junsfriend

thirteen years ago.

Sunghoon took a deep breath as the chill air of the rink, even from where he sat in the locker room, sent shivers down his spine. His thin black blouse with rhinestoned sleeves did nothing to shield him from the cold. 

He should have been used to it by now. But today would be the most important skate of his life. 

The World Championships. The event that would decide his place at the next Olympics. 

Just a few years ago, he had missed out on competing completely due to a knee injury. Sunghoon was determined this time to make his dreams come true. His seniors always said that Olympic ice felt different, more real. This would be it. His last chance before the younger, more talented skaters took his spot later down the line.

He was picking at his nails with his teeth, a habit he so desperately needed to let go of. Even with ten competitors ahead of him, Sunghoon was already on edge. You, his good luck charm, had not arrived yet. It wasn't typical of you. In your three years of dating, you never missed the opening skate of any competition he'd been in. 

It’s where you first met. You had been in the stands, taping your phone number onto a penguin plushie he’d caught after his award-winning skate. Since then, it's been tradition for you to sit in the same exact seat during local competitions.

His left leg bounced impatiently as he sat on the locker room bench. Sunghoon has sent about 16 texts to your phone already. He shook his head, unlocking his phone for the umpteenth time. Crickets. His phone screen photo of you blowing a kiss into the camera was taunting him now.

Where the hell were you?

Coach Jung patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”

“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replied, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”

Coach Jung rolled his eyes.

“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubted the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”

Sunghoon didn't know if that was meant to be motivating or not, but when Coach Jung left, he felt a pit in his stomach start to form. It's been years in the making. Blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this. The time he could've spent going on longer dates with you all went to extra hours practicing quads in the rink. He couldn't let his sacrifices go to waste. It would be a disservice to both of you.

He put his hands to his face and repeated a mantra of self-affirmations.

‘You got this, you got this, you-’’

“Hoon?” He heard your sweet voice call out. Your head poked through the locker room door before entering cautiously. Audience members weren’t typically allowed in here, but you always managed to sneak your way in.

He dropped his hands immediately, a wave of relief washing over him.

“There you are,” Sunghoon whispered to himself, rushing to you as fast as he could with skates on the carpet. You let out a small sound as he picked you up by the waist, spinning you around like a princess.

“Where have you been?” Sunghoon sighed happily, setting you down with a kiss to your temple. “I was blowing up your phone! I thought you died.”

You smiled, but he noticed how tight it looked. The light didn't quite reach your eyes, and your lips twitched as if it was almost painful to maintain. He brushed a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded, resting your hand on his as his thumb drew small circles on your cheek.

“I…” you trailed off. You were looking at the ground, at the ceiling, and even at the trash cans. Anywhere but him. “I want to talk to you about something.”

He raised a brow. Your fingers were quivering, and he noticed redness in the whites of your eyes. Were you crying?

“Of course, baby. You can tell me anything.” 

Sunghoon is worried now as he took both of your hands into his. He felt how cold they were, even more so than his.

“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blared into the locker room. That was him. He was one of the last five. 

He pursed his lips as he looked towards the door and back at you. Your mouth opened, just as flustered by the announcement.

“Let's wait,” you said in a rush, noticing the sweatiness of his palms. “It can wait.”

Sunghoon shook his head. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let these things linger.

“No, [Y/N]. Tell me what's wrong.” He stood his ground. Your eyes were watering, his gaze unmoving from yours. As you spoke, it was like the world around him went still. His chest felt heavy, throat so constricted he thought he would choke.

“I'm pregnant.”

No, he thought. It can’t be.

“H-how? We never– That’s impossible– We always use-”

His voice trailed off, afraid that if he said anything out loud, it would become more real. You pursed your lips, biting your top lip so hard that it drew blood. 

“Don’t you remember?”

two months ago.

You were laughing, he was laughing. You both looked insane, obnoxiously cackling at nothing, in the dimly lit streets that led to his apartment. You were drinking with the guys at a new bar, underestimating the power of tequila compared to the usual shots of soju.

Sunghoon's arm was wrapped around your waist, putting his weight on you to prevent himself from faceplanting on the ground. He had lost too many hands in poker with Jay and Jake, and instead of betting money, he took an extra four shots as punishment. It was a big mistake.

“They got lucky,” he blabbered, “If we played Go Fish, I would have wiped the floor with them.”

He was hiccuping, and that sent you into a further spiral of giggles. Sunghoon was always so darn cute when drunk, so different from his icy exterior. His cheeks were tinged with red, and his pupils dilated. You weren't doing all that well either, with your body so warm from the alcohol that you had shed your jacket on the ground just a few minutes earlier. Where that jacket was now is lost on you.

“Hoon!” you exclaimed, pointing at his apartment gate. “We did it!”

Sunghoon stumbled to get his keys from his pocket. Opening the gate and then going up the steps felt like an hour-long operation with how you two struggled. When he slid down the wall by the entrance of his apartment, you collapsed with him. 

The two of you, by his coat rank, staring into each other with heavy-lidded gazes and too far gone to even turn the lights on. By then, your movements were already out of your control. 

You traced the moles on his face like divine art, cradling his jaw with such care. Even in the drunkest of states, he looked so heavenly. He was so pretty in the moonlight. 

You pressed your lips against his, slowly at first, tugging at the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt. Sunghoon made a noise of shock before deepening the kiss, hands roaming everywhere until they met your waist. His lips were so plush against yours, hungry to taste every inch of you. Your tongues danced with an urgency you've never felt before. Nipping at your bottom lip, he coaxed small sounds out of you. 

Sunghoon lifted you, firm hands on your bum to sit you atop him. 

He broke the kiss to bury himself in the junction between your neck and shoulder. Sunghoon's lips found your pulse point, suctioning around it like he was drawing your heartbeat out of your body. You gripped his soft hair and tilted your head back to give him better access. He lapped at your neck, your collar bone, anywhere his tongue could access. He was addicted to the taste of your skin, to the taste of you. You always smelled so good, had him so riled up even in the most unassuming of moments. He remembered how you looked in the bar with this sparkly red dress. Remembered how it rode up every time you sat down next to him. Fuck. 

You felt him then. The tent of his pants and the friction of his hips as they hopelessly jut up to meet yours.

You whined at the contact. He was palming your ass now with both hands, massaging as he moved you up and down on the tightness of his jeans.

“Hoon,” you gasp. “Not here-”

He lifted his head to look at you, eyes so dark and full of lust. He wasn’t having it; you could see it in his face. His deliciously tense jawline. The bead of sweat running down his temple. You felt yourself clench around nothing just at the sight. How could a man be so gorgeous?

“Can't wait,” he hummed. “Need you now.”

He pushed your dress up your body, the material bunched at your waist.

You purse your lips in anticipation. He’s rock hard by now, and you can’t help but take it as an invitation to feel him. Your hands find his bulge, ghosting over his form. It jumped in response when you finally took hold, squeezing cautiously. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of the front of his jeans already damp with your fluids. Sunghoon enjoyed the view just as much as you did, his head tilted back to relish in your ministrations. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

Sunghoon’s hand, large and veiny, moved your panties to the side impatiently. 

"Hoon-" you gasped at the skin-to-skin contact.

His fingers traced the slit of your folds up and down, covering his digits with your slick. You found his swollen lips again to suppress your whimpers, saliva running down your joined mouths as you unzipped his painful-looking jeans. He was already prepping you for him, index finger cautiously pushing its way inside your plush walls. He groaned at the feeling of your fluttering warmth. Already, you were sucking him in.

“Always so fucking wet,” he muttered on your lips. You couldn’t help but grind down on him, a roundabout way of telling him to apply more pressure. To go harder. Rougher. To ruin you. He chuckled at your frustration. Needed to see more of it, more of you begging.

Sunghoon tested the waters and pushed in a second. Your moans were drowned out again by his merciless mouth. Tongues shoved so far down each other's throats, you swore you could feel him at the back of your neck.

He was fucking you onto his hand now, his palm making contact with your clit after every thrust. His forearm was tense, pace so relentless. Animalistic. You were practically bouncing on him, hands digging into his shoulder blades to chase your release. He loved the sight, wanting to hear you come undone just from his measly fingers in your dripping pussy.

“So desperate,” he hummed into your mouth. “Who's making you like this?”

Sunghoon was never this mouthy during sex, usually because he didn’t want the apartment next door to hear through the thin walls. But he had let go of all his inhibitions, the tequila still sitting fresh in his stomach.

“You, Hoon,” you cried out, legs shaking from the harsh pace of his fingers and your incessant grinding. “Please-”

You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but you knew he could give it to you. Knew he was the only one who could. Your mind was filled with Sunghoon and Sunghoon only. The effects of the alcohol had made you a bumbling mess, pleading and begging for more. Your back arches to meet his fingers better, but it wasn’t not enough.

He added a third to relieve you, watching as your mouth opened into a silent scream.

“Hoon– Need it– Please– I need–”

You couldn't find the right words, couldn’t even keep yourself upright without his support. Sunghoon’s hands roamed up your body as one made its way to the back of your neck. With his thumb, he pressed down gently on the pulse point he was nipping at just earlier. His eyes were heavy on you, watching you so intently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as your airways slowly constricted, as his thumb pushed against you. God, you loved the feeling.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” 

Lightheaded, you were practically gripping his bulge at this point. The sounds between your legs were borderline pornographic, his fingers drawing out every wet squelch as they sank and twisted in and out of you. You felt so full of him, three fingers so deep inside you. But you could take more; you wanted to take more.

“Speak up,” he drawled, his voice slurring from the tequila. “Tell me what you want, or I'll stop.”

You sobbed, clawing at his clothed chest as he let go of your neck to let you talk. You gasped for air as you let yourself fall onto him.

“Need you inside me,” you cried as he pistoned his fingers into you harder. You wished he could just rip your underwear so you could feel his rough palm grind onto your bare clit. “Please, please, pl-”

"I am inside you," he teased. And all you could do was wail, shaking your head out of distress.

"Hoon-"

Your movements were forced to stop as Sunghoon's free hand gripped your thigh. His fingers were curved into you, stroking that spongy spot that he always managed to find. He massaged your G-spot at a steady pace, anticipating your climax. You wanted to move, but he held you down roughly. Your eyes were forced to look into his, and you felt the floodgates of your release start to open. 

“No-,” you whined. 

You were close, so close. But your mind was made up. Well, at least what was left of it.

“Wanna cum with you. Can I, Hoonie? Please?” you beg.

“Fuck-”

His grip on you loosened. His hand slowly left your tight folds, and he admired the slick that coated his long fingers. He brought them to your mouth, motioning you to taste the juices he coaxed out of you. With your doe eyes looking straight at him, you swallowed around him. Tongue flattened and bringing him in deeper.

His other hand reached into the back of his pocket, fiddling around to find his emergency condom. The one that became a necessity to bring around you. 

Sunghoon's mind was all over the place. Your tongue lapped at his fingers, sucking them so harshly. He'd have given anything right now to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead.

He'd almost grabbed the condom until you pulled his boxers down. Your mouth released his fingers with a small ‘pop’ as his painfully hard member slapped his stomach. You positioned yourself closer, adjusting so that his thickness slid against your soiled, clothed pussy. You cursed your stupid underwear for getting in the way again.

“B-baby-” Sunghoon stuttered out as you moved your panties to the side once more, his raw cock lined up to your aching hole. “Just give me a second-”

His hand tried to reach for his wallet again, but you interlocked them with yours instead. You shook your head, grinding against him cautiously. You don't know what's gotten into you. It's like the tequila was letting you act out your deepest, darkest dreams — ones of him fucking his cum so deeply into you that you were dripping wet with his fluids.

“Please?” you asked hopelessly. Your breath hitched. His cock met your clit, his precum spread all over your folds. Fuck it. You were too far gone. “I-I wanna feel you.”

Sunghoon would like to think he had self-control. Would like to believe that he was calmer than most. But the way your pleading eyes looked at him, and how your legs trembled in excitement. His intoxicated brain couldn't tell right from wrong. He wanted to give you everything you asked for. 

“Fuck, are you sure?” he groaned as you aligned his cock to your entrance, pushing down slightly to envelop his tip. He lets out a hiss, teeth gritting from the feeling. You were so tight, so fucking perfect for him.

“Mhm,” you mustered, wrapping your arms around his neck as his large hands met your ass again. “It's okay…”

You were sinking onto him now, his head buried into your neck from the sensation. You two had never done it without a condom before, always so careful. But he wondered, as his large cock was slowly sucked into your soaked pussy, why he'd never fucked you raw before. Sunghoon swore under his breath as he felt you clench around him. Fucking you with a condom was ruined for him forever. He could never put one on again. 

“Fuck, baby,” he willed himself not to move too fast. The stinging stretch of him had you withering above him, but you didn’t care. Not one bit. You clutched his hair as you impaled yourself on him, so lost in the feeling of him penetrating you so slowly. 

He was fully sheathed inside you now. Sunghoon needed a second to recuperate, but you were making it so difficult for him.

"Fuck-" he inhaled sharply as you grinded down on his pulsating cock. You were so impatient, already so worked up from his fingers.  

You were suctioning him, trapping him in your walls like you would never let him go. His grip on your hips tightened as he growled into your collarbone.

“Baby,” he said sternly this time, finding some semblance of sanity. “Don't.”

You whined, your hips stuttering through his tight grip on your ass cheeks. You wanted him to plow into you like you were his personal toy. Was there anything wrong with that?

“Why?” you drawled out, desperate for movement, for anything. Your eyes met his, and even through your drunken haze, you understood. He was close, already so on edge from feeling your raw pussy. And that made you want him even more.

You swore your hips moved on their own. You lifted yourself, shallowly thrusting yourself against him as he tried to hinder your attempts.

“N-no,” he grunted. “Too soon-”

You giggled as his hands were on your back now. Despite your protests, he did not stop you in any meaningful way. 

His grip on your ass was replaced with him pulling the straps down of your dress and bra to free your bouncing tits. He cupped them as you raised yourself higher, until just the very tip of him was left inside you. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself down on him without assistance. You moaned, feeling his heaviness in your lower stomach.

“Fuck-” he cried through clenched teeth. Sunghoon’s head was against the wall now, hands massaging your breasts so eagerly. 

He tugged at your nipples, pinching them between his index finger and thumb. Such a sight for sore eyes, seeing him so fucked out underneath you as you bounced on his cock. You wished you could engrave this in your memory. His parted lips and glistening forehead. 

You grinded your hips so helplessly against him, hands on his knees as you squeezed him through every downward thrust. 

“Baby, s-slow down.”

You're determined now, even as you start to feel that fluttering ache in your core. You wanted to do good for him, wanted to make him lose control like you would whenever he had you pinned to the bed and crying.

“Hoon, speak up,” you teased, mimicking his earlier words. “Tell me what you want or I-”

You couldn't finish your sentence as his hand meets the back of your neck, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands traveled down to your thighs, squeezing them roughly.

He thrusted up into you harshly, his grip on you guiding his movements. His pace was even more merciless than yours, not giving you time to catch your breath as you felt your inner walls contract around him. 

No! 

He needed to cum first. It was always you who came undone before him. You just needed to hold out, just for a few more seconds-

And in perfect timing, he found it. That part of you that had you practically screaming into his mouth. He smirked against your lips and hoisted you closer, fucking up into you as his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of your thighs. Your insides churned with a tingling feeling, like something needed to be released. You pulled yourself away from his lips.

"No… Hoon-"

"Take it," he grunted. "You want it, right?”

You cried as his thrusts grazed your G-spot over and over again, his tip kissing your cervix at the right angles. 

“So fucking take it."

Your eyes roll back, the sensation was stronger and stronger until-

"Oh my god-"

Your climax hit you like a ton of bricks, crashing down on you so unexpectedly that your walls wanted to hold his raw length in place. Sunghoon continued his thrusts, not caring for the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You had your fun. Now, let him have his. 

His hands spread your ass cheeks apart, guiding you down onto his painfully hard cock with fervor. Sunghoon felt his high inching closer as he pumped in and out of your wetness, ignoring your cries of overstimulation.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned into your neck. He's there. He felt it. You braced yourself for his sweet release. 

“Need to pull out...”

Your eyebrows furrowed, expression laced in devastation. As if on instinct, you clenched around him. You wanted it. Whatever ‘it’ was. 

“In me,” you babbled through strained moans. “Please, Hoonie?”

He grit his teeth. That damn pet name. You were evil, so fucking evil. With your pretty tits and batting eyelashes. Who was he to deny you? His thrusts were erratic, admiring as your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”

His hips stuttered up into you. White, hot spurts met your cervix as you reached another orgasm from the sheer feeling of his release, mouth wide open. Your hips gyrated against his, easing both of you through your releases. His head rolled back, jaw clenched, and eyes wired shut as he felt you milk his cock of everything he was worth. 

You watched as a white ring formed around his cock was buried deep in you, still a little hard. You rested your body against his. Your eyelids were heavy, so content and warm in ways that only Sunghoon could bring out in you. 

“I love you,” he sighed into your hair, his own lethargy getting the best of him. “So fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

And as ridiculous as it sounds, the two of you slept in that position for hours. Two bodies connected at the entrance way of Sunghoon's studio apartment. When the sun came up and you realized what was done in your drunken states, you two panicked for the wrong reason. Did the neighbors hear? What happened to your jacket? Were you gonna get a UTI?

Sunghoon's cheeks reddened from the memory. It had to have been that night.

“A-are you sure?” he stuttered. 

You nodded solemnly. You knew it wouldn't be good news for him. It wasn't for you either. 

You were almost done with university. It’s supposed to be the year you figured out what you wanted out of a career. So when your first wave of morning sickness hit you just a week earlier, you knew every plan that you had would be forever ripped from your fingers. 

To travel the world. To start new hobbies. It would all have to wait. This would be your life now.

When you told your mother, tears streamed down her face. She called you everything underneath the sun. But she knew what it was like to carry a life unexpectedly, so she hugged you through it. Your dad’s reaction was worse. He hadn’t spoken to you yet.

“Two months along,” you whispered. Though he could never regret that night, he realized now how stupid it must have been to ignore the alarm bells in his head. He knew better. You knew better. Why the fuck did it end up like this? 

“So…” He gulped. He didn’t know what to say. “What now?”

“I…” you started. Heaving a deep breath, you felt him tense up. 

“I want to keep the baby,” you swallowed. Sunghoon’s mouth was parted, and his eyes were blank of emotion. 

It made you anxious, his lack of response. 

When he didn't reply, you started again. “What should we-”

“Sunghoon Park. Sunghoon Park. Please be on stand-by,” the overhead speaker rang out. He didn't mean to, but like muscle memory, his hand let go of yours. Guilt crashed over him, and he couldn't bring himself to look into your wavering eyes as he walked past you. 

The competition. This was his last chance. Coach Jung's voice resounded in his head. Don't mess it up.

“Hoon-” 

Your voice fell on deaf ears. His hands covered his face again, trying to refocus. He couldn't throw this away. Years. It took him years to get to this point. He couldn't. He had to skate. 

Tears spilled over as you watched his back retreat away from you. You should have waited to tell him, but he had asked. He said he wanted to know. 

Your back slumped against the wall of lockers, clutching your stomach as you cried. You couldn't bring yourself to go to the stands and watch him perform.

You knew it was dumb. You weren’t ready, not even close. But still… You wanted to try.

But him. Sunghoon.

You leaned your head back against the cold wall, breath faltering through your tears. What did you even expect? That he'd be happy? Excited?

You let out a shaky laugh.

Of course not. It's not like you were either.

You stood up, dusting yourself off.

You'd figure out a way to do this, you convinced yourself. If it meant that you were by yourself, that was fine. He didn't have to be there. He had big dreams, ones that predated you. You understood, even though it hurt. 

“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!” 

The cheers that ensued soon after made your chest constrict just a little more. You just couldn’t bear to watch him skate now. It was all too much.

You trudged towards the ice rink's exit, arms crossed around you like you were holding yourself. You were proud of him, so proud. He worked so tirelessly for an opportunity like this. Missed sleep and took a gap year from college to pursue this. He wanted it so bad, and though it was heartbreaking to watch him walk away, you knew why. You could talk later, you convinced yourself.

But the thoughts still echoed in your head.

A professional figure skater couldn’t be a father—not now, not at his age. You knew that. God, you hated that you knew it so well. His life wasn’t what most people imagined. There was no glamor in it. 

It was practices at the crack of dawn in freezing rinks and endless flights to cities he barely saw beyond hotel rooms. He could only fund basic living expenses with what little he earned from winning. He had a part-time job working the graveyard shift at a convenience store to even afford competition fees and dates with you. 

He gave everything for this dream—his body, his sanity, his youth. 

But he tried. In everything he did, he tried. That was the worst part.

Because even with all that trying, you still knew. That there would be no space in his life for the tiny heartbeat inside you.

You knew he'd have to quit. There was no way around it. Raising a child takes too much time away from the rink. 

If he stayed, if he chose to be in this child's life, he'd have to give it all up.And it would be because of you. 

But this was your life too. Your body. Your future. And no matter how tightly you clung to the image of him at your side, holding your hand in the delivery room, learning how to hold a newborn with trembling fingers—you had to be honest with yourself.

You wanted this baby. Even if it meant letting him go, even if that meant standing alone with a life you never planned for, you’d do it.

Because you knew that if it ever came down to choosing between his dream and you, it would always be-

“[Y/N], wait!”

You stopped in your tracks, stunned to hear his voice so close. Like he was here and not on the ice. You didn’t even notice that music stopped permeating the walls of the rink, that the announcer had moved on to the next contestant. He was running to you, socks thumping on the ground like he had taken his skates off only a moment before. 

No. It couldn't be. 

He reached you, his arms wrapped around you from behind. You heard his shaky breath against the back of your head. His thumb rubbed your forearms, planting a small kiss on your hair.

“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon blurted out when he felt like the silence between you two was suffocating. “Together.”

You turned around to face him, panicked.

“Sunghoon, no,” you tried to push him away, but he pulled you in closer. “You need to go-”

“No.”

You looked at him, pain etched in every part of his beautiful face.

“But that's your future,” you cried out, mustering everything in yourself to not melt in his embrace. He was making a mistake. He'd hate you for the rest of your life if he-

“No,” he said again, much clearer. More determined. “It’s you.”

His hand drifted to your stomach, and he smiled this time as he looked into your teary eyes.

“You're my future.”

You shook your head incessantly. “Hoon, you're not thinking straight. I should've waited to tell you. You're not in your right mind. You need to go back and-”

He silenced you with his lips, so soft—like it might break you if he were any less gentle. You fell into his touch, unknowingly pulling him closer. He kissed you again and again, hands holding yours until your tremors faded with his touch.

“I love you,” he would say between each peck. “I'm not letting you do this alone.”

And you smiled, a real, genuine smile.

“I love you too.”

You moved in with him in that tiny studio apartment, shortly after, sharing a bed that barely even fit his tall frame. The cradle he built took up the majority of the living area.

But it was nice, waking up with him every day. He talked in his sleep, would whisper your name in that sweet voice of his so lovingly. Some days, Sunghoon wouldn't let you lift a finger, would insist that you needed as much rest as possible before your due date. You had to convince him that your job as a receptionist was certainly not so physically taxing that he had to follow you to it every day.

You also got married. It was simple. Just Sunghoon and you in a courthouse with Jake and Jay, trying not to stifle their laughter as witnesses to your marriage ceremony. You wore the white dress your mother wore, and Sunghoon wore his best suit, tie tied by you.

“Say cheese!” Jake chimed as you two posed with your signed certificate. The two of them cooed at your growing belly.

You were showing now, a small bump that Sunghoon admired each time he saw you do your online classes on the kitchen counter. He never got around to buying a desk, even though he was also back in school full-time. 

He had that dreaded conversation with Coach Jung beneath the dim lights of an empty rink. Sunghoon told him quietly, almost like an apology, that he’d be hanging up his skates until further notice. He wanted to be there for you at every step of the pregnancy. If he was going to stick beside you, he was going to do it right.

Coach didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. The disappointment on his face said everything. 

And so Sunghoon hadn’t touched the ice since.

He couldn’t bear to set foot in that rink anymore. Not when he knew he’d only be watching from the stands.

Not when the sound of blades carving through the ice was coming from someone else’s skates.

Not when he used to relish in the cold air passing through his body. Now, the only wind on his face came from passing cars as he biked to his second job.

He picked up a shift at a nearby restaurant. Just as a server. The kind of job that reminded him how painfully ordinary he was without his skates. Sometimes, when no one’s looking, he’ll shift his weight just right and practice his landings in the break room, arms out, knees bent. 

Other times, he scrolls through YouTube during his graveyard shift at the convenience store, searching up his own name with trembling fingers, watching old performances through a phone screen. Reading comments. Trying to remember what it felt like to matter to people he never met. 

You noticed, probably more than you let on. You just tried not to pry. He would get distant when you mentioned it, like that part of himself needed to be tucked away and out of his sight. You knew he was afraid, terrified to look back and see everything he gave up. 

But when Sunghee was born, it was like his world started to make sense again. He held her like she was made of glass. Sobbed so loudly the first time he saw her, you thought he was in pain. 

But no, he was just overwhelmed. Taken by the way her tiny hand curled around his finger, how her cries quieted the moment he held her close.

He’d protect her, he swore to himself. That this—her—wrapped up in the pink hospital blanket, was his life now.

And maybe, for a moment, he believed that was enough.

But the thoughts never stopped. His eyes would flicker toward the old duffel bag in the closet, where his skates were still packed away. He gave that up. For you. For her. And he’d never say he regretted it. But you knew.

You understood what he was grieving. Because you grieved too.

That girl who used to dream of making art, she felt like a ghost now. Someone you used to know.

Your passions, the things that once lit a fire in you, now sat gathering dust. All shelved quietly the moment your body became a home for Sunghee.

And your parents. You were still trying to reassemble the broken pieces of your relationship with them. Your mother tried to be there for you in her own way, but her disappointment was loud in the quietest moments between you two. And your father… well, he still hadn’t really looked you in the eye since the day you told him. 

And though she was born healthy, Sunghee came into the world screaming. She was a loud baby, inconsolable most nights, and the exhaustion had tested Sunghoon and you.

You took turns because you had to. He’d rock her until sunrise, then stumble to his classes. He started falling asleep during his breaks at work, cheek pressed against cold metal tables.

He didn’t care much for his own health, but the bags beneath your eyes pained him. Your face, once bright and curious, had dimmed under all the sleepless nights and rising costs of diapers. You were both burnt out.

He dropped Sunghee off with his parents for one night and dragged you out to see your friends. It was Jake's going-away dinner.

“It’s so hard to meet nowadays,” you sighed. “Feels like I’ve been nursing a migraine for the past three months.”

Jake laughed.

“Sad I won’t get to see her grow up,” he said as he poured himself a beer. “Make sure to bring her to Australia one day. She deserves to see her coolest uncle play football.”

Niki rolled his eyes.

“No one’s paying for that long-ass flight to see you benchwarm,” Niki mumbled, chewing on some chips. “Have her come see me dance instead. At least I’ll be in the center.”

Jake smacks his friend on the back of the head.

“No need for any of that,” Jay chimed in. “She won’t have time for either of you. Papa bear here probably already has her future all mapped out. Skates on before she can walk.”

An awkward silence filled the room. The joke was lighthearted, but it landed too close to a wound no one had dared to touch in the past year. Sunghoon gave a quiet laugh, a hollow one without warmth. He brought the bottle to his lips and didn’t look at anyone when he spoke.

“Yeah... she’ll be a star.”

He eyed the ceiling, pondering what she would look like. Maybe just like him. Graceful. Passionate. “Olympic-worthy. Could probably win gold if we find the right coach early enough.”

You pursed your lips and stared at the condensation running down your glass. 

Sunoo cleared his throat, noticing the tense atmosphere. He raised his glass with forced enthusiasm. “To our beautiful Sunghee,” he cheered. “And to Jake’s success!”

Sunghoon smiled, but not really. He was happy for his friend, sure. But behind his facade, envy sat heavy on his tongue.

‘This night could have been for you. They could have been congratulating you. And you gave it all up. Now look at you. You’re a nobody.’

You couldn’t help but watch him throughout the night as he grew quieter, his sips of beer more like chugs now. You rubbed circles on his back like you always did when he got like this, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. But his eyes stayed glued to the back corner of the bar.

As you patted him, he pulled your wrist away. Not harshly. Not angrily. Just a simple tug. He set your hand back on your lap, his gaze straight ahead and away from you.

“I’m okay,” he assured you, but you didn’t believe him. Not then. 

Not ever, really.

Though time passed, life never got easier. The weight of responsibility pressed harder on your shoulders with each passing year. And while you both smiled through milestones and made do with the small hiccups in your relationship, you were content with this life. Doing laundry on lazy Sundays, Sunghoon singing nursery rhymes to Sunghee before school.

But after the birth of your second child, Sungjae, it had all started to rot.

Sunghoon’s longing for his old life never faded. It stewed in him, creeping into his thoughts at his corporate job after finishing university, haunting him on bus rides home. 

The bills piled higher. Your patience wore thinner. Conversations turned into quiet disagreements and tired sighs. You no longer fought. You didn’t even have the energy for that. Just two ghosts of your former selves moving through the same rooms, sleeping in the same bed, wondering what could’ve been. 

thirteen years later. the present.

Sunghoon adjusts his tie, furrowing his brows as he sees how crooked it is from the reflection of the mirror. He gives up halfway through. Fuck it, it would be a no-tie kind of day. He exits the bedroom, his footsteps making loud echoes on the way down the spiral staircase and towards the all-marble kitchen. He inhales slowly as he smells the fragrance of smoked spices dancing around his nostrils. It was enough to make his mouth water.

“What's cooking, good-looking?” he says, entering the kitchen with a wide grin on his face.

“Ew,” a voice rang out, soft and disgruntled. Sunghoon turns the corner and almost laughs at the sight.

“Shut up,” Sunoo scoffs, clad in an apron and silk pajamas. “Don’t say corny shit like that in my house until you get your act together.”

Sunghoon takes a seat on the barstool of the kitchen counter. He watches Sunoo maneuver the wide expanse of the kitchen like an expert.

“I'm a dad,” Sunghoon sighs out. “That’s kind of our thing.”

“Yeah, one going through a divorce,” Sunoo snaps back, monitoring his frittata closely on the stove.

Sunghoon's shoulders slump. Of course, the only friend willing to let him stay for an indefinite amount of time was the one most critical of his life choices. Sunoo insisted, in fact. Said his place was “feeling empty” anyway.

“So,” Sunoo coughs, acknowledging he might have taken it too far with his earlier comment. “Any word from her about the court date yet?”

Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his watch as it nears 8:30 a.m. He'd have to leave soon to get to work. His boring, dull job as a fiscal manager at blah blah blah corporation. Even he barely knows what he does for a living.

“Can I borrow your car?” Sunghoon asks, ignoring his friend's question. He doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to speak anything into existence, even if it was already happening. 

You asked for it two weeks ago. A divorce.

He's been living with (mooching off of) Sunoo since.

“Which one? The Bugatti or the Ferrari?”

Sunghoon gives Sunoo a side-eye, and the younger fails to stifle a laugh. He never wastes a second to flex on his friend, the only one out of their friend group who worked at a 9-5 job in total and absolute misery.

Heeseung's a streamer, Jay took over as CEO of his father's company, Jake was still playing football in Australia, Jungwon started his own Taekwondo studio, and Niki was traveling the world as a choreographer. And of course, Sunoo wound up in a big old mansion with his modeling career.

Sunghoon thought he'd end up like them. He got the right experience after university to find a stable job that didn't involve slaving away at customer service gigs like he did before.

He thought he'd move up higher in his company by now. Have a team to call his own, like Jungwon had, or make “small, high-impact decisions” like Jay claims he does. But none of that ever came. His heart was never in it.

Sunghoon sighs. 

“Whatever gets me from Point A to Point B,” he mutters. Sunoo cuts a piece of frittata from the skillet and plates it. He slides it over to his older friend and tosses a key from his pocket.

“Take the Kia Soul.”

Sunghoon groans. “You're fucking with me.”

“Mr. Park,” his coworker chirps into his ear. “I was wondering how your KPIs were this week…”

Sunghoon lets him drone on as he types on his computer. No private office, just a cubicle by the elevators. He hates how people tend to gravitate towards him for small talk. He's not very good at it. Never has been. It was a common joke within his family that he skated more than he spoke growing up. 

You dragged him out of his shell when you met, cracked him open with your bright-eyed gazes and addictive laughter. He’d planned to keep his head down when he was younger. No distractions and no detours. Just figure skating.

But how could he not fall in love with you?

He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts aside before it settles in too deeply. He reminisces too much.

It’s like the past is all his mind drifts off to these days.

He leaves work on time. Gets stuck in traffic, like usual. And drives to the home you two once shared. A routine he's used to by now. 

He sees your car in the driveway and groans. He knew if he sees you, you'd bring up the papers again. Those stupid fucking papers.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he enters the once-familiar home. You've made changes to it since he's been gone. He squints to get a better look. In just two weeks, the kitchen's completely repainted with a soft green instead of gray. The living room was completely rearranged, and family pictures were taken down from the walls.

Sungjae is sitting on the couch, playing with his iPad. He only looks up for a second before he gets back into whatever is playing on his device. Sunghoon knew he should have hidden that thing before he left. Or, he guesses, before you kicked him out.

“Where's your sister?” he asks, practically into the void.

As if on cue, Sunghee walks down the stairs. Her eyes are already rolling, and she's still wearing her pink pajamas and bunny slippers.

“Get dressed, princess. We're gonna be late for your practice!”

Sunghee tsks. 

“C'mon,” Sunghoon adds with a forced smile. “You missed the last two practices already. You're gonna fall behind-”

“Dad, I already told you I want to quit,” she cuts in. “Can't you just take a freaking hint?”

Sunghoon stares blankly at his daughter, trying to hold back the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon doesn’t know where she gets the attitude comes from. It's like when Sunghee hit the age of 13, she morphed into a walking stick of dynamite with a terribly short fuse.

“Well,” he begins, voice tight but even. “Why don't we push through it for today, hm? You know, back in my day, I wasn't always up for the challenge, but-”

“We get it dad!” she groans. “'Back in my day' this, 'if I were you' that. No one cares!"

It stings him more than he cares to admit. 

"Sunghee," he says, slower this time, the edge creeping into his voice. 

She just scoffs at her father's serious expression. She's never been scared of him when he's angry. That was always your role. 

"I’m not going," she stands her ground, crossing her arms. "You can't make me. If you wanna go so bad, then go to that stupid ice rink by yourself.”

Sunghoon inhales sharply, planting his hands on his hips to seem more assertive.

From the couch, seven-year-old Sungjae snickers.

“Listen here, young lady-”

“Listen here, young lady…” Sungjae mocks, in a tone much like his father's. Sunghoon whips his head to his iPad kid.

“And you, young man-”

“Sunghoon,” you say sternly as you appear at the staircase. “I already called to cancel. Indefinitely. Even if you take her now, she won't even be able to join the other kids.”

Sunghee sticks her tongue out at her father, prancing to the couch to pinch her younger brother's cheeks.

He blinks, brows knitting together. “What? Why would you do that without telling me?”

"Sorry, was that a decision that needed your approval?" you ask sarcastically. "You can't make her do something she doesn't want to do."

Sunghoon scoffs, pointing an accusatory finger at you. But he stops himself. His gaze flickers to the kids, who pretend like they're not watching from the living room.

He swallows down whatever instinct tells him to argue right here, right now. You two never fought in front of them, an unspoken rule. Even if you were technically separated, he would not break that now. 

“Let's talk in our room,” he whispers closely, and you roll your eyes.

“My room,” you correct, already turning to head back up. You don’t see it, but he tries not to flinch at your harshness.

He closes the door behind you two, the air thick with tension. He starts again.

“Why are you making decisions without me already?” he asks, trying to keep his tone level. “You cancel her figure skating classes and repaint the kitchen? Why are you-”

You sigh, already tired.

“We've been talking about repainting that ugly kitchen for years, Sunghoon,” you sigh. "You never wanted to actually get started on it. Sorry, I actually make time for the things I want."

So this is the direction you wanted the conversation to go in? Fine. He can be passive-aggressive, too.

"And Sunghee? Didn't you think to run that by me when I’m the one that pays for those lessons?"

You grit your teeth. He sees where Sunghee gets it from now, your hands crossed over your chest in disdain.

"Have you tried listening to her about practices? She gets injured all the time! Coach Jung is horrible to her. She’s miserable-”

His jaw tightens. “You don't think I was too? Half the time, I hated skating! But that’s what it takes. You think greatness just feels good all the time?! And the kitchen was fine. I don’t get why—”

"She's not trying to be great, Sunghoon!" you cry exasperatedly, your hands thrown up into the air. "She's not trying to be you."

You point your finger at his chest. “And you always think everything's fine. Until it's too late.”

Your words hung in the air, his eyes meeting yours. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he says finally, quieter this time. 

You retract your hand, nervous under his gaze. It’s intense, familiar in a way that still sends sparks throughout your body, even now. Even after everything.

“Stop trying to force your dreams onto her,” you finally let out, and you see his eyes waver. "Just because it didn't work out for you doesn't mean you can try again through her."

“That's not what-”

“Look,” you interrupt him, turning away from him to face the wall. “All I'm saying is that maybe this is your wake-up call. Things change. Not everything that you want is going to happen. Maybe learn to change with it.”

He scoffs.

You turn back around to face him. He's angry, but his face doesn’t give it away. It’s his trembling hands, how his posture straightens just a little too stiffly.

“A little too late to change when my whole life was already laid out for me,” he says through bated breaths. “It’s not like I ever had a choice where I’d end up.”

Your heart sinks. “And it's all my fault, right?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, his gaze softening at your hurt expression.

“I didn't say that-”

“But it's what you think, right?” You try to look strong. You think of all the nights he lay awake replaying his old skating clips in the glow of his phone screen. The way he cheered for Sunghee during competitions, like his voice alone could ignite the passion she didn’t have. The muffled sniffles from the shower after the last Winter Olympics ended. You saw it all. You always did.

Sunghoon is silent, and you fight the sting in your eyes.

“I never asked you to marry me,” you say as low as a whisper, cutting through the silence.

“But I did,” Sunghoon says quickly. Desperately. “And I wanted to.”

You draw out a laugh, bitterness dripping through.

“I'm so sorry, Sunghoon,” you say, sarcasm spilling over your lips. “I'm sorry this isn't the life you wanted. But newsflash: you're not the only one living with regrets. ”

He steps forward, but you move back. The weight of everything presses against your chest now that the words are out. Now that it’s not just his pain taking up space in your relationship.

“You act like you’re the only one who lost something,” you say, softer now. “But I gave up things, too. I had dreams too.”

You don’t mean it cruelly, and he doesn’t take it that way. But it hurts, still.

"And I'm done walking on eggshells around you just because you can't stand the fact that you aren't living the life you wanted.”

You take a deep breath and continue.

“If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met-"

His hand hovers over your cheek. His lips, so dangerously close to yours. “Stop it.”

His voice is shaky.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

You don't pull away, but your gaze does not waver. “I mean it. Genuinely.”

You don’t see Sunghoon’s heart break at that moment. But he feels it. Feels the tightness in his chest, the way his throat closes up, like your words were enough to kill him.

“When did you become so cruel?” Hurt laced his voice.

“And when did you start resenting me?” you bite back, but the words barely escape your throat. 

He doesn’t answer, just leans in and kisses you. And you let him.

Because maybe this is the last time you’ll feel him like this. Maybe this is the last tender moment you two will share.

His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You feel your own breath catch, and for a second, you almost melt into him.

“I love you,” Sunghoon says, but it sparks nothing in you.

Instead, you hear everything he didn’t say. He didn’t say no or that you were wrong. So maybe he really does, you thought to yourself.

His kisses almost make you forget. Almost enough to blur out the long winters and how distant he gets. How painfully silent he is at the dinner table, eyes always somewhere else. 

His lips guide you through it all, each kiss igniting a memory.

How his shoulders sagged the day he started that full-time job. How his smile, once so quick to bring out of him, turned into something you had to search for. How the light in his eyes, so blinding when he was on the ice, dimmed, little by little. 

His hands trail under your shirt now as he peppers kisses down your throat. 

“I miss you,” he sighs. 

How he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and leave without a word, how you’ll see his location is at the ice rink, probably watching the Zamboni circle around. But he'd never bring his skates with him.

His lips meet yours again, deeper this time. His knee finds its way in between your legs.

You couldn’t do this anymore. It’s been far too many times, letting him wiggle his way back into your good graces. This was it. You would choose yourself this time.

Your fingers close around his wrists, gentle but firm. The warmth of his skin against yours nearly breaks your resolve, but you force yourself to meet his eyes. Even though it hurts.

“I think you should leave.” 

You release yourself from his hold. Sunghoon's expression is unreadable, but you know by now it's a facade. 

You could not carry his pain with you any longer. You needed him to let you go, just as much as you needed to let him go.

“Baby...” he starts, voice fragile.

“Don't,” you say quickly, lips pressed tight. “You can't call me that anymore, Sunghoon.”

His heart aches. He was supposed to be Hoon to you. Your Hoon. When did that change?

But he doesn't ask. He just watches you, eyes dark and full of all the things he never figured out how to say until it was already too late.

“The papers...” you pause, swallowing hard. You see a flicker of panic flash across his face. 

“They're on the kitchen counter. Take them before you leave.”

Sunghoon did not take the papers. 

In fact, just like Sunghee suggested, he went to the so-called “stupid” ice rink by himself. 

He sits in the highest row of the stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The kids glide around the ice below. Parents he used to talk to are filming on the sidelines, their laughter echoing faintly off the cold, hard walls.

Envy coats his skin.

Coach Jung is barking commands at the kids. He sneaks glances up at Sunghoon every so often, trying to be subtle. But he knows what that look means. It’s pity. 

At one point, Coach Jung had pulled him aside to tell him that Sunghee wasn't built for the sport. Not like Sunghoon was. She was too stiff, too in her own head about spinning in the air. She never cracked a smile when she was on the ice. She always kept her head low and movements small, as if it was still scary for her after years of practicing.

It's not like Sunghoon didn't notice, but he always thought she’d come around to it. He was pushed into figure skating by his parents, much like he was doing for her. It wasn’t like his passions ignited overnight. ‘It could be her dream if she let it be,’ he thought to himself.

Why couldn’t she let it? Why wouldn’t she even try?

Sunghoon sits in the stands, even after the kids pour out one by one and the lights start to dim. Coach Jung offers one last, forced smile before disappearing into the locker rooms. Sunghoon stays until he’s the only one left under the lights.

The Zamboni comes in, shaving and washing the ice to be used for the next day. When the machine finishes, the driver climbs out and heads up toward the stands. He's in his early twenties with blonde hair and dark eyes. He's moving towards Sunghoon with a smile.

Sunghoon stands up, a little intimidated by the younger man. His back turns to go up the stairs and to the exit, wanting to avoid a conversation.

“You're always here at night, sir,” the guy calls out. “Do you have a special connection to this place?”

Sunghoon stops in his tracks. He used to get recognized all the time. On the streets and in this very place. He used to mean something.

He turns around and gives a polite smile to the young man. He points at one of the many banners that hang from the ice rink walls. “Park Sunghoon” was in bright gold colors on each one. 

“I used to train here,” he says, with a hint of pride. “National champion for ten straight years, from when I was 11 up until I was 21.”

The guy whistles softly, impressed.

“We could use you, you know?" he says. "I think they’re looking for a new coach. Heard the old one's retiring soon.”

Sunghoon flinches. “Coach Jung? He hasn't told me yet. My daughter trains with him.”

He can't bring himself to use the past tense with her just yet.

The young man just nods. "I think he's planning to announce it after the next competition."

Sunghoon feels his chest constrict. He shakes his head. Another person leaving.

“I guess everything’s changing…” he whispers, but it did not fall on deaf ears. The stranger moves closer to him. "We're all so old now."

The stranger sighs. “Youth can be so cruel, can't it?”

Sunghoon, in his confusion, scoffs.

“The opposite, actually,” he argues. “Life's easier when you're young. Anything was possible back then.” 

He takes a second to continue.

“And it all can be taken from you,” he mutters, more to himself. “Before you even realize it.”

“That's the worst, isn't it?” The young man chimes in. He's sitting where Sunghoon was earlier. “When you wonder what could've been…”

Sunghoon’s mouth twists into something like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That's all I think about,” he said, surprised at himself for opening up to a stranger. And it's true. 

What if he hadn’t stopped skating? What if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?

He sits back down, next to the Zamboni driver.

“We all have regrets,” the young man says, looking ahead, voice soft.

Sunghoon stares up at the ceiling and lets out a breathless laugh through the silence. Flashes of you overcame his vision. Nights of hushed arguments and facing away from each other on the bed. Nothing went his way after the World Championships. He lost it all. His passion. His dreams. You. 

“Why does it have to be that way?” he asks no one in particular.

A silence fills the room. The blonde turns his head to face him. “Maybe you could live a life without one, Park Sunghoon.”

He stills for a second.

“How did you know my na-” And as Sunghoon turns to face the stranger, he is met with nothing. Like the man was never there in the first place.

He's driving in that ugly, neon green Kia Soul, making his way back to Sunoo's egregiously large mansion.

Sunghoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens every time he checks the rearview mirror. He can’t shake the feeling like he’s being watched. That guy… the way he talked, like he knew him. Not just his name, but everything underneath. 

But screw that guy and whatever cryptic bullshit he was spouting. Screw his perfect friends, rich and successful. Every time they reunite, it’s like a reminder of everything Sunghoon’s not.

And screw the way Sunghee and Sungjae don’t even look at him like he matters. He tries. God knows he does. But they don’t know him. Don't know who either of you were outside of being their parents.

And you know what? Screw you and those damn papers too-

SCRREEEEE.

In an instant, his world is spinning out of control. Airbags deploy as Sunghoon jostles in a car that tumbles with him. The last thing he remembers is flashing lights and the loud sound of a crash. A sharp pain shoots through the left side of his body, and he feels as if he is coming in and out of consciousness. 

Sunghoon's eyes blink open, but he's not lying where he thinks he should be. It’s not the inside of a casket, nor is it a hospital room ceiling. He lies there with a cold and familiar feeling.

Ice.

Instead of the wrinkled suit he threw on that morning, he’s wearing sweatpants and a fitted black top. Not a scratch on him. No blood, no bruises. 

Was he dead?

“Is just one axel hard for you now, kid?” a voice calls out. 

He recognizes it almost immediately. Coach Jung. Sunghoon sits up, yanking his gloved hands from the coldness. What the fuck was happening?

“Get your ass back up and do it again,” Coach Jung shouts from the sidelines. The music starts again. Sunghoon’s eyes flutter shut, and he swears it's muscle memory. He knows this routine. The one from that night. The night he met you.

He moves. Instinct takes over. Jumps, spins, the sharp sound of his blades cutting clean into the ice. Every turn and landing exactly where it should be. He’s smiling from ear to ear now, almost childlike.

And if he were dead and this was the last thing he'd ever experience, then maybe dying wasn't so bad. He’d stayed off the ice for years, terrified that if he felt this weightless feeling again, that his regrets would consume him. 

“Perform like that and you'll win no matter what,” Coach Jung calls out as the music fades. Even breathless, Sunghoon felt like he could do ten more spins across the ice. His heart was racing. Everything felt so real. The soreness of his muscles, the cold air against his skin, the echoes of Coach's voice.

“What day is it today?” Sunghoon asks abruptly. "And what year?"

He’s pinching his wrist now, nails digging in and almost drawing blood. He flinched. It hurt like hell. Was this not a dream?

“Kid, did you hit your head when you fell?” Coach Jung laughs. 

And when he says the exact date, Sunghoon's confused. It wasn’t like today was anything special. Just a random Tuesday. So why would this moment, 16 years ago, be where he ended up after crashing his car? 

Looking at the reflection of his younger, more athletic self in the mirror, he just couldn't believe it. No matter how much he slapped his face or banged his head against the locker room door, he was still here. In this younger body.

He's walking home from practice now. His phone buzzes in his pocket of the boys’ group chat, the old one they used to fill with dumb inside jokes before you and the other significant others joined the group. But your name is yet to be in his contacts. 

And then he remembers. It’s three days before you’re in the stands of the smaller national competition he won many years ago. 

He’s not one to panic, but his thoughts are running in circles. Did he actually go back in time, or is this all in his head?

He sees someone in his periphery. A man around his age, standing near the curb, waving. Casual. Like they’ve met before. And they have.

The Zamboni driver.

He has a sinister smile, one that sends shivers down Sunghoon’s spine. Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He marches forward and grabs him by the collar. “Who the fuck are you? Is this happening because of you?”

The man smirks, clearly amused.

“You wanted to try, right? A life without regrets?”

Sunghoon glares at him, confused.  “What?”

“Park Sunghoon,” the blonde says sternly. “This is your last chance. Use it wisely.”

Before he can respond, the man shoves him back.

“What are you talk-”

And as he blinks, the stranger disappears. His head starts throbbing uncontrollably, and ringing sets in his ears. He hears a voice then, yet he can’t recognize it.

“What will you choose in this life?”

Even as the reality of everything he left behind starts to settle, he feels a strange sense of calm wash over his grief.

He knows what to do.

three days later.

Sunghoon sees you in the corner of his eye as he’s tightening his skates. You’re sitting with your friends, ones who had encouraged you to come and watch him. Back then, he was all anyone on campus could talk about. The quiet freshman with Olympic dreams who just missed his opportunity last year. He was skating harder than ever, pushing himself to the edge. Skipping classes. Shutting out everything but the rink. 

Until you came along.

He remembers your first date. He'd asked awkwardly, “How come you like me?” because he genuinely didn’t understand.

It’s not like the plushie you threw was the first with a phone number taped to it. Not even the tenth. He got plenty of confessions growing up, but he wanted to know why. What made anyone interested in an introverted and one-track-minded guy like him? He had no hobbies outside of figure skating, no real conversation skills that went past awkward greetings.

Yet, you teased him with that Cheshire grin of yours. 

“How could I not?" you say so casually as his heart bloomed. "I’ve never seen someone pour so much love into what they do until I met you. You know what you want. I admire that.”

Your words stuck with him. He’d never forgotten it. And even now, those words echo in his chest as he skates to the center of the ice.

The music starts, and he lets himself get lost in the rhythm. As he glides across the ice, there is nothing on his mind. He just takes it all in. The roar of the audience. The sound of skates hitting ice. It’s all he ever wanted.

The routine, like in the past, was met with a standing ovation. The screams of those in the stands overwhelm him. He goes to each section of the rink, bowing as tears threaten to spill over. It’s all too much. And not enough.

Then, he reaches yours. Sunghoon finds you in the sea of people like he did before. Your hair is down, and your face is softer. He chokes back on his tears, so enthralled by your beauty. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

He bows, more deeply than to the other sections.

You throw that stuffed penguin through the air at the perfect time as it lands by his feet. And as Sunghoon rises from the bow, your eyes are on him again. Expectant. 

You don’t know him yet. Not really. You aren't aware of the pain to come. The fights. The distance. The way he’ll drain all the color from your life. 

As he turns to move to the final section, he catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes. A frown is present on your beautiful face. He wants to make it go away, but he can’t. Not in this life.

And so the penguin sits on the ice, lifeless, as he skates off the rink.

That night, he skips the afterparty. He goes straight to his shitty studio apartment, the one with the thin walls and peeling paint, and collapses on the bed.

He buries his face into the sheets, the fabric dampening his sobs. The crowd’s cheers still ring faintly in his ears, but now it all sounds hollow. He screams then, into the mattress, at the thought of Sunghee and Sungjae. His babies. The only pieces outside of you in his old life that made it worth fighting for. Would they ever exist in this version of his life?

He tries to steady himself. Tells himself this was for the best. That your life would be easier without him as your words echoed in his head.

"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."

No years wasted, no sacrifices stacked on top of each other until they became resentment. No nights spent worried about bills or appeasing your parents, who never really quite liked him.

He wants to believe he’s doing you a favor.

But the tears don’t stop. Not when he thinks about the weight of Sunghee in his arms the first time he held her. Not when he remembers teaching Sungjae how to read with his tiny hands clutching the book, his eyes lighting up at each new word.

He’s letting it all go. All of it.

This was supposed to be his second chance. To live his dream without regrets. To see what it felt like. 

And it felt like hell.

The next few nights were abysmal. Practice became unbearable. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. His body hit the ice harder whenever he missed a spin, which was every time at this point. Coach Jung eventually pulled him aside, clearly frustrated.

“Go home, Sunghoon. Straighten yourself out and get the hell off my ice.”

But home didn’t feel real. None of this did.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep skating like this, not when every turn reminded him of you.

Sunghoon had to see you. Just once. Just enough to know you were okay. He told himself the kids would still exist somehow, even if your love story started differently in this version of life. That thought was the only thing holding him together.

He freshens himself up to go to campus, not having touched his backpack in weeks. He remembers your route like the back of his hand. Morning coffee at the cafe just off campus, right before your 9 AM. He will intercept you here, at this corner of the street.

Sunghoon's in a black turtleneck, wearing the glasses you would always steal off of him. The one that made you squirm under his intense gaze. The air was chilled, and his hands were buried deep in his navy jeans. He sees you coming into view, and he almost extends a hand to wave. 

But he sees him, too.

Beomgyu. Your ex. The one who would ask your friends how you were doing, knowing full well that you were married with kids. The one who eventually became a guitarist for a band he would pretend not to like. Sunghoon had asked you to block him from everything before, and you complied. It hurt to admit that his insecurities were still present even now, in another life.

Sunghoon hides behind a tree as he watches you two struggle through the cold. Your shoulders are close but not quite touching. He feels his heart rate accelerate, his lips pursed to prevent himself from saying anything that would compromise his hiding spot. 

“Beomgyu, you don’t have to walk me to class,” he overheard you say with a laugh. “I’m okay, really.”

Sunghoon’s hands balled into fists. Why did your voice sound an octave higher than it usually does? 

Beomgyu had the nerve to laugh, and it took Sunghoon everything in himself not to jump out.

You once told him that Beomgyu was your first love. Your high school boyfriend. You had ended things on good terms at the end of high school to find yourselves in college.

“Good,” Sunghoon once said. “Because you found me.”

And now here you were, looking happy. Grinning from ear to ear. What was there to smile about? 

“Doesn’t this remind you of old times? You used to stuff your hands in my pockets-” 

And though Sunghoon almost wills himself to leave the spot behind the tree, he doesn’t. Because he needed to watch this. Needed to watch you live the life you would’ve had without him. The easier one. 

He sees it now in the way your nose would scrunch to laugh at Beomgyu’s jokes. How you playfully hit the boy’s shoulder and hide your giggles with the sleeve of your puffer jacket. 

Maybe that’s why the stranger had chosen this year. To taunt him.

Look how happy someone else could make her. Was he the only reason why you were miserable? How much did he really hold you back? 

And so Sunghoon steps aside, shoving his hands back in his jeans. The icy wind cuts through his reddened cheeks. He asked for this. And he’ll have to live with it in this life.

Sunghoon turns around to give you one last look. But he also sees Sunghee, in her Elsa costume for Halloween. Sungjae asking for a mountain of kimchi at every restaurant. Your hand reaching for his across the dinner table.

He’ll have to live with it.

In the next three years, Sunghoon put his all into skating. He is consumed by it. Throws himself into it like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His professors have to send him emails to remind him not to neglect his studies. His mother scolds him for missing holidays at home because he travels so much for competitions. But Sunghoon doesn’t care.

He loves figure skating. Loves the endless cheers from the crowd when he lands a clean program. Loves the headlines, the trophies lining his apartment shelves, the constant buzz of being "the nation's pride." It’s everything he knew he wanted. 

But, there’s always that one seat in the stands. The one you used to sit in during his competitions, holding up a handmade banner and shouting his name louder than anyone. 

Now, the face in that seat changes all the time. Some new fan. Some stranger holding a sign that doesn't mean anything to him.

He tells himself the past doesn’t matter. That this version of you, the one who laughs in cafes with Beomgyu, who’s always posting photos from new cities, new hobbies, new lives, wouldn’t even recognize the girl he remembers.

The girl who used to sit cross-legged on his couch, studying while he iced his ankle. Who wept with joy the night he won first at an international competition.

Now you’re in a photography club. A painting class. Pottery? Really?

You travel more now than you two ever did in your 16 years together. He scrolls past your updates with a numb thumb, telling himself he’s glad. He guesses that he did the right thing. 

And every time he walks past you with Beomgyu, smiling with all your teeth, it lingers. Those damn words are repeating in his head again.

"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."

Now he gets it. He guessed that he held you back from so much. Look at you with your wonderful friends and the amazing life you live without him! He scoffs. You deserve it.

You adjusted to him and his demanding training schedule, canceling plans with people so that you could maximize the time you had with him in the rare chance that he was in town. Maybe Beomgyu never would’ve asked you to sacrifice like that. Maybe he would’ve waited for you to come home from your clubs, instead of dragging you to cold rinks and rushed meals together in between practice sessions.

Sunghoon's fine. He swears on it.

Wake up. Go to class (if he feels like it). Skate for hours. Push through the pain. Go home. Cry into his pillow. Rinse and repeat. 

The Olympics are a year away. The World Championships are in two months.

And the night you two conceived Sunghee is tomorrow.  

tomorrow.

He wills himself to stay home, even when the boys suggest he hit up a few bars and clubs. It's the weekend after all. 

But Sunghoon is used to making excuses by now. Blames it on his training schedule, his diet, Coach Jung. Whatever would get Jake off his back. 

So when Sunghoon hears a knock at his door, and three boys pull up already reeking of alcohol, he’s surprised that he finds himself in that exact bar where he promised himself he wouldn’t be.

It’s just like before. Same music, same sickening smell of spilled tequila and too much cologne from Heeseung. And, as always, he’s bad at poker. Worse than he remembers. He’s downing a shot after every loss until his head is spinning and he can’t remember the rules anymore.

“I’m gonna… go… pee…” he tries to say, but his words get lost in mumbles and drooping eyes. He miraculously stumbles towards the restroom and does his business in the urinal. He’s dousing his face with water after barely washing his hands, and he smiles at his reflection. God, why didn’t he want to go out again? 

Sunghoon exits the restroom, shaking his wrists to expel the water from his hands. And his breath catches. He sees you.

Your back’s to him at first, your sparkly red dress riding up on the stool just like it was that night. You’re laughing at something the bartender says. And he swears for a second, time stops.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe it’s the years of missing you bottled up too tight. But he starts walking over before he can stop himself. 

“Hey,” he says plainly, elbow hitting the bar. You turn towards him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

He'll be different in his first impressions this time. More experienced and confident than the shy fool he was when he met you. He'd match this new version of you, too. Show you what you were missing out on.

There’s a confused smile on your face.

“Hi.” He looks at you more clearly, his vision impaired from leaving his glasses at home and the tequila shots in his system.

“You come here often?” He’s too out of his senses to stop himself from saying it. But he doesn’t regret it because you laugh. He does too.

“You say that to every girl, Park Sunghoon?” 

His heart skips a beat. “You know my name?”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of the cocktail that the bartender just handed you.

“Call me a fan,” you smile up at him, and he swears he could have melted right then and there. “Your face is everywhere.”

Sunghoon licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I wish I could see more of yours,” he grins. “I think I’d skate ten times better if I saw you in the crowd.”

You scoff jokingly. “And here I thought winning was enough for you.”

It should be. It was supposed to be.

He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. That he’d leave you alone. He would let you go about your life, forget him, and be who you wanted to be. Who you should have been before he came to your life.

But here you are, impossibly close, and every part of him is begging not to let you go.

"You... you single?" he asks, trying to be casual. But his voice catches at the end. He wants to know. Needs to hear from your own lips if you actually chose Beomgyu in this life.

Relief washes over him when you shake your head.

"Wouldn't be talking to you if I was," you say with a teasing grin. Electricity shoots through him as he watches you. Too bright, too much. This short conversation, one he never planned on having, could never satisfy him. He could never get enough of you.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks before he could stop himself, arm outstretched for you to take. Your face stiffens, and he almost thinks you’d say no until your fingers wrap around his arm.

“Where to?” 

You barely make it past his front door before he has you up against it. His hands hold yours above your head, pinning your body against his. Sunghoon’s lips move against you ferociously, an unending battle between your tongues. You try to match his movements, but he is starved beyond belief.

You have no idea how badly he missed this.

Three years since he last heard you speak to him. Three years since he’s felt your lips. And the last time was when you asked him to pick up some stupid divorce papers from the kitchen counter. He needs this. Needs this more than breathing, more than eating, more than skating.

Sunghoon lifts you to wrap your legs around his middle. His hands find your bottom, giving a gentle squeeze that has you arching into him. He didn’t want to scare you, but he couldn’t will himself to stop. Your scent was too intoxicating for his mouth to ever leave yours.

You tap at his chest to push him away softly. With bruised lips, you whisper, “Can we go to your bed?”

He could almost moan just from the sound of you. His sweet, beautiful wife. Still so perfect for him.

His grip on your ass tightens as he maneuvers you through the studio apartment you once shared, laying you softly on the bed. Sunghoon wonders why you two just went at it like animals at the entrance way when the bed was only a few steps away back then. This time, he would savor it. Savor you.

He follows you down as he trails kisses on your neck. You crane it for him like you used to, giving him access to your most sensitive spots. His hands trail underneath your dress, teasing the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission. All you could do was nod, opening your legs wide for him to continue. His dick twitches in his pants. You drive him insane.

Sunghoon peppers a few more kisses on your collarbone as his index finger prods carefully at your clothed pussy. 

“Already soaked,” he whispers into your skin, pressing the pads of his fingers onto your underwear. Liquid courage still very much in his system.

He feels bold right now, eager to impress. He doesn't know who you've been with in this life, but he'll make you forget them all. Fuck you so good that you forget those experiences. Remind you that he's your husband for a reason. His fingers hook the side of your ruby red panties, gliding them down your plush thighs.

“I bet I’d go in so easily, huh?” his drunken voice slurs out. "So fucking wet."

When you nod again, he tsks. So silent, and for what? His fingers find your clit, ghosting over it. You arch to lean into his touch, but his hand retracts.

“Use your words, baby,” he says darkly. “Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”

You groan, eyes shut in frustration. “Can’t you just fuck me?”

He laughs. Always so uncharacteristically vulgar when horny. He loves it. He loves you.

“Can’t I get a taste first, baby?” he says, his face already inching downwards. He pulls your dress all the way off you, so that your breasts are finally exposed. Your satin red bra matched your panties like they were made to be seen tonight. He didn’t know why that fired him up so badly. 

Would another man have you like this if he didn't make a move?

He dips his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your clit. You gasp at the suddenness, not knowing how much you’ve angered him just from your underwear choices. His tongue moves downwards, lapping at your folds like a man dying of thirst. His hands pinned your legs to open even wider, and you writhed underneath him.

“Please-” you beg, hands gripping his hair as his tongue plunges into your wetness. Sunghoon’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation. He could never, ever forget this taste. 

He pushes his tongue in and out as deeply as he can with his curled tongue, grinding against the mattress for any semblance of stimulation.

He would make love to you tonight. Until you remember who he was. Until you remember the life you built together.

His tongue does one agonizing lick all the way up to your clit, and your back arches just to feel him better. He’s sucking it harshly, tongue flicking at it in all the right ways.

“Sunghoon-” you cry out, your feet digging into the mattress to push your hips up to meet his ravenous lips. He pulls away and glares up at you. Your hips fall.

“Why’d you stop?” you whine, pushing his hair back down to your core. It takes everything in him not to laugh. He adores you like this. Desperate for him. Needy for him. Shaking in pleasure for whom? Him.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispers into your inner thigh, nipping at it slightly. He chuckles at your confused expression. “Hoon. If you’re gonna moan my name while I fuck you, I need you to say it properly.”

Your cheeks warmed. Heaving out a groan, you nod your head anyway. 

“H-hoon,” you test out. “Can you please continue?”

He smiles mischievously. “With what?”

You huff out in frustration. “I swear if you don’t fucking make me cum right now I’m going to-”

And his lips smash down on yours to shut you up. His hands replace his tongue as his middle finger draws figure-8s on your clit. He pulls your slickness from your folds and up to that sweet spot, relishing in the indecent noises between your legs.

Your moans are muffled by his tongue, body twitching underneath his. You taste yourself, so sweet on his lips as he caresses the most inner parts of your mouth. So dirty and so wet. He knew every part of you. Knew what made you cry, knew what made you scream. And fuck, he will make you scream. 

He pulls away from you to admire his ruthless pace on your clit.

You are clenching around nothing as your nails dig into his shoulders. He coaxes a gasp out of you as a coil in your stomach starts to form.

“Want me so fucking bad, don't you?” he teases, his other hand on the nape of your neck. Sunghoon tilts your head down to show you the mess you were making. 

His sheets are stained with your arousal, and his fingers are drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with such fervor. You catch a glimpse of his painfully clothed member. 

He was right. You wanted him so desperately, wanted to feel him inside you at that very moment. Your breath hitches. Fuck. You felt something building.

Your hips start to rise again, and it’s hard to formulate a sentence.

“Hoon! Oh my god– Fuck it’s– It’s–” You cry out as Sunghoon’s pace quickens, motivated by the sound of your moans. His other hand tries to anchor your thighs down. You feel it as you start to lose vision in your eyes. His thumb is rubbing so intensely that it draws a whine right out of you.

The coil inside of you snaps.

“Fuuuck…Ngh…”

A wave of pleasure washes over you, and you feel your juices coat your folds, dripping more than before. 

You're squirming underneath him, thighs twitching from the stimulation. He slows his pace, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.

His cock was in pain, desperate for it to make contact with any part of you. In this life, one thing he developed over the past three years of watching you in the shadows was patience. And you had none.

“God, just put it in,” you groan so casually, resting your forearm to shield your eyes away from him. You were so fucked out. Hair splayed all over the pillow in messy waves. Lips bruised, your cherry gloss staining your chin and his cheek.

So eager to just have him take you. If he were a weaker man (maybe Beomgyu), he would have listened. But like he said earlier. He would savor this.

His fingers travel down to your folds, one dancing at your entrance to tease you. Sunghoon smirks as you whimper. He pushes a finger in and bites his lip at the feeling. He hasn’t felt you, or anyone for that matter, in ages. In these past three years, he couldn't bring himself to even talk to another woman who wasn't you. It didn't feel right.

All the lonely, and frankly sad, nights touching himself to thoughts of you. Fucking himself on his wrist as he remembers all the nights you’ve shared in your 13 years of marriage. He had plenty of material to work with, with all of your past escapades, but it was nothing like the real thing. Nothing like feeling you again.

“Sunghoon, stop teasing me-”

His finger stilled, and you thought about cursing him out. He pulls your forearm away from your eyes, forcing you to look into his.

“Want to try that again?” he says, threateningly slow. The darkness of his gaze was enough to have you pliant and doe-eyed.

“Hoon?” He smiles, kissing you on the forehead softly.

“Good girl.” And just like that, he dips another finger in, scissoring them into you with precision. You’re a mess underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck. He needed you to be ready for him. His heaviness was throbbing painfully just thinking about how you'd take him after all this time.

How long would it take you to adjust to his size?

Sunghoon’s fingers squelch with each thrust, finding the soft spot he was so familiar with. He’s obsessed, drinking in the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, your hands gripping at his shoulders like your life depended on it. You were so wrapped up in your own pleasure, fucking yourself onto his fingers. Grinding up at him without a care in the world. 

“Look at you,” he laughs. “So needy.”

Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of you before he brings them to his lips. He hums, relishing the taste. He’d have to go down on you again later tonight. Taste you after his cock has had its fill.

You watch him in anticipation as he takes his pants off. You follow his lead as you unhook your bra, throwing it across his floor, sighing at the feeling of cool air hitting your nipples. Sunghoon pulls his throbbing member out of his briefs, pumping himself languidly. 

Sunghoon's eyes meet yours for a second before they go back to your cunt. He's churning something in his mouth, and you almost ask him what he was doing until he positions his mouth just above your folds. 

With sultry eyes directly gazing up at yours, Sunghoon lets his saliva drip down onto your pussy. 

You throw your head back on the pillow from the sight. Fuck, that was hot. He moves back up to you, guiding his hand to spread his spit with the tip of his leaking cock.

His dick smears your joined liquid in an up-and-down motion, pushing in ever-so-slightly. You gasp and clutch his chest, nails digging in enough to get his attention. He stops.

“I’m not on birth control,” you mutter, like you’re scared to tell him. 

“Should I stop?” he asks, even with his tip pulsing so desperately between your folds. You avoid eye contact, though he doesn’t know why. 

“Look at me.” he growls.

Sunghoon tilts your chin to face him, and with glossy eyes, you shake your head. He smiles, and a tinge of sadness hits him. You look so soft underneath him, so fucking beautiful.

He’s spent three years stuck in this version of his life, crying over you to avoid this very moment. But he just wanted you so bad. Wanted to feel you at least once again. Then, he’ll let go, he swears. This will be the first and last.

“Use your w-” 

You interrupt him with a kiss, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper into you. He groans, collapsing onto his elbows. You dig your heels into his back as you pull him in deeper. Sunghoon's lips leave you to lay his forehead against yours. His breathing grows heavy, so lost in how your hole sucks him in.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, testing the waters with a small thrust after bottoming out. You squeak in response. “Fuck, baby.”

He wraps you in a tight hold, propping his knees underneath your thighs into a mating press. He fucks into you at an agonizing pace. It's so slow, you could feel every part of his rigid cock. His large size. His thick veins. The soft pulsing. It's so slow that you almost flip him over to ride him instead. But the desperation in his eyes stops you. His head buries deep in your hair, and you could hear the shakiness of his breath as he pulls out of you and plunges back in.

Sunghoon relishes the way you clench around him, your tight warmth pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He drives himself into you with languid, but strong thrusts. He wants to engrave his place inside you so that you are ruined for anyone who might come after him. And again, he angers himself.

"You only this good for me?" he asks, searching your eyes for reassurance. But you aren't listening. You meet his thrusts, grinding yourself onto him. You want more. More of his touch. More of his length. Just more of him.

“Faster–” you whine, thighs pushing into his sides with each hard thrust. He was reaching the deepest part of you, your cervix kissing his tip ever so deliciously. Sunghoon doesn’t abide, so you take what he gives you.

"You this desperate for everyone, baby?" he whispers into your ear darkly. You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes.

"No..." you muster out. "Just you."

And even through all the tequila and the self-restraint not to jackhammer into you, he believes you. 

His hands are on your tits now, catching them as they bounce with the strength of his slow thrusts. He twists a nipple between his fingers, coaxing a moan out of you. He tugs and pulls, and it's enough to have you moaning underneath him.

You feel that familiar fire build inside of you. An ember that burned in your lower stomach and traveled down to the very tip of your toes. 

“Hoon! Please- Fuck- I need... I need-” 

You couldn’t form full sentences. His thrusts were so harsh and still so painstakingly slow. His eyes never left your face. He basked in the way your brows furrowed for him. How your lips formed silent screams as he hit that certain spot within you. Again and again.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips so close to yours. “Tell me who you need.”

“You!” you cry out. "Only you!"

He smashes his lips against yours as he finally thrusts into you hard and fast. His hands on your breast travel down to your waist, locking you onto the mattress as he fuck into you.

You feel something pooling, feel the tingling of your toes intensify with his breath against your face. His moans are just as loud as yours, grunting in your hair like a beast.

“You feel so fucking good–” his hips piston forward, brushing against that spot with every movement. Your chest is pressed into his as you claw at his back. The sensation builds and builds as your stomach starts to tighten.

“Hoon- Oh my god- I’m-Angh!”

Your second orgasm rips through you, the tension within snapping like a chord. It's so much stronger than your first one. It hits you in waves as you weep through it, your hips grinding up to meet his unending thrusts. You were so sore, so sensitive, but his pace stayed so relentless. 

“Close– So fucking close, baby–” he moans into your hair.

He clutches your hips, driving into you with reckless abandon. Even if you had no idea who he was, he would have your body remember him. Sunghoon, in this life, would be your best one-night stand. He swears on it.

He grunts as he feels you clench around him harder, his hips stuttering against yours.

“I’m gonna–” He tries to pull out, tries to push you away. Tries not to repeat the same mistakes. But your arms pull him downward as legs wrap sternly around his waist. You push him in deeper.

And he comes. Hard. 

“Fuck-”

Sunghoon plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips, drowning out his sweet noises as he feels his raw cock twitch deep inside. His hot cum spills deep inside you with thick spurts. Your lips parted at the warm feeling, and he could tell you enjoyed every bit of milking him dry. 

Sunghoon pulls away from you with a soft groan. He watches as his cum spills out of you. He brings his finger to your folds, pushing his fluids into you. 

As he meets your eyes, he’s shocked to see how concerned you look. Because unbeknownst to him, there were tears streaking down his face. And before he can fully sober up and stop himself, he says it.

"I love you."

You’re gone before he wakes up.

Sunghoon screams into his pillow, recalling his words like a bad nightmare. Stupid. So stupid. This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be different.

That stranger, whoever he was, said this was his last chance. And what did he do? He threw away three years of silent pining just to chase you down on the very night the troubles in your relationship had begun.

Was he a fucking idiot? 

You never even said goodbye, never even replied to his confession last night. Didn’t even leave a trace of what last night meant to you—if it meant anything at all. He must’ve looked insane.

Sunghoon grips the back of his neck, exhaling hard. You don’t know him. You aren’t the same girl from his past life. You're different now. Three years. That’s how long you’ve had to become someone else.

And him? He hasn’t changed at all. He’s still chasing ghosts. If it wasn't figure skating in his past life, it would be you in this one.

He sighs and sits up. Practice. He should go to practice.

two months later.

“Are you messing around, kid, or do you actually want to win this thing?!” Coach Jung shouts after Sunghoon falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. His palms sting from the fall, but he barely feels it. 

The World Championships are in a week, and he hasn’t heard a single peep from you since you left his apartment. Hasn’t seen you on campus in his usual routes to watch you from afar. He knew he had reached a new level of patheticness when he actually went up to Beomgyu to ask how you were.

Turns out, you two weren't even as close as he thought you were. He smiled to himself after that, but frowned when he realized that it truly was as if you had disappeared.

“Sorry,” he huffs, out of breath from the demanding routine. “One more time?”

Coach Jung pinches the bridge of his nose. “How about ten more, you punk? Get your act together.”

Coach mutters something under his breath and storms off, leaving Sunghoon alone with the cold silence of the rink. He tries again. Falls again. He smacks his gloved hand against the ice, hard enough that the sharp sting shoots up his arm. He should’ve known. The moment he got a taste of you, he knew this would happen. 

No matter when or how, he would always bother you. He would always lose himself. He would always manage to ruin everything.

“Are you living the life you wanted, Park Sunghoon?” a voice echoes behind him. He spins on his skates. 

There he is again. The blonde prick. Somehow, he’s in his sneakers and standing still on the ice. His hands are smug in his coat pockets.

Sunghoon doesn’t take the time to question it until he’s skating at breakneck speed towards him.

He swings at him, but the stranger disappears into smoke. 

“Or do you still have regrets?” the voice is behind him again. Sunghoon turns around to the stranger, giving him that annoying, shiteating grin. 

“I want out,” Sunghoon says with a strained jaw. “Bring me back. To Sunghee. To Sungjae. To her. Now.”

The blonde laughs. “You haven’t even done what you set out to do yet. Wasn't this what you wanted?”

Sunghoon lets out a bitter sigh, chest tight.

“I get it, okay?" he says with wavering breaths. "I was selfish. I asked for too much. I get it now. So just... please. Please, send me back.”

The boy steps forward. His sneakers make no sound on the ice. Inches away from Sunghoon now, just a little taller than him. 

“You don’t always get what you want in life,” the stranger says with that sick, twisted grin. It sends a rush of dread through Sunghoon's body.

“I thought you would have learned that by now.”

the world championships.

He’s in the locker room. His left leg is bouncing up and down, nail splitting as he gnaws at it incessantly. Only ten contestants ahead of him, but he has the time to panic. Just like he did before.

Coach Jung pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, unlocking his phone to check the time. The lockscreen, snow falling past a dark streetlight, holds his gaze longer than it should. He sighs.

“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replies, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”

Coach Jung rolls his eyes.

“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubts the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”

And when Coach Jung shuts the door behind him, Sunghoon puts his hands to his face. And instead of self-affirmations, he is trembling. Barely breathing, he replays the memory again. Of him spinning you in his arms. Of your kind smile.

Sunghoon told himself not to expect you. In this lifetime, you'd only met once. Only fucked once. But he still thought... maybe the universe would be kind. Maybe you’d show up like you did back then.

“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blares into the locker room. That's him. He's one of the last five. 

There’s no one to hold him back this time. No distractions. Just an aching in his chest. 

Sunghoon's by the stands now. He watches with shaky hands as the crowd ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ at his competitors’ routines. He hates watching before his turn. 

His eyes naturally fall on a seat in the stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to check if he was hallucinating. 

Someone sits there. Not a stranger. Not this time. It's you. Your brows furrowed like you were forcing yourself not to enjoy his competitor’s performance. Wearing the same outfit. He huffs a laugh under his breath. What are you doing here?

As the routines passed one by one, he could not take his eyes off you. Even from afar, your eyes glisten so beautifully. The same eyes that once glowed, helping the kids with homework. The same eyes that looked at him across the table after long days and short tempers. His wife. The mother of his children. The version of life he gave up for this one.

Now, he would have to settle for this. Longing stares and a heartbeat he could hear in his ears.

“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!”

He steps onto the ice with a big smile on his face. He forces it out, forces himself to act fine when you cheer at the sound of his name. He takes his pose at the center of the ice.

The music begins. His edges wobble, nerves bleeding into the blade. He practiced day and night, no distractions. Not even you. So why… Why was this happening? 

He takes in a deep breath as he prepares himself for the first spin. He’s skating backwards, building up momentum. He pushes off the ice. Toe pick hits.

Sunghoon rose high. He spots himself. One. Two. Three. Almost four– but his shoulders tilt, the axis too loose. The rotation slows. A half-second of weightlessness gives way to gravity, and he’s tumbling onto the ice hard. 

Gasps echo through the arena, and then applause as he brushes himself back up and onto his skates again.

He gets up. He keeps going. Muscle memory takes over. The rest of the routine is clean. Almost perfect, but not enough. 

The first quad... He fucked it up. He bows, head down, as if apologizing for even trying.

And when the score is announced while he's sitting on the sidelines, his body is limp. He barely reacts, face blank with emotion.

He could blame you for it. Pretend you were the reason why his routine didn't score high. But the truth is, he stopped believing in excuses a long time ago.

Years of hating himself led here. All this time, resenting the path he took, only to fuck this one up, too. 

Sunghoon had to laugh. He deserves it. Of course he did. The low score. You leaving him. The heartache. 

Everything he thought he was capable of, everything he pushed aside to have this moment. None of it mattered without you. 

As he rises from his seat on the floor, he searches for you in the endless crowd of faces. The other competitors pass by him with pity; he sees it in everyone’s faces. But they don't matter. 

Because you're gone. Your seat is empty. 

"Kid-" 

He pushes past Coach Jung without looking back. There's nothing left to say.

Sunghoon pulls his skates off skillfully, breaking into a sprint towards the exit. He runs with only socks separating him from the floor. 

Then he sees you, clutching your stomach and moving toward the exit. His breath catches. Somehow, he knows. He's seen it all play out before.

“[Y/N], wait!”

You stop in your tracks, hands trembling. You turn around, and he is already clutching your face, kissing you so deeply. You would have every right to push him away, to call him a creep and spit every insult at him. But you don’t, and he doesn’t understand why.

Instead, you lean into his touch, fingers fisting the thin fabric of his blouse. He’s the first to pull away, forehead resting against yours.

“Why are you here?” he asks. It’s not the only question he has, but it’s the first that comes out. You’re crying now, eyes wide, mouth parted. But why?

“I was just…” You try, but you fail to find the right words. “I just came to support you?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. He doesn't buy it. Not for a second. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let things linger.

“You came to tell me something,” he says knowingly, replaying the scene of the past in his head as it happens right in front of him. He smiles sadly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “What is it?”

You flinch.

“I can’t,” you whisper, the first barrage of tears falling down your face. “It'll ruin you.”

He laughs then. Quiet. Tired. Even in this life, you were so selfless. He doesn’t deserve you. Never did.

“You always say that. Even now.”

He takes your hands into his.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks, taking the words right out of your lips. Your mouth opens in shock.

“How did you-?”

“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon interrupts softly. He was smiling now. Sunghee was here. She was growing inside you. “Together.”

For a moment, something shifts. You search his face like you’re looking for confirmation. And just like that, you pull away. What? It stings. 

This didn't happen before. Why were you-

“You went back," you say. "Didn’t you?” Your voice sounds foreign now, laced with hurt. It’s his turn to look confused. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, hands reaching for yours again. You avoid them, and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“You… You went back in time like I did, right?” Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “That’s how you knew.”

He freezes.

It clicks. Like cold water hitting his skin. He remembers the first time he saw you in this life. How carefully he avoided you. How he left the penguin plushie behind, just like before. How badly you’d looked at him after that. It all makes sense now.

“I didn’t want to avoid you,” he musters. “I had every intention of finding you again. I passed by that damn cafe every day just to see you-”

You shake your head, but he keeps going, vomiting out word after word.

“I even tried to talk to you, but you looked so happy. All I could think about was the last time we spoke. How you said you regretted us. Watching you with Beomgyu, or whatever his name is-"

“Sunghoon-” 

“I was fucking miserable-” His voice cracks.

“Sunghoon-” You’ve never heard him talk this much. Never seen him look so broken.

“And I couldn’t even fight the guy who dragged me into this mess. I was stuck. Thinking about you. About us. About Sunghee. Sungjae. God, I missed you all so fucking much it hurt to breathe—”

“Sunghoon, please—”

“And I should’ve just caught that stupid penguin. I should've just relived our memories together. I should’ve been a better man, a better husband, a better father. But I just keep fucking it up. Every single time, even now-”

“Hoon!” you shout, grabbing his face with your hands. His words die off. He finally breathes. You don’t look angry, not at him at least.

“I know,” you say quietly. “Because I didn’t put my number on the penguin.”

His mouth parts slightly. "Wha-"

"I thought I was the one who messed it all up," you confess. “When you didn’t pick up the plush, I thought it was because of me. Because I tried to change things.” 

You swallow back your tears as he listens to you intently, your hands sliding to his chest.

“I thought you’d be better off without me, too.”

You let out a bitter laugh.

“I tried to fill the space,” you continue. “Tried to pick up things I couldn't before. But all I think about was Sunghee and Sungjae."

Your eyes waver, lips pressed together tightly.

"And you," you breathe out. "I saw you skating, training so hard, and you looked happy. I couldn’t bring myself to take it away from you again.”

You pause, lips trembling.

“So I made a plan. I thought—if I could just get Sunghee back, maybe one day I’d find you again for Sungjae.”

You both let out a shaky laugh.

"So then I went to the bar," you sigh. "I wore that red dress and I just hoped you would find your way to me again-”

“Of course I would,” Sunghoon interrupts, kissing your temple. “I always do.”

“And it worked.” You look at the ground like you're ashamed. “The test was positive. I wasn’t planning on telling you.”

Sunghoon takes your hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes assure you.

“And then you fell during your routine,” you whisper, a sad laugh slipping out. "I thought… I avoided you all this time for nothing.”

He laughs too. “I wasn’t even going to win anyway.”

Sunghoon pulls you back into a hug, stroking your hair ever-so-softly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For making you ever feel like I regretted choosing you.”

And you didn’t know you needed to hear those exact words until you sob into his chest.

Sunghoon soothes you. He’s had enough crying. All he is now is grateful. The pain, the mourning. It all led him here. 

“This time we’ll do it right,” he assures you. “I love you. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

You pull away from him, eyes wet but smiling.

“I love you too.”

And you tilt your head as he reaches down to kiss you. With your eyes both closed, the world around you spins. Just you and him. In each other’s arms. His lips are soft against yours.

And a voice unfamiliar to both of you echoes in the air.

“I hope you can live a life without regrets.”

Sunghoon’s eyes open groggily, pain shooting through his spine almost immediately. All he sees are sterile hospital walls and Jay and Sunoo’s concerned faces.

They hover over the foot of his bed, their faces a mix of worry and irritation.

He blinks, scanning the room. Wires. A blood pressure cuff. An IV drip. Another bed. Then your eyes flutter open too.

“You know, with how the divorce is going, we thought you two crashed into each other on purpose,” Sunoo chirps, unempathetic to the dazed state of his friends. Jay smacks him on the shoulder.

“You’re lucky I managed to get you both a private room,” Jay mutters. “The nurses kept whispering about you two in the ICU.”

Sunghoon turns his head slowly, wincing. You’re awake now, alert, your expression matching his. His chest tightens. And almost in a panicked daze, his head snaps back to his friends.

“Sunghee and Sungjae–” he strains out, pain shooting through his lungs. “Where are they?”

Jay furrows his brows.

“They weren’t in the car with [Y/N], if that’s what you’re worried about,” he starts. “They’re looking for a vending machine with Heeseung and Jungwon-”

You both let out a shaky breath. For a second, relief replaces pain. Your eyes meet his for just a second before the door bursts open.

“Mom! Dad!” Sunghee's voice cries out. She’s running towards you two now, but Heeseung stops them.

“Whoa there, princess. They’re fragile.”

Her eyes are red, as if she had just finished crying. Sungjae's behind Heeseung, tugging at his jacket, worry etched across his little face.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” Sunghee blurts in your direction. Sunghoon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. “They don’t have it on camera, but they said your car hit Daddy’s!”

He feels something warm bloom in his chest. It’s been a while since Sunghee sounded so protective of him.

You shake your head frantically. “No, darling. My brakes stopped working! I could never hurt your dad. He and I love each other very much-”

You stop yourself, but it's too late—cheeks already warming at the shifting gazes of the four grown men in the room. Jungwon fakes a cough.

“Love? As in, present tense?” he teases.

Sunghoon has the biggest grin on his face, and Sunoo scoffs as his eyes pivot between the two of you.

“Did you both hit your head in the accident?”

Heeseung clears his throat. “So, why don’t we take the kiddos to dinner, hm? Looks like Mom and Dad have some catching up to do.”

Sungjae nods excitedly. “Please! They're so icky.”

The adults usher the kids out, and Jay gives one last wink to the two of you before the doors close. The room falls quiet except for the not-so-steady beeping of the monitors. Sunghoon is the first to speak.

“So... when do you want me to pick up the papers again?” 

You laugh softly. 

“Oh! I guess if you want to go through with it…”

“No!” Sunghoon shouts, eyes huge. 'He’s so cute when he doesn’t mean to be,' you think to yourself.

You tilt your head, smiling. “Then don’t even think about getting them.” 

Your bed is near enough for you to inch your hand towards his forearm. Your touch is featherlight against his skin. It takes all of his strength to intertwine your fingers with his.

“So what does this mean for us?” you say through bated breath. He ponders for a second.

“It means… maybe I can build you an art studio in our garage?” he says cautiously. “And maybe I quit my job? Become a figure skating coach? How does that sound?” 

You let out a stronger laugh this time, one that aches in your ribs but still feels good. And in this version of you, older and wiser. He still thinks you’re so beautiful.

“I don’t resent you,” he whispers. And your heart skips a beat, in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. You smile at him. And finally, you find the courage to say it in this life too.

“I love you.”

He brings your fingers to his lips and plants gentle kisses on your knuckles.

In every lifetime, Sunghoon knows. He could be standing on the Olympic stage, the roar of thousands echoing in his ears. He could have everything he ever thought he wanted. But none of it would matter. Not if you weren’t there.

“I love you too," he replies, quietly.

And in every lifetime, he will always find his way back to you. And he will choose you. Over and over again.

epilogue.

Sungjae is on the garage floor, legs crisscrossed as he watches something on his iPad. Sunghoon is installing shelves for your future artist corner while Sungjae's video is strangely on mute.

“What you watching, son?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the tight pull in his lower back.

Sungjae doesn’t look up. “Your skating videos.”

Sunghoon nearly drops the shelf on his eye. “W-what?”

Sungjae shrugs. 

“Looks interesting,” he mutters. “Wish I could fly like that.”

Sunghoon sets the shelf down carefully, then crosses the room to crouch beside Sungjaee. On the screen, a much younger version of himself soars across the ice. He remembers that routine. His first national win.

“Didn't think you'd be into it,” he ruffles his son’s hair.

Sungjae shrugs again, but pink tinges his cheeks.

“You never asked.”

The words hit him. He never really did. Not even with Sunghee.

“Do you want to try?” Sunghoon asks slowly. “Figure skating?”

Sungjae finally looks up, eyes wide. “Can I?”

Sunghoon feels tears well up in his eyes, and he coughs them away. What was up with him and crying these days?

“Of course, son,” he says, pulling him into a gentle side hug. “You'll be my first student.”

fin.