open request

You didn’t choose to live like this, didn’t choose to lead the melancholic and mundane life where you were all alone with nobody to lean on or trust to catch you if you fell - which was always and never.

But there you were, looking wistfully outside and taking in the scenario as the train you sat on rumbled on. It served to prove your point; you were also alone in the private cabin your work company had provided for you when they decided at the last minute to send you to another city that was literally situated on the opposite side of the country.

It wasn’t a difficult decision for you, after all, you really did want to advance in your career, but the sting of being alone just always caught on to you. Your co-workers were all pleasant and amicable, but they all had lives to lead. As for you, you were there to work, not to mingle. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t afford to wallow too much in your pity. You knew to yourself that this was a you problem. 

The train rolled to a stop and you got down with just a light luggage. People began to disembark with you, and one by one, they disappeared into the arms of their loved ones, voices rising with giggles and promises of catching up with one another. It was a painful reminder of what you did not have.

You smiled morosely. Indeed, you were no stranger to being alone, but that never meant that you liked being alone.

You were only human, after all. You craved the companionship, the intimacy, the late summer nights by the campfire roasting marshmallows in an open fire with someone, the drunken adventures that led to trouble and something to laugh out with friends, and the days where all you needed was a comforting presence.

You had to look away. You had to cut off that sinking, ugly feeling rising up in your chest called longing. You could not want what you could not have. This would be a hellish three months for you. 

The house you’d be staying at was a lot bigger than you thought, and a lot more luxurious even on the outside. It checks out, you thought. You did work at the biggest and most-well known fashion industry company as a director, after all.

You didn’t bother to explore, you had time for that, but you could tell that the interior was already suited to your tastes. It was bigger than you’d like. You didn’t mind it at all. All in all, the stay wasn’t going to be too bad. However, you have to start working as soon as possible. Even though you hated it and wanted to avoid it as long as you possibly could.

You loved your job, you really did. Being a director meant you had certain privileges that only you could exercise, but sometimes, you felt used.

Subject: Runway Project Help I hope this email finds you well, Y/N. The initial report is to be finalized by the end of the week. The resources you will utilize have all been provided for your leisure.

A humourless laugh heaves upon your chest at the callousness in which that email had sounded. Straight to the point, not even an attempt to ask if you had safe travel. 

You were aware that it wasn’t personal. You were one of the people that worked for something bigger; the one that made the rich even richer. Still, the lack of encouragement, follow-ups, questions about your well-being stung more than you’d like to admit.

It was just business. Just numbers on a report, a deadline to meet. You reached for your mouse, clicked the ‘reply’ button, and typed a simple acknowledgment. Subject: Re: Runway Project Help I will have it at your disposal within the desired time.

Before you could shut your laptop close, another email pops up from the other side of your screen. Begrudgingly, you clicked it, and the moment you do, regret fills your chest.

You shouldn’t have read it. You had totally forgotten that there was a company dinner to welcome the other employees who have travelled from other branches to help out the newly opened branch, such as yourself.

Disgruntled, you forced yourself to put on a decent outfit, not even bothering to accessorize that much, and you hailed a cab to the venue. The drive was only ten minutes away, but it felt like a lifetime of overthinking on your end. You didn’t even bother researching beforehand where you were heading, the intention was to come, mingle, and go.

It turned out to be a hotel, a fancy one fitting of your company’s reputation. You already felt sick as you began to walk to the front desk area. From where you were, you could already see a variety of people huddling to socialize, and you knew then and there that this would be a bore. You felt like you were going to get sick. You didn’t belong here.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Your attention was caught by a deep and gruff voice from behind you. He was tall, effortlessly stylish, with a crisp black jacket that hugged his frame just right . His dark hair was immaculately styled, and his posture was confident. "Mingi?" You asked in surprise that you had actually seen him. “Song Mingi?”

His eyes lit up with remembrance, his lips spreading into a friendly smile. "The one and only." 

You whispered a small thanks to the receptionist before following Mingi into one of the function halls. “Looks great, Director Song,” you complimented as you looked around. “Well done with the theme…”

Mingi was one of the interns sent to your branch for training a couple of years back. He was a fresh-faced kid back then, not knowing how brutal the fashion world was, but you could tell he was passionate about it, unlike his superiors who were in it for the cash.

Before Mingi could reply, a group of people started to make their way towards you. A suppressed groan sounds from the back of your throat, drowned out by the chatter. You knew these people, in fact, you knew virtually everybody in attendance today, and you weren’t interested in what they had to say.

“Oh my, Director L/N sure is a gem in the industry,” one of the people perked up, making the people around you nod in agreement.

“I suppose so, yes,,” you let out, jaw locked with tension. You might be a loner, but you weren’t oblivious to hypocrites when you encountered them.

Either these people were plain stupid, or they’re just ignoring the fact that you were clearly uninterested and disengaged. Thankfully, the speakers overhead blare up, instructing everyone to take their seats to get started. 

It was the most boring and uncomfortable time of your life, and that was saying a lot. You ran your fingers over the edge of your complimentary champagne flute, watching the alcohol slosh around inside. It looked like sweet nectar, but it tasted like disappointment.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You could slip away quietly, slip into the night like a shadow. No one would care. “Excuse me,” you placed your hand on Mingi’s arm to get his attention, your voice firm despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. He looked at you worried, but nodded anyway.

Without waiting for a response, you got up and  turned, heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. You could see people watching and eyeing your every move, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stand the environment you were in.

As you reached the door and stepped out, you allowed yourself a small, triumphant smile. You didn’t know where to go from here, but at least you were out of there.

With a sigh, you began to walk aimlessly to nowhere in particular. Come to think of it, you didn’t mind exploring the hotel. Despite your initial inhibitions, you actually did think that the venue was really pretty. 

And it was that aimless walking that led you to trouble. Just as you were about to make a sharp left turn to the lobby, a sudden collision jolted you out of your thoughts. You hastily tried to maintain your balance as you accidentally bumped into someone. “I’m sor—”

“Watch where you’re going,” the man you stumbled on hissed, his face twisted in annoyance as he also tried to gain his balance back.

You were taken aback at the vehemence in his voice. It was as if you had dangled this man’s puppy by its foot and shot it point blank in front of him. You didn’t know what to do, so you tried to apologize once more.

“I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean to bump into you,” you spoke up, trying to sound as sincere as possible to appease him. “It was purely accidental on my end, I understand that’s bothersome.”

He harrumphed obnoxiously, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you up and down in contempt as he tried to collect himself. It was so uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of whatever this was. “Typical,” he scoffed. “The types of you always seem to be too busy to look where you’re going most of the time.”

What the hell did that even mean? You blinked owlishly, temporarily rendered speechless at whatever you just heard. “E-Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” his voice dripped with disdain before it dropped into a quiet grumble. “Jesus, do rich people get away with shit like this on an everyday basis? Unbelievable…”

You froze. Rich people? Is that what this was about? Still, that didn’t make any lick of sense. You understood where he was coming from - even though you picked your most minimal outfit, it was painfully obvious that you were decked out in clothes that the regular consumer couldn’t buy on an everyday basis.  But that stung, though, because you designed these, yourself. 

“I-I'm really sorry. It was an accident,” you reiterated, trying to keep your voice steady, but this man just wouldn’t give you a break.

“Sure, it was,” he said sarcastically. "Maybe if you spent less time with your head in the clouds and more time assessing the people around you, you'd be less of a problem."

You were, once again, taken aback by the hostility. Your pulse quickened, you hadn’t done anything wrong. Nothing. You had simply wanted to leave that suffocating event. But, despite this guy’s clear distaste for the wealthy, you were inclined to agree. You had enough clientele in your career to attest and support his claims, but still.

“I don’t think the punishment is befitting of the crime,” you frowned, an unspoken connotation that referred to how mean he was being to you and you didn’t appreciate it. 

He scoffed again, though this time it was more of a weak exhale and it held less weight in it. He shifted his feet to start walking forward, but he paused, his face holding a small grimace, clearly not meaning for you to see that.

It hit you then and there. The exhaustion in his eyes was undeniable, as though every word he said drained him more than he cared to admit. His body was swaying unnaturally as he stood in front of you, and you bumping into him must have exacerbated whatever he was already going through.

He wasn’t just angry at you; he was angry at everything. Maybe it wasn’t about you at all. Maybe it was just about his own tiredness, his own frustration with the world around him. Against your better judgment, you opened your mouth. “You look tired,” you said  gently. “It’s been a long night, hasn’t it?”

His expression faltered in surprise, only for a second, before he quickly masked it with a scowl. “That’s none of your business,” he muttered, but the anger in his voice was quieter now.

You didn’t reply. There was no need for further words; you understood to a certain extent what he was feeling and he knew that you weren’t going to relent.

You mustered up a small nod, a finality, as you turned around to leave, but not before glancing back at the man once more. “Good night, I hope you feel better.”

You didn’t look back to see if he was going to say something nor did you stay to hear if he was. As you walked away, you couldn’t help but take in his features, imagine them without the scowl that overtook his face.

Being in fashion allowed you to see physical features in depth. He was young, looked about to be your age. His features were a delicate harmony of sharp angles and soft curves, his eyes, dark and intense, were very reminiscent of an angry fox. You reckoned that his fox-eyes would look marvelous had he been smiling.

You shook your head, continuing to walk towards the direction you intended to in the first place. You had no idea where it led, but you didn’t really care anymore. You just needed to walk that experience off.

But that was before you realized that it was restaurant, a nice looking one. As if on cue, your stomach started rumbling. The function provided dinner, but there was no way you were going back in there.

It was nicer on the inside than the outside. However, you were a bit surprised to find the entire place empty, the tables all wiped clean with the corresponding velvet seats tucked in, save for one, lone waiter who was on their way to approach you.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he began to apologize profusely, bowing slightly to emphasize his point.  “We had just closed the daily restaurant to get ready for our overnight bar.”

“Oh,” you faltered, resisting the urge to deflate on the spot at the information.

The disappointment must have been apparent on your face. The waiter perked up to get your attention, clearing his throat. “Would you like to get a table or sit by the bar to wait for the opening? I reckon we’d be able to do so in less than thirty minutes.”

“A-Are you sure?”

He gives you a shrug in response. “It’s just me for now, anyway.”

The next thing you knew, he was beckoning you over with a small wave of his hand. You chose to sit by the furthest corner of the bar, thanking him with a small whisper that carried the biggest gratitude you could offer for tonight.

You were getting a bit dizzy, when was the last time you ate? It didn’t matter now, a drink or two - or maybe, ten - was what you currently needed.

As if on cue, the distinct clinking of glass sounds from your ear and the familiar slide of it nears your direction. It was a strawberry fizz, you reckoned, the mixture of said fruit and vodka with a hint of tang in it wafting up your nose.

You frowned, looking up at the bartender in palpable confusion. “It’s not much, it was the only thing I could make given my time constraint,” says the waiter, who was apparently also a bartender,  who shrugged in nonchalance.

“Uhm, thank you. I would have been fine waiting, me sitting here was enough of a bother for you,” you softly replied. You took the cocktail, sipped on it, your face lifting up in a pleasant surprise. “It’s good, but why?”

“You looked like you needed it,” he said. His voice was calm, like the sound of rain against a window. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

Maybe you really did look that downtrodden. Shame started creeping up your cheeks, the fact that you were obvious even to someone who you haven’t even been around for more than five minutes was very telling on your end.

He leaned forward, elbows on the counter, and tilted his head toward the stairs. “The rooftop’s empty tonight,” he said casually. “Good place to clear your head.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t say anything else. Just wiped down the counter like he hadn’t just handed you an escape. It was a no-brainer -  the open air, the city stretching out beneath, the weight of your thoughts carried away by the wind. Without a word, you stood, drink in hand, and made your way to the stairs.

Indeed, the rooftop was remarkable, by far the most breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen in a while. The stars were twinkling bright tonight, and you were one of the only specks in the world that have been blessed to stare at their beauty all night long. Though, you had a feeling that people aren’t to stare at the stars.

You liked it much better up here. Not a single person to be seen, noise drowned out by sheer distance. This is what you wanted. Distance. To be away. To be gone. And then, before you could stop it, your chest tightened. Tears brimmed your eyes, blurring the beautiful glitter of the stars above the skyline. You covered your mouth to quiet your sobs, but the rooftop was empty and there was nobody to hear your distress.

You felt pathetic. It was everything bottled up inside you - the lonely train ride, the empty house you’d be residing at for three straight months, your stuck-up supervisor who sent you to this God-awful place knowing that nothing and nobody was going to hold you back, and the people you left at the function being happy while you were by the rooftop railing bawling  your eyes out.

It was everything. You didn’t know how long you were there for, the cocktail long forgotten on a random table somewhere while you leaned towards the railing, just taking in the wind while more tears flowed from your eyes. 

You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the metal. As you did, you realized that there was an extra step you could take to get closer to the edge. And so you did. It was a risky position, but everything looked much different up where you were. Your tears lose themselves to the breeze. The city sprawled beneath you, indifferent, endless. This was a distraction, nothing more.

“Hello?”

The thought wasn’t even dramatic, nor was it frightening for you. It was just there. And for a moment, the weight inside you lessened.

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t you know that’s fucking dangerous?”

Maybe you could run away. You had enough money to literally start over anywhere you wanted. You could take an extended vacation, and even if you never worked again, you’d have a good chunk of money still left. The thought of it made more tears in your eyes.

“Hey!”

You were startled out of your thoughts by the sudden voice that cracked through the air. Your hand darted out, gripping the edge of the rooftop to steady yourself. “What,” you flatly said, not bothering to turn around, mostly because you still felt slightly disconnected from reality.

“I think you should step away from the railing,” they said. 

You hummed, annoyed. That voice sounded awfully familiar. “I think you should stop telling me what to do,” you replied sarcastically.

There wasn’t a reply for a second, only the shuffling of shoes and the creak of a closing door. “I just think it’s a very risky position you’re in,” he clicked his tongue. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah,” you let out a shaky breath, almost laughing, though it came out more like a sigh. “What, can’t a girl admire the view without being criticized now?”

“Cut the crap. You didn’t come here for the view.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You obviously came from that godforsaken party in the hall down the lobby. Why aren’t you down there having the time of your life?”

Your death grip loosens from the railing. You turned sharply, breath uneven, ready to mouth off to whoever was behind you, and you were faced with the last person you ever expected to see in a setting like this.

It was the attractive, fox-eyed man you had bumped into earlier. His face was calm, devoid of any panic at seeing you so close to the edge of the rooftop. He didn’t lunge toward you, didn’t bark orders or plead. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression. It was such a contrast from his scowl when you encountered him.

“That’s none of your business,” you gritted your teeth angrily, more tears starting to form in your eyes, looking up to stop them from falling. “I don’t need to hear how snooty my kind of people are from you. Earlier was enough.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t push. Just stayed. “So, what are you doing here, then?”

“Does it really even matter why?” You snapped, your pulse slamming against your ribs, anger flaring before you could stop it. “I don’t want to be there.”

He shrugged, his observing eyes not leaving yours. “Alright, that’s fair.”

You wanted to scoff, but all you did was avoid eye contact, looking back to your sides to hopefully catch anything but his eyes. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask for more?”

He exhaled, the sound barely audible over the wind. “No,” he said. “Not my place, though I can’t say I’m not curious.”

You raised your brows ever so slightly. You obviously didn’t know this man, but based on the minute encounter you’ve had with him, this seems to be on par with his personality. There were no lectures, no false concern, no sweet nothings to convince you otherwise.

He shifts his foot, his hand slipping in his pocket to retrieve what seemed to be a small packet of cigarette. “Listen, I don’t smoke, not at all,” he said casually. “But there’s a first time for everything. You either do it downstairs with me, or I could stay here with you until you’re done being dramatic.”

That should have made you mad, the way he said was so callous and indifferent, but instead, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle. You liked this, you decided. Slowly, you stepped off from the edge and chose to sit down on the concrete below it, instead, your back leaning against it, not caring if your dress got dirty.

Certainly not caring at how he would’ve been annoyed had you not listened and how his face softens a little bit, the most miniscule of emotions peeking through at the sight of your tired body and your teary eyes.

Without waiting for your response, he sits down next to you, plopping his ass so close to you that your knees touch each other. He waves the packet of cigarettes in front of you. “Here, take one. Hell, take them all. A friend gave them to me.”

You shook your head, pushing them back. “I stopped.”

“Wonderful,” he hummed. The next thing you knew, he threw the whole packet away, off of the rooftop, to never be seen forever. He only raised a brow at your flabbergasted face. “I wasn’t going to give you one, anyway. Just wanted you to get down.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t say anything. The both of you didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity, just the two of you there, each caught in your own thoughts. There was something in the air that kept you from feeling entirely alone.

“I don’t know what you were assuming, but I wasn’t going to jump,” you mumbled after realizing that that’s what it must’ve looked like from his perspective. “I genuinely just wanted to enjoy the view.”

His expression was still unreadable. “I know,” he raised a brow, side-eyeing you for good measure. “You don’t look like you have what it takes. No guts.”

You scoffed, not knowing if you wanted to be amused or be offended at his dig towards you. One thing was for sure, though - whatever he did, it was an effective way to get you out of your head without making you feel worse. You sniffled, embarrassingly so, before you decided to change the topic so as to not make it awkward for the both of you. “Are you here for a drink, too, or something?” 

“No,” he replied. “Yunho’s a great friend of mine. Said something about giving this sad girl a fruity ass drink and was worried that you were taking forever to come back downstairs.”

You scoffed, you didn’t even realize that you spent so long in here that the bartender had even noticed your extended absence. He stared at you, watching your expression, before he let out a small chuckle. “I guess you really did need that drink,” he expressed.

You narrowed your eyes, feeling annoyance creeping up your chest at his tone. “You think you’re funny? I’m fine.”

He titled his head towards you. “Your tears are telling me otherwise.”

Your jaw tightened, fingers twitching at your side. You hadn’t even realized you were still crying until he pointed it out, and somehow, that only made the frustration burn hotter in your chest. “Is this a thing of yours? Judging everything you see at first sight?”

Suddenly, he frowns. “Look, if this is about earlier, I do admit that the things I said were way out of line.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “What an inspiring apology.”

“I’m not apologizing,” his tone was blunt, almost irritated, like he didn’t want to be having this conversation in the first place. “Nothing personal.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Still,” he sighed, “It doesn’t feel right leaving someone up here looking like they might just let the wind take them.” You rolled your eyes at that. “And I’m not an ass. Not entirely, anyway.”

“I told you,” you let out a frustrated sound from the back of your throat. “I just really needed air. Been a shitty day for me, is all.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

You weren’t even surprised at the casualness of his voice anymore. He sounded almost careless, like he wasn’t used to talking to people like he was doing right now. Still, you were perplexed when he asked. “Personal crap, especially work, the usual suspects,” you shrugged, cryptic as possible. He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t used to talking about certain things. “So, do you work here?”

He peers at you. “Something like that. Occasionally, yeah. Usually, I do drink here but my mood was kinda ruined when someone bumped into me earlier.”

Well, two can play this game of being cryptic about work. You narrowed your eyes, but before you could respond, he cleared his throat. “Anyway, tell me what’s up with work, then. Might make you feel better to talk about them.”

You raised a brow, skeptical. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He stared at you dead in the eye. His fox-shaped eyes looked so intense that for a second, you faltered. “Try me,” he deadpanned.

You had nothing against this man, but you were still wary. He was a stranger, after all. “I did come from that party down the hall. I, uhm, it was just suffocating,“ you said carefully.

“Interesting. I thought those bullshit events are supposed to be fun and all. All the dickheads that come out of there always brag about them,” he murmured. You raised a brow in question. “There’s a huge ass banner above the hall,” he explained. “Not social, I suppose?”

You took a second to think. “No,” you admitted. “Not really.”

“Then why the hell are you even there, then?” He raised a brow sarcastically.

“Because that’s kind of my job? I don’t know how else to tell you,” you frowned, though you couldn’t argue back with that one since you do get his vision. You didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t that simple.

He begins to shake his head as if disbelieving the things that were coming out of your mouth. If you were a douchebag, to be crass, you would’ve socked his pretty face immediately. He was lucky that it was you he was encountering. Or maybe someone else has already done it. Fox-eyes to you was such an interesting character.

“That can’t be it,” he scoffed. “You’re telling me that you were crying because you can’t put your big girl pants on and suck it up?”

You blinked owlishly at his bluntness, but he wasn’t finished. “So fucking quit then,” he chuckled sarcastically. Then, he mumbles something under his breath, something you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear.

“I swear you rich people always have something to cry about.”

It was definitely a stark reminder of the things he had told you earlier when you bumped into him. You understood him, you really did, because things like those never come out of nowhere. You were positive that he probably experienced something that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You wouldn’t understand, then,” you shook your head.

Just then, he laughed. That caught you more off guard than anything he’s done so far tonight, if you were being frank. You have to admit, he had a very pretty laugh, sure it was a little bit pitchy and squeaky than you’d like, but for some reason, it did suit him.

“You’re right, I won’t, and to be completely frank with you, I don’t want to. I wish I had your problems because I know I won’t be such a pussy about it,” he sighed, long and hard. “But you’re the one moping right now, not me. I can’t stand people like you, but lay it on me, anyway.”

And he was very crass, too. Such a contrast from the overly respectful and polite environment you were used to. It was very refreshing, regardless of his mean and underhanded comments. One thing you absolutely detested was false positivity, and this man was able to provide you the opposite in less than thirty minutes of you knowing him. 

There was absolutely no sympathy in his tone, none at all, and in a way, you liked it that way. You didn’t need sympathy. It suddenly dawns on you why - it all came down on the supposed wealth he thought you had. You lived in luxury, and you got everything you wished for immediately, so to him, that must mean that you had no reasons to be down.

“My job sucks,” you muttered, half to yourself. “It’s just miserable. I’m required to be in the presence of people I don’t care about to make a profit with their money that I won’t even get to touch and impress some big kahuna I don’t even care about.”

He hummed, nodding his head to indicate that he was listening. “So, an existential crisis disguised as work complaints?”

You snorted. “I suppose so, yes.”

“How tragic,” he lets out a short, unimpressed breath, barely sparing you a glance. “Must be hard.”

You closed your eyes to contain yourself, just when you thought that maybe he was showing some sympathy, but you get it. You were one of the few lucky ones out there. You were willing to bet that you earned what he did in a full week within half the day.

So yes, in a way, you understood, and even though his hostility isn’t making you feel any better, you welcome it with open arms. You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “You sound like you hate your job, too.”

“Oh, a thousand-fucking-percent,” he didn’t hesitate to supply, spitting on the ground to make his point stronger. “I fucking hate it with every inch of my life. But it works.”

You wanted to ask what it was he did, but you held back. “So, you understand where I’m coming from, then?”

He gave you a look, something unreadable flickering behind his expression, but then he just shook his head. “No. We’re different. It’s not about whether I like it or not,  it’s about whether I can survive doing it. The same should apply to you.”

You frowned. “That’s a really depressing way to look at life.”

“Yeah, well,” he leaned his face closer to yours. You didn’t move an inch, mesmerized at how prettier his eyes were up close. “Tears can’t pay my bills. You’re probably getting paid right now as we speak.”

For the first time ever since you had this conversation, burning shame encapsulates your insides, a trailing fire in your pit that didn’t cease to be put out. He was right, and he knew it. He scoffed, leaning away. The silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy. Shared.

After a while, he spoke again, his tone quieter. “You quitting?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten to a point in my career where I wouldn’t know what to do if I did.”

“So, all of this was for naught then? Wasted tears?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He hummed like he understood. He didn’t question it, didn’t argue, didn’t say anything at all for a long moment. His face was unreadable, his posture relaxed, but his fingers tapped absently against his leg. He leaned his head back on the railing, closing his eyes.

“Find something,” he mumbled, eyes still shut.  His voice was so low that you didn’t even realize he was talking to you at first. “Then start figuring out how to get there.”

“If it were that easy,  I would have done it,” you sighed.

He sighed back. “I never said it was. We have only one life to live, but it doesn’t mean that we only have one life to lead. You’re in a position to be anything for yourself, one that won’t drain you mentally and emotionally. Heaven knows that some people don’t even have that option.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Like he wasn’t just talking about you. You stayed silent, internalizing what he said. Just who was this man you had encountered tonight?

He was right. You had witnessed it first hand. The amount of people you’ve known and lost who have experienced a burn out so bad that they had pretty much lost their minds over it and it never recovered. They were the reason you were still here; you didn’t want to be like them.

You watched him stand up, raising your head to look at his towering figure as he looked down on you. “You want another drink?” He asked softly.

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you nodded. He nodded back, turning toward the rooftop door. “Alright,” he said, as if that settled something. “Wipe your tears and freshen up. I’ll tell Yunho.”

And just like that, he had disappeared from your sight. It was as if nothing happened, like your encounter with him was a fever dream.

When you were sure that you looked at least presentable, like you didn’t just cry over your job in front of a total stranger who disliked you for your money, you made your way back downstairs, pleased to see that the bar had picked up and that the bartender earlier was busy with the patrons.

But the fox-eyed man was nowhere to be seen. Not on the bar stools, not on the tables that were spread out.

Your heart sank as you sat in the exact spot you were at before you went to the rooftop, waving your hand subtly at the bartender who immediately walked over you with a questioning look. Your mouth suddenly went dry, and then, you wanted to hit yourself. You didn’t even get fox-eyes’ name.

“He’s gone, sorry. He’s not really one to stay for long because of his job,” the bartender - Yunho - explained with an apologetic tone, reading the look on your face. “He did leave you this, though.”

Déjà vu settles over you from head to toe when Yunho hands you another drink, the very same drink. Only this time, he has a genuine smile on face as gave it to you. “He already paid for it, says his apologies for not staying,” he leaned over the table closer to you with a smirk. “So, how’d you know each other?”

“We don’t,” you supplied truthfully. “We bumped into each other tonight.”

“Ah,” he sounds out an acknowledgement. “I’m sorry you had the displeasure, then. He, uhm, can come off as very strong,agree  personality wise. As his friend, I hope he didn’t offend you.”

You think about the sound advice he left you before he disappeared and shook your head. “Don’t be, I do agree that he’s, uh, quite assertive, but he seems like a very insightful person.”

He raised a brow in amusement. “You sure about that? I remember wanting to throw him off the rooftop when I first met him.”

You nodded, laughing. “I’m sure. He has a refreshing personality.”

Yunho stared at you with a very inquisitive look. You squirmed in your seat, his eyes were quite sharp, now that you were up close and personal with him. What was up with you encountering very unnerving people tonight? Were fox-eyes and his friends really this daunting?

“Hold on a moment, please,” he murmured, finally leaning away, only for him to open a cabinet you didn’t know was there and grab a sticky note, scribbling something quickly on it before handing it to you. Confused, you took it, and gave him a questioning look as your eyes settled on the pad. It was a phone number, that you could tell.

“Look,” he began awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not supposed to do this, and this is literally a violation of my job, but that,” he pointed at the paper. “Call that number if you ever need a companion. You really look like you need it.”

“Is it his number?” You blurted out, gripping the note.

Yunho shook his head. “No. I would never do that, he would butcher me on the spot. But it is directly related to his job.”

“That…does not sound sketchy at all,” you trailed off, your frown getting deeper as you felt more unsettled.

He shrugged, turning around for you to think about it, and coincidentally, another patron from the bar flagged him, anyway, so he would have left regardless. Tonight was definitely the weirdest night of your life. 

You put the now crumpled note in your purse as you finished your drink fast, intending to forget about it even though it was given to you in good will.

You knew that called companions did exist for lonely people. It was a whole new meaning to ‘call a friend’. You’d occasionally hear your co-workers gush about it every lunch break, that the experience was life-changing. 

Regardless, you thought it was pathetic to resort to doing it. Being alone sounded more appealing than being so desperate to be with someone that you’d pay for their time. You would never, ever call that number.

You called the number the next day.

But not without doing a little bit of research, of course. While you were browsing, you were genuinely surprised to see that called companions were a booming business, a billion-dollar one, even. 

In a way, you understood, especially for the wealthy. Lord knows that you know plenty of people who’d rather die alone than have people around them only for their cash. Paying for comfort sounded logically sane even though the concept seemed uncomfortable for some, even for you. 

You pay for a temporary friend and when your time is up, it’s like it never happened. No strings attached, no worries. You paced the living room back and forth as you chewed on your nails anxiously as you waited for the other line to pick up, the prolonged ringing echoing in your ears grating, and for a second, you were concerned that Yunho had played a mean prank on you.

The conversation with fox-eyes made you realize how truly lonely you were, that maybe you really did just need someone to talk with. You hoped that you could see him again, you wished to talk to him once more, but you knew that was wishful thinking on your end.

We only have one life to live, but we have only one life to lead. That never left your mind, repeating in your head like some sort of gospel like it was the answer and solution to all your problems.

You didn’t care anymore, you were at an all-time high desperation. Besides, you weren’t staying here. You’d be gone in three months by the time that the company branch would be good to stand by themselves.

“Thank you for calling The Wonderland of Desire and Utopia where your hands aren’t the only thing that’ll be busy tonight, and where there’s no small talk, just big conversations. Our lines are open, but so are we. My name is Kang Yeosang, would you like to set an appointment?”

Your foot stopped halfway from taking a step, still in the air, as your jaw dropped at what you had just heard. Your eyes were wide with disbelief, especially at how deep the voice was on the other end. Well, that was certainly one way to begin a phone call like this.

“I know, right? Most of our clients say the same thing!”

You yelped, audibly startled. You mentally cursed, you must’ve said that thought out loud like a blithering idiot. But more than that, what in the hell did you just call? Was Yunho really playing a mean prank on you?

“Uh, h-hi, uh, I’ve never done this before,” you laughed nervously. “Can you explain how this works and how…discreet it is?”

Yeosang hums thoughtfully, his voice taking in on a cheerful note as he lets out a merry laugh. “Our services are very discreet, rest assured. We make our workers sign an NDA that our clientele can set up, if need be. Our companionship requires a certain level of respect and vice versa.”

“I see,”  you murmured, sitting down on the couch to get your footing. Something tells you that this will permanently change the trajectory of your life. “So, how does this work? Like I said, I’ve never done this before…”

“If I may, you seem to be the shy type,” Yeosang said. “Usually, almost all of our clients are repeat customers, so that means they have their go-tos. Our rates are by threes and are extendable, of course. Would you like me to send a list of companions and call back?”

That didn’t sound too bad, three hours seems like a very reasonable time for you, especially if all you’re looking for was a friend who you’ll hopefully click with and take a liking to.

“No, no need,” you denied politely. “Would you be able to pick out one for me? I-I’m not really fussy.”

There was a pause on the line, the discernible clicking of the keyboard filling in the silence. “Are you free by nighttime?” Yeosang asked. You made a small sound of agreement. “I have someone perfect for you. I can vouch for him, he’ll make the entire experience very comfortable for you.”

Your chest heaved as Yeosang talked about the rate and the payment as well as the paperwork he was to send you in a bit that details your companion’s details. You did like this bit of the process - hell, if you were about to pay someone for their time, as sad as that is, you did want to know things about them, at least.

Before you knew it, you were being thanked for your payment and you were thanking Yeosang for the help. A file was sent to your email so you quickly opened your laptop.

It didn’t really hit you what you’ve done until you’ve hung up and the only thing around you was silence. “Oh my God,” you muttered in horror as you opened the file and read the contents.. “Did I just do that…?”

Recipient: Kang Yeosang - Wonderland of Desire and Utopia Subject: Companion Information (Important!) Name: Jung Wooyoung Birthdate: November 26, 1999 Current Residence: Busan, South Korea Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Blood Type: A+ Height: 173 cm (5’8”) Allergies: None Tattoos: Four Piercings: Four Green: soft touches, massages, bondage, exhibitionism, blindfold, degradation, age play, biting, spanking, corruption Yellow: multiple participants, feet, breath play, wax play, CNC, voyeurism, somnophilia Red: knife play, furries, assault, food play, uncommon roleplays, blood, other bodily fluids besides arousal, watersports

You blinked repeatedly, frozen on the spot. You even went as far as rubbing your eyes before re-reading the entire thing. Did Yeosang send you the wrong information? This was a bit too oddly specific for just a called companion.

You could feel your face heat up as you soaked the information one by one. And blood? You practically gagged, that certainly something you had no interest in knowing, but now, there was no way to unread all of this.

“Jung Wooyoung,” you mouthed silently, feeling and testing the weight of the name on your tongue. It had a nice ring to it, you thought it was a very pretty name. There was no picture attached to the file. Not that it mattered, appearances definitely don’t mean a single thing to you.

It was when you were done eating and were currently washing the dishes when the doorbell rang. Another thing you fancied with this house was that there was an intercom in the kitchen so you didn’t have to go directly towards the door. You were suddenly reminded of fox-eyes, wondering what he would say about rich people and their toys. You could picture the sneer on his face and it brought a smile to your face.

“Come in! I already unlocked the door for you. Go straight and you’ll see me in the kitchen,” you talked through the intercom, hoping the crackling of it hid the nervousness in your voice.

The telltale sign of someone entering the house made your nerves shoot up. You were still washing the dishes and putting them on the rack, you didn’t want to break anything, but you were just very nervous. Your back was turned from the new incomer and it was when you heard the shuffling of feet from behind you.

“J-Just a m-moment,” you stammered pathetically. “L-Let me just wash my hands…”

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was here - right behind you. You could practically feel the subtle shift in the air. A faint, amused chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Take your time, dollface. I have all the time in the world to make you relax,” the newcomer’s voice was smooth, it was husky and had a teasing edge to it that literally made your knees want to buckle.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and turned around. That was a mistake. The polite, neutral greeting you had prepared died in your throat the second you saw him.

Apparently, he was just as surprised as you. The cocky smirk he had on his face as he was leaning on the dining table fell down in slow motion to be replaced with shock as he took your face in.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” the fox-eyed man you wanted to see again scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head as if this was a nightmare he couldn’t wait to wake up from. “You? You’re L/N Y/N?”

“And you’re Jung Woooyung,” you drawled out, biting your lips after saying it out loud.

“Why?” Wooyoung asked, tone snappy, challenging you, it seemed. “Did you have something else named for me in your pretty little head? What is it? Asshole? Jerk? Doucheface?”

You hesitated, holding the edge of your skirt in a tight bunch in your fist. The gesture doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s attention, but he doesn’t make a comment on it. Finally, you shook your head and shrugged. “Fox-eyes.”

His brows twitched. “Excuse me?”

A sharp exhale heaves from your chest. You turned your head to avoid eye contact with him, a deep crimson coating your cheeks. “Fox-eyes. Your, uh, eyes. They reminded me of a fox.”

You caught the way Wooyoung’s eyes were trying to decide if he should just walk out now or endure the rest of the night. He crossed his arms, staring you down. You shifted your feet, uncomfortable at how intense his eyes were.

“Unbelievable,“ he muttered under his breath, but due to how silent the house was, you were able to hear it. “It’s like this world is forcing us to meet at every turn.”

You couldn’t agree more. Here you were, literally thinking about how you didn’t mind it if you saw him again, but now that he was not only in front of you but literally in the house, you didn’t know what to do.

He began rounding the table until he was only a couple of feet away from you. Instinctively, you stepped back. He narrowed his eyes irritatingly. “I’m not going to eat you.”

You frowned. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His lips twitched into a small smirk ever so slightly, it was very reminiscent of what you told him last night and you were pretty sure that he was thinking the same thing. 

“Anyway,” he continued. “Were you really that lonely? You were many things, but the last thing I expected was for you to call a service so you wouldn’t be alone. Money really isn’t everything, huh?”

And there it was. You purse your lips, deciding to ignore his last statement. Nothing good was going to come out of it. 

It certainly wasn’t helping that you were able to look at him up close and personal now that your tears weren’t clouding your eyes and it was brighter than the rooftop. My God, you thought. He was more attractive than you initially thought. His eyes were sharper, his nose more upturned, and his lips were plumper and juicer.

Wooyoung started to massage his temples as if he was already tired before the conversation even began. “Let’s discuss boundaries, both for you and me. Let me know anything, and I mean anything, even if it’s just as simple as turning the lights off or not.”

You crinkle your brows in confusion, but he continued. “I also want to know your pain tolerance, and especially your safe word. This is my job and I do take it seriously. If there’s anything you’re looking for, I need to know before we begin.”

“H-Hold on, what on Earth are you talking about?” You blurted out, your entire face completely scrunched up in visible confusion. “Why do we need the lights off? And pain? What—”

He scoffed, eyes darkening as his jaw locked in impatience. “Y/N,” he deadpanned, voice devoid of any emotion. His tone sent shivers up your spine once more. “This is already humiliating for me as is, and if this is your way of getting back at me for last night, don’t.”

“I really don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about, seriously,” you said exasperatedly as you slowly got more and more aggravated at what’s happening.

Wooyoung stopped talking, his eyes lighting up with something like he just realized something. He narrowed his eyes, his head tilting slightly as he studied you in a way he hadn’t before. 

Something in his expression shifts into an even deeper realization and his eyes widened, a startled gasp leaving his lips. Wooyoung looked so shocked that the way his entire body stiffened honestly scared you. 

“You don’t know,” he whispered, his voice taking on a horrified note. “Holy shit, you have no idea.” A dry laugh escaped him, short and bitter. "Unbelievable."

You blinked. "Know what?"

His expression didn’t change. He just kept staring at you, unblinking, his breathing slow and measured. Your pulse kicked up. "You’re freaking me out," you admitted, forcing out a nervous laugh.

Still, he said nothing. His silence stretched too long, too unnatural, until finally, he let out a sharp exhale and raked a hand through his hair. "No fucking way."

Your stomach plummeted. "Okay, what is going on?”

“I need to ask you something,” he said slowly, voice eerily careful. “How did you wind up calling the number you did?”

For a moment, you thought about lying, but there was no point. “Yunho gave it to me,” you admitted. “Said to call if I need a companion.”

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, his fist lightly bumped the table. His jaw tightened impossibly more than you thought possible. His intensity was honestly worrying you. “That motherfucker,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “I’ll kill him.”

Something in your stomach twisted as you watched him rub a hand over his face in frustration. “Listen to me, dollface,” he muttered. “I have to refund you your money.”

You were confused. “What? Why?”

“Because,” he snapped, his eyes widened in anger. “I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here for a different type of job. I want you to think really, really hard right now. Use that noggin of yours, think.” 

But how were you supposed to do that? You were the director of the biggest fashion chain in the country, pressure was one you were used to, but right now, you couldn’t think straight. You swear you’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

“I still don’t—”

“I’m a sex worker, Y/N. A male prostitute, if you will. I get paid for sex. To fuck.”

At first, it still didn’t hit you what he was saying, but when it did, everything clicked all at once. The weird conversation with Yeosang, the overly kinky information sheet, the boundary talk, the lights, pain—

“Oh my God,” the blood on your face disappeared and you paled.  "Oh my God."

How could you be so stupid? You quickly turned to him even though you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. “I didn’t know, I swear to God I didn’t know. I wouldn't have called, I swear.”

His jaw clenched. "Yeah. I figured that out about five minutes ago."

“B-But Yunho,” you blurted out. 

“He didn’t know,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Called companions do exist, but I wasn’t exactly going to tell my friend that I fuck people for living now, would I? He gave you the number in good faith, because I told him I was a regular companion.”

It all made sense now. All that conversation of him hating his job and why he looked so forlorn about it, why he didn’t want to talk about it, everything made so much sense now. 

A long silence stretched between you, thick and crackling with something unspoken. You tried very, very hard not to think about the actual reason why Wooyoung was technically here. If you blushed now, it would be very obvious to him what you were currently thinking.

Amidst that, you couldn’t stop the ache in your chest. You were an idiot, he did say that this was humiliating for him, and now you knew why. You thought about all of the things he said on the rooftop.

He gave you a look, something unreadable flickering behind his expression, but then he just shook his head. “No. We’re different. It’s not about whether I like it or not,  it’s about whether I can survive doing it. The same should apply to you.”

“You’re in a position to be anything for yourself, one that won’t drain you mentally and emotionally. Heaven knows that some people don’t even have that option.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Like he wasn’t just talking about you. You stayed silent, internalizing what he said.

You didn’t want to assume, one blunder was enough for tonight, but it would greatly explain his aversion to, as he would put it, rich people and their drama.

“Stop that.” 

You swiveled your head towards Wooyoung’s direction, confused if he was even talking to you. “What?”

“Stop that,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He pointed at you haughtily with his index finger. “That look in your face, that pity. I hate it, I don’t need it. Certainly not from you.”

You tilted your head. “I’m not, though. I think you’re quite resilient.”

It was true, but of course, he wasn’t going to believe anything that comes from your mouth. “Really?” Wooyoung scoffed sarcastically. “Is this rich people lingo? Anything that deviates from what’s proper is seen as quirky and shit? Or is it because my job is seen as dirty?”

A frown settles on your face. You knew what he was doing, he was trying to pick a fight, just like he did when you met him for the first time. “Wooyoung,” you said slowly, the weight of his name heavy on your tongue this time. “You know I don’t have a problem with what you do, right?”

He stilled, and for the first time since this whole mess unraveled, he actually looked surprised. Not angry, not disbelieving, just surprised. Like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to say that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, turning around to open the fridge nearby before looking at him from behind your shoulders. “I was about to help myself with dessert when you came. I believe I made too much of it.”

It was an open invitation, one you hope he’d take. He narrowed his eyes at you and you could clearly see the simmering anger in them. He shook his head, still looking at you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you.

But then, he exhaled softly. “Where can I wash my hands?”

You perked up, your chest feeling lighter. “You’re staying?”

Wooyoung gave you a look. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I might as well. You paid for my time, and plus, if I’m going to be pissed about this whole situation, I might as well get pissed off eating dessert. Now, can you please tell me where the bathroom is? I’m not particularly interested in eating with dirty hands.”

It's how you found yourself trying hard not to stare at Wooyoung as he helped himself with the cheesecake you whipped up quickly for yourself this afternoon while you were passing time. You swallowed, how can this man be this attractive by just eating?

“Damn,” he mumbled, nodding in approval before he looked at you impassively. “This is pretty good. You could just quit your shitty job and do this, it’s lucrative.”

Your heart just did a flip-flop then and there. Looks like he still remembered what the both of you talked about.  “Hmm. I’m not as good as you think. I bet you could do better.”

Wooyoung raised a brow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “What gave it away?”

You leaned forward, your elbows leaning on top of the table. “You don’t just suggest someone to switch careers. Only someone who makes food, themselves, knows what tastes good enough to sell.”

That actually got a real laugh out of him - not bitter, not forced - just tired, a little exasperated, but real. “You are, by far, my strangest client, dollface,” he shook his head. “And that’s saying a lot.”

Your lips twitched, fighting off a smile. “I’m serious,” he said. “When I get called over, it’s usually not to eat cheesecake with my clients.”

You hummed, mostly to hide how nervous you were to ask your next question. But when you tried to open your mouth and ask away, nothing really came out.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at you. “Just ask,” he said. “It literally doesn’t bother me anymore. Were you going to ask how I got into sex work?”

You blushed beet red, nodding sheepishly. He scoffs, but it wasn’t out of malice, it was more of teasing disbelief. “Lesson one, Y/N. If you want something in life, all you have to do is ask.”

“Anyway,” he took a big bite out of the cheesecake. “It’s quick money. Out here, there aren’t many opportunities for people with lesser education. I have a younger brother depending on me. This is my only way to make a decent living while making my own schedule.”

“I see,” you nodded in understanding. “What about your parents?”

Wooyoung’s face darkened, and for a second, you regretted even asking in the first place. “Mum passed from giving birth to my brother, dad can’t hold a job to save his skin so he relies on me. Make this the last time you ask about him, though, I detest him.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” you mumbled more to yourself, but of course, that doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s attention.

“Huh. So not only are you so lonely and desperate that you resort to seeking comfort with a prostitute, but you also have daddy issues,” he said flatly without missing a beat.

You snorted at that. As insensitive as it is, when he puts it like that, it does make a lot of sense. You couldn’t get mad at Wooyoung for that, if anything, it puts things into perspective and it eases your mind a little. “Thanks,” you smiled.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re thanking me for being an ass to you?”

“For being real,” you gently corrected. “As unsympathetic as you come off, it’s not like the things you’ve told me weren’t true.”

He hummed. “You are an oddball.”

You didn’t reply, staring down your plate that had the unfinished cheesecake. You just realized something and your appetite started to wane down, and you almost felt bad. He noticed this and raised his brow at you. “What?”

“When I bumped into you yesterday,” you mumbled, poking your cheesecake with your fork absentmindedly. “No wonder you looked tired. Did you just, uhm.”

You didn’t know how to say it, you didn’t know what to say without sounding like you were prying, especially when you said that what he did didn’t bother you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything - just stared at you like he was trying to decide if he should be amused or annoyed. You both knew what you were trying to ask.

“Yeah, I just finished working that night,” he admitted, leaning back on the chair with a deep sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. Somehow, he looked even more tired than before. “Client was an asshole. Gave me those nasty cigarettes as half of the payment.”

“And you sort of took it out on me,” you said slowly.

He huffed a dry, humourless laugh. “Yes.”

For a second, you thought he might say something more. Maybe an apology for snapping at you, or maybe a thank you for the night, just something to acknowledge whatever had just passed between you two. But nothing. Something in his face changed. Wooyoung pushed the plate away from him as he glanced at his wrist for the time. “I should go.”

You blinked in surprise. "Y-Yeah, sure," you tentatively stood up from your chair and he did the same. He didn’t even look back, just walked straight to the door and held the doorknob.

Wooyoung paused, rolling out his shoulders like he was resetting himself.  When he looked at you again, his usual smirk was back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” he said, his voice light, almost dismissive.

You weren’t sure why that made your stomach sink a little. But, you had to let him go. He technically had no reason to be here. You let out a small huff, shaking your head to yourself. "Yeah. See you around."

And with that, he was gone. You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, the weight of the night pressing down on you in ways you hadn’t expected.

See you when I see you. Somehow, you got the feeling you would.

The next time you saw Wooyoung again, it was a by-chance. It was a week after, an entire week where you couldn’t stop thinking about Wooyoung.

You had just gotten off of the phone that morning when you decided to get out and cool off. Your boss was already on your ass about the oncoming project, and you did try to protest, but you were quickly shut down without a single hint of patience.

It took everything in you not to chuck your phone out the window. One of these days, you could just envision yourself snapping, but for now, you were going to take it one step at a time.

There was a nearby cafe tucked in a corner that you wouldn’t even have seen at all had you not decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood. The moment you opened the door, you knew you were going to like it there. You were the type to make coffee at home, but a little trip here and there didn’t hurt anyone.

You distracted yourself by grabbing a smaller version of the menu that held pastry options lying on the table as you watched the barista make your coffee delicately. That would have been fine, but it was when you saw him.

Wooyoung took over making your cappuccino as the other barista took another person’s order. Your mind just about exploded by then, it was like he said the other week  - that this universe was trying to force you onto one another lately.

You cringed, anxiety flooding you, so you lifted the menu and covered your face with it so Wooyoung wouldn’t see you. That didn’t really do anything, you still peeked from behind the menu to glance at Wooyoung as he worked on your coffee.

You let out a small whimper when your eyes landed on Wooyoung’s arm as they flexed while he worked - there was a medium-sized tattoo of a thorny rose displayed on his veiny arms.

Holy hell, you thought. If that wasn’t attractive enough, his unfairly thin waist kept distracting you from the task at hand and while that may be so, it was pretty obvious that he was built despite all the features mentioned.

As if this world was against you, Wooyoung began to make his way to your table, cup in hand. You didn’t even have time to react and by the time you thought about it, it was too late. He had seen you.

“Well, blow me the fuck down,” Wooyoung smirked as he placed the cup in front of you before crossing his arms. “You’re alive.”

You scoffed, putting the menu down, your head rising to meet his teasing eyes. “Didn’t think you’d even remember me, let alone care that I’m alive, or something.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms tighter against his chest, stepping closer to your table. “Cut me some slack here, dollface. I’m not that much of a dickhead,” he rolled his eyes. “Just surprised to see you, is all. Last time I saw you out, you were an inch away from falling to your death.”

Somehow, your chest warmed at hearing his voice again even though he was definitely the most insensitive person you’ve ever met. “I thought you couldn’t stand me because I’m rich?”

“You’re right,” he agreed flatly. He gestured to your drink and the laptop you had set up while waiting for your order. “Well, carry on doing your rich people thing, I guess. I’ll get back to work.”

You waved him off, pretending that you didn’t care what he said as he walked away. Work was calling you, however, so it was easier to get back in that groove.

But after half an hour of staring at the screen, frustration twisted in your chest. I snapped the laptop shut, pinching the bridge of your nose as you cursed your supervisor to death in your head. You pushed back your chair a little too hard before walking off, grateful to be sat next to the door, but you were held back by a firm hand wrapping around your arm to stop you.

Wooyoung’s eyes met yours when you turned around in irritation. Damn it, he was even more attractive up close. You shook your arm off of him harshly before glaring at him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let go.”

“Easy, dollface,” he tried to placate you, making a move to hold your arm again. “You need to calm down. I don’t want you walking off when your emotions are all over the place. I could practically feel it behind the counter.”

“So, what?” You hissed, looking around to see if there were people to see the spectacle, but when there were none, you raised your voice a bit at him. “You’re going to keep me hostage now because you’re scared I’d go crazy on the streets?”

“Yes, actually,” Wooyoung answered sarcastically, nodding to emphasize his point. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Y/N.” 

He grabbed your arm again to pull you and sit you down back on the chair where you just were. You were taken aback when he put his hands on your shoulders firmly as he looked down to you. “My shift will be over in ten minutes,” he began. “You will sit here and wait for me and then we can take a hike somewhere so you can let out whatever’s bothering you.”

You stared at him, completely thrown off. “Why would I do that? Why the hell do you care?”

His face softened, just a little, like he wasn’t playing some game. “Make no mistake, I don’t care about you, not in the slightest,” he sighed. “But, again, I’m not an ass. I’m not about to ignore somebody who clearly needs to unwind.”

You purse your lips, not replying, but not ignoring him. “That look on your face on the rooftop, I can’t. I know what it’s like to be on that deep end.” 

"This is ridiculous," you muttered annoyingly. “You’re ridiculous.”

He gave you one last look before turning around, but heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that you were going to stay put. "I’m serious. Whatever’s bothering you, you don’t have to figure it out alone."

You didn’t know what to say, his genuineness caught you off-guard. Just as he said, he really gets off in ten minutes. Wooyoung haphazardly throws his apron on the counter, not caring where it landed, before he cocks his head towards the door. “Let’s go.”

You had no direction in mind, and apparently, neither did Wooyoung. “Where are you taking me?” You asked.

He paused from walking the moment you were both a couple of blocks away from the cafe. “Give me your phone,” he demanded, putting his hand expectantly in front of you.

You blinked, confused. “Why?”

He curls his fingers impatiently, gesturing for you. “Come on, I don’t have time all day.”

Not knowing what else to do, you tentatively hand him your phone, to which he snatched it rather rudely from your hand. He tinkers for it for a moment, his eyes widening slightly in surprise before he glances back up at you. After a while, he gets his own phone and also tinkers with it.

“Here,” he hands you your phone back. He didn’t even look at you and just continued to type on his phone. “I just cancelled another client. We have three hours until I have to go again.”

Oh, you certainly weren’t expecting that. You hurriedly checked your phone and indeed, Wooyoung had just set up another “companion” appointment for you. You reckoned he was surprised because when you looked at the payment option, you had eight different cards that were all filled with cash and he saw.

You blushed hard, your face so hot to the touch that you reckon you’d get burned if you put a finger on your cheek. You knew you weren’t supposed to feel like this, that if you were going to be frank, you two weren’t going to have sex, but the implication was there and you couldn’t help but think about them.

You resumed walking and it felt like it was the most normal thing ever. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, but you followed him, anyway.

“So, what do you do for a living, anyway?” Wooyoung asked good-naturedly the moment he put his phone back in his pocket and looked at you.

“Oh,” you sounded out in surprise, not expecting the question. “I’m a director of something.”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s working to earn money. I asked you what you for a living.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by the distinction. "What’s the difference?”

Wooyoung scoffed, like you had just said something completely ridiculous. "One is just surviving. The other is actually living."

"I mean, I do work," you tried again, feeling oddly self-conscious under his expectant gaze. "And then I go home. Sometimes I watch something. Sometimes I read. That counts, right?"

Wooyoung tilted his head, unimpressed. "So, you exist."

"Wow, okay, rude," you muttered. “Do you even have a hobby?”

"Relax," he chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "And yeah, I swim sometimes. I’m just asking what actually makes you feel something. Like, what’s the thing that makes you want to wake up in the morning?"

You faltered. Because, honestly? You weren't sure you had an answer. “I don’t know,” you admitted shamefully, avoiding eye contact with him. “I actually don’t know. Well, what about you, I guess? I didn’t know you worked here, either.”

“Well, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Y/N,” he chuckled. “Watch your step. I won’t catch you if you trip.”

You wanted to glare at him, but the hotel entrance held your attention instead. Your mouth went open, it was the same hotel you had the event at. You stared at him in disbelief, the blush now traveling from your cheeks to your ears and neck.

He seems to have realized the same thing you did and rolled his eyes. “We’re not here for that, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he scoffed. “I needed a drink, I figured you wanted to tag along. Yunho is working tonight.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, following him to the same resto-bar. Wooyoung looked pleased with your reply.

Just like the last time you went, the daytime restaurant was already closed, the bar part of it getting ready to be in full swing. It was certainly a repeat of the very same night.

“Wow, you guys sure got along better than I initially thought,” were the first words you hear upon entering the empty bar.

Yunho was wiping the counters on the farthest part of the bar, but looked up to comment when he saw the both of you enter. Wooyoung laughed and raised his middle finger up. “You almost fucked me over, too,” he said cryptically. He sits down on one of the barstools and gestures for you to do the same. “Come on, Y/N—”

“Yah, Jung Wooyoung, you absolute bastard, you! You left me with that old bitch tonight—oh, who’s that?”

You winced, a bit startled at the new person’s loud voice that came from the back door. He was wearing a fancy suit, the types you’d see your bosses wear, and my, you thought. He was a pretty boy. Much like Wooyoung.

“Hello, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said dryly. You cringed when he pats your shoulder once. “Watch it. This one’s my client. A friend, you could say.”

Hongjoong raised a suspicious brow. “A friend? You? You don’t make friends, Wooyoung,” he looks at you up and down in slight distaste. “Certainly not with the rich type.”

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung warns with a slight edge on his voice. He points at the bartender watching the scene unfold. “Why don’t you tell Yunho to make us four drinks? On this one,” he juts a thumb on you.

You scoffed when Hongjoong left and turned to Wooyoung. “So you took me here to pay for the drinks? Should’ve known you’d only use me for my money.”

Wooyoung laughed, genuinely laughed. His high-pitched voice echoed through the bar, his eyes crinkled up in pure happiness as his mouth split open as he let out that beautiful sound. “You’re funny,” he said. “But no. It’s to appease him. He has a clear distaste for people like you, too.”

“I can see that,” you replied dryly.

“He’s not that bad. A bit straightforward, but he means well. He’s my longest friend.”

“He does what you do, too?” 

“Yes, don’t tell Yunho, he doesn’t know either,” Wooyoung said. “Though he does it full-time. I pick my own schedule because I have my job at the cafe and then I have another during the mornings. I unload trucks for that big ass grocery store downtown. You know that one right?”

Your eyes widened at that. “Three jobs?”

"What, you thought this was it? You thought I just fucked people all day, all night?" Wooyoung gestured vaguely to himself. "No. I have to survive. Though you wouldn’t get it, you earn what I earn in those three jobs within a week, probably."

You blinked, unsure how to react to that information. He always carried himself with such infuriating ease, like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. But three jobs? That wasn’t just busy - that was barely surviving. "You’re a hypocrite, then,” you mumbled. “You and I are no different. You have no living either.”

"Gotta do what you gotta do," he shrugged like it was nothing. “Though, I wouldn’t say we’re the same. I’m merely doing it to put food on the table.”

You knew it, at the back of your head, that there was more to Jung Wooyoung than you initially thought, but now, that thought was sprinkled with utmost respect. It was a dangerous thing to feel.

Just then, Yunho approaches where you were seated as Hongjoong chooses to sit beside you and places four shot glasses on the table - one for each of you.  

Wooyoung didn’t even get to taste anything, his phone suddenly rang, the shrill of it loud against the empty space of the bar. He takes one look at it and closes his eyes in concealed frustration.

“It’s Seonghwa, fuck,” he cursed, looking at Hongjoong, who looks at him in worry. “Shit, I gotta take this. I’ll be right back.”

Wooyoung runs to the rooftop, not even bothering to see what you’d say about the matter. You watched him go, flabbergasted, and not knowing what to do now that you were basically left with his two other friends.

“Seonghwa’s our boss, you could say. Anyway, what’s a person like you doing with the likes of Wooyoung?” Hongjoong suddenly quipped, downing his shot with a grimace on his face. “Fuck, Yunho, what you put in here? Gasoline?”

“You’ll find out if you suddenly drop dead,” the taller man deadpanned.

You turned to Hongjoong’s direction, frowning. “Believe it or not, this is purely coincidental.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yunho shook his head, downing his own shot without any reaction, which pisses Hongjoong off. “Wooyoung’s a busy person. He doesn’t just bring friends around.”

You couldn’t help the snort that comes out from you. “We’re not friends. He tells me he doesn’t like me all the time.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s one thing to get paid to do…you know,” Hongjoong gives you a look, one that Yunho doesn’t seem to notice. “But it’s another thing to hang outside of that bubble. I’d say he’s fond of you.”

You should have laughed it off, but instead, you sat there, rooted in place, heart stumbling over itself in a way that made you feel unsteady. “Seriously, it’s not like that,” you reiterated. “This is a purely transactional relationship. Nothing else.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Yunho smirked.

Turns out, Wooyoung was right - Hongjoong wasn’t all that bad. If anything, he was equally as wise and insightful as Wooyoung was. You realized it might have been because of what they’ve gone through in life. Makes you really think about the other side of this life.

As it turns out, Yunho and Wooyoung’s mothers were close friends. Life was good until Wooyoung’s mother passed away. On top of that, Wooyoung’s father was a raging alcoholic who had no incentive to look for a job, so that left Wooyoung to fend for his little brother’s needs. It’s no wonder why Wooyoung looks and sounds so tired all the time.

“Sometimes, Wooyoung doesn’t even want to go home,” Yunho said quietly, glancing up the stairs to see if Wooyoung was there. “If it weren’t for his brother, he wouldn’t even. His dad is getting worse everyday. God, I hate that freeloader.”

“His pride is higher than the sky,” Hongjoong pitched in, his expression crestfallen, his eyes laced with hidden pity for his friend. “Sometimes, we don’t even know where he sleeps, or if he even sleeps. I’m so scared that one day he just won’t show up to work because he’s worked himself to death with his other jobs.”

You understood why Wooyoung feels such hostility towards you. You really did. He works himself to the bone and gets virtually nothing. You had everything you wanted.

“He’s a good person,” Yunho said softly. “You’ve seen it yourself. He’s a certified asshole. Him still hanging out with you is a proof of the opposite. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I’m sure he is,” you said. You just found it difficult to imagine Wooyoung warming up to you.

“He is, and to be fair, it’s not every time a rich person acts normal around these parts of the country,” Hongjoong scoffed. “All they do is step on us. Feed the hungry, feed them shit, feed them bones and politics type of a thing, and in a way, I’m definitely on his side. Trust me, he’s taken a liking to you. Maybe he’s trying to understand.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you counteracted.

“Listen, Y/N is it? He’s been through a lot with the cards he’s been dealt with. Even if he doesn’t understand, he’ll try. You have to cut him some slack,” Hongjoong eyed your shot, the one you haven’t touched. “You gonna drink that?”

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, eyeing you like he had officially deemed you a fascinating case study, as he crossed his arms comfortably in front of his chest. “Your turn,” he smirked. “I told you something about me. Tell me things about you.”

The first time you called him again, you told yourself it was just because you had nothing better to do, and maybe Wooyoung didn’t have other clients.

The second time, you told yourself it was out of convenience. As blunt as he was, he was easy to talk to, someone who could distract you without trying too hard.

By the third time, Wooyoung stopped knocking on your door and just let himself in every single time. To be fair, you stopped locking your doors on the nights you knew he was coming.

And by the tenth time, you stopped making excuses. It was an unwritten rule between the two of you at this point - you were lonely and in need of a friend, and he was trying to pass time.

“Well,” you shrugged. “What do you wanna know? There’s not much I can tell you, as you said, I do lead a lonely life.”

He thought about it for a moment. “You aren’t close with your parents?”

“Next question,” you said a bit more hastily than you intended to. They were the last thing you wanted to talk about, you didn’t want to ruin your good mood.

Instead of questioning it, Wooyoung nodded. Your chest almost caved in on itself. He didn’t push, nor did he look remotely disappointed about being denied an answer. “What’s it like?”

“What’s it like to what?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest as he sat comfortably on your couch. “What’s it like to have a lot of money? To never worry about the next day or your next meal?”

You stayed silent, contemplating on what you should say. In the end, you decided to be truthful. “Though I do make a lot of money now, I spent most of life with my parents’ money,” you admitted softly. “The saying is true. It doesn’t buy you happiness.”

“Oh, come off it,” Wooyoung hissed, banging his fist on your coffee table, taking you by surprise. He seemed actually mad - his face was contorted into a grimace, reddened with emotions. “I can’t stand you people, but you know what I can’t stand more? It’s when you people say that bullshit.”

“Wooyoung—”

“No, you listen to me,” he barked, breathing hard. “You get whatever you want, get whoever you want. Money is the world’s oyster, and you have plenty. Why the fuck aren’t you happy?”

You sighed, watching him centre himself and not saying anything to anger him more. You understood where he was coming from, and in truth, you understood more than you’d ever tell him. But no matter how much you explain, Wooyoung will never understand you.

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself before speaking. “You think money solves everything,” you began, voice measured. “And I get it. It makes life easier. It gives you options. But having money doesn’t mean you automatically have happiness.”

Wooyoung scoffed, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed as he watched you talk. “Money gives you access, not fulfillment. Comfort, not peace. In this world, in a material sense, all of those are true. I never worried about my next meal or my next rent money. ”

You watched Wooyoung’s jaw tense. He licked his lips, turning away from you.

“However,” you continued when you saw he wasn’t going to say something. “It doesn’t buy what’s real and important. It doesn’t buy purpose, love, meaning. If anything, having those makes things harder to find. I don’t have a Yunho or Hongjoong in my life because they’re usually after my money.”

His expression flickered, and you can see the contemplation in his face, but you didn’t stop. “The worst part is I can’t complain. People like you look at people like me and say exactly what you’re thinking. This isn’t my first rodeo, Wooyoung.”

His jaw clenched. “Because it’s true.”

“To you,” you shot back, trying very hard to stay patient despite his biting tone. “This might sound ungrateful, but I didn’t ask to be born drowning in money. What if I was never given the chance to figure it out because everything was always there before I even had the chance to want it?”

Wooyoung just stared at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” he admits after a while. “But, I appreciate you telling me.”

You hummed, accepting the response. He motions to you, and then to himself. “So there’s no point in all that wealth then, because clearly, we both have the same mental issues.”

“You could say that,” you laughed dryly, turning on the TV on the most random channel as background noise. 

“I hope it gets easier on you eventually,” he says softly, so softly you almost didn’t hear it if it weren’t you concentrating on his presence. “I hope it also gets easier on me.”

You let out a small smile. “Yeah, me too.”

There were nights you called him just to sit in silence, his steady presence somehow anchoring you. It was to the point that Yeosang memorized your number and their boss, Park Seonghwa, would personally book Wooyoung for you at a discounted rate. That was naturally disgusting for you to think, but it was what it was.

"You really have no one else to bother, huh?" Wooyoung would say the moment he’d enter through your door. Sometimes he brought coffee, sometimes doughnuts, most of the time with nothing but himself.

You’d roll your eyes. "Shut up."

And he would. Not because you told him to, but because he knew when you needed silence. You were getting attached, and that was a very, very dangerous concept to think about. Maybe it was, and perhaps you were, but it never stopped you from booking him.

But the most terrifying thing of all? He never once turned you away.

Granted, you were literally paying him for his time. Of course, he was guaranteed to show up. It was fucked, everything was fucked. You were calling a sex worker not to have sex with them, but for their presence.

Right now, you were at the bar waiting for Wooyoung to finish working with one of his regular clients. Yunho and Hongjoong would keep you company most of the time, and you were beginning to genuinely like their presence as well.

“Come on, why even get a pet, Joong?” Yunho asked exasperatedly as he gave you your free drink, putting his hands on his hips. “That poor animal, you’re barely home.”

“Humans ain’t shit; animals won’t betray you or let you down,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes. He grinned at you. “Isn’t that right, rich girl? Bet you can relate, people usually only want you for your cash.”

You were inclined to actually agree, and you voiced that out loud, much to Yunho’s chagrin. “Sure. What were you planning to get anyway?”

“A dog, a real cutie, I’ll go to an adoption centre,” Hongjoong said proudly.

“For Christ’s sake,” Yunho pinched his nose bridge, before he smirked and looked at Hongjoong teasingly. “Isn’t one bitch in the house enough?”

Your eyes widened, especially at Hongjoong’s appalled face. You had to admit, that was good. “You don’t get it,” Hongjoong pouted. “You hate animals.”

Yunho rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate animals.”

“You hate fish,” Hongjoong counteracted.

“Hate is a strong word. I don’t know how to take care of them.”

“You have an aversion to cats.”

“The fuck? I love cats,” Yunho genuinely looked scandalized by that.

“You hate roosters and cocks.”

“What? I love co…” Yunho trailed off, the smirk on his face slowly fading. “Bastard.”

Indeed, you really did like these two. They made you feel less alone. Now you knew what it felt like to have friends, and it felt great. While those two were bickering, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Wooyoung cocked his head with a small smirk. “Leave ‘em,” he chuckled. “They could keep going all night.” He holds his hand out and curtsies mockingly at you, not the bad kind. “Ready to go, Your Highness?”

True to his words, Hongjoong and Yunho were still bickering when you walked out. They didn’t even notice that Wooyoung had arrived and was now leaving with you. 

You had no direction in mind this time. It was only nearing four in the afternoon, much earlier than the time you would usually see Wooyoung. A nice walk in town wouldn’t hurt for a change. You didn’t want to go to the house this time, you were in a horrible mood.

Your co-workers from your own branch had their getaway without you. Sure, you were technically on the other side of the country, but you weren’t the only one. Some of your co-workers who were sent to other branches went as well. 

You were snapped out of your brooding thoughts when Wooyoung elbowed you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Crappy co-workers,” you said, not even bothering to sugarcoat what you really thought.

Wooyoung chortled, sitting down on the park bench that overlooked the entire greenery. You chose to sit with him. If you weren’t tied to your work in Seoul, you wouldn’t mind living here permanently.

“Still don’t like me?” You teased him.

He scoffed, side-eyeing you sarcastically before his eyes returned forward. “No.”

“But you’re here with me,” you shrugged, pulling your cardigan closer to your body as the wind picked up.

“Doesn’t mean I like you,” he pointed out. “Plus, you’re paying me. It’s literally my job to be with you right now.”

“Right,” you chuckled, leaving that conversation for another day. “Can I ask you something?”

Wooyoung hummed a go-ahead answer, a permission for you to ask what you wanted. “You said you have a brother?” He nodded his head once. “May I ask how old he is and what he does when you’re…working?”

“Interesting question, dollface,” he raised a brow. “But it’s oddly on brand with you.”

You shrugged. “I have nothing to lose.”

“I admire the audacity.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. There was something almost vulnerable in his expression. “He’s twelve. When I’m not around I drop him off to his babysitter. I trust Jongho with all that I have to take care of him.”

Wooyoung hesitated, running a hand through his hair before he continued. “He knows,” was all he said.

There was a beat of silence. You waited until he continued. “My brother knows that I do sex work,” he said, a hint of pain laced in his voice like it has always been there. “He knows, but at the same time, he doesn’t understand. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can.”

You have talked about his father before. You never asked, Wooyoung would just talk about him out of the blue, however, this was the first time you talked about his brother. 

Every single time you meet with Wooyoung, you learn things about him little by little and you can’t help but look at him differently each time you do. He likes to pretend he isn’t afraid whenever the topic about his family arises.

Behind all that cockiness and bravado, is an exhausted little boy who grew up faster than the world should have let him. You want to imagine you understood.

“He used to be good, you know?” Wooyoung clicked his tongue, putting his hands in his pockets. “My father, I mean. It wasn’t until my mother passed away that he started turning into the alcoholic bastard I now know him to be.”

Somehow, that stung more than you’d like to lead on. The fact that there was a potential in this lifetime for Wooyoung’s life to have been the other way around, only for his own father to snuff it out of him.

“It doesn’t hurt as much to remember, that I could have had what a normal person could have had, but it still fucking sucks,” he said. “This might be cheesy, and I don’t say it often to their faces, but this is why I cherish Yunho and Hongjoong in my life.”

“How so?” You asked, though you had an inkling as to why.

“They’re my chosen family, wouldn’t trade those motherfuckers for anything,” he chuckled, a fond smile spreading through his face. “There’s not a lot of things I believe, not anymore, but I do believe you choose the people you want in your life. Hell, I would have dropped my father a long time ago if I could. It’s the only way I’ll ever get to be free.”

“You will be,” you muttered automatically before you could stop yourself. Wooyoung stared at you expectantly. “Being free, I mean. Time will grant you that right.”

He laughed incredulously, and for a second, you wanted to berate him for putting himself down. “Seriously,” you tried to convince him. “This might be difficult to imagine right now, but this will pass. You never know, maybe you’d get to take yourself and brother away and be your own person eventually.”

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” Wooyoung sighed. “This is all I’ve known all my life, it’s difficult to not get stuck in this rut when all I want most of the time is to kick my father to the curb or to bash my every client’s head who pays me to suck my dick. It’s a cycle; I think, I sulk, I work, because if I don’t, we’ll starve.”

“Well, you’re alive, aren’t you?” You raised a brow in response.

His lips curl in obvious distaste and irritation. “Don’t get me started on what it means to be alive, Y/N.”

“There’s your answer, then,” you shrugged. He tilted his head in confusion. “You’re a fighter, Wooyoung. As long as you're breathing, you keep fighting. You hold onto that vision of your perfect future, and no matter how painful the steps, you keep moving toward it.” 

Wooyoung stared at you like you had all the answers to his questions. If you couldn’t read him before, you sure as hell couldn’t now. His expression morphs into something you couldn’t explain, yet it made your heart tremble. “I rely on myself, just making sure that was clear,” he said. “And I want what I know I could have, but goddamn it, why does the thing I want so fucking bad always out of my reach?”

He leans back on the bench, tilts his head up to stare up the sky with the most faraway look in his eyes. “I want to get the fuck out of here,” he swallowed. “So fucking bad.”

“And you will,” you assured him. “You deserve freedom, Wooyoung. Just like me, just like the rest of us. It might not be today, might not be tomorrow, but you will get there someday.”

“God, you really are the strangest rich person I’ve met. It’s like you’ve seen more shit than I have.” He shifts his head in your direction. “Will you get out, too?”

You didn’t know the answer to that. You shrugged.  “You asked me before if I wasn’t close with my parents,” you said, instead, the wind carrying your voice for you. “Are you still curious?”

The sharpness in his eyes had softened, just a little. He doesn’t say anything, but he turns his body ever so slightly in your direction to indicate that he was ready to listen. You had to smile at that.

The last thing you wanted to talk about were your parents, but it was time. “I didn’t exactly have the best relationship with my parents, if not, ever. I had no siblings either, so I pretty much grew up alone,” you began, sighing afterwards to brace yourself.

It already pained you to remember these, but your mouth wasn’t going to stop now that you had started. “My mom was the classic narcissist that literally questioned everything I did with all the hours that God had made everyday,” you chuckled bitterly. “Nothing was ever good enough for her.”

“If I’d get an A+, she’d tell me it wasn’t enough since A++ still existed,” you continued, your voice hardening the more you spoke. “I had to lose more weight, I had to act classier, I had to have this, that, and be everything that I already was even though I knew to myself I was good enough.”

You hadn’t meant to rant. Wooyoung titled his head, his entire body shifted fully to your direction at this point. “Your father?”

“He’s a different story,” you let out a dry laugh. “I love him, by God, I still do. But the love he held for my mother blinded him to my suffering and need for comfort when she berated me over nothing. To this day, he still doesn’t believe me when I tell him what mother did.”

“To be quite honest with you,” you spoke. “I don’t know who is the worse between the two.”

Wooyoung was quiet, watching you carefully as he listened to you. “You know what the kicker is?” You shook your head in disbelief. “They’re miserable. My mother stopped loving him a long time ago. But they have to stay together, it would be a disgrace to divorce in our world. It’s utter madness, I tell you. I have to be in the middle of that because I carry the family name.”

It wasn’t much of a secret that this is where your need for isolation started. You’d rather be alone. You already had a lifetime of baggage and weight you didn’t want to pass to anyone.

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt like understanding, like an acknowledgment of something that didn’t need to be put into words.

“I give a quarter of my total earnings to my father,” he said after a while. “Unfortunately, at the end of the day, I do live under his roof. If I didn’t give him my money, he wouldn’t hesitate to not only kick me, but also kick my brother out. His sons.”

He shrugged, exaggeratIng the move, as if he was proving to himself that it didn’t bother him, but you could clearly see through him. “At the same time, he can’t do that,” he clicked his tongue. “I am his only source of income, after all.”

You would consider yourself to be a very sympathetic person, but all the sympathy in the world cannot encompass what you feel for this man sitting beside you. Jung Wooyoung was everything you wished you'd found earlier in your life.

And you wished he found you earlier in life so that maybe, he wouldn’t be alone dealing with all of this. He’d have you even though he didn’t want you.

He stretches his limbs with a small groan before turning back to you with a bright grin on his face. “Both of our families suck ass, huh?”

You thought you were used to how crass he was, but still, he never failed to surprise you. “Yeah,” you laughed. “Yeah, they do.”

The topic just changed from there. You had no idea who started it, but all you know was that right now, Wooyoung and you were talking as if you weren’t his client and you weren’t paying for his time.

The sun was almost setting in the horizon, but the conversation carried on. You had no idea how long you two had been sitting on that bench, it was to a point that you were sure that your butt had imprints on it, nor had you any idea what time it currently was.

Usually, you would check your phone, but you didn’t bring it today. You had no reason to, you didn’t know you’d spend time with Wooyoung outdoors. But it was good, you didn’t want to be interrupted. You were too busy being with Wooyoung. 

You wanted to remember this day. You could forget everything that has ever happened to you, but not today. It was the first time Wooyoung had completely let his guard down to talk to you. His gestures were more animated, his face brighter than you’d ever seen it.

“When I was a kid, I loved climbing that big ass tree over there,” he laughed, pointing at the big tree across the park. “Always fell flat on my ass, too.”

He laughed the way he did when he was with Yunho and Hongjoong. Wooyoung said you had money, but you were pretty sure you wouldn’t have enough to pay to see even a glimpse of young Wooyoung back then, before everything.

You probably looked like a fool staring at him the more he talked. You wished Wooyoung could see his own face right now, and all you did was wonder how he used to spend his days and how many more stories of his life he had to tell you.

Tell me all of them, you thought. So I can stay alive for a little while longer.

It was when you felt it - the first fat raindrop that splashed against your cheek. You looked up just as the sky darkened. It startled you a bit, you could have sworn it was still a bit sunny earlier.

"Great," you sighed, getting ready to stand up. "We should go before this turns into a downpour."

But, Wooyoung only grinned. He held your arm to stop you. "Or," he said, tilting his head towards the sky with that irritatingly smug expression. “We could stay.”

A drop landed on your nose. Then another. But that wasn’t what got you, it was when Wooyoung’s hand dropped from your arm to your hand. You stared at him, horrified. "And get soaked?"

“Listen to me,” he began. “What if we forget everything just for tonight? No work, no shitty parents, just us and the rain.”

In your peripheral vision, you could already see people running to get cover, but your eyes never left Wooyoung’s.

“We’ll sing like we’re alone. Just imagine, Y/N,” he laughed so carefree, it hurt your heart. “We could literally be a force that could shake this whole damn world if we stood up to it, but only for tonight.”

"You're impossible," you sighed, but deep inside, you could already feel that fire inside you rising.

“You still have a lot to learn, I’m telling you,” he said excitedly, bringing his palm up with his other hand to feel the raindrops hitting his skin. “This is what it means to be alive. Don’t take for granted these little things,” he squeezed your hand tighter. “Because these little things are all that we have.”

The rain started to pick up, and it poured down so hard, the both of you were already soaked from head to toe within five minutes. 

“Everyone gets their freedom, it’s just a matter of time,” he said over the rain. “But right now, let's pretend we’ve reached the finish line.”

There you were, holding Wooyoung’s hand as you let the rain pour over you. It was so ridiculous, that you started laughing. It triggered Wooyoung’s own laughter, but the rain was so loud that it only carried your laughter over it, to be unheard to nobody else but the two of you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this - breathless, uninhibited, real. You weren’t even cold, and your clothes didn’t feel heavy on your body. There was just peace around the two of you, and strangely, that was all you needed.

The rain, you, and Wooyoung. That was all you needed.

You got slammed with so much work, you were surprised that you even had time to eat and shower. Phone call after phone call, Zoom meetings after the other, it was hectic. 

But, you were slowly beginning to realize that this trip wasn’t to help the other branch that they’d opened - it was just so they could have an excuse to have you out here doing something else. You’ve always been true to your work, working with clients for their utmost satisfaction and not their money. Well, your co-workers didn’t function like that. It was their loss, really.

These times were the moments you wished Wooyoung was here with you, but you haven’t booked him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to - it was that you couldn’t. You chose not to.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself wondering what he was doing, if he noticed your absence, if he even cared. You’d tell yourself that it didn’t matter, but then you’d be lying to yourself.

You decided to go to the bar, hoping to pass time or have a drink. Wooyoung wasn’t the only company you have, but as you entered the empty space, you knew that he was the only person you wanted.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, rich girl,” Hongjoong greeted you the moment he saw you, surprise flickering in his eyes. He pats the barstool beside him as Yunho nods his head at you in greeting as well.

“Wooyoung won’t be coming tonight,” the bartender said apologetically. “Were you here to wait for him?”

“Has he been busy lately?” You asked, automatically biting your tongue the moment the words came out. 

“He hasn’t been at our job for days now, ” Hongjoong cleared his throat, side-eyeing you again as if to tell you to not say a word about the job. “But he’s been taking extra shifts at his other jobs. I think he’s piling them up so he’d have more free time with you.”

Oh, that certainly caught your attention. “What does that even mean?”

Yunho smirks, temporarily leaving his station to humour you. “You know damn well what that means, aren’t you rich people educated on shit like that?”

You raised a brow. “I didn’t know you thought the same.”

“The point is,” he waved his hand. “We’ve never seen this excited to be with someone in a while. He looks so…what’s the word?”

“Alive,” Hongjoong supplies. “He’s never looked more alive than he does now, and it’s all because of you.

You blinked, the weight of Hongjoong’s words settling deep in your chest. Alive. They weren’t joking. They weren’t exaggerating. They both meant it.

“I mean, not to be callous about it, but I do pay him a hefty sum,” you shrugged, trying to tread the topic carefully. “He’s probably always been like this?”

“Has he?” Yunho raised a brow, leaning forward. “Because the Wooyoung we know doesn’t let just anyone in. He doesn’t show up for just anyone. Money be damned, if he doesn’t want to, don’t even expect anything. He doesn’t give a shit.”

“You’re what he looks forward to at the end of his days, Y/N,”  Hongjoong pauses, hesitant to say his next words. “Which is why he’s been in a horrible, horrible mood when you stopped booking for his time. It’s been almost two weeks now, what’s going on?” 

“No, but to be fair, Wooyoung hasn’t really showed up either, now that I think about it,” Yunho frowned. “Jongho says he hasn’t been going home, either. Just calling to check in on his brother.”

That was the thought that kept circulating in your head as you walked to the direction of the park. You were certainly worried now, was it a mistake to not seek Wooyoung this time?

And just like before, it also started raining. This time, though, you brought an umbrella with you as you were aware that it was going to rain before you went out today.

And just like before, you found yourself heading towards the park, towards the bench where you last saw Wooyoung. But, the bench wasn’t empty.

Wooyoung. The tears have left a blur in your vision that you couldn’t explain. The pain of seeing him sitting down the bench just staring out into nowhere has left a hole in which your heart should have been.

And just like before, his clothes were also soaked under the pouring rain. Only this time, his laughter wasn’t present in the air.

Not like this, you thought. Not like this.

Without hesitation, you quickly strode towards the bench, stopping short behind it and covered Wooyoung’s soaking form with the umbrella. If he noticed that the rain had suddenly stopped pouring where he sat, he didn’t react to it.

“I don’t reckon your umbrella is big enough for the both of us, dollface,” was all he said. He sounded calm, calmer than you’ve ever heard of him.

How he found out it was you, you were never going to know. You huffed, shifting the umbrella slightly so that more of it covered him than you. “I don’t reckon you care whether you get sick or not.”

Finally, he looked at you, and if it was possible, your heart broke even further. Wooyoung looked even more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. His cheeks were more gaunt and hollow than you remembered, his eyes more sunken than the average person.

Then again, Wooyoung’s life wasn’t normal. You couldn’t even begin to imagine all the things that kept him awake at night. “I don’t,” he admitted. “Not really.”

You made a small noise, gripping your umbrella so hard, your knuckles turned white. “I hope you know that there wouldn’t be enough rainwater in this world to drown you no matter how long you stay here. You might as well seek shelter.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I know. My demons came to take me to hell, but I’m already there. Plus, they know how to swim, anyway.”

You didn’t argue, there was no point, letting the silence stretch; just standing there behind him hoping to shield him from the rain even if you couldn’t save him from his demons. You left the house to go to the bar at six in the evening, and an hour later, you found yourself standing in the rain with Wooyoung.

Another hour later, the two of you were standing like idiots in a small boutique to find some spare clothes for him. By midnight, he was laying in bed next to you after he had showered and changed his clothes.

You didn’t question why he was out there. He hadn’t questioned why you haven’t called for him in two weeks. You didn’t offer him your bed. He didn’t leave a single space in between you as he laid down next to you. You didn’t push him away.

You just stayed there, listening to the rain against the window, to the sound of your own heartbeat, to the quiet presence of Wooyoung beside you.

And for reasons you didn’t quite understand, you felt like a brand new person. You felt normal, like you were just another person on this planet.

“I’m tired,” he suddenly whispered, his voice cracking through the darkness as his hand mindlessly played with your hair. “I’m so exhausted.”

“Go to sleep,” you said, not acknowledging the hidden meaning behind his words. You know he’d hate you for it.

“Thank you,” he said.

You didn’t bother looking at him, didn’t bother opening your eyes as his fingers traced your cheeks. “For?”

“The bed. Usually, I don’t have one to come home to.  Thank you.”

The indication was there. He hasn’t gone home in days when you saw him in the rain, and even if he does go home, he never stays long enough because even in his sleep, peace doesn’t visit him.

Humans have their limits, and you had always hoped that Wooyoung would never, ever reach his. The moment that fight left his eyes, would be the moment you would stop fighting, as well.

“You’re welcome,” was the last thing you said before you both fell asleep like everything was going to be okay the next day.

And for a moment, it would be. The both of you woke up to Wooyoung’s phone ringing incessantly. You watched him closely as he spoke with whoever else was calling him at seven in the morning.

You watched as his expression changed from annoyance, to surprise, to genuine relief. You could have even sworn there were tears in his eyes. But they’re happy tears. You would take those over the other kind any day.

“That was my mother’s lawyer when she was still alive,” he explained the moment he hung up the phone. He tried hard to keep the excitement off of his voice, but you’ve been spending enough time with him at this point to know.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

Wooyoung nodded. “Apparently, my mother signed a will that when I turned twenty-five, which I did two months ago, I’ll receive a lump sum of money to put into my little brother’s future. She knew she would pass soon before she even gave birth.”

His smile grew like the rising sun that rivaled the horizon outside your window right now. “My brother’s set for life even after college, Y/N. I can take a break from working too much for now.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread all over your face as well. A break. You deserve one. Heaven knows you do. That night, for the first time in your life, you didn’t have to watch the sunset alone.

Over the next few days, your closet would slowly be filled with Wooyoung’s spare clothes and belongings. It would be the first time in your life that you had to make space in your closet for someone else.

“This is a fuck ton of clothes you don’t even need, Jesus fucking H.,” he grumbled in annoyance when you asked him to shover your clothes on the other side of the drawer one day.

You rolled your eyes, but kept a smile on your face. “Most of these are my designs, I just keep them for layout purposes.”

He picked a particular piece that you hadn’t seen in a while - a blue, loose, lace crop top. It was when you were dabbling with genderless concepts. The fit was masculine, but the material was feminine. He didn’t even wait for you to say anything, he just shoved it in his space along with the rest of his clothes. Wooyoung would come and go to your place more often than not. Sometimes, you’d be surprised that he was already sleeping beside you, his face more peaceful than you’d ever seen it. Most of the time, it was the nights where you didn’t even book him. He would just do as he pleased.

As you watched him, this feeling that had quietly crept into your heart began to grow. It was something new. Something delicate and real, like the soft glow of the sunset outside your window.

You couldn’t help but wonder when this feeling had started, when the lines between just sharing space and something deeper began to blur. Was it the laughter you shared during late-night conversations, or was it the way he made everything feel so much more possible?

“I was actually going to do it that night.”

It certainly wasn’t the best way to start what you hoped to be a normal Wednesday morning. Your statement catches Wooyoung off-guard. There weren’t many things that made Wooyoung freeze, but sometimes, it seemed like you really never failed to surpass his expectations. It was fascinating.

He sighed, putting the spatula down on your sink so he could wash his hands, the pancakes he was making for the both of you for breakfast in your kitchen temporarily forgotten as he took the apron off to cross his hands over his chest and stare you down.

He knew exactly what you were referring to, you didn’t need to elaborate which night it was.

Still, you tried to tread the topic lightly. It wasn’t because you were trying to appease Wooyoung into liking you, but it was more because you didn’t want to make even more mistakes. Avoiding him for two weeks was a huge mistake on your part.

You tried to convince yourself it was the safe option. You only had less than two months left before you had to go back. You both knew that. At the end of the day, you knew that Wooyoung was afraid and uncertain, and he was especially fragile despite all the walls he built upon himself.

Wooyoung blinked at you, unmoving. “I know,” he said flatly. “I’ve seen and experienced too much shit to not know the look in someone’s eyes when they want to transcend wherever.”

Two simple words, spoken so flatly, so matter-of-factly, that it made your stomach twist. It was so Jung Wooyoung of him. The way he looked at you right now, though? It was the kind of certainty that you’ve never seen from him before. Still, you didn’t miss the way he shifted from foot to foot as he tried to keep his composure.

“That’s bullshit,” your voice was thin, almost unsteady, but you pushed through it. “You told me I didn’t have the guts to jump off of that railing that night. I know you did.”

You remembered that night vividly - the cold bite of the air, the way your hands had gripped the railing so tightly they ached, the way he had stood there, just close enough to reach if you lost your balance, but far enough to agitate you.

“So, I lied,” he closed his eyes before sighing and opening them again to look you deep in the eyes, as if he was trying to convey something without fully saying them. “It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take, dollface.”

The breath you had been holding slipped out shakily. You felt dizzy, off-kilter, like the universe had shifted and left you struggling to find your balance. “If I told you the truth,” he murmured, “I don’t think you would’ve come down.”

You’ve been alone all your life, so you were used to being invisible. The last person who you thought would actually see you was a tattooed sex worker who disliked wealthy people. Maybe it was the confusion talking for you, but then, you said something you shouldn’t have. Maybe you were no different than all the people that had made Wooyoung the way he was.

“I don’t understand,” your voice was sharp, cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

Wooyoung’s eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. “You don’t understand,” he deadpanned, his voice twisting into something angrier by the minute. “You don’t understand. You know what I don’t understand?”

You watched and held your breath as he harshly pulled a chair to sit down on it, closer to you. “The things I’d do to get what you have, they’re almost non-human in aspect,” he said, low and seething. “I still think that, and that’s never going to change. Not now, not ever.”

“You have nothing to escape from, absolutely nothing,” he continued, glaring at you. “God knows you have more than enough, surely you can’t be greedy and take what’s not yours to take, Y/N? Don’t be an idiot.”

Life, is what he’s trying to say.

You stared at each other for a lifetime. Wooyoung still looked exhausted. His chest heaved, his eyes dry, and you could practically see his collarbones peeking through his skin and the veins that marred them because of how transparent his skin was. Still, you couldn’t help the rising pride in your chest that overtook your shame because Wooyoung went through everything, yet he’s still so brave.

If Wooyoung can be brave, then why can’t you?

“I’m sorry,” you put your head low, looking down at your lap where your hands laid still. 

“You better fuck off with that, Y/N. I’m warning you,” he growled venomously, and suddenly, he was scooting closer to you. He takes his fist, that one where the thorned rose lay, and hits his chest.

“You’re not the only one who wanted to check out a long time ago. You know how I feel here? Everytime I take a fucking breath, there’s something inside me that feels like I’m breathing in sulfur. ”

You sighed. “I just want to live the way I want, you know? I don’t want everything, I just want to be happy.”

“So do I,” he replied.

You knew he wanted to say more, and you did too, but just like him when he holds back on talking smack about the type of people you belong to, you hold your tongue. It wasn’t because you couldn’t stand Wooyoung and his status, but it’s because you know you have no right to say anything about it.

Then again, maybe you were assuming things, maybe he was fine, maybe Wooyoung does sleep well at night, or maybe he was afraid despite not showing he was.

You didn’t notice Wooyoung’s chair scoot even closer to yours when you began to talk. “I mean, I get it,” you said. “We’re not the same and you’ve drilled that in my head so many times, but it really doesn’t have to be that way. Maybe we are the same, we just want to be happy.”

Wooyoung nods once, not looking like he even understood a thing you said. “You’re not doing shit,” he mumbled. “You can’t do it. Not in front of me. Not while I’m still standing.”

He puts his hands behind your neck before he pulls you and puts his lips against yours. His eyes were still open, tentatively watching you. He doesn’t move his lips, just meeting yours in a modest touch, his hand still holding your head tenderly like you were fine glass. There was no warning, it was as if he was trying to silence the raging storm between the both of  you.

You froze, your body short circuiting as both your mind and your surroundings dissolved into static. You didn’t kiss him back, not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how to do it with him properly.

You pulled away, your eyes widening ever so slightly as you caught your breath. Wooyoung leaned his forehead against yours, his face blank except for his small pout and furrowed brows. 

“W-Wooyoung?” You tried to say, but it ended up sounding like a squeak.

“Hmm?”

“You just k-kissed me.”

He completely pulls away from you, his face back to that indifferent look you knew him for. “Yeah?”

Your entire just shut down at that moment, your lips tingling because you could still the imprint of his on yours. “W-Why? What the hell—”

He shrugs with an incredible amount of nonchalance that you couldn’t decide if you should be amazed or offended. “Does it matter? I wanted to do it, so I did.”

You were so flabbergasted, your face blushing as you blinked at him repeatedly. You were surprised your heart hasn’t leapt out of your chest yet. The only reason why you haven’t really tumbled down is purely because of the sheer adrenaline pumping through your bloodstream by the buckets. It felt intoxicating yet dizzying at the same time.

Wooyoung lets out a small laughter, his fingers lifting to flick your forehead softly. “You’d think by now you’d know that I just do whatever comes to my head,” he said, fondness in his eyes.

“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it,” you frowned. But how does that work, exactly? You could barely think of anything right now.

“How does what work, dollface?” And just like that, he was able to render you into silence. You don’t know how he does it, but it’s making you panic. You decided to shut your mouth, you knew that you’d fumble if you spoke.

He barked out another laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What, cat got your tongue?” He tapped his own lips. “Or is it me?”

The heat rose to your face so fast you swore you felt it burn. Wooyoung stood back up and walked away from you, his hands slipping into his pockets like none of this had just happened. He motions towards the clock overhead the kitchen door.

“I have to head out,” he said. “I got booked by this tourist who wants a pretty boy to fuck.” He clicked his tongue, nodding towards you. “You should eat before you go to work, too.”

You stifle the smile that threatens to break from your lips. “Didn’t know you suddenly cared about my well-being.”

“Debatable,” he replied nonchalantly, but that was accompanied by a solid bite of his bottom lip to stop his smirk from showing.

“I’m just saying,” you chuckled, getting up from where you were as well to grab your purse and work folders. “I’m more than the lonely office worker that hires sex workers for the company. Just like there’s layers upon layers under all the sex work you do.”

Wooyoung’s smirk, or what’s little of it, completely drops. He tilted his head at you, curiosity filling his eyes. You blinked at him repeatedly. “You do…realize that, right? We are always more than what meets the eye.”

His lips curl into distaste. “Sure, I guess,” he shrugged.

“I mean, I know your revulsion is for my background and not me, specifically, and you’re biased, so I understand,” you said, hurriedly grabbing a couple pieces of pancakes on a small napkin to take. “It’s just you, Wooyoung. I’ve never disliked you. I’m not sure if that counts for something.”

Wooyoung’s lips parted, his forced guise of cynicism cracking. There was something else in his expression now - something softer, something fragile, beneath the bravado he always carried.

His direct eye contact wavers. “It does.”

Somehow, that admission settled into your chest like a quiet ache, a warmth you didn’t know what to do with, but you knew the weight behind those words, and he was aware of that. “My God, you’re strange,” you joked, trying to lighten up the situation. “It’s fine, really.”

Wooyoung hummed, stepping past you. “And you’re a fucking weirdo. That balances us out.”

Just before he reached the door, you stopped him by calling his name. He pauses, but doesn’t acknowledge the callout. “Wooyoung,” you said. “Will you be here when I come back from work?”

Then, without turning around, he asked, “Not sure. Why?”

“So I can order extra dinner,” you shrugged, holding your breath without knowing. “I, uhm, booked you for nine hours this time, but you don’t have to. You’re free to do what you want, as usual.”

Last night, not only did you tell Yeosang that you’re tipping extra, but you had to steal Wooyoung’s reservation from someone else. Admittedly, it did cost you a pretty penny, but you knew it would be worth it in the end.

Sometimes, you’d book Wooyoung when you weren’t even home. That would prompt him to do whatever the hell he wanted, regardless if he was with you or not. He wouldn’t tell you, but Yunho would. Wooyoung would crash at the taller man’s place to rest and sleep. 

Wooyoung’s eyes met yours and you found that his face was filled with more than its usual heaviness. There was something subtle in there - determination. There was a hint of hope and gratitude. There was something other than pain.

“I’ll see what I can do, dollface,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t a promise, but you were going to take what you can get.

He walks off, not bothering to close the door since you had to leave as well, but barely. Wooyoung would pause and hesitate, because he kept looking back and sneaking glances at you constantly, knowing that he has to go but not wanting to leave at the moment.

It’s okay, you thought. We still have more time.

The office felt suffocating today. You had to re-introduce yourself to the newer employees for this other branch, and so far, it wasn’t all too bad. From the looks of it, you were hoping that this environment wouldn’t be just like yours in the making.

Fabrics upon fabrics met your eye, new designs from fresher perspectives that genuinely impressed you. You missed this, you spent most of your time here with only Zoom meetings to go off of, and it felt great to be back in the scene in an actual office where you could review potential projects in person.

You were staring at a new recruit’s portfolio, which was admittedly quite good since they knew how to match colours with patterns, trying and failing to focus, when Mingi’s voice pulled you out of your haze.

“You look different.”

You blinked, turning to him. “Pray tell, Director Song.”

His head tilted slightly as he studied you, eyes sharp but unreadable. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “There’s just something different about you today.”

You hesitated. You wanted to tell him. Some of it, at least. But the details felt too complicated, and plus, you had always tried to separate your personal life with your professional work.

But Mingi was your long time friend, both of your parents were acquaintances - it was how he became an intern at your company - so if there was anyone who might understand your dilemma, it would be him. You picked your words carefully, skimming the surface of the truth without diving too deep. “I met someone,” you admitted.

Mingi’s brows shot up in shock.  You could tell he wasn’t expecting that. “Oh?”

You gave a small, almost self-conscious nod. “Yeah. He’s, uhm, quite complex. Very curious.”

Mingi scoffed, smirking. “Aren’t we all?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I would suppose so. Our circumstances are very unconventional. I can’t even put a label on it, there’s no precursor for it, if I’m being completely honest.”

Mingi laughed, but then he caught the way your voice softened at the edges. He exhaled through his nose, a small, quiet sound of understanding. “I’m happy for you,” he said. “People like us…it’s hard to find something worthwhile to hold onto. You know how it is. Love is almost unheard of. Laughable, even.”

Your chest tightened. People like us. What is worthwhile? You had no idea. Neither did Mingi. He could relate; his family was just like yours, after all. You were both born on a different standing and calibre, and it was just an unspoken and unwritten rule that apparently, with high economic statuses comes along a complicated life.

He patted your shoulders affectionately, speaking low enough for you to hear. “Regardless, I’m happy for you, Y/N. It’s a privilege to feel the way you do in this world,” he said. “You deserve to be happy, too. We are not our parents, remember that.”

Mingi dismissed you afterwards, something he might get in trouble for. You were relieved.

Coming back to the house was the most anxiety you’ve ever felt in your life. You’ve learned not to expect Wooyoung to be there. You wanted to give him his freedom, something this world had seemed to have forgotten to give to him.

But there he was. He sat on your couch like he belonged there, like he always had. His phone was in his hands, but the second he noticed you, he locked the screen and tossed it aside.

“Took you long enough,” he mused, tilting his head at you with a smirk.

Wooyoung looked exhausted. It showed in the dark circles beneath his eyes, his usual sharp gaze dulled by something you couldn’t name, and his smirk that usually looked so smug, now looked hollowed.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Wooyoung stretched, his shirt riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin before settling back down. “Neither did I.”

You furrowed your brows. “Then, why are you?”

He shrugged, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “Misery loves company, I guess.”

Wooyoung pushed himself off of the couch. He didn’t say anything else as he stepped closer to you, just tugging your shirt a little to pull you to him so he could lean in and slot his lips against yours in a serene kiss - another one you couldn’t return.

Wooyoung’s younger brother looked just like him.  And when he looked at you, something in his gaze lingered. It was very curious but knowing, like he already knew exactly who you were to his brother.

You wished you knew because you had no idea and if you were being honest to yourself, maybe you didn’t want to know. The house was quaint and a bit neglected, but it was home to Wooyoung, who was currently outside with Hongjoong and Yunho.

Wooyoung’s little brother was seen loitering around cold and hungry by Hongjoong, who took him straight to Yunho at the bar to call Wooyoung. Their father had left the poor child to go get blackout drunk somewhere else. You followed an understandably pissed Wooyoung there.

Luckily, Jongho was free tonight. He had come straight to the house to spend the night since Wooyoung’s schedule lined up with his other job after his time with you.

“He talks about you a lot when I’m done putting this one to sleep,” Jongho gave you a glass, a cracked one, of water. “But never the full story. Like he was keeping something safe.”

You looked away. Maybe it was safer this way. You gripped the glass hard, indescribable anger coursing through your veins at the unknown man who has supposedly fathered him.

“Ready to go?” Wooyoung’s voice suddenly filled the small living room as the other two followed him. He nodded at Hongjoong, who took it as his queue to distract his little brother.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jongho,” you smiled warmly at the babysitter, giving him a small hug. 

Wooyoung, whether it was subconscious or not on his end, held your hand in his as he started to walk away. It was a challenge ignoring Yunho’s smirk and wiggling eyebrows.

“I owe you one, man, big time,” Wooyoung spoke quietly towards Jongho. “I mean it. I’m not in the mood to see my father after this.”

“What ‘ya want me to tell him if I do see his sorry ass tonight?” Jongho asked. 

Wooyoung’s hand squeezed yours. “Tell him that he can take anything he wants, but he better not take it from me,” he flatly said. “I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks if you tell him he can go fuck himself.”

“Deal,” the younger man grinned. “Where are you going to stay, then?”

Wooyoung opts not to answer, instead patting Jongho on the shoulder once before dragging you with him to your car. As you drove, you didn’t need to ask him either. You knew what the answer would be.

The moment you get into the house, Wooyoung showers, presumably to cool off. You get it, you really did. You were left standing in the hallways, staring at the shower door, your mind replaying a specific moment you shared with Wooyoung one time. 

“Nightmare?” Wooyoung asked in concern, pulling your head to his chest. When you nodded, he asked, “What do you usually dream about?”

“Something to kiss the demons out of my dreams,” you mumbled, your voice muffled as your face was pressed on his firm chest. “You? What do you usually dream about?”

He doesn’t say anything at first, his fingers tracing your back lazily. “Water,” he said.

“Water?”

“I dream of water that can wash the weight of the world off my shoulders.”

You were so drawn to him. It was silent, unseen, hard to ignore. No matter how often you told yourself to walk away, you never could. 

Walking away was lost on you, because the truth was, you’ve started to look forward to ending your days with him. Wooyoung’s ghost haunted every corner of the house now, especially now when he was trying to temporarily wash away all his burdens.

You didn’t even notice him get out of the showers, your mind very much preoccupied with thoughts of him and everything that's happened so far. 

So when he tilted your chin upwards, you were startled. Your breath got caught in your throat, your body stilling as Wooyoung started to lean in, his lips almost touching yours.

But just when you thought he’d close the space between you, he stopped. “For someone who doesn’t return my kisses,” he murmured, voice low and heavy. “You sure always expect it.”

You looked down, shame filling your chest. You swallowed your words like it might poison you if spoken aloud. Wooyoung sighed, pulling you to the bedroom and sitting beside you on the bed.

“There’s not a lot that I can choose for myself, given my line of work,” Wooyoung began. “It’s an entire process, dollface. When the sun comes down, all the filth run free. I have to be the finest specimen of filth for a living so some daddy’s little angel would get dirt on her knees. I get paid, I go home.”

His words catch you off guard. Wooyoung doesn’t talk about his profession, if not, ever. And you never really asked, but you wouldn’t mind listening. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he continued.

“Then I get so blind with rage to the point that no matter what I do, I could never shake the feeling out,” he chuckled bitterly. “I hurt much more than anytime before, and sooner or later, I have no options left again. Rinse. Repeat. All I know is that all I want is to feel like I’m not stepped on.”

Wooyoung was so calm and collected while your heart felt like it wanted to explode. You hated that he seemed like he accepted all the unfairness that’s been happening to him.

“This might be my job, but sometimes, I feel disgusted with myself. I feel used. Dirty.”

You snapped your head to stare at him in horror at what he said, but you found that he was already staring at you.

You didn’t know what hurt more - the way he said it so plainly, or the fact that he truly meant it. He puts a finger against your lips, parting them slightly. “This. I chose to kiss you. I’d rather do it than not do it at all,” he finishes off. 

He pulled his hand back, just enough to let you breathe again, but you stopped him, holding onto his bicep for dear life. His gaze lingered, steady and unwavering.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Wooyoung asked, a hint of insecurity audible in his voice.

When you nodded enthusiastically, Wooyoung wore the most honest and brightest smile, as if all the heaviness that’s weighing him down had slipped off quietly away from him at your answer.

And then, he leaned in - slowly, deliberately, as if every movement was meant to linger. Kissing Wooyoung was like standing on a cliff where you were just a heartbeat away from falling, and for a moment, you felt weightless, caught between fear and the exhilaration of just being with him.

He deepened the kiss slightly, testing the waters, his hand finding the small of your back, pulling you closer. It automatically sends shivers down your spine. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the soft, steady beat of his heart in sync with your own.

His lips parted from yours just enough to let the air in, but his forehead stayed pressed against yours. Both of your eyes stayed close.

You held his face in between your shaking hands. “You’re not alone and you never will be,” you swallowed the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “Thanks for finding me that night, Wooyoung.”

He doesn’t respond, kissing you again. This time, it was more certain, more of himself. If this world fell apart, the both of you wouldn’t notice, if only for this fleeting moment.

The kiss was never brought up ever again after that night, even after another week. You both acknowledged that it happened and moved on.

A bubble of frustration was beginning to settle in your chest. Only the clicking of your keyboard could be heard around the room as the night settled. 

Wooyoung was next to you, his legs stretched out, head resting lazily against the headboard. You were hunched forward, eyes fixed on the glow of your laptop screen, fingers moving without pause. You felt the bed dip when he inched a bit closer to you.

“That looks nice,” he suddenly murmured as he pointed at the design you were currently working on. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Hmm?” You hummed noncommittally,  not looking away from your screen.

“Whatever you’ve been obsessed with since this lunch time, you’re decent at it.”

It was a rare praise coming from Wooyoung. You smiled, certainly happy because you genuinely needed to hear something good right now. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress. ”

He shrugged, trying to look indifferent, but then, you felt his leg touch yours as he scooted even closer. “What’s it for anyway?”

You didn’t respond right away. “Portfolio,” you replied robotically, your mouth doing your work for you. Your mind just wasn’t there; the words, notes, and deadlines loomed upon you.  It was easy to get lost into this rhythm and forget your surroundings, including Wooyoung.

Until your laptop was suddenly shut down. You looked up, startled, to see Wooyoung’s hand still on the lid of your laptop, having just shut it close. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on you. “You’re not busy right now,” he said, tone flat but final. “You’re with me.”

He wasn’t asking. You wanted to argue, mostly because you really wanted to get some work done. It was what set you apart from your co-workers, it was what made you ahead of the curve. 

You sighed, setting your laptop aside on the bedside table. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Wooyoung shifted, one knee bent lazily, head tilting toward you. “I’m just saying, you’re so tense,” he makes random gestures with his hand. “You need to get laid, or something. Blow off some steam, you know?”

You choked on your own breath, turning sharply toward him. “Excuse me?”

Your face went up in flames as your heart began to fumble. You could feel the heat blooming in your chest, crawling up your neck, painting your cheeks in something unforgiving. It felt criminal, the way your body reacted. The way the suggestion rooted itself somewhere deep inside you, unsettling and uninvited, curling like smoke around the idea of him.

Wooyoung leaned closer, peering at you with exaggerated curiosity. “This is so entertaining. I say one thing about sex and suddenly your whole system reboots.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him, face still on fire. “Be for fucking real, Wooyoung. You can’t just lay that on me.”

He raised a brow at your crude language, but shrugged anyway. “Come on. Don’t be two-faced, you’re acting like you’ve never used someone as a means to make yourself feel better at one point. ”

“Kinda hard when nobody has ever finished you off once,” you gritted your teeth. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it was too late. You slapped your mouth so hard it stung. Oh, you wish this Earth would swallow you whole.

Wooyoung’s eyes were so widened to the point that he looked like his soul had momentarily left his body through his pupils. “That has to be some bullshit,” he began, sounding uncertain, himself. “That has to be—”

“It’s not like I’m broken or anything,” you added quickly, like you were trying to defend something you weren’t even sure you believed. “I-It’s just the men I’ve been with have been selfish. They, uh, assume I’m fine. And I don’t really speak up, so…”

You trailed off, biting the inside of your cheek. “I guess I just got used to faking it.”

There. You said it. Might as well set the whole house on fire. You glanced at him, ready for the smirk, the joke, the playful jab you always braced yourself for, but Wooyoung was quiet. 

His silence felt intentional. He was thinking. His eyes didn’t leave your face. They flicked down to your lips for a second, then back up, like he was scanning every inch of you for a crack in the surface. 

You watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, barely visible, but there. His fingers curled into the blanket between you, slow and restrained, like he was grounding himself. You saw him eye the way your hands clasp together so hard, your fingers turn pale and white.

“That’s not right, Y/N. That’s not normal,” he finally said, his voice low, barely above a murmur. “May I?”

You found yourself scrambling backwards the bed as Wooyoung started crawling forward, his entire body encasing yours as he got on top of you, his hands holding the entire expanse of either of your waist. He was looking down at you with such fondness in his eyes that it momentarily stole your breath away.

“I’m trying really hard not to say something I can’t take back,” he added after a beat, voice a little rougher now. “Because right now? I kinda want to prove every one of those assholes wrong.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t move, but the way he looked at you felt more intimate than anything else could’ve in that moment, like he was offering something without saying it outright, and he was giving you the chance to take it or walk away.

It was a no-brainer for you - you’ve never wanted anything this bad in your entire life.  It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint why - Wooyoung and the way he moved that made him who he was, the things he’s experienced, his voice and the way he told his stories, the way your heart just clung to him.

You thanked him a couple of nights ago for finding you, but you should have thanked him for far more than that. After all, as many times as Wooyoung made it clear he doesn’t like rich people, he still stuck around you and he let you stick to him as well. He didn’t have to say it outright, it wasn’t very difficult to figure it out on your end.

“Don’t think too hard, dollface,” he whispered. “I promise to make it good for you. And I want you to know that I won’t treat this like I treat my clients even if you’re technically still paying for my time for it.”

That didn’t even cross your mind, but admittedly, you did completely forget that this was his job. “Remember when you asked me what my hobby was and I told you it was swimming?” Wooyoung softly asked. You nodded and his eyes softened. “I won’t let you sink. Not like this.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you said softly. “How do I know that, though?”

“Well, for one,” he whispered. “I’ve never kissed my clients. Ever. Not once, and I’ve had people offer me a fuck ton of money.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You lifted your head to meet his lips even though you were quivering. He was surprised at first, but he soon fell into a rhythm when he groaned softly in your mouth as his hands started to roam under your shirt. Your breaths came in short gasps but he had no problem swallowing those sounds from you.

“You sound so pretty,” he murmured in between kisses, the trail of saliva connecting your lips serving to turn the both of you on as evident in the way his hardness started pressing onto your clothed core. 

You hummed, never having felt an arousal like you did at this moment. Heat courses through your veins, especially when he started to move down your neck, kissing and sucking on your most sensitive spots.

“Feels good, Woo,” you mewled, wrapping your arms around his neck, your hands finding their way onto his hair to mindlessly tug on them. You didn’t dare open your eyes, afraid that if you did, this dream would suddenly vanish from your sights.

“Yeah?” Wooyoung mouthed against your skin, his kisses not once stopping as his hand lifted your back slightly so his other hand would fiddle on your bra until it came off. Only for him to freeze when he realized you were wearing none.

“Oh, W-Wooyoung,” you gasped in surprise when he suddenly lifted your shirt up to your chin to expose your ample breasts, the cold air automatically stiffening your sensitive nipples. 

You covered your face with your hands, ashamed and embarrassed of the way Wooyoung was drinking the sight of your naked chest up with so much lust. Compared to him, you were highly inexperienced in this regard. Not the sex part, you were no longer a virgin, but in the foreplay aspect. You’ve never had a man do it to you before.

“Don’t,” he coaxed softly, his hand prying yours away. “Don’t shy away from me now, baby.”

“I’m not the best in the looks department,” you blurted out. “You’ve been with better looking women during…you know.”

“You might be right,” he said, both his hands palming your tits and kneading them expertly. You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud, especially in the way he relished your expressions with a small smirk. “But, none of them are you.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening just a little, but his words lingered, settling somewhere deep inside you.

Wooyoung leaned down to, once again, kiss your neck until he slowly moved down to your chest, sucking and biting the skin between your tits. You moaned loudly when his tongue slid out to sensually lick your hardened nipples, not hesitating to push your chest up towards his warm mouth, almost begging him to suck on them harder.

“So pretty, baby,” he growled, his mouth closing around your aching nipples, his tongue lightly flicking over it back and forth, making you squirm against his hold. “Too much?”

“N-No, keep going,” you gasped when he grazed his teeth on your nipple. “J-Just overwhelmed.”

He hummed, pausing as he looked at you through his lashes. The sight was so erotic, it made you hiss in pleasure, bucking your hips more to his touch. 

Your heart felt a rush of excitement, it kept you craving for more. Wooyoung latches his lips back to yours, deepening this kiss immediately by parting your lips with his tongue, coaxing you to play and intertwining your tongues together. You felt feverish, your lust for this man spiking higher towards different heights.

You almost didn’t feel his fingers toying with your underwear, but when you did, you took the initiative to take all the barriers that stopped him from touching your core. Wooyoung sighs in approval, not breaking the kiss. 

His fingers don’t hesitate to brush against your clit. The sensation was electrifying, your body almost giving out all at once with just one single touch. However, you tense when his fingers start to dip down your hole. He senses your hesitancy and moves on to kiss down your neck, nibbling the skin to calm your senses.

“Shh, it’s okay, I got you,” he whispered as you felt him circle around the outside of your quivering hole. “I promised you, dollface. I got you, you believe me, right?”

You draw in a deep breath, whimpering an answer since your tongue seemed too tied to even speak. His other hand continues to caress your hips, further calming your body down until you feel yourself release all the tension. It was all it took for Wooyoung to breach inside you.

Wooyoung’s fingers were gentle, taking his time to stretch you out slowly. You moan loudly, he was very considerate about it, too, but the pleasure he was giving you was immeasurable. You’ve never felt like this before, never had someone reach that specific spot that had you writhing in satisfaction.

You could feel his smirk against your neck, his teeth biting and nipping you at random places, eagerly leaving you with love marks you hoped wouldn’t fade for a while. Each mark said one thing, and one thing only - you’re mine.

“W-Woo, mmm, I-I feel weird and tingly,” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly instead of the one thing you wanted to tell him - I’m yours.

“Relax, baby, breathe,” he instructed, suddenly bending his fingers up to hit a spot so sensitive, it had you crying out against his hold. “Let it go for me.”

That was how you got your very orgasm from just foreplay. Your mind exploded, a searing, lightning-like pleasure erupting behind your eyes. It left every muscle in your body spent and worn out.

You were a panting mess when he pulled his fingers out. He grabbed your head tenderly, peppering your faces with little kisses, all the while whispering ‘good girl, good girl, good girl’ over and over again in between the kitten kisses he was giving you.

While you were still recovering, Wooyoung shifted, his strong arms lifting your back as he lifted you up with ease so now you were situated on top of him. You gasped, settling your hands on his chest like you’ve always belonged on top of him like this.

You blushed when he tapped your thighs twice, prompting you to sit up a little so he could take his pants and boxers off. You swallowed, feeling his hard cock pressing up your wetness when you sat back down, his arousal coating your labia and mixing in with yours. 

“Take me,” he whispered, his hold on your hips tightening with unspoken tension. “This is your justice, dollface. Take your pleasure for me for all the ones you’ve never gotten before.”

Your breath caught, your fingers curled into his shoulders, and for a second, you couldn’t move, not because you didn’t want to, but because something about the way he said it bloomed fire in your lungs.

There was that familiar burn behind your eyes. Wooyoung wasn’t offering himself just for the sake of it - he was giving something back.

You bit your lip when he lifted you slightly, his other hand guiding his cock to your entrance. His gaze stayed on you, unwavering, almost reverent. “Let them take, but let me give,” he murmured, finally lowering you onto his cock.

“Oh, fuck, Wooyoung, fuck,” you gasped when you felt his cock reach all the way up. He felt good, divine even.

He started thrusting up and down, with you matching his pace after as you rode him, your feelings lost as your mind started to go blank at the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls.

“Oh, Y/N,” Wooyoung says, like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered - drawn out, cracked at the edges, reverent in its ruin. The sound lands on you like heat and thunder, blooming into shivers that tear through you without mercy.

You arched your back, Wooyoung’s hands keeping you in place, your hips and tits bouncing up and down along with the motion as you impaled yourself on Wooyoung’s cock over and over again. There was no holding back for you, not anymore, your moans filling the entire room as you kept pushing yourself further, moving faster.

“Look at you,” he groaned, gazing up at you with impassioned eyes and the little sparks of affection through them. “You're heaven sent, Y/N. My God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my fucking eyes on. Fuck me, keep going - yes.”

All the things that matter that you wanted to say die in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to tell Wooyoung, your chest overflowing with feelings you’ve never dared name, let alone think about. It’s all too much yet nothing because not once in your life had you had someone make you feel like this before.

Not until some sex worker walked through your door by mistake one day then everything shifts and gives your life what it was missing.

You felt your thigh muscles getting tired, but you kept pushing, riding his cock, even though the way you ground your hips to him felt more uncoordinated than anything. As if he was taking mercy on you, he braces himself and with one strong push of his hips, he began fucking up onto you.

“Wooyoung!” 

“I love the way you say my damn name,” he growled as he continued to thrust up at you, and all you could do was whimper while his throbbing cock was all you felt.

Your tits bounce with every, almost painful thrust while your pussy clenches and flutters around his rigid erection. Your eyes roll back, and your moan is hoarse and breathless as you say his name just the way he liked it. The effect was immediate and you could tell that he was close to chasing his own orgasm with you.

“I-I think I’m g-gonna come,” you whimpered pathetically, giving up and letting Wooyoung take control.

“Are you?” Wooyoung smirked, having the audacity to chuckle at your predicament.

You whined, your pleasure clouding your judgment as you started to feel annoyed with him. “W-Wooyoung, please—”

“Relax, baby,” he chuckled. It quickly turned into a snarl when he pulled you down on himself and you started to flutter and tighten against his aching cock. “I’m not gonna last long either, dollface, come for me, I wanna see you.”

Your body tensed up, your back arching like the string of a bow, then suddenly, you released, stronger than your first, the pleasure overtaking your shame and you screamed Wooyoung’s name so loud, you wouldn’t be surprised if someone heard your voice from somewhere in the distance.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re beautiful,” he panted, tapping your thighs again. “Off, baby, off. I’m gonna come, fuck.”

You watched as he stroked his cock, all in its perfectly curved glory, until cum shot off from it, landing on his chest as he moaned loudly, his voice louder than you’ve ever heard him. “Ah, shit, shit, shit, Y/N…”

You both lay there, side by side, suspended in the hush that only comes after something intimate has unraveled between two people.

The sheets were warm, tangled somewhere around your legs. His fingers, calloused but careful, brushed faintly against yours, until he pulled you and kissed you deeper than any silence that’s ever tried to swallow you whole. 

He sighs deeply in contentment, embracing you. It was tighter than any fear you’ve known, and it was suffocating yet somehow freeing. You just held onto him, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Was it everything you wanted?” Wooyoung whispered.

You hummed an answer, staying quiet as you didn’t want to tell him what you really thought in your head.

You were everything I wanted.

Just as the silence thickened, your phone rang, sharp and intrusive, slicing through the stillness between you like an unwelcome guest. The sound was jarring, you had to pull away from Wooyoung’s warmth and get your phone, but your heart stilled when you saw Mingi’s familiar number on the screen.

“Hello? Mingi?” You asked tentatively. Wooyoung’s brow raises, his arms tightening around your waist.

“I am sorry to interrupt your night, Y/N,” Mingi said, voice audibly tired. “Can you come to the office real quick? We have an emergency, it’s about your branch.”

You frowned. It was odd. Your branch hasn’t really contacted you, so why did Mingi? He was a director of another branch, it didn’t make any sense. 

“I’ll be there,” you said before hanging up and looking at Wooyoung with a deep frown. “You heard that, I think. I’m sorry, Woo.”

Wooyoung’s gaze flicked to yours, unreadable for a heartbeat. Then he nodded, slow and steady, but the way his jaw tensed told you more than his expression did. “You gotta do what you gotta do, it’s fine.”

He watched as you got dressed, but it didn’t feel right. You had no desire to go, but he was right - you had to do what you had to do. Despite yourself, you rushed towards the bed, grabbing Wooyoung’s face urgently, and planted a deep kiss on his lips. You had to let him know. “I’ll come back to you.”

He stared at you for a moment. “I believe you,” he simply said. 

You never had an attachment to that house, not at all, but tonight, it was difficult to leave. Not when you could feel Wooyoung’s lips attached to your lips and his hands imprinted on your skin. You couldn’t wait to go back, especially since he will be waiting for you.

But it all came crashing down when you met Mingi. You will never forget the feeling of devastation from all the high when he told you that your branch will be firing every single employee and higher ups, minus you and some others to rebrand and weed out all the people that have been tanking your company’s sales.

That meant that you had to go back a month earlier than planned.

You don’t remember the journey back to the house. When you opened the door, Wooyoung was still there, sitting on the edge of the bed with that unreadable look in his eyes, just waiting for you. You couldn’t look him in the eye - you didn’t want to see his reaction.

But when you do, the look in your face told the both of you everything you needed to know. You looked at him, and he looked at you, and you both saw it.

Wooyoung does something differently this time when you book him. Instead of going with what you want, he asks you to go with him - to the tattoo shop. You don’t know what he gets, just patiently waiting in the lobby, until you go back to the house and he lets you see it.

I’m not alone and I will never be. Your fingers were shaking as you traced the words that now laid at the back of his neck, careful not to disturb the protective wrap around it. You were pretty sure he could feel it.

There was a thin, unspoken thread that wrapped the entire room. You knew those words from weeks prior as you were the one who said them. Your heart thudded unevenly against your ribs. “Thanks for taking me, it suits you,” you complimented him softly.

He finally turned around, eyes meeting yours, holding all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him. “Thanks for coming with me, I guess,” he shrugged.

A sudden silence ensued, like the seconds were stretching just to hold off what was coming. How could you even begin to say anything? How do you wrap finality in a sentence? How do you make something sound casual when your throat is tight and your time is running out?

All you could do was stand there and memorize the shape of him - his beautiful tattoos, his dark hair that covered his forehead in a complimentary way, his boyish charm, the curve of his hand that fit well with yours. “What changed?” You asked, barely a whisper. “You didn’t like me.”

“I didn’t want to like you,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “You were everything I didn’t have room for - hell, you were everything I wasn’t in this life and I still resent that.”

You let out a trembling breath. Wooyoung purses his lips, combing his hands on his hair. “People like you felt too much, yet nothing at the same time. And you were just like me. In essence…it really is just you as a person, Y/N. You hear me?”

He holds your chin, tilting it up to meet his obscure eyes. “It’s just you,” he repeated softly.

You smiled, a little crooked and cracked around the corners. “Just me.”

For you, it was just him, as well, and perhaps, that was the hardest part. It was one of the things that you admire about this man; he was very resolute in everything he said, like he already knew things before they happened. Like right now, the look in his eyes shone with acceptance.

Wooyoung smiled back, pushing your chin higher to meet his lips in a soft kiss. “The truth was,” he murmured. “Everytime we kissed, it felt like we were practicing how to let go.”

That pierced your heart like an arrow lodging deep in your chest, but you couldn’t get yourself to disagree. Kisses with Wooyoung never felt like beginnings - they were echoes of an ending you were too afraid to name.

“Did you know?” You asked, your smile wavering as you tried not to hold on to him, the shaking of your hands too much to feel even for you.

Wooyoung nodded. “I did.”

“So why’d you still do it, then? Why, when you knew?”

Wooyoung sighed, holding your face in his hands tenderly as if he was afraid that you’d break down if he didn’t. “Remember when I told you about my choices? The things I choose to do rather than not do?”

You nodded, gritting your teeth so hard to control yourself, Wooyoung had to massage your jaws to make you stop. You brought your hands to him and he held onto them without leaving your face. “I’m glad to have known you, Y/N,” he squeezed your hands. “I’m glad you proved me wrong in every aspect possible.”

Your lips parted, but the words got stuck in your throat. Instead, you just let your eyes speak for you, and he understood. “This is it for us, this is all we’re going to get, but regardless, I’m glad I met you.”

We’ve always been on borrowed time, anyway.

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I’m glad too, Wooyoung. I’m very glad to meet you.”

“You have your life, and I have mine,” he shrugged, his rigid shoulders betraying what he truly felt. “And we have to live with that. It’s the one thing all of us have in common whether you’re dirt poor or filthy rich - we just have to live out the consequences of the life we choose for ourselves. There is no way around it.”

You snorted, adoration coming through since it was such a him thing to say. “You make it sound so simple.”

He half-shrugged again, this time with the ghost of a smirk. “Maybe because it is. It’s just how the world turns, Y/N. And you,” he tilted his head, eyes sharp with meaning. “You know that better than most.”

You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, because only Wooyoung could say something like that with such maddening certainty - as if the world was some fixed machine with gears we were all doomed to turn, no matter how loud we screamed beneath the grinding. 

But he wouldn’t be wrong. You did know better than most. The world never stopped for anybody, and it certainly wouldn’t stop for the two of you.

“There’s, uh,” you paused, clearing your throat. “There’s a huge possibility we won’t see each other again, Wooyoung. My company is having a do-over, I might get shipped somewhere else.”

He nodded, eyes elsewhere. “It is what it is, Y/N. It’s something you have to live with. You and I both.”

“So that’s it?” You asked quietly, the words trembling like they’d walked barefoot over every memory you’d made with him. “You just live with it?”

His eyes met yours again. “No,” he said, softer now. “You carry it. Every day. In the silence. In the in-between. You carry it until it stops hurting, or until you stop noticing the weight.”

Right.

You watch Wooyoung, the way the light catches in his eyes. There’s hope in it, but there’s hurt too, layered and quiet, like a secret he doesn’t mind being seen but refuses to say out loud.

It wasn’t anything dramatic; it’s just how life worked sometimes. You meet someone, sometimes they don’t stay, and you both keep living. Most of the time, your paths cross only once and never again. You bit your lip, deep in thought. “What are you going to do then, Woo?” 

Wooyoung smiles, the kind of mournful fondness that almost breaks you. “Let live, and let die. I’ll do what I do best, and that is to keep moving forward. The process will be painful, but I’ll have to make do with what I have and work around it.”

He leaned his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. It prompts you to do the same. “I’ll try my best to fight what I can control, and then learn how to surrender to the ones I can’t. This is one of those moments, my little doll. It was very easy to go along with this, but it was very difficult not to surrender to the race against our clock.”

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips staying there as he speaks. There was a sick part of you that wishes he’d leave a permanent mark on your skin somewhere.

“I don’t want to fully know every part of you, and I know that sounds unfair,” Wooyoung began. “Doing so means watching every piece of that knowledge walk away when you go. It’s easier this way, because if I did learn everything in the span of the three months you were here, I’m not sure I’ll survive watching that all go away in an instant.”

“I’ve already been through a lot in this fucking lifetime,” he said. “I’m through, you know? Maybe it’s better to leave some mystery. Maybe that’s how I’ll keep a part of you, even when you’re gone.”

His lips travel down, kissing both of your eyes this time as if he was searing this moment directly in your brain. “If somehow the odds are in my favour, I’ll find you again.”

A tightness gripped your chest, a weight pressing down, suffocating and relentless. It felt like every piece of you was unraveling, each thread pulling at the seams of your composure.

Your throat constricted, as if a flood was gathering the very same eyes he kissed. “Are you telling me to wait for you?”

“No,” he instantly rejected. “Absolutely not, Y/N. Never wait for something you are unsure of, please. Do yourself that favour. Do me that favour. I can’t have you waiting for me when I’m not even sure I can deliver.”

So, what do you want?

His grip on your face tightens ever so slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll get out of this city. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll make it out alive, not when every day here feels like a losing fight.”

“So,” he continued. “Let me remember you how I remember you right now, because if your memory is the only thing that’ll keep me going for the rest of my life, I’ll do it. I will always remember you, Y/N. Even if we don’t see each other again.”

Your fingers twitched, curling into fists, as if you could stop the feeling by holding yourself together. “What if I end up falling for someone else along the way?”

Wooyoung pauses, and for a second, your heart rate picks up. “If you've found someone else that will make you happy, then I will be thankful for it. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t, and if it doesn’t work out, then you move on. See where that takes you after.”

You understood. Not all souls were meant to cross paths in this lifetime. There was only so much you could learn about Wooyoung, and even then, you feel like you still didn’t know him at all. Heck, there were people who have been together for far, far longer and they still learn something new about each other every single day. And while you believed that to be beautiful, you didn’t know where that left you with Wooyoung.

You knew he couldn’t answer all the questions you were throwing at him. Life was unpredictable like that, even the most realistic person out there like Jung Wooyoung didn’t have the answers for everything.

Now that you thought about it, you didn’t want to learn everything about Wooyoung, either. If anything, you wanted to begin to forget him as soon as possible so if destiny does move in the funniest of ways, falling back into him would feel twice as sweet and more so emotional on your ends.

Or maybe you wouldn’t even remember who he was anymore down the road. It was another part the both of you didn’t know yet. 

But alas, you’ll just have to see where life takes you because for now, the both of you didn’t have any room for love to grow. If Wooyoung finds you again like he did that night, then you’d go from there.

After much deliberation on his end, he gives in, his lips finally touching yours with a kiss that holds unspoken promises. He coaxed out the three words that laid on the tip of your tongue with his. They ached to break free, to give him the truth he deserved to hear from you.

Would that be the right thing to do, though?

It would be very selfish on your end, to leave him with those parting words, but damn it, if you haven’t been selfless all your life. 

Fuck it.

But before you could get the words past your lips, he raised a hand, a gentle but firm stop. He pulled away, his eyes meeting yours with a depth that made your heart stutter.

“Don’t say it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, yet carrying the gravity of a thousand unspoken emotions. “Not yet. Please.”

It was what he said that had the dam that contained all your emotions break and spill all the tears you’ve been trying to contain all this time. Wooyoung didn’t hesitate to wipe them with his thumbs.

“If we see each other again in the future and you still feel the same, then you can say it. But until then, keep it.” he continued. His eyes softened, filled with a quiet plea. “Give me a chance to turn my life around. Let me make it out of here and be someone I’m proud to be.”

Of all the things you’ve talked about today, that was the one thing that truly made fear settle deep in your chest. “But, I’m already proud of you,” you said, voice unyielding.

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened. "But, I’m not," he whispered, the finality in his words like a door slamming shut.

The sound of Wooyoung’s phone ringing breaks through the stillness, harsh and jarring, like a stone tossed into a quiet pond. Your heart sank, it wasn’t a phone call - it was an alarm. He had another client waiting for him somewhere.

With a quiet sigh, Wooyoung began to pull away from you. Just like that, the moment had already begun slipping like sand through an hourglass. 

For a moment, you couldn’t move, your whole body frozen in time, but when you saw Wooyoung turn around, you quickly moved to hug him from behind, pressing your face on his back. “Y/N,” he said, his hand holding yours and squeezing it.

Don’t go, please, I don’t know what to do.

Wooyoung turns around, cupping your face once more. “I know, baby, it’s hard for me, too. I have to go, but you listen to me, okay? And you listen to me well because this might be the only time I’ll ever get to say it.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together in an attempt to get a hold of yourself. “Run free and wild, Y/N. You don’t belong here. This world is yours for the taking, all you have to do is make it yours. Make it worth your time when you move on to whatever the hell is next and know that you went in the end without a single regret.”

All you could do was nod again. You wanted to reach out, to scream into the silence, but all you could do was stand there as Wooyoung tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” he smiled, bittersweet. “Give your company hell while I picture you in places I’ve never seen, meet people I’ll never know, live stories I won’t be a part of, and shape your own destiny in ways I won't be able to see.”

We have to fall, fall apart to work.

“And I’ll live my life wondering about what you’ll do next, here,” he takes your hand to place it where his heart was. “Even if I spend every single night doing so, just like when I spend it with you to end my days here. I don’t mind doing it for the rest of my life.”

He lets go for the final time, opening the door to walk outside, possibly forever. But, you couldn’t let go, not without giving him an option. “Choi San,” you blurted out before he completely walked away.

He halted his steps, tilting his head towards you in a way you once found endearing but now left you a finalized image of him before you parted ways. “Remember that name. He’s my new supervisor,” you swallowed a wave of new tears. “When you find yourself, please let me know.”

“Choi San,” he muttered, repeating the name as if he was marking it in his head already, training his lips to say the name over and over again for one day.

“Goodbye, Wooyoung,” you choked, the words burning through your throat.

For a second, Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and you saw the vulnerability there, the rawness of the goodbye. But then, without another word, he nodded once and turned, walking away from you, each step a little heavier than the last. 

He didn’t turn around once to look at you and you didn’t wait to see if he did, you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. You closed the door behind you, but you didn’t cry, didn’t scream. You just stood there, devastation filling in your chest, down to your feet, all without ever making a sound.

Run free, Wooyoung, so we can both start living.

You never really see each other after that even though you didn’t have to leave for another two weeks. You never went back to the bar nor did you book Wooyoung again. When you did try to call just to ease the pain, Yeosang wasn’t the one who answered. You immediately hung up.

And now, you were back on that train that took you here in the first place - the one that led you to a destination you never thought in a million years would alter the course of your life. 

There you were again, sitting alone in the train cabin, completely alone as you stared out the window and watched the passing scenarios fly by like they were nothing. You didn’t dare watch the city behind you get further and further.

It wasn’t something you were used to, you’ve always been alone all your life, but this was the first time you felt truly, utterly alone. It was some sort of poetic justice on your end; you came here alone, and therefore, you were also completely alone as you left. The only difference was, there was now something missing that you had left behind in that fancy, luxurious house - your heart.

You couldn’t bear to bring it - you didn’t want to -  hoping that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt as much without it. But even without it, the emptiness remained, lingering like a ghost in the corners of your soul.

The only way was forward at this point, the regrets would prove to be fruitless. The idea of embracing whatever comes, living fully, yet knowing that the end will eventually come for everything was daunting, but you had to do what you had to do. 

You will live fully, knowing that one day, you’ll let go. But until that moment comes, you embrace every second, because those moments, no matter how short or long, are the only things truly within your control.

To live and to let die. That was what you were going to do.

You bowed respectfully towards the people that surrounded the round table as their claps filled the meeting room. Another smile later, the meeting and presentations for the future designs in collaboration with a sister company was fully conducted.

“Great as always, Y/N,” your boss grinned at you as he began to approach you, setting your portfolio and tucking it under his arms so he could give you the handshake you deserved. “I don’t know how you do it, I really don’t. It never did feel right that I was your boss instead of the other way around even after all these years.”

You shook your head, jokingly rolling your eyes. Thankfully, you had a wonderful enough relationship with your supervisor that you could get away with this. “Oh, stop it, San. You know that’s just untrue. Your ideas have always been trend-setting. I just so happen to know how to make those come to life.”

People who were passing by from the meeting room bowed to both of you and San, but more so, they’d either praise you, or they would just use that as an excuse to ogle at the wonder that was Choi San. You understood, you really did. San was one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. Hell, it took you a while to get used to the fact that he was, indeed, your supervisor and not one of the company’s models. It didn’t really help that the man was humble and kind.

He tugs on his shirt sleeve, peering at the time attached to his wrists in the form of a watch. “Company lunch to celebrate with everyone, on me, in thirty minutes downtown at that new restaurant,” he clicked his tongue. “Go this time, yeah? I need my best designer to unwind and be well fed.”

You scoffed softly, about to say something, when he interrupts. “I’m serious, Y/N,” San said, his voice dropping to whisper. “We won’t launch the portfolio for another month. Take a break. You’re good at what you do.”

You’re good at what you do.

You froze, the statement echoing in your head. The sound of those words, they sound so familiar. The memory teases you, just out of reach, like a shadow too fast to catch.

“Oh, by the way,” San stopped you before you walked away. “Come see me at my office after. There’s a package that came that’s addressed to you.”

You nodded, pushing the thought away, as you always did. It was easier not to think about it, to keep moving, to keep working, to bury the feeling under a mountain of new ideas. But it never quite went away. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, a text from one of your coworkers, confirming the time and place for lunch. You read it, typed a quick reply, and shoved the phone back into your bag. The noise, the movement, the busyness - none of it ever filled that void.

Lunch wasn’t bad at all, your coworkers were great company after all, but you couldn’t concentrate. You were supposed to be here at the moment, but you just can’t. You had made a name for yourself in the fashion industry after three years of working hard, but none of it ever mattered to you.

“When do you think they’ll close the restaurant for the bar tonight?” You absentmindedly asked your nearest coworker, who was sitting across from you.

They looked at you confused, even going as far as to wait for you to reiterate your statement. “Uhm, I don’t think that’s a thing around here, if not ever,” they frowned. “That would be great, though, do you know a place like that?”

You blinked, caught off guard, embarrassed all of a sudden. “N-No, I think you’re right. I don’t know where that thought process came from. I apologize.”

Yeah, maybe San was right after all - you definitely needed a break. Maybe it was just a side effect of being a designer. You were constantly moving and evolving, after all.

As promised, when you got to San’s fancy office, there was a package waiting for you. You held it curiously in your hand, tossing and shaking the box around to gauge what was inside it. There was no sender name written, only yours and the office’s address.

“Any idea what it is?” San asked with one brow raised, work phone on the other hand while the other paused from signing multiple documents.

You shrugged. “Not really. Anyway, I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waved you off dismissively, not even bothering you look up as he began to speak to whoever just called him. Fine by you. The package was probably the fabric you ordered a while back for your new piece to add to your portfolio.

The apartment was quiet when you got there. It was heavy with the hum of a long, restless afternoon. You’ve been living in this studio apartment for only a year, but you love it. It was definitely an upgrade from your old apartment, but the biggest reason you loved it here was because you had plenty of space to sew and design a lot of things.

And you were excited. You’ve been waiting for this new fabric for a while now, but when you tore the package open, you were confused to see that it wasn’t the vibrant red you were anticipating. No, this was a faded blue.

What’s more was that it wasn’t a slab of fabric. You gingerly took it out, even more confused when you saw a lace crop top. Odd, you thought as your fingers brushed over the top. It was nice, very genderless in concept, but why was it sent to you?

Had you made this? You closed your eyes shut, a memory just beyond reach plaguing your head. You had designed countless pieces over the years, each one blurring into the next, but this one? This one was different. 

Maybe it was the forgotten details that seemed to belong to someone else. You couldn’t remember the last time you'd seen it, let alone made it. Your style had changed so much over the years, but there was something about this piece, something familiar.

When you lifted it up to inspect it, something fell out from the seams. You picked it up, surprised to see that it was a neatly folded piece of paper - a note, it seems.

‘If this reaches L/N Y/N, please call this number - XXX-XXX-XXX. If not, return to the sender.’

Your heart skipped. There was an urgency you couldn’t explain. Without thinking, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed the number. The ring felt like an eternity, the seconds stretching into the unspoken, until a voice finally picked up.

“Hello. If you have a tattoo appointment, I’ll redirect you to your artist. This is the owner speaking, how may I help you?”

You were thoroughly confused now, you don’t have tattoos and you don’t see yourself getting one in the near future, but your chest tightened, that distant familiarity stirring in it.

“Uh, hi. I got sent a package that said I had to call this number,” you mumbled, walking to the windowsill of your apartment that overlooked the moon and the stars. 

There was silence on the other end, long and deafening. It was to the point that you had to double check if the call was still connected. The only reason why you knew it was was that there were external noises on the phone, assuming that whoever was on the other end was moving. “Hello?” You tried again.

The movement stopped, the call completely silent this time. Then, there was a quiet inhale, sharp and uneven, like whoever was on the other end had just remembered how to breathe, before it was followed by a sniffle and a low chuckle.

“It’s you,” the voice, a man, said softly. “I didn’t think you’d call.”

Your breath hitched. That voice. It was the one you kept hearing whenever you’d remember something. You knew there should be a face attached to that voice in your head, but nothing. The hollow ache grew a little deeper, a little more urgent, until it was almost unbearable. You could feel it pressing against your chest, like a hand reaching out to you, demanding attention. 

You exhaled slowly, trying to calm yourself. “Who is this?” 

The man lets out a low chuckle again, only this time, it sounded more affectionate. It caught you off guard. By God, you wanted to remember so badly, but you didn’t know where to start. You began to wrack your brain for something, anything.

You didn’t know what you were searching for. However, through these years, you’ve always had this sinking feeling that someone, somewhere was out there waiting for you; somewhere in the quiet spaces between the thoughts you’ve tried to bury deep down.

The feeling was there. It was always there. You couldn’t say what you’d lost - only that something was missing.

“Tell me, my little doll,” he clicked his tongue. You could almost picture it. “Did you get to do what you were meant to do all these years?”

That was another blow to your chest. Doll. Little doll. Dollface. Your blood rushed to your ears, the voice starting to curl into your memory now, like smoke filling in every crack of a closed room.

“I suppose so,” you shrugged. Without thinking, your mouth blurted out that first thing that came into your head. “You? Did you manage to find yourself?”

You could hear the way he exhaled. It was slow and careful, like he was trying to keep himself together. “I did. It took me a while, but I did.”

There was something about the way he said it; the way his voice dropped slightly at the end. You stared outside to the twinkling stars. Something about them pulled you. And then suddenly, you could see visions of him.

The way he stood on the rooftop, hands in his pockets, staring at the same sky. A smirk would follow, one that felt like home and like something you’d never really gotten to fully know all at once.

You could picture him now - not just the shape of him, but him. The tired lines around his eyes. The tattoos that were etched beautifully on his skin. The way he’d tilt his head when you were speaking. His nonchalant and indifferent attitude towards things.

“I can hear your thoughts from where I am, you know? I really could,” he murmured. His voice felt too much now that you’ve pulled him out from deep inside you where you stored him in hopes of preventing all the hurt all these years. “You still remember the quiet parts of me.”

“There was a point in my life where I forgot your face,” you said, your voice shaking. 

“That’s okay. You used to close your eyes and trace it with your fingers, anyway.”

Your eyes stung, not even realizing tears were forming until one slid down your cheek. You inhaled sharply but you  didn’t speak. You knew. You knew what was coming next.

“We lived and let die, Y/N. We made it,” his voice was gentle, coaxing you out of the shell you’ve crawled into for safe haven. “The question is, do you still feel the same? Because I do. I never forgot that feeling.”

A soft, breathless laugh escaped you. It was shaky and wet with tears and it caught you by surprise. You tried to suppress it but the relief bloomed too fast. It was the sound of a weight lifting off your chest after years of carrying it in silence.

“Yes, Wooyoung. I still feel the same about you.”

On the other end of the line, there was no reply. Just the sound of him exhaling, quiet, and disbelieving, like hearing his name from your lips was all he’d been waiting for.

Then Wooyoung laughed. It was warm and raw and full of something that sounded like finally. You could hear him wiping at his face, hear the way it caught in his throat.

“What now?” You asked after a while. Your voice was still raw, but it was also lighter at the same time.

There was a pause, just long enough for you to wonder if maybe Wooyoung hadn’t heard you. Then he spoke, his voice as steady and sure as ever. “You could look down.”

You were confused at his request, but you did as told. You pressed your hands and face by the glass window and peered down. At first, all you saw was the busy road and some cars passing by, but then, your entire world stopped when your gaze landed on the sidewalk. Wooyoung.

You could tell it was him even from this distance. The same posture, the same silhouette. But he looked different. More polished, more alive, somehow. His hair was shorter, styled neatly, and his face was more refined, like time had carved away some of the youth and left something more certain, more grounded.

He held his phone in his ear as his eyes found yours through the reflection of the glass. And there was a smile on his face, so subtle, but it was there. 

“Oh my God, Wooyoung,” you choked out. More tears found their way up your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged on your lips. 

Wooyoung wasn’t faring better. From this distance, you could see his eyes gloss out, his unshed tears audible on the other end.

He smiled, wider this time, up to you, his gaze never leaving yours. Wooyoung’s eyes twinkled like the stars did when he found you three years ago on the rooftop. “I guess the odds were in my favour, after all.”

You covered your mouth, torn between laughing and breaking apart entirely. You must’ve looked crazy. “Yeah. Yeah, they were.”

Your chest tightened, the simplicity of it all striking deeper than you expected. He wasn’t asking for anything. He wasn’t begging you to come down.

He was just there, looking up at you from the sidewalk like he had been waiting for you for quite some time now.

And it was enough.

𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @keopihaus @dove-net @othersideoutlawsnetwork @hiraya-m @illusionnet @pirateeznet

The kind of silence that clings, heavy and awkward, like neither of you quite know what to do with the fact that you're actually spending time together. The interior is pristine, of course. Matte black leather.

Subtle gold accents. The hum of the engine deep and smooth like it costs more than most people’s houses. 

Your dad’s wrist, weighed down by that obnoxiously thick watch, rests casually on the steering wheel like he owns the road—and maybe he does.

You wouldn’t be surprised.

You're angled toward the window at first, legs crossed, trying to stay small in the passenger seat. But then you glance down at your phone. Open the front-facing camera.

And pause.

You actually look good.

Mascara's clean. Your lips are glossy. Hair falling just right over your shoulder. Your skin has that glow from crying, that flushed, tragic look, like a beautiful girl in a music video who just escaped a bad situation. 

You're half embarrassed at the thought, but also… you don’t look as broken as you felt an hour ago. You tilt your chin. Swipe a strand of hair behind your ear. Zoom in. Re-adjust.

“You done?” his voice slices through the quiet, lazy and amused.

You don’t answer at first. Just smirk a little at your reflection, then glance over at him.

He already has one eyebrow raised. “Jesus. You’re more in love with yourself than anyone else ever could be.”

You shrug, turning back to the mirror. “Someone has to be.”

“Tch. You look just like your mother when you do that.”

“Good,” you mutter, still focused on fixing the gloss. “She’s hotter than you.”

He lets out a short laugh. “Hotter than me, huh? I’m me, kid. I made her hot.”

You pause. Turn to look at him, slowly. “What does that even mean.”

“I mean,” he grins, smug as hell now, “your mom was a mess before me. I refined her. Polished her up. Gave her something real to look forward to.”

You roll your eyes. “God, you’re so narcissistic.”

“And you’re not?” he shoots back instantly. “Look at you. Flipping your hair and pouting at yourself like you’re about to shoot a music video. Don’t act brand new.”

You snort. “I’m fixing my lip gloss. Calm down.”

Then, like he can’t help himself, he adds: “You know you came out of my balls, right?”

You choke. “What?!”

He grins wider. “I’m just saying. All that—” he gestures vaguely at your whole body, “—that’s all me, sweetheart. My genes. My work.”

“Oh my God—” you groan, covering your face. “You’re disgusting.”

“Nah, I’m real. You just don’t like hearing the truth.”

You shake your head. “That is so foul. I should’ve stayed in bed.”

“And missed this quality father-daughter bonding?” he scoffs. “C’mon, you’re glowing. You look like a damn influencer. Don’t pull that quiet-crying-pathetic shit again. You got too much of me in you for that.”

You go quiet. He glances at you sideways, but doesn’t press. Not directly.

“Buy whatever the fuck you want. Rack up my card. Empty a whole store if it makes you feel better.”

“…Thanks,” you mutter.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, merging into traffic with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses finally sliding on. 

“Let’s see if you still mean it when you’re trying on heels and I’m ten minutes from blowing my brains out in the Fendi store.”

You roll your eyes. But you’re smiling now. Just a little.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You hit the mall like a storm—no hesitation, no modesty, no maybe I shouldn’t. Your dad hands you the black card and leans against a column outside the first designer store, nodding like he’s just activated some kind of weapon of mass destruction.

“Go crazy,” he says, deadpan. “But if you embarrass me by crying over a boy in a Chanel fitting room, I’m cutting you off mid-swipe.”

You take that as permission and unleash.

The first store is Dior.  You grab what you like. No checking tags. 

No hovering by the mirror wondering if you “need” it. 

You deserve it. 

Half the workers already know who your father is—eyes on you, voice extra soft, they don’t even flinch when you ask for champagne while browsing. You try on a pair of heels that don’t just hug your feet—they worship them. 

You walk out to model them for him.

He looks up from his phone. Scans you.

Tilts his head.

“You want ‘em?”

You nod.

He waves to the nearest employee. “She’ll keep those on. Box the rest.”

Like it’s nothing.

Halfway through Gucci, you’re fixing your lip gloss in the mirror when he walks up behind you and mutters:

“You know you’ve been looking at yourself more than the clothes.”

You roll your eyes. “I actually look good today. Why not admire it?”

He gives you a once-over. “You look like you crawled out of my bank account.”

You pause. “That’s your way of saying I look good?”

He shrugs, smug. “Didn’t say you didn’t.”

You scoff. “You literally just called me expensive.”

“That was the compliment.”

You smack his arm with a hanger and he actually—almost—smiles. Not quite. But the corners of his mouth twitch.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bags are in the trunk. The silence is in the front seat.

The car ride back isn’t like the one there. There’s no banter this time. No mascara checks or smug jokes or half-laughs through lip gloss.

Just leather creaking under you, soft traffic outside, and the heavy thud of your heartbeat echoing with every streetlight that flashes across your face.

You’re angled toward the window again. This time it’s not to be small—it’s so he won’t see your expression.

Your dad doesn’t say anything for a while.

Then, finally:

“You and Yunho.”

You freeze. Not completely. Not visibly. But enough. He catches it

You blink once. Twice. Still looking out the window. “What about us?”

 “You two just .. kissed or did you actually have sex with him?”

You turn your head slowly to face him. His hands are still on the wheel. Eyes on the road. Voice calm. But that calmness is fake—the kind that comes right before something explodes.

“I didn’t—” you start, then stop. No point lying. Not to him.

Your voice is low when you speak again. “Yes.”

He exhales, through his nose. The kind of exhale people do when they’re disappointed but trying not to lose it.

 “Jesus fuck, are you serious?”

Silence.

Then a soft, dangerous: “Do you know what that makes you look like?” he seethes. “Fucking with the help like some slut —”

Your chest tightens. Your grip clenches slightly on your thighs. But your voice? Steady. Ice-slick. “If you didn’t want him near me, maybe you shouldn’t have put him on guard duty.”

His jaw tics. “You think this is funny?” he says tightly.

“No. I think it’s your fault.”

He slams the brakes harder than needed at a red light, throwing both of you slightly forward in your seats. You barely catch yourself.

He turns to look at you. Eyes unreadable. Voice low and calm, but a vein’s popping in his neck.

“You don’t know who that man is. What he’s done. What I let him do.”

You match his stare. “Yeah? And maybe you don’t know who I am.”

His eye twitches. “Don’t start.”

You lift your chin. “No, really. If you think I’m just gonna be some little girl you parade around in dresses and lock away from the people who actually make me feel something—”

“I raised you to be better than some washed-up enforcer with a criminal record and a short fuse —”

“You raised me to be a prisoner with pretty shoes.”

“Don’t push me.”

“Don’t test me,” you spit back. “I’ve kept my mouth shut about a lot of things.”

He goes quiet. That dangerous kind of quiet.

And then — He looks away. Back to the road. Shifts gears so smooth it’s eerie.

You think it’s over. But he speaks again, voice low.

“Just tell me one thing.”

You wait.

“Did he force you?”

Your stomach drops.

“What? No.”

His knuckles flex on the wheel. “Did he take advantage?”

“No,” you say sharply. 

Silence.

He swallows. Sets his jaw. Then says— “Don’t let him hurt you.”

You hesitate. Because it’s not permission. But it’s not a threat either. Not yet.

You exhale. “What if it’s too late for that?”

The car keeps moving. But the silence, again, gets louder.

“So that's why you were crying this morning.”

You freeze. He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t move his hands off the wheel. He just asks it like it’s a business matter. But you feel it anyway—how sharp his focus is. How he already knows, and he’s giving you the chance to say it yourself.

You swallow hard. Eyes flick out the window, then back to your lap. You could lie. But it wouldn’t matter.

So you murmur, “He said something last night.”

“Hm.”

You pause. That’s not enough of an answer for him. He’s waiting. You go on, voice small, raw. “He said he didn’t want me. That… this was just a job to him. That I was just a needy slut.”

The words hit the air like glass shattering.

You don’t look at him. There’s a thick pause.

Then a quiet, dry scoff from the driver’s seat. “Told you he bites.”

You blink. Look at him. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m furious,” he says lightly, turning the wheel with one hand. “But not at him.”

You stare, confused.

“I’m mad at you,” he continues, that same smug calmness bleeding into every word. “You’re letting your little feelings get hurt by a man who probably couldn’t even look at you straight when you cried.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he cuts in, voice cool. “Don’t lie. You were crying for someone who probably doesn't even know how to touch you right.”

He smirks. Doesn’t even glance at you.

“Forgot who you are again, huh?”

You don’t answer.

He chuckles under his breath, slow and condescending. “You really thought some ex-con with a haircut and trust issues could define you?”

“Stop—”

“No. you stop.” His voice hardens slightly. “You wanna cry over a boy? Fine. Do it in your room, mascara ruined, door locked. Then get the fuck up, fix your face, and remind him that he wasn’t your first, and won’t be your last.”

You flinch at the tone. But something about it also… steadies you.

“You’re not disposable,” he mutters. “You’re the product. Everyone wants you. That’s your power.”

He pulls into the estate gates.

“And if he can’t handle that,” he adds as the iron gate shuts behind you, “then he’s just another sad little man getting hard off pretending not to want you.”

Silence.

You exhale shakily, trying to laugh but it comes out bitter. “That’s really your advice?”

“That’s survival,” he says flatly.

Then he throws the car in park.

“Now,” he adds, glancing over at you for the first time, “fix your face before he sees you looking weak again. You want him to beg? Let him.”

The car shifts into park.

You don’t move right away. You wipe under your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, mouth pressed flat. He watches you, head tilted, gaze sharp and amused like he’s waiting to see whether you learned anything at all from that little lecture.

Then your door opens.

Yunho.

He’s standing there with one hand braced against the frame, already reaching for the bag in your lap.

“Don’t,” you say quickly.

He pauses.

Your father doesn’t move from his seat.

Yunho lets out a slow breath and straightens up slightly. “Just—trying to help.”

You stare up at him.

The air is thick. His eyes flick over your face—your lipgloss smudged, the faint red still around your eyes, the stubborn tilt of your chin. You look better than you feel, and worse than you should. And he knows it.

But he doesn’t say anything.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter.

You don’t answer.

Behind you, the driver’s door opens. Your father steps out. Doesn’t say a word—just shuts the car door gently behind him and leans against it. 

Close enough to be heard. Close enough that Yunho can feel the heat of his presence in the back of his neck.

You see Yunho notice.

You see his jaw tense. His body subtly straighten. The air around him changes like he’s being watched by a predator.

He is.

Your father lights a cigarette. Doesn’t even pretend to hide his smirk. Doesn’t interrupt. Just observes — like this is some kind of audition and he’s grading the performance.

Yunho shifts.

“I’ll carry your bags,” he murmurs again, trying to stay casual, trying to pretend he doesn’t feel your father’s gaze drilling into the side of his skull.

Your father exhales smoke. “Let her.”

Yunho freezes.

You don’t say thank you. You don’t say anything. You just slide out of the car slowly, letting your bags rest heavy on your shoulder as you move past Yunho—carefully not brushing against him.

You feel his eyes follow you the whole way. So does your father.

Yunho doesn’t move again until you’re already up the stairs. When he does, your father’s voice stops him.

“She’s not the problem, y’know?”

Yunho turns, stiff.

Your father doesn’t look at him.

“Next time you wanna play hard to get,” he says softly, “at least wait until she’s not bleeding for it.”

A long pause.

Then he flicks the ash from his cigarette and walks past Yunho like he isn’t there.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your door creaks open.

You don’t look up.

You look like a girl who’s trying not to feel anything.

And you’re pissed.

You’re shaking.

You grab the nearest thing—a glass perfume bottle—and hurl it at the wall. It shatters with a crack that rings out like a gunshot. 

Pieces scatter across the floor like your fucking pride. Like the sweet little moment he gave you and then tore away.

“FUCK!” You scream so loud your throat burns. You’re pacing now, fists clenched, wild-eyed. “Fuck you, Yunho! I fucking hate you.”

You yank the covers off the bed. Pillows hit the floor. You swipe your arm across your vanity, sending makeup clattering everywhere, lipstick smearing like blood on the tiles. 

You don’t even care what you’re breaking anymore. You want everything around you to feel as wrecked as you do inside.

And then the maid opens the door, cautious and wide-eyed. “Miss—?”

“Get OUT!” you shout, spinning around. “You’re supposed to clean this place, right? Then fucking clean it!”

She flinches. “Miss, I just—”

“Don’t talk to me!” Your voice is hoarse now, words seething out between clenched teeth. “Just do your fucking job.”

She stammers an apology and backs out fast, and you don’t even wait for the door to click shut before you’re storming past her.

You push through the back doors, past the dining room, and out into the garden.

The afternoon air slaps your face. You march past the hedges, the marble fountain, straight to the pool. 

You don’t stop walking until you’re at the edge, arms crossed so tight they hurt. Your whole chest is heaving like your heart’s trying to punch its way out.

You want to cry. You want to scream again. You want him to come back.

You stare at the water. Its surface is calm, mocking you. Like it didn’t just watch your world collapse.

You crouch down, arms draped over your knees, trembling all over. 

Your throat tightens.

You mutter to yourself. “He doesn't get to do this to me.”

But you already know—he did.

Your fists pound against the pool chair, the tiles, your own thighs. You’re sobbing now but you don’t even notice.

Your voice cracks, and your whole body is shaking, and you want to break every single thing he’s ever touched. You want to break him.

He made you feel something and then left. Slipped through your fingers with that soft voice, those sweet words, those lies dressed up like love.

Your mascara’s running. Your lips are trembling. Your chest aches so bad it feels like it’s folding in on itself. And you say it again, quieter now, more broken:

“Why won’t you just stay?”

The sliding glass door opens with a hiss, and you don’t even look up.

You hear the measured sound of shoes on stone, deliberate and expensive. He doesn’t rush. He never rushes. 

It’s worse than yelling. It’s worse than anything—how calm he is in the face of your chaos.

“You want to tell me,” your father says slowly, coolly, voice like a knife gliding along silk, “why there’s shattered glass on the floor, the housekeeper in tears, and you screaming like some fucking feral stray?”

When you look up at him—God—you wish he’d just hit you instead of looking at you like that.

With disgust.

Like you’re a problem to be solved.

You blink hard. Swallow the lump in your throat. “No,” you rasp. “I don’t.”

He sighs like you’re boring him. “Is this about him again?”

He kneels—kneels beside you, his polished shoes creaking against the stone, and grips your chin between his fingers like you’re still five years old.

“I’ve been patient with you. I’ve let you run around like some little brat playing princess. But enough is enough.” He releases your chin with a small flick.

“You’ll clean up, fix your face, and behave. Or I’ll make sure he disappears for good since he’s such a problem. Do you understand?”

You flinch.

And you nod.

But your hands curl into fists. Because behind your eyes, the rage is white-hot again. Not at Yunho. Not even at yourself. But him.

Because he’s the reason you can’t have anything good.

And one day?

You’re going to make sure he regrets everything.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The room is a quiet hum when you return, chaos now subdued under the soft sweep of a broom. 

The maid doesn’t look at you right away—doesn’t have to. The red in her cheeks and the way her eyes flick nervously toward the broken vase says enough.

You stand in the doorway, arms limp at your sides, still vibrating from the fire in your veins. Your voice comes out low. “I’m sorry.”

She pauses. Straightens. Blinks at you.

You repeat it, this time clearer. “I shouldn’t’ve yelled. I was just… mad. Not at you.”

She nods slowly. Doesn’t smile, but her shoulders loosen. “It’s okay, Miss.”

You press your lips together, watching her sweep up the last of the glass, and then slip into your bathroom. You touch up your face—lips redone, eyes smudged to smoky, gloss on thick. You look dangerous now. Beautiful. Untouchable.

Perfect.

Your phone buzzes.

Then again.

And again.

It's your groupchat.

mia: club tonight. 11. we just got invited to eclipseeeeeee

mia : vip table. security. no boys unless they’re hot and can pay

val: OMG YESSS

zara: is y/n still alive or is she still crying over that dude

mia : y/n u coming or what??

You stare at the screen for a second.

Then glance toward your closet.

Then toward the window.

Sun’s lower now. Golden hour glow melting into the expensive marble.

Your reflection in the glass is sharper this time—gloss gleaming, lashes long, skin still humming from the rage that made you feel alive again.

You type back slowly.

you: maybe. i’ll let u guys know.

You toss your phone on the bed and move toward the door.

If you’re going out, you’re not going to be driven there like a little girl.

You’re going to ask him.

You spot him before you even open the front foor fully.

Outside. By the stone planter near the entrance, where the hedges are trimmed like secrets.

Yunho.

Leaning back against the edge of the marble column, black shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show forearm veins. Head tilted down, scrolling through his phone slowly like he has all the time in the world.

But his body is still.

Too still.

Waiting.

You step out.

He doesn’t look up at first.

But he knows. He always knows.

When you cross the threshold and walk toward him, his thumb pauses over the screen.

You stop a few feet away.

Silence.

He finally looks up. Eyes rake over you once—subtle, but not subtle enough.

He notices your lips first. Then the gloss.

Then how steady your hands are now.

“You look…” His voice is low. Drier than usual. “…put together.”

You blink at him slowly. “Disappointed?”

He scoffs. “Never said that.”

You step closer. The air between you ripples, taut and fragile. “I need a ride later.”

He raises a brow. “Where to?”

You shrug. “Club. Eclipse.”

A beat.

Then that infuriating smirk twitches at his mouth. “Let me guess. Girls only?”

You narrow your eyes. “What, you jealous?”

“No,” he says, eyes flicking to your lips again, then back to your eyes. “Curious.”

You tilt your head, voice cool. “You’re not invited.”

He laughs, low and smug. “Didn’t ask to be.”

Silence again.

The sound of birds somewhere. A car passing far off. You shift your weight slightly, but he doesn’t move. He just watches you.

You cross your arms. “So? You driving me or not?”

He exhales, slow. That unreadable smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “Depends.”

“On what?”

His gaze drops to your mouth again.

Your pulse skips. He doesn’t answer.

You step closer—barely. But enough that the light hits the shimmer on your cheekbone and you know he sees it.

“Say it,” you whisper.

“Say what?”

“That you want to.”

His eyes darken just a shade. That quiet restraint of his cracking at the edge.

He leans forward slightly. “I’ll take you. It's my job.”

You blink.

“But,” he adds, voice low, deliberate, “you sit in the front. You don’t talk to any guys I wouldn’t approve of. And you text me the second one of your so-called friends goes missing to cry in the bathroom.”

You stare. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He shrugs. “The one who’s driving.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

He pushes off the column, standing tall now. Close enough to touch. “Be ready by nine.”

You don’t move. Neither does he.

His gaze dips one more time. Lingers. “Fix your lip gloss,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. “Why?”

His eyes flick up to yours—steady, quiet, burning.

“Because if I have to stare at your mouth all night, I want it to look good when you lie to me.”

He turns. Walks away.

And you don’t move for a long time.

Not until your heart stops trying to claw its way up your throat.

Not until you realize—

You’re smiling again.

You’re smiling.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

10:25 pm

You’re stretching, arms overhead and spine curved deep into the mattress, letting out the most dramatic yawn known to man. 

Not because you’re tired—God, you’re not—but because you know Yunho’s nearby, and you’ve got a performance to finish.

The room’s warm, lights low.

Outside your door, you hear footsteps.

Three sharp knocks.

Then his voice, low through the crack. “You ready?”

You smile into the crook of your arm.

“Almost,” you call back sweetly. “Come in.”

He does. Slowly. Cautious already, like he knows better.

Yunho’s in all black. Black boots, black jacket, sleeves pushed to his forearms. He’s got that bodyguard look again—bland and dangerous—but his eyes betray him. 

The second he sees you still in that tank top, lounging like you’ve got no plans, something in his jaw flexes.

“I thought you said you were going out.”

“I am,” you hum, “Just getting ready now.”

He watches you sit up. Watches you stretch again, arms overhead, shirt lifting just enough to show skin.

Then you perk up like it’s an afterthought. “Oh, by the way — I’ll be out of the club like.. before 3.”

His brow lifts. “That’s… late.”

You blink innocently. “You said you’d drive me.”

He nods. “I will.”

But his voice has gone tighter. His hands, looser in his pockets.

You bounce off the bed like it’s nothing. “Cool. Just need like 20 minutes.”

You disappear into the bathroom with a smile.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You come out glowing.

The dress you chose isn’t just short—it’s criminal. Jet black, barely-there straps, clinging like it was sewn onto your skin. 

Your thighs gleam. Your back’s out. The hem flutters when you move. One wrong breath and it’s all over.

You look like vengeance in heels.

Yunho’s sitting in your desk chair, scrolling through his phone with a scowl so subtle it almost hides his discomfort.

Almost.

“Okay,” you chirp, fluffing your hair. “What do you think?”

He looks up—

—and then immediately looks away.

“You’re gonna wear that?” he says, flat but fraying.

You smile at your reflection. “Yep.”

He shifts. Crosses his legs. Uncrosses them. “It’s… fine.”

You giggle under your breath. Pick up your lip liner. Line slowly, deliberately. Then “accidentally” drop it. Right in front of him.

“Oops,” you say sweetly.

Then you bend over. Slow. Hips tilted, one hand braced against the desk for balance. Your ass brushes against his knee—then lower.

You feel him tense like a live wire. Like he’s been set on fire and doesn’t dare move.

You straighten casually, liner in hand.

He’s frozen.

You smirk. “You okay?”

“I—” He clears his throat.

When he stands, he’s frozen, legs tight, eyes blank, breathing uneven.

“I’m—I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick.”

You stifle a laugh.

He tosses you the keys. “Sit in the car. I’ll be down in a sec.”

You watch him go.

You beam.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

In the car, you flip down the mirror and take a few photos. 

Your dress is riding dangerously high and the glow from the streetlight makes your skin pop. You pick your angles, fluff your hair. 

You look so good it’s actually unfair.

Then you glance at the house. He’s taking a while.

So you open instagram and snap a few more pics for your story.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

He barely shuts the bathroom door before he’s leaning against it, hand already in his pants.

Your perfume is everywhere. His thighs are still burning from the brush of your body. He can feel where you touched him.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

The first stroke is fast and rough—he’s so hard it hurts.

He pictures that dress. The way it clung to you. The way you bent over, like you knew exactly what you were doing. The sound of your giggle when he threw you the keys.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, forehead pressed to the cool tile.

Your ass pressed against him.

Your lips.

He whimpers, actually whimpers, into the crook of his elbow.

Bites his fist and moans into his hand like he’s twenty and hasn’t seen skin in years. Shame and arousal swirl together until he’s panting into the mirror.

Two more strokes and he’s done.

Panting.

Fucked out.

Completely ruined.

He leans against the counter, breathing hard. Then runs the water, washes his hands, fixes his hair like nothing happened.

Comes out five minutes later like the picture of calm.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You’re fiddling with your bracelets when he slides into the car. You look at him immediately. His cheeks are flushed. His shirt’s sticking to his back.

“Why’re you panting?”

He clicks his seatbelt. “I ran.”

You squint. “Ran? Down one flight of stairs?”

“Yeah. Your house is fucking huge and I didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

You squint. “Why are you sweating?”

“It’s hot,” he says. Too fast. Then reaches for the A/C. 

“Isn’t it hot?” He fiddles with the air vent. 

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

You watch him adjust his seatbelt unnecessarily.

You smirk. “Yunho.”

“What.”

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

He glances at you—then away. Again.

You tap your lips with a compact, eyes still on him. The way he’s gripping the steering wheel?

Too tight.

The way he won’t look at your legs?

Too deliberate. You say nothing.

He clears his throat. “You ready to go?”

You glance at him again. He’s still flushed. Still adjusting his seatbelt like it’s bothering him.

And he does not meet your eyes.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

But you say nothing.

You just smirk to yourself, gloss your lips again, and say, “Let’s go.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

The bass in the car makes your bones rattle and your brain fizz with excitement. “Woo!” you grin, twisting the knob to blast the song even louder. “I love this one, holy shit—” 

You don’t even finish the sentence before your body starts moving in your seat, dancing along to the beat. 

It’s BTS Cypher Pt. 3, the one that makes you feel untouchable, like you’ve got fire in your chest and a vendetta to settle. 

You’re grinding your hips a little, swaying, flipping your hair, letting the music possess you like it always does, mouth moving like you know every word even if you’re just yelling gibberish with full confidence.

Yunho is dead silent.

Like, abnormally silent.

You glance over your shoulder once and he’s got one arm gripping the steering wheel, the other hand covering his mouth and nose, elbow braced on the door like he’s going through it. 

His eyes are locked forward but they’re bloodshot. He looks like he’s being tortured. You tilt your head, squint a little.

“You good?”

“I’m fine.” His voice is tight. It practically squeaks.

“Are you sure?” you smirk, because now you’re suspicious. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who just told me my dress was ‘too much.’”

“I didn’t say that,” he mutters.

“Okay, well you looked like you wanted to say it.”

“I didn’t.”

You shrug innocently, still bouncing to the beat. You don’t even realize how high your dress has ridden up or how your thighs are completely exposed as you kick your feet, shimmying along to the bass drop.

Yunho is dying. You don’t know it yet—but he is.

He finally pulls up in front of the club. Your friends are waiting outside in glitter and heels, waving as they spot you through the windshield. 

You squeal, unbuckling and getting ready to jump out, when suddenly—

A hand wraps around your arm.

You freeze.

He fucking whimpers.

“Wait,” he blurts out, eyes wide in horror. “Shit—sorry. I didn’t mean to—fuck.”

You stare at him like what? Then you follow his gaze.

Down. To your lap.

To your dress—what little there is of it—and how it’s hiked up way too far. He swallows. Hard.

“Wait…” he breathes, “Are you—are you not wearing underwear?”

You smirk, cocking your head like it’s nothing. “Didn’t think I needed it.”

“Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and reach for the handle. He tugs you back again, this time harder. His voice breaks.

“Please don’t throw yourself at some random dude in there.”

Your jaw clenches.

“…Excuse me?”

He doesn’t answer fast enough. You yank your arm from his grasp like it burned you. “Don’t flatter yourself, Yunho. You’re not my fucking father.” 

SLAM. 

The car door nearly bounces back from the force.

You walk off in your heels, head high, ignoring his voice behind you. Your friends are already pulling you into hugs and handing you a shot as you vanish into the club.

In the car, Yunho’s still hard.

He’s in hell.

He slams his palm against the wheel, cursing. “Fuck.”

It echoes in the car, raw and cracked. His hands are trembling. His thighs ache from the tension. You’re in that club with no underwear. Drunk. Angry. Barely clothed.

And he’s sitting out here like a guard dog with his dick pressed to his zipper and his pride in shreds.

He runs both hands down his face. Grips the wheel so hard his knuckles go white.

Because the worst part?

He can’t even blame you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

The second you step through the doors, it’s like you’ve been reborn.

“BITCHHHH—” Val screeches, tackling you in a hug so hard it knocks your heel off balance. Mia squeals too, already shoving a shot glass into your hand. 

There’s another girl you barely know who starts hyping you up immediately—"Oh my god who let you leave the house looking like that??"

“Yunho,” you giggle. “Kinda.”

"Cheers, whore!" Mia screams.

You clink your glass and throw it back, the tequila burning your throat. “Ughhh, I needed that.”

“Let’s get another,” Zara yells, grabbing your wrist and tugging you straight to the bar.

You lose count after round three.

You're dancing with your friends, arms in the air, hips moving to every beat like your body’s made of honey. 

A random guy tries to come up behind you but Mia pushes him away with a death glare. Val gets on a table. There’s glitter on your collarbone and someone spilled something on your thigh but you couldn’t care less.

You’re laughing too hard, way too free, flushed and lightheaded and deliciously unbothered.

For a second — just a second — you forget Yunho exists.

You make it halfway to the bar before someone else grabs your wrist.

A tall guy. Tatted up. Good-looking, sure. But cocky.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

You lean in, smiling—drunk and dangerous. “Guess.”

He grins, sliding his hand lower down your back. “You got a boyfriend?”

You tilt your head. “Maybe.”

Then you feel it. That gut feeling. That heat.

But you ignore it.

“What's your name?” you say, sugary sweet, your fingers ghosting down the stranger’s forearm like you’re painting it with honey.

His right hand is on your waist like he owns it. “It’s Leo.”

“Leo,” you echo, biting your lip just enough to keep him interested. “What do you do, Leo?”

“I box,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Used to do MMA. You?”

“Well I’m really good at making bad decisions.” 

He laughs, loud and cocky.

You lean closer. “Wanna make one with me?”

Leo blinks. “Are you—”

You run your hand up his chest. He blinks again.

You turn around to face the bar, swaying your hips a little extra as you lean over it.

Leo comes up behind you again—hands on your waist, voice in your ear now. “You wanna dance?”

You nod, toss your hair back, reach for your drink and down the last of it.

But he starts feeling himself a little too much.

You’re stunning—drunk off the music, sparkling with sweat and attention, and moving like the night belongs to you.

And Leo? He thinks he’s won.

So he spins you around. Too fast.Too confident.

“C’mere,” he says, eyes locked on your lips.

He leans in, and that’s when you stop it. Two fingers pressed gently—but firmly—against his mouth.

He freezes. So close. So cocky.

But that little smirk of yours cuts through all of it.

You shake your head. Slowly. Teasingly. “Mm-mm.”

He blinks. “You’re such a tease.”

You wink.

Then you spin around again—back to the music, back to the rhythm—and let yourself fall into it. Let your hips grind against his front like nothing happened.

Leo groans.

His hands slide down your sides. Bold. Everywhere. Gripping your hips, inching under your dress. One hooks around your waist, another brushes just under the curve of your chest.

He thinks this is still about him. He thinks he’s got you right where he wants you.

But your smile’s gone now. Your eyes don’t sparkle the same.

His touch… It’s not Yunho’s.

It’s not rough in the right way. Not dangerous. Not hot enough to burn.

It’s just hands. Just skin. Just wrong.

And as his palm slips a little too high, you flinch.

Just a little. Just once. But it’s enough.

Your body isn’t dancing anymore. You’re just moving now. Going through the motions.

It doesn’t feel good. Not fun. Not wild. It’s too much.

The music’s booming even louder now and your heart’s still racing from the dancefloor when Leo leans down next to your ear and says,

“Lemme buy you a drink.”

You smile, just barely, still catching your breath. “Yeah, sure.”

His hand’s already on your back, guiding you toward the bar like you couldn’t find it on your own. He orders something quick—tequila, again—and you don’t argue. 

You sit down on one of the stools, smoothing the dress down a little as you cross your legs.

But his hand doesn’t leave you.

It slides along your thigh—innocent at first, a palm resting just above your knee. you ignore it.

He hands you the shot. 

You throw it back in one clean motion and chase it with a sigh, licking the salt off your hand like it’ll help. You feel a little dizzy. Warm. Looser than before.

“You’re not wearing anything under?” his voice cuts right through the haze.

Your gaze snaps to him, but you’re already biting your lip before you can even think about it.

He looks thrilled. like you just gave him a prize. He doesn’t even try to hide how turned on he is.

“Fuck,” he laughs under his breath. “You’re unreal.”

He waves the bartender over and gets you another one. watches you drink that one too, a little slower this time.

And while you’re still swallowing, his hand moves again. Higher.

Past where it should’ve stopped. Right against your inner thigh. You freeze.

His fingers drag up like he owns you. like he’s trying to check.

And that’s when your hand snaps down—hard—slapping his away.

He jerks back with a blink, like he didn’t expect it. Didn’t think you’d care. didn’t think you would say no.

“Chill,” he says, holding both hands up like he’s innocent. “It's not that serious.”

But your face says otherwise. Your whole body does. You’re stiff now. done pretending. And that alcohol warmth? it’s curdled into something bitter in your gut. You should’ve stayed in the damn car.

You didn’t mean to be this drunk. It wasn't supposed to be this much.

But everything started going so fast, and now it’s hot in here, and leo’s too close—way too close.

He leans in again, breath warm against your cheek, whispering, “You know you came out here for this, right?”

His fingers trail your leg again, mouth brushing your jaw. You pull back.

“Stop,” you mutter. It barely comes out. He ignores it

“You’ve been teasing me all night. acting like some sweet little thing,” he smiles against your skin.

“But we both know what you are.”

“Stop.” You say it louder. you try to move. but his hand’s on your throat now.

Tight.

Just for a second—but it’s enough.

His mouth turns cruel. “You think you’re special? I’ve had better girls dressed cheaper.”

He sits back like nothing happened, like he didn’t just say that. Laughs. sips his drink. starts talking to someone else.

You don’t wait.

You’re up. storming out. your friends call your name— “Y/N? Where are you going?” “Wait! babe???”

But your ears are ringing and your balance is off and your words are all wrong.

“ ’M fine,” you slur. “I'll text you. I said I'm—I said I'll…”

You almost miss a step going down the stairs. The air outside hits you too fast. Your head spins.

You slide into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door behind you. You don’t look at Yunho right away. You're breathing too hard. Your knees are bouncing. 

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“I’m such a loser,” you mutter under your breath.

He doesn’t answer at first. just starts the car.

Then, after a pause— “You kinda are.”

You look at him and then you laugh.

Your lip quivers as you lean in and press your mouth to his — quick, messy, too much teeth. He jerks back.

“Y/N — Y/N, stop. You’re drunk.”

But you don’t. You climb onto him now, hands in his hair, breath hot, kisses needy and wet. “Want you,” you whimper. “Please please — I want you so bad —”

“Fuck,” he mutters, trying to push you off again. “Not like this.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, lips parted, voice slurring —

“You ever think about fucking me in that stupid driver’s seat? When I sit here in my little dresses and talk all sweet and mean? When I stretch my legs out like this — do you think about it? Do you think about making me shut up?”

He stares at you. Completely frozen. And you just smile.

“You wanna tell me to shut the fuck up so bad, don’t you?”

He swallows. Hard.

“…Why were you in the bathroom so long earlier?”

He freezes. Looks at you like you just caught him stealing.

“I—what?” he stammers. “I wasn’t—I just—what are you talking about—”

“Mmhmm,” you smirk, your lips already back on his jaw. “Weirdo.”

You don’t let him answer. You’re crawling into his lap, dragging your hips down over his thighs, sighing when the pressure hits you. 

Right. No panties. You’re soaked—already—and his jeans are rough and firm right where you need them.

“God,” you whisper. “Don’t move.”

“Huh?”

“Just—don’t. stay like that.”

You plant your feet, press your palms to his shoulders, and grind.

Slow. Deliberate. Right on the seam of his zipper, where the pressure lines up perfectly with your clit.

Yunho’s eyes go wide. He grips the steering wheel like it’ll keep him tethered to reality.

“Y/N…”

Then—hesitantly—he glances down. Down at your hips, rolling slow against him. At the way your slick stains the front of his jeans.

Then back up at you, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Like he might just die right here in this fucking car.

You roll your hips again. Then again. You whimper into his neck.

“F-Feels s’good,” you slur, giggling, breath hot. “Fuck, stay still, Yunho. Don’t—don’t move, okay?”

And he doesn’t.

You keep going. Eyes fluttering, mouth open, breathing getting faster. 

You’re so wet now, it’s sliding so easy, that perfect drag of denim where you need it most.

Your body twitches as the tension builds. You hide your face in his collar, voice cracking—

“Yunho, I’m—mmn—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Your hips stutter and you cry out as it hits, the waves rushing through you, making you shiver. You squeeze his arm. Cling to his shirt. Your thighs tremble on either side of him.

And then… silence.

You let your forehead fall against his chest, breathing hard. Drunk and wrecked and satisfied.

Eventually, you climb off him with a lazy giggle and flop back into the passenger seat. You glance over.

There’s a giant wet stain across his lap. You gasp—and howl laughing.

“Holy shit” you wheeze. “I ruined your pants.” 

He looks down at his lap. The mess.

The way your slick’s soaking into the denim, dark and shiny and impossible to ignore.

You watch him. Watch his throat bob as he swallows. Watch the way he grabs a napkin from the glove compartment with the most defeated, slow-motion sigh. 

He dabs at the wet patch, expression blank, like if he pretends hard enough that he’s not painfully hard right now, then maybe none of this happened.

You giggle again. And that—somehow—that tips it.

Not the teasing. Not the stain. Not the grinding. But your giggle.

You sniff, suddenly overcome, and then—

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Yunho glances over. “What?”

You’re crying. Your face crumples. The laughter fades. And now you’re clutching your chest like your heart hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, breath hitching. “I didn’t mean to—I just—you’re so sexy, Yunho. I couldn’t—god, I couldn’t stop, you’re just—your thighs, and your face, and your fucking voice—” You hiccup. “I’m so fucking horny and you’re so hot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your pants.”

Yunho’s entire body is stiff. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. He won’t look at you.

He’s trying so hard not to react.

“Do you…” he swallows. “Do you wanna go home?”

You nod, crying harder now, voice shrill and messy. “Yes. Yes, please.”

He puts the car in drive. But then—

You turn to him. Lip trembling. Drunk and broken and still desperate.

“… Can we fuck in the backseat?”

“No.”

“Please—”

“No, Y/N.” His voice cracks a little. “You’re drunk. I’m not doing that. I’m not gonna let you wake up tomorrow and hate me.”

“But I wouldn’t—I want to—”

“I know what you want,” he says through gritted teeth, finally looking at you, eyes dark, jaw clenched, “and I want it too. Believe me.”

You burst into louder sobs.

Now it’s ugly crying. Your mascara’s running. Your head’s falling into your hands. You’re still so turned on you feel like you’re vibrating, thighs rubbing together in the seat, body twitching like it doesn’t know whether it needs release or comfort more.

“I’m—I’m such a loser,” you wail. “I got groped and then I c-came on your pants and you don’t even like me and I’m just—pathetic—”

“Stop it,” he says softly. “You’re not pathetic.”

You sniff and glance at him again. He’s focused on the road. Not talking. Not touching you. Not doing anything to make it worse.

He’s being… good. And somehow, that just makes you cry harder.

“Can you at least…” you sniffle, voice thick and trembling, “Can you at least finger me?”

Yunho doesn’t even look at you this time.

“No.”

“Just a little—please, Yunho—”

“No,” he says again, sharper. “Stop.”

You’re quiet for a beat. And then you laugh.

It bursts out of you suddenly—wet and wild and hollow—your face streaked with tears, your voice raw. 

You’re hunched over, giggling into your hands, shoulders shaking like you’ve completely lost it.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze. “I’m such a fucking whore.”

“Hey—”

“No, like seriously,” you go on, laughing bitterly. “This is so embarrassing. Who does this? Who gets rejected for sex and cries about it like a psycho? God. I’m disgusting.”

“Y/N.” He glances over now, voice low, serious. “Stop.”

You blink at him, your eyes rimmed red, cheeks wet, mascara smudged halfway to your jawline. He doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t even look turned on anymore. He just looks—

Sad, tired and worried.

“You’re not disgusting,” he says. “You’re drunk. And you’ve had a shitty night. And you need to get home and go to sleep. That’s all this is.”

You swallow hard.

You want to argue. You want to beg. You want to crawl into his lap and cry until you fall asleep against his chest. But all you can do is lean your head against the window.

And whisper: “…I wish I didn’t like you so much.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Silence stretches between you both.

The soft hum of the car. The faint throb of the bass still echoing in your skull. You sniff, reach for your phone, and wipe your nose with the sleeve of your dress. Your voice is raspy when you speak.

“What time is it?”

You squint at your screen, nose crinkling at the blur, then fumble to open the camera app instead. Your reflection stares back — ruined makeup, lips swollen, hair all over the place. 

You pout and take a quick selfie anyway. It’s stupid. But makes you feel a little more in control. 

You grab some tissues from the middle console and dab at your cheeks, pat your face until you look presentable. Or at least, less tragic.

Then—ding.

A notification slides across the top of your screen. Your heart drops.

You stare at it like it’s radioactive. Your fucking ex. He slid up on your story.

You laugh. Just a little. Just under your breath. Then it breaks. Again.

You start crying. Again.

Yunho lets out a small groan, not annoyed—just exhausted.

“What now?”

You wipe your eyes, hold up your phone. “He texted me.”

He exhales. “We’re almost home.” 

You’re not even listening. You press your forehead to the window. Cold glass. Your voice is quiet and frighteningly calm.

“I’d slit my own throat just to see if he’d cry at the funeral. Because I know he doesn’t really care.”

Yunho’s knuckles tighten slightly around the steering wheel.

“…How many drinks did you have tonight?” he asks, a little too calm now.

You shrug. “Dunno. Ten-ish?”

“That’s not a number.”

You ignore him, eyes drifting down to his hands on the wheel. The veins. The shape. The way his thumb taps just slightly when he’s trying not to be overwhelmed.

Your thighs press together instinctively. Fuck his hand, you think. You could cry just looking at it. You keep staring at his hand on the wheel, lashes fluttering. 

Your thighs clench again, tighter this time, heat simmering low in your belly even through the haze of everything else. But you don’t touch him.

Not again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Your pulse skips when the car finally slows. The tall, wrought-iron gates of the estate loom ahead, and for a second you feel something close to dread. The kind that sobers you just enough to make your heart race.

You’re home.

The car eases through the open gates, tires crunching over gravel. The house glows in the distance like it knows what you’ve done.

The engine cuts.

You don’t move. You stay in your seat, arms crossed over your chest, knees drawn in slightly. Yunho gets out first. You watch him walk around the front of the car through the windshield, the curve of his broad shoulders illuminated by the porch lights.

He opens your door.

“C’mon.”

You stare past him, into the night.

“...No.”

“Why?” His voice is gentle, but tight. Like he already knows. You look at him then. Finally. Eyes glassy, lips trembling. “Because they’re all gonna look at me.”

A pause. He blinks once. Steps closer.

“Who?” he murmurs.

You swallow. Your voice breaks. “The guards.”

He doesn’t ask you to explain. You do anyway.

“I don’t like how they look at me,” you slur. “Makes me feel small.”

His jaw tenses for a moment. There’s a flicker in his eyes—rage, maybe, but brief.  He swallows it fast. Instead, he nods once, briskly, like he’s solving a problem.

“Okay,” he says under his breath. “Okay. Um—wait.”

He walks to the back of the car, opens the trunk, rummages for a second, and comes back with a black jacket in hand. It’s one of his. Smells like him, too.

He holds it out. “Use this. Just… cover yourself, alright?”

You hesitate for only a moment before taking it from him, draping it around your bare shoulders. It’s warm. Heavy. Comforting. It hides the worst of your dress—the part that clings too tight, the part that made you feel small.

You nod once, wordless. And he places a hand behind your back, steady and protective, as he leads you through the entrance. You keep your eyes on the floor. You don’t check if anyone’s looking.

Inside, the air is quiet. Cold. You’re still dizzy. He walks you to your room. Opens the door. Turns on the light. And he’s about to leave.

But your fingers twitch. And the words escape you before you can think twice.

“…Don’t go.” He freezes in the doorway.

And then—he doesn’t hesitate. He just walks right back to you. Stands in front of you. Sees your face. All the mess you tried to fix and couldn’t.

He sits on the bed and pulls you into his chest like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

His arms wrap around you, strong and warm and sure. His hand cups the back of your head gently, shielding you from everything—even the sound of your own sobs. You bury your face into his shirt, breathing him in, heart breaking all over again for reasons you don’t understand yet.

You don’t say thank you. You don’t say sorry. You just hold him like you’ve needed this all night. And he holds you back like he knew that the whole time.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You wake up like death. Head pounding. Mouth dry. Legs sore. The inside of your skull feels like it’s being scraped by a fork. 

You groan quietly into your pillow —

Except it’s not a pillow.

It’s a person.

You freeze.

You’re tangled in Yunho. Full-body contact. Chest-to-chest. One of your thighs is slung over his like you paid for premium access. 

His arm is around your back, palm splayed warm and solid across your spine like he owns it. Your nose is practically in his neck. You are inhaling him. You are deep in it.

And the worst part?

He is holding you like he does this all the time. Like this is normal. Like you're a weighted blanket and he sleeps better wrapped around you.

You blink into his skin and think :

Hello? How the fuck did this happen?

Two days ago, this man called you a slut and said he didn’t want you.

Now he’s cuddling you like a liar.

Your heart stutters. And your stomach flips.

Because ugh, it’s kind of nice.

Too nice.

You whisper, voice raspy, “Yunho?”

He shifts, just barely, but doesn’t let go. You try again, nudging his chest with your nose. “Yunho.”

This time he stirs. Blinks awake slowly, brow creased like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming.

Then he looks down. At you. At how close you are. At how wrapped around him you are.

You catch the second it hits him. His arms tense. His eyes widen the tiniest bit.

And you? You smile. Smug.

“Morning,” you croak, voice still a little ruined.

He clears his throat, pulling back a few inches like he’s suddenly aware of how much he was touching you. His hand drops from your back to your waist, but stays there.

“Uh. Morning.”

You blink up at him. “Slept well?”

He hesitates. Then mutters, “Guess so.”

“Mm.” You stretch, just enough to make it obvious that you’re still pressed against him. “You’re kinda clingy when you sleep, huh?”

He gives you a look. “You were literally on top of me.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

His jaw ticks.

His eyes flash. “You were hungover.”

You feign a gasp. “Oh, so that’s your excuse? Taking advantage of my weakened state?”

He groans and drops back onto the pillow. “You’re so annoying.”

You hum, letting yourself settle again—cheek on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat. You swear it jumps.

He goes still.

Then:

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he says, quiet but not cruel.

You smile against him. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You’re smug.”

“You’re soft. Don’t move.”

He looks down at you again.

And you meet his gaze, slow and steady. “So,” you say, “you only call me a slut when you’re not cuddling with me?”

He sighs. “Can we not do this right now?”

You smirk. “No promises.”

He doesn’t reply. But his arm stays around you.

And when he thinks you’ve drifted off again, he shifts just enough to pull the blanket higher around your shoulders—careful. Thoughtful. Gentle.

You don’t say anything. You just close your eyes.

And let him hold you like he didn’t mean a single word he said that night.

Because deep down?

You don’t think he did. Not really.

Not this guy. Not the one wrapping himself around you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t.

“You good?” he murmurs. “From last night. You hungover?”

You blink slowly. Your head aches, but it’s dull now. Manageable. “A little,” you whisper.

He leans in, nose brushing along your jaw before he smirks faintly. “You smell good.”

Your eyes flick toward him. “Now I smell good?”

He doesn’t answer that. Just shifts a little closer, forearm firm around your waist. But you’re already climbing into that sharp edge of tension, the one that always sits just beneath moments like this.

“So,” you mutter, searching his face, “you want me now?”

His hand stills where it had been lazily tracing your side. “What?”

“You heard me.”

A scoff. He closes his eyes, like he’s already exhausted with this. “Why do you do that?”

“What?’’

“That thing — where you act like I’ve been rejecting you for years when it’s literally been one night of you getting shitfaced and another with you grinding on me like we weren’t in the middle of a fight.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you snap, flushing hot. “I was drunk.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “you were.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Did you?” He tilts his head at you, mouth pressed into something unreadable. “You’re not even sorry. You’re just pissed I didn’t want to fuck you when you were stumbling around slurring my name like I’m supposed to forget everything just because you touched me.”

Your chest tightens. “I didn’t touch you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”

You glare at him. “You could’ve pushed me off.”

He’s calm. Cold, even. That’s worse than yelling.

“I said I’m sorry,” you repeat, quieter now.

He doesn’t say anything. The silence swells between you, sharp and humming. 

The kind of silence where you remember all the shit you haven’t said, and everything you wish you could take back. You hate how vulnerable it makes you feel. How small.

You speak again. “You still don’t ..  feel anything for me?”

And that—that’s the part that breaks whatever nerve he was pretending to hold.

He exhales, slow. Sits up slightly, his weight pressing into the mattress like a shift in gravity. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” Your voice cracks.

“That thing. Where you turn this into some pity-fuck narrative just because I didn’t give in for once.” His tone is low now, bitter. “You know damn well I want you. That’s the problem.”

Your throat goes dry.

He looks at you then, eyes narrowed like he’s looking through you, or past you, or into something he doesn’t like. 

“I’d still fuck you, y’know” he says, voice flat now.

The way he says it—it lands like a slap.

You blink.

“Cool,” you say stiffly, turning away.

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just saying what you clearly want to hear.”

“No, you’re not.” You sit up now, the sheet dropping. “You’re just saying what hurts.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Yes, it is,” you cut in. “You do this thing where you say shit like that so I’ll feel bad for needing something from you. Like I’m the only one who ever fucks things up.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He sighs again, this time more tired than anything else. “You don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

“Because you don’t actually talk! You throw knives and then go quiet.”

“And you get drunk and grind on me and pretend that fixes it.”

You flinch. Then: “So, what, now I disgust you?”

His gaze flickers, softens for half a second. “You don’t disgust me.”

“Right. You’d still fuck me.”

“I meant I still want you,” he says quietly. “Even when I don’t want to. Even when I shouldn’t.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? The ugly, twisting part neither of you want to say aloud.

You stare at each other. The room is warm. Your limbs ache. Your heart’s doing that thing again—where it hopes, and then regrets hoping.

You speak carefully. “Then why won’t you just—be with me? For real?”

He looks at you. That look again—the unreadable one.

“Because I don’t know how to love you without hurting you,” he says.

And you don’t know what to say to that.

His hand drags across your stomach, rough fingers lazy with sleep and stubborn want. 

He leans down, face close enough that you feel his breath against your cheek, and it hits you all over again how dangerous he is like this. 

How stupid it is to want this when everything still hurts.

He tilts his head, nose brushing yours, eyes dropping to your mouth—and just before his lips can meet yours, you turn away.

“.. No,” you murmur.  

He freezes. The space between you stills.

“No?” he repeats, like he didn’t hear you right. Like the word tastes wrong in his mouth.

You nod once, sharp and quiet, still facing the wall.

He sits back slowly, his hand pulling away from your skin. “No?” he says again, but this time it’s different—smaller. Like he’s confused. Like you hit something soft inside him he didn’t know was still exposed.

“You were gonna kiss me,” you say, voice low.

“Yeah,” he answers plainly.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” He’s frowning now. “Because I wanted to.”

“You make me feel stupid,” you whisper.

A pause, then : 

“You’re not stupid.”

You look at him. Really look at him.

“I want you,” he says finally, evenly. “I do. But I want all of you. Not the version of you that’s desperate to prove something, or pissed off, or punishing me for things I didn’t say. I want you when you know I want you.”

You breathe in slowly. “Then show me.”

He stares at you. Doesn’t move.

You whisper, “Then show me you mean it.”

He leans in again, slow, cautious. But this time when his mouth hovers over yours, he doesn’t push.

“You gonna turn away again?” he asks, voice a little rough.

You blink at him, then shake your head.

“…No.”

His mouth brushes yours—not rushed, not messy. Just warm. Just there. Steady. And somehow, that makes it feel worse.

It’s not gentle—not even close. He kisses you like it’s punishment, like he’s trying to make a point. His mouth crashes into yours, all tongue and teeth and heat. 

His hand curls around your jaw, keeping you in place, thumb pressing into your cheek just enough to keep your lips parted for him. 

He tastes like mint and regret, bitter on his tongue, sweet where it mixes with yours. You let out a sound—shocked, maybe, maybe not—and he drinks it in like it’s all he’s been starving for.

When you try to pull back, he follows. Deeper. Hungrier. His hand slides down, hooks around the back of your neck, and the other snakes low—gripping under your thigh and dragging you over him in one rough pull.

You’re on top of him before you even realize what’s happening. Your knees on either side of his hips, your hands braced on his bare chest, and he’s grinning into your mouth like he’s already won.

“Still don’t want me?” you gasp when he finally lets you breathe.

“Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll make sure you feel wanted. Real fuckin’ quick.”

You shove at his chest, but your hips roll with him anyway, traitorously, and his head tips back with a groan so deep it buzzes through your spine.

“Say ‘no’ again,” he murmurs, pulling you down by the waist, “see if I listen this time.”

You reach for him, your fingers trembling slightly—not from hesitation, but from the overwhelming heat curling up your spine. 

He’s already hard, already waiting, already watching you like he’s two seconds from losing control. 

His breath hitches the moment you take him in your hand, the muscles in his abdomen twitching beneath your thighs as you position yourself over him.

“You sure?” he rasps, voice low, guttural, strained with restraint.

You just look at him. Nothing about you is unsure.

He groans as you guide him to your entrance, dragging his blunt head through your slick folds slowly, cruelly, making him feel just how ready you are for him. 

His hands grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. 

You sink down inch by inch, his mouth falling open, his head tipping back against the pillow as a curse slips past his lips.

“You’re so deep,” you breathe.

He’s so thick, it knocks the breath out of you. He tries to move, but you press your palm against his chest.

“Stay down,” you whisper.

And fuck, he listens.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans. “Ridin’ me like this — you don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You do, though. You feel the way he’s twitching inside you. You see how he’s watching you like he’d worship the floor you walk on. You lean over, kiss down his throat, whisper —

“Whimper for me, pretty boy.”

He actually whines.

“Jesus Christ—”

You start to move harder, faster—bouncing on him now, fucking him like you’re the one in control, and he’s losing his mind beneath you. 

One of his hands flies to your ass, gripping so hard it stings.

Your moan catches in your throat as your pace quickens, eyes fluttering shut, arms around his neck now for balance. 

His hands guide your hips but he's not leading anymore—you are.

You moan into his mouth as you kiss him, filthy and deep, tongues tangling, bodies drenched in sweat. 

You grind just right, and he’s the one whimpering again, hips twitching up into you.

“You’re mine,” you whisper. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—I’m yours, fuck, I’m—”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave—violent, intense, body shaking—and Yunho holds on like his life depends on it, crying out your name, losing it as he fucks up into you and follows you over the edge.

Your bodies go still, tangled, trembling, hearts pounding in sync. The room smells like sweat and sex and desperation.

Yunho breathes hard, lips brushing your jaw.

“…You’re unreal,” he murmurs.

You laugh, weakly. “You didn’t even last.”

“Don’t start. I was doing fine ‘til you started ridin’ me like you wanted to steal my soul.”

You grin and kiss him again.

Still straddling him. Still out of breath.

Until—

A knock. It’s your father’s voice.

“Y/N. Open the door. Now.”

You scramble off of him so fast you almost trip over the sheets.

“Shitshitshitshitshit—”

Yuhno's already halfway off the bed, dragging his boxers back on, his shirt twisted in his hand. “Where the fuck is my—goddamn belt—?!”

You yank on your robe, tying it unevenly. “The bed looks like a fucking war zone.”

Yunho glances at the door, panic in his eyes. “He’s gonna kill me, Y/N —”

“Get your pants on!”

“They are on—!”

The handle rattles. “Open this fucking door, or I’ll break it down.”

You shout, “One second!”

Yunho’s grabbing pillows, trying to make the bed look halfway normal while you run a hand through your hair and wipe at the smudged lip gloss around your mouth.

“Do I look—okay? Do I look like we didn’t just—”

Yunho grabs your waist, kisses your forehead real quick. “You look like my worst mistake. Go open it.”

“Thanks,” you hiss, unlocking the door.

It swings open immediately.

Your father steps in like a storm—eyes sweeping the room, landing on the unmade bed, then Yunho standing stiffly at the corner of it. Then you, flushed, trembling, arms crossed tight over your chest.

The silence is painful.

You open your mouth. “Okay, I know what this looks—”

“Don’t,” your father cuts in, sharp and flat. “Don’t even try to fucking explain.”

You wince. “..Okay.”

He stares for a long, long second. A beat. Two.

Then: “So you two just fucked?”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath, clutching your robe tighter. “Dad—”

He turns to Yunho. “Really? My daughter? In my house? This early in the damn morning?”

Yunho swallows hard. “Sir—”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me right now.”

You jump in, rushing to defend: “It’s not—it’s not like that, we weren’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You shut up immediately.

Your father sighs, stepping further into the room, hand to his temple like he’s nursing a headache. “You couldn’t even wait until you moved out? Huh? Thought we were past the whole rebellious make-terrible-decisions-under-my-roof phase.”

You frown. “Okay, first of all—”

He holds up a finger. “Don’t.”

Yunho clears his throat gently. “Mr. Y/L/N… I just wanna say—this wasn’t planned. I didn’t come here for this. I made sure to stay with her and take care of her. After last night. She was… not doing great.”

You glance sideways at him.

He’s speaking low. Respectful. No excuses. Just honesty.

Your father blinks, the tension in his brow twitching a little. “You came to take care of her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And ended up half-naked in her bed?”

Yunho doesn’t flinch. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t— we didn’t plan it.”

You watch your dad’s face carefully. The judgment is there, but it’s not fury anymore—it’s something quieter now. Disappointment, maybe. Confusion. Like he doesn’t know what to feel.

“I know I’ve messed up,” Yunho says. “And I know… I said things to her that I shouldn’t have. But I care about her. I always have.”

Your dad crosses his arms.

“She means a lot to me. I know I probably don’t deserve to be standing here, but I’m not gonna lie about how I feel.”

A pause. Silence thickens the air again.

Then your father turns to you. “You trust him now?”

You blink. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Your lips part, then close again. You look over at Yunho—at the messy hair, the bruises on his neck you definitely gave him, the frantic half-dressed panic a moment ago—and then back to your father.

“...Yeah,” you say, voice soft but certain. “I do.”

Another long silence. Your father exhales through his nose, rubs at his jaw. Then—shockingly—he nods.

Not big. Just once. Subtle. But it’s there. And then he mutters, almost to himself, “Well… could’ve done worse, I guess.”

You and Yunho both freeze. “What?”

“I said, you could’ve done worse. At least he’s not a complete idiot.”

You stare. “...That’s your approval?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t say that. I said he’s not a complete idiot.”

You grin.

Yunho looks like he just got granted parole.

“I want the bed made,” your father says, walking toward the door. “The sheets cleaned. If I come back and the room still smells like sex, I’m spraying Lysol myself.”

“Noted,” you say, biting back a laugh.

“And no more of this under my roof,” he calls as he exits. “If you’re gonna screw around, do it somewhere I don’t have to think about it.”

“Thanks for the… support,” you mumble as he walks down the hall.

Once the door shuts — You and Yunho collapse into laughter.

“I can’t believe we survived that,” you wheeze, falling back onto the mattress.

“He definitely knew what we were doing,” Yunho groans, flopping next to you.

You both laugh harder.

And for the first time in days, it feels easy again.

He wants you. You want him.

And for once, neither of you are pretending otherwise.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Few weeks later …

The two of you sit together on a lounge chair—food in your lap, his close beside you, the warm breeze tickling your skin. You’re all giggly and pink-cheeked and soft. 

Yunho’s flirtier than usual. You’re feeding each other little bites and kissing between chews and occasionally he leans over just to press his lips to your shoulder or jaw. No reason. Just because he can now.

He feeds you a bite of fruit and grins when you hum. “Tastes better when I give it to you, huh?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is that what this is? You trying to seduce me with grapes?”

“Is it working?” he whispers against your ear.

You elbow him lightly and he still doesn’t back up. If anything, he shifts closer. One hand on your thigh now, fingers tracing shapes.

Then, quietly—

“You wanna swim?”

You pause mid-bite. “Of course I wanna swim.”

He grins and leans in again, voice lower this time, sultry and teasing:

“Okay. Go put on your sexy—”  he kisses your jaw  “—tiny—” kiss on your chin “—bikini—” kiss on your lips “— right now.”

You giggle, gasping out a soft, “Get off me,” as he starts kissing all over your face, too affectionate and chaotic for you to function.

He’s on top of you now, pinning you to the chair, lips on your neck, his hand brushing under your shirt, just barely. His weight, his warmth—it’s addictive. He’s not even doing anything that dirty, but your brain’s already melting.

“Go get ready,” he groans, giving your thigh a final squeeze. “I can’t wait to see your boobs in that bikini. You have no idea.”

You swat at him again, laughing even as you blush. “You're literally insane.”

He claps once. “Go! Now! Chop-chop! I need to mentally prepare myself.” You roll your eyes and retreat to your room. And you put on your favorite bikini.

It’s flattering, technically. You’ve worn it before and felt good. But now? With Yunho waiting out there, already shirtless and hot and perfect and seeing you for the first time like this?

You feel… weirdly shy.

So when you walk back out, towel in hand, arms crossed a little too tightly over your chest, you hesitate at the doorway.

And then you see him.

Already in swim trunks, shirt off, toned as hell, and lounging poolside like he knows he’s God's favorite. Hair a little messy. Skin golden. Smirk already forming when he catches sight of you.

He stands up. Walks toward you.

You tense. “Don’t look too hard…” He stops in front of you. Tilts his head. And says, low and slow, “Don’t hide. You’re beautiful.”

You blink up at him.

“Like—actually. You’re stupid hot right now. I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

Your stomach flutters and you look away, cheeks burning.

He grins—and then? He grabs you. “What are you—Yunho, no—!”

Too late. He scoops you up in one motion and throws you into the pool. You crash into the water with a squeal, resurfacing in a splash, hair everywhere, laughing and sputtering. “You asshole!”

He’s laughing too, stripping off the towel from around his shoulders before diving in right after you. Smooth, perfect, dolphin-core form. He pops up right in front of you. Grinning like a menace.

Then he grabs your waist under the water—pulls you flush against his chest. You gasp. Hands on his shoulders now. His skin’s slippery and warm and his muscles flex under your fingers.

“You’re…” He lets his eyes wander—face to chest to hips to thighs under the water. “...so fucking beautiful. It’s actually not fair.”

“Stop…” You whisper, voice breathy.

“I’m not even joking,” he murmurs. “Your eyes. Your neck. Your thighs. Your waist. Your hips. Your lips. Fuck. Your smile?”

You lean in and kiss him. Hard. Your lips meet underwater-wet, slippery and warm, and his hands slide up your sides like he owns you.

Tongues, breathless whines, clumsy underwater grinding—he’s grabbing you like he’s going to disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight.

You giggle, soft and dazed. “You’re gonna say more stuff that makes me fall in love with you.”

“I want you to,” he murmurs. “Fall harder. I can take it.”

He kisses the side of your mouth. “I want everything.” You blink at him.

“…Can we play mermaids?”

Without hesitation—dead serious—he goes: “Yes.”

You light up. “Really?!”

“I’m literally already imagining the storyline in my head. I’m the cursed merman prince, obviously.”

You both start splashing and spinning in the pool like dramatic sea creatures, creating lore, coming up with fake ocean names, doing tragic tail flips and reenacting movie-worthy underwater longing.

And in between the chaos? He still kisses you.

The mermaid saga comes to a dramatic close with your final, tearful “death” at sea (you insisted on floating face-down while Yunho screamed like he was winning an Oscar). And once the performance is properly applauded—with a splashy round of applause and a dramatic bow—you both quiet down.

Now, you’re floating.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck. Your legs are looped lazily around his waist. Your cheek’s pressed against his shoulder, humming something soft under your breath.

Just the two of you drifting in the center of the pool, water rippling gently around you, sun warm on your back, the air thick with chlorine and something sweeter—something that settles like peace in your chest.

His arms cradle you with that terrifying gentleness. You feel like a baby.

His baby. You sigh happily. And then, out of nowhere:

“Wanna be my girlfriend?”

You stare for maybe half a second.

Then: “Fuck yes.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Masterlist

Being around the same age, you two formed a friendship rather swiftly. Everyone else on your team was either just hitting 21 besides you two, who were on the cusp of hitting your late 20s with “real, adult jobs,” as your team member, Wooyoung, liked to put it. Yunho had taken a chance on adding you to his team, but your skills improved so fast it felt like whiplash. You could rival him in the game … someday. Not today. As time went on, you both began to talk outside of the game, frequently sending messages during working hours about what you both did for jobs and relationships. This was how you found out that both of you worked in data science and played Valorant as a distraction from everyday life.

Using a video game to solve your anger issues and discontentment with work was probably the cringiest thing you could ever do. However … it was helping. Even your therapist noticed a difference. And despite it all, you liked Yunho. Over the past 6 months, he’d become someone you talked to everyday. 

Your friends didn’t exactly understand it – talking to this guy you met in a video game. You could admit how nutty it sounded, but they wouldn’t get it until they experienced something similar. It was so easy to form a friendship to someone without a face, so easy to share things you’d normally keep to yourself. Alexa, your roommate, was convinced he was your boyfriend that you were trying to keep secret, while your other friend, Laura, said you two were having phone sex. “You’re both so ridiculous,” you had said before rolling your eyes and changing the topic.

And then came that rainy night in July.

Your apartment was so hot when you came back from your ice cream date with some guy you met on Hinge. Or at least, it was supposed to be an ice cream date before the rain started. Jared – or was his name, Jacob? – had decided to take you to frozen yogurt instead, but the shop was full of families and you both decided to shared your large cup of strawberry froyo in his car while the rain battered against the windshield. And, to be honest, there was nothing romantic about that. Not that you were particularly looking for anything at the moment, but you would’ve given anything for him to at least take you back to his place. But the mood had been ruined and he dropped you off at your building before the clock hit 9 PM. Unmatched. Unbothered. Undone.

Turning on the air-conditioning, you put on your favorite sleep shorts and big t-shirt before opening up Valorant on your PC. Alexa was staying with their boyfriend for the night, so it was just you, all alone, in the apartment. You fiddled with a few keys on your computer as the game booted up, noticing that you received a message as soon as you logged on.

YunhoGizer99 [9:27 PM]: why are you online? thought you had plans You [9:28 PM]: I did. I just got back earlier than I assumed YunhoGizer99 [9:28 PM]: bad date?

You called him immediately and it only took him a second to pick up. Before he could say a word, you replied, “Horrible date. I probably could’ve sucked it up and gone to bed early, but I logged on for the distraction.”

Yunho chuckled on the other end. You were always so surprised by how deep his voice was. Alexa once walked in while you two were on a call and remarked that they were surprised someone named YunhoGizer99 had a “bedroom voice.” You simply called them a pervert.

“What happened this time?” He said through your headphones, his voice amplified more than before.

“Why do you say it like that?” Your eyes narrowed, even though he couldn’t see them. “It was just bad. I don’t want to explain it. The guy is automatically an asshole for dropping me off before 9 o’clock. And it’s humid and my apartment is fucking muggy because Alexa didn’t leave the air conditioner on –” You stopped yourself with a huff.

At this point, you were just staring at the home screen of the game. You didn’t even want to put in the effort to play, given the state of your mood. When Yunho realized you were done, he said, “You know that you don’t have to go on dates, right?”

You scoffed, “Of course, I know that. It’s just –”

“Because in the short time I’ve known you, you come back from them with no good news.”

“Yes, I get that. But –” You spun around in your desk chair. “You’re one to talk. You told me once that you haven’t been on a date since college.”

You heard him blow a raspberry through your headphones. “Hey, now. Don’t use my unwillingness to put myself out there as a defense mechanism.”

“I just –” You sighed, going silent for a moment. Licking your lips, you toyed with the idea of being honest with not only him, but yourself. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“And maybe I’m being too subtle with the way I approach this –”

“Maybe you are.” He let out a frustrated groan, which sent a shiver down your spine that you didn’t expect. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap. “Oh, come on, just say it –”

“I just really need to be fucked.”

The line went completely silent. So silent that you thought Yunho dropped from the call. You checked your computer and despite it all, his icon of a golden retriever with glasses was still on screen. His mic was just completely silent. You were pretty sure he could hear you gulp on his end. “Yunho?” You called out, voice surprisingly quiet.

“Sorry,” he finally said. “I just … didn’t expect that.”

Your cheeks were heating up. You considered dropping the call, closing the laptop – anything to get you out of this situation. He couldn’t even see you, but you already felt so vulnerable, almost naked. Your chair spun away from the screen, as if that could do anything.

“I shouldn’t have said that –”

“No, no, it’s fine. Seriously.” He exhaled, and you felt like your lungs were burning as you held your breath. “You could just … message a guy on some dating app and tell him that you want him to fuck you.”

Your brow immediately furrowed. Turning around in your chair, you saw your frown reflected in screen of your laptop. Maybe you should’ve guessed that he would say something outrageously stupid like that. “Oh, like it’s that easy. Big help, Yunho,” you sneered.

“Guys don’t like subtlety. I thought you knew that at your big age,” he laughed softly.

“You’re a fucking comedian,” you replied with a shake of your head. “My therapist said that video games can’t be my only distraction in life, but I hate being so upfront with guys about what I want. I try to avoid awkward situations at all costs.”

“If a woman was that upfront with me … it would work.”

You paused, noticing a shift in his tone. You bit into your cheek, trying to stop the word vomit, but you simply couldn’t help yourself – “I shouldn’t have to try so hard to get a dick inside me. My fingers can only do so much.”

“God, you can’t just …” You heard rustling on the other end, as if he was running a hand down his face. Suddenly, you were thinking about what your friend’s hands looked like. How big they were, if his fingers were really that long. You’d seen them once – in a photo he sent you a couple months back – and you couldn’t help but notice how slender his digits were, the veins that were etched between his knuckles. 

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” he finished.

You traced your bottom lip with your fingernail. “And why’s that?”

He took a moment. You froze, and it felt like years until he spoke again.

“You know why.”

Your mouth curved slightly. “Women don’t like subtlety either, Yunho.”

“I think I’m done talking about this now. I –” He huffed suddenly. “Fuck.”

His voice had taken on a tone you had never heard before. It was deeper, more of a groan than anything. The kind of tone that you might have fantasized about once or twice on a really lonely night. It wasn’t hard to guess why he sounded like that, and you struggled with sinking your nails into your palm. But it wasn’t out of anger this time; it was far, far different.

Your voice was like a mere croak when you said his name, “Yunho.”

“I’m gonna log off for the night –”

“I can help you, if that’s what you need.” Your fingers were now tugging at the hem of your oversized tee. The one that you bought on clearance because it had off-brand Hello Kitty on the front. “Maybe we can help each other.”

His lips smacked, making you rub your thighs together instinctively. “That would ruin our friendship.”

“It would.”

“But I think I would rather ruin you more.”

Your breath hitched, and the line was so silent that you knew he could hear it. You could almost hear the smirk on his lips when he spoke next. How was that even possible when you’ve never even seen his face?

“I think I’ve always wanted to, as stupid as it sounds,” he admitted, and you could hear him playing with something on the other end. A cable? Drawstring? “Whenever you would come back from these dates all pent up, I couldn’t help but think … what I could …” He trailed off, a sigh escaped his lips as you heard him grip something. “God, fuck.”

This was such a bad idea. It was crossing a line that you never thought was there. A line that all your friends had already assumed you crossed, and you hated to prove them right. But you were just so frustrated with … well, everything, and god forbid you finally give into your desire to hear your friend masturbate over a voice chat. 

You should hang up. But your hand was already creeping up under your shirt.

“Do you want me to end the call?” You breathed out, your palm squeezing your breast.

“No,” and the soft laugh he let out sounded so cocky. “I want you to touch yourself and imagine it’s me.”

Just his words had a gasp slipping from your mouth. “Okay,” you rasped, fingers playing with one nipple. His voice was enough to turn them into pebbles, but you started to envision your fingers were his, how they would feel as they toyed with you in person rather than over a call.  You rolled your nipple between your fingers, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Yunho –”

More rustling on the other side, and you heard him grunt. “You haven’t started fingering yourself, right?”

You looked down at your other hand, still playing with the end of your shorts. “No,” you replied, and it was the quietest you ever heard yourself. “Not yet.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, and you heard him start to slowly stroke himself. “Can you get those fingers wet for me with your mouth, princess?”

This felt absurd. You were practically debasing yourself for your Valorant team leader over a call, all because you were pent up with so much sexual frustration that it felt like you couldn’t breathe sometimes. If anyone found out about this, you’d be eaten alive. But now you were slipping two fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them, and he let out another groan when he heard how sloppy it all sounded.

“Just like that,” he muttered, his grin practically audible through your headphones. “Do you think they’re wet enough now?”

“Mmhmm,” you said around your fingers.

“Are you wet enough?”

You took your fingers out of your mouth and nearly screamed, “God, yes.”

He chuckled, and it was just about evil the way he sounded. “I want those fingers to play with that pretty pussy while I fuck my hand. Can you do that for me?”

You didn’t care that he was commanding you. All you cared about in this moment was getting off as you whispered, “Yes, Yunho.”

Trailing down your torso, you slipped your hand underneath the waistband of your shorts, not even bothering to take your panties off either. Your fingers, wet and warm with saliva, parted your folds so easily, just barely brushing your clit and yet, your hips jumped anyway. You pressed down on it, before starting to rub slow circles, imagining this is how he’d be. Clearly, he was into teasing. Perhaps you should’ve known this from all the times he called you names between rounds, as if you were students at recess. 

You moaned out his name and it sounded like heaven through his headphones. He muttered curses under his breath, and you hoped he was squeezing himself at the tip, like you would do for him. You wondered how much precum was coating his hand now; all you could hear was a faint tacky sound in your ear. You wondered if his cock curved to the right or left, if the same veins that ran along his hands were also carved on his shaft.

“I know you’re just playing with your clit, princess,” he said breathlessly. “I don’t wanna fuck my hand faster until I know those fingers are inside you.”

“But it’s not the same as if you were here,” you whined.

“I need you to imagine their mine,” he commanded. The seriousness in his tone was like a shock to your system, making your toes curl. “And then, I’ll let you put three fingers inside and you’ll know what it would feel like if I were there.”

Your eyes opened, staring at the voice chat screen, not believing that your friend behind the golden retriever icon was saying such dirty words to you. Without processing it, your legs curled up to your chest and you leaned all the way back in your desk chair, praying you wouldn’t fall over. Your thighs spread and you could feel your arousal dripping between them, soaking your favorite pair of panties. You sunk two wet fingers inside, and the way you whimpered, “Fuck, Yunho,” had him fisting his cock so fast he almost forgot to breathe.

You struggled to play with your clit at the same time, too focused on Yunho’s hard breathing pouring through your headphones as you pumped your fingers inside your sopping wet hole again and again. If you didn’t think too hard, this almost felt like he was here, and you imagined your hand on your breast was larger as you squeezed and toyed with it. 

“Keep going, princess,” he breathed out, voice fighting to remain level. “Shit, I wish I was there … you’ve seen my hands before. My fingers would stuff that pussy so nicely … fuck, wish I was touching you. Wish it was your mouth on my cock instead of my own hand.”

Drool was spilling from your pursed lips just from the thought of his dick in your mouth. You didn’t care if he pulled your hair or shoved your face into his groin – you would kill for just a taste. “Please.” The word slipped from your mouth before turning into a plea. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

He chuckled darkly, and then let out a deep grunt, the kind of sound you liked to hear when you cupped a guy’s balls while he was inside you. You imagined Yunho would like that too. “At some point,” he huffed, slowing his strokes. “For now, I want you to put three fingers inside of you, and then we can cum together. You think you can cum for me, princess?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, too lost in the pleasure to utter a real word. You hardly waited for his go ahead, shoving a third finger inside your pussy so quick that you almost orgasmed on the spot. Now, this was what being full felt like, but you knew, somehow, that this was nothing to what his cock would feel like. Your jaw unhinged as you fucked three fingers inside of you, your hips bucking to grind against the heel of your palm. Through your headphones, you heard him fist his cock faster, all wet and sticky and damn near sloppy. His deep breathing had to be the hottest thing you’d ever heard in your life, next to how his voice vibrated when he got angry while in game. You wondered if his voice trembled like that in real life while fucking into you deep from behind.

Jeez. Had you always been this much of a pervert?

Before you could come to terms with that assumption, Yunho was groaning in your ear, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, already on the precipice of shattering, “I’m cl–”

It happened before you could even comprehend what was happening. Your hips stuttered, and it felt like a dam breaking as your fingers curled at your g-spot, soaking them with your own cum. You cried out his name, which was all that he needed to finish, ropes of hot, white seed probably blanketing his chest. God, you wished you could see it. You wished he could see you, cumming all over your fingers while thinking about him. There was something so depraved, yet embarrassingly hot about all of this, but you couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up when your heart rate settled and you realized what you both had done.

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up in your chair, staring at laptop screen. Both of you were as silent as ghosts. Your mouth opened, then closed, unsure of what to say. “I –”

“Goodnight,” he said abruptly, ending the call before you had the chance.

YunhoGizer99 [10:49 AM]: we shouldn’t do that again

You [10:55 AM]: agreed

YunhoGizer99 [10:56 AM]: not that I didn’t like it

You [10:56 AM]: I didn’t assume that at all

YunhoGizer99 [10:59 AM]: it’s just not a good idea

You [11:01 AM]: again agreed

YunhoGizer99 [11:03 AM]: oh, okay. great. so we’re both on the same page

You [11:04 AM]: definitely

You [11:12 AM]: things are gonna be weird now between us, right? [UNSENT]

Days turned into weeks, and then months. You couldn’t remember the last time you opened your PC, let alone talked to Yunho. As dumb as it sounded in your head, you couldn’t bring yourself to play your favorite game, the best outlet you ever found to pour all the rage from the day into. You tried to find something else to play, but nothing was suiting your fancy. 

You felt silly. It was silly – not doing a hobby you enjoyed just because you were avoiding Yunho of all people. Even worse that this was over a stupid video game.

So you did what you always did: throw yourself into work, even though that was the very thing you needed to be distracted from in the first place. You came home most nights exhausted, frustrated with yourself over your lack of productivity. There was just so much to be done and so little time to do it. Your mind was racing again most nights, leaving you tossing and turning, or even worse: scrolling through dating apps. Not that you were actually going on dates right now. Not that you were actually talking to any men, left to your own devices on lonely nights with the memory of Yunho’s voice in your ear. 

Your therapist told you that you needed to find another outlet. And you were trying. But you were still so embarrassed over what happened with – ugh. If you thought his name again, you might implode.

In a strange turn of events, your company extended an offer to all the data analysts to attend a conference out of state next weekend, and you thought this was the perfect opportunity to get yourself out of your usual routine. You had absolutely no clue why there could be a conference about your chosen field, but hey, a free trip was a free trip. So you packed up your carry-on suitcase the day before, and headed off to the airport after about only 4 hours of sleep. You prayed that no one would be able to tell.

The conference was being held in a swanky hotel just off LAX. You were greeted by the sight of palm trees and trash on the ground, pollution heavy in the air. But still, the weather was nicer than you imagined. The hotel was all plush carpets and expensive furniture, and after checking, you realized they were using Egyptian cotton sheets. A small card was placed on your bed that listed all the events happening this weekend. There was a cocktail hour and dinner tonight, even an arcade being hosted just off from the ballroom.

You got yourself ready, sliding into the most work-appropriate dress you owned: a high-neck, black dress that showed just enough of your legs to be a little sultry, but still suitable for a conference. After slipping on your comfiest pair of heels, you headed down to the cocktail hour, hoping to find some man that would talk your ear off so you wouldn’t have to speak a word tonight.

Unfortunately, you might’ve arrived too early. There were only a few groups of people grabbing drinks, and the solitude of it all made you want to die. Everyone was so engaged in conversation, it was hard to even introduce yourself. You sipped your lemon drop martini in a corner, fighting the urge to scratch your nails against your palm. Maybe the arcade they’re hosting is open, you assumed. Everyone could be there.

There were a significant amount of people in the arcade being held next to the ballroom. As you passed, you could already see that every table was decorated for dinner. This might be the fanciest event you ever been to. No wedding had an arcade like this either. The room was filled with vintage games, even some from your childhood. You remembered playing Street Fighter with your friends at a local pizza shop after school, before it was replaced by an oversized fish tank. Everyone was yelling at the screens in front of them, or mingling by the Dance Dance Revolution booth. The bright Street Fighter visuals reflected in your eyes, and you smiled at the memories of years past.

“I used to play this too at a penny arcade,” a voice said beside you. “Hard to imagine that this is still around.”

You never thought your blood could run cold until now. Your body froze, the grip on your martini glass tight. Because you knew that voice. You knew what he sounded like when he was annoyed, his laughter, even how he moaned while cumming in his hand.

Turning your head, you realized you had to look up at the man beside you. He had tufts of wavy, dark brown hair on his forehead, with a straight nose and eyes so dark they reminded you of a night sky. His lips looked like they were constantly graced with a smirk, slightly wet from dragging his tongue at the corners. He was lanky in all the right places, yet toned, with wide set shoulders, stuffed into a pressed white button-up and well-fitting dress pants. His shirt was just open enough at the top to show the tiny chain sitting on his collarbones, a small pearl pendant in the middle.

You almost didn’t want to say anything. Maybe you could pretend to be mute, anything to survive these next couple of days without him finding out who you were. But your mouth was opening before you could stop it, your voice loud enough even over the volume in the arcade.

“Yunho?” You said, eyes growing wide.

His smirk dropped. He would’ve dropped the glass of beer in his hand if it wasn’t so heavy. Both of you stayed eerily silent, the vivid lights of the arcade room flashing around you. All the people in this room had absolutely no clue what went down between you two during a voice chat months ago.

He grabbed your arm, his grip firm as he pulled you out of the arcade and into the main hall hosting the cocktail hour. Sending a soft smile to anyone who passed by, he let go of you once you reached a corner, and you looked up at him again. Jesus, he was taller than you ever expected.

“Yunho?” You said again, tilting your head to get a good look at his eyes. “YunhoGizer99?”

“Okay, well, don’t say it out loud and remind me how ridiculous it is,” he remarked, setting his glass down on a nearby end table. He then called out your old username, which you confirmed with a nod.

You arched a brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was invited here,” he argued, “through work.”

It was then that you were reminded that you both worked in the same field. “So was I.”

Yunho lifted a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, and you were able to study his fingers in real life. You had only seen them in a photo that one time, and they were … longer than you assumed. Nails only slightly manicured, especially for a man his age, with tiny wisps of hair at the knuckles. You had to swallow hard to stop yourself from drooling.

“This is a mess,” he finally said.

“You’re telling me.” You gulped down the last of your lemon drop, placing the empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he walked by.

He lowered his eyes on you again, and you never expected that they could have such an edge to them. “What happened to you?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. His lip curled slightly to one side. “We stopped talking. I never saw you online again.”

“I …” Your eyes darted around the room, looking for just about anyone to grab and get out of this conversation. But there was no one close enough. Besides Yunho. “I found something else to do with my time.”

He snickered, “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

Yunho rolled his eyes, and it was so cocky that you weren’t sure if you were pissed off or turned on. He had so much confidence for a guy who worked in data science and spent most of his time in his apartment playing Valorant. 

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Preferably, the truth.”

“Yunho –”

They were called into the ballroom then for dinner, and you shuffled off in your heels before he had the chance to grab you. You meandered through the crowd of analysts, trying to find your name card printed on a table, when it finally appeared near the middle of the room. You looked around at the people gathering at your table and – just your fucking luck.

Yunho plopped down in the seat beside you, both of your backs as stiff as boards as you fought to make eye contact. Waiters were already starting to hand out the first course as a speaker got up on the stand to introduce what seminars would be included this weekend. You could hardly hear anything but the ringing in your eyes, desperate to find a way out of this. 

“You’re really not gonna talk to me, huh?” Yunho muttered, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.

You shook your head. “Not now.”

“Why not?” His tone was almost pleading. “It’s not like I could’ve done this months ago with the way you were avoiding me.”

Your head snapped in his direction, and your voice was low as you whispered, “Because I’m done with this conversation.”

His hand was on your thigh then, his palm hot against your skin and the hem of your skirt hiking just a little. You paused, both looking at each other, no one else knowing that he was touching you like this underneath the table. His eyes were slightly dangerous, studying you, despite his innocent demeanor. Then his mouth were curling again, especially when he noticed the way your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

“You sure about that?”

Without a second thought, you stood up, walking out of the room and leaving your seat abandoned. You didn’t care that people were watching you. You just needed to get out of here. Only a minute after, you could hear footsteps following you. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was, and maybe … just maybe … you secretly wanted him to do this. Yunho followed you to an empty coat closet near the kitchens, locking the door from the inside as soon as you both stepped inside. Empty racks were littered amongst the room, an old couch that looked like it had once been in the main lobby now deserted to the corner of a closet.

You stepped around him, back pressing against the locked door, as if that could get you away from the situation that you made. Hands laid flat against the wooden surface, you fought the urge to fist them, to let out the frustration bubbling inside you. But you remained collected – somehow – even with Yunho’s simmering gaze following your every move.

“What is your problem with me?” You damn near barked.

“My problem?” He mocked, and his voice suddenly made your thighs squeeze together more. “I just want to know why you started avoiding me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Are you oblivious?” The last thing you wanted to do was spell it out for him, but unfortunately, that might be the case. “I was embarrassed, Yunho. And the way you reacted the day after didn’t help. I didn’t want to face you after that.”

“You could’ve just told me that months ago,” he said, so nonchalantly, walking close until your feet were touching. “We were friends.”

“Were,” you repeated, as if trying to taste it on your tongue. 

He smirked a little, head leaning down until you both were eye level. You swallowed hard. “It’s difficult to imagine us as friends after admitting that I wanted to ruin you.” His tongue dragged over his bottom lip, and you were hypnotized. You had wondered what that tongue could do to you for months. “Can I tell you something? Since you obviously don’t want to talk to me again after this.”

You nodded dumbly. Words were beginning to fail you.

“I tend to think about that call between us at least once a day,” he continued, his voice deep, even. “It never fails to make me hard.”

Your pupils widened.

“Sometimes I’ll remember the way you moaned my name while I jerk off.” His eyes flickered to your lips, watching your teeth sink into them once again. You could feel his growing hardness against your thigh now. “But nothing will ever compare to how it sounded in the moment.”

He then sighed, so out of the blue, and straightened his back. Just when his lips were inches from yours, he pulled away. You were like a fish and he was dangling the bait. “Too bad you’re done with me now. We have closure and can go our separate ways. If you’ll excuse me …” He reached out to unlock the door, but you slammed your hand on it so fast you almost yelped.

Your eyes never left his, and he grinned, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you. And honestly, you didn’t care. Your legs were shaking now, desperate. “You’re not going anywhere,” you said, palm slowly sliding off the lock to play with the loose thread on your dress. “I want …”

His brow raised. “What do you want?”

“I want you to ruin our friendship again.”

“What is there to ruin?” He chuckled, leaning down once more, his mouth so close to yours that his hot breath was making your cheeks heat. “We stopped being friends months ago, princess.”

Your hands locked around his collar, tugging him the short distance to smash his mouth onto yours. The kiss felt like a bruise, aching and swollen, but you decided then that any mark by him would be a blessing. He didn’t touch you yet. Instead, he kept his large hands on the door, shaking the surface and caging your body into his. Slotting his knee between your legs, your skirt hiked up and you didn’t bother to tug it back down. It was like your hips had a mind of their own, rubbing up and down the meat of his thigh, and you sighed into his mouth. Your lips tried to move away – wanting him to hear you, since he loved those sounds so much – but he wouldn’t let you. He needed to taste you from the inside out. 

If your mouth was this sweet, the arousal seeping into his pants must taste like candy.

You didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, your ass was hitting the cushion of the vintage couch. How did he move you without touching you? You were sure that if he had his hands on you, you would’ve felt it. His touch practically burned your skin when his hand met your inner thigh under the table earlier. But he was sitting you down now, detaching his lips from yours and standing up to his full height. You felt so small then: sitting there in front of him, cheeks flushed red and pupils blown wide. Your skirt was hitched so far up he could almost see your panties, the whole dress feeling so constricting now. 

He wiped away the trail of spit that seemed to connect you two, and he kicked one of your legs more open. “I want you to show me,” he said breathily, adjusting his pants.

Jesus, you thought, staring at the prominent bulge, is that a third leg?

“Show you what exactly?” You finally replied.

His smile was like a threat. “Show me how you made yourself cum all those months ago.”

You just stared at him, not believing what he was asking. Minutes ago, you told him how embarrassed you’d been after the voice chat situation, and now he wanted you to masturbate in front of him? You wanted to say no, call him a sick, perverted freak and walk out the door before finding the next flight home. But … oh, god, but he’d hardly even touched you and it felt like you were dripping between your legs. You were so soaked that your panties were clinging to you, uncomfortable and sticky. You needed him to touch you, but if your own fingers had to suffice, then you would do it. God knows that’s all you’ve been getting off with for a while.

He put his hands up in mock surrender, stepping back slightly and leaning against one of the empty coat racks, giving you some room. Your legs pried apart, your skirt bunched up around your waist now, before bringing them up to your chest. He saw all of you then, and you could feel your heart batter against your ribcage, practically visible through the tight fabric of your dress. You pulled your panties to the side, and you noticed his hand flex for the first time at the sight of your exposed folds, weeping with arousal for him. 

He watched you. And you watched him. Despite the fact that you wanted to fucking die at putting yourself in this scenario, you used two fingers to open yourself up and started rubbing tight circles on your clit. Heat pooled in your stomach, a tight coil bunching in your abdomen, as you worked yourself. Your teeth clenched as he grazed a single finger over his top lip, and you finally let out a soft cry of his name when you sunk one digit inside yourself.

“I think you could take two,” he commented.

Your breath hitched, fucking a single finger inside of yourself as your thumb flicked at your clit. You swallowed hard before muttering in short breaths, “Or you could … do it … for me.”

“Nuh-uh,” he snickered. “I fuck you when I want to fuck you. Now, two fingers.”

You didn’t think twice. Two fingers curled inside of you, stretching your walls for his eyes only. You whimpered, still in disbelief at what was happening. What was it about Yunho that made you turn into putty, that made you demean yourself so easily? Maybe it was the way he held himself. Even in something as silly as a video game, he commanded a room. He was intimidating – even when he didn’t want to be, even when he was friendly.

He was certainly not being friendly right now, watching you fuck yourself dumb on your fingers. “Yunho,” you whined, “please. I want to cum on your fingers, not mine. I … I’ve thought about it since that call. Come on, please don’t be an asshole. Pleeeeeeease.”

“Well,” he said evenly, “are you about to cum?”

You felt that coil in your stomach tighten even more. You were so close to release that if you rubbed your clit even faster, you’d tumble into the same ecstasy that you brought yourself to every night in the comfort of your own bed. Head nodding, you couldn’t even form the words to express how you felt. Your body felt like it was on fire and the only thing that could extinguish it was cumming all over his fingers. Or wherever he wanted, for that matter.

Yunho nodded, quickly closing the distance between you two once again and smacking your wrist out of the way. “You don’t get to cum yet,” he said, nearly dragging your hand out from between your legs. You gasped and your mouth dropped in surprise. You had just been on the precipice and it was just … stolen from you. By Yunho.

“What the hell?!” You whispered loudly, instantly aware that this coatroom might not be soundproof. “I was doing everything you asked of me.”

“Just like how I decide when I want to fuck you,” he smiled, “I also decide when you cum.”

You fingers twitched as he held your wrist. His gaze softened slightly, and then he asked, “That okay?”

You saw a flicker of the Yunho you’d always known, the flicker of the innocent man behind the alarming demeanor. It was enough to make your heartbeat skyrocket again, and you nodded at his question.

He tipped his head, finally looking at your hand that was locked in his grip. Your slick dripped down your fingers – warm, inviting. Yunho had to stop himself from taking them in his mouth and sucking them dry. He’d taste you eventually. Maybe not tonight, but someday, he’d bury his face between your thighs for hours. 

Using one hand, he tugged off his belt and let it clatter around his hips. He pushed down his pants a bit, pulling his cock out from his soaked boxers. Precum beaded at the tip, leaking onto the musty carpet below you. With one hand holding his cock and the other clutching your wrist, he commanded, “I want you to take these wet fingers and paint my cock with them.”

He let go your wrist, and you didn’t hesitate. You sat up, reaching out and tracing his pretty pink tip with your slick fingers. Veins ran down his shaft, which was darker than his pale skin tone, and you grazed them, coating him with your essence. He was longer than you ever expected; you could probably cover his entire length in your two hands. You looked up at him when you gripped him at the base, silently asking permission, and he nodded. “I wanna be covered in you,” he whispered.

You stroked him slowly, feeling his cock twitch in your grasp, his precum slipping down your knuckles and mixing with your own essence. He threw his head back and grunted, “Oh, fuck.” His eyes closed, and when you viewed up at him while you squeezed him at the head, you wondered if this was exactly how he looked when he jerked off on the phone with you. Had he been in just some sweatpants, the waistband pushed down to accommodate his length, and a cheap t-shirt? Something so simple as he threw his head back and fucked his hand while asking you to finger yourself. You were kicking yourself now for not asking him to turn his camera on because this … this was a sight. 

Your hand was moving faster and the other cupped one of his aching balls, wishing he had asked you to put one in your mouth. Drool might be slipping down your chin now; you weren’t exactly sure. You just needed something in your mouth or you might just combust –

It was like he could sense you were about to moan his name and ask, because he placed a hand over your mouth. Your eyes went wide, and you squeezing his other ball, making his hips jump. “Shit, fuck, I might –” His eyes snapped open, and before you could even blink, he pushed your hand off his cock.

When his palm moved off your mouth to shove his pants and boxers to his knees, you frantically asked, “Did I do something wrong –”

“I’ll be damned if I cum in your hand and not inside of you,” he replied, turning you so that your back was hitting the cushion and yanking you to the armrest of the couch. He peeled your panties off with precision. Swiping a single finger in the air, he said, “Open your legs more.”

The back of your thighs were resting on the armrest, your feet angling off, and you did your best to spread yourself for him. You just wished he took your dress off. You wanted his hands all over you, squeezing and marking wherever he pleased. The temperature in this closet was sweltering, and your dress wasn’t helping. But everything about this was quick, dirty, raw. You weren’t going to get your way no matter how much you begged.

He tapped your weeping slit with the head of his cock. Your hips bucked and you gripped the sides of the couch to stop yourself from falling off. “You like that, princess?” He smirked, repeating the action. “Are you sure you can fit me inside you?”

You nodded, too cock drunk and he hadn't even fucked you yet.

“Hmm … I’m not so sure.” He made his point by pushing just the tip in, and you felt the stretch immediately. He loomed over you, tilting his head as he looked down. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, princess,” he chastised, shoving another inch inside and making you choke, “but I think you can take it.”

It felt like the wind was being knocked out of you with each brutal push of his long cock. But when he was seated fully, leaning down over you so you could feel his teeth grazing your jaw, you finally felt like you could breathe again. “Look at you,” he cooed, one hand snaking up to capture your own, pinning your wrists above your head. “Such a good girl.”

He still wasn’t moving. He was reminding you how full this felt, how all the guys you had complained about to him over voice chat were always going to be nothing compared to this. Compared to him. You were made to fit him and he was made to take you. You felt him deep, so deep you could hardly move your hips. His lips dragged down your jugular, nipping, as his free hand pressed down on your stomach, feeling how far he was nestled inside. He practically snarled against your skin.

“I’m gonna fuck you now and you’re gonna cum all over my cock before I fill you up,” he said, almost casually. “Understood?”

“Yes, Yunho,” you breathed.

He pulled out until only the head remained, and then slammed right back into you. Your back arched off the old cushion, jerking as he held your wrists down. His thrusts were ruthless, each one feeling different than the next, as he tried to find that place that would make you see stars. It was only when he curved his hips to the left that he got a choked moan to fall from your lips, and he grinned big, like he just won a brutal 5 on 5 tournament. He hit it again, making you scream, “Fuck, Yunho, oh my god –”

He latched his mouth onto yours, swallowing your moans as he fucked into you hard. You felt exactly how he imagined, tight and warm and just for him. He wouldn’t tell you this until later, but you had the prettiest pussy he ever seen, the best one he ever felt. Like every shit date and all your frustrations had led up to this moment where you two could meet in person at a stupid conference and he could fuck you in an abandoned coat closet. 

You let out another desperate whimper when he leaned back, tugging your lip between his teeth. Your mouth was swollen from his kiss, but he wasn’t done with you yet. Not until he filled this perfect pussy with his seed, not until you were dripping with him like he always imagined. “Can’t have you too loud, princess,” he chuckled, slamming into you again. Your response was in an anguished plea. “Wanna cum?”

You nodded, lips pursed slightly. Spit dribbled from the corner. Lipgloss smeared onto your chin. 

Yunho’s lips spread wide. “Beg me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes and you struggled to lift your hips, trying to meet his to get yourself over that peak again. It was no use. You were too full of him and he was too heavy on top of you. This was torture, and he was playing you like a controller. 

A sick part of you loved this far too much.

“Princess,” he said calmly, oh so carefully, “use your words and beg me to let you cum.”

You let out the loudest sigh, eyes snapping open as you met his dark gaze. You bit your lip for a moment longer before whispering, “Please, let me cum.”

He bobbed his head, trying to decide if that was good enough as he nudged your g-spot once again.

“Fuck, oh my god, okay, please –” You let in a sharp intake as he filled you again and again with his thick cock, making sure your pussy was molded to fit him. “Yunho, please, let me cum. Pleasepleaseplease. I need you. I need to cum on your cock so bad. Pleeeeeeease.”

You could feel his smile as his lips ghosted over your ear. “That’s what I like to hear.” His hand slipped off your wrists finally, reaching between your bodies so he could rub your clit while fucking into you. “Now, cum on my cock like a good girl.”

And he made it so easy to. His long, slender fingers rubbed you just right while his cock pistoned into you had you hurtling towards an orgasm so fast that you forgot how to exhale. Your arms locked around his neck, anchoring yourself to his broad body, as you clenched around him and cried his name into the crook. Your walls milked his cock, cumming for what felt like forever and making him groan into your shoulder. He didn’t realize when, but at some point, he stopped fucking you and released. He felt his vision go bright, his brain short circuiting as he moaned and actually whined for you. His hot seed painted your insides white, marking you as his, letting your pussy take all he had to give. And when it felt like he was finally done, he held himself above you, breathing heavy against your earlobe. Your body shivered when you felt him press a ghost of a kiss at the shell.

He moved his head, wanting to look at your eyes, how fucked-out you looked underneath him. His cock softened, but still twitched slightly inside you. Distracting you from his release dripping down your thighs, he traced a single finger over your top lip, like he had done to himself minutes ago. Or had it been an hour at this point? You weren’t so sure.

“So,” he laughed, his smile warm and innocent, “you think we can play nice for the rest of the weekend?”

The kind of house with imported marble floors, bulletproof windows, and a chandelier so big it had to be lifted through the ceiling by a crane.

A house that’s always too cold, no matter how high the heat is cranked.

One that smells like new money, old power, and perfume that never quite covers up the scent of gun oil.

You’ve had boyfriends. Pretty ones. Popular ones.

Boys who moaned your name against your collarbone and left in the morning with fresh cash in their wallets.

You’ve had parties that roared through the night like war — glitter-stained floors, champagne towers, laughter echoing through halls your parents never walked.

You’ve been touched by a lot of hands.

But never once have you felt truly seen.

Because no one knows the truth. Not your friends, not the girls who call you spoiled, not the men who fall for your curves and your money and your perfectly painted mouth.

They don’t know that your father is a monster in a suit.

That his empire isn’t built on stocks or oil or tech — but blood.

And they don’t know what he did to you when you were twelve.

They don’t know about the night he locked you in the wine cellar for crying in front of his men.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was cold. You remember that.

You were barefoot, still in your recital dress, sparkly tights torn at the knee from when he shoved you too hard.

He’d grabbed your wrist so hard, there were faint marks blooming beneath the skin — ugly little ghosts of the moment he lost control.

“You embarrassed me,” he’d spat.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The way it always got when something awful was about to happen.

“I said I didn’t want to sing that song—”

“So you disobeyed me. In front of everyone.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You’ll fucking learn.”

Then the door slammed shut, and you screamed.

Your voice echoed down shelves of old liquor and forgotten secrets. He turned the light off before leaving.

You cried until your throat gave out.

You learned something important that night — that you can only scream for so long before you start to go quiet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’ve never told anyone. Not even your mother.

Especially not your mother.

She was upstairs the whole time, drunk and humming, drowning in a cocktail dress and denial.

Since then, the rules have been simple.

Your father doesn’t care what you do as long as you’re at the top of your class.

Your mother doesn’t ask questions as long as your photos on social media look expensive.

And you? You party. You flirt. You fuck boys when you’re bored.

But you never sleep. Not really.

Not peacefully.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It changes the night your house gets raided.

It’s chaos — shouting, footsteps, glass breaking, your mother screaming.

You hide in the upstairs bathroom with a knife in your shaking hands, teeth chattering even though it’s summer.

It lasts maybe fifteen minutes.

Your father’s men fend them off, but it doesn’t matter.

It was enough to terrify you. It was enough to remind you.

The next day, your father upgrades security.

Three new bodyguards. One for the house. One for transport. And one for you.

You meet them in the living room, seated with perfect posture while your father talks like a man offering thrones.

All three men are tall, intimidating, dressed in black.

But your eyes lock on one.

“Yunho.”

He’s taller than the others. Broader.

A scar along his jaw. Cold eyes. He doesn’t smile when he shakes your hand.

He doesn’t bow, but your father doesn’t expect him to. Not with the amount he’s paying him.

Yunho is quiet. Calculated. Efficient.

And you hate that he makes your stomach twist when he brushes past you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’re assigned to him full-time.

He walks you to class. He drives you to functions.

He waits outside your nail appointments.

At first you ignore him, act like he’s beneath you.

But he’s not like the others.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t leer. He just watches. Learns.

He reads your schedule. Memorizes your routine.

And he knows when you’re lying.

“You didn’t eat today,” he says once, as you collapse onto the couch after class.

“I did.”

“Don’t lie to me. You get all mean and bratty when you’re hungry.”

You don’t respond. Your heart’s beating too loud.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Weeks pass. Then months.

Yunho teaches you things your father insists you know.

How to fight. How to shoot.

How to calculate profit margins in dirty business deals.

He’s the one who holds your wrists too tightly during training — and triggers something ugly in your chest.

“Please don’t touch me like that.”

He blinks, surprised. “I barely even touched you.”

“I said don’t—”

But you’re already crying. Panicking.

Shaking like you’re twelve years old again and the lights just went out in the cellar.

He doesn’t speak. Just stares at you, jaw tight.

And for the first time since you met him, Yunho looks confused.

You lie in bed that night, unable to sleep. His voice echoes.

“I barely even touched you.”

You believe him.

You know he didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it doesn’t matter — it felt the same.

That’s what trauma does.

It tricks your body into flinching even when there’s no real danger.

You should be angry.

But all you can think about is the way his voice softened when he realized.

The way his hands stayed at his sides.

The way he didn’t run.

So, after that day, you start watching him .. differently.

How he moves.

How he never lets anyone stand behind him.

How he always glances toward the exits.

How he carries a knife inside his jacket and a burden behind his eyes.

He starts watching you too.

You feel it in the mornings, when your robe slips off your shoulder.

At parties, when you laugh too hard.

In the car, when your skirt rides up and you pretend not to notice.

He never touches you.

But you wonder what he’d feel like if he did.

You’ve had sex before. More than once. More than a few times.

But no one’s ever made you ache like this.

No one’s ever looked at you like you’re the danger.

And deep down, you know what’s happening.

Yunho isn’t just your bodyguard anymore.

He’s your weakness.

And if you’re not careful — he’s going to become your favorite sin.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You’re not listening.

You’re pretending — nodding your head, pen twirling between your fingers, eyes narrowed like you're focused — but the truth is, you’ve heard nothing in the last five minutes.

Yunho is sitting next to you, broad shoulders leaning over your desk, fingers moving smoothly across the paper as he works through the equation.

There’s a slight crease between his brows, that little furrow he gets when he’s explaining something complex.

You’ve noticed it before.

You’ve noticed a lot of things.

Like the way his lashes fan out against his cheek when he blinks.

The way his voice drops a little when he says your name.

How his shirt stretches across his biceps when he leans forward.

And God, the way he smells — like clean soap, gunmetal, and whatever cologne he thinks you can’t recognize.

You’re so wet. You hate how easily it happens around him now.

Hate that just existing near Yunho does something to your body you can’t explain.

You shift in your seat and bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying to focus.

He glances at you.

“Are you listening?”

You blink. Swallow. Sit up straighter.

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly. “You said to isolate the variable before you cross-multiply.”

He pauses. Nods slowly. His voice stays flat.

“Good.”

He doesn’t compliment you.

He never does. Not with words.

But the slight dip of his head, the way his eyes flicker to yours for a split second — it’s enough to make you warm.

You press your thighs together.

He moves to the next problem.

Keeps talking. But you’ve completely lost the thread.

Your eyes are on his hands now — the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers grip the pen, the tension in his jaw.

You don’t know why it’s happening like this today. But it’s unbearable.

You want him.

Not just the way you’ve wanted others before.

You want to see him break. You want to see him give in.

You want to ruin him like he’s been ruining you for months now — slowly, carefully, without ever touching you—

“You’re not focused.”

His voice snaps you out of it. You look up, eyes wide. Innocent.

“I am.”

He sets the pen down. Looks at you. Really looks at you.

“Y/N.”

Fuck.

He says your name like a warning.

A low, controlled rumble that hits somewhere deep in your spine.

Your stomach flips. You can’t help it — you smile. Just a little.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer.

He reaches across the desk, fingers curling around your wrist.

His grip is firm — not painful, but firm — and then he presses two fingers just beneath your palm. Against your pulse.

Your breath hitches.

“Your pulse is racing. You’re lying,” he says softly.

You stare at him. His eyes haven’t left yours. He’s still holding your wrist.

He can feel it, the way your heart is racing.

You try to pull away, but he tightens just slightly, trying to get you to answer.

It’s too much.

It’s too fast.

And suddenly the panic rises in your throat like it always does — thick, hot, choking.

“Stop. Stop—stop—”

You yank your hand away, voice sharp.

You flinch. Back away.

You don’t even realize how much until the chair scrapes.

Yunho’s eyes widen just slightly. His mouth opens — no sound comes out at first. Then:

“Why do you do that?”

He’s not angry. He’s confused. Frustrated.

You can tell he’s trying to keep his voice calm.

“I wasn’t even gripping your wrist that hard.”

You look away. You can’t answer.

You don’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about his grip — it was the moment.

The power.

The cold calculation in his eyes that wasn’t really cold at all, just misunderstood.

He looks like he wants to say more. Ask more.

You panic again — but this time, in a softer way.

A different kind of defense.

You press the intercom button beside your bed.

“Can someone bring me some fruit?” you say, loud enough to cover the silence in the room. “Strawberries. Pineapple. Mango if it’s ripe.”

Yunho says nothing. His jaw is tight. His gaze lingers, still trying to solve you like you’re some equation he can’t balance.

A few minutes later, the maid knocks gently and delivers a silver tray with glass bowls of perfectly cut fruit.

You thank her and pick up a piece of pineapple. Slowly. Casually.

You take a bite.

The juice hits your tongue — bright, sharp, cold.

You close your lips around the rest of it.

Suck a little harder than you need to.

Yunho doesn’t move. But you see it.

The way his eyes flicker.

The way his hand curls slightly on the desk.

Like he’s forcing himself not to react.

You smile. You’re good at this. Too good.

You eat another piece. Then another.

“Are we done with math?” you ask, like nothing happened.

He exhales through his nose.

Picks up the pen again. Opens his mouth.

Begins to explain another problem, voice tight.

You lean in.

Slowly. Casually. Your knees brush under the desk.

Your arm slides across the wood, your hand almost touching his.

He pauses for a second. Then continues.

You shift closer. Until your lips are barely a breath away from his cheek.

You don’t warn him.

You just kiss him.

It’s soft. Barely there. Just enough to taste him.

Just enough to feel the heat of his skin.

And he—

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shove you away. Just… stillness.

And then?

He turns back to the paper.

“You missed a step in problem six,” he says flatly. “Try again.”

You blink. Stare at him.

He keeps going. As if you didn’t just kiss him.

As if nothing happened at all.

You start giggling. You can’t help it.

It bubbles up in your throat like champagne — soft, dangerous, mocking.

“Seriously?” you say. “That’s all I get?”

Yunho glances up at you, barely.

“You’re not ready for what you think you want.”

Then he keeps going.

Like he didn’t just set your body on fire and walk away from the flame.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Every time you sit down with Yunho for homework, it starts the same way — a notebook, a sharp pencil, a half-done assignment.

You pretend to care. You chew your lip.

You lean in just a little too close when he starts explaining anything with numbers.

You watch him more than you listen. The slope of his neck.

The flick of his pen. The way his lips part slightly when he's thinking.

Sometimes you reach for your water just to give your mouth something to do.

Sometimes you don't even try to hide it — you just stare.

You kiss him now. Every time.

Like clockwork.

Soft. Deliberate. A single brush of lips to cheek.

To his jaw. To the corner of his mouth. Never long. Never messy.

And he never stops you.

But he never kisses you back, either.

He just… allows it.

Like it’s something he’s decided not to fight.

Something he can’t justify punishing. Something that wouldn’t even be worth the argument.

You don’t know what to make of it.

Every other guy you’ve known wanted to own you within ten minutes.

They complimented you like they were afraid you’d vanish.

Reached for your waist. Called you princess.

Fawned. Worshipped. Fell.

But Yunho?

Yunho just lets you.

And the worst part? It makes you want him even more.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Tonight, you’re sprawled on your stomach across your bed, chin propped in one hand, eyes fixed on the way Yunho’s legs are planted wide in the chair beside you.

He’s explaining an economics worksheet — something about interest, probably — and you haven’t heard a single word.

You watch his fingers. His hands.

The vein in his forearm.

You imagine them around your throat. Not rough. Just… firm. Controlled.

Like the way he held your wrist that day.

“Y/N,” he says suddenly, glancing up. “What did I just say?”

You blink. Innocent smile.

“Something about compound debt.”

“Compound interest. Jesus.”

You giggle. Flip onto your side.

Your skirt rides up a little. His jaw ticks.

He looks away. Of course he does.

“You’re distracted again,” he mutters.

“You’re distracting.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

You sit up on your elbows, tilt your head.

“You know I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Don’t.”

“But you’ll let me anyway.”

He exhales through his nose. Doesn’t argue.

So you lean forward. Again. Soft, slow.

You kiss the edge of his jaw, just beneath his cheekbone.

You linger there a moment longer than usual. You feel him tense.

He doesn’t move.

You lean back. Watch him carefully.

He says nothing.

Just circles something on your paper and keeps explaining the formula like you didn’t just kiss him.

Like it didn’t make his pulse jump.

You smile. You smirk, even.

Lean back on your arms, heart pounding. You feel drunk and you haven’t had a drop.

"You're the only guy that I’ve met who like … doesn’t want me.”

“Not true,” he says instantly.

You freeze.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look at you, but his jaw tightens.

He flips to the next page like he didn’t just crack his own armor.

“Then why don’t you kiss me back?” you whisper.

The silence is thick. Heavy. His pen stops moving.

“Because I can’t afford to want you. Focus, Y/N.”

There it is.

You stare at him. You blink.

You want to scream. Cry. Crawl into his lap.

Make him take it back. Make him want you out loud.

But you don’t.

You just whisper:

“Then stop letting me kiss you.”

He looks at you, finally.

Eyes dark. Hungry. But still unreadable.

“You’re the one who keeps doing it.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t touch you.

He just sits there, still steady as stone, pretending like he hasn’t imagined dragging you onto his lap and bending you over the fucking desk.

You press your thighs together, hard.

“Fine,” you lie. “I won’t kiss you anymore.”

He just nods. Goes back to the worksheet.

Like he believes you.

Like he’s not begging you to prove yourself wrong.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

For the past two weeks, you’ve barely looked at him.

He still shows up like always — same time, same chair, same notebook.

But you don’t flirt. You don’t touch. You don’t kiss him.

You pretend he doesn’t exist.

And it hurts.

But not as much as watching him pretend you mean nothing.

And now he’s here again, explaining something about supply curves, his voice low and steady like he doesn’t feel the shift in the air.

Like he doesn’t notice the way you’re gripping your pencil like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room.

But you do.

You feel everything.

And tonight, it breaks.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me back?”

The words spill out of you like blood.

Yunho doesn’t answer.

His eyes flick up from the paper — unreadable, cool, so calm it makes your stomach twist.

“Seriously,” you say. “Why do you let me do it if you don’t want it? Do you like messing with me? Is that it?”

He blinks once. His jaw tightens.

You stand. Move toward him.

“Say something.”

“Stop Y/N. Sit down.”

“No. I’m not fucking stopping anymore.”

And before he can stop you — before you can even think — you grab his face and kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Like your life depends on it.

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He just sits there.

Still. Frozen. A statue beneath your lips.

You rip away from him, throat burning.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper, voice shaking. “Why are you doing this to me? Why do you do this to me?”

He doesn’t look at you. He looks… up.

Into the corner of the room.

“What?”

Your voice is quieter now.

You follow his gaze.

You hadn’t seen it before.

But it’s there.

A camera.

Small. Black. Discreet.

Pointing directly at the desk.

At you.

And at Yunho.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, stepping back. “Oh my god.”

Your heart is pounding so hard it echoes in your ears.

“Listen, no one checks the feed unless there’s a trigger,” Yunho says quickly. “Motion sensors. Alarms. Noise thresholds. We’re fine.”

You’re not fine. You feel like you’re gonna be sick.

“He’s gonna kill me. My father’s going to kill me—”

“Shhh,” Yunho says, grabbing your wrist.

“There’s a blind spot. Over there. Near your bed. Come on.”

You don’t know why you listen. Maybe it’s fear.

Maybe it’s him.

But you let him pull you — away from the desk, away from the camera — until you’re standing near your headboard, half-panicked, half-breathless.

“He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you—”

“Alright then let’s make it worth it.”

Yunho’s voice is low. Controlled. Deadly calm.

And then he’s pulling off his jacket.

Then his shirt.

And you— you stop breathing.

Because you’ve imagined it, of course you have.

You’ve dreamed about it.

Touched yourself to the idea of it.

But nothing prepared you for the reality of how he looks shirtless — lean and hard, all abs and muscle and quiet danger.

Veins in his forearms. That scar near his ribs. Jesus.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“What?” he says flatly, tossing his shirt on your floor. “Don’t you wanna fuck me before I get fired?”

“You’re not getting fired—”

“Yes I am.”

“No— no, I won’t let him—”

He laughs at you.

Like you’re a child. Like you’re stupid. Like you just said the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“God,” he mutters, stepping closer. “You really are a dumb little thing, aren’t you?”

The breath knocks out of your lungs.

“What, you think you run this house? You think you can protect me?”

“You think you’re special just ‘cause I let you kiss me? You’re not.”

His voice is low. Cruel. Each word sharper than the last.

You open your mouth to respond— but he grabs your jaw, tilts your face up, and—

He kisses you.

Your back hits the wall behind your bed and he’s on you — pressing into your body, dragging your mouth open, tasting every inch like he’s starving.

You gasp into it.

He grabs your hips. Lifts you. Carries you effortlessly to the bed and drops you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing.

“This what you wanted?” he growls, crawling on top of you. “This what you’ve been begging for?”

You nod. Breathless. Dizzy.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes—”

“Louder.”

“Yes. Fuck, Yunho— I wanted this, I want you—”

He kisses you again. Rougher. Dirtier. His hand sliding beneath your skirt, gripping your thigh like he owns it.

Your head spins. Your heart races. You’ve never felt so scared and so wanted in your life.

“So what now?” he says. “You wanna keep pretending this is just homework?”

“Fuck no.”

His lips twist into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he grabs you.

You gasp as he yanks you forward by your waist, mouth crushing against yours. It’s bruising—needy—nothing like the delicate kisses you’ve been sneaking past his defenses.

His hands are all over you, under your top, squeezing your tits through your bra, palming your ass like it’s his.

And you let him. You want him.

“Fucking finally,” you moan against his lips.

He pulls away, hand wrapping around your throat, not tight—yet.

“You like this?” he growls.

“Fuck yes.”

“You want me to ruin you, princess?”

“Yes, yes—fuck, please—”

He tightens his grip, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your legs shake.

He drags your panties down in one rough motion and doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off — just pushes it up so your tits bounce out, then drops to his knees between your legs.

You’re soaked.

He doesn’t even tease—just spits on your pussy and slides two thick fingers in, curling them until you cry out.

“Damn,” he mutters, watching you writhe. “You this wet just from a kiss?”

“For you,” you whimper. “Only for you.”

He curses and stands, unbuckling his belt, eyes never leaving yours.

His cock’s thick, already hard, and your stomach clenches at the sight of it.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he says. “You sure?”

You nod frantically. “Yunho, please.”

The first thrust knocks the air out of you.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust—just starts pounding into you, fast and brutal, one hand on your hip, the other back on your throat.

You moan loud, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” he pants, hips snapping harder. “Waving your pussy around like a prize. You don’t even know what to do with it.”

“Teach me,” you beg.

He growls something filthy and leans down, fucking you even deeper now, forehead pressed to yours.

His breath is hot.

Your orgasm creeps up fast—dangerously fast—and when he chokes you harder, your mouth falls open.

“Cum,” he commands.

And you do, with a sob, cunt tightening so hard he groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself fast until he comes across your belly in messy, hot streaks.

There’s silence.

Your chest heaves.

He tucks himself back in without a word.

You blink up at him, dazed. “...Will you be back tomorrow?”

Yunho pauses at the door.

“Maybe,” he says flatly, but then catches your eyes—wet, vulnerable, confused—and his expression softens. Just a little.

He walks back to the bed, brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, and kisses it gently. “Don’t cry,” he says with a teasing smirk. “You’ll mess up your pretty face.”

Then he’s gone.

Like nothing happened.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You wake up sticky and sore.

Your thighs ache. Your neck too. You don’t even know what time it is, only that the sun is harsh and the silk sheets feel colder without him in them.

You blink a few times at the ceiling, dazed—still breathless from last night.

Like you’re floating in it, replaying every second.

The way he touched you. Fucked you. The way he left.

And maybe… maybe he’ll come back.

You’re still clinging to that hope when the yelling starts.

Deep. Male. Explosive.

It’s not just yelling — its screaming, something crashing downstairs.

You can hear a maid sobbing and pleading.

Your bedroom door swings open without knocking this time.

The maid is pale, mascara running, eyes darting behind her like she’s being followed.

“Out,” you snap, pulling the blanket to your chest. “I’m not—”

“Your father needs you,” she blurts out, eyes wide and glossy. “Now.”

Everything inside you goes still.

You move fast—toss on whatever’s near, a hoodie and shorts, no time for anything else—and follow the sound.

Dread wraps around your spine with every step.

The doors to his office are cracked open.

You walk into your father’s office and it’s dark—no light except the eerie red glow of the security monitors in the corner.

Yunho is there. Standing by the desk.

Hands behind his back and head down like he’s being .. disciplined.

Then your father appears.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you for an uncomfortably long time. Then—

SLAM.

He walks toward you, slowly, like a predator, like he’s enjoying this too much.

You open your mouth, but he’s too fast—his hand wraps around your neck and slams you up against the nearest wall.

“You disgusting little slut,” he growls, his mouth inches from your face.

You’re choking, panicked, trying to claw at his wrist, trying to scream, but nothing comes out.

“Think I wouldn’t find out? You think I don’t know what goes on in my own fucking house?”

Then, suddenly, he drops you. You fall to your knees coughing, vision blurry. You look up—

And Yunho is still. Still as stone. No protest. No fear. No guilt.

“He told me everything.” your father sneers.

Your gaze darts to Yunho instinctively — something in you searching, desperate, anything—but he’s still looking at the floor.

Still silent.

And then — God — you see it.

The way his lip twitches. The way his cheek lifts.

He’s laughing?

Your heart stutters.

“He said you’ve been throwing yourself at him. Touching him. Moaning in front of him like a fucking dog in heat. He said he pushed you away — again and again. That you wouldn’t stop.”

You try to stand, voice cracking.

“He’s lying — he’s lying, it wasn’t like that, We just—”

Your father cuts you off with a harsh backhand across the face. You reel.

“Dont fucking lie to me,” he hisses.

Your chest caves. “It wasn’t —”

“You think I didn’t see? The way you acted like a cheap little whore every time he walked into your room? You think I don’t watch the fucking cameras?”

You’re frozen. Trembling. “We didn’t even do anything like that. I just—I kissed him. That’s all. That’s all, dad..”

He laughs. Loud. Sharp. Mocking.

“Oh, so now it’s just a kiss? You think I’m gonna let my men look at you like that? Disrespect you in my house? You don’t get to decide what’s harmless. You don’t get to make choices. You’re my daughter.”

You recoil. “Then why’d you leave me alone with him?”

He stops. His eyes go cold. Something shifts.

He grabs the desk and slams it—papers scatter, a heavy object topples—and you jump like he shot a gun.

“He doesn’t give a shit about you!! You’re entertainment. You’re a job.”

You try to speak but your throat closes. Your mouth is dry.

His hand twitches toward his belt.

“Apologize.” His voice drops into something poisonous. “To him.”

Your heart pounds. “For what?”

He shoves a lamp off the table. It shatters.

“Just fucking do it!”

Your throat goes dry. You turn to Yunho, hating him. Hating this.

Your voice cracks.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Your father’s voice slices through the silence. “I can’t fucking hear you.”

You clench your fists. Your eyes sting.

“…I’m sorry,” you say louder. “Yunho. I’m sorry.”

You swear his eyes flick toward you for a second — just a second. Blank. Like you’re nothing.

And then your father breathes deep, nods once, and speaks.

“Effective immediately,” he says, “he’s no longer assigned to you.”

The floor drops.

You feel it in your knees, in your ribs. “What…?”

“No more Yunho,” he says, too casual. “You’ll get someone else. One of the older men.”

“No—” Your voice shakes. “No, you can’t—”

“Don’t talk back.”

Tears burn your eyes now. You can’t stop them.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you choke. “You don’t even know what he said to me—what he did—”

“Oh, now you’re gonna cry?” He throws a look of disgust your way. “You like to play the victim, huh?”

“I’m not—”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. He lifts a hand and starts counting on his fingers –

– “no parties. No phone. No cards. You’ll stay in this fucking house for one week. Maybe more, depending on how much more shit I find on those tapes. One week.”

You stare. “One week?”

He turns on you again, finger pointed. “Say one more word and it’s two.”

Your mouth shuts. The tears spill. You hate that he can see them. Hate that Yunho can too.

Your father waves you off like you’re an insect.

“Get the fuck out.”

You don’t hesitate. You storm out.

The hallway feels colder than usual.

You wipe your cheeks, breathing fast, heart broken and mind racing.

Yunho fucking lied.

And you don’t even know why.

But you’re gonna find out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You haven’t left the house in days.

Not because you couldn’t — but because it felt… off. Everyone looked at you different now.

Yunho hasn’t spoken to you once.

You see him sometimes in the halls, his shoulders squared, eyes straight ahead like he’s guarding something important — just not you anymore.

His posture’s rigid, formal. Like nothing ever happened.

Like your mouth had never touched his. Like he hadn’t laughed while you were being choked against a wall.

He doesn’t even glance your way.

Which wouldn’t bother you, not really — not if everyone else didn’t start looking too long.

The older guards, the ones who used to nod politely and say Miss, now smile too slow.

Let their eyes drag down your legs.

One even said something under his breath when you passed.

“Daddy’s favorite little slut.”

You stopped walking. Whipped around.

But he just laughed and walked away.

No one says anything directly. But you can feel it.

The weight of their assumptions. Their judgment.

Their approval, even. Like your shame had made you one of them.

You’ve stopped wearing anything tight. No makeup. Hair tied back.

You stay in your room unless you have to eat, and even then, you don't go to the dining room anymore — just the kitchen, early, before anyone’s up.

The maids avoid eye contact.

Everything feels sticky. Too quiet. Like the house is watching you.

You lie on your back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

There's a camera in the corner — you know now. You know exactly where it is.

You wonder if it’s blinking. You wonder if it’s recording right now. You wonder if Yunho’s watching.

Your stomach twists.

Why did he lie?

Why did he let him say those things?

Why hasn’t he even looked at you?

And worse: why do you still want to see him?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You keep remembering it in flashes.

His mouth on yours.

The way he never pushed you. Never pulled you closer either.

The tiny twitch in his jaw like he wanted to.

Or didn’t.

You don’t know anymore.

You thought maybe he didn’t kiss you back because he was good.

Respectful. Loyal. Different.

But maybe he wasn’t because he fucked you.

Maybe he liked that your father found out. Maybe he liked watching you squirm under your father’s rage.

Maybe he wanted to hurt you.

And now?

Now the guards still joke when you walk by. One of them winked at you today.

You don’t even know their names.

You don’t want to eat. You don’t want to sleep.

And yet when you do, your dreams are of Yunho again.

Standing at the end of your bed. Silent. Smirking.

And then gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You sneak down in a hoodie and socks, hoping no one’s around.

But one of the older guards — Dominic, maybe? — is already there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like he belongs there.

He looks at you, long and slow.

“Didn’t expect to see you down here. Still on house arrest, right?”

You grab a glass, don’t answer.

“No need to be shy now,” he says, voice low.

“We’ve all seen what you’re into.”

You freeze. Glass halfway full. Your throat closes. You can’t even look at him.

He chuckles.

“Bet he liked it, too. That one’s quiet, but he’s not stupid.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, backing up.

“Or what? You’ll whine about it?”

He steps forward. “You’re not special anymore. You made yourself real clear.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

And just like that—he does. He shrugs, raises his hands, still grinning.

“Relax. Just teasing.”

You run back upstairs without your glass. Slam your door. Lock it.

You sit at your vanity. Eyes hollow. Lips dry. You haven’t cried yet. You don’t know why.

You keep watching the hallway through the crack in your door.

You keep waiting for Yunho.

Not to save you.

But to explain.

To say anything.

But he doesn’t come.

And you’re starting to wonder if he ever will.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The week has passed. The house feels different. Cold. Quieter. No one talks to you unless necessary. The maids walk around you like you're a live wire. The older guards you used to ignore?

Their eyes still trail your legs when you leave a room. And you hate it.

They think you're a whore.

Yunho’s nowhere. Not on patrol. Not in the halls. Not outside your door. And no one dares tell you where he’s been reassigned. You’re furious. You’re humiliated. You’re obsessed.

Not with what happened—but with how he left you.

Did he lie to your father? Did he do it to protect himself? Or was it to hurt you? You can’t figure it out. You go over it in your head like a ritual. The way he looked at you. The way he kissed you. Rough. Like he needed it.

And then he just… left.

When the maid knocks and says your father wants to see you, your stomach doesn’t even twist anymore.

You just get up. Wordless. Numb.

You’ve been like that all week — quiet, obedient, blank.

You walk down the long hallway barefoot, still in sleep shorts and one of your oversized sweaters.

No makeup. No jewelry. The cameras blink when you pass.

You knock.

“Come in.”

His voice is calm.

You step in and it’s exactly like it always is: dim, stuffy, suffocating.

He’s behind the desk, a drink already in hand, phone face-down beside him. He doesn’t look angry.

He looks... pleased.

“Sit.”

You do.

He eyes you carefully — the bags under your eyes, the limpness in your posture.

“So,” he says slowly, swirling the drink. “Have we learned our lesson?”

You don’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you say softly.

“Good girl.”

His smile grows, sharp and thin. “I knew you weren’t stupid.”

He leans back in his chair, relaxed.

“I’ve decided your privileges can come back. Credit cards, shopping, parties, all of it. Your friends miss you, I’m sure. Or maybe you’ve finally figured out which ones actually do.”

You stare at the floor.

He gets up, comes around the desk, and sits on the edge in front of you. Fingers reach out and lift your chin gently.

“You’re still my daughter. You’re still the future of this family.”

“I’m hard on you because I love you. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly. It’s not even worth pretending to argue. You just want this to be over.

He kisses your forehead like everything is fine.

“Make good choices this time, sweetheart. You’ve made enough of a mess already. Here’s your phone.”

You say thank you. Like you’re supposed to.

“You can go.”

You get up. Your legs feel hollow. But there’s a strange flicker inside you — something curling awake again. You shut the door behind you and finally exhale.

The silence in the house feels different now. Less like a prison. More like a stage.

You glance at your phone. Messages piling up from friends who noticed you dropped off the earth. Invitations. Selfies. Gossip.

A girl named Rina saying she’s bored and someone just got a new rooftop suite.

You toss your phone onto the bed and pace.

A week. A whole week of silence, shame, paranoia.

And he thinks he broke you?

No.

You're not staying quiet anymore. You’ve been locked in this house like a ghost and it’s time to remind them all who you are.

So you’re going to throw a party. Not just any party — the party. Loud. Indulgent. Shameless.

Let them talk.

Let them watch.

Let them wonder.

You dig out your old group chat. Post a single message:

🎉 back. friday night. mansion. theme: don’t tell daddy. bring your vices.

Within five minutes, replies are flooding in. Excitement. Curiosity. Jealousy.

You text a caterer. A DJ. A guy who owes you a favor for bailing him out last year.

You text your favorite designer. Something short. Something reckless. Something that makes you feel untouchable again.

You pour a glass of wine and lean on the balcony, looking down at the backyard.

The moon is out. The pool is quiet. But not for long.

Your reputation might be dirty now.

Fine.

You’ll make it dirtier.

You’ll drown in it.

And maybe — just maybe — he’ll look at you again.

Because Yunho hasn’t said a word.

And you want him to suffer, too.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your house is glowing. Music spills out of the windows. Glasses clink. Guests laugh. Hands touch.

And you?

You’re stunning. Makeup perfect. Dress tight. Every step calculated.

You sip wine like it’s vengeance. You haven’t seen Yunho all night but you feel him.

And finally—there he is.

Leaning against the far wall. Black shirt. Cold stare.

Watching you dance. Watching other men flirt with you. Watching your fingers graze arms and chests and shoulders.

Unreadable.

And then—his jaw tightens. His gaze darkens. He pushes off the wall.

He cuts across the room like a shadow and doesn’t say a word. Just grabs your arm gently, firmly—

—and leads you through the crowd. Past the laughter. Past the lights. Onto the balcony. Into the quiet night air.

The music muffles. The sky stretches dark above.

You’re drunk. Swaying a little.

“Let go,” you slur, tugging at his hand. “What, you miss me now?”

He says nothing.

“You don’t get to act like this,” you say, poking his chest. “You kissed me. You lied about me. Then — then fucked me and disappeared. And now—now you’re dragging me out here like—like—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You freeze.

Yunho’s eyes lock on yours, hard and low.

“I told him what I had to. Because if I hadn’t, he would’ve pulled a gun on me. Or you. Or both. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it.”

You blink.

“I didn’t lie about you. I lied for you.”

You stare at him. Mouth dry. He steps closer.

You square your shoulders, defiant. "You’re a coward."

He huffs a dark laugh. "Right. And you’re just some innocent little princess? You’re a fucking idiot."

Your breath catches.

"You think I’m here because I want to be?" He steps in closer. “You’re just some spoiled little brat who thinks sex means something.”

"Then why the fuck are you still here?" you snap, eyes glassy. "You’re the one who brought me out here like some jealous asshole—"

“I brought you out here,” he growls, “because watching you grind on every low-life in that room made me want to break something.”

"You don’t get to be mad. You’re the one who lied—”

“I protected you, you fucking slut.”

Your mouth falls open. His words hit like a slap.

“You let me fuck you and now you think you’re special? You’re just bored. Horny. Desperate for attention. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat, “Fuck you.”

You lunge at him, fists curled, but he grabs your wrist mid-swing and slams you back against the wall.

You gasp.

His hand wraps around your jaw, tight. “Say it again.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat. "I'll fucking — I’ll tell my father you touched me.”

A silence. Long. Heavy.

Then: “Then tell him.”

He leans in. “Tell him how you moaned under me. Tell him how you begged for more. Tell him you cummed so hard you cried.”

You’re breathing hard now. Your whole body shaking.

"Tell him how his perfect little daughter opened her legs for a nobody guard she barely fucking knows.”

And then he kisses you. Violent. Possessive.

His mouth crashing into yours like punishment.

You push at his chest, but it only makes him growl deeper, push in harder, pin you tighter.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen. Your eyes wet.

You glare up at him. "I fucking hate you."

He smirks. “No, baby. You want me. That’s worse.”

And he kisses you again.

“Miss—?”

The balcony door creaks open.

You freeze.

Yunho stiffens, lips still brushing yours, breath hot against your mouth.

His hand releases you slowly—too slowly—as you both turn toward the voice.

It’s Rosa. The maid. One of the newer ones, barely a year into her contract.

And she’s standing in the open doorway, staring.

Mouth parted. Eyes wide.

She’s seen everything—your smeared lipstick, Yunho’s hands still at your waist, the panic flaring behind your eyes.

Her voice wavers. “Someone’s—someone’s asking for you inside. I—I didn’t know you were—”

“Don’t.” You step forward, shaky, eyes begging. “Please, Rosa, don’t say anything.”

She blinks at you. Then at Yunho. Her gaze hardens slightly.

“Please,” you whisper again. “He—he can’t know. No one can know.”

Yunho stays silent. He doesn’t try to explain.

Doesn’t even look remorseful. Just stands there behind you like he owns your body and doesn’t care who sees it.

Rosa’s hands are trembling. “It’s—” her voice drops. “It’s Mr. Navarro.”

Your stomach drops.

Your father’s rival. A man you weren’t even aware had been invited to the party.

Yunho’s voice is low behind you. “You shouldn’t talk to him.”

You don’t even turn around. “I have to.”

“No,” he says. Firm. Final.

Rosa still hasn’t moved.

She’s frozen in place, watching like she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t—again.

You grab her hand. “Please. If you tell anyone about this…”

Rosa’s eyes flick to Yunho, then back to you. And something in her expression softens. She nods. Once. Tight.

“I’ll say you were in the bathroom.”

And then she’s gone. The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence again.

Your hands go to your face, shaky. “Oh my god…”

Yunho finally speaks. “Get rid of him.”

You turn on him, raw. “Who?”

“Navarro.”

“I can’t just get rid of him—”

“You’re not hearing me.” Yunho steps in again. “You don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him. You stay the fuck away from him.”

You blink at him. “.. I can't .. he’s .. I’m supposed to marry him to end the rivalry."

His eyes cut into you. Dark. Sharp.

“Men like him don’t want your last name,” Yunho says. “They just want your blood.”

You don’t respond.

You just walk out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The party’s pulse is different now.

You feel it the second you walk back inside — like the air’s gone heavier, like every laugh and clink of glass is covering something that doesn’t want to be seen.

And then you see him.

Navarro.

Leaning against the bar like he owns the place. Black suit, salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, a gold ring glinting on his finger as he swirls his drink.

He’s talking to one of your father’s men, but his eyes cut toward you the moment you step in.

He’s been waiting for you.

You steel yourself.

You’re good at this — at performing.

So you fix your hair, adjust your dress, and cross the room slowly, every step rehearsed in your mind.

But when you get close, that smile of his curls in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“Ah,” Navarro says, lifting his glass slightly. “The princess finally emerges.”

You keep your voice smooth. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He watches you closely. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I forget many things,” you reply sweetly. “Not people.”

Navarro chuckles, deep and amused. “Is that so?”

He motions to the seat beside him.

You hesitate.

Somewhere behind you, you feel Yunho watching.

Like a heat against your back. But when you glance over your shoulder—he isn’t there.

Not yet.

So you sit.

Navarro doesn’t waste time.

“I heard you’ve been… restless lately.”

Your eyes flick to him, wary. “From who?”

He shrugs. “Does it matter? Word travels.”

You swallow. “What kind of word?”

He leans in, just slightly. “That the golden daughter of—” he says your father’s name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, — has been reckless — little whispers about your behavior. Late nights. Missing clothes. Boys getting reassigned.”

Your stomach flips.

You don’t answer.

He studies your face. “Your father says it’s under control.”

You lift your chin. “It is.”

His stare flickers downward—slow—then back up again. “Hm. I’m not so sure.”

You shift in your seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Navarro tilts his head. “Throwing a party a week after being locked in the house for ‘disciplinary reasons’? That’s a bold move.”

You clench your jaw.

He leans closer still. “I’m impressed.”

You don’t respond.

“But you should be careful,” he continues, voice low now, like a secret being slid across a table. “Some men in your father’s position might take a disobedient daughter and clip her wings. Others… might offer her new ones.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t look at him. Not directly.

“Are you offering me something?”

“Me?” Navarro smirks. “I’m just drinking your liquor and admiring the view.”

You stand.

But he catches your wrist—lightly, not enough to cause alarm, but enough.

You flinch.

His voice turns cruelly amused. “Do you know how many people saw?”

“Saw what?”

“You know what.”

You can’t speak.

“You’re a ticking bomb,” he murmurs. “And I’m very, very curious to see who you take out when you go off.”

You swallow hard.

Behind you, you sense movement. You glance subtly—

Yunho.

He’s moved closer. His posture rigid, his jaw tight. Watching Navarro now with something lethal behind his eyes.

Navarro notices, too.

He smiles wider.

And then turns to you again, amused. “He follows you like a fucking dog, doesn’t he?”

Your heart pounds.

“I’d have broken him of that already,” Navarro says. “If you were mine.”

“Be careful, princesa,” he says, gaze sharp now. “The wolves in this room don’t just bite. They mark.”

You yank your wrist back, heart hammering. “Enjoy the party,” you say.

And you walk off—fast, heels clicking against marble, not daring to look behind you because your skin still burns where he touched you, and your mind is spinning, and—

Yunho’s waiting for you at the end of the hall.

Silent. Hands in his pockets. Watching you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You storm up to him, breath catching, mascara smudged from how hard you wiped your eyes.

“You told him,” you hiss.

Yunho doesn’t blink. “Told who what?”

“Navarro,” you snap. “He knows. About us.”

His jaw flexes. “There is no us.”

It feels like a slap. Your throat tightens so fast it burns. “Don’t do that—don’t fucking do that, Yunho, not now.”

He shrugs, infuriatingly calm. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to stop acting like I made it all up!” you cry. “You kissed me. You touched me. You looked at me like—like I mattered.”

Yunho stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You think that meant something?”

You stumble a step back, chest rising fast.

“You—” your voice catches. “You’re lying.”

He scoffs.

He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “You’ve been acting reckless. Of course people are gonna start talking.”

“Don’t fucking do that,” you hiss, chest heaving. “Don’t twist this around on me.”

“You’re just bored. Lonely. Daddy doesn’t love you enough so now you want me to pretend I do.”

Your stomach lurches.

“You think this is some epic love story?” he scoffs. “It’s pathetic.”

You flinch.

“I like you,” you whisper, like maybe if you say it soft enough, it won’t sound so small. “Yunho, I like you. I’ve liked you for so long, I—”

“No,” he cuts in. “You like being wanted. That’s not the same thing. You’re playing with me.”

“I’m not playing with you,” you plead, stumbling closer. “We’ve known each other for almost a year—please, Yunho, I’ve never felt this way before, I swear I haven’t—”

“Stop.”

“I can’t,” you breathe, eyes glassy. “I can’t. I think about you all the time, I can’t stop, I—I want you, I need you to say you want me too, please, just say it, just say it—”

Your body is shaking. Completely wrecked.

Yunho’s expression doesn’t change.

“Please,” you whisper. “Say it.”

He stares down at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. Like you’ve turned into something disgusting in front of him.

“Just — Stop..”

“Not until you say it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he replies, voice clipped. “I don’t want you. I never did.”

You blink hard, tears spilling hot and fast.

“You’re lying,” you whisper.

Yunho steps back. Like the sight of you makes him sick. “You’re an assignment, a job. Nothing more.”

You just stay there. On your knees. Numb. Humiliated.

“You’re not special,” he says coldly. “You’re just good at pretending you are.”

You shake your head. “Yunho —”

But he’s already turning.

Already walking away.

And you can’t breathe.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That morning, the sun rises without you.

You don’t move.

Your face is swollen, your throat feels like sandpaper, and your eyes sting every time you blink.

The room still smells faintly of last night’s perfume, champagne, cigarette smoke clinging to your skin like a bruise.

You’d crawled back into bed after the party and haven’t moved since.

The silk sheets are damp where you cried yourself to sleep.

And then kept crying long after you woke up again.

A soft knock pulls you halfway out of it.

“Miss?”

You flinch.

It’s the maid. The same one from the hallway.

You curl tighter into the blankets. Hide your face in the pillow.

She steps inside carefully, voice gentler now. “I… I brought fresh water. And toast. You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

You can’t speak.

You try.

But your voice catches in your throat, a broken rasp of nothing.

You suck in a breath and swallow it back down.

She hesitates. “Your father’s asking for you.”

You still can’t talk. Can’t even turn your face toward her.

Your lip trembles. You manage to whisper, barely:

“Tell him I don’t feel well.”

She pauses. Then: “Okay.”

Quiet footsteps.

Then she’s gone.

And you cry again.

Hours pass.

You don’t eat the toast. You don’t touch the water. You don’t get up to pee.

Until—

The door slams open.

Light floods in.

“Get the fuck up.”

Your father.

He storms in like a goddamn earthquake.

Pulls open the curtains with one sharp jerk, sunlight stabbing through the blackout drapes.

“What is this?” he snaps. “Some kind of performance art?”

You don’t move.

“Don’t play dead. I said, get up.”

When you don’t, he storms across the room and rips the blankets off you.

Then stops.

Because he sees your face.

Your red, puffy, hollow-eyed, ruined face.

You flinch at the sudden chill, arms curling around yourself like armor.

He stares at you for a long second.

Then: “…What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t answer.

“I said, what the fuck is—”

“Nothing,” you whisper hoarsely.

He exhales sharply. “No. No, fuck that. Tell me.”

Silence.

Then he narrows his eyes.

“This isn’t about Yunho, is it?”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t answer.

Not even a twitch.

He swears under his breath. Runs a hand through his hair. Paces for a beat like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Then, surprisingly, his voice lowers.

Still sharp. Still rough. But not… angry.

Not this time.

“You let people get under your skin too easy,” he mutters. “You wanna survive in this world, you better toughen the fuck up.”

You swallow hard. Tears well again. Your face crumples.

“Don’t cry,” he sighs. “Jesus Christ—stop that. Stop it, c’mon…”

You bury your face in the pillow, sobbing harder.

Ugly, shaking sobs that rip straight out of your chest.

He groans. “Fuck’s sake…”

Then his voice softens again. Just slightly.

“…You want something? Huh? Come on. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

You sniff.

Lift your head an inch.

“…Anything I want?”

“Yes,” he says, exasperated, “anything.”

You blink at him.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“…Even if it’s stupid?”

He sighs again. “Everything you want is stupid. Doesn’t mean you can’t have it.”

Your lip trembles.

And somehow, that’s worse.

That he means it.

That his version of love is giving you the world while still making you feel like you never deserved it.

He grabs his phone. “You want a bag? A car? A vacation? Tell me.”

But all you want is Yunho.

And you’ll probably never admit it.

"I wanna spend time with you," you mumble, voice hoarse.

He blinks. “What?”

You look down, eyes burning again, whispering, “I.. wanna go with you. Spend time. Like we used to…”

A silence drags.

You chance a glance up.

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

Then—he scoffs, shakes his head like he’s disgusted, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the sneer.

“You wanna go shopping. With me,” he repeats, like the idea alone is offensive. “Jesus Christ. You’ve really lost it.”

You wipe your eyes again, starting to regret saying anything. You turn your face away.

But then he mutters, “Fine.”

You look at him. He avoids your eyes.

“You wanna come? Then come. You’ve got fifteen minutes to clean yourself up. I’m not walking into Dior with a daughter who looks like she got hit by a truck full of feelings.”

You almost laugh—almost—but it turns into a sob as you nod quickly, scrambling off the bed, heart thudding.

“And don’t make me wait,” he says over his shoulder. “You want my time? Earn it.”

But he waits in the hallway.

You move on autopilot at first—bathroom light harsh, your reflection worse.

Puffy eyes, red nose, lips chewed raw from nerves. But you force yourself through it.

You brush your teeth, rinse with cold water, press a towel to your face until the heat of crying fades.

Your fingers tremble while you fix your hair—taming it into something soft, something passable.

You pick out a cute outfit, something flattering but not too loud. Something he won’t comment on. Something safe.

Then mascara. Lip gloss. A spritz of perfume at your wrists. You check the mirror again—still a bit hollow, but alive.

Presentable. The kind of daughter he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with. Maybe.

You slip on sandals, grab your phone, and head to the door before you can second guess yourself.

He's still there. Standing in the hallway with his phone in one hand, sunglasses in the other, suit sharp, jaw tense.

His eyes flick to you. Up. Down.

A pause.

Then: “Better.”

And he turns and starts walking.

You follow.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Masterlist Part 2

“What if we watch a romcom?” You look between the two who give you wary glances, but don’t respond. “If we’re going to watch a Marvel movie, we’re starting from the beginning and not watching anything else until we finish all of them. Is that something either of you want to commit to?” 

They both shrug as if you have all the time in the world, because you do. Every Friday night Yunho came over with snacks and soda in tow, sometimes beer if he had a particularly shitty week, and the three of you sat around your living room shooting the shit until you decided on a movie. It was an unspoken thing, your movie nights, your weekly hangouts, they’d started almost immediately upon moving into your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Mingi, and simply never stopped. Rarely did a week go missed. 

You huffed a heavy breath, sinking back into your couch, snuggling up to Mingi. You slid your gaze over to Yunho who held the remote, “What are you waiting for? Everyone knows the first watch is The First Avenger.” 

Yunho didn’t respond, but instead pointed the remote toward the TV, his hand completely swallowing the device beneath his palm as he searched the movie and put it on. You tugged the blanket that laid over the back of the couch over yourself and Mingi, laying your head over his shoulder, letting your arms wrap around one of his, letting his warmth seep into you. It’s been years since you’ve seen this movie, since any of you have seen this movie probably, yet your brain wanted to do anything else but pay attention. 

With it being days after your period ended you were now nearing dangerous territory, ovulation week, a week your boyfriend adored yet had to physically prepare himself for. You resembled a fucking hormone monster for a long five days, needing your boyfriend at all hours of the day to tame the fire that would not die down inside you. Before Yunho came over Mingi had already taken you six ways to Sunday, you only stopped because Yunho trudged inside your apartment with a six pack and a face contorted with grief. 

Another situationship over, he’d said. Not amicably, either. 

You didn’t see the big deal, she wasn’t anything special, the girl he was hooking up with six months ago that he ended things with was better for him than this one. But Yunho is Yunho, somehow still a glutton for punishment as if it didn’t completely offset how he was with women, how he fucked. Not that you knew from experience, but from the stories he’s told while five beers deep, lounged out in your living room, complaining to you and your boyfriend, you’ve learned some things. 

Things you could not think about right now. Not while your body was begging you to make a baby, not while you were literally laying on your boyfriend, not while Yunho was sitting just across the living room.

Right now was not the time. 

But would it ever be the time to think about your boyfriend’s best friend’s sex life?

It’s not that you inherently wanted Yunho. You couldn’t possibly deny a gorgeous man’s beauty, but it wasn’t about wanting Yunho. It was the stories, he never should have opened his fucking mouth– how he naturally slips into dominance with every woman he sleeps with, no, he doesn’t slip, it’s intentional. 

Yunho is a Dom. How he instructs, how he expects submission, how he corrects, how he tames. 

Your sex life with Mingi was far from dull, Yunho and his stupid stories should be miles from your mind, but you can’t control the thoughts, especially not right now. You untwist your arms from around Mingi’s bicep, letting your palm fall to his thigh, his bare skin feeling like velvet. So soft despite the hair that grew sparsely in that area, you’d give anything to let your tongue lick up the skin, to watch his eyes roll back, to hear his deep groan as you suck a mark into him.

Your thighs tightened at the thought, eyebrows twisting because you know Mingi could feel it, and how he shifted beneath you confirmed it. You tilted your head, peeking up at him with a sheepish look through your lashes, just to be met with a disapproving crinkle between his brows. 

You could basically hear his thoughts, Don’t even think about it. You almost pouted. I need you. Now. He shook his head once. Not here.  You looked toward the hallway where your bathroom was, that led to your bedroom. We have plenty of options.  He glanced at Yunho, then back at you. When he leaves, I’ll take care of you.  You held his gaze, I can’t wait that long.  He didn’t back down. You can, and you will. 

You huffed, shuffling to the side, putting inches of space between yourself and your boyfriend. You caught the sideways glance from Yunho which lasted all of a millisecond before his eyes were back on the screen, watching the movie again. You pouted, arms crossing over your stomach, legs propped up on the coffee table in front of you that was littered with empty bottles of beer and half-filled chip bowls. 

Mingi clearly wasn’t going to crack, and you could hold onto your anger until it killed you, so you leaned onto the armrest of the opposite side of the couch, the pillow shoved beneath you not giving a shred of the comfort your boyfriend’s body did. You kept your eyes trained on the screen, brain whirling in frustration and arousal, letting yourself daydream about Yunho’s debauched sex life until your eyes inevitably closed. 

You woke to fingers hooking into your waistband, sliding it down your thighs with careful precision, like he didn’t want to wake you. You lifted your hips anyhow, welcoming the head of black hair between your legs, eyes still heavy and low-lidded with sleep. Mingi looked up at you through thick lashes, gaze heavy, his lips slightly parted, as if he’s been waiting for this. 

“He just left,” he said like an excuse as your sweatpants hit the floor, black panties folded into the gray fabric, a contrast to your deep hardwood floors. Your back arched on command as he bent down, laying on his stomach, strong arms hooking under your thighs. 

“Mm, needed this pussy just as much as she needed me,” he didn’t dare glance back up at you, eyes zeroed in on your center, leaning in just as your legs parted. He started slowly, tongue slipping through your folds, his eyes softly shut, ripping mewls from the back of your throat, low and grumbled, muddled with sleep. 

Your hand flew to his hair as your chin tipped back, your neck digging into the uncomfortable armrest, the pillow beneath you doing nothing to soothe the ache. You didn’t care, you barely noticed, not with your boyfriend’s head between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just the way you liked. He groaned as you pulled on his roots, tongue flattening against your folds, sliding upward to draw circles into your clit. 

You sighed, staring at him through heavy lids, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, how his hips rutted into the cushions at the end of the couch. He pulled a hand from beneath your thigh, ripping his mouth away to spread your folds with his fingers, finally glancing up at you. Noticing your expression, he let out a huff of amusement, lips tilted in a smirk, “Have a good nap?”

Eyebrows knitted in pleasure and anticipation, you nodded, lips parted, fingers that fell to the couch gripping at the fabric. He chuckled as he inserted the tip of his middle finger into your center, earning a gasp from you. With his focus back at your core, he asked, “What had you so worked up?” 

You were thankful he kept his eyes down, you couldn’t control the way your eyes widened ever so slightly, couldn’t hide your reaction to the last question you’d expect him to ask. You wished you could avoid the question, you couldn’t answer honestly and say that you were daydreaming about his best friend’s sex life.

You stuttered, “S-Steve Rogers was on the screen.”

He paused, looking back up at you with his eyebrows raised, “Steve Rogers had you ready to fuck me in the bathroom with Yunho, of all people, here?”

You cracked a smile, it was kind of funny, even funnier that it was believable. “Can you blame me?” 

“No,” he bid you one more amused glance before he slipped his middle finger inside you, “I can’t.”

You gasped a moan, back arching again, hips bucking up to meet the length of his finger. He pumped it inside of you once, twice before he was curling it, the pad of his finger rubbing up against that spot inside you that made your bones feel like jelly. You were loud now, moans slipping from your lips one after another as he built up a rhythm, his finger curling into you with each thrust, putting pressure where you needed it. When he brought his lips back down to suck on your clit your hands flew to his roots again, holding him there, broken cries leaving your lips, he was so fucking good at this. 

He knew how to coax you to orgasm better than you did by now. You supposed after being together for years, he should. You gasped when his teeth grazed your clit, hips bucking into him, curses flying from your lips. “F-fuck,” you hissed, “Yes, Mingi, just like that.” 

He grunted in response, feeling your walls tightening around his finger, quickening his pace, the rhythm you needed to push you over the edge. Your legs shook around his head, your breath catching in your throat, shakily inhaling with each wave of pleasure as he brought you to orgasm with ease, movements he’s been perfecting for years now. 

“Please tell me you’re planning on fucking me again,” you gave yourself no rest, staring at him through glassy eyes, your body heavy and slightly spent, you didn’t even know what number orgasm you were on today. 

“I don’t know if my dick still works,” he sat back on his calves, pulling your body towards him with your hips. One fluid movement, so easy, he was so strong, he could throw you around if he wanted to, god, you wish he wanted to. 

You rolled your eyes, arms reaching in front of you to wrap around his biceps, letting your fingers slip beneath the sleeves of his tee shirt as he bent down, bringing his face to yours. “I watched you hump the couch two minutes ago, Mingi.”

“Hey,” he pulled back before you could attach your lips to his, “Don’t make fun of me for that.”

“What?” You smiled, head tilting to the side, “I would never.”

He pouted, bottom lip jutting out, wet and plump and soft, your arms slid up to flatten your hands around his shoulders, pulling him back down. “I think it’s sexy that eating me out makes you desperate.” 

He finally kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You hummed, stretching your legs to lay them over his thighs, pulling him into you, where he rutted his hips into yours the second you made contact. You kissed for a while, letting your tongues sloppily lick into each other’s mouths, your hands flying into his hair again, his hands sliding down your torso. You let your mind drift as you kissed, thinking about how he pulled you into him so easily, how much he could rough you up if he wanted to, if he had a dominant bone in his body. 

Mingi is a lot of things, but you would never say dominant is one of them. Over six feet tall and so fucking strong, Mingi seemed intimidating until the moment he opened his mouth. Sweet, caring, eager to please, Mingi would do anything for you. He’d fight wars for you, swim across the ocean, you shouldn’t want anything more. You shouldn’t want anything different. 

And you don’t. Not really. 

Mingi is perfect how he is, you wouldn’t want him any other way. But curious you are, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like if he treated you like a pet rather than his girlfriend. Would he be anything like how Yunho describes his encounters? Would he be strict, would he control when you came, how you came? Would he choke you, slap you, take you in any way he wanted, instead of what you wanted?

What you wanted was to be fucked, and as Mingi slipped his sweatpants halfway down his flexed thighs and lined himself up with your center, you knew what you wanted would always be his top priority. Song Mingi didn’t know what the word selfish meant.

You didn’t deserve it, you acted like a brat earlier, huffing out of annoyance and putting physical space between you because you didn’t get what you wanted. But instead of punishing you, instead of fucking you only to get himself off, of denying you the pleasure of another orgasm, Mingi woke you up with his face between your legs. Because he knew you, what you wanted, what you needed, and Mingi’s life’s pleasure is making you happy.

You cried out as he sheathed himself inside you, nails painting crescents into his biceps, your eyes flying to the back of your head, flushing out your entire thought process. No, Mingi is perfect, the way he carves himself space inside you as if it’s the first time, every time, is more than you could ever ask for. He leaned back down, barely attaching his lips to yours, only the sounds of your breath and skin slapping against skin to be heard in your living room. 

With his hands still wrapped around your hips he tilted them upward, fucking into you harshly, angled to hit that same spot inside you, he wasn’t in the mood to draw this out and you couldn’t blame him. You’ve been insatiable all day, when you woke up, in the car earlier, against the kitchen counter before Yunho came over, you wondered if he had anything left to give you. You slid your hand down between your legs, drawing quick circles over your clit, your jaw falling slack, lips unresponsive against Mingi’s. 

“Gonna cum for me already, hmm?” He tried his best to sound like he wasn’t completely losing it, voice strained yet still teasing. His hips stuttering told the truth he tried to hide, he was just as close as you were. 

“Yes,” you whispered into his mouth, voice high pitched, on the cusp of orgasm, your hips meeting his thrusts like you couldn’t get him deep enough. 

He let his forehead press against yours, both surfaces coated in sweat, mixing together in their meeting, getting a glimpse of his fucked out face was enough to send you over the edge. Your knees tightened around his torso as you came, moans guttural and unabashed, embarrassment might’ve crossed your mind two years ago. But now he’s seen everything, he’s heard everything, he aches for it, if you aren’t cross-eyed and crying into his ear, he knows he isn’t hitting it right. 

“Yes, baby, that’s it, so fucking good,” he praises, hands gripping under your thighs, pressing them back, bending you in half. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”

Chest heaving, mouth ajar and unable to close, you could have finished again at the sight of him. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the muscles surrounding his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tee, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Mingi was a vision, a sight to be seen. 

“Please,” you begged, voice whiney and desperate,  “Wanna feel you cum inside, I need it.”

His thrusts turned erratic, smacking into you harshly, a deep groan leaving his lips as he emptied himself inside you, fingers holding onto your legs tight as he came. Where you wouldn’t usually notice the sharp pain of his grip, your senses were on high alert, the feeling making you moan with him, the pain mixing with the comforting warmth of his cum filling you up. Hypnotizing, addicting, for a moment you thought maybe this wasn’t ovulation brain– maybe this was something you were really curious about.

Maybe something you really wanted to try. 

He keeled over, lips finding yours again, palms softly running over where he’d just gripped onto you, soothing the area. Your skin burned under his touch, you wanted him to do it again, harder this time, maybe wrap one of his pretty hands around your throat– 

“You’re cut off for the night,” he said into your lips, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “No more sex.”

“Boo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, crossing your ankles over his back, “If I keep you here maybe you’ll get hard again.” 

He laughed into your cheek, heavy and genuine, “You’re terrifying when you’re ovulating.”

“Says the man who just came inside me,” you pressed a kiss to his hair, then loosened your grip on him. “You want a baby more than I do at this point.”

He shrugs as he sits up, pulling out of you, “Sue me.” 

“We have a timeline, Song Mingi.” 

Sundresses, swim trunks and margaritas surrounded you, all of your friends bouncing around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s massive backyard, a ridiculously sized plot of land behind a farm-style rancher that they bought just last year. 

Don’t mind the setup, Seonghwa said, We’re still renovating!

Meanwhile an inground pool enclosed by several feet of perfectly laid concrete took over the space just outside the back door, a tiki bar, a patio with a full grill, a table and chairs, couches, a fucking fire pit… We’re still renovating, your ass. It was both perfect and absolutely ridiculous how much they have it together in contrast to yours and Mingi’s one bedroom apartment two towns over. 

They wanted to be the house, the place where all your friends and families gathered, the permanent hosts, and damn, did they succeed. They’ve been planning Wooyoung’s going away party ever since he broke the news of his job offer three states away, a bittersweet gathering, both in congratulations for Wooyoung’s raise and sadness that such an important voice in your friend group would be so far away. You hoped it wasn’t permanent, the selfish part of you hoped he hated it and came back to you guys immediately, he was the biggest light amongst you, one of your favorite people to be around, but you were also proud of him for his success, his hard work paying off. 

You could hear him laughing now from across the lawn, chatting with his girlfriend, Sana, Jongho and his girlfriend Jihyo, about god knows what, the sound warming your heart while breaking it simultaneously. You’d miss him more than he knew. 

“Want another, my love?” Mingi came up behind you where you sat, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek, stealing your glass out of your hand. 

You nodded, “Yes, please,” and watched him scurry off toward the tiki bar, Yunho and his date sitting at the teal colored stools lined up on the outside. You watched Yunho’s head turn toward Mingi, how he got off his stool to follow Mingi behind the bar, no doubt to help him make you another margarita. 

You turned your head back to the group lounging on the couches, Yeosang and his girlfriend Tzuyu, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, San and his boyfriend Jongin, everyone in the middle of a conversation you had accidentally clocked out of. You crossed your leg over your other one, fixing how your sundress laid over them, trying to ignore the sweaty stick of the summer heat on your skin, the alcohol that warmed your blood doing nothing to cool you down. 

Past seven, the sun was still annoyingly bright and agonizing, your hair tied up atop your head, probably matted at this point from the time you spent in the pool earlier. 

“...I keep telling you that you need to fire him,” San says to Hongjoong, his top lip bent in irritation, “He’s nothing but a lazy nuisance. If he messes up one more deal, I’m gonna talk to him myself.”

“He just started, San,” Hongjoong shook his head, “Cut the man a break.” 

San sips his whiskey instead of responding, his hand laying over Jongin’s knee, and it’s the reminder you needed as to why you initially clocked out of the conversation. You hated when they started talking business– even if that’s how all of them remain close, minus Wooyoung and Jongho, who are old college friends of Mingi and the others. They were all college friends, the group of them in the same fraternity, still close as ever post-grad, even now that so many of them work at the same firm. 

You loved when your parties and hangouts stayed free-spirited, light hearted, less talk about work and more stories from their college party days. Those stories you loved, especially the ones that included your boyfriend, the ones that told you exactly who he was before he met you. Not one story was surprising, though, he’s the same lover boy he’s always been, back then just included a lot more keg stands.

You let your eyes drift again, moving back to the tiki bar, where you caught Mingi, Yunho and his date walking towards where you sat around the fire pit. You shot them a tight lipped smile, grateful they were coming to join in on the conversation, hopefully derailing it to something more enjoyable. 

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa called across the lawn, “Why don’t you guys come join us?”

You grabbed your glass from Mingi as he sat down next to you, thanking him before you took a sip. Cold and refreshing, just what you needed to cool you off, tequila and summer was your favorite combination. Yunho sat down beside Mingi, and you watched as his date propped herself on his knee, her hands folded in her lap, crinkling the fabric of her pretty sundress. Yunho sat back, one hand holding his beer, the other haphazardly laid on her thigh as if it was nothing.

You wondered if that’s something he told her to do, or if she chose to sit there herself. There was space next to him, even more space on the couches across from you, surrounding the fire pit. Was that a part of it? Yunho’s game? Maybe it’s not a game, a lifestyle rather than some joke, a clear show of possession so everyone in the circle knew she belonged to Yunho. 

Your tongue poked out to swipe over your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from the pair, shoving the curiosity down. You turned into Mingi, crossing your other leg instead, your entire body leaning into him. You wondered if Mingi would ever ask something like that of you, maybe he would if he ever got jealous enough. 

Mingi isn’t the jealous type, though. He never has been. He has full trust in you, and that trust outweighs everything, lingering eyes of others, shameless flirting that you never caught on to. Even that one time where Yeosang’s hand lingered on your forearm for a little too long after too many drinks, telling you how gorgeous you looked in blue, Mingi still didn’t care. He nodded his head with an excited smile and said, I know, right?

You wondered what Yunho would do in that situation. Would he rip your arm away, take you into an unused bedroom, a storage closet even, and remind you who you belonged to? Would he leave marks, trailing from your jaw to your chest, to show who owned you if they stepped too close? 

Mingi nudged you with his shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to his concerned expression, giving him a small smile. He quietly asked, “You okay? Tired?”

You shrugged, “Was just thinking.”

He leaned over, kissing the top of your head, “Don’t think too hard, I’m starting to see steam coming out of your ears.”

You smiled, a huff of amusement leaving your lips. You don’t even know where you had been staring, if it was at anyone, you needed to control your thoughts, but they were starting to plague you. Especially when you caught Yunho holding up his beer bottle an inch above where it rested on his thigh, how his date immediately caught on, taking the empty glass and standing up to get him another. She was his date, it’s not like she was his girlfriend, someone who knows him well enough to understand his body language without a word being spoken.

The more you saw, the more you understood, the more it made sense. They were playing, even now, in front of everyone. You didn’t like the burning in your gut, the sting of jealousy, the interest it brought you, how a part of you wanted to try being in her situation. If you could be good, if you could pick up on cues so easily, so fast, if you could please. Will she be rewarded for it later? What does that look like? 

You ripped your attention away again, blinking, staring down at your margarita held between your fingers. You could be completely wrong, all of this could be innocent, she could be sitting on his lap because she wanted to be there. Maybe she got him another beer because she was being a good date, doting on him. You could be sexualizing it for no reason, which changes the burning in your gut to a burn of shame, embarrassment that you’re sitting with your entire group of friends, once again pondering over Yunho’s sex life. 

“What do you say we play beer pong, for old time’s sake?” Wooyoung’s loud voice washed over you like a bucket of cold water, grabbing your attention. Groans and laughter were mixed among the group, and Wooyoung tilted his head, his smile growing larger. 

“How old are we?” Jongho smacked his arm, sitting on the side of the chair Jihyo was sitting in, one thigh on either side of the armrest, “Twenty?” 

“Come on,” Wooyoung begged, his lips bending to a pout, “When’s the next time you guys are going to see me?” 

“Guilt tripping us into playing beer pong,” San shakes his head, a smile on his cheeks, dimples out on display, “Very you– And it worked.” 

Wooyoung cheered and Sana turned her gaze your way, meeting your eye, shaking her head with an amused smile on her face. You mirrored her expression, letting your eyes slide to Jihyo and Tzuyu, all four of you mentally preparing to sit on the sidelines while your boyfriends got trashed. All of you would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning. 

An hour later, you and the three girls plus Jongin were all seated just off to the side of the beer pong table, where all eight boys were loudly playing, laughing, or taunting the ones currently in the middle of a game. You listened to the commentary just as much as you were watching the game unfold, your ear catching every other sentence, laughing when one of them made a remark that was out of pocket, but the five of you currently in the midst of conversation didn’t have much attention left to give the game behind you. 

“...And she said she was not giving him the ring. It’s fucked up,” Sana sat back in her seat, her arms crossed over her bikini top, in the middle of telling a story. “She said she’d rethink it if I stayed with him for over a year after we move away, but I don’t believe her one bit.”

“Maybe she’s telling the truth, she’s probably just watching out for her son,” Tzuyu smiled at Sana, ever so optimistic, always looking at the bright side. Her brown hair laid in long braids down her shoulders, far past her bikini top, the tips just caressing the hem of her denim shorts. You tightened your lips, that was not what Sana wanted to hear right now. Wooyoung’s mom has never liked Sana, and you’re starting to think she never will. 

“It’s crazy how she thinks she can control your relationship, I mean, Wooyoung is twenty seven. He’s far past the age of her coddling him,” Jihyo added with her face twisted in disgust, that was what Sana wanted to hear, Jihyo was always good at fulfilling whatever idea Sana came up with. The two of them were a pair, the moon and the sun, where Jihyo appeared harsh and was sweet as candy, Sana was bright and colorful until she bared her teeth. 

“I know!” Sana said, a little too loudly, nervously glancing at the table behind you to check that none of the guys heard her, blonde hair moving with her. You’ve always been on Woo’s mom’s side, you always expected him to end up with someone… Nicer. He deserved someone who would treat him like a king, but in a way, you supposed Sana did treat him like one. Anyone else who wasn’t Wooyoung, though? That was a different story.

“I’m sure she’ll give in,” Jongin added, an encouraging smile on his face, he knows Sana just as well as you do by now. A linen button up laid loosely over his shoulders, the white a contrast to his golden, sunkissed skin. Him and San must have spent a lot of time at San’s beach house this summer. 

This was always the dynamic between you, the partners. Jihyo genuinely believed what she said to Sana, Tzuyu was supportive, and Jongin tried to keep the peace. You kept quiet, you weren’t much of a liar, and your brain couldn’t be farther from Sana’s impertinence.

Your knee bounced, margarita watered down and loosely held between your fingers, Yunho’s date was glued to his side at the table behind you. She didn’t leave him once, not when Tzuyu invited her to sit with you, not when Yunho was actually playing the game. She respectfully declined with a bashful smile, cheeks rosy and chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, then she stayed hung off of Yunho’s arm like an accessory.

It was beginning to fucking consume you. Was that one of his rules? Was she not allowed to leave his side, stuck there to be his personal waitress? Was she getting off on it, too?

Was the reward really worth it? 

“Hello?” Jihyo tapped your knee, pulling your attention again, her smile amused as if catching you off guard was the funniest thing in the world. 

“Sorry,” you tried to smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Did I miss something?” 

“I asked how Mingi is, how you guys are,” Sana smiled the same way Jihyo did, “What’s got you so out of it today?”

You forced a chuckle, “My bad, I didn’t get good sleep last night, the margaritas are making me sleepy.” A lie so easily told, white lies you could handle. “We’re good, thinking about moving into something bigger soon.”

“Oh?” Tzuyu asked excitedly, “You guys have been in that apartment for years, are you thinking about renting or buying?” 

A two-story, white house, with three bedrooms and an open floor plan, yes, you were thinking about buying. You fought to not glance behind you, keeping your eyes trained on Tzuyu, “If we can get a good loan for a mortgage, we’ll own.”

Tzuyu cheered, her grin bright and wide, “I’m so happy for you, me and Yeosang always talk about how perfect you guys are together. Do you think he’s planning on proposing this year?” 

You smiled, a shy giggle escaping you as you stared down at your margarita again, “I think so.”

“Your wedding is going to be gorgeous,” Sana adds from across the small table between your chairs, “If it’s anything like how you decorate your apartment– and the bridesmaid dresses, don’t even get me started.”

You waved a hand, ignoring the bridesmaid comment, “I won’t, I’m not jinxing it. Who knows what might happen?”

You catch Jihyo as she rolls her eyes, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed tomorrow, you’ve been together longer than any of us. You’re the OG girlfriend.” 

That ripped a laugh from your chest, it’s true, you’ve been with Mingi long before any of the other guys’ partners entered the picture. Jongin interrupted, “I could help you with a mortgage loan, you know, my dad’s a banker.” 

“When the time comes,” you nodded toward the brown haired man with kind eyes, then finally let your eyes fall to the table behind you, seeing who was playing now. 

Who might still be glued to their date. 

Mingi and Yunho were playing Yeosang and Wooyoung, a cocky smile on your boyfriend’s cheeks, a lazy smirk on Yunho’s. They must be winning. 

And his date, her dark hair up now, in a claw clip behind her head, two pieces fallen out and framing her face perfectly. She stood just beside Yunho, her drink clasped in her hands, barely a sip drank from the clear glass. You wondered if she was allowed to drink, or if that was one of his rules, too. 

Your lips pursed and you stood up, legs bringing you to your boyfriend before you could think about it. You slid in between him and San, the dimpled man throwing an arm over your shoulders, “You come to play?”

You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “Just wanted to watch.” 

“Wanna watch me win,” Mingi added, shooting you a wink, then tossed the ball across the table, sinking it into one of the red solo cups filled with water. 

You clapped with the rest of the boys, your grin wide as a low whistle left your lips, staring down the table at Yeosang and Wooyoung who wore red cheeks and sour faces. The difference in the amount of cups left standing made it clear who was winning, not that it surprised you, Mingi was always more competitive when he had Yunho by his side. 

You watched as Yunho’s date tugged on his wrist, whispering something into his ear, and he nodded down at her. She silently excused herself, dress flowing in the breeze as she walked across the patio, inside the back door. 

You watched, and then your legs were moving before you could stop yourself. You followed her in, just as she was draining her glass into the kitchen sink, one of her hands on her hip. 

She turned to you as the backdoor snapped shut, surprise on her face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “Oh! Sorry, I would have left the door open for you.”

Ah, fuck, she’s nice. You smiled, walking across the hardwood floor, your sandals smacking with every step, “No biggie, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, I wanted to say hello.” You introduced yourself, a smile on your cheeks, “Not in the mood to drink?”

She glanced down at the empty glass in her hands, then at the sink, then up to you. She laughed nervously, “I'm a slow drinker, it got watered down, not all that tasty anymore.”

You slowly nodded your head, “Totally get that. Did you need help finding the bathroom?” 

She looked around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s kitchen as if you reminded her why she walked in here, the bathroom nowhere to be found. She smiled again, her cheeks rosy and squishable, face completely bare beside mascara, she’s adorable. A perfect, submissive girl. “Yes, please, that’d be great.” 

“Down that hallway and to the right,” you pointed to the dark hallway and she thanked you, setting her glass down in the sink and scurrying off in the direction of the bathroom. When she was out of eyesight, you pouted, you don’t know what you expected from coming in here, but you definitely didn’t learn anything new. You took a sip of your margarita, setting a hand on the kitchen island for purchase, your mind whirling. You wanted to know. You wished you could just ask. 

The door opened and closed behind you and you turned to find Jihyo walking in, her own cheeks red from the seltzers she’d been sipping on, the summer heat she’s been basking in all day. She smiled at you, eyebrows popping up in surprise and confusion, “Girl, what are you doing in here? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Your lips pulled to one side, you wondered if Jihyo had any experience in this area, if she and Jongho ever explored in the way you’re curious about. If anyone in your group has done some experimental shit, it’s Jihyo. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Her face turned serious, quickly walking closer to where you stood, gathering her dark hair behind her head to pull up into a bun. “Of course, is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, shaking your head, loosing a quick, heavy breath. “Is Jongho ever… Rough with you?” 

Jihyo paused in the middle of tying her hair, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘rough’?” 

You scrunch your lips, trying to reword the question properly in your mind. “Have you ever experienced… Like, a dominant guy? That kind of role, in a relationship?”

Jihyo’s lips curved upward, a devious smile on her cheeks, eyebrows wiggling. “You thinking about spicing things up with Mingi?” 

Your cheeks warmed, you looked down at the hardwood floor in embarrassment, then back up to her. “Possibly. I’m just curious, I guess.”

“Then yes, Jongho can be rough sometimes, but only when I purposely pissed him off or made him jealous or something. The relationship I was in before I started dating Jongho, though…”

Your entire face lit up, she giggled as she noticed. 

“He was a very strict man, but not in a gross way, more so in a… Domineering way, I guess, everything I consented to. He thought it was sexy to control unsexy aspects of my life, what I wore, how I acted, what I did, who I talked to. In bed, he was a fucking freak.”

Your eyes filled with stars, you asked, “In a good way?”

“Oh, absolutely. He’d tie my hands behind my back, attach a spreader bar between my knees, or put a vibrator on me and leave the room until he was satisfied with how long I’d been in there by myself. Then he’d come back in and fuck me like I hadn’t already came a gazillion times.”

You released a shaky breath, toes digging into the soles of your sandals. It sounded so… appetizing. 

“He was fun, that whole relationship was fun,” she smiled brightly, you almost felt bad about making her reminisce on something she loved so much, but clearly didn’t have anymore. 

You couldn’t stop yourself, asking, “Why’d you break up?”

“He cheated on me,” she rolled her eyes, “Ruined a good thing. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you nodded your agreement, cheeks warm, your whole body warm… You imagined Mingi tying your hands behind your back, attaching something between your legs to keep you from closing them, fully in control of your body and your pleasure. The thought was so hot, you could see it in your mind, you licked your lips as if it was happening now. 

“I gotta pee, I’ll be right back,” Jihyo’s eyes flew back to the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. Just as you started to warn her about Yunho’s date being in there, she bounced back out, apologies on her lips about being in there for so long. She was barely in there for five minutes. 

You followed her back into the backyard, not stopping by the table again, but sitting yourself back in your cushioned chair, legs crossed, slowly sipping your margarita. You didn’t want to see her fall back to Yunho’s side like a lost puppy dog. 

God, you needed to get a grip. The girl didn’t do anything to you. Jihyo’s story filled your head again, but instead of imagining Jihyo and the mystery man, it was you and Mingi, a vibrator strapped to you while he sat back, watching, analyzing, telling you no when you begged him to cum. 

When Jongin pulled you back into the conversation you were barely paying attention to again, your body physically shook off the thoughts, a chill cooling off your very blood. 

You really needed to get it together. 

“I have something I need to tell you.” 

Almost a full week after Wooyoung’s going away party, another movie night with Yunho under your belt, you couldn’t let these feelings fester for any longer, you were losing your fucking mind. Night after night, your boyfriend has rocked into you, sweet words on his tongue, soft caresses to your face. As much as you enjoyed it, you felt guilty for your feelings, for wanting more, something different. Admitting it was a start.

Day after day you’ve done little things, almost unnoticeable things trying to get his attention, trying to spark an ounce of jealousy. You made a comment about how good San looked at Wooyoung’s party, how he looked like he’d been hitting the gym– Mingi had given you puppy eyes, asking, “Should I start going to the gym more?”

You felt so guilty you dropped to your knees then and there, feeding praises into his ears, worshipping his body, vowing to yourself to never make him ask you a question like that ever again, to never make him feel self conscious or worth any less. The whole encounter left you feeling icky. 

But maybe another route would work. 

Just yesterday you asked him, What would you do if someone hit on me at the bar?

He furrowed his brows and said, Tell them not to do that, I guess?

You were getting nowhere like this, and it was frustrating. Granted, you probably should have just opened up and told him your feelings the moment these thoughts started crossing your mind. 

Mingi turned over in your bed to face you, eyes sparkling, staring at you like you were his whole world. You needed to bring this up delicately, propose it in a way that wouldn’t leave him feeling like he wasn’t doing enough, that he wasn’t enough. You didn’t want to pressure him into anything, either. Asking him to slap you around was strangely feeling meticulous, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in focus and fear. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, eyes glossed over with worry, he shuffled a bit closer to you in your shared bed, needing your warmth to soothe his own nerves. 

“Yes, baby, everything’s fine,” you smiled weakly, your arm stretching across the sheets to lay your palm over his cheek. “I’m just nervous to say what I need to, or ask my question, I guess. I don’t want you to feel like I’m unhappy, or that you aren’t doing enough, but… I’ve been thinking.”

He mirrored your smile, teasing, “You know what I say about you and thinking.”

A huff of a laugh left your lips, smile growing stronger, “I’m serious, Min.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” his smile grew too, genuine and light, he’s always been good at diffusing situations, easing your stress. “Hit me.”

“Funny choice of words, actually,” you start, and the crease between his brows shows itself. “Do you ever think about… Being a little rough with me?”

He lifts his head up off the pillow ever so slightly, surprise flashing in his big brown eyes, “Like, when I’m fucking you?”

“Yeah,” you watched his face morph into confusion, “Throwing me around, saying mean stuff, choking me a little, maybe even slapping me–”

“Slapping you?!”

“I don’t know!” You shuffle in your bed, sitting up straight, tucking the baby pink comforter in your lap, hands mindlessly playing with the fabric. Staring down at him, voice coated in shame, you asked, “Do you?”

He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I have ever, once in my life, thought about hurting you.”

“Does it freak you out if I say it’s something I might be curious about?” You lay a hand behind your back, using your arm to support your weight. Mingi shifts too, sitting up beside you, still staring at you like you’re a math equation he can’t calculate. 

“It doesn’t freak me out, I–” He shakes his head once, as if he’s trying to figure out his own feelings, what to say. “When did you start thinking about… this?” 

“The night we watched that Captain America movie with Yunho,” you answer honestly, staring into his eyes, trying to get a read on him. He looks down at his lap, thinking, counting, before he looks back at you. 

“Dude, that was like two weeks ago,” he says, horror in his voice, “You’ve been sitting on this for that long?”

“It’s not a big deal if it’s something you aren’t interested in,” you wave a hand in front of you, trying to fake nonchalance, but there was no way to prove to Mingi this isn’t important to you if it took you this long to say something. He knows you far too well. 

He glances up at your ceiling, moving his lips, scrunching them to either side of his mouth, thinking. He finally looks at you, a gleam in his eye that you couldn’t place, “You really want me to be mean?”

“I–” Now it was your turn to look like a fish out of water, and then you realized this was the time to admit it, to tell him what you want. With defeat heavy in your voice, you said, “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding slowly, “I can try.”

“Really?” you raised your brows, staring at him in surprise as if you expected him to say no. But this was Mingi after all, always eager to please, the man who would walk through fire for you. 

“You’ll have to, like… Tell me what you want in more detail, what to do, I mean.”

Your entire face lit up, eyes wide, grin bright, you jumped over the mattress to swing your arms around his neck and your thighs around his hips. You kissed his entire face, perched in his lap, mumbling thank you thank you thank you and he giggled beneath your assault, wrapping his arms around your back, holding you close. 

“Do you wanna do this, like… Now?” He asked when you stopped peppering smooches to the tip of his nose, his voice not quite uneasy, nervously curious. 

“We could,” you shrug, arms still hung over his bare shoulders, “We haven’t fucked since last night.”

“God forbid a day goes by where we don’t have sex,” he teases, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing lightly. 

You gasp, dropping your hips to drag against his barely clothed crotch, smirking when you feel him half-hard beneath you. “There should never be a day that goes by where we don’t have sex.”

“As long as you’re still you, there won’t be,” he says, still teasing as he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, normal. You sink into him, letting your hips drag over him in a slow but intentional rhythm, allowing your mind to ease, releasing soft gasps as his hands slide up your body, under your shirt. 

No, you didn’t need to do this right now. You didn’t want to. You wanted him, close to you, feeling his warmth and his weight anchoring you, to set the thoughts you’d finally gotten off your chest free. You told him, you’d talk about it, you’d plan, you’d do it. He said yes. God, you love him. You let your hands slide up his biceps, fingers dancing over the sides of his neck, cupping his cheeks to hold your world in your hands. 

“Not tonight,” you whisper into his lips, forgoing an explanation he didn’t need, “I changed my mind. Tonight, I just want you.” 

He smiles, bared teeth pressing against your lips, soft and comforting, home. “Yeah? You sure?” 

“We have time,” you pull him closer, chest to chest, elbows hooked over his shoulders and hips still rocking as if he’d feel the truth laid bare, in your skin, in your breath, in your bones. He didn’t need to change, you didn’t want him to change, if things stayed like this you’d still spend forever by his side. “We have forever.” 

He kissed you again, only breaking it to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you, hands gliding up your skin with precision, feeling every dip and curve of your body. As if to burn it to memory, as if he didn’t know it already, as if he hasn’t worshiped every inch of your skin before. “I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, bodies still too close to be considered separate. 

“I love you,” you whispered, barely breaking the kiss, eyes closed and heart aching with how much love for him it contained. 

Another Friday, another movie night, another story told by Jeong Yunho. 

Except this time, you and Mingi were more versed in his area of expertise, your listening was active, asking questions, looking deeper. Where you once sat nodding, periodically saying mhm and no way, you were now asking him to explain, asking why. And because Yunho is Yunho, he answered every question with honesty, even over-explaining when your brow quirked too high for his liking. When he read the question on your tongue. 

For the past several days, you and Mingi have been doing research. Articles from legitimate blogs on the internet, books from the library, romance novels pulled from your bookshelf, Mingi had said, “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”

You hadn’t quite explored yet together– meaning he hasn’t necessarily slapped you around just yet. He’s taken it slow, tugged on your roots during a blowjob, extended your orgasm by ripping his fingers away at the last second, he even called you a slut once. Just once, though. And he apologized after. 

You didn’t think you could possibly be any more in love with him, but seeing him learn for you, express genuine interest in something you asked for, you couldn’t wait for the wedding  Sana was running her mouth about. But that could wait. For now, you were still exploring, experimenting, basking in the relief of getting this off your chest and doing something about it. You never want to withhold information from your boyfriend again, and Mingi might go into cardiac arrest if he finds out you’ve been sitting on your feelings ever again. 

Mingi’s been honest with you. He’s told you his doubts, his fears, that he’s petrified of doing something wrong, not knowing his own strength and hurting you, saying something vile that he can’t take back. You’ve taken them all in, easing his worries by offering him solutions, reminding him why you’re taking it slow. To set boundaries, to plan, to play, to find out if this is something he’d even enjoy. If either of you would enjoy it. 

Because in theory it sounds wonderful, a wet dream coming from the pits of your ovulation, but to put it into practice… What if either of you hate it? What if your sex life is forever tainted because you’re trying to fix something that isn’t broken? 

Clearly, you’re both overthinkers. But luckily, you’re both good at soothing each other, and Mingi has reminded you the two times that you’ve brought this up that nothing could destroy your sex life, the two of you were made for each other. There wasn’t much room for stress after that. 

Yunho came over with a smile on his face this week, a telltale sign that things were going well with his newest partner. Walking inside empty-handed and talkative, he cracked a can of beer from your refrigerator, starting his story from the beginning as his long legs brought him to your living room. He was playing with her at Wooyoung’s going away party, a detail he left out when he was over last week, when he was too engrossed in the freshness of dating her to get down to the nitty gritty. 

This week he was exploding with things to tell you both, his mouth running a mile a minute, sharing things you nor Mingi asked him to, but didn’t mind hearing. Especially not now. 

“The rules I made with her are different than the ones I’ve made with others,” splayed across the couch he always sat on, Yunho’s Spot you and Mingi call it, a leg hung over the armrest with the other stretched in front of him, he sat lazily, relaxed. Yours and Mingi’s apartment was always a comfort to him. 

“Like how?” You had your head laying on the godforsaken armrest, pillow beneath your head actually providing solace for once, your legs stretched over Mingi’s lap at the other end of the couch. He studied Yunho as he listened, hands on your bare legs, eyebrows bent only enough to imply focus. You knew it was more than just listening to his words, he was memorizing them, saving them for later. The sight made a soft smile live on your cheeks. 

Yunho sucks a breath through his teeth, brows rising as his head tips back in thought, silver hair a contrast to the deep charcoal of the cushion behind him. “She can only wear dresses around me, when we’re in public she has to ask permission to leave my side, she can’t drink unless I allow it, hmm… Oh, I banned bras. And panties.” 

You crane your head to see him over the armrest, mouth gaping and teeth poking out in a smile, a giggle leaving your lips. You fought the urge to say I knew it, instead reiterating, “Bras and panties?!” 

“What’s the point of it, though?” Mingi asked, and Yunho directed his gaze to his best friend, his eyes smiling just as brightly as his lips. Mingi glances between you and Yunho, “All the rules, they just seem… Inconvenient.” 

“Inconvenient for who?” Yunho raises his eyebrows, “Would it be inconvenient for you if your girlfriend walked around without a bra, without panties, in a dress?” 

“Not inconvenient for me, inconvenient for her,” Mingi should have just added duh at the end of his sentence. Yunho knew what he meant, but Mingi couldn’t read between the lines of his answer. Your tongue poked your cheek as your eyes danced between the two men. 

“Then you know the point of it already,” Yunho’s grin was sly, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he knew why Mingi was questioning him. He never has before. 

Mingi’s lips fell into an O shape, you watched him put the pieces together in real time, another laugh leaving your lips. Mingi glanced at you for a second before his eyebrows knitted again, turning his head to look back at Yunho, “Why couldn’t she drink?” 

“Because it’d make her have to pee, and she has a piss kink,” you knew he was answering honestly by the look on his face, the ease of the words leaving his mouth. “It denied her of having the fun of toying with me and saved me the punishment of fucking her in Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s bathroom.” 

Your jaw dropped as your head whipped around the armrest, gaping at Yunho, “You’d really do that?” 

“If she disobeyed me?” He raised his brows, “In a heartbeat.” 

“In their bathroom?” Mingi’s eyes were as wide as yours, the corner of his upper lip bent upward in disbelief. 

“I would have done it in front of all of you if I had the consent of everyone in the room.” He said it so casually, too casually, as if this was normal, common. It could be these days, for all you know. 

Yours and Mingi’s eyes meet as surprise and intrigue cross his features, as if he was picturing himself doing it. As if he was curating a list of rules for you, too. You assumed you wouldn’t have to wash as many pairs of panties from now on. 

Mingi’s eyes trailed back to Yunho, you watched him swallow, the gulp of spit passing down his throat. “And when you say punishment…” 

Yunho smiles, daring and wicked, his eyes flaring with amusement. He sits up straighter, white tee pressed against the back of the couch, ankle crossed over his knee, he wouldn’t let your rare curiosity go to waste.  

You change spots, too, laying your head on Mingi’s lap instead of your legs, propping them up on the criminally uncomfortable armrest. You made a mental note to start looking for a new couch. Mingi lays a hand in your hair, not moving, just resting, as if he needed to touch you to feel grounded. 

“The humiliation,” Yunho released a dragged out breath, as if he loved the word, loved its meaning, the action. “I would have put her over my knee, made her tell everyone watching what she did, why it was wrong.”

Mingi blinked, his lips parted, as if he couldn’t fathom why in the world Yunho would do that. “You’d let everyone see that? See her?” 

Yunho shrugs, “If everyone was into it.” 

“She obeyed you though, right?” You ask, and he raises his eyebrows in your direction, acknowledging you, “Does she get, like… Rewarded for that?” 

Yunho smiled, a proud look sitting on his face, a soft nod of his head. “Of course she does, well, she did.” 

You raised a brow, imploring him, and his smile grew as if he could read every thought in your mind. “You two are curious tonight.” 

You can feel the embarrassment in your cheeks, and as you look up to Mingi, you see a faint blush spread over his nose. If you could see his ears from where you laid, you’d bet they tipped red, too. Neither of you are being shy with your curiosity, and it was clear. 

Yunho didn’t wait for either of you to answer, “I’ll bite. We didn’t even get back to my place, to be honest. She got to finish twice in the car, another three times when we got back for good behavior.” 

A huh? ripped from your chest, a disbelieving sound, just as Mingi screeched, “Five?!” 

You thought back to when she went to the bathroom at the party, how she tugged on Yunho’s wrist before she went inside, how he nodded toward her in allowance. You wonder if you’d be willing to let it be taken so far, or if you truly just wanted to be slapped around. You supposed you would if five orgasms were waiting for you afterward. 

“They weren’t easy, don’t say it like that,” Yunho waved a hand, long fingers bending the air around him, “I was forcing them out of her by the end of it. She likes overstimulation.” 

You peeked up at Mingi again, whose lips you think were going to stay permanently parted for the duration of the conversation, with his thick, deep eyebrows touching his hairline. He was shocked— so were you, even if neither of you should be, you’re no strangers to multiple orgasms in a session. But five, for good behavior, a reward like that, it almost made you hand your boyfriend a notepad and a pen and say Yes, I want that. 

Yunho’s laugh sends a shiver down your spine, your body involuntarily jerking at the noise, head shifting in your boyfriend’s lap. It sounded borderline condescending, which you weren’t sure if you were making up, or if it was on purpose. Your eyes widened as you felt it, the fucking boner Mingi was sporting beneath your head. He knew you felt it, you could see it all over his face, the blush you thought was from the nature of the conversation, no, he was horny, and Yunho didn’t seem like he was anywhere near done with the conversation. 

Realization hits that Mingi must be thinking about doing that to you, and he’s hard. You might have started jumping for joy if you didn’t have to explain to both men why. 

“You guys look like you’ve never heard anything like this in your life,” Yunho’s laugh is still showing on his cheeks, the way his head is tilted, his eyebrows slightly raised, smugness oozing off of him. “I’ve told you stories before.” 

“Yeah, but…” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the answer you were about to give. He didn’t need to know you were experimenting, or attempting to. No one needed to know. “It’s just crazy.” 

“Yeah, you’re crazy,” Mingi adds from above you, the both of you nodding your agreement, hiding why you’re both so god damn affected. His clothed cock pressing against your head, having to pretend like it isn’t there, Yunho so easily talking about how he punishes and rewards his partners, how arrogance seemed to be possessing him, it was all too much. 

Yunho raises his brows, his smile still present on closed lips, as if the two of you were transparent. Completely see through, thoughts and feelings laid bare for him to see. If you could peer into Yunho’s mind you might see that he’s enjoying this, that he knows exactly what he's doing, toying with the two of you might be the most fun he’s had in months. 

He can see how pathetic the two of you are, you’re wearing it. Too many ideas are brewing in his mind, ones he’s positive he can never verbalize, but if the two of you kept looking at him like that…

“I’ve told you worse, remember when that one girl thought it’d be funny to flirt with that random guy, when we all went out to the club? It was back in February I think,” Yunho’s glancing between you both now, like he doesn’t want to miss a single reaction painted on your faces. “I tied her up and left her alone in the bedroom, in the dark, for an hour?” 

You gulped. You remembered this story. Mingi was only growing beneath you, he remembered this story, too. 

“She was a crying fucking mess by the time I went back in, so wet, didn’t take any prep at all for me to fuck her. She didn’t cum once that night. Never did that shit again, though.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You think of a few weeks ago, when Yunho was once again across from the two of you, when you put space between yourself and Mingi, a part of you hoping he’d fuck the brat out of you. You couldn’t even imagine Mingi tying you up and leaving you alone, he’d probably be crying before you would, or he wouldn’t even leave the room. But the thought of it… If he could… You crossed an ankle over the other, trying to create some kind of pressure between your thighs, friction to alleviate your core that was beginning to throb. 

Mingi’s grip tightened ever so slightly in your hair and you knew he was showing you the restraint he was quickly losing, that he needed you. Your eyelids fluttered at the feeling. 

“How did you get into this? This, uh, lifestyle,” Mingi’s voice was shallow, his mouth drying, he was feeling it just as much as you were. You don’t even know if you heard his question let alone the answer, not when you could feel his cock under you, begging to be touched, probably leaking, the tip red and aching…

Mingi pressed a finger to your cheek and your lips fucking parted. He was only trying to get your attention. “You okay?” Mingi asked, need flashing in his eyes, an unspoken question, a statement. Oh, Yunho has done it now. 

I need you.  You blinked. Now? A small nod. Now. Get him out. 

“Not feeling too good, honestly,” you pouted, letting a hand fall across your forehead, “Do I feel warm to you?” 

Mingi’s lips scrunched trying to hide his smile, you were the better liar out of the two of you. His palm hit your forehead, “Hm, you do feel warm.” 

“Let me feel,” Yunho crossed the living room in a quick stride, his hand falling to your forehead fast, before you or Mingi could think up a silly excuse. His hand damn near laid from ear to ear, sending a spark of something through your entire body. “Damn, you are warm.”

He needed to get out, now. You give him a weak smile, “Must be coming down with something, I’m sorry to cut the movie night short.” 

He shakes his head, then clasps Mingi’s hand, and goes to grab his keys off the coffee table, “Don’t worry about it, there’s always next week, Iron Man can wait. Feel better.” 

“Thanks, Yun,” you call after him, tucking your smile away until you hear the front door close— 

Mingi pounces. Strong arms tugging you onto his lap, assaulting your lips with his own, rough palms slipping under your shirt, thumbs hooking into your waistband. There was no time to waste. 

“Fuck,” he cursed into your mouth as you rolled your hips against him, shorts dragging against his sweatpants, and you smiled at his sensitivity. “Fuck, I need you.” 

“Yeah?” You rolled your hips again, harder this time, “That bad?” 

His fingers tighten on your hips, digging into your skin, his jaw going slack, mouth unresponsive against yours. You let your hands feel up his chest, his shoulders, his neck, lips ghosting his jawline as he guides your hips against his. 

His head tilts back as your lips attack a sensitive part of his neck, right below his ear. His voice comes out deep but breathy as he says, “Wanna make you cum five times, too.” 

Excitement shoots up your spine. You sit back, hands resting on his shoulders, a grin on your cheeks, “Do it, then.” 

He scoops you off his lap and falls to his knees, a muted thump was heard as cotton covered skin hit the hardwood of your floor, he laid you on your back as if you were fragile, made of glass. Your legs parted after he slipped your shorts off anyway. 

You kept your hands in his hair as his tongue worked you open, your first orgasm coming quickly, easily, praises falling off your lips, skull digging into the floor beneath you. Mingi didn’t stop, though, not as his black locks ran taut between your fingers as you pulled in an attempt to get him away, when the pleasure became too much. 

It was on purpose, the pleasure was fucking blinding, pleasure and pain, the sting of your orgasm that never fully finished turning into another, a pit in your stomach that ached with every swipe of his tongue. Your hips bucked, trying to chase him away, attempting to overpower strong arms holding you down by the bone. 

“Mingi— holy shit,” you cried, eyes wide and staring down at him where he was doing anything but looking up at you. Focused, tongue moving in perfect circles, flicking at your clit with enough precision to tell you he wasn’t letting up. Your movements seized, joints locking up, breath getting caught in your throat as he pulled you under, forcing another orgasm to wash over you. 

He ate you through it again before you were keeling, abdomen clenching, body jerking enough to where it was annoying for him to keep holding you down. His lips let go with a pop, sucking in a deep gust of air as your bones went fluid, body sinking into the hardwood floor. 

Mingi smacked his teeth with plump, swollen lips. He lifted himself up by his arms, saying with a steady voice, “Turn over.” 

You opened your eyes again, staring at hunger incarnate, “On my knees?” 

He lifted himself farther, sitting on his calves, wrapping his fingers loosely around your ankles where they sat planted on the floor. Again, he said, “Turn over.” 

You blinked, “I can’t if you’re holding my ankles like that.”

In a quick motion, he pulled you toward him, forearm scooping under your back, and your palms were pressed to the hardwood floor in a second’s time, knees stinging as the deep swirls of oak stared back at you. You hissed, “Fuck, that hurt.” 

Hands that were already sliding up the backs of your thighs paused, “You okay?” 

You smiled, thinking of all the limits you’ve discussed in the past weeks, your safe word, what to do in case you couldn’t say it. “I know what to say if I’m not.” 

“Good.” 

Your elbows hit the floor as his fingers slipped inside, his other hand holding onto your ass, squeezing your skin. “O-Oh my God, Min,” you cried, letting your forehead drop to your open palms, your back arched up into him as his fingers hooked into you, hitting that spongy spot inside, your toes curling, shins lifting off the floor. 

It was overwhelming. Yunho had left barely ten minutes ago and you’d already came twice, Mingi working you up to a third without any reprieve. You could hear the smile on his face as he asked, “You gonna cum again? Gonna be good for me?” 

You wailed as his fingers assaulted the spot, slipping in and out of you, curling, massaging, your body jerking at every movement he made. He sucked in a breath before he pulled his hand off your ass, letting it fall back down with a heavy smack, “Answer me.” 

Your moan was treacherous, loud, somewhere between a score of pleasure and a cry of pain as you came again. Weaker this time but still as blinding as the first, you shook, he hit you. Not as hard and not as confident as he could be, it was still pain mixing with the pleasure, a cocktail of endurance and emotion, a step forward. 

“Baby,” you could barely hear as both hands soothed your ass cheeks, rubbing circles into the skin. “Answer me, my love, need you to say something.” 

You weren’t sure if your consciousness was still inside your skin, or if you were floating somewhere beyond. 

His hands hooked into the crevice where your hips met your thighs, pulling you backward into his lap, moving and dropping you as if you were light as a feather. He was moving too fast, your brain could barely keep up, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You sunk into him, the smell of him pulling you back down to earth, the heat of his cheek pressed against your head warming you. “I’m okay,” your voice came out weak, lagged, tired. Your knees burned, but the fire he had lit inside your belly blazed. 

“You swear?” He took your chin in his hand with care, forcing you to look up at him, concern bubbling wildly in his eyes. 

You nodded, “I swear. You can keep going.” 

He kept you in his lap, his hands moving slower now, uneasy. Fear bled into you with every touch, under your tee, as he unclipped your bra, even fumbling with the clasp. You could taste his nerves. 

But his cock still stayed hard beneath you, pressed up against your back. After he tugged off your shirt and bra you faced him, bare legs wrapping around his hips, your boyfriend fully clothed where you sat naked, but not uncomfortable at the difference. You let your lips crash into his again, picking up speed, trying to show him your hunger when his had gotten foggy, masked with fear and concern. 

He let you lead him, tongue dancing with yours, his hands sliding over your skin with more confidence now, more pressure. You smiled into him, “You still owe me two more.” 

He matched your smile, “And here I thought we were past your insatiability.” 

You let your bare center drag over his clothed length, gasping when it brushed against your clit just right. “I want you inside me.” 

“I’m supposed to be telling you what to do,” his hands fell to your hips, grinding you against him harder, grinning when your head fell to his shoulder. 

“Then tell me how you want me to ride you,” you mumbled into covered skin, your hands sneaking beneath the hem of his tee, fingers tracing his toned abdomen. 

“Why do you get all the power?” He placed his hands under your ass, lifting you to shift onto his knees, you yelped when he stood up, easily holding you steady through the movement. A show of strength, a display of dominance, one that sent all the blood on your body straight to your still pulsing clit. 

You clung to him on the walk to the bedroom, your arms hooked around his neck, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin. All the daydreams you’ve had and research you’ve done was paying off now. This was better than anything you could’ve imagined. 

He threw you onto the bed before he tugged his shirt over his head by the collar, pulling his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring out. Standing before you in all his glory, Mingi’s cheeks were pink, eyes glossed over and hazy, hair shooting out in four different directions atop his head thanks to your incessant pulling. God, he was fucking beautiful, you sat up on your knees and crawled towards him, wanting to taste—

He stepped back so you couldn’t reach, his right hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing when it was already red and leaking, just as you imagined. You pouted. He raised his eyebrows. “You want my cock, don’t you?” 

You met his eyes to find arrogance, something you’ve only seen on your boyfriend a handful of times. You swallowed down the thrill, nodding your head, “Yes, I want it.” 

He pumped the length of his cock, a groan sneaking out of his lips, his head falling to the side, eyes fluttering shut. You gasped at the view, your eyes trying to catch the full length of him, not knowing where to look, not wanting to miss anything. Slowly, he built up a rhythm, and you whimpered from your spot on the baby pink comforter. 

“Please, let me,” your eyes stayed glued to the way his hand dragged down the length of his cock, how his tip leaked beads of precum, lubing up his hand. He ignored you. “Mingi, please. I need it.” 

He groaned instead, his hand pumping faster, until he finally opened his eyes. In a low, lazy voice, he moaned, “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good.” 

Your mouth hung open at the sight, he really wasn’t going to let you touch him. Was it because you told him to fuck you? He really thought you were taking the power from him? 

“Please, Mingi,” you were whining now, fists balling at the comforter beneath you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted outward. 

He tsked. “Get down here. On your knees.” 

You’ve never moved faster in your life. Sitting on your calves before him, knees burning again, hands in your lap, staring up at him with every hope in the world, you waited for instruction. He wasn’t fucking around. 

He pumped his cock faster, palm circling the tip, squeezing his hand as stuttered moans poured from his lips. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes focused on his cock, “Open your mouth.” 

With your tongue out you sat up on your knees, eyes glued to his cock, waiting for his cum. Your cunt throbbed between your thighs, three orgasms weren’t enough, you needed more, you needed him, his cock filling you up, to cum around it. His moans grew in pitch as his wrist jerked faster, stuttering, his hips bucking forward into his hand, his eyebrows knitted together. It took everything you had not to slip a hand between your legs. At least you were a quick learner. 

He came with a loud groan, ropes of white hitting your tongue, your nose, your cheeks, your eyebrows. You moaned with him as you felt the warmth on your skin, swallowing him down, licking your lips to catch what you could. 

“Good girl,” his voice had dropped another octave, as if he was getting comfortable in his rank now, dominance surrounding him like an aura. You smiled up at him, stars in your eyes as he took his thumb to your face, scooping his cum off of your cheeks, nose, eyebrows, then promptly shoved it past your lips. 

You gagged at the sudden intrusion, but swallowed him down anyway, lips wrapping around his thumb to suck it clean, tongue sliding against the underside. He patted your head with his other hand, a small smile sitting pretty on his cheeks, “So good for me, baby. Kiss me.” 

You stood up on wobbly legs and kissed him, he could probably taste the gratitude on your tongue, how much you fucking loved this, loved him. He moved to sit back on the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss, hands on your waist, tongue licking into your mouth to taste the leftover remnants of his release. Your knees planted into the mattress as you climbed on top of him again, a hand between your bodies, slipping his cock between your folds, spreading the wetness where it gathered. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped out, breaking away from your lips to glance down between you, “You’re so fucking wet.” 

“That was so fucking hot,” you said in the same tone he used as he looked back up to meet your eyes, “You’ve never done anything like that before. I’m dying.” 

He huffs a laugh into your lips, “Dying is dramatic.” 

You kissed him again, “And I meant it.” 

You dragged your core along his shaft, sliding over his length, and he hisses into your mouth in overstimulation. You smile, “Now you know how it feels.” 

“Sit on it,” he grabs his cock with one hand, your hip in the other, completely ignoring your remark, “Now.” 

You cursed under your breath at the tone of his voice, at the desperation and order mixing together, how badly he wanted you, needed to feel you, yet overstimulating himself to do it. His cock was already hard again in his hand as you lined yourself up on top of him, hands bracing yourself on his shoulders as you started to sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch with ease. 

The sound was deafening, how pathetic the two of you sounded, the whine-coated moans cracking from your gut. Your nails clawed into his shoulders, eyes screwed shut at the stretch, at how easily he slipped inside. His voice was strained, “Too fucking tight, gotta open up for me, relax.” 

You were too excited, your joints locked up from adrenaline and anticipation. You took a deep breath, letting your body relax, unlocking your limbs, forehead falling forward to rest against his. His hands come up to your waist, rubbing circles into your back, “There you go, my love, you feel so fucking good.” 

You whimpered at the praise, hips bucking forward involuntarily, “Can I move?” 

“Go ahead, baby,” he said, letting go of your waist, leaning back against the mattress on his elbows, “Show me how badly you wanted to ride my cock.” 

Your jaw went slack at the words, hips immediately picking up and dropping back down on him, your hands sliding up your stomach to pinch at your nipples. You bounced on him slowly at first, watching his face contort in pleasure, letting the sound of him guide you, encourage you. Eyebrows slanted and lips parted he moaned and moaned, hips jerking into you every few thrusts, silently telling you to pick up the pace. 

“Mingi,” you breathed, a hand on his abdomen, using it to balance your pace, “Choke me?” 

His eyes widened, “I— I don’t—”

You reached an arm forward, this was one of his unsure areas, where he was scared of his own strength, of hurting you seriously. You wrapped a hand around his throat, fingers pressing into the sides, “Like this.” 

The moan he released stopped you completely. It happened in slow motion, the squeeze of your fingers, how his lips parted, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, how you pulsed around his cock at the sight, at the sound. 

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise, “Oh.” 

He brought his hand up to wrap around yours, his hips fucking up into you harshly, overwhelming your nervous system, shattering your god damn mind. Oh, he really liked that. You couldn’t fight the smile breaking across your cheeks, your words coming out jagged through his thrusts, “You liked that?” 

He whimpered, broken through the pressure of your fingertips, and a small, shy nod of his head. You just wanted to show him how. Encourage him to do it himself. This opened another door completely. 

You released him after a moment and he took a deep breath, eyes wild, gasping out, “Holy shit.” 

You nodded with a wicked smile, your hips picking up the pace, “You really liked it?” 

“Do it again,” he whispered, pushing himself up by his forearms, pressing his chest against yours as you changed your speed, rocking against him, a dirty grind against his cock as your fingertips danced over his throat. 

You leaned in, whispering, “Kiss me,” against his lips, and he did, his mouth following your lead, up until you tightened your grip around his throat and pressed into the sides with light pressure. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered against your lips, the sound broken and raw, and his jaw went slack again, his eyelids fluttering, his cock throbbing inside you. You could have fun with this. 

You dropped your hips against him harshly, making him jolt into you, not a thought behind his fucking eyes as they widened, “So desperate, I told you to kiss me, didn’t I?” 

“I can’t,” he cried, eyes closed, chin tipped back, “Feels so fucking good. Harder, please.” 

You laughed in disbelief as you picked up your pace, the begging felt good, great even, your body consumed by another pleasure entirely. This was incredible. Maybe you could understand why Yunho does what he does, the sheer pleasure he must feel from breaking his partners down, having them at their wits end beneath him.