam on Friday.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, disappointed. “You’re gonna fuck the silicon off your dildo if you don’t get him inside you soon.”

You gasp, jaw on the floor as you whip your head around to look at him. “I don’t even own a dildo!”

“You need one,” Wooyoung quips. “Do you at least masturbate with your hand?”

“We should not be having this conversation,” you hiss. Quieter, almost under your breath, you answer, “Yes.”

“You should do that in front of him and see what happens,” Wooyoung is grinning now. “That shit is so sexy, if he doesn’t fuck you after that, then he plays for the other team.”

“Can’t he just be, like, not a super sexual guy?” you ask, shrugging. “Why is the immediate thought that he’s gay?”

“Because, objectively, you’re hot,” Wooyoung says, and judging by how your face contorts, he assumes that was the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. Anyone who’s into women would jump at the chance to fuck you.”

Your brows raise. “Like San?”

Wooyoung’s brows furrow. “San? I mean, yeah, probably.”

“What about Yunho?” you try, head tilting. Curious. 

“Virgin,” Wooyoung warns. “You’re drunk. Go home and go to bed.”

You smack your teeth, standing up from his bed to plant your hands on your hips. “Who are you, my father?”

“No, I’m a guy who wants his bed to not be empty anymore.” His arms fly outward, emphasizing his very empty queen-size bed. “You emptied it.”

“I had to pee!” you whine again, kitten heel tapping his floor again.

Wooyoung points to his bedroom door, “Go.”

“Fine,” you stomp all the way to his door. Opening it, you turn your head, “For the record–”

“Go, Virgin.”