ken✰

Knowing what he knows now, Jongseob should have gone to bed earlier that night like he’d originally planned.

⸝⸝

“Jongseob has no game, we can’t make him do it.”

Jongseob looked up from his phone at the mention of his name. “Make me do what?”

His friends were scattered in the living room of the Lambda Chi Alpha house in various states of intoxication, the empty bottles of beer and cups littered on the floor as evidence. Soul was playing on his DS, Jiung was trying to keep the area clean while Intak kept adding to the mess with more solo cups and crumbs, Theo was laid flat on the ground face-down, and Keeho was on the couch looking straight at Jongseob with a smile that was equally unnerving and punchable.

“Theo and I were just talking about that girl from our class,” Keeho explained.

Jiung tied up the plastic bag full of garbage and put it aside before he made his way to join the deformed circle. “The one from calc?”

“No, the hot but annoying one from econ,” Intak said.

Theo made a groaning sound to input his disdain.

It was hard not to know the girl they were talking about. The one who was insanely smart but also insanely insufferable and apparently the source of great despair for both Theo and Keeho, who had to put up with her every Monday mornings and makes it everyone’s problems on Monday nights when they’re all gathered at the house for takeout. So yes, Jongseob was very familiar with the girl with overbearing tendencies and a know-it-all attitude that was not only a problem for Keeho and Theo, but for him too from how often he had to hear about it. He’d started subconsciously resenting her just from the stories.

“Okay,” Jongseob said, putting his phone down. “What does my lack of game have anything to do with her?”

“We had a theory,” Theo said as he pushed himself up to his knees, brushing his hair out of his face with his hands. “Maybe the reason she’s so wound up is because no one’s unwinding her.”

Jiung scrunched his nose in disgust, succinctly mirroring Jongseob's internal emotion at the thought. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“It’s a valid theory,” Intak defended. “People with no sexual outlet are usually more cranky.”

“But the problem is she’s so cranky that no one wants to sleep with her,” Keeho added, and Jongseob had the unsettling feeling he knew where this was going. “Hence my plan.”

Jongseob narrowed his eyes at Keeho. “Don’t tell me you were planning on pimping me off to your self-proclaimed nemesis to make your life easier.”

Keeho rolled his eyes with a laugh. “No, we’ve established you have no game. That’s exactly why I wasn’t going to offer you.”

Jongseob scowled at him, offended. “I totally have game.”

Keeho’s smile turned into a wolfish grin. “Oh yeah? You wanna take the bullet for us then?”

“No, I’m not sleeping with her for this. I’m not a pig. You do it.”

“No, she hates me and Theo.”

“I’ll do it,” Intak offered with a sleazy grin. “I like ‘em feisty anyways.”

Theo scoffed as he leaned back against the arm of the couch. “She would never go for the campus slut. Jiung might work though.”

Jiung immediately stood up at the mention of his name. “Absolutely not. I want no part of this,” he said as he turned and abandoned them for the kitchen.

Soul, who’d been quietly gaming away, pipes up from where he was curled up on the bean bag. “Isn’t this a little… mean? Talking about her like this?”

Keeho waved his hand dismissively at Soul. “She’s meaner. Way meaner.” He then turned to Jongseob. “You might just be our last shot then.”

“I already said no.”

“You don’t have to sleep with her,” he amended. “But for the love of god, please just get in there and loosen her up or something.”

“Are we even sure she’s capable of love?” Theo wondered aloud, looking up melodramatically at the ceiling. 

Intak tried to butt in again. “I could make her fall in love with me in a month.”

“I bet two hundred that she murders you before that happens,” Theo retorted drily, ignoring Intak’s offended cry as he looked at Jongseob again with narrowed, calculating eyes. “I bet a hundred you wouldn’t even last a month just dating her. She’s a nightmare.”

Keeho fixed him with the same stare, sizing him up. “I’d give him two. Seobie’s stronger than he looks.”

Now this felt a little ridiculous. He’d heard about her from other people too; sure, the girl seemed pretty difficult, but maybe she was just stuck in a perpetual bad day. She probably had a good side to her like everyone else did; maybe she just didn’t feel like showing it. She wasn’t obligated to. And the competitor in him was stirring at the first sniff of a challenge.

“There’s no way she’s that bad,” Jongseob said, crossing his arms. 

“Have you been listening to any of the stories I’ve been telling you guys for the past four months?”

“Not really.”

Keeho shoved his finger in Jongseob’s face. “Rude.”

Jongseob swatted his hand away and looked at Theo. “Four hundred if I can last by the end of next semester. I’m not sleeping with her though.” Four hundred can get him that bass guitar he’s been wanting forever and Theo was rich enough so he might as well have taken the chance. 

Theo grinned at him, conniving and cocksure. “Bet.”

Keeho whistled, an impressed look on his face as he leaned back on his arms. “You’re brave.”

Jongseob shrugged and turned his attention back to his phone. “I just really doubt she’s that bad.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

He remembers eating those words after meeting you for the first time.

⸝⸝

Jongseob had signed up for the newsletter club when the semester started, which he learned from Theo was composed of a handful of people and, more importantly, led by you. He had high hopes going in; he needed more extracurriculars on his resume and it was the perfect way to connect with you. A win-win situation. And the rules for the bet that were outlined to him were that he had to start dating you within the first month and the relationship had to last until the last day of class for the year.

But after just that first day with you, he could tell why you got the bad rap that you did.

You were curt with your introductions and sent everyone right to work with homework of all things, on the basis that you needed to evaluate whether they were good enough to stay on the club despite the fact that everyone already had to go through the application and interview process. 

He could excuse it as you just being extra thorough, but when he’d gone to you for clarification on the topic (and to just get a chance to talk with you), you’d waved him away with a quick, “If you’re so good, you’ll figure it out.” 

You refused to talk to the new joiners any further, stating you had more important things to do than babysit. You were cold, distant, snippy, full of yourself, and wore your brows perpetually furrowed in concentration or anger or whatever the emotion was that you always carried on your face. Everything that everyone claimed you were.

He’s not sure why he didn’t listen to them. It would’ve saved him all the trouble.

But he was in it now, and he wanted that bass bad. So what if he had to go through a little psychological torture.

When Theo had welcomed him home with a “How was the first day?” and a knowing smirk, Jongseob had just flipped him off before locking himself away in his room to get cracking on your assignment.

He didn’t expect it to be as difficult and as long as it was, and it had to be handwritten for whatever reason. It was hard enough that by the next week, only two of the six new joiners had come back.

And when he tried to turn his assignment in, you handed it right back to him without so much as a glance.

“The fact that you’re still here means you have what it takes,” you said, turning back to your laptop and waving him away.

Jongseob stared at you, his jaw slacked. “I worked on this for days,” he starts slowly. “I gave up so many hours of sleep for this and you’re not even gonna read it?”

You looked up at him, your fingers still typing away on your laptop. “That’s how this industry works,” you said. Your hands paused over the keyboard for a moment. “Hours of tireless work can end up scrapped. It might not see the light of day and just collect dust in a corner. If you can’t deal with that, then this place isn’t for you.”

His jaw ticked. The sleeplessness had weakened his inhibitions and there was nothing stopping the ire seeping through his tight words. “This is just a club,” he stated, teeth clenched.

Everyone in the club room froze as soon as the words left his lips. 

Your face turned to stone, the cold dialed to an eleven, and Jongseob immediately regretted his words. “Is that so?” You asked, your voice level despite the anger coming alive in your eyes. You leaned forward, folding your arms on the table, and Jongseob suddenly felt small despite the fact that he was looking down on you from where he stood in front of your desk. “If this is just a club to you, maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Maybe I shouldn’t, he nearly said. But that wouldn’t work. He had to be here for this to work even though this made him want to turn around and never look back again. 

He should’ve ran back then.

He swallowed his words and shook his head, forcing his eyes to the ground in submission. “No. I’m sorry, it’s not just a club,” he said, though he didn’t believe the words. 

He needed to do what it took to be on your good side even if you already looked like you hated his guts after exchanging just a few words, and so the seeds of doubt were already planted in his mind.

Your eyes narrowed at him, like you didn’t quite believe him. “Get to work,” you ordered, and Jongseob had to physically bite down on his tongue to hold himself back.

In the name of his future bass, he obeyed and got to work. 

𓆩⟡𓆪

Jongseob had nearly quit a few weeks later. The work you’d been dumping on him is so much more than what you’d been giving the other new guy. It didn’t take much to figure out that you actually did hate him. All it took was that one comment that he was really regretting let slip past his tongue, although he didn’t see what the fuss about it was. 

He’d tried to smooth things over and tried to talk to you but you were unreceptive to all of his attempts. All you talked about is work and articles and interviews and there was just no opportunity for him to steer the conversation towards anything productive for his quest. You would just consistently shut him down and tell him to get to work.

He’s said this much to Soul, who was sitting on his bed and listening politely while Jongseob paced his room. 

“You should ask her about what she’s interested in,” Soul suggested after Jongseob’s rant. “Everyone likes talking about what they’re passionate about.”

Jongseob threw his hands up in frustration. “I’ve tried! She doesn’t talk about anything but the damn club.”

“That’s because she’s passionate about the club,” Soul pointed out as he pulled his knees to his chest. “Ask about why she likes writing. People like it when people are interested in them.”

Jongseob stopped pacing and turned to stare at his best friend. “Oh. That’s… kind of obvious.”

“Maybe I should’ve taken the bet,” Soul joked with a giggle. “I’m better with people than you.”

Jongseob bristled at that, feeling strangely possessive. “No, this is my task. I need that bass.” It’s his challenge and he’d be damned to let anyone take it from him. You’re the puzzle he’d set out to solve, the enigma that tickled his brain, an itch he needed to scratch. He wanted to figure you out. 

“If you say so.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

Soul might be some sort of genius, Jongseob had decided after the next meeting. Or he was just right about being better at people.

When Jongseob had sat with you in the office, alone with you for once since he needed to put in a little overtime to get one of his articles done, he’d taken his chance, and he came out of it alive to his surprise.

He’d eased into it, started off with asking how you got to joining the club and some follow ups after that, all of which only got him curt responses and a jibe at him to focus on his work.

But he’d ignored you and barrelled on, too dialled in now to back down. Then he’d asked you the question that got him through your first wall, one of many others to come.

“Why do you like writing?"

He could still picture it in his head as he lay in bed that night; the way that your hands had faltered and your face had softened in a way he’d never seen before.

You’d looked up at him from your screen, a little shocked but thoughtful as you crafted your answer in the silence that followed. He could still remember the cadence of your voice, soft like the setting sunlight that washed into the room.

“It’s making something out of nothing that leaves an impression on people,” you had answered and he could swear he saw your eyes practically sparkle. “You can make them feel anything. Angry, happy, sad, mournful. Isn’t that powerful?”

Your smile hadn’t been on your lips. It had been in your eyes.

He swore it felt like his limbs had ceded all his power to the way you’d gazed at him for the next few seconds. He couldn’t read the emotion in your eyes but when you looked back at your laptop, that perpetual furrow in your brows was nowhere to be seen.

𓆩⟡𓆪

He broke through another one of your walls when he walked into the office after a late class to pick up something he’d forgotten to take with him the day before, only to be stopped short when he saw you crying quietly at your desk.

He froze at the door, his grip on his phone nearly slipping. You were sitting in your chair facing away from the door with your face buried in your palms and your body trembling with quiet sobs. Your sniffles echoed through the quiet room, restrained like you didn’t want to allow yourself to cry even when you were alone.  

He didn’t realize he was moving until he was standing right behind you and brushing your shoulder with his hand. You jumped with a gasp, your head whipping around at him. 

He still remembers the way your eyes were wide and rimmed red, glassy under the single lamp lit at your desk. There were tear stains on your flushed cheeks and your lips were trembling with contained sobs.

The thought slapped him without announcement: you look pretty. But this looked wrong. Like weakness wasn’t meant to be worn in your eyes.

“Jongseob,” your voice brought him out of his internal panic, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to from you. You quickly turned away, frantically wiping at your eyes.

“S-Sorry!” He stumbled as he took a step back. “I just came to pick up something.”

“Well, take it and go then. It’s late, you shouldn’t be here.” Your voice is back to the steel that he’s used to from you, the change from mere seconds ago so seamless that he started to question if you were even crying in the first place. You didn’t meet his eyes. You stared down your desk with your hair curtaining your face, like a defense to physically shut him out too.

But he didn’t budge. “Are you okay?”

He expected you to yell at him again. To tell him it was none of his business, or to actually shove him away. But you remained quiet.

Until your shoulders started to tremble again and your breaths started to sound stuttered. Then, in a voice so quiet, so weak that it made you seem so small, you told him, “No.”

He didn’t think twice before he sat himself down on the floor beside your chair. But he stayed silent. He let you cry and kept you company until you finally opened up to him for the first time.

“It’s not just a club to me,” you said through quiet sniffles. His words came echoing back to him and he couldn’t hold back his cringe. He looked up at you and saw you still staring at your desk with a distant gaze. He kept quiet and gave you the space to continue. It took a few more moments for you to. “I’ve wanted to be a writer for my entire life. My dad thinks it’s a waste of time. That my career is a waste of time. That my choices are misguided.

“I was just on the phone with him. I mean, I’ve heard everything he said a million times already but—“ You broke off, your eyes watering with a fresh wave of tears. “But it still hurts to know I’m somehow worth less to him than my siblings because I don’t want to follow in his path.”

He understood it then. Kind of. Why you ran the club like the military. You had something to prove to not only your family but to yourself.

Jongseob pulled himself up to his feet and slid the box of tissues on your desk closer to you. “He’s wrong,” he stated. Your eyes lifted back on him, searching, and he felt his throat close in. He still pushed the words out. “Your passion doesn’t make you anything less than your family just because it’s different. It’s what makes you you.”

There was a small uptick of your lips and it made him feel like he should do a backflip. Your smile, something he’s never seen on you, is pretty too, even if it’s a tiny thing.

“I know that,” you said, and he blushed in fear that he just sounded corny. “But thank you.”

That felt like all the validation he needed that he was doing something right. That he really was beginning to work you open, bit by bit, and piece you together, bit by bit.

You didn’t stick around after that. You gathered your things quietly and left after wishing him a rare goodnight, leaving him standing in the room feeling a little off-kilter.

This side of you, vulnerable and small, was so different from what he was used to. Different from anything anyone has ever seen, he was pretty sure. 

And he couldn’t help but feel like he’d already won. 

𓆩⟡𓆪

The next few meetings were different. You were different. You were still as icy and stern as before, but when it came to him, you were different. Less sharp around the edges. You’d started looking to him for opinions, something that took everyone else by surprise. And you’d started asking him to take on tasks instead of just dropping them on him, though he still knew he can’t say no. He appreciated the change in tone regardless. And he didn’t let this development go to waste.

He’d started frequently offering to stay behind with you to finish final drafts when things got heavier for you. He told himself it was to further his little bet but he moreso just wanted to figure out how much more he could unravel you.

It became a routine after the first few times. A routine with coffee and sometimes takeout if you stayed back long enough. And conversations became more casual and less business.

“Lambda Chi Alpha,” you repeated over the lip of your coffee, narrowing your eyes at him. You took a slow sip, leaving him squirming a little under your calculating gaze. “You’re friends with Keeho and Theo?”

“Unfortunately,” he answered lightly, stirring the cup in his hand. “I’d say more roommates. I kind of just have to put up with them.”

You raised a brow at him. “So you’re not like them is what you’re saying?”

“Depends on what you define as ‘like them’.”

“Loud, arrogant, full-of-themself, disrespectful if you don’t immediately bend to their whims?”

He took a deep breath at your apt deduction. “Yup,” he said through a sharp exhale. “I’m saying that I’m precisely not like them.”

Then you laughed softly, a sound that echoes in his mind to this day. 

“I can tell,” you said with a smile that he became more familiar with, more fond of.

It had made his heart stutter a bit. Nerves, he told himself, because he needed to act soon. He could hear Theo’s voice in his head reminding him that the end of the month is near and there wasn’t a date in sight.

It was the perfect moment to make that step. The articles had been submitted, there were no near deadlines looming over you, midterms were still some time away, and the atmosphere of the late afternoon was cozy.

He took a breath. It was now or never. “Hey—“

“Can I ask—“ You paused when you realized you'd just talked over him. “Sorry, go ahead.”

He shook his head quickly. “No, it’s alright,” he said with a smile, leaning forward on his chair. He had moved to the desk next to you, so the distance between you both was only a few feet. “I can wait for you,” he adds, a little flirtatious, and it had you flushing at the cheeks. 

This had been another one of his developments; you flustered easily. Something he’d been using to his advantage more recently. And you didn’t seem to mind, almost played into them in fact.

You cleared your throat, sitting up straight. “Alright,” you started, fidgeting with your cup. “I’ve never done this before but… I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime.” You were staring at your cup as you said it with a nervous candour, another thing he wasn’t used to seeing you with. “Like on a date.”

Jongseob could actually do a back flip right then with the energy that shot through him. When you finally looked up and met his grin with one of your own, he got that familiar feeling again— like he’d just won.

𓆩⟡𓆪

One date turned to two, then to three, then to five. The fifth one was the one where he found himself in front of your dorm room, dropping you off safely to wrap up your arcade date from where he learned you were just as competitive as he was and even more scary if there were prizes to be won.

You were easy to be with, he found. So easy when you weren’t hiding away behind walls. You were insightful, witty, smart, funny in an unexpected way, and you were into the same games as he was, funnily enough. 

You clicked. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of things together. And he watched you change for the better. Watched you smile more now that you finally had someone’s shoulder to lean on, less burdened on your own. 

He learned more about your upbringing, about your family, about why your ambition was both your armour and your weapon.

Every little thing he found out about you helped the puzzle of you become clearer and clearer by the day. More than ever, he didn’t want to stop figuring you out.

“You didn’t have to come all the way up,” you told him as you fumbled with your keys to unlock the door.

He leaned against the wall beside your door, watching the smile you were struggling to smother on your lips. “Just being a gentleman.” 

Truthfully, he didn’t really want the date to end just yet so he’d offered to walk you up rather than leave you off at the entrance of your building like he’d done the other times.

It got a laugh out of you as you finally unlocked the door. But you didn’t go inside just yet, you hovered by him instead. “Jongseob,” you said, looking up at him. “Do you want to come inside?”

His breath caught in his throat and he was pretty sure his heart had just combusted in his chest. “Inside?” He asked, just to make sure he hadn’t heard you wrong.

You smiled, a shy, pretty thing. “Yeah. If you want to.”

He swallowed back the tangle of nerves and excitement that climbs up his throat. “Yeah,” he said without much thought. Because he wanted to.

When you kissed him for the first time, the farthest thing on his mind was the bet. All he thought of was the plush of your lips against his and the sweetness of your scent muddling his brain of everything but you. 

And when you brought him to your bed, he forgot about the bet all together, all his thoughts on the heat of your skin beneath his palms and the sweet sounds of your voice around his name.

It was when he was laying on his back trying to piece himself together after and you had told him you’d never been with anyone else that the guilt had sunk its claws into his ribs. And it didn’t let go for the following months to come.

𓆩⟡𓆪

“Dude!” Keeho yelled, running up from behind, slamming his hands down on Jongseob’s shoulder and stopping him on his way to the club office. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing but well-fucking-done.”

Theo appeared beside Jongseob and slapped a hand to his back that had him nearly knocking into Keeho. “Turns out the bitch does have a heart,” Theo mused, and Jongseob almost recoiled with the acid that burned at the back of his throat after hearing that.

“Don’t call her that,” he snapped.

Theo’s brows raised as he pulled his hand back to himself. “Woah. Didn’t realize it was that serious.”

“It’s not,” Jongseob said quickly, pushing Keeho’s hands off of him. “But she’s really not all that you make her out to be. She’s just got a lot of shit to deal with, alright?”

“And that gives her the right to treat everyone around her like shit?” Keeho asked, crossing his arms.

That rubbed the wrong nerve and Jongseob couldn’t hold himself back. “Oh, and you’re so much better?” Even after the words left his mouth, he still didn’t regret it.

Keeho’s expression soured and he took a step forward. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jongseob was taller but he was also much skinnier so he should feel threatened, but he couldn’t find himself caring enough to. “I just mean you haven’t exactly given her the easiest of times either.”

Theo got in between them before anything could start. He fixed Jongseob with a reprimanding look. “Watch it,” he said, nearly scowling. “Are you saying you actually like her?”

Honestly, it wasn’t something he could answer. He didn’t know if the feelings he had towards you were real or if this whole bet thing had illusioned them up for the success of his own greed. But all he knew was that he came to respect you as a person, whether it was romantic or not.

“Does it matter?” Is what Jongseob settled for as an answer. “The bet’s still on.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

Being with you was the easiest thing Jongseob had ever done. It was also the thing that burrowed a stone deep in his ribs, one that ached and throbbed with guilt every time he was with you. 

The late days at the office were all that he looked forward to three times a week besides your dates. The ones where you spent half the time deep diving into obscure topics just to argue with each other about it, all in the name of friendly competition. It was the most fun that he found himself having in his otherwise mundane life. It was the thing that he thought back on most of his day as he completed his chores.

Soul had caught Jongseob smiling to himself in the laundry room as he hummed a tune of an album you’d shown him and folded his laundry. 

“Have you told her about the bet yet?”

Jongseob nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. He whipped around to glare at Soul. “Jesus, Shota! A warning, please!”

Soul seemed unbothered. “Have you told her about the bet yet?”

The stone in his ribs started to feel heavy and jagged. “No, why would I?” He asked. He felt the sharp sting in his chest, the same feeling he got whenever the topic was brought up.

Soul yanked his Pikachu head-band off his head and chucked it at Jongseob’s.

Jongseob barely dodged it before he turned to glare again at Soul. “Okay, what the fuck.”

“You’re an idiot,” is all Soul said as he picked up his handband from the floor and stomped away. 

Jongseob stared at Soul’s retreating figure, befuddled.

“What he means to say is that this is a bad idea.”

Jongseob jumped again and whipped around to see Jiung enter the laundry room through the other door with his bin of clothing.

“I need to put a bell on you people,” Jongseob grumbled to himself as he returned to folding his laundry, added with an aggressive flare this time. “Also, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jiung leaned against the washing machine with his arms crossed and a frown on his face, one almost like he was scolding. “I think you do. You like this girl.”

Jongseob’s movements faltered for a short moment before he started gathering his clothes in his basket, figuring he would just fold them up in his room. “I don’t.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes!” He snapped, then flinched back, taken aback by his own volume.

“…Right.”

Jongseob didn’t even have to look at Jiung to know that he’d lost the conversation, so he tucked tail and left.

𓆩⟡𓆪

The panic built up inside of him for the next month. It had been over two months that you’ve been dating and a month since you’d become exclusive. There were only three weeks left until he won the bet. But he didn’t feel any close to winning, because he had come to the terrible realization that he was in love with you. But it wasn’t a reality he could accept knowing what he knew; how this whole thing had started. He didn’t even care about winning the bet anymore. He just wanted to know how he could keep you.

He could come clean. But that would mean losing you. He could hide it all. But that would mean he’d lose himself.

Soul and Jiung’s disappointed faces flashed behind his eyes as he dropped his head to his desk. He sat there, stewing in the despair of his own curation, until he felt a hand in his hair, gentle and grounding.

He looked up to be met with your concerned face peering down at him. “You okay?”

He leaned into your touch, sighing at the way your nails scratch against his scalp. “M’okay,” he mumbled, feeling all his panic drain away with just a simple touch from you. “Just stressed about finals, that’s all.”

“Aw,” you cooed softly, dragging your nails down to the back of his head, a motion that had him shuddering. “Wanna come to my place and study?”

He opened his eyes and gave you a cheeky smile. “Study?” He asked, swivelling his chair to face you. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in to stand between his legs. “Isn’t that what you said last time?”

You rolled your eyes as your hands fell to his shoulders, but you were smiling. “You’re the one who started that. You were the distracting one, not me.”

He laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to your stomach, the closest part of you he could reach with his lips. It always went like this; he would agonize over his predicament whenever he was left to his thoughts but would forget all about it the second you were nearby.

“I heard about the party your frat’s hosting the weekend after next,” you said, playing with the string of his hoodie. “How come you haven’t invited me yet?”

The truth was he didn’t want you interacting with any of his friends. It would make his situation too real. It felt comfortably hypothetical currently.

“I didn’t think it was your scene,” he answered instead, rubbing circles on your hips with his thumbs, firm against your shirt.

“It’s not,” you agreed. “But you’re going to be there. And it’s the last party before the year ends so… I dunno.” You were being shy again, averting your eyes and chewing on your lip, and he was overwhelmed with fondness. “I kind of wanna be there with you.”

He couldn’t help the grin pulling at his lips. “You wanna be there for me?” He teased, yanking you right back in when you groan and try to pull away. “In that case, I want you there.” He could never deny you, it felt physically impossible to.

You visibly relaxed at that, your shoulders slumping. “Oh, good,” you said with a small smile. “For a second I was worried you were, like, embarrassed by me or something.”

His smile fell immediately. “Embarrassed?” He asked in disbelief. “Why would I be embarrassed by you?”

You shrugged, averting your eyes again as you tie and untie the strings of his hoodie. “You’ve never introduced me to your friends. And I’m not an airhead, I know what people think of me.”

He tensed at your admission, that festering guilt rooting deeper and slithering down to his gut. He distracted himself by pulling you in closer, bringing you down to straddle his lap.

“They just don’t know you like I do,” he stated, snaking his arms around your waist. Then he smiled, light and playful, juxtaposed to how he was feeling on the inside. “But I kind of like being the only one to have this side of you.”

He celebrated internally when that brought the smile back onto your lips. “Corny,” you said through your tinkling laugh. “Possessive. An idiot is what you are.”

“The luckiest one,” he said, and then he kisses you to numb the way his insides twist at the lie. He was the unluckiest lucky person to exist. 

Luck had brought him to you but luck becomes the thing that takes you away just the same.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Bringing you to that party was the most foolish thing he could have done, he realizes now.

⸝⸝

Introducing you to Jiung was the right way to start at least, he’d thought as he watched the two of you chat in the kitchen, away from the crowd. When Soul got thrown into the mix, you were immediately endeared by him, giggling at his strange antics. It was the first time he’s seen you so at ease around others, so open to expressing around them. You had told him earlier that it was his presence with you that helped you stay at ease.

A hand to his shoulder snapped his eyes away from the scene and to Intak. 

“Dude,” Intak said, already slurring. “Your girl looks hot. Better treat her real nice with the money you’re get—“

Jongseob didn’t let him finish before he got his hand slammed over his big mouth and pushed him out of the kitchen. 

“Are you insane?!” Jongseob whisper-yelled at Intak’s frightened eyes. He pulls his hand back from Intak’s. “Don’t talk about that when she’s around, you idiot—“

“Don’t talk about what?”

Jongseob whipped around so fast he nearly threw himself off balance and knocked himself into Intak.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, moving to you and wrapping his arm around your waist. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was quickly beginning to realize what a mistake it was to bring you here. “Let’s go out for some fresh air, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed easily, then looked at Intak who smiled charmingly at you and even gave you a little bow. You didn’t seem all that impressed though. “Hwang Intak, right?”

Intak’s eyes lit up instantly. “You know me?”

“Unfortunately.”

Jongseob coughed to smother his laugh when Intak’s face fell just as quick. “Come on, don’t start a fight with my roommates,” he said playfully to you as he started to pull you away. 

You moved along with him as he started steering you towards the top floor for the balcony. “I could take him.”

“Sure you can,” he said fondly as he weaved through the crowds in the halls.

He felt lucky that it was so crowded. Maybe enough so that you wouldn’t run into the two devils that had been sitting comfortably on his shoulder the past few months.

But it’s already been established that he was the unluckiest lucky guy.

Because as soon as he rounded the corner to the stairs, Keeho and Theo were on their way down, attached at the hip like they always were. 

“Look who it is!” Keeho said with a wide grin as he stopped a few steps above you. 

Theo had a subtle smirk on his lips, one that Jongseob knew meant trouble. He felt suddenly like they’ve just been thrown into the wolves’ den. 

“We were just going to go to the balcony,” Jongseob said tightly. “For some air.”

“For some air,” Theo repeated, before turning to you. 

You looked like this is the last place you’d want to be. But you mustered up a pleasant smile, like you’re trying to keep the peace for Jongseob’s sake.

“Nice to see you guys,” you said, albeit stiffly. Everyone knew it was bullshit but Jongseob still appreciated the gesture. 

Theo scoffed. “It still throws me off how you’re so pleasant all of a sudden.”

Jongseob squeezed your hand as a silent plea to back down, scared that these two might just be the spark you need to revert back to your icy ways.

But you didn’t bite the bait; you kept your control as you tilted your head at Theo and furrowed your brows in constructed confusion. 

“Oh? I thought that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Your voice sounded steady though the implication of your words are loud. “I mean, that’s what I always hear from you two. That I’ve got a stick up my ass and whatnot. I thought I was doing everyone a favour by diverting to my pleasant ways but it looks like you two can’t be satisfied, can you?” You clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “I guess you always need something to be miserable about.”

Keeho’s grin was faint now but it was still there with a barely restrained scowl. “I see you’ve still got a bite. But I wouldn’t be so arrogant about this if I were you.”

Theo took the last couple steps down to level with you and Jongseob. “You don’t know it yet but,” he paused to lean forward, his smirk pulling up to a deceptively warm smile. “You should really be thanking us for your new look for that.”

Jongseob’s heart was in his throat. He saw the way your face contorted with real confusion, and the way you were about to ask about it but Jongseob was quick to push past Theo and Keeho to climb the stairs. 

“Come on, just ignore them,” he told you as he pulled you along. 

The fresh air did little to soothe the heat prickling at his skin. But your arms snaking around from behind him while you press yourself against his back, did.

“Are you okay?” Came from your gentle voice, breath brushing against his ear as you pressed your chin to his shoulder.

He took a deep breath to ease down his rattling heart. “Better now,” he said as he turned in your arms and wrapped his arms around your neck.

You smiled up at him as he brushed back the hair bristling over your forehead with the wind. “I like your friends. Shota and Jiung, I mean,” you added quickly with a scrunch of your nose. “Not the others.”

He snorted, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. The moon is full and the stars are bright. He should have felt welcomed by them, they should have made this moment feel nicer. But he just felt mocked by them. Like they were saying that a moment this peaceful, with the girl he wanted in his arms, could never be his. It wasn’t really his, even if he was living it right now. It would never be his until he bares his truth to them.

“Jongseob,” you whispered, and he tilted his head back down. 

That unreadable look in your eyes, the one that’s been more frequent the past few weeks, was back. 

And suddenly he felt too raw, too exposed by the light of the moon and the stars.

“Yes?” He asked, feeling his heart slowly climb its way back up his throat.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He felt every fiber of his being go rigid. He couldn’t swallow his heart back down this time. “What do you mean?” His voice sounded distant from himself, like it was coming out of someone else.

You started to pull away but he kept his arms tight enough that you couldn’t put too much distance. Distance that he fears might be permanent if he lets it manifest.

The pinch between your brows was back as you chose your words. “You’ve been a little… distant these past few weeks. Hidden, more like. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

His breaths were starting to become harder to regulate. Of course you’d noticed something was up. You were one of the smartest people he knew. How could he think he could hide anything from you?

“Is it something I said?” You asked when he didn’t respond, your eyes wide and searching as they flickered between his. “Or something I did?”

“No,” he said quickly, his hands sliding down to catch your arms. “No, no you didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?”

This was his chance to come clean. He wanted to, he desperately wanted to. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out, fear trapping the words in his throat. The fear of losing you was greater than his need to come clean.

You were starting to look increasingly defeated as you waited, as you pleaded him with your eyes.

“Please,” you breathed after another moment of silence. “Please don’t tell me I fell in love with the wrong person.”

The world felt like it tilted on his axis as that word that slipped from your lips trapped itself in his brain and rattled around. His breaths ceased and his hands lost their grip on your arms.

“Love?” He whispered, the word tumbling out of his lips without his permission. 

You dropped your gaze to his chest and it was like he could almost see the way your walls started to climb back into place. “I love you, Jongseob,” you said, clear as the night sky above. “I’m sorry if that’s not what you want. And I’m sorry if it’s too soon. But I needed to say it. I’ve wanted to say it for a couple weeks now.” You stepped out of his space and he was too weak to stop you this time, his strength zapped out of his body along with every other feeling. 

“I love you,” you repeated it, like a final blow to his heart.

He was numb as he turned around and walked back inside. He could hear you calling his name behind him but he didn’t stop. He pushed his way through the crowd, frantic as he searched the rooms.

When he saw Theo, he zeroed right in on him. He grabbed him by the arm, ignoring his protests as he yanked him out to the front porch. 

“Jongseob, what the hell is up with you?!” Theo cried as he was shoved up against the wall, Jongseob’s fists curled tight into his shirt collars. 

“The bet,” Jongseob seethed. He felt almost manic, wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like it too if Theo’s vaguely terrified expression was anything to go by. “I want out. Fuck you and your stupid money, I want none of it.”

He was angry. And he was taking it out on Theo. But that didn’t make sense because he was angry at himself more than anything but there was too much going on in his brain for things to make any sense.

Theo tried to shove him back but Jongseob pushed him back hard into the bricks, overbearing from the adrenaline. “Listen to me!” He yelled. Theo’s eyes widened as they flicker between him and over his shoulder. Jongseob could hear the commotion of people gathering behind him but he didn’t care whose eyes were there. “You don’t speak a fucking word about the bet, you hear me?” He whispered the words right into Theo’s face, seeped in uncontained rage. “None of it. If she finds out at all, hears any fucking peep of it, you’re the one I’m coming for first. You get me?” He pushed Theo’s harder against the wall, making him wince in pain. His fists were knuckle white in Theo’s shirt and shaking from the force. He was shaking everywhere. “Say one word and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Theo could only stare at him, fear unbridled in his eyes. 

“Jongseob.”

The name didn’t come from Theo’s lips. It came from a voice that has him going cold all over.

His hand dropped like deadweight at his sides and he turned like someone else was pulling the strings attached to his body.

The look on your face was like the one he saw on you when he first met you. Cold. Distant. Walled.

“Was I a bet, Jongseob?” You asked him. Your voice was stable. It was calculated. Reserved. Just like before.

All he could do was stare and watch the flashes of the moments he had with you flicker behind his eyelids.

“Tell me,” you started again, voice rising with each second that passed by. “Was I a bet? Was I a fucking bet?”

His throat felt dry as he spoke. “Yes.”

That pit of guilt in his ribs lifted as the admission left his lips. In its place sat grief, because he knew that this was the end of it.

But that still didn’t stop him from trying. 

He tried to say your name, to reach for you but you were already gone. His feet felt weighted to the ground as he watched your figure push through the crowd of people he didn’t realize had formed around the scene.

He felt a hand shove at his back, pulling him out of whatever trance he was in. His head whipped back to see Theo reaching out to shove him again. “Go after her,” he urged, shoving him again. “Go!”

That snapped Jongseob into action. He turned and sprinted after you, shoving past the wall of people and yelling your name.

He could see your figure in the distance. You didn’t turn his way, you just kept walking. Eventually he caught you by the arm and pulled you back to him. 

“Wait—“

“I don’t want to hear it!” You yelled immediately, throwing his arm off of you. There were tears streaming down your face, tracking eyeliner down your cheeks. Your face was twisted in agony and it hit him like a spear to the chest the realization that it was because of him.

“Just— please!” He caught both of your arms this time. He was still shaking and his eyes were blurry and his head was spinning but the one thing he knew was that he couldn’t let you go. “Let me explain!”

“We’re done,” you seethed, pulling yourself back but the grip he had on your arms was iron. “Let me go.”

“I love you!” He yelled, and you finally stopped struggling. He pulled you towards him, holding you firmly in his space. “I love you, I really do, you have to believe that.” He knew tears were streaming down his face and this was far from the ideal state that he wanted to be telling you that in. But he was done hiding. “I love you.”

You were watching every word fall from his lips, your expression falling neutral even despite the tears still welling your eyes. “You love me?” You asked, quiet enough that your voice is nearly drowned out by the rustling trees above you. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me.”

A sob wracked through his body, his fingers digging desperately into your skin. But you didn’t flinch or pull away, content to watch him drown in his miseries. “I was scared,” he whispered through a wet breath. “I was so scared. I knew I would lose you. But I swear, it just started off as a bet, but-but then I got to know you and I got to see you— the real you— and it’s something I never could have imagined. I fell for you. So hard.” 

He was sobbing through his words and he wasn’t even sure if you could understand him but he couldn’t contain any of it. He let it all out, desperate that you’d see him through all of it. 

“I love you,” he said, trembling from head to toe, breaths tumbling out in stutters, chest heaving with sobs. It was ugly, but it was honest. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”

You were quiet for a long moment, just watching, picture-still like a pretty statue.

“Please,” he tried again, stepping closer and pressing his forehead down to yours.

“Jongseob,” you said, and your voice was so gentle that it lit a flicker of hope in his chest, fragile and dangerous.

Your hand reached up to brush the tears on his cheek. The touch felt like a reprieve; he melted into it, turned into it, and sought out the warmth of your palm against his nose and lips, cold from the chilly air. Your hand slid down, slow as your thumb carved out the slope of his nose then the bow of his lips. He breathed in your scent, sweet and familiar, and it fed the flicker in his chest. 

“I can’t stay,” you said, and just like that, that flicked of hope snuffed out into nothing. “Not when I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”

Another sob wracked through his body as your hand fell away. “It was real,” he said, trying to catch your hand again but you pulled it away before he could. You stepped back until all that was left was your arm still clutched in his hand like a lifeline. “It was all real. I swear it on my life, it was real.”

Your face crumbled as you took his wrist in your free hand. “Not to me,” you said, and all the strength in his body left again. You pushed his hand off of you and he let it fall without a fight. “Not anymore.”

He was helpless to watch you fade away into the night. He wasn’t sure when he'd fallen to his knees but the ground was cold beneath him. It seeped up his leg and traversed through all his limbs, keeping him trapped there as it wrapped like a cage around his heart, squeezing down until he couldn't feel anymore.

𓆩⟡𓆪

It’s been four months exactly now since that fateful night in the LCA living room. Now he sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the first article he wrote for you and you’d refused to read, trembling in his hands.

It’s been a week now that you’ve walked out of his life. Ten days since the last time he got to sit with you in that office. Seven days since he’s last kissed you. Seven days since he last heard his name from your lips.

You’ve become a ghost. His texts lay unanswered. His phone calls all lead to a wall. And when he thinks he catches a glimpse of you around campus, you’re gone in the blink of an eye like an apparition made to keep his heart in throes.

He knows where to find you three times a week. But the thought of stepping anywhere near that room sends his stomach into twists.

The fact that he’s pretty sure he flunked his last few finals wasn’t even enough to take his mind off you. Nothing seems to matter now that he’s lost what could’ve been something great, something real.

And all he has to show for it now is this article and the memory of you.

“Burn it.”

His head lifts to see Jiung at the doorway, Soul hovering behind him. The looks on their faces just make him feel worse, caged.

Jongseob’s hands curl tighter into the papers. “Why?” His voice is hollow, just like the rest of him.

Jiung crosses the room in a few strides, picks up the trash bin by Jongseob’s desk and fishes out a lighter from his pockets. He places the bin on the floor in front of where Jongseob sits and drops the lighter on his lap.

Jongseob stares down at it blankly.

“You need to forget about her,” Jiung says gently, taking a seat beside him. “She’s not coming back.”

The words sting, no matter how true. But burning it would make everything feel too real and too final.

Soul sits on his other side, pressing close and dropping his head on his shoulder. The warmth is welcome after days of cold isolation. “It will be good for you,” he says quietly.

“I don’t want to.”

Jiung sighs and runs a palm down his back, a motion meant to soothe but just felt overwhelming. “If you don’t, you’ll just keep hurting.”

“Well maybe I deserve it,” Jongseob says, defeated. He can’t imagine how he thought he would come out of this victorious. “Why did I do something so stupid?”

“It wasn’t all your fault,” Jiung reasons. “Keeho and Theo pushed you.”

“But it was still my choice,” he snaps, then flinches back. “Sorry.”

Soul places a hand around Jongseob’s wrist and squeezes. “All you can do is move on now.”

Move on. Easier said than done.

“I don’t know how.”

Jiung takes the lighter abandoned on Jongseob’s lap and places it in his hand. “Start with this.”

His fingers wrap weakly around the lighter; it feels like a weight in his palm. This is starting to feel almost like a funeral, he thinks morosely. Like a last send off.

But he knows Jiung and Soul are right. Holding onto this would mean holding onto you. And you had long let go of him.

He flicks on the lighter and brings it to the corners of the pages, watching as the flames lick up the ivory and graphite. He lets it spread up and up, dropping it into the bin when he feels the heat first touch his fingertips.

Jongseob sits there, recalling the story of you and him as he watches the last remnant of you wither away to ashes.

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1 reblog/comment = 1 virtual kiss <3

Best Friend!Keeho who grips your waist and forces you down onto his lap properly when you start to pull back because you're not as slick as you think you're being "Where do you think you're going?"

Best Friend!Keeho who kisses you so sloppy and messy and grinds you down right over where he's been hard since he first saw you and it's still so hot and your panting and sweating but neither of you care

Best Friend!Keeho who lays you down and rubs his cock all over where you're soaking through your thin tiny shorts and down to press into your hole and nudge them as far in as he can go

Best Friend!Keeho who reaches to grip your jaw and part your lips so that you can suck on his thumb like the dirty slut you are

Best Friend!Keeho who slaps his cock down onto your pussy when he has you bare just because he wants to see you squirm when the head of his cock slaps against your clit

Best Friend!Keeho who shoves your tank top up and over your tits so that he can watch the way they bounce when he fucks into you

Best Friend!Keeho who says "Fuck, didn't know you were this flexible" after lifting one of your thighs and pressing it flesh against your chest as he leans over your body, his necklace dangling in your face

Best Friend!Keeho who reaches down to rub your clit when he feels you clenching around him

Best Friend!Keeho Who keeps driving into your creamed pussy even after your orgasm as he begs you to keep taking him like a good girl

Best Friend!Keeho who knows you're already overstimulated and leans down to kiss you and whispers against your lips "Hold still, I'm almost done"

Best Friend!Keeho who drives to the hilt and just stays buried deep in your sopping and ruined cunt as you squeeze every last bit of cum from him, his sweat dripping down onto you

Best Friend!Keeho who watches his cum drip from your hole and onto the couch with the cockiest smirk you've ever seen on him

Best Friend!Keeho who argues with you the rest of the night over who's responsible for you two fucking (and suggests you do it again)

Like I said these are just THOUGHTS I am simply a thought daughter

—

You haven't said a word to each other since climbing into the car, but the silence is louder than any conversation. The undercurrent of tension made your breath shallow and your heart bang against your ribs, begging to be freed like it’s in a prison cell.

Taeyang's words earlier tonight weren't idle promises — they were declarations, and you understood the weight behind them.

At the club, you found yourself tethered to his side like a willing satellite in his orbit. He paid for your drinks with the casual authority of someone accustomed to claiming what he wanted, his arm a permanent fixture around your waist. His gaze was a weapon, mean mugging anyone who even tried to look your way — friends included.

And it was the way he transformed when even Keeho or Jiung offered you a compliment that truly undid you. The subtle shift in his body, the tightening of his grip, and how he'd pull your back flush against him with a hand splayed across your stomach.

Each possessive gesture sent a current of electricity through you, igniting something primal in your core. You craved it, craved him, and the exhilarating feeling of being claimed so completely.

You shift in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs while his thumb stills for a fraction of a second before pressing harder, kneading into your muscle.

A faint, smug smile flickers at the corner of his mouth, barely visible in the dim dashboard glow.

He knows exactly what he's doing.

The car slows at a red light, and he turns to look at you. His stare travels slowly, from your eyes down to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck where your pulse flutters, the swell of your breasts in that tight top you'd chosen.

"You okay?" He asks, his voice low.

You nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Just... tired."

He hums a noncommittal sound, and his hand slides an inch higher. The light turns green. He accelerates, but his eyes stay on the road now, though his fingers resume their slow, torturous exploration.

Up, then down. Up…. then down… Each pass creeping a little higher, until his fingertips brush the warm, damp fabric of your panties beneath your skirt.

Your breath hitches and god, you can't help it. He doesn't look at you, but you catch his smirk deepening.

The car turns onto a quieter street, lined with darkened storefronts and the occasional flickering neon sign. Fewer cars and lights. The world narrows to the space inside this vehicle and the weight of his hand on your thigh. Heat pooled low in your belly as his fingers press more firmly against the soaked cotton.

You squeeze your thighs together instinctively, trapping his hand there. He chuckles under his breath, a low, dark sound.

"Spread your legs.” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, but the command is unmistakable.

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. Your knees fall apart, your skirt riding up higher, baring your thighs to the warm air and to his hungry gaze. He glances down, then back at the road, and you watch his jaw tighten.

"Good girl."

The praise sends a shiver through you. His fingers hook into the side of your panties, pulling them aside, and then there's nothing between his touch and your slick, aching cunt.

He drags two fingers through your folds, slowly, gathering your wetness, and you bite your lip so hard you practically taste copper.

"So fucking wet," He mumbled, almost to himself. "Been like this all night?"

You can't answer. You can barely breathe. His fingers circle your clit in lazy strokes teasingly, never quite pressing hard enough to satisfy, and your hips twitch involuntarily, chasing his touch.

"Answer me."

"Yes—“ You gasp. "All night."

He hums approvingly before he presses inside you — one finger, then two, sliding in with a slick, obscene sound that fills the quiet car.

Your head falls back against the headrest, your eyes fluttering shut as he curls his fingers, searching and finding that spot that makes your whole body jolt.

"Hm." He hums in satisfaction before starting a rhythm: slow, deep thrusts, his palm grinding against your clit with every push. The car swerves slightly as he takes a corner too fast, and you realize he's leaving the main roads, guiding the car into a maze of back alleys and darkened parking lots.

Your hands grip the edge of the seat, knuckles white. His fingers are relentless, fucking you in that slow, torturous pace and building a pressure that coils tighter and tighter in your belly. You're already close, embarrassingly close, and he knows it.

"No," He says, pulling his fingers out abruptly. You whimper at the loss, and he chuckles, bringing his wet fingers to his lips, licking them clean with an exaggerated slowness. "Not yet."

He pulls the car into a narrow back street between two brick buildings, the headlights illuminating a graffiti-covered wall. He kills the engine as the silence rushes in, thick and deafening.

He turns to you, and there's no amusement now —just raw, naked hunger. He reaches over, grabs the back of your neck, and pulls you into a kiss that steals the air from your lungs.

It's messy from the start. His lips are hot and demanding, tongue pushing past your teeth to taste you and claim you. There was nothing slow to this, instead, it was desperation and years of pent-up tension crashing together.

You moan into his mouth, your hands flying up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The center console digs into your ribs, but you don't care. You can't get enough of him.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to fumble with his seatbelt, then leans over, crowding you back against the passenger window. The cold glass presses against your bare shoulders, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body covering yours.

His mouth finds your neck, sucking hard, biting down on the curve where it meets your shoulder, and you cry out, your nails raking down his back.

"Been waiting for this all night," He growls against your skin, his hand sliding down your stomach, beneath your skin and into your panties again. "Fought every urge to just fuck you in your living room but I decided against it.” He snickered, trailing slow and sloppy kisses along your neck — whispering into your ear.

“I should’ve though. Wanted to keep you all to myself.” He continued. “Every time you talked to Keeho or even Intak, I wanted to break their fucking jaws. You knew that though, didn't you?“

You shake your head, but you're lying, and he knows it. He pinches your clit, hard, and you gasp.

"Don't lie to me.”

His fingers plunge into you again, three this time, stretching you, and you sob against his mouth as he fucks you with a brutal, fast rhythm.

His thumb circles your clit, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, and the pressure in your belly builds again, faster this time, hotter.

"Look at you," He mutters, pulling back just enough to watch your face.

“C-close.” You hold his gaze with yours.

"Go ahead." His voice is a command, low and fierce. "On my fingers, now."

Your back arches off the seat, your inner walls clenching around his fingers as a wave of pleasure crashes through you, leaving you trembling and gasping and crying out his name as he works you through it, slowing down only when you whimper from overstimulation.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, watching the strings of your arousal stretch and break between his knuckles. He brings them to your mouth, and you open without hesitation, sucking them clean and tasting yourself on his skin.

His eyes darken. "God, you're perfect."

He pulls away just long enough to recline his seat as far as it will go, then pats his lap. "Come here."

And you don't hesitate for even a second. You climb over the center console weakly, your skirt still riding up around your hips, before you straddle his thighs. The driver's seat is cramped, his knees bracketing your hips, but you make it work. His hands find your waist, guiding you forward until your chest presses against his, your lips inches apart.

Taeyang kisses you again, deep and slow, his tongue stroking yours in a melody that promises more. His hands slide down to grip your ass, squeezing, spreading your cheeks as he grinds you against the hard length of him through his jeans. You can feel him straining against the denim, thick and aching while you reach down between your bodies to free him.

He helps you for a moment, unbuttoning and unzipping himself as your hands moved quick with desperation before he hisses at your fingers wrappinf around his cock, hot and slick with precum.

You stroke him once, twice, spreading the moisture, and he groans into your mouth, his hips bucking into your fist.

"Need you..” You whisper against his lips.

"Take me, then."

You guide him to your entrance, rubbing the tip through your folds, coating him in your wetness. He's breathing hard, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes half-closed, watching you with a mixture of adoration and raw need.

You sink down slowly.

The stretch is delicious, burning in a fullness that makes your eyes roll back. He fills you completely and perfectly — your bodies practically molded for each other and you pause halfway to adjust, feeling every inch of him inside you.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips so tight you'll bruise. “Feel just as good as I imagined," He breathes, his voice wrecked. "My perfect girl."

You slowly start moving again with a rolling grind that drags his cock against your walls in a way that makes both of you moan.

His lips find yours, and you kiss him through every motion, your tongues tangling and breath mingling — never breaking apart.

The pace builds gradually, your hips finding a pattern that's messy and everything you’ve ever needed.

The car rocks with your movements, the leather seat creaking beneath you. His hands slide up your back, gripping your shoulder blades, pulling you closer. Your knees ache against the seat, but you don't care. You need this. You just needed him.

"Harder—“ You beg against his lips, your voice cracking. "Please—."

He obliges, slamming you down onto him, your thighs burning as you ride him with abandon. His hands are on your ass again, guiding your pace, meeting your bounces with upward bucks of his hips.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, obscene and wet, accompanied by your choked moans and his guttural groans.

"Look at me.” He grunts, and you do, your eyes locking with his. "I want you to remember who makes you feel this good.“

"You," You gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. "Fuck—Only you."

He kisses you harder, swallowing your cries as your second orgasm builds, coiling in your gut like a spring wound too tight. He can feel it—your walls fluttering around him, your stamina growing sloppy.

"Come with me," He pants, his lips brushing yours with every word. "Right now."

You nod — your eyes closed shut before you shatter together, a shared implosion of heat and noise and blinding pleasure.

You cry out into his mouth as your release crashes over you, waves of ecstasy wringing every last drop of sensation from your body.

He follows a heartbeat later, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, his groan swallowed by your kiss.

You collapse against him, your forehead resting on his shoulder, your bodies still joined, slick with sweat and cum. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

"Wanna go home?" He whispers, echoing his earlier words, but now his tone is softer, laced with something deeper than lust.

You laugh breathlessly, nuzzling into his neck. "Only if you promise a couple more rounds."

He snickers against your skin. “I don’t know if you can handle that.” He says softly.

And the car settles into silence, the city humming beyond the alley walls, the windows fogged, the night clearly far from over.

💌 mika’s message! okay so basically this was rushed ok.. ESPECIALLY THE END. i’m going out soon and wanted to finish this sorry. i hope u fw it tho hes just yeah. guys please be kind to me. ANYWAYS ALSO KENNY AND ENI HAAIIII my theo baddies this is for u. FOR YOUUUU.

"You said that twenty minutes ago!” He called out, voice muffled behind his arm, though there was no real irritation in it, rather it was his familiar fondness disguised as annoyance. "Come on! Everyone’s there and probably having fun without me already!”

"You’re so dramatic!” You called out, and he could hear the smile in your voice while another scoff left your room, followed by the sound of drawers shutting.

Taeyang smirked to himself, shaking his head against the couch cushion. His chest felt warm in a comfortable way. Like coming home. This was normal for you both!!!! Bickering and complaining and him pretending to be irritated while still waiting around anyway, because the truth was he'd wait however long you needed.

“I might just leave without you at this rate—“ He groaned, but that was until you walked out and came down the hallway.

Taeyang sat up so fast his phone nearly slid off his lap, catching it at the last second. But he barely registered the movement because his entire focus had narrowed to you standing in the hallway, rummaging through your bag as you made sure you had everything, and his brain — his usually quick, clever brain — genuinely stopped working.

You looked up at him and ouhh… His breath caught somewhere in his throat and refused to move.

Your black skirt hugged your body so carefully it made his mouth go dry. You paired it with a fitted off-shoulder top that exposed an elegant line of your collarbones and the soft skin of your shoulders. Your makeup was subtle and something about your eyes made them impossible to look away from, deeper and more captivating than usual…. but he’s always loved your eyes anyways.

He stared at you, unable to form a single coherent thought. His heart was doing something concerning in his chest, beating too fast and hard, trying to break through his ribs. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, which immediately became a problem when you noticed.

Your expression shifted from confident to uncertain in seconds, and you glanced down at yourself, then back at him.

"…Why are you looking at me like that?"

Taeyang blinked hard, trying to reboot his brain. "Huh?"

Your brows pulled together, and he watched you fidget with the hem of your skirt — a nervous gesture he'd seen a hundred times but never quite like this. "Does it look bad? Should I change—"

“What? No no no—" His answer came out way too fast. His hands fidgeted for a moment. "No, you look—"

He stopped.. Because “pretty” felt too small of a word. It didn't capture the way his chest had tightened the second he saw you, or how he suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe properly, or the way every appropriate thought had evaporated from his mind.

You waited, and he watched something vulnerable flicker across your face.

Taeyang swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"You look really good."

His words came out quieter than he intended, rougher, and he watched your expression soften in response.

"Oh," You said softly, and was it his imagination or did your cheeks flush slightly?

Silence stretched between you for half a second too long, heavy enough he could hear his own pulse in his ears. Then he made the mistake of looking at your outfit again. Specifically the skirt.

How short it was… how it would look when you moved… how every single person at this party would notice you the second you walked in.. and how it would look ripped off of you—

His jaw tightened before he could stop himself, a sharp spike of something possessive lancing through his chest.

"…But .. are you sure you’re comfortable?"

The atmosphere changed instantly, like a record scratch. You straightened slowly, and he watched your face shift from soft to defensive. "Excuse me?"

He shifted on the couch, suddenly unable to be still. Restless energy coursed through him…

“I just mean—" He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands. "You know how crowded these things get."

"And?" Your voice had an edge now.

"People are weird." Even as he said it, he knew how it sounded. Knew he was being irrational. But the image of strangers looking at you, approaching you, and trying to get your attention made something hot and uncomfortable twist in his gut.

A laugh escaped you, sharp with disbelief. "People?"

"Guys," He corrected quickly, unable to stop himself. "Guys are weird."

"And somehow you're not?"

"That's different."

Your eyes narrowed immediately, and he watched you cross your arms—a defensive posture he recognized. "How?"

He opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

Because honestly? He didn't know how to explain that the thought of people looking at you tonight already irritated him more than it should. It made no sense for someone who was supposed to be just your friend but bus jealousy sat bitterly.

You stepped closer, and his breath hitched at the decreased distance. He could smell your perfume now .. sweet and warm… And his head fucking spun.

"You're acting strange.” You said, studying his face.

"I'm not."

"You look stressed." Your head tilts, concern bleeding into your expression — and it hits him right in the chest. That simple gesture, those soft eyes, the way you notice him. Months of swallowing this feeling, and now it's clawing up his throat.

"I am stressed."

"Why?"

He lets out a long, rough exhale. But his heart is pounding so hard he's sure you can hear it, feel the vibration in the air between you. His gaze drags over you — slowly, helplessly, hungrily — before he forces it back to your face.

"Because you look like that."

Your expression falters. Lips parting just a fraction. "…Like what?"

"Like I'm two seconds away from grabbing you." His voice is lower now, scrape-thin. "And if I touch you, I’m not gonna stop.”

Your heartbeat skipped — and he saw it. Your breath caught, as your eyes widened just slightly. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.

He leaned back against the couch like he hadn't just said something capable of ruining your ability to think properly, but his hands gripped the edge of the cushion behind him, knuckles white. His own heart was racing so fast it felt dangerous.

Meanwhile, you were standing there trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck and the way your stomach had dropped and flipped simultaneously, while every nerve in your body suddenly felt too aware of him.

"You're insane.” You muttered, but your voice came out softer and breathier. FUCK. You hated how obvious you were.

A slow grin spread across his face immediately, but it didn't quite reach his eyes — they stayed dark, intense, focused entirely on you.

"Hm. There it is."

"What?" Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

"That look."

You frowned, trying to regain some composure even as your heart hammered against your ribs. "What look?"

"The one you get when you're flustered."

Your jaw dropped. "I am not flustered."

"Sure." He stood. He was still watching you with a knowing expression, and he could see right through every defense you tried to put up.

Taeyang’s eyes stayed on you the entire time. Tracing your face, the curve of your neck, your taunting legs and how you shifted your weight from foot to foot nervously.

It lingered too long now, loaded with everything neither of you had said. Your stomach fluttered with a thousand butterflies, your skin felt too warm, and you couldn't quite catch your breath properly.

You tried distracting yourself by looking at the kitchen counter in attempts to break whatever spell had fallen over the room.

"Are we leaving or not?" Your voice shook slightly. Embarrassing. Go Home.

But he moved closer. His warmth radiated from his body, his cologne wrapped around you and it made your head spin. Your breath caught embarrassingly fast.

"You know what your problem is?" He asked softly, and his voice had dropped lower and so intimate that it made your knees feel weak.

You blinked up at him, having to tilt your head back slightly to maintain eye contact. "What?"

"You have no idea what you do to people."

The words hit harder than they should have, settling deep in your chest and making it hard to breathe.

"Tae—"

"I'm serious." His voice dropped quieter, as he cut you off. and you watched his throat work as he swallowed. "You walk around acting completely normal while everyone else loses their mind around you."

Your stomach flipped violently, butterflies erupting so intensely you felt dizzy. "Everyone?" The question came out barely above a whisper.

His gaze locked onto yours, so intense it made your breath stop completely. "…Me, especially."

Oh okay.

The air disappeared from your lungs. Your heart stopped, then started again twice as fast. Heat flooded through your entire body.

He looked almost annoyed with himself now, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck — a nervous gesture you'd seen countless times but never quite like this. His jaw was tight and his shoulders were even more tense than before.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," He admitted. "But then you walked out looking like this and now I'm irritated."

You stared at him, trying to process his words through the chaos in your head. Then laughed nervously, the sound shaky. "Because I dressed up?"

"Because every person there is gonna stare at you." His hand dropped from his neck, and he stepped close enough that you had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. "Because they're all gonna see what I see."

"And?..”

"And I hate it."

The honesty in his voice made your chest tighten painfully. You searched his face carefully, taking in the tension in his jaw. "You sound jealous."

"I am."

Your eyes widened instantly at the confession with no care in the world. God, he was so fucking honest.

"I've been jealous for a while, actually."

Music still played faintly from your abandoned stereo somewhere behind him, but it felt far away now compared to the sound of your heart rate spiking in your ears and the way every cell in your body seemed hyperaware of his proximity didn’t make it any better.

"And you know what's crazy?" He murmured.

"Hm?" You barely managed.

"You still haven't pushed me away."

Your lips parted slightly, and you realized with a start that he was right. He was standing impossibly close, looking at you like he wanted to memorize every reaction on your face, every flutter of your eyelashes, and every catch of your breath.

If anything, you'd leaned closer too. Your body had betrayed you, swaying toward him like he had his own gravitational pull.

“Maybe it’s because I like it when you’re jealous.”

He hummed, smirking down at you now as his eyes did another once over. “Then let me get one thing straight.”

You arched a brow, trying to mask how shaky your legs felt. “Hm?”

“You’re not allowed to leave my side tonight.”

💌 mika’s message! Kenny…. eni…. can u guys hear me???? this one was for u guys. and TRUST. working on part two and u guys WILL bone. ok? LMFAAAO ok sorry bye. if any of u hated this just lmk. Cuz ngl….. ok whatever write it urself.

He’s grinning from ear to ear when you turn back to face him and although you roll your eyes, your own lips start to turn up as well. You whisper his name once more half-heartedly, your last hidden attempt at giving him an out in case for some reason he changed his mind about wanting you to stay the night. 

He drags you all the way to his bedroom door and takes each of your hands in his. He clutches them tightly and holds them low in the space between you, practically rocking back and forth on his feet from the adrenaline coursing through his blood. 

“Please, stay. I really don't want you to drive, especially this late, it’s dangerous.” 

You take one playfully step away from him as his grip on your hands tighten, and he looks at you with such round, hopeful eyes, you almost cave in, but your nerves hold you back. 

“I only live ten minutes away…” 

He lessens the gap between you until your feet are brushing and he whispers so close, you can feel his breath mixing with yours, “Ten minutes too far.”

You bite back your smile as he leans in to press a firm kiss to your lips that draws it out. A laugh escapes you and he kisses you through that too until you feel woozy and like your knees might give out from under you. 

“Come on… You’re tired, too,” he pleads while knocking your foreheads together once. 

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

His whole face scrunches at your question. “Am I supposed to act like I haven't been thinking about this for weeks?”

A soft heat settles across your face and to distract from it you lightly slap his arm, trying and failing to disguise how pleased you are by him.

He notices—ofc course he does—and reaches an arm back to blindly open his door and lead you in, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The second your feet cross the threshold of his door; those familiar butterflies begin fluttering around in your stomach. You’ve been in his room before once when he first gave you a tour of his space, but never like this—to spend the night. 

He lets go of your hands and you shuffle on your two feet, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you contemplate what you should do next. You watch as he opens his closet, plucking a few things out, before stepping back over to you. He holds his clothes out to you and you take them with confusion.

Sensing your uncertainty, he says, “They're for you to sleep in… unless you want to sleep in those.”

You look down at your baggy jeans and top and grimace before meeting his eyes again with a grateful smile. He takes you to his bathroom to get changed before gesturing to the bottom drawer under the sink. 

“There's a new toothbrush in that drawer.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Why do you have a new toothbrush on standby?” 

“Incase you ever wanted to stay over,” he says so casually as if that one simple sentence wasn't enough to have you swooning and your heart soaring. He quickly pecks you before closing the door and leaving you with your hysteria.

You stand there for a moment, holding his clothes to your chest as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Okay, this is fine. I’m fine, everything is good, you try to convince yourself despite the tremble in your hands as you slip off your own shirt and replace it with his. His scent envelopes you, calming your nerves a fraction. 

You slip on the sleep pants he’s given you as well and quickly brush your teeth before you press your palms flat against the counter and lean forward, forcing yourself to take slow breaths. You splash your still warm cheeks with a bit of cold water before straightening and reaching for the door handle. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat, but you pull open the door anyway.

The lights are off save for the lamp on the side table; Taeyang is lying on the bed, his phone illuminating his face. The second he sees you, he turns the phone off and tosses it somewhere behind him on the bed to give you his full attention. His eyes slowly take you in and he smiles. 

It’s so soft, and tender, and warm; a whole new wave of heat rushes to your face and you wish you could run back into the bathroom and douse your skin with cool water. You stop in the middle of the room, your fingers twisting together in front of you, knotting and unknotting to release any bit of jitterness  in your body. 

He notices and shifts to his back and reaches both his arms up toward you, making the most ridiculous grabby hands for a man his age—you can’t believe this is who you’re nervous to get in bed with. 

A surprised laugh escapes you to ease some of the tension in your shoulders which you suspect is part of his plan. It works because you find yourself moving towards him more willingly until your knees are pressing into the mattress beside him. His hand finds your wrist and he gently guides you down until you are lying pressed against his side, your head resting on his outstretched arm. 

The moment you fully settle he curls it around you. You’re hyper-aware of everything. Of every inch of his skin pressed against yours and of the steady rise and fall of his chest.

You try not to pull your full weight on him despite the ache already forming in your neck, not wanting to be the cause of his arm falling asleep. He exhales, long and deep, a sigh of relief while you lie there in the silence, your hand cradled to your chest, unsure of what to do with them. Your heart is hammering so hard, you pray he can’t feel it.

When his thumb starts moving against your arm you stiffen more but then after a while, some of the tension bleeds from you. Then his other hand moves to your knee to guide your leg up and over his lap until your thigh is draped over him. A breath catches in your throat that you hold as he settles and slides his hand back under his head. 

You lie there like you’re in a game of freeze-tag and the prize is a million dollars, not moving an inch. His breathing starts to even out and all you can do is count the seconds between each exhale, three… four… five… si—

“Honey… you can breathe normally.”

It rushes out of you in a shaky exhale—you didn’t even realize you were holding it in your frenzied state. You cringe at yourself because Why’m I getting nervous cuddling at my grown age— but he silences any intrusive thoughts.

“Just relax,” he murmurs into your ear. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You’re okay.

You close your eyes and focus on breathing. Your body gradually sinks deeper into him, the frantic beat of your heart slowing. Eventually you test the waters and uncurl one hand from your chest and smooth it flat across his stomach, slyly peeking at him above you. He makes a noise, a small and content hum that sets something inside you alight. 

You feel his fingers slide over and between yours, pressing your palm more firmly against his stomach, and that’s what does it. The last of the tension releases and you try to press closer, though it’s impossible. Your eyelids grow heavy until your breathing finally matches his, and just after his lips brush your forehead, you slip completely under.

And Taeyang lies there in the dark, staring hard at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight as he repeats the words like a mantra:

Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard.

He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that sleep will take him soon, or else it’s going to be a long night. 

—

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Asking Jiung to let you sleep with him might be a terrible idea. 

But your room is flooded, the hotel’s completely booked, and Keeho’s—you don’t even want to think about it. 

Even if he never really saw eye to eye with you (to be fair, neither did you with him) he should have some ability to show you a bit of mercy… right? 

But then he opens the door and looks at you with such a deadpan look of displeasure that you realize maybe not and nearly tuck tail and leave. 

“What is it?” He asks, and you’re reminded quickly that that’s not an option. 

“My room flooded.”

His eyes widen for a split second, alarmed before his expression quickly schools back to its usual impassive. There’s an awkward pause that follows. Then, “I fail to see how that’s my problem.”

Your shoulders slump, just a little (a lot) disheartened at his snippy tone. You’d think years of being in the same group would make him a little warmed to you. But he never did make it easy for you to give him a reason to be. 

“The hotel’s completely booked out.”

“Then—“

“Keeho’s got his girlfriend over.”

Jiung blinks at you as he comes to the only conclusion this situation is bound to have. You clutch your Pikachu plushie, the one Shota won for you years ago, closer to your chest in anticipation. 

You half expect him to just shut the door in your face. But then he steps aside and opens it a little further while looking entirely unhappy about having to do so. 

You roll your eyes but bite your tongue. Not enough apparently because the words tumble out anyway as you step into the room. 

“Try looking a little more upset about it, that might get the point across.”

The door shuts a tad too loudly behind you. 

“Of course you would complain when I do something nice,” you hear him grumble under his breath as he passes you, sidestepping you so pointedly that you’d think you were carrying a disease. 

You can only scoff, watching the back of his grey hoodie as he moves through the room for his suitcase at the other end. 

“Like you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” you grit through your teeth, your ducky slippers squawking angrily as you pad over to the bed and plop down on the edge. 

“I’m doing this so you won’t go crying to the manager about how I’m bullying you,” he sneers as he fishes out a black t-shirt then reaches for the hem of his sweater. “Again.”

Your mouth snaps open to snipe right back and remind him that he’d ‘constructively criticized’ you to the point of tears but the words die right on your tongue as Jiung pulls the hoodie off his body, leaving his well-toned, lean-muscled, intricately inked skin exposed for your eyes in all their pallor glory. 

He seems none the wiser to your slack jaw and dazed eyes as he tugs his shirt on, muttering something about ‘ungrateful brat’ but you’re honestly not listening because you’re too busy thinking about holy shit, does boxing really do that kind of a wonder for someone’s body, and, is it getting hot in here?

You’re only snapped out of your quickly flitting brain by his snippy tone. 

“Guess I’ll take the floor,” he grumbles as he starts gathering the extra blankets in the hotel dresser. 

You blink yourself back to your body—when did you start floating away?

“Huh?” You ask intelligently. “What? No, just take the bed.”

He pauses as he turns back to face you, arms full of white fluffy cotton that you kind of want to crawl into. Or is it his arms…

“You’re going to take the floor?” He asks. 

“What?” You ask again, and Jiung gives a look that promptly makes you feel stupid so you scramble to explain. “It’s a queen bed.”

“And?”

“…it can fit two adults with extra space to—mmph, hey!”

The pillow to your face jostles you hard enough that you nearly get toppled onto your back. 

You scramble to right yourself, grabbing the pillow and chucking it back to him but he dodges it easily as he starts to fix a makeshift bed on the empty floor space by the bed. 

“That was so unnecessary!” You cry as you frantically pat down your hair. 

“It is if you keep saying dumb things,” he states simply. 

“Why is sharing a bed dumb? Are you really that immature?”

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I don’t want to be in that close proximity to you?”

Well. That stings. And it shuts you right up. 

You’ve always been like oil and water, always wanting different things, always pulled in different creative directions, always had different ways of operating. 

But honestly, you thought it was just that. That you just didn’t mesh well, and that’s okay. Not everyone needs to get along. 

But you never thought that Jiung might just simply not like you to the point that being near you is past his boundary of comfort. And that realization actually sort of… hurts.

You know the silence stretches on for too long that you just stare at him, watching him make his little bed and crawl into it, as if he said nothing remiss.

This new feeling in your chest is strange and uncomfortable, like it’s a tangible thing pulling at itself. So you look away, push yourself to the farthest end of the bed from him, and crawl under the blankets in hopes that being away from him might remedy it a little. 

It doesn’t.

Even after you turn off the lights and toss and turn for what feels like an hour, maybe two.

You can’t help it—his words keep ringing in your ear. And that feeling in your chest keeps pulling tighter and it’s honestly getting a little hard to breathe. 

Does he even understand the gravity of the words he’s said? Does he even care?

You haven’t heard a single sound from him, so you have your answer. There he is, sleeping peacefully in his little dreamland where you don’t exist. 

When did it get so bad? Did you push his buttons too far? When was the tipping point and how did you not see it happen?

You’d always had trouble with him but you never hated him. You hoped that it was all just a silly preamble to something of a meaningful friendship that might grow a few years down the road.

You don’t realize when your hands start shaking. When your eyes start watering. When your breaths start trembling. Or when those quiet little sniffles start escaping you. 

You clench your fists and dig your face into the pillow, mentally cursing yourself for being so affected. 

You’re not affected. Especially not by the likes of Jiung, the asshole. The asshole who you hate to admit has been finding himself taking a lot of your headspace lately. 

Well at least it’s clear now you’ve been in none of his. 

These morose thoughts prattle around in your head, then infest you slowly until they’re clinging to you like a second skin. 

When the bed dips behind you, your heart stops. 

You freeze, breaths caught in your throat. The room pauses like a reel stuck on a terrible frame. You pray he’s only sleep-walking.

“I didn’t mean that.”

The deep timbre of his voice does wonders to start prying off that infestation. You hate that it’s so simple, that he can so easily bring you down. 

You don’t want him to. So you take a deep breath to keep your voice from shaking, and you push away. “Sure you did.”

There’s a pause, one that keeps your skin on edge. 

“Not… in the way that you think.”

Now you’re just confused. “What does that mean?”

“My feelings towards you are complicated.”

“…what does that mean?”

He clicks his tongue, a habit of his that always was pointed to you, to berate you in some way. Right now you don’t really mind it. 

“I just said it’s complicated,” he huffs behind you, and you feel the puff of breath bristle the hair at the back of your neck. 

Only then do you become aware of how close he is, and the heat of his body behind you burns more present somehow.

“Wow,” you deadpan, trying to shake off that prickling feeling that starts to grow under your skin. “You make me cry and you can’t even explain yourself.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh. It makes you smile despite your turmoil, wondering if his face is scrunched in that way it always is when he’s fed up with you. You’re just glad he can’t see it. 

“It’s not that I hate being around you.” A pause. “Well, I do.” Before you can start crying again, he barrels on. “But only because… it drives me crazy.”

Well, you might start regardless. “I get it, I’m crazy, you don’t have to keep saying it I believe you—“

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The world around you feels like it’s about to implode in on itself. The room feels like it’s caving in on you. Your brain feels something similar, before it stutters and crashes and goes completely silent.

“Or… at least have very strong feelings for you.”

You take in the breath that’s been refusing to reach you, but it fills your lungs shakily and without commitment to actually helping you function. 

“You’re sure it’s not hate?” You ask, because no part of you can believe the words uttered from his stupidly pretty lips. Lips you wish you could see right about now. Just so you can confirm that he’s actually talking and this is not the little devil on your shoulder playing terrible tricks on you.

“It could be,” he admits solemnly. “Because I really want to push you off this bed right now.”

You whip around, immediately offended at his smug little face. You completely miss the nerves lingering in his gaze as it drops for a split second. 

“Go ahead.” You glare. “I’ll bring you down with me.”

“I won’t stop you.”

When his eyes meet yours, the moment sobers and you’re quickly reminded of… reminded of…

“I mean it,” he says softly, and you’re reminded of just what it was that had blown your whole world open mere moments ago. “I can’t stand being around you because I can’t stand the thought that you don’t want me the way I want you.”

The honesty of his words, the low timbre of his voice, the solid weight of the night that blankets you—it makes something in your chest settle. Something at peace. 

You recall all his snarky remarks about your dancing. You recall the way he always lingered after every practice to help you, armed with condescension and something else you missed entirely. Something you’re seeing now.

You recall those begrudging ‘hbd’ texts, those little frog plushies that would show up in random crevices of your dorm room at odd times of the year. You recall his insults and how they weren’t really insults at all—adoration disguised under disgust, maybe. 

You recall the little box of tiramisu always delivered to your door after you’ve had a bad day. You just assumed it was Intak. But now you're realizing you only ever mentioned it being your favourite indulgence around Jiung.

You recall wishing every day that these little things led to something—to Jiung. You recall how you’d look forward to the next moment with him that you’d get to torment him. That you were happy for every little reaction you’d invoke from him. You just didn’t realize why. Until now.

The smile that grows on your lips is entirely his fault. “Who said anything about that?”

“You,” he deadpans. “Multiple times.”

You scoff, hitting his arm without real punch but you let your hand linger there on the soft cotton of his shirt. 

“Only because I thought you hated me all this time,” you murmur, the honestly stripping you bare of all your typical bells and whistles.

“Well,” he starts, slowly mirroring the smile on you. “There have been some grave misunderstandings it seems.”

“I suppose…”

“But it’s not unfixeable,” he says, suddenly looking every bit of nervous that you’re feeling. “Right?”

You hum in thought, half heartedly tugging on a loose string on his sleeve. “True. You can start now.”

He raises a brow at you. “Shouldn’t it go both ways? We’re both at fault for this.”

“Mm… Nah. You go first.”

You bite back your laugh at the glare he fixes you with. You don’t even get the chance to say you’re kidding before suddenly there’s arms around you, tight and strong, and you’re being manhandled against your will. 

Your fight dies down when he holds you close to him, your back to his chest. When you realize the position you’re in and melt in his hold (completely against your will), the tension in his body leaves all at once and he buries his face in the back of your hair. 

“Better?” He murmurs into it, his honeyed voice a living thing inside your skull. His arms twist tighter around your waist and send your stomach into fluttery knots. 

You lean into the touch, letting your hand brush over the warm skin at his wrist. 

“Could be better,” you say as more of a breath. 

When his lips brush against the spot under your ear before pressing against your skin, warm and lingering, your breath hitches in your throat. 

“How about now?” He whispers, breath feathering down your neck. 

You swallow down your thrumming heart, tilting your head towards him just a bit but you still can’t bring it in you to look at him just yet. 

“Getting there,” you try to tease, but it falls weak. 

He chuckles lightly against you, before pressing his palm against your stomach as if holding you to him so he can trace the ghost of his lips down the line of your jaw, caging you in with his body. 

He settles at the base of your chin, biting down with his teeth. 

Your eyes snap open at the quick burst of pain, and you turn to glare at him but he takes that chance instead to seal his lips over yours. 

It feels like you’re falling, again and again, as his lips move over yours. It’s slow, hesitant, a little timid.

But when you sigh into the warmth and move your lips in tandem with his, he presses in. 

His hand comes up to your jaw to hold you in place as he dives. Searching, as he indulges in the taste of you on his seeking tongue, a quick, wet slide that teases your lower lip and leaves your stomach burning. 

The sound he makes against you when you meet the next swipe of his tongue with your own makes you lose all your inhibitions. 

You push back, and he goes under your palms as you turn and slide your body over his, never once severing where you’re connected. You’re practically devouring him now, legs straddling his lap, palms pushing his sturdy chest into the mattress, lips parted enough to let your tongue slide against the seam of his lips. 

He gives with a little moan, accepting your tongue with a soft gasp and his hands clutching onto your hips. He pulls you in flush, solid warmth against your already heated body. 

Your tongue maps his pliant mouth, seeking home and staking claim. It leaves him panting under you, little grunts and sounds spilling from his lips. 

“So noisy,” you coo against the wet heat of his open mouth, his damp breathing marring your slick lips. 

He whimpers, lifting his head and leaning up, already seeking your kiss again. “Wanted this for too long,” he muffles against you, slurred and almost unintelligible as his tongue flits out for another taste of your lips. Like he can’t go without it for even a few seconds.

You take a shaky breath to ease the tempest those words brew inside your chest. You peck his lips to soothe him over for another moment. “I can see that,” you hum, giggling softly when he eagerly captures another needy kiss. 

“Don’t tease,” he whines thinly. 

You kiss him deep and slow, easing him down to the pillow again before you reroute. “Not possible,” you hum against his jaw, trailing hot, wet kisses down the sharp cut then flitting down his neck. “You’re too cute.”

He lets out an angry little puff of breath, digging his nails into the fabric of your shirt. “Thought I was an ogre.”

You snicker against his skin, recalling that time you’d petulantly called him a shrimpy ogre when the concept looks for the Killin’ It era were revealed during a meeting with the company head. And about a few dozen others. 

“Still are,” you state, lifting to grin down at him. “This doesn’t change anything.”

When you take in the sight of him, starry eyed as he stares up at you in a daze, kiss bitten lips parted as he pants for air, pale skin flushed a pretty scarlet over his cheeks and down his neck, you think to yourself, huh—this might change one thing.

You watch as that distant, hazy look in his eye turns sharp and pointed. 

And then he’s got an arm around you, flipping you onto your back like it takes no effort before he sets himself on top of you, slotted right between your parted legs.

That starry look is gone, pupils blown wide with a dark, heated desire that leaves your taunts withering on your tongue. 

He places his hands on your stomach, searing through your shirt as he slides them down just to drag them back up, underneath your layers this time. 

You gasp as the heat seeps directly through your skin and pools low in your belly, his eyes snapping down to catch the movement. 

“I think I can change a few things,” he whispers. 

Hell, you think as he captures your lips again. 

This changes everything.

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