When you were a little girl, hands still soft and eyes wide, your father told you stories of the sea. Its dangers. Its powers. Its beauty, and its mystery. 

These were stories of gods and monsters who resided deep beneath the ocean waves. They were creatures responsible for great disasters and tremendous adventures. He warned you of the sea dragons, that were wise and mischievous—they ruled the sea and were not to be crossed. He warned you of Charybdis, who resided in deep waters and showed no mercy to its victims. However, none of these fascinated you, even at your young age. They were just myths. Stories. Legends. Small tales that helped make sense of a senseless world. 

However, your father never let you speak that way about sirens. 

He loathed them. He said that they were the biggest nuisance of the sea, always scheming and always intervening. Killing. Murdering. And all while singing their song. 

He claims to have seen one once, but he can’t remember much about it. From the little he can recall, and a story you’ve heard maybe a million times before, he says that when he was a young man, he was stationed as a crew hand as many young men at that age are in your small coastal town. And late one night, when half of the crew was asleep and the other half stayed awake, drunk, blubbering on the deck, a piercing note glided through the air. He said it started like a whisper, a sweet lullaby. However, it grew. He still claims to remember how the song crescendoed into a primal lust, one that left him craving the taste of death and salt. When he woke up, the sun was barely cresting over the horizon, and his ears were bleeding. 

He was one of the few spared that night. 

Although your father has long since left the sea behind, retiring in a small house further inland, he still warns you to never walk along the shore at night. The sirens are beautiful, each and everyone. However, they are lethal. And beauty and death can never coexist peacefully. 

But just like the sea dragons and Charybdis, sirens, too, faded into tales of a fictional childhood. You grew, and so did your mind. And just as your frilly socks and toy dolls changed into revealing clothes and drunken parties, your opinions on these stories shifted too. There was no such thing as sirens or merfolk. They were myths. Stories. Tales. 

You would never see one for as long as you lived. 

—

Puke. It smells like fucking puke. 

You hold back Daniela’s hair with one hand, a steely grip on your red solo cup with the other, as she heaves into the sand. You warned her, you really did try. 

“Daniela, you can never keep vodka down. We know this,” you say, but she doesn’t listen. She never fucking listens. 

Every summer, the kids in your town throw a big beach party, starting at sunset and ending at sunrise. It’s always a big to-do, and you and your friends have been going ever since you were old enough. And like any party with young, drunk adults, something worthy of a good story has to happen. 

One year, Jay ran the length of the party butt-ass naked, simply because his friend, Riki, said he wouldn’t. Another year, Jeongyeon and her boyfriend (at the time) had a very public break-up. This year, your friends planned on being the center of attention. 

Your friends had made a bet early on, discussing the plan while you all were still at Yunjin’s house, patting glitter onto your eyelids and double-checking your manicures. The plan was to see who could pull the most people in one night, and whoever had the most points by the end of the night, was the winner. A kiss was five points, sex was twenty. Anything in between varied in amount depending on the circumstance and the length of which it occurred. An ambitious plan, however, a little flirtatious fun never hurt anybody. Just like always, Daniela was on a fucking roll. 

However, zealous as she was with her bets, she could also be overly ambitious when it came to having a good time. And, well, that often ended like this: puking in the sand at the biggest summer party of the year. 

So now you had only kissed three people, and Daniela had kissed four. God knows how many the rest have conquered by now, considering you and Daniela had lost them once you heard someone lugged a keg down to the beach. I mean, seriously. A fucking keg? 

“Sorry,” Daniela slurred, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“It’s okay,” you sighed, taking a sip of your drink in hopes it would relieve you from the smell, if even for just a second. “I told you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed, standing up straight. “Do you have a mint?” 

You reached into your back pocket, grabbing a spare piece of gum you had stashed before leaving the house. “I only have two more left. Try not to puke anymore before the night’s over.” 

She grumbled something that probably would rival an Etsy witch’s hex spell, before popping the mint gum in her mouth. You two stood there for a second, gathering yourselves before you spotted your next target. 

Would it be Heeseung? No. He got a girlfriend three months ago and is—allegedly—very loyal to her. Would it be Jake? No. He would never let it go and blow up your DMs. Sunoo? Your dear friend who was always down for a little smooch, especially when he has had about two and a half hard seltzers? Bingo. 

“I’ll be back in twenty. If I’m not back, call the Coast Guard,” you joke, not even bothering to look back as you saunter over to Sunoo. 

He looks good tonight. Exceptionally good. Like really, really good. His shirt was the perfect amount of tight around the shoulders, and his hair was the perfect amount of styled but relaxed. He looks effortlessly handsome. And knowing how unresistant he is to compliments, you figure it would take you five minutes maximum to butter him up, and then, boom, lips locked, and he becomes lucky number four on your roster for tonight. 

Maybe you could convince him to touch your boob—that would have to give you a couple of extra points, right? 

However, before you could plant your cute shorty-short covered butt in front of him, Yunjin stumbles into your view. Her shirt is halfway off and her lipstick is smudged, but other than that, she’s fully intact. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell happened to you?!” you gasp, trying to tug the front of her shirt over her boob. Good thing she was wearing a bikini top underneath, but with the way she was fumbling around, a nip slip was bound to happen. 

“Gimme eight points,” she demands. Gripping your shoulders like her life depends on it. 

Your eyes grow comically wide, the only kind of wide that can be accomplished by drunken surprise. “Why would I do that?” 

“I made out with some dude,” she explained, taking a deep breath to sober herself up. “And let him do some other things, if you know what I mean.” 

“I’m gonna need a better explanation than that,” 

“Whatever,” she groans, shoving you in the opposite direction of Sunoo. “Let’s go take shots and then go swimming. The water is supposed to be nice tonight.” 

And soon, the thoughts of shoving your tongue down Sunoo’s throat were consumed by the taste of tequila chased by some slightly sandy lime wedges. It didn’t bother you, though. After your second shot and the warmth spreading across your cheeks, the sand was only a mere memory. 

Upon knocking out your last shot, you and your friends began to strip yourselves of your clothes, leaving yourselves in your bathing suits. The water was freezing, but to your warm, sweaty bodies, it was the perfect way to cool down. The sea was tranquil, waves glittering under the stars and the moon. The moon was full, as if a god carved out a pale space in the inky sky, and it illuminated the night perfectly. If you were any more sober, you’d perhaps be a bit more curious as to why it was so bright. Too bad you weren’t, though. 

Amongst the squeals and splashing, you found your mind growing very calm. Peaceful. Quiet. The salt breeze tickled your face, as your hair floated in the water around you. You dunk your face under the cold water, waking yourself up slightly. Upon resurfacing and blinking away the brine, you spot a rocky jetty. Has that always been there? Certainly, it must’ve been. A whole row of rocks doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. 

However, amidst the confusion, it seems to be calling your name. It isn’t enticing you with liquor or extra points in your game like everything else has interested you tonight. Instead, it seems like it has a secret it wants to share with you. Only you. 

“I wanna chicken fight,” Yunjin declares, grabbing someone to be her partner. “Do you wanna duel?” she asks you. 

You shake your head, eyes remaining on the jetty that stands darker than the night sky. “No, you guys go ahead. I want to go check out that jetty real quick. I’ll join in on the next round.” 

Yunjin shrugs, climbing on Daniela’s shoulders as she bellows some self-proclaimed war cry. You swim over to the jetty, the current guiding you. Wedging your foot on the flattest rock you could find, you hoist yourself onto the ledge, propelling yourself onto the jetty. Your bottom smacks against the wet rock, droplets of moon-filled water decorating your thighs as you stand and regain your footing. You begin to stagger slowly along the jetty, careful to watch your step in your inebriated state. 

You may be drunk, but you certainly aren’t stupid. 

The pale moon lights your path, warning you against stepping on jagged stones or sharp barnacles that could cut your feet, and highlighting flat rocks that weren’t too slippery from the salty sea. The cool air suddenly grows warmer, but you’re not sure when you begin to feel the change in temperature or if it could be blamed on anything other than the few shots of tequila coursing through your veins. After what feels like hours of wandering—which has probably, realistically, only been about five minutes—you sit back down on a ledge, shifting around to get yourself comfortable as you dip your feet into the water. 

You look down, watching your feet against the deep darkness of the ocean, mesmerized by the little swirls that follow your toes. However, just as you’re captivated by the little currents you’re creating, you fail to recognize the other currents being created around you. 

Head drooped low and eyes fixated, it isn’t until you hear a loud splash do you look up. 

“Yunjin?” you call out. 

The ocean is vast and empty; only the glittering waves keep you company. They’re so pretty, you think. They’re so pretty that you wish someone would write a song about them. 

Then, another splash. You don’t just hear it this time, but you see it too. A small flicker of something shiny pierces through the water, before smacking down aggressively, foam and salt spraying in all directions. You’re not sure what it was. It was far enough away that you couldn’t make out any details, and the fact that your world is currently functioning at an aggressive tilt does not help by any means. 

However, your mind rapidly comes up with the highest possible conclusion: shark. 

You tug your feet out of the water, pleading to the gods that you won’t become the first dead girl in your rendition of Jaws. But yet, unlike any sane person, you remain seated. You know, just in case it actually is a shark and you can end the night by claiming that you saw one. Maybe you can lie and say that it tried to take a nibble out of you. That would certainly have to gain you some points, right? And if not by your friends, certainly other people attending this party would remember you as the girl who fought off a shark all by herself? 

Not a bad way to be remembered—especially this early in your life. 

However, it’s been two minutes. The water has stilled. There is no shark. 

You’re still tense. Slightly afraid to move, and eyes transfixed on the glittering water. You kind of want to jump in again. You know you shouldn’t, of course. There could be a fucking shark just waiting for you to jump in so it can have you as a midnight snack. However, despite all of these red flags flashing through your mind, it seems as if the water is calling your name. It’s calling your name in a sweet, melodic voice. Almost like a little hum. A lullaby. 

If you were in the right mind, you would be able to acknowledge that the this song you hear isn’t a figment of your imagination, but rather a voice. A note rings out, graceful and warm. And because it blends in with the low rumble of the ocean, and you’re currently battling with your alcohol induced brain, it’s easy to disregard the danger that harmonizes softly with the waves. Because at the end of the day, a measly shark fears this tune just as you should too. 

But you’re drunk, and you’re naive. What could a human possibly know about the wonders of the deep blue? 

Just as your eyes stay glued to the water, you feel something take a hold of your ankle. 

This is it, you think. It’s the fucking shark. 

You yelp and push yourself backwards, flinging yourself as far as you can. You don’t make it too far before realizing it’s just a hand. However, that hand hasn’t let go of your ankle, and keeps your foot in place with a strength that your mind is incapable of registering at this moment. All you know is that your foot and that stubborn grip remain. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff, wiping your hands down your face as you snap yourself out of whatever trance the water put you into. The song you’ve been hearing is cut into two, an eerie silence following. You think you might’ve just fallen asleep for a second there. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

You giggle as you look down to see who has taken a hold of your ankle, half expecting it to be Daniela or maybe even Sunoo. However, a different pair of eyes stare back at you, and they are ones you wouldn’t say you’re very well acquainted with. 

In fact, you’re not at all acquainted with these eyes. Actually, you don’t know who the fuck this is. 

“Um, hello?” 

The young man just stares, eyes wide and round and bewildered. He looks almost as surprised as you, if not more. He pushes away from the rock a bit, his fingers sliding down the top of your foot as he submerges his mouth into the water. It’s almost as if he’s embarrassed that he scared you. 

Almost. 

“Bro, you scared me so fucking bad. I almost shit myself,” you chuckle, finally letting yourself relax. “I thought you were one of my friends.” 

He blinks, slow and curious like an animal. But then, he lifts his head to show two pink lips, pursed like he’s guarding a secret. “Sorry,” he says, in a voice so gentle and sweet you swear stars twinkle in response. 

Suddenly feeling shy, you shrug and smile coyly. “It’s okay. It was kinda funny.” 

“Funny?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. A strand of wet hair falls across his forehead, a dark streak against pale skin. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Like, you know, funny. Ha-ha.” 

He nods slowly, mimicking your movement before he smiles softly. It seems like he was genuinely confused. “Yeah. Funny.” 

He’s kind of shy, you decide. When you’re drunk, you’re as social as can be so this just cannot do. But lucky for him, and especially lucky for you, you can keep the ball rolling. 

“Are you from here?” you inquire, scooting closer to the edge. “I haven’t seen you before.” 

The young man swims closer, his hand finding your ankle again but you don’t seem to mind. His grip is gentle, comforting. Besides, he’s kinda hot. 

“No.” 

“Oh?” you hum, peering down at him. He brushes his thumb over the bone, and it almost lulls you to sleep. Whoever this guy is, you like him. “Where are you from?” 

He sighs, light and serene like a morning sea breeze. “Not from here,” he replies, a voice so sweet even birds would stop to listen. 

You roll your eyes, giggling a little. “Well, duh. But where-”

“Do you want to go swimming?” 

Your brain freezes for a second, fog consuming your mind. A warmth fills your body, different from the buzzing warmth of the alcohol—this is sharp, arousing. And you can’t deny it, he’s attractive. You very well could just be turned on, but something whispering in the back of your mind tells you it’s not. It’s more primal, animalistic. Dangerous. Although a part of you is pleading you to not get into the water, reasoning with the fact that he’s a stranger, you can feel yourself burning up from the inside out. 

The song starts once more. 

He strokes your ankle again. “Please?” he says, voice softer than a lamb’s. 

You feel yourself helplessly nodding, submerging your other foot in the water. He begins to help you in, before you remember what—you suspect—was in the water only a few feet behind him. 

“Wait,” you stop. “I saw something earlier. It might’ve been a shark. You should come out.” 

He looks at you, stunned. The song stops. You might as well have spoken a language no one has ever documented. His head cocks sidewise, like a dog hearing a high whistle. 

“There is no shark,” he insists, ceasing any kind of movement. 

You shake your head, feeling as if you’re rediscovering that there’s more around you than this mystery man. “No, I swear I saw something earlier. You didn’t see anything?” 

He just stares at you, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Would he fucking pull it together? 

“I’m not fucking joking, dude. You should get out,” you berate, panic beginning to creep under your skin.

But he just remains still, shock painting his face from top to bottom. His grip on your ankle stays, but that fuzzy warmth you once felt is ripped away and replaced with freezing sobriety. You’re still frantically searching the water, anticipating a sight of a gnarly fin or menacing jaws to pop out of the water at any second. And although you’d love to have a crazy story to tell, you’re not sure if witnessing ‘death by shark’ is a tale you want to relay. You don’t even know this guy’s name. What would you tell the coast guard? The police? But the water is dark, darker than before. All that stares back at you is a pit of tar, motionless and waiting. Have the stars always been this dim? 

“It’s okay,” he eventually says, stroking your ankle in a tantalizing pattern. “It’s safe. I promise.” 

“I’m not playing, bro. Get out of the-”

Now. You’re sure fireball and vodka don’t mix well, but you’re not too sure that it’s supposed to make you hallucinate. However, that’s the only way you can explain what you’re seeing right now. Just between your leg and the young man’s torso, you spot movement. 

It’s not vicious or menancing—nothing like an animal about to attack. Instead, it’s relaxed. If anything, it moves a bit seductively. The movement is unified, nothing like legs. It’s unified like a tail. You follow the movement upwards, watching it blend into the young man’s hips and torso. It’s his. 

You hope deeply that it’s not a part of him, but the voice of your father, blaringly loud in the back of your head, rings true. These so-called mythical creatures are true. It also just so happens that the man in front of you, with eyes as dark as midnight and lips as pink as a sunset, is no man at all. 

He’s a fucking siren. 

You scream bloody fucking murder, and he jumps. 

“Wait-” he begins, but you’ll hear none of it. 

Kicking and trashing, praying to whatever god that someone will hear you and come to your rescue, you try to fight him off. Water sprays in every direction, salt stinging your eyes and disrupting the once tranquil ocean. Somewhere in your trashing, you kick him square in the face. He lets go of your ankle, hands flying towards his eye, nails slicing through the skin of your calf somewhere in the process. However, you’re too focused on trying to get away to even realize that the scratch was an accident. 

“Help! Fuck, he’s trying to eat me!” you yelp, stumbling to your feet. 

You eventually stand upright, the young man groaning before submerging himself back into the water. However, you waste no time trying to decipher if he’s following you or trying to rally some more of his (supposed) little siren friends. Instead, you bolt. 

Holding your tits steady in your bikini top, you scamper off of the jetty and towards the sandy beach. It’s a miracle you don’t slip on any of the wet rocks, that certainly would’ve been a prime moment for him to snatch you up and eat you. But you hold your own, feet landing onto the soft sand as you sprint over to the crowd. 

You’ve never been more thankful to see another human being in your life. 

Lungs burning and eyes watering, you spot Daniela, who emerges from the crowd like your knight in shining armor. Yunjin and Lara follow, as well as a few other of your friends. Hair still damp from playing in the water, but other than that, unscathed. 

You collapse into Daniela’s arms, chest cramping from lack of oxygen. If you could catch your breath, you would cry. But after such a scare, you’re not sure if you can do anything other than heave. 

“Where the fuck were you?!” Daniela damn near shrieks, cradling you close to her chest like a baby. “We looked everywhere for you.” 

“I-I-I…” you stutter, trying to quiet your pounding heart. “I saw something in the water. I thought it was some guy…” 

“What? Like a dead body?” Yunjin asks, concern furrowing her eyebrows. 

You shake your head vehemently, finally being able to breathe. “Worse. He was talking to me and he was, like, really hot so I didn’t really think anything of it. But then I was getting all warm and he was trying to get me into the water. But then I looked down and he didn’t have any fucking legs. He had like—I don’t know—a tail? I couldn’t-” 

Lara scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head slowly as she narrows her eyes at you. “You’re really drunk.” 

You throw your hands down, petulant like a child bubbling with a tantrum. “I’m not lying, Lara!” 

“Yo, what the fuck happened to your leg?” Sunoo inquires, pointing towards your calf as he stands near Heeseung. 

Daniela spins your shoulders a bit, forcing you to show off the backside of your leg. Sure enough, five red gashes, varying in depth and vibrancy, slowly drip blood down your heel and into the sand. You don’t even remember it happening, memory blocked in a panic. However, maybe it’s the adrenaline or the cleanliness of the cuts, but you hardly even notice them safe for the warmth that dribbles down your shivering skin. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Daniela curses, beginning to usher you through the crowd and towards, you presume, your house. “You disappear, without a word, and now you're saying shit about some random dude or whatever? Your dad is going to fucking kill me,”

Yunjin laughs, jogging to keep up with you and Daniela as she storms you across the beach. “I didn’t take you for a runner,” she snickers.  

“I’m not a runner!” you argue. “I told you where I was going!” 

Daniela stops, as do all of your friends, with an unimpressed look on their faces. 

“No, one second you were in the water with us and the next you were gone. We didn’t even hear you leave,” Daniela says, the moon taunting you through the ringlets of her hair. 

—

Safe to say, you’re a little scared to go back to the beach. 

Daniela was quick to wrap up your little injury, and you were able to brush off your mom’s inquisitive looks during your weekly Sunday brunch with a simple lie. However, you can’t help but feel like something is still out there, waiting for you. Looking for you. 

Nearly a week has passed, and every night, you see him. Dark hair, and even darker eyes shaped just like crescent moons that observed your every step. Sometimes, he pulls you into the water and tries to drown you. Sometimes, you two just have a lovely chat. Everytime, you wake up gasping, lungs feeling like they’ve been filled with water and calf tingling despite healing without complication. On one occasion, you woke up standing before your window, hands pressed against the glass like you were trying to wish it away. You asked if Lara could sleep over the next night. 

But despite the pounding heart and paranoia, you still feel this pull. Every night, when the moon creeps through your curtains and touches your face, you remember his thumb against your ankle. You can hear the melodic lilt in his voice. 

You don’t even know his name or, frankly, what he really is, but you feel drawn to him. 

And maybe that’s stupid. Scratch that, it’s definitely stupid. Especially when you remember how you felt as if you had no control over your body at certain points in your conversation with him. But you were drunk! Surely, that wouldn’t ever happen again if you were sober… right? 

It’s ridiculous to even be having these thoughts, and to be hoping to catch a glimpse of something splashing in the water as you watch the waves cresting from your porch. But you can’t help but wonder, despite trying your hardest to deprive yourself of that urge. 

So in order to fully stick to your rules, you haven’t been going to the beach. In part because you’re afraid of getting attacked again or whatever, and mostly because you’re not sure of what you would do if you saw him again. 

It’s embarrassing having to lie to your friends, dodging every attempt of theirs to drag you down to the beach. I picked up a shift at work; my dad wants me to come over for dinner; I forgot to turn in a paper despite the semester ending two weeks ago. They all see right through your lies, and you know it, but they don’t push. 

They don’t really know what happened that night, and despite feeling like you remember every detail and explaining your side of the story a million times over, you’re not quite sure if you actually know what you’re talking about. Either way, they don’t push and hope that, eventually, you’ll come around. 

Besides, it’s summer! You can’t stay cooped inside for forever!

And they're right, because by the fifth day, you’ve had enough. 

You can only binge watch so many episodes of Love Island before the incessant drama begins to rot away your brain. All of the arguing and crying only forces you to think about your own current dilemma. Unable to ignore it any longer, you decide it’s time for you to face your fear. 

You step outside, the air still slightly cool from the morning breeze. The sea is calm, glistening in the mid morning sun. The beach is fairly barren, only a few people taking their dogs on a morning stroll. The sun is high in the sky, and you can hear the waves crashing into the sand like a faint whisper from your balcony. 

Today is the day. It’s nice out, the sun is shining. Nothing could go wrong. 

You trudge down to the beach, walking towards the same jetty where you met that strange… whatever. You face the jetty, hands growing a bit clammy, but other than that, you’re killing this! A few deep breaths, and you have this totally under control! As a matter of fact, you have it so under control, that you decide that you can even walk out to the jetty. 

And walk out you do! 

The rocks are a little cool, not yet warmed by the afternoon sun. You carefully watch your step, not wanting to slip and fall into the ocean below. The water is calm, only lightly spraying your feet and ankles when a wave abruptly hits the side of the jetty. If you really think about it, the tickle of the seafoam on your legs is like the sea is apologizing for that night… in a way. 

See, this isn’t too bad. Nothing to be afraid of. 

Maybe you were making shit up—just like your friends suggested. You were pretty drunk, after all. Perhaps, you fell asleep on the jetty and conjured some crazy dream, in which you injured yourself while thrashing around. It certainly wouldn’t exactly explain why the cuts are the perfect size and distance of human—or human-like—fingers. Maybe they’re from teeth? You can’t really remember. But does it really matter? 

You’re safe. The water is calm. It’s a nice day, and you’re only a few weeks into your summer break! You should be able to enjoy it. 

Things are beginning to look up for you. The five angry lines down your calf are healing, and hopefully, walking out to the exact same spot where you saw this alleged siren-merman- whatever will help with the nightmares and sleepwalking. You’ll finally be able to feel like yourself, and enjoy your summer. Parties, beach trips, and getting drunk with your friends is in your imminent future. 

At least until you realize that the same set of slender eyes that you nearly drowned in those days ago is staring back at you, curious and observant through a purple bruise that blooms across his left cheek. 

Of course, you scream bloody murder. 

It’s just like last time, really,  except he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t try to grab you, nor does he try to eat you. Instead, he flinches and covers his ears and waits for you to stop. The worst he does is give you an annoyed glare, but that’s about it. On the other hand, you fall flat on your ass out of fear, flailing and praying to whatever god that might be listening to let you walk out of this alive. 

Eventually, you get a grip and are able to quiet down. Chest heaving and hands trembling, you stare at him, the seat of your shorts soaked with sea water the longer you remain paralyzed on your ass. He continues to stare at you, the bottom half of his face submerges, leaving only his eyes remaining. They never leave yours, and you’ll be damned if yours leave his. 

As it turns out, your screaming was pointless. No one comes running to save you, no one asks what’s wrong. You're not even sure if the world blinked at your unease. However, he did. 

The young whatever-he-is slowly removes his hands from his ears, swimming a hair closer, hesitant, as he takes his face out of the water. He’s just as handsome as you remember, maybe even more, now that you can see him better in the morning light. Water drips from his chin and his lips are set in a small frown, displeased with your sudden outburst. 

“You’re loud,” he mutters, eyes squinting. 

Your heart is still pounding, and your toes curl reflexively as he moves closer. You’re not sure. You should’ve probably threatened him—told him you had a knife or something. Maybe even said you told the coast guard about him, and they were ready to come pick him up at any minute. Goodbye, Mister Mystery-Creature! 

But, of course, you say no such thing. 

“You fucking bit me!” you shriek, suddenly pulling down your bandage to reveal five angry lines, even and deep but healing nonetheless. 

He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows quirking upwards. “I didn’t bite you. You kicked me,” he retorts. 

“Because you bit me!” 

“I scratched you,” he answers plainly, his hands coming into view as he places them on the jetty, mere inches away from your feet. He makes no move to grab at them and pull you under. “You kicked me, and I scratched you. It was an accident. I’m sorry.” 

And this guy, whoever or whatever he is, says all of this like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Plain as day, pure as milk. He’s still looking at you, eyes wide and easy, still rich like a midnight sky but you can see the sun cresting in his irises, and you finally feel your heart calm. 

His eyes begin to wander, sliding down your neck and chest, and eventually landing on your legs. He observes the scratch marks, certainly better than they were even just a few days ago, but still a bit irritated. But then his eyes just stay there, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and wonder as his eyes scan up and down the length of your legs. Legs, knees, ankles, feet, toes—and back up. 

While he takes his time analyzing you, you look closer at him. He looks… normal. The face of someone about your age. His cheeks are smooth, cheekbones proud. Strands of his hair stick to his forehead, just like they did the night you met him, spelling out something maybe you’ll one day understand. His mouth is pursed in concentration, a whisper of a dimple showing itself next to his pink pout. His eyebrows are dark and straight, and his nose hooks slightly, although you can’t tell from the front. Overall, a very handsome man. 

Moving from his face, you can’t really find anything abnormal from what you can see. Well, except for his hands. 

His hands are normal, fingers slender and long like a human's, except for the damn near set of acrylics he has. Sharp and clean, just like claws, but also neutral and thinner like human nails. Seeing them in the daylight like this makes you understand why the damage you suffered was so great. 

“Damn, dip and tip!” you exclaim, forgetting all about the nearly debilitating fear you felt a moment ago. Swinging your legs under you, you grab his hand in yours, observing his nails up close. 

The young man squeaks, a floundering sound that bubbles up from his chest. His hands are even prettier up close, his nails a light shade of pearl as they file into a point, despite not being too long. He doesn’t try to pull away, nor does he try to pull you down under. He remains very still, like a dog waiting to see what you’ve plucked from their fur. 

“They’re very sharp,” you say, stating the obvious. 

“Yours are… not.” 

You chuckle, letting go of his hand when you become seemingly aware of how strange that must’ve been. Not that this is really normal anyway. “What… are you… exactly?” 

He tosses his head back, flicking any hair that was stuck to his forehead away from his face. “Same as you, but different,” he responds, resisting his cheek in his palm. 

You shake your head incredulously. “You have a tail. We’re very different.” 

He shrugs, moving positions so he can rest against a rock—a makeshift seat. You glimpse at his torso, collarbones glistening in the early morning light. You imagine that swimming in salt water all the time would dry out his skin, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact, his skin looks rather smooth. His tail, long and decorated in shades of silver and blue that glisten like a cresting wave when the sunlight hits, stretches out in front of him. It twitches under your stare. 

“Depends on what story you hear. Some say sirens, some say merman,” he explains, eyes returning to your face after thoroughly inspecting your legs. “You can say whatever you prefer.” 

“And which do you prefer?” 

He thinks, long and hard, as his eyes flick upwards to search for the answer. “Jungwon.” 

You blink. “The fuck is Jungwon?” 

“My name,” he giggles, a sound sweet and friendly like a strawberry dipped in sugar. “Jungwon.” 

—

As it turns out, Jungwon is very interesting. 

You’re not sure when it became a regular thing for you to see him—it’s not something the two of you ever really discussed—but each day, without fail, you two meet up every morning. Sometimes you two just watch each other in peaceful silence, soaking in every difference and similarity. It’s not every day you run into a siren, and you can imagine Jungwon isn’t seeing humans on the regular either. Unless, he is. You’ll have to ask him. 

But because he doesn’t know any humans, other than you—you think—he tends to have a lot of questions. 

Jungwon has asked you if it’s hard to control your legs—you assume it’s because there’s two, instead of one like his tail; he’s also asked questions like what do humans eat, what do they do for fun, and why do they swim so weirdly. Of course, you answer to the best of your ability, but sometimes it’s hard to explain. So instead, you show him. 

When you told him that humans eat mostly anything they want, he didn’t believe you. But when you brought a bag of goodies for him to try, you barely got a chance to eat the gummies you brought before he devoured them. You told him what you did for fun, and even let him play around with your phone after he dried his hands off. You would’ve entertained him with swimming, but you were still a bit weary of him. The cuts on your leg were still healing, after all. 

But despite how eager you were to answer any and all of his questions, you were a bit shy to ask your own. 

“What were you doing the night we met?” Jungwon asks, nibbling on a pineapple flavored gummy bear while you lazily scanned a book your father lent you on aquatic folklore. It was a bit difficult to explain your sudden interest to your father, especially after finding it trivial your whole life, but years of pretending to not be drunk in dire situations led you to be quite the actress. 

“Excuse me?” you ask, thumbing the page. 

Jungwon turns to fully face you, chin resting on his forearms. You wonder if they have hand-held weights wherever he lives—-his biceps are, well, nice. 

“Why were you at the beach so late the night we met?” he asks again, lazily tracing the marbled grain of a rock. 

You shrug, shoving the book in your bag. Hopefully he didn’t catch the title. “There’s a big party on the beach every summer. I go every year,” you explain, reaching out your palm in hopes that he’ll let you eat the snack that you brought. 

“A party?” 

You nod as he places a singular gummy bear in your hand. Stingy. “Yeah, like a gathering of people. Where you have fun,” 

“I know what a party is,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I just forgot the word.” 

“Oh,” you nod. You don’t know why it is surprising to you that he had a lapse of memory, but you sort of just assumed that Jungwon had always spoken and understood your language. “Do you speak something else at home?” 

He averts his gaze towards the water, looking over the ripples of waves as the early morning light glints off their crests. Suddenly feeling like you had overstepped, you try to dismiss the question in a flurry of gestures and sour faces. 

His eyes trace back towards you, amusement hidden beneath his deep eyes. “Yeah. I don’t talk like how I talk with you back home,” he answers plainly. 

You absorb this new information, willing yourself to relax a bit. “What do you speak then?” you wonder. 

Jungwon purses his lips, eyes roaming towards the sky as if the answer will be etched into the clouds. “I don’t really think there’s a human equivalent.” 

“Why can you talk like me then?” you implore, mind flowing with questions you had been too shy to ask previously. 

He smiles, finding your questions endearing. Jungwon wonders if this is how you feel when he asks you questions about humans—warm. Cute. 

“I’ve read it on boats, heard it from sailors,” he responds, reaching for the bag of gummy bears. He pushes a green one between two pink lips. “Merfolk are good with sounds. It’s not too hard to learn.” He watches you nod thoughtfully, gears turning many miles a minute. He kind of wishes he could walk through your mind. At least for an hour. “Is it not the same for humans?” 

You shake your head, giggling. “No, it takes humans a while to learn new languages,” you say, turning to lay on your side comfortably. “Some can learn in a few years though.” 

This baffles Jungwon, that pinch at the top of his nose forming that you have begun to grow acquainted with. “Humans really are stupid.” 

You shove his head under the water. 

—

Ever since that day with Jungwon, your relationship has become a lot easier. Strange. But easier. 

He waits for you like always, sunning himself on the rocks before retreating a little further into the water when you arrive as if he’s shy. Shy of what? You’re not sure. You’d rather him stay sunning himself—you rather enjoy the view. However, it doesn’t take long before he starts to cozy up against the jetty again once you two begin your early morning check ups. 

You’ve actually learned a lot about Jungwon these past few days. Not only about him, but about merfolk. Merfolk travel in groups, like orcas or tuna. Usually it’s confined to family, according to Jungwon, but you’re allowed to interact with merfolk outside of your kin. Blushing, he admits that typically one only travels outside of the pack when finding a mate—which you teased him relentlessly about—but there’s no strict rules on not interacting with someone outside of a familial pod. Sort of like interacting with strangers on the street—it’s not that it’s not allowed, it just might be a little strange. That is, of course, unless you’re looking to date or exchange numbers or make out in the back of some dingy bar. 

He also explains that it’s hard to know where to locate merfolk. There are some established colonies, but those are in places humans have yet to discover. You could go your whole life without seeing another pod, you suppose. However, many familial pods live further out at sea. 

“Why were you so close to the shore that night then?” you ask, doodling on the corner of some magazine you brought to show Jungwon. He took only a slight interest, preferring to learn from you than some paper. 

“Lost track of where I was, I guess.” 

And that was that. But Jungwon says he has friends and family, and tells you that merfolk are definitely on the higher end of the food chain—so don’t get it twisted!—but he mainly tells you that after you expressed concern that he would get eaten by a shark and you would never see him again. 

“Merfolk are smarter than sharks, I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, eyeing your legs like he’s done many times before. You’re not too sure why he hasn’t asked you about them yet. He’s asked you about nearly everything else, besides the obvious. 

“But sharks are, like, really fast,” you explain, as if you know better than him. Mind you, the ocean is literally his home. 

He eyes you for a second, a teasing glint in his eye surfacing slowly but surely. “Do you want to see me fight a shark?” 

You flick him in the forehead, which he whines before he flicks you back. “Don’t be weird.” 

Jungwon tells you that merfolk and humans aren’t really supposed to interact. Obviously, there’s been a history of encounters—there’s too many stories for them to be fictional like you once believed—but it’s still frowned upon. Many merfolk have been hurt or exploited, even killed in some instances by humans. You promised Jungwon that you would never do that to him. He believes you. 

However, Jungwon never really addresses the elephant in the room. Of course, there are many cultural and behavioral differences. And don’t get it wrong, you enjoy learning about them. They’re fascinating! You would’ve never imagined a whole different world beyond the one you know. Hell, you didn’t even think a world like Jungwon’s existed before you met him! Even then you were in denial. But what you really want to know about are your physical differences. 

To be fair, Jungwon is curious about them too. He eyes your legs and feet and toes every time he sees you. He watches your mouth carefully, inspecting the lack of fangs and the lack of webbing between your fingers. It baffles him, and it certainly baffles you. But you know Jungwon. He won’t be the one to ask—he gets shy about these things. So it’s going to have to be you. 

Bite the bullet, jump off the cliff, and ask what the hell it’s like having a fish tail. 

One morning, when the sun was still low and the sky not yet a bright orange, you decide to ask while Jungwon rests across a rock, lazing about as usual. He’s not really a morning person, something you learn the more and more you two see of each other. Perhaps the excitement has disappeared. Or perhaps, the comfortability has set in. 

His tail, a brilliant silver and an even richer shade of cobalt, wades leisurely in the water behind him. You watch his back rise and fall, his eyes shut and mouth in a pink pout from being pressed against his arm. He looks peaceful. Calm. Cute. What better way to ruin it by asking an obnoxious question?

“Can I touch your tail?”

Jungwon’s back stills, his whole body going rigid to the point that you are reminded that he is part animal. He lifts his head slowly, a bright red circle imprinted on his cheek from laying on it for too long. You almost want to laugh, but the look he gives you—wild and confused—makes you think better of it. After the seventh second of straight silence, you decide to back track. 

“Or your hands?” What. “Or your teeth?” Worse. “Or just anything that isn’t really human-like for that matter?” What the fuck is wrong with you. 

Jungwon is so genuinely stunned that you’re not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. He shakes his head, tiny droplets of water falling from his hair that never seems to fully dry. Jungwon begins to think a crab crawled into his ear because he can not believe what he’s hearing. 

“You want to touch my tail?” 

He’s making you nervous. “Sorry, was that offensive to ask? I don’t really know how to go about this.” 

He’s still quiet, something you’ve never known from Jungwon. Comfortable silence is one thing, and you two quite enjoy existing together in that way. However, once you say something, Jungwon always responds. Not now. 

“I just…” you begin, slowing once you notice his gaze. 

Jungwon’s eyes are sleek, narrow and lidded as if he’s stalking his next victim. And you’ve never seen Jungwon hunt—you don’t know if he’s good or bad at it—but you imagine this is what it must feel like to be his prey. Tense, shaken, maybe a little bit aroused—you don’t know! You don’t know if fish can feel that way. But you certainly do. 

His eyes never leave your face, watching carefully for any abrupt changes. It feels alarming to have him look this intensely at you. Of course, he knows what you look like. He’s seen you plenty. However, you’ve never felt as observed as you do now. Even when he eyes your legs or listens to you blab on about something unimportant, you never felt watched. Except for now. 

Suddenly feeling as if all the air in the outside world was sucked up and being sold for a billion dollars—which, of course, you can’t afford—you grow very still. You might as well never breathe again at this rate, especially if he keeps looking at you like that. You need to bring yourself back down to Earth, and hopefully bring him with you too. 

“You just always look at my legs, and I know you’re probably curious, so… I don’t know. I thought it could be fun? That sounds stupid. Um, what I mean is that we’re obviously biologically different. And not ‘cause you’re a boy and I’m girl, but because I’m a human and you’re… not. So, I thought, what better way to understand each other more than to explore each other’s bodies?” 

You definitely deserve to drown after that shit show. 

Jungwon’s mouth parts, and you’re sure it’s to call you a slew of embarrassing names, but instead he says: “You can touch my tail.” 

He makes no fuss, only maneuvering himself so he can lay himself on a rock, his tail and fins resting across the jetty. He’s mostly submerged in the water, but this is the closest you’ve been to his tail. It’s actually quite pretty. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, and in any other circumstance, the question would prompt you to joke that he’s some sort of pervert. But when he looks at you like that, eyes shiny and imploring, so gentle and sweet, you’re rendered silent. You almost wish you could take him home with you. You don’t almost wish, you do wish it, but that would be impossible. 

“Hell yeah,” you say, beginning to rip off your shorts to reveal your bikini bottoms that you always wear in case you decide today is the day you swim around with Jungwon. Show him a little freestyle or breast stroke! Well, you guess today is the day. 

You slide into the small wedge of space next to Jungwon, not quite sitting across from him, but hovering between his fins and torso. Your knee bumps against his waist, murmuring a quick sorry, as he helps guide you into the water. The water is cold, but that’s not why you have goosebumps. 

He holds your elbow gently, only letting go once he’s sure you’re steady and comfortable. He looks at you, waiting and expecting, eyes drifting between your own and your hands that hold your legs close to your body. 

Unbeknownst to you as to why, but you’re nervous. You’ve never been this close to Jungwon before, and you’ve certainly never seen his body this well. 

Usually he keeps himself fairly submerged, the water distorting his tail and creating hypnotizing lines across his chest. If he’s not submerged, he’s laying with his back facing upwards, which, of course, you don’t mind. His back is nice. It’s broad. And very muscular. And defined. Some might even say sexy. But you're beginning to like the idea of seeing his torso too.

He keeps one hand resting on his stomach, the other resting on a rock near your shoulder. He’s really good looking. Really good looking, like, go-to-war-for-that-face good looking. To make matters worse, he’s still looking at your complexion, watching your every move, reassuring himself that you’re not uncomfortable. 

“You don’t have to…” he whispers, chuckling slightly. He’s not sure why he whispers, but he feels that if he should speak any louder, this moment between you would be broken. And Jungwon definitely wants to preserve this moment for as long as he can. 

“I want to, just,” you sigh, eyes drifting from his tail to his face. He looks at you with such interest that you almost begin to thank the sea for giving you your very own pearl. “I’m shy.” 

He giggles, leaning a bit closer to you. “You're shy?” 

You nod. “I’m shy.” 

He hums again, a sound so melodic you finally understand why you almost dove into the water for him that first night. His smile is sweet and soft as he taps your shoulder mercifully. “Come here,” he says, taking your smaller hand in his. “I’ll do it with you.”

He pulls your hand under the cool water, directing it towards the top of his tail. It’s nothing like you imagined. You pictured it to be a bit rougher—sort of like when you run your hands along those color changing sequin pillows; it’s nothing like that. It’s smoother than you expected, only a small ridge felt whenever you glide your hand upwards along the scales. He stays very still, almost not breathing for the sake of not scaring you off. 

Your hand creeps a bit higher, towards his hips and his abs instinctively flex. He hopes you don’t notice, but of course you do. Thank god you’re already in the water or else another kind of wetness would be quite noticeable. 

You decide to leave him alone, noticing the curl of his lips that he only gets when he’s a little embarrassed and agree to focus your attention on the fin that rests next to your torso. It’s quite large, certainly larger than your head. The blue becomes lighter, more of a sky blue than the royal blue that stripes along his side, as it fans along the length of his fin. The tips of his fin curl gently inwards, more like a dolphin than the pet goldfish you had growing up. It’s cute. 

“You can relax, you know,” you huff a giggle, catching his eyes as he watches your every movement. 

Jungwon releases whatever breath he was holding, a nervous laugh following soon after. His hands finding your calf, the same one he scratched weeks ago. He traces the faint scar with his nail, a whisper of a touch that you’re no longer intimidated by. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. Of course, you nod. 

You two stay like that for awile: in the silence, feeling along each other. His hands glide over your skin, and yours slide along his scales. A new exploration that you’re sure millions would die to experience, and not even because he’s a creature of myths but because he’s so undeniably handsome it kind of makes you wonder if he’s even real. 

A slight tug on your pinky toe pulls you out of your admiration, squirming a bit as he tickles your foot unintentionally. “What does this even do?” he says, bringing your foot right in front of his face. “It’s so small.” 

“It’s supposed to help with balance or something,” you chuckle. He rotates your ankle in all the ways it can go, mesmerized by the flexibility of a singular joint. 

“How? It’s so tiny.” 

You fail to suppress a giggle as his finger runs along the sole of your foot, causing your leg to kick out a nearly hit him in the face. He narrowly escapes—another—black eye, wrestling your leg back into the water and pressing it between his ribs and arm, as if it were a sea snake trying to attack him. 

“What?” 

“It tickles.” 

He snorts, eyes carving into sweet crescent moons that shine even under the bright sun. “You don’t see me complaining," he says, a slight snobiness in his voice. Certainly you couldn’t have taught him that. 

“I’m sorry,” you reply, insincerely. “Am I hurting you?” you question, a bit more genuine than your previous statement as you readjust the strength with which you were touching his tail. 

Jungwon shakes his head, beginning to run his hand up and down your knee, clearly captivated by the jut of bone that protrudes when it bends. “You could never hurt me,” he reassures softly. 

“I literally kicked you in the face that one time,” you scoff. 

He smiles cutely, his dimples putting on a pretty show just for you. “Better than being slapped with a fin,” he replies, making a face to show you that he’s definitely been slapped by a fin before and it definitely hurt. 

The more you know Jungwon, the better his speech becomes. But because Jungwon sometimes doesn’t recognize certain words that you say, you suspect that this is the first time he’s had to learn another language; only to discover that he’s fluent in several languages, some human and some not. Apparently, there are nearly a thousand different merfolk dialects, all of which are easy to pick up for other merfolk. 

“Wait, I want to try.” 

“You’re not going to be able to understand,” Jungwon says plainly, peeking one eye open as he rests his head on his arms. You guess he also gets sleepy in the morning. 

“Try me.” 

Jungwon sits up, making room for your legs as you scooch forward and dip your feet into the water. He narrows his eyes at you, their pretty, round shape becoming taunting slits as he contemplates if this is a secret he wants to let you in on. 

“Fine,” he sighs, ignoring it when your ankle bumps against his hip, instead wrapping his fingers around it as if to anchor himself. 

“I’m actually really smart, Jungwon. I don’t know why you don’t believe me,” you scoff. 

He giggles, the sun bouncing off of his eyes and warming them to a thrilling degree. “Maybe because you said swordfish and barracuda’s are basically the same thing,” he explains. 

“Key word: basically,” you groan, flicking water at him with your foot. He barely flinches. “C’mon! I want to learn.” 

Jungwon sighs, splashing a little bit of water against your leg since he can never let you win before he speaks. Whatever the hell he says, you can’t even begin to guess. It’s a series of clicks, whistles, and purrs—a language so fluid and ancient that it's pointless to try to follow. It pours from his mouth just like a quiet stream, a sound so wise and inviting. It’s a short sentence, whatever it is that he says, and he looks at you expectantly, his eyes wide and shiny just like the early morning waves. He almost looks shy. 

You’re breathless. 

“Does that mean ‘I want more gummy bears’ or something?” you guess, which causes Jungwon to laugh so loudly you’re afraid your secret might be shared. “Seriously, what does that mean?” 

He hums, and you almost think it’s another phrase in his mother tongue before he sends you that cheeky smile. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand,” he smiles. 

You want to wipe that dimple off his face. Or better yet, steal it and put it in your pocket. “I hate you,” you groan, wiping your hands down your face in frustration. “Can’t you just tell me?” 

He hums again. “I'll tell you when you’re ready.” 

—

After a while, the morning schedule grew to be a bit too demanding. You and Jungwon kept falling asleep, often waking up covered in brine and suntanned limbs that weren’t always yours, but welcome nonetheless. However, because of your unexpected slumber, you began to miss the time you spent talking with him. Turns out, Jungwon did too, as he’s the one to suggest that you two meet up later in the day, when the beach goers return home for dinner. You couldn’t have come up with a better plan yourself. 

After spending the day in the blazing sun with your friends, shopping in an outdoor mall and spending all of the weekly budget you set aside for yourself, you’re more than happy to jump into the water for a swim in your new bikini. 

Jungwon watches you as you leisurely paddle about, ignoring as his eyes burn your skin despite the refreshing water. He pushes off the jetty and glides over to you, his tail trailing behind him much more gracefully than your flailing legs. And it’s not even that you’re a bad swimmer—you’re actually pretty decent—but next to Jungwon, you might as well be a piece of plastic floating next to a sweet little jellyfish. 

“Let me help,” he says, reaching for your hands as he begins to notice you growing tired of treading water. 

You push him with no real force, trying to swim away playfully as if your muscles aren’t begging for some reprieve. “I can swim fine, thank you,” you insist, kicking water up in hopes of annoying him. 

But Jungwon, ever the most patient, doesn’t give in. “I know you can swim fine,” he reassures. “But still, let me help you.” 

He doesn’t wait for your response before tugging you towards him by your ankle. You flip on your back, floating helplessly in the water as he holds your foot to his chest. He’s warm, unlike most sea creatures—at least, you assume—letting you feel the steady drum of his heart under the sole of your foot. It picks up slightly when you flash him a breathless smile, but you choose to ignore it for his sake. He can get quite bashful, you’ve begun to learn after the countless times you've caught him staring. 

“You caught me,” you sigh, deciding to relax and let him take over. This is his domain after all. 

He lightly pulls you towards him, letting go of your foot and instead hooking his arms around your waist. You drape your arms over his broad shoulders, trying your hardest not to think about how sturdy he feels under your palms. The flex of his shoulder muscle was definitely tempting—dare you say delicious—but alas, one must persist! 

“I caught you,” he smiles, so close that your noses almost brush. However, it only lasts a brief second before he blushes and turns away, pretending there is something far more interesting on the left of you. You’re sure that the seagull that has been floating a few yards away for the last five minutes is not more captivating than you—if his glances are anything to go by—but you’ll ignore it. For now. “Relax. I got you.” 

And relax, you do. Your arms and legs are spent from swimming around. So much for cooling off! Resting your head on Jungwon’s shoulder, you let the water decorating his skin cool the heat bubbling in your face. You hope he’s too absorbed in whatever it is he’s staring at to notice. 

It doesn’t matter if he does notice anyway, you think. It’s not like anything would come of it. Seriously, he’s a whole different creature. There’s no world in which that could possibly fly. But for now, you’ll enjoy what you have and make the most of it. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, more worried that he’s now holding up your entire bodyweight rather than your proximity to one another. 

He nods, tucking his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. You’re sure you smell like the sea, but you’re also sure that he doesn’t mind. He literally lives in the ocean. “I like being close to you,” he says, as if it isn’t the most devastating thing for you to hear. But before you can even open your mouth to ask what he means, he swerves towards a different conversation. “What do you do when you’re not here with me?” 

You lean back, now met with those same pair of eyes that consistently sweep you off your feet—literally. Jungwon leans away from you too, eyes flickering back and forth like he can’t decide where he would prefer to focus. It’s cute. 

“Depends,” you reply, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. He attempts to swat your hand away but fails. It’s not like he was really trying either way. “Sometimes I work, sometimes I go to my parents’ house. Most of the time, I’m with my friends if I’m not with you.” 

“What are your parents like?” 

“My mom’s cool,” you answer. You like when he asks you questions like this. It makes you feel like you can bring a piece of him with you when you leave the beach—almost as if he’s a regular human man and you’re a regular woman, just hanging out with her friend. Friend? Situationship? No. That sounds stupid. “My dad is kind of weird, though. I don’t know if you two would get along.” 

Jungwon cocks his head to the side, confused. “Why not?” 

You shrug, trying to think of the least creepy way to confess that your dad is very obsessed with sea creatures. “He just is.” 

That’ll have to do. Jungwon nods, although he seems unsatisfied. 

“What about your parents?” 

Jungwon sighs, his fingers tracing swirls along the small of your back. It tickles, but you don’t mind. A funny look crosses his face, as if he’s hiding something from you, but you won’t pry. You like watching him think. Whenever Jungwon is deep in thought, he tends to purse his lips in a perfectly kissable way and look up towards the sky, as if the clouds will sketch out the answer for him. It never works, and he always ends up having to use his brain power instead. It’s still endearing nonetheless. 

“My mom and dad are a little afraid of humans,” he admits. “They wouldn’t understand why I like spending time with you so much.” 

“Oh,” you nod slowly, digesting this new information. Afraid of humans. “Why?” 

“I don’t know how to put it,” he confesses, tugging you a little closer like he’s worried you’ll back away if he says the wrong thing. You begin to draw the same pattern on his shoulder, and that seems to calm him a little if the swish of his tail is anything to go by. “I guess it’s just unfamiliarity. The only times they interact are typically on a full moon, and that’s usually a dangerous time for both of us. I guess I’m lucky that you’re the only human I know.” 

You shoot him a bewildered look, one that stops him cold. “Why is it dangerous?” 

The swirls on your back stop, and Jungwon’s spine grows rigid, every bit the animal side of him you’re very well aware of whenever he asserts his strength over you or you catch sight of the gills on his side. “Let’s talk about something else.” 

You nod, looking away from his suddenly stoic expression. Dangerous? You can understand why humans and merfolk don’t interact much for a series of reasons—fishing, poaching, oil spills… Besides, you’re not too sure humans would be all too kind to merfolk if they were to spot one in broad daylight. However, during the full moon? Why hadn’t he mentioned that to you before? It has been nearly a month since you’ve known Jungwon, and you’ve seen him nearly every day since that fateful night—safe for maybe twice when you caught a bizarre summer flu. Would he have told you if it weren’t for this conversation? 

“What do you like to do with your friends?” he asks, trying to catch your eyes. 

You flinch, suddenly scaring yourself with all of the possibilities of what his previous statement might mean. But when you look into his eyes, deeper than twilight, you know that he would never hurt you. Sure, he’s stronger. He’s faster. His nails are kind of sharp, and some of his teeth file into a point. However, he’s always been gentle with you. Soft spoken and kind. The sweetest out of anyone or anything you’ve ever met. And suddenly, you feel like crying for ever doubting Jungwon’s care for you. He always remembers everything you say, and asks questions the best he can, even if he doesn’t understand. He listens like it’s his lifeline, his duty, and watches you closely to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or aren’t growing tired of spending time with him. You think he might be the nicest person you’ve ever met, despite giving you that scar on your calf. But it’s something to remember him by; it’s a piece of him you can take with you. You know him, and he sure as hell knows you. 

Reaching upwards, you delicately trace the underside of his jaw. His eyes widen slightly, shocked by your bold movement, but he melts into it as if he can’t help it. You wish you could watch him melt over and over again. He leans into your hand, chasing the touch and sighs, an airy sound that you would totally make fun of him for if you weren’t also completely invested in this moment. 

“Talk. Just like we do,” you answer simply, poking the small freckle on the side of his chin. 

He smiles softly, holding you even tighter if possible. “I hope you don’t talk with them exactly like how we talk,” he huffs, pouting. 

God, you could kiss it off. Focus!

“Not exactly,” you reassure, allowing your eyes to wander to his mouth for a split second. You hope the triangle method hasn’t also infected the seven seas, and that the merfolk when Jungwon comes from are unaware of what it could mean. “We go out to eat, go to parties… sleepovers,” you sigh. “I like spending time with you more, though.” 

Jungwon hopes you can’t notice, but he thinks his heart just skipped a beat before slamming against his ribcage. “Really?” he wonders. 

You nod shyly, entranced by every small curve and line of his face. Jungwon follows your lead, examining every detail that makes you whole, and pretending as if he hasn’t been discreetly doing that the entire time. 

One thing about you is that you’re usually always very composed. Very focused. He never watches your eyes wander, whereas he can’t seem to stop looking at you. He loves watching the way your lips form when you talk, when you smile, and he loves watching you think and nap and swim—despite it looking kind of funny to him—and how you breathe. Nothing you could do would be boring to him. You’re always interesting. He wonders how you do it. 

“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks abruptly, as if he doesn’t see you every day. 

You look at him, almost solemn. Tracing his jaw again, you allow yourself to relish in the comfort of him before you burst this little bubble you two have created for yourselves. 

“I’m out all day, and then the girls are coming over to mine,” you groan, almost annoyed at the fact that you do have a life outside of swimming and lazing around with Jungwon. “Yunjin’s cousin Chaewon broke up with her partner finally, and we’re going to get drunk to celebrate her leaving that awful man.” 

“Drunk?” 

“That funny way I was acting when we first met,” you explain, now gliding your finger tips across his collarbone. It’s so dainty. You wonder how someone that strong could also seem so delicate. “It happens when you drink something called alcohol.” 

He nods slowly, downtrodden. You can tell he’s upset that he won’t be able to see you tomorrow, and he knows that you can tell too. It’s not often that you two skip a day from seeing each other. 

You hug him closer, tucking yourself into the crook of his neck. Jungwon hugs you back, his arm wrapping around your waist as his other arm cradles your head against him. You could so easily kiss his neck if you wanted. It’s right there, and your lips are practically pressed against it. But you can’t, and you won’t. 

Pulling away, you point to your house—white with the porch and baby blue shutters—that sits in a row of houses that look down on the beach from their cliffside perch. He follows your finger, nearly pressing his cheek to yours to make sure he’s following the correct eyeline. 

“That’s my house. Just look over there if you ever miss me, okay?” you tell him. He stares at your house for a good while, memorizing its shape and the houses neighboring yours. 

“Okay,” he nods, looking to you once he feels it’s been sufficiently ingrained in his mind. “Maybe I’ll show up for this ‘break-up’ celebration.” 

You snort. “As if.” 

—

You hate to admit it, but you’re kind of having fun right now.

Everyone’s on their second glass of wine, snacks and candy thrown across your coffee table to fuel the gossip of tonight’s gathering. Your friends are all screaming and giggling, cozily lounging about in their pajamas. And you hate to admit it, you really do, but you’re having a blast. 

Of course, you missed seeing Jungwon today. You had a comically horrible shift at your job today that you would’ve loved to tell him about, but there’s always tomorrow! Maybe you have grown a little too attached to him. Although you’ve seen your friends heaps of times over this summer, your mind has always been somewhere else—somewhere where Jungwon is present. 

But now, as Chaewon explains how she found her ex’s Tinder profile and how she confronted him, you’re okay with Jungwon taking a back seat for now. You have your girls. They have you. All is well. 

“And then, when I confronted him about it, this motherfucker had the audacity to blame it on me!” Chaewon all but shrieks as she slams her hands down on your coffee table, rattling the array of wine glasses you snagged from the back of your cupboard. All of you gasp, shoveling popcorn and sour gummies into your mouths as you lean in, fully invested. “He tried to tell me that if I listened to him more whenever he talked about his dumb fucking video games, then he wouldn’t have cheated. Bitch, if you had given me better head, maybe I would’ve been more inclined to listen!”  

Lara howls with laughter, as Yunjin and Daniela run a lap around your living room to calm themselves down. You damn near choke on your wine, letting the rosé warm your cheeks. You’re happy. 

But you’re even happier to hear the doorbell ring for pizza. 

“Fucking finally!” Yunjin exclaims, reclaiming her spot on your couch next to her cousin. “I’m starving.” 

“Thank fuck—they got here early,” you say, not even bothering to check the Uber Eats status on your phone. You hop up from your spot on the rug, shuffling down the hallway towards your front door. Peaking into the bathroom, stationed right next to the door, you check to make sure you don’t look too flustered—just in case this is someone you remember from high school and want to impress for some reason. After deciding your hair looks voluminous and your tits sit great in your tank top, you decide you’re certainly presentable enough to face this pizza delivery man. 

However, upon opening the door, you realize that there is no pizza delivery man. In fact, there isn’t even a pizza. 

You recognize his eyes first. Hell, you’d recognize those eyes out of a billion. You could’ve been blinded by the sun, scorched by acid, and hit by a car before you wouldn’t be able to recognize them. However, caught off guard by being face to face with a pair of eyes you’re familiar with, it takes your brain a few seconds to register one very crucial factor: you’ve never seen these eyes other than at the beach. 

You aren’t at the beach. You’re at your house. 

Not only are you at your house, but your house is up a hill. One needs legs to walk up a hill, or anything for that matter. So why would these pair of eyes, one that you’re both very elated and very confused to see, be at your front door step? Oh, only for one reason of course!

Jungwon has sprung fucking legs. 

“Hi,” he smiles shyly. 

A bodily reaction that one could only describe as both becoming a human rocket and rigor mortis occurs within you all at once. Your body shakes so violently that you’ve gone still. You’re practically frozen. Mouth opening and closing rather quickly, you struggle to find the words you need to be able to articulate how you feel in this very moment. Jungwon seems pleased. He even has the nerve to giggle a little bit as he watches your brain work over time. 

Part of you wants to think you were roofied. Why would you have been roofied? You don’t know, not that there is ever a justifiable reason to be roofied. But maybe your friends slipped something to you that you didn’t second guess enough—maybe an edible? Yes. It has to be an edible. Why else would you be picturing Jungwon on your front step with fucking legs? Did you seriously miss him that bad? How pathetic! 

But when Yunjin shouts for you to hurry up with the pizza, you realize this is no bad trip and this is no hallucination. Jungwon is here—at your front door—with legs. And he’s fucking naked. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you scream, all of the neurons in your brain suddenly firing all at once. 

Jungwon yelps as you tug him inside, stumbling over his feet—feet that you’re not entirely sure he knows how to work yet—as you shove him into your bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind him, you run to your bedroom, ignoring the concerned looks of your friends as you nearly wipe out while turning the corner. 

Shuffling through your drawers and closet, you eventually find a pair of sweatpants that you snagged from an ex-boyfriend and a top that you’re sure your dad gave to you as a sleep shirt if the sheer enormity of it is enough to go by. Hopefully, it’ll fit Jungwon. Although, it seems that he has absolutely no problem with being in the fucking nude. 

Wait. He was naked. 

You were so surprised to see him that you barely had a chance to recognize the severity of the situation. Not only could your neighbors have seen some random man—although not random to you—standing on your front porch, but they might have seen him butt-fucking-naked. Thankfully, he had the decency to not fully expose himself. At least, you think.

You rush back to the front bathroom before any of your friends can catch onto the problem at hand. You fling the door open, Jungwon practically plastered against the wall as he looks at you and the clothes in your hands. Glancing towards the ceiling in hopes of giving him some privacy, you offer him the clothes. 

“I don’t really have anything else for you to wear, and you can’t be fucking naked in front of me,” you say. 

Jungwon just stares at the clothes, confused. You shake your hands aggressively, and he eventually takes it, trying his best to figure out how to put the clothes on. 

Jungwon tries to stick his foot through one of the holes, but he ends up losing his balance and nearly crashing to the floor. You manage to catch his arm and tug him up straight, but not before he knocks over a soap bottle and a couple of decorative items on the bathroom sink. 

“Shh!” you hush, accidentally glancing down in attempts to see if he had hurt himself at all. But upon catching a glimpse of the skin on his thigh, your eyes shoot straight back upwards. “My friends will hear you.” 

Eventually, he does okay with the pants, only stumbling a few times. He finds his balance by gripping the sink counter and is able to get his feet through the sweatpants, wriggling them up over his new legs. Finally looking away from the ceiling, you come face to face with a flustered and bashful Jungwon. Fuck, maybe you did miss him. 

“Hi. Sorry,” he whispers, smiling like the situation is funny. And to him, it is. He hasn’t seen you lose your cool this bad since the first time he met you, and he couldn’t even register how out of character that was because he didn’t know you then. Now he knows you. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, handing the shirt back to you. 

“Oh,” you blink, taking the cotton fabric in your hands. You bunch the fabric up towards the neck, standing on your toes so you can tug it over his head. His face pops right out, giving you a sheepish grin. For the first time since he’s stepped foot on your property, you return the favor. You guide his arms through the sleeves, the t-shirt sitting quite comfortably on his broad frame. The pants are a little long, sweeping the floor a bit whenever he shuffles about, but it’ll do. For anyone else, they’ll think it’s a fashion choice. “Do… Do these feel okay? Are you comfortable?” 

He looks down towards the clothes he’s managed to put on, gaze returning to your face as quickly as it left. “I think so,” he nods. “I don’t really know what they’re supposed to feel like.” 

“Right,” you say, because, really, what else is there to say? 

You finally take a good look at Jungwon, now that he’s dressed and you feel like you have permission to ogle a bit. He’s dry, for starters. No matter how long he suns himself, it seems like his hair is always wet. Now it’s… well… dry. It doesn’t seem to be damaged from the copious amounts of salt water that have touched it over the years; it seems quite soft and much longer than you originally thought as he blows a strand away from his forehead. He’s taller than you, and you’re not sure why that surprises you. His tail was quite long. But that was a tail. Not legs. His shoulders are broad, that of which you already knew, but seeing them hidden by the silly shirt draping his frame is sort of driving you crazy. You miss them. “How… what…?” 

He sighs and takes a shaky step towards you. Instinctively, you reach your arms out to prevent him from falling but he just wraps his arms around you, simple and plain. His heart raps wildly against his chest, and it’s probably due to the excitement of the day but you selfishly hope it’s for you. 

“Jungwon, how the fuck did you get here?” you mumble into the t-shirt, not quite ready to let go just yet. You hate to admit it, but perhaps your heart is also pumping a bit faster than usual. And perhaps it’s because of him.  

“My friend told me a story,” he starts, pulling away from you so he can look into your eyes. He’s beaming. “That some merfolk can turn into humans. So I tried it, and it works!” he grins, shaking your shoulders in excitement. “Not everyone can do it, apparently. But I can!” 

You look down at his legs. “I can’t believe you’re a fucking human.” 

“I’m a fucking human!” he shouts, nearly toppling over from sheer excitement. “Now I can see you all the time.” His eyes are so sincere and your heart nearly bursts. 

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling ear to ear. “You can.” 

Just then, a knock sounds from the door behind you and Jungwon practically jumps out of his skin.

“Who the fuck is in the bathroom with you?!” Yunjin shrieks. 

Riiight, my friends are here, you think. Shit. 

—

Explaining Jungwon to the girls was a lot easier than you thought it was going to be. Of course, you didn’t tell the truth. That wouldn’t go over well. But what they won’t know, won’t kill them. After successfully explaining to them that Jungwon was a friend from school who surprised you by coming into town, they were more than accepting of his presence. After all, a cute boy showing up on your door step for an impromptu visit? They’re just happy you’re back in the dating game—or so they think. 

It’s funny seeing Jungwon sit amongst your friends, the stillness in a sea of tipsy giggles. Jungwon stays quiet most of the time, eagerly listening to all of their stories, but mostly enthralled by the amount of human snacks he now easily has at his disposal. 

When everyone leaves, and you’re all alone with him, you’re not quite sure of what to do. Considering you’ve been alone with him many times before, it’s almost comical. But now he’s in your house. He’s human. Both are facts that you never thought would actually be true. 

You stay up with him for a long time after your friends leave. Still shocked as you watch the young man curled up in the corner of your couch, fascinated by the way his toes wiggle and scrunch. He quickly learns the art of footsies, as he can’t help but touch you, even as the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch. And although you’re not exactly a fan of feet, you don’t mind entertaining a game of footsies as long as it’s with Jungwon. 

He’s amazed by the TV, eyes reflecting purple and red and all kinds of neon as he does his best to absorb the new information he’s receiving. It’s like a speed course on human behavior. Eventually, you have to turn off the television so he’ll pay attention to you, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll just have to watch more of this another time if you let him. 

Upon intense questioning, Jungwon reiterates what he told you earlier but in greater detail. His friend, Sunghoon, had told him of a long forgotten, and seemingly taboo, tale of how some merfolk could walk on land. He said it was a trend centuries ago, before the oceans had been polluted by human behavior. It was seen as a form of entertainment. Sometimes it was done for pleasure. However, once humans began to destroy the sea with their many devices, merfolk stopped trying to blend in with and learn from humans. It was too hazardous. 

Jungwon shares that he tried to gather more information, asking his elders if it was possible for merfolk to become human but the conversation was always shut down. It wasn’t until his grandmother indulged in a secret that her grandmother used to be a land walker. That she would bathe herself in light and join the humans at her leisure. She warned that that was ages ago; times have changed. However, this meant that he also had the ability to do the same. 

He followed his grandmother's instructions, finding a quiet and safe place to bathe in the sun. According to him, it took awhile. But once the sun was set, he had begun to sprung legs. 

“Was it painful?” you asked, rubbing your foot along his calf. 

Jungwon shakes his head slowly, watching the movement of your leg. “It was sort of uncomfortable. But it's not painful.” 

He shares how he practiced walking, deciding to disguise himself in the dark of night to prevent anyone from seeing him. Just in case, he said. He said it was hard, and how he’s not sure how humans are able to do it so easily. Or how they’re able to run! That’s a whole new challenge, but he’s willing to learn. 

“I remember you pointed to where your house was, and I just tried my best to walk there,” he said, now moving to be closer to you. He’s still trying to understand that his legs get in the way, so after his knee digs into your leg uncomfortably, he shifts to tuck his legs beneath himself. “I was really tired but when I saw you, I couldn’t feel it anymore,” he smiles, slightly taller than you from the way he’s perched. “I was so happy to see you.” 

“I was so surprised,” you confess, covering your cheeks out of exasperation. Your face heats under his grin. 

“You looked kind of silly,” he laughs. Jungwon drops his jaw and widens his eyes cartoonishly, making fun of your reaction. 

You shove him over, causing him to fall onto his back and kick his feet up in the air. He narrowly misses you, but you don’t mind. You’re too happy to have him with you. 

In the middle of your conversation, Jungwon passes out, sprawled across your couch in a way you’ve never seen a human body positioned before. It’s his first day as a human, so you decide to cut him some slack. Wrapping him in a blanket, as well as leaving an extra—in case he gets cold—you trudge to your bedroom and miss him despite him existing in the next room. 

Early the next morning, while Jungwon is still asleep, you rush out to the store to pick up a few things. As handsome as he is, he cannot live in those ratty sweatpants forever. Guessing what his size might be, you pick up a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts that you think he might like. You try to stick to softer material, not wanting to irritate his skin. You’ve also never had to buy underwear for a man before, but hopefully you did a good job. Nobody has ever gone wrong with Calvin Klein. Besides, the idea of seeing the waistband of his underwear poking of the top of his pants kind of makes your nipples—

Jungwon is wide awake when you get home. Hair still mussed from sleep, but he figured out how to get the television working—it’s set to some old movie that you’re not sure you’ve seen. However, he seems transfixed. He rises from his spot, walking much more steadily than yesterday as he greets you with a hug. He smells like the breeze and sleep and something you want to have by your side forever. 

He watches you cook breakfast, clinging to your side like he’s afraid you might leave again. It’s cute, despite how warm he is. You two eat breakfast on your porch, discussing your plans for the day and asking if he’d like to join. Of course, Jungwon would be insane to say no. 

After breakfast, you show him his clothes and force him to do a fashion show for you. He doesn’t quite understand why you're so excited, but he’d do anything to make you smile. 

“Do you like it?” you ask, sitting on the edge of your bed as he struts about your room. 

He looks down at the shirt and jeans he has on, shrugging absentmindedly. He thinks they’re fine. It’s not like he knows what would look good. He feels like he’s kind of dressed like the guy he saw on your TV not too long ago, and he thought he was cool. But besides that, he doesn’t really know what would look good on him. What he does know is that you look good. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, biting down a smile as your eyes rake over his frame three times over. He likes the way you clasp your hands on your lap, doing your best to be polite and patient although he knows you are fighting demons to not shout out your opinion. He also quite likes the crinkle that forms in the corner of your eyes as you try your best not to giggle. He very much likes that he can see the curve of your tits over the hem of your top as you clasp your hands even tighter. He’s not sure if he can tell you that though. He’ll have to watch more television to see if that’s something that is okay to say to a girl. 

“It’s nice,” is what Jungwon settles on telling you, and you smile even brighter than he thought possible. He could get used to this. 

You decide to take him around town for the day, deciding fresh air and social interaction is just what Jungwon needs in order to understand human behavior. He is more than thrilled to be involved. You can practically hear your father nagging you for housing merfolk, especially after his near death experience. But Jungwon would never do that to you. 

He had no idea that there were so many places—stores, you call them—where humans could buy things. He’s entranced by the grocery store, amazed by the selection of gummies that he now has access to. The concept of not touching everything he sees is a bit new to him, and you have to inform him that people tend to find it quite rude if you touch every single fruit in the produce section. However, always the avid listener, he follows your instructions until they become second nature. 

Jungwon is shocked by your ability to stay focused in such lively places. There’s so much noise—much different from the quiet roar of the sea. He’s surprised to hear you talk about how quiet your town is, and how there are even busier areas where humans live called the city. He’s not sure if he could survive living in a place like that.

There are also so many formalities. Saying please and thank you and no, you go ahead to every small interaction. He’s fascinated with your ability to memorize all these small things. Maybe, one day, he’ll be a master of them too. 

You take him out to eat, just at some small diner not too far from your house. He lets you pick something for him to eat, since he’s still not all that familiar with human food. The waitress is nice, but he thinks you’re nicer—laughing at all his jokes and smiling softly while he rambles about what his favorite part of the day was so far. You hate to say it, but you’re completely enamoured by him. 

You enjoy how he purses his lips when he finds something you say amusing, but doesn’t quite want to announce it. He likes how you play with your earlobe when you get shy. Small things. He barely even realizes how hungry he is until the food arrives, he’s too preoccupied with you. But he thinks maybe his second favorite thing—you being first—is human food. The burger you ordered him seems to be quite a hit. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a person eat that fast, not even half of your meal finished before he cleans the entirety of his plate. Jungwon isn’t very picky, it seems. 

The days pass by like this, quietly but comfortably. Jungwon slowly learns more and more about what it means to be human, the behaviors and the mentality. You see him grow more comfortable out in the open, no longer adhered to your side, and more willing to try things on his own. 

Despite his growing independence, the two of you grow closer than before, if that’s even possible. He helps you cook and clean, entertaining you with silly stories or questions that you can’t help but answer. It’s domestic. You even bring him into work one day, letting him sit in the back with a movie on your laptop while you bore yourself to death. Jungwon never seems to mind. He never complains. If anything, he’s just happy to be with you. 

Jungwon only lasts one more night on your couch. By the third night, he comes shuffling into your room, lightly rapping against the door right as you’re about to fall asleep. Flinching awake, you turn on your lamp as you squint at the young man standing in your doorway. He stands there awkwardly, scratching his neck in embarrassment. 

“What’s wrong, Jungwon? Are you okay?” you mumble, drowsiness laced in your voice. 

He nods quickly, not wanting to worry you. “I”m okay. I’m okay. I just-” he huffs, shifting his weight repeatedly. You can tell he’s searching for the words, whether he has them or not, you’re not sure. Sometimes you wish you could speak his language, maybe it would make it easier for you to understand him. “I don’t want to sleep on the couch.” 

This stuns you. This might be the first time you’ve heard him complain. 

“Why? Is it uncomfortable?” you ask, sitting up. The neck of your sleep shirt slides down one shoulder and Jungwon’s eyes follow the movement. “I can give you some extra pillows if you want.” 

“No, it’s not uncomfortable,” he replies, shaking his head once again. You can see him grow more hesitant by the second, playing with his fingers as he tries to decipher what would be the most appropriate phrasing. He’s not sure how to communicate what he wants from you. None of the movies he’s studied over the past few days have shown him how to do this. 

“What’s up, Jungwon?” you ask once again, your eyes softening. 

Jungwon grows weak, melting into the warmth of your gaze. He feels a heat stir in his lower stomach that he’s still trying to navigate with his new body. Finally, after rationalizing that you’ve never seriously berated him for any of his thoughts or questions, he decides to bite the bullet. “Can I sleep in your bed?” 

“Oh!” you gasp, shocked by his forwardness. “Like… you want to swap?” 

He shakes his head at your misunderstanding. “No!” he damn near shouts. “I was thinking we could share?” 

His suggestion makes your toes curl and a giggle bubbles up from your stomach. Feeling like a school girl again, you nod slowly, lifting the covers for him to join you. He quickly shuffles over, a shy smile spreading across his pink lips like frosting. You wish you could kiss it and have it stain your mouth. He slides under your covers, pulling them right up to his chin. It was hard for him to imagine something as comfortable as this, having only slept on the couch for the last few nights. Now he knows. 

“Why’d you want to sleep in here?” you ask, shutting the light off as you lie back down. “You can be honest and tell me that the couch was uncomfortable. I got it second hand.” 

You can hear the pillow case rustle underneath his head as he denies your comment. “Just missed you is all,” he admits. 

Suddenly, it’s as if all the air is sucked out of the room and you’re left pleading for oxygen. “But I’m only one room away,” you chuckle breathlessly, knowing that you subconsciously—or consciously—have been missing him in your sleep as well. 

“I know,” he says, moving closer to you. He can feel your body heat interacting with his, absorbing and morphing into something new entirely. “Still missed you, though.” 

Jungwon sleeps with you every night after that. And every night, you rest easier and more deeply than you ever have. 

You show him all kinds of things. Your favorite TV shows, the mall, and even the gym. However, you had to leave as soon as some man approached you and asked for your number. Jungwon didn’t seem to take much pleasure in the idea of other men approaching you. 

“I was literally right there,” he pouted as he sat in the front seat of your car. “I don’t get why he would even approach you when I was there.” 

You smile fondly, reaching over to rub his shoulder. He seems to calm down at your touch. “Maybe he thought you were just a friend.” 

Jungwon whips his head to the side. If it were biologically possible, you would believe that his eyes grew ten shades darker. Apparently, you need to make a mental note to never say something so supposedly ludicrous to Jungwon ever again. “I’m yours,” he says. 

Whatever that means. 

To make up for the fiasco that happened at the gym, you decide to take Jungwon to a place you figured he’d really like: the carnival. 

Lara has been bugging you all week, blowing up your phone incessantly and asking if you’d join her and some of your friends at the carnival this weekend. Usually, you’d try to ditch. The carnival has occurred every summer since you were little, and you’re sure it started way before that. With overpriced tickets, overpriced food, and overpriced games, you typically try to avoid the carnival altogether and save your wallet from the damage you will inevitably suffer. However, after seeing Jungwon’s eyes light up at the thought, you decided—after very little contemplation—that attending said overpriced carnival wouldn’t be awful.

Your friends are surprised to see Jungwon, considering they thought he was only supposed to stay with you for a few days, but are happy nonetheless. They drag him every which way, encouraging him to throw darts at balloons and make the tiny tea cup he manages to squeeze into spin as fast as he can. Surprisingly, he does very well with being tossed and spun around—it must do with his exposure to relentless sea currents. However, after experiencing a severe case of vertigo, you manage to convince your friends to take it easy on the rides and sit down for a while. 

“Having fun?” you ask Jungwon, sipping on a lemonade. It’s more water than lemon and sugar, but it’s cool and helps bring you back down to earth. 

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding around a bite of fried dough. The powdered sugar clings to the side of his lips and you wipe it away with your thumb. Consequently, your friends giggle from their corner of the picnic table. You can’t tell if it’s the vibrant lights of the carnival, but Jungwon’s cheeks grow a soft shade of rose. “Are you?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, snagging a piece of his snack. “I don’t usually have fun at these kinds of things, but I’m having fun with you.” 

“You don’t like carnival rides?” he asks, stealing a sip of your lemonade. He doesn’t bother to wipe the straw before or after. 

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No, I like them. These ones are just kind of lame. There’s much bigger ones at other places.” 

“Like in Diary of a Wimpy Kid?” 

“Exactly.” 

Jungwon nods slowly, flexing his fingers before he clasps his hands in his lap. He looks upward towards the sky, amazed at the fact that he can still see the stars through all this light. Tracing them with his eyes, he finds your silhouette in the stars. Why his family would ever want to keep him from finding and staying with you is beyond his comprehension. 

“I’d like to ride one of those rollercoasters someday,” he shares after being quiet for sometime. He’s still gazing upwards, eyes sparkling like fireworks. You stare at the dainty mole on his chin, wishing that you could press a kiss to it. If you could, you would give him the world. 

“You will,” you say, reaching for his hands. He looks at you, the sparkle in his eyes never dimming. “We’ll go.” 

Yunjin coughs obnoxiously, the rest of your friends snickering evilly. You’re going to kill them. You turn your head ever so slowly, wishing the horrific music that was playing in your head would play aloud for once so it could add to this intimidating vibe you are going for. But alas, it doesn’t, and you have to agree to shoot daggers at them with your eyes instead. 

“We’re going to go ride the ferris wheel,” she announces, standing up from the picnic bench. The other girls follow suit. “Do you want to come or are you guys going to keep acting like freaks and hold hands?” 

You roll your eyes, but when Jungwon doesn’t make a move to let go of your hand, you don’t either. Besides, your hands were getting quite cold from holding your lemonade, so really he’s just helping you out. Right? Right. 

“We’ll go, we’re just gonna clean up first. We’ll meet you there.” 

After you and Jungwon clean up the rest of the mess left on the table, you join the girls only to be yelled at by a couple for trying to cut in line. Trying your hardest to show the best side of your humanity, you drag Jungwon to the back of the line. Normally, you would have no problem cussing the girl and her unfortunate looking boyfriend out, but again, you want Jungwon to see your good side. He’s already seen you damn near belligerent and screaming for help, you might as well try to preserve what little remains of your dignity. Besides, you don’t mind being separated from your friends. It just means more one-on-one time with Jungwon. (Not like you haven’t had plenty of that over the last few days.) You’ll meet up with them once the ride is over. 

The carnival barker gestures to your car, buckling the two of you in. Jungwon rapidly pounds his feet up and down in excitement, a habit you’re not sure when he developed but you’ve grown to be affectionate towards. Your knees touch, and neither of you pull away, Jungwon enamoured with the idea of riding the ferris wheel, and you, enamoured with him. 

The ride jolts with a start, shocking Jungwon. As he flinches, he reaches for your hand, a welcomed surprise.

He babbles mindlessly, about how he’s never imagined being up this high in the air before, and how he hopes the ride doesn’t fail. He tells you how he can’t tell if he’s jittery because of the height or because of all of the sugar he just consumed, and you just laugh, squeezing his hand tighter. When your palms start to grow sweaty, neither of you mind because it’s the two of you and whatever you give, he’ll take. 

“I’m so happy right now,” he admits, smiling so wide that his eyes turn into crescent moons. You grin too, flashing him a smile as bright as the moon. 

“Me too,” you agree, squeezing his hand tighter. 

“This is so cool!” he damn near shrieks, rocking the cart a bit. You reach for the bar instinctively, eyes growing wide in a way that makes him cackle. You whack his leg, and despite the sting in his thigh, he doesn’t move away. “You can see everything up here.” 

“You think that’s our jetty?” you ask, pointing to a collection of rocks that are faintly carved out above the sea line. 

Jungwon squints, trying his best to follow your line of view. “No,” he shakes his head, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Ours would be farther that way,” he says, gesturing in some direction. 

“How do you know?” you question, squinting at the young man. 

“Because I know the ocean better than you do,” he mutters, in a voice so matter of fact you’re certain he had to pick it up from someone else because no way in hell you would teach him to speak to you like that. “Besides, I…” 

You watch Jungwon, observing how his eyes shift elsewhere, the smile in his face slipping into more of a confused gape. You call his name, wondering what has caught his attention so abruptly. Following his eyeline, you spot a car ahead of you. A couple—perhaps the one from earlier, you’re not sure—are sitting closely together, wrapped in each other's arms. Despite being multiple feet in front of you, it’s clear what they are doing, and it seems like Jungwon has also caught on. They kiss each other slowly, a passion you would hope they’d save for the privacy of their own home rather than the public eye. But as always, there has to be that couple. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, growing confused by his sudden reaction. “Do you not know what kissing is?” 

Jungwon tears his gaze from them, looking both scandaled and offended by your comment. “Of course I know what kissing is. I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, that crinkle between his brow appearing. 

“Just checking!” you shrug, not sure of what to say. You haven’t seen him this amazed by something since he first turned on the television. “I wasn’t sure if merfolk kissed or not.”

“Of course we fucking kiss!” he yelps, a slight edge to his tone that you find somewhat comical. “I’ve just… I’ve just never seen people kiss like that before,” he confesses, squeezing your palm. 

His eyes drift back to the couple, curious and imploring. You never quite thought of how merfolk kiss until now. Is it softer? Harder? Does it mean something else to them, as it means to humans? 

“I think I’d like to try though.” 

What? 

Now, if you aren’t mistaken, you recall having some knowledge of kissing under your belt. And by some, you mean a sufficient amount. You’re not one to dilly dally, and after years of drunk parties and dares, you’ve kissed enough people to probably last a lifetime. To put it plainly, you get around. However, when Jungwon looks at you like that, with his eyes all wide and shiny, you feel like you’re twelve again. You’re not sure of what to do or what to say. He would only say that if he wanted to kiss you, right? No way he meant someone else, he doesn’t even know other girls besides your friends and he only really talks to them when it comes to you. Unless he likes men? 

Jungwon calls your name, the warmth of his palm on your thigh is sudden but welcomed. He’s closer than you remember him being, but you can’t find it within yourself to back away. You can see the way his eyes crinkle slightly with a soft smile, and the way his lips curl upwards. The dimple on his cheek calls your name in a tone so sweet you feel light-headed, and you’re certain that the small giggle that slips past his lips—were they always that pretty?—is the most glorious thing you’ve ever heard. You know you’re supposed to hear the ocean if you find a conch shell and press it to your ear, but you wish you could hear his voice. 

He calls your name again and you shake your head, clearing the fog that plagues your mind. “What?” you blurt, eyes wide and glossy. Jungwon thinks you’re so pretty. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says, slow and steady but the twitch of his fingers reveal his excitement. “Is that okay?” 

You want to tell him a hundred things. You want to tell him how lucky you are to have nearly been destroyed by him that night, and if you knew then what you know now, you’re positive that you would’ve let him although you’re certain he would never hurt you. You want to tell him that you think he’s the hottest man you’ve ever seen on planet Earth, and that it sucks that he’s not entirely the same species as you, and vice versa. You want to tell him that he’s your best friend, and that you truly, sincerely hope that you’re his. But all you manage to say, with severe effort, is: “Um, sure. Yeah.” 

Jungwon has kissed people. This much is true. It’s common amongst merfolk—to kiss—as they are sexual and romantic beings. He’s kissed dozens of beings, human and merfolk. He’s kissed to survive, just as he kisses to kill. However, he never knew that kissing could feel like this. 

He leans in slowly, feeling you practically melt against him the second his lips touch yours. The first thing he realizes is how soft you are, and the second is how good you taste. Your palm presses to his chest and his heart instantly warms. The kiss is short and soft, but once he pulls away, he falls right back into it. At this point, he doesn’t even notice if the ferris wheel is moving or if it has stopped, because he feels like he’s floating on top of the world. He can still taste the powdered sugar on your lips, and when he slips his hands around the base of your neck, your mouth opens and he can taste the remnants of lemonade on your tongue. 

You hum against his lips, gripping his shirt so fiercely in your trembling fingers you worry for a fraction of a second that you might rip a hole in it. But when Jungwon presses closer, a small sound, light and airy, slips from his mouth as he moves his lips against yours, and all worries you have are left for dead. 

One of Jungwon’s hands slips away from your jaw, an action you hardly notice as he nips your bottom lip as a distraction. He scoops your leg onto his lap, fingers brushing over the bare skin of your knee. If it weren’t for being on a damn ferris wheel, you’re certain Jungwon would have you straddling his lap by now. But you are on a ferris wheel, and you are in public. And if the bulge pressing against your leg and the ache between your thighs are to mean anything, they mean that you need to stop or else you might just end up letting him fuck you right here, twenty feet in the air. 

“Jungwon,” you murmur breathlessly against his lips. You move to backaway, but he just follows you, eyes closed and a blissful look blanketed across his face. You giggle and he giggles back, squeezing your thigh and sucking on your bottom lip. “Jungwon,” you repeat, a little more firmly this time. He lets you push him away, eyes trained on your lips as he licks his own. It’s official, he’s decided. He’s obsessed with your taste. “We’re in public.” 

He begrudgingly tears his eyes from your mouth, kiss-bitten and swollen, to look around. After reminding himself of where you two are, together, he nods slowly. Turning back to you, he moves to fix your hair, and despite it not staying in its respective place, he still looks at you like you hung the moon and stars. 

“I forgot,” is all he says, before he leans in one last time to kiss you. 

The ride home is filled with gentle touches and even fonder looks. Jungwon follows you into your house, just as he always does. He watches you as you brush your teeth, smiling around his own toothbrush as the foam from the toothpaste forms small bubbles on the corners of his mouth. He observes you as you do your skin care, sitting on the toilet lid as he plays with the hem of your pajama shorts. It doesn’t suggest anything other than him wanting to be close to you, and you’re not sure if you’re frustrated by the lack of underlying meaning or content with his patience. 

Jungwon snuggles next to you once you finally go to bed, nose pressed to your neck and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. He kind of makes you hot and bothered when he speaks in a voice so low you’re certain you hear waves crash in his tone. 

“Good day?” you ask, still able to see his eyes shine in the light of the growing and glowing moon. 

He nods, brushing his lips over yours. “Very good day,” he says, sealing the deal with a kiss that makes your heart swell so large you fear it might break a rib. 

He’s warm against your side and real, and the rise and fall of his chest lulls you to sleep. You dream of his touch, cradled in his arms, excited for tomorrow. 

When you wake the next morning, he’s gone. 

—

It’s been a week since you last saw Jungwon. 

When you woke up without his warmth, you were almost in denial. But after checking your living room, kitchen, bathrooms, and balcony about three times, you were certain it could be no mistake. He can’t drive, so there’s no way he could’ve gone far. But when you ran around town, checking all of the places he would’ve known and been drawn to, pajama shorts still on and hair half styled, you began to lose hope. He was not at your house, not at any stores, and not at the beach. And once a few hours have passed, you realize he’s gone. Jungwon is not coming back. 

You tried to be the slightest bit hopeful. Once the sun had set, you walked along the shoreline, calling his name. You prayed that no one would be around to hear your calls. If someone were to ask who you were looking for, you might think you could lie and say your dog, but Jungwon isn’t a suitable name for a dog. It’s only suitable for him. But after hours of searching, and sitting against the cool rock of your special jetty, do you finally relent to the cold, hard truth. 

Your friends chalk up your behavior as you missing your friend. They don’t get much information from you, only a quick comment of how he went home, but they can tell you’re upset. So after your third day of wallowing, they grow desperate to see you smile. 

It’s only after a series of shopping trips and movie nights do you start to feel better. When you’re alone, it’s easy to think of Jungwon and wonder why he left; with your friends, your mind stays busy. They make you laugh at stupid jokes and gasp at juicy gossip. Daniela fills you in on this new guy she’s started talking to, and you only have to push down your jealousy slightly before genuine joy for her bubbles over. 

By the end of the week, you’re beginning to see a future where you feel normal again. It’s not now, but it will be someday. Eventually, Jungwon will be a memory just like your kindergarten crush, and the thought of him won’t sting as much as it does presently. Besides, when you stop to think about it, it’s probably for the best. He’s literally from the ocean. He’s a completely different species, not entirely human. It’s not like you could’ve dated. Your dad wouldn’t have really liked him anyway.

By the time the weekend rolls around, Lara mentions that there’s been a rumor about another party at the beach floating about. The second you hear about it, you’re in. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten shitfaced with your friends, and without having to worry about waking up at the asscrack of dawn to see Jungwon, you’re more than willing to drink some cheap liquor and face the consequences the next day. 

Yunjin brings the alcohol and Lara brings the mixers, and eventually, you’re all pleasantly buzzed. Trodding down to the beach in your cute outfits and bikinis, you feel normal. There was a life before Jungwon, just as there will be a life after him. You will not let the absence of a man be what ruins your good time. Your P.J. (Post-Jungwon) life starts right now!

You mingle and flirt, and even let some random guy feel you up. And although his touch doesn’t feel as good as Jungwon’s, it’s good to know that you still got it. But the more and more that you try to convince yourself that you don’t miss him, you begin to realize that it isn’t true. You do miss him. A lot. It’s borderline humiliating. 

Maybe it’s the drinks and a couple of hits from some joint your friends passed around, or maybe it’s because you’re overstimulated from the sand that you can’t seem to brush off your legs, but you’re starting to feel like you’re going to cry. 

“I’m gonna go pee,” you slur to Daniela, who just nods before returning to talk to some girl you vaguely remember from high school. 

You stumble your way through the crowd, sure that you may have gotten the odd glance here or there but who cares? You’re beginning to feel dizzy, your legs feel heavy and your body feels tingly and suddenly you come to recognize just how drunk you are. Mission accomplished, but at what cost? 

“Shit,” you grumble, leaning against a rock for support as you catch your breath. You look up, hoping that focusing on the stars would help you sober up. 

Your body keeps drifting away from you, a baby rocked to sleep, but your mind stays still on Jungwon. Why did he leave? Did he get what he wanted? A kiss? That’s a stupid thing to want from someone. If he was going to be that selfish, he might as well have fucked you and then dipped. But a kiss and dip? No one in the history of the world has ever heard of something as lame as that. However, you’re beginning to believe that you’re patient zero. 

The stars spin, but once you spot the full moon, your body becomes yours again. It’s brighter than you’ve ever seen it, an iridescent light beaming across the water. The ripples in the waves illuminate your path in hughes of white, blue, and green; a perfect spotlight for your evening walk. You swore it would clear your mind and reestablish your footing, but still, you somehow always end up here: the jetty. 

Sitting down at your usual spot, you dip your toes into the water and swirl them around. Your feet drag through the water slowly, your scar catching the light briefly. The moon is pale and bright and big, and you wish Jungwon was here to see it with you. He is, but he’s not worried about the moon. 

Despite not being in the right state of mind, the hair on your arms pricks up, a danger sensed before your mind is even aware of it. Your skin tingles as it circles the water, hypnotized by the patterns it creates in the foam. You feel a pair of eyes. 

As you look up, you spot only a silhouette, but you know exactly who it belongs to. You always have and you always will. Although you’re certain you hear a song so beautiful that it makes you want to tear your skin off, suddenly your ears fill with wax and your emotions overtake the melody, creating a harsh dissonance. 

“You have some fucking nerve,” you spit, pulling your legs out of the water and crouching on your knees. He doesn’t move. “Kissing all up on me, touching me, sleeping in my house!” 

You can see him cock his head to the side, but with the way the moon is positioned in the sky, you can’t observe his face. Sincerely, you hope he’s hurt. Maybe not crying—you’re a little afraid you might fold if he is—but hurt. 

“I should slap the shit out of you for leaving like that,” you spit, clawing at the rock beneath you like a life line. 

Jungwon straightens at that and abruptly sinks under the water. For a second, it startles you. Maybe you scared him off? A part of you wishes that that is the case—that way you have the last laugh. But deep down, you know a slap from you would hurt him more emotionally than physically. He wouldn’t fear your hand. And at this moment, you’re not sure which you prefer. After you begin to doubt that you scared him, and move on to your next theory—shark bite—Jungwon emerges from the pitch black sea. 

Sometimes you forget that he’s not entirely human, but in this moment, he makes sure to remind you. Jungwon leaps from the water, propelling all of his body weight onto his arms and hands which suspends his body halfway out of the water and onto the jetty. You shriek, falling flat on your butt as he stares at you, only a few inches from your face. 

You take a good look at him, and for a second, you’re not sure you’re talking to Jungwon. His eyes are wild, not the bright-eyed wideness that you know. Instead they’re slender, frantic, and threatening. His mouth hangs open, and you spot the edge of a fang indenting his lower lip, his tongue quickly smoothing over the skin. Despite the water being cool, you feel the fever radiating off of him and his cheeks flush a brilliant shade of pink. You take a deep breath in, studying his face. Before you can begin to check out his body—a habit you’re not all too proud of not being able to shake—he lowers himself back into the water.

He doesn’t submerge, and he doesn’t talk either. His lips stay wired shut, rose-red mouth relaxed but stern. His hands stay on the rock, bracketing your legs that makes you weary of moving too quickly. His fingers look as if they’re straining against something, but you’re not sure what. Do you want to find out?

After more than thirty seconds of just staring at each other, you realize he’s not going to speak. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you wonder, no longer feeling threatened by him. “Why are you getting all up in my face like I was the one who left? You’re the one who kissed and ditched, remember?”

It sounds even more pathetic saying it out loud. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jungwon says, eyes transfixed on your face. For a moment, you see him melt. His eyes become wide again, but still hungry for something. His brow furrows, and he shakes his head, huffing a sigh through his nose like an animal clearing its senses of a particular scent. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you not hear what I just said?” 

His eyes trail down your body, and you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch. You see his nails dig into the rock desperately, and you’re beginning to grow concerned. A look of discomfort crosses his face, and he shakes his head once more, water spraying against your calves. Sitting up and extending your legs back into the water, you notice how he learns forward subconsciously, seeking your touch. What the fuck is going on? 

“Jungwon, are you okay?” you ask, reaching for him. You reach out to touch his hand, and before you can even register the heat of his palm, Jungwon keens forward, an airy sound escaping his mouth unwillingly. His forehead rests against your knees, and his breath is warm against your legs as you begin to second guess everything you thought you knew. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, chest heaving. In a panic, you begin to look for injuries. You can’t begin to fathom what would make him act like this. He’s usually calm, the eye of the storm in any and all cases. He plays with your hair when you’re rambling and rubs your back when you’re upset, and now you're the one doing it all for him. 

You’re so confused, and as wracking breaths continue to knock against his ribs, fingers damn near creating claw marks in the rock, you’re desperate for answers. “Why wouldn’t I be here, Jungwon? It’s a beach.” 

“The moon,” is all he says as he looks up at you. His eyes are nothing you’ve ever seen before. It’s like they melt the second he looks at you, eyebrows furrowed and irises so dark you believe that if you were to sink in them, you’d never find the bottom. You look up to the sky, moon brilliant and bright. 

“I don’t get it,” you confess, laying a hand on his cheek. Should you be worried? He’s burning up. Do you offer to get him some medicine? An ambulance? A veterinarian? 

Just as you begin to search for your own solutions, Jungwon—without much ability to control himself—proposes his own. With the palm on his cheek being his final straw, he presses his face against your leg once again, harsher than before. You feel his nose indent your thigh, and before you can begin to register the sudden change in proximity, Jungwon licks your leg and moans. 

Your body responds before your mind, and if you were standing, you’re certain your knees would buckle. You clench around nothing, a rush of wetness pooling in your bikini bottoms. Without meaning to, you rock your hips gently against the rock. It doesn’t provide any comfort for the sudden ache, but Jungwon has you acting in irrational ways. 

And once your mind is able to catch up with your body, the words that fly out of your mouth aren’t much more rational than your bodily response to his tongue. “Yooo, what are you doing?” you hiss, no real threat posed behind your voice. 

“You smell so good,” he whines, kissing up your thigh. His arms hook under your thighs, dragging you closer and closer towards the edge. The water is up to your knees now as you cradle Jungwon’s head to your thigh. He nips and licks and kisses, and all you can do is watch. You feel his biceps flex under your legs, and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, desperate to keep you attached to his mouth. 

You're not entirely sure of what is going on or what’s come over him, but you do know that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been in your whole life. His fangs graze your upper thigh, sharp and menacing. Before you can begin to complain about the sting, and, without a doubt, the blood that bubbles in its wake, Jungwon licks over the wound like his spit is some sort of salve. The sting is immediately gone, and replaced with a tingle that leaves you wanting more. He creeps higher and higher, breathing heavily. Your thighs are slick with spit, bruised by kisses. You tug at Jungwon’s hair, the wet strands wrapping around your fingers to keep you tethered to him. Jungwon moans again, shoving his nose into your crotch and inhaling deeply. 

You burn furiously, embarrassed that he’s smelling you but also incredibly turned on by the fact that he seems to like it. A hand leaves your thigh and inches upward, lithe fingers tucking into the waistband as he attempts to yank your shorts down hungrily. 

“The button,” you instruct breathlessly, your hands meeting as you both frantically go to undo the button of your shorts. Once you manage to pop it open for him, he rips them down your legs, soaking them with sea water accidentally before throwing them next to you haphazardly. His mouth is back on you instantly, and you urge him towards your core, fingers tracing his jawline. “Jungwon…” you whisper, yearning to kiss him but aching at the thought of his attention being redirected. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs around your skin, sucking another blossom into your thigh. You will be tender to the touch come tomorrow. “I can’t help it.” 

“It’s okay,” you soothe, and he looks up at you, mouth spit-slicked and raw. “I want you too.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

Jungwon dives back in, licking the flimsy material of your bikini bottoms. You can feel his tongue press against your clit through the fabric, and both of you moan. He sucks the material into his mouth, searching for your taste before he can indulge in you fully. He knows he should stop, he’s not in the right mind. But with the way he’s aching for you, a desire so fierce he can feel it burn him from the inside out, he’s not sure if he can will himself to stop. When he glances up and sees the look you’re giving him, eyes glowing and jaw dropped in amazed pleasure, he’s certain that he won’t stop. 

Snatching the fabric between his teeth, Jungwon pulls your bottoms down your legs, tossing it alongside your shorts. He looks at you briefly, slick and glistening under the pale moonlight. Prior to this moment, Jungwon was certain he'd seen plenty of beautiful things. However, he is now positive that this view is the prettiest of them all. 

He leans in voraciously, kissing the skin above your pretty cunt, the short hair tickling his lips and chin. Jungwon isn’t used to it, as you’re his first human girl and—if he has it his way—his last. But he likes it a lot more than he assumes is probably normal. He kisses you there one more time, feeling the muscles of your thighs twitch and tense. 

“Please, Jungwon,” you whimper, hips leaning forward in search of his mouth. “I need you.” 

Who is he to deny you? 

Jungwon licks your folds tentatively, gauging how sensitive you are. A small sigh releases from your chest, a hum so gentle he does his best to replicate it through his tongue. You grow more restless the more he does this, searching for something more. It feels good. Really good. Using his hands to push your thighs further apart, Jungwon's tail thrashes wildly in the water at how pliant you are under his guidance. 

“You taste so good,” he says, sucking your clit into his mouth greedily. You moan loudly, leaning backwards as your hips move forward. Jungwon looks up, watching as you prop yourself on one elbow, your other hand still stuck in his hair. You’re breathless, a warm ache slowly building within your core. “You like that?” 

You nod fervently, biting your lip. As if it’s a challenge, Jungwon begins to suck and lick more harshly than he did before, pulling more and more sounds out of you. A hand of his creeps upward, shoving its way under the cup of your bikini top. He pinches a nipple, a high pitched whine releasing from your mouth. His tongue travels lower, prodding at your hole curiously. You clench around him and he groans, pressing his tongue into you as far as he can. You grind forward, clit bumping his nose and he inhales deeply. In his professional opinion, you taste better than any candy he’s ever had. 

You twitch around his tongue, continuing to grind along his face. He squeezes your tit harshly, earning a gasp from you that makes him chuckle thickly, slick coating his mouth. You giggle too, delirious on the ecstasy Jungwon provides you. But your giggles quickly turn into endless moans as he sucks your clit back into his mouth, tongue swirling around the swollen bud. 

Growing dizzier by the second, and this time, you’re certain it’s not because of the alcohol, you become more and more desperate for a release. Jungwon is moaning against you, convinced that your cunt is the best thing to have ever graced this Earth. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whines, kitten-licking your clit before sucking it harshly once more. “I want to keep you all to myself.” 

“I’m all yours,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You can feel your slick and his spit pooling on the rock beneath you and spreading along your thighs. A heat brighter that the sun builds within you, yearning for more. 

He groans deeply, his teeth grazing against your clit in a way that makes you flinch. “Don’t say that,” he pants, dragging his tongue along every inch of you that he can find. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he whimpers. 

“Please,” you beg, finding his eyes in the moonlight. His eyes still replicate every bit of the beast that he is, his grip bruising. You clench around his tongue and he laps it up, feeding him in a way that you could never fully understand. The desire he feels is much deeper than what you’re capable of experiencing, and he knows that. But you’d be damned if you weren’t willing to try. “Please make me yours.” 

Jungwon releases an inhumane sound, a cross between a purr and a moan, something that vibrates from his chest and releases from his mouth without control. He grips your thigh, eyeing you quickly. It’s faint, but you catch the slight downturn of his lips and the furrow in his brow, as if he’s saying sorry. However, before you can question him, he bares his fangs and bites down on your thigh, piercing the skin. 

You yelp in pain, tugging at his hair but he doesn’t budge. He just groans against your skin, the pinch in your leg growing more and more aggressive the deeper his teeth sink into your flesh. But as quickly as the pain comes, a sudden overbearing warmth washes over you. You tilt your head back, grip on his hair weakening. Jungwon grabs your hand and rests it against his face, lapping at the blood that drips from you and sealing the wound. He looks at the new mark he’s created—a mark that confirms and reassures that you are his, and that he is yours. 

The ecstasy you’re experiencing from his love bite must be potent, because you’re practically leaking all over yourself. He coos as your cunt clenches around nothing, a new wave of your scent, even more syrupy, fills his nose. He watches you, your body arching into the open air for something, anything that could provide you with relief. Awe is an understatement. 

Reminding yourself that he is there, you snap your head up and open your eyes. You rub his cheek, watching him nestle into your palm. Maintaining eye contact, Jungwon lowers near where he expects you to want him, lips grazing your folds without any real pressure. You buck and squirm, but just before you find relief, he pulls away, suddenly every bit the tease and no longer the desperate, lust-crazed creature. 

Well, it’s not like you’re above begging. “Fuck me,” you groan, your voice not sounding like your own to your ears. Jungwon melts all the same. 

Sticking out his tongue, he licks from your taint to your clit, a relief that has you whining at a pitch you’re sure has never been reached. Practically making out with your cunt, Jungwon sucks your labia into his mouth, his own moans vibrating within you from the inside out. The bridge of his nose glides against your folds once again, rubbing against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars.You’re growing desperate, your hips unable to stay still as you rock and pull against him like a restless tide. 

You’re hot, sweating despite the coolness of the water. Whatever that bite did to you—whether it poisoned or drugged you—you’re not sure. What you do know is that Jungwon is licking your clit just the way you need him to and you don’t think you’ve been so eager to cum in your whole life. 

Your cunt pulses feverishly, yearning to suck anything he’ll give you further and further in. You want to watch him, and you try your best to, but when the pressure on your clit is just right, it’s hard to keep your eyes open and your head upright. 

He can not only feel you getting closer, but he can taste you getting there as well. Your stomach contracts, the clench around his tongue getting stronger by the second. Your thighs shake, and the heat within you is so intense you feel like you could burst into a supernova. The sounds you are releasing are sounds that a pornstar could only dream of making, and Jungwon doesn’t even have it in him to wonder if this is how all human girls sound because he too enamoured with how his girl sounds. His girl. Shit, he might cum. 

“I wanna cum,” you announced, vision blurred with tears. 

He moans, loud and clear. “Please,” he begs, watching your back arch in the moonlight. “I want to feel it, pretty. Please.” 

He continues to suck and kiss and lick in all the ways you’ve wished a man would without you having to ask. He categorizes every twitch, tunes into every moan, and memorizes every plea. If he’s serious about keeping you, you might have to take him up on his offer. 

Once the heat in your body becomes too much, and your back arches against the uncomfortableness against the rock, the band within your lower body snaps. Your orgasm washes over you like the sudden tide, unrelenting and powerful. Jungwon moans with you, licking every surface of you that he can reach as you buck and squirm against his face. Growing sensitive, you lightly pull his head away from your cunt, his mouth and chin glistening with your release. 

He looks at you, his eyes still hungry but in a way that reminds you of your normal Jungwon. Jungwon smiles softly, the soft pearls of his teeth beaming up at you as if he didn’t just give you the orgasm of a lifetime. You climb into the water, Jungwon grabbing your hips and steadying you the second he sees you waver. 

He lets you loop your arms around his neck as he continues smiling, completely in awe of all that you are. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, eyes unable to decide if they want to focus on your lips or your eyes. He tucks a hair behind your ear, the one that never stays, and you’re ashamed to admit it really turns you on. 

“So you’ve said,” you tease breathlessly, wiping some of your slick off his chin before you lean in to kiss him. 

Jungwon grips your hips, one hand wandering downwards to your ass. You reach behind you, encouraging him to squeeze, a pretty little moan slipping past his lips and down your throat once he does. You can still feel the feverish warmth emanating from his body, even in the water. Whatever fog was plaguing him seems to have broken just a bit, his eyes and face resembling the man you know and love. However, you can feel his lust press against your stomach, hard and thick. It’s definitely bigger than anything human, but you’re determined to make it work. 

You kiss down his jaw, his sighs and moans filling your ear as he cradles you against him. You grind forward, the head of his cock catching on your clit. You’re still sensitive, but you know it will pass. Jungwon groans loudly, pressing you against the jetty. His arm braces beside your head, bicep deliciously flexed. You’re not sure what comes over you, but you lean towards the muscle and bite it, licking over the indent of your teeth just as he did before. He watches you in awe, bucking against your heat once again. 

You moan softly tracing his cupid's bow before you stick a finger in his mouth. You trace his teeth, mesmerized by their subtle sharpness. You would’ve never expected how threatening they truly were until they were pressed against you. He sucks on the pad of your finger, eyes slipping shut briefly as he soaks in the bliss. Jungwon examines your face as he grinds against you again, regretting that he couldn’t see you before as well as he can now. He’ll just have to make you cum again. 

He’s endeared by the furrow of your brow, and the twitch of the corner of your lip. He grabs your wrist, pulling your finger from his mouth just so he can kiss you. He licks into your open mouth, doing his best to shield his fangs from your curious tongue. However, when you grind against him a little too hard, he bites down, nicking the side of your tongue. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pulling away. You pull him right back, not bothered by the sting. 

“Just kiss me,” you beg, palms cradling his cheeks. His saliva mixes with yours, thick and warm, and it’s as if he never hurt you. Not that he ever could. 

You rock forward once more, the head of his cock slipping lower and pressing against your hole. He can feel you clench slightly, and he’s filled with panic. He’s definitely too big for you, and both of you know it. Obviously, you wouldn’t mind trying but he’s not going to be the reason you get seriously hurt just because he couldn’t control himself. 

He pulls away, stilling your hips with a palm pressed against your womb. “We… we shouldn’t. It’ll hurt,” he says, unable to tear his gaze away from your pretty mouth. He’s really going to have to work on controlling himself if he wants to be around you longer. 

“It’s okay. I want to try,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his. 

He stops you once again, using all of his strength to contain his hunger. “No,” he huffs, eyes dropping to your chest and you can’t help but notice the way he twitches against your clit. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m really fucking turned on right now and I don’t know if I can control myself-” 

“Where did you learn that word?” you gasp, an evil grin spreading across your face like butter. 

He cocks his head to the side, every bit your sweet Jungwon. “What word?” 

“Turned on.” 

“I heard it in a movie,” he explains, completely caught off guard while your hand trails down and pinches at his nipple. His hand flies forward, capturing your hand against his chest. You just look at him, eyes sugar sweet and a smile even more sickening. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

His decision sounds definitive, and as much as you’re willing to try, you won’t push it. He nearly flops forward, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he huffs. Smoothing your hand down and up his back, you can feel his heart rate and temperature drop back down to a normal pace. He’s still rock hard, as he’s certain he will be for the rest of the night. 

“We could try other things…?” you suggest, gaze imploring. 

A confused look crosses his face, understanding replacing it as he notices your nails trace down his chest, lower and lower. You grab the base of him, thick and heavy in your palm. An airy sigh floats from his mouth, nosing along the column of your throat as if he’s suddenly grown shy. 

It’s still too dark to be able to see him in all his glory, but your sense of touch provides you with enough information to know that he’s huge. He’s shaped just like the regular human male, but much larger and heavier. The idea makes you salivate, thirsting for the day he finally lets you indulge in your silly fantasies. A series of ridges line the underside of his cock, and he seems to whimper whenever you add extra pressure to the area. 

“Just want you to feel good too,” you say, pumping slowly. 

The water ripples above your movement, moonlight bouncing off of every wave and swell. Jungwon kisses along your neck once again, sucking bruises into the skin that you sure will be tender to the touch come tomorrow morning. Though, the funny thing is, you never cared. 

“I’m already feeling good,” he moans, bucking into your hand. “You feeling good makes me feel good.” 

“Aww,” you coo. “You’re so cute.” 

You feel him heat against you, nuzzling closer if even possible. “Shut up,” he whimpers. 

You laugh, placing a kiss along his hairline. Your pace increases, groans and whimpers growing in intensity. Teasing his slit, Jungwon grows harder by the second. A series of clicks and whistles, a similar tune and rhythm to the foreign words he spoke to you weeks ago, are spoken into your neck. 

“Are you finally gonna tell me what that means?” you whisper, clenching around nothing when he licks the shell of your ear. 

“Means you’re mine,” he pants, pulling away from his hiding spot in the crook of your neck. “Forever.” 

Oh, you’re sooo going to make him cum harder than he ever has. 

Luckily for you, it doesn’t take much effort. With a few more flicks of your wrist, Jungwon twitches and finishes across your stomach, the ocean waves washing it away before you can scoop it into your mouth and show him how disgusting you can truly be. 

He kisses you deeply, tongue tasting the bitterness of the alcohol and sweetness of the juice you drank what feels like forever ago. You let him ride out his high, hand coming to a still once you’re certain you’ve milked him of all he has. 

Once he’s certain he can look into your eyes without being possessed by some lust-crazed animal for the second time that night, he pulls away from you, mesmerized by the shine of your eyes. Stealing the breath from his lungs, you giggle in such a lovesick way even Cupid would puke. You brush his hair away from his forehead, and he smiles softly. 

And under the starlit night, the waves rocking the two of you gently, he kisses you so gently that you hear the moon sing. 

—

When you wake up the next morning, you’re not entirely sure you can move. Your thighs are sore, your joints ache, and, worst of all, your heart misses Jungwon. The ceiling keeps you entertained for about twenty minutes, before your need to pee overweighs your desire to stay in bed, rotting. You contemplate crawling around on the floor for the rest of the day, but somehow, the thought of that sounds even worse than walking. 

After a scalding hot shower and a thorough examination of the hickeys and bruises left on your body, you feel clean and refreshed, despite still longing for Jungwon. If you could move any faster, you’d be down at the beach right now, looking for him. Hopefully, he misses you just as much too. 

However, despite the hours you spent with Jungwon last night, even as he guided you back to shore and kissed you goodbye, he never mentioned why he left. And as you brush your teeth and style your hair, you can’t help but let your mind run wild. Was it because of his attraction to you? You’ve never seen him behave like that, even during the brief moments, before your interaction last night, where you were aware of his arousal. He was always calm, despite proudly displaying his affection towards you. But last night was different. 

Lust nearly consumed him, and although you're certain he would never seriously hurt you, the ache in your muscles establishes a firm reminder for just how strong he actually is. You vividly remember how his fangs gleamed under the moonlight, and just how sharp they were to the touch. And although you can practically feel them scraping against you now, no evidence of their touch remains. The only residual mark on your body, besides the numerous hickeys and bruises, is the mark of his bite. 

It’s not sore like you’d expect a bite to be, although you do feel tender whenever you trace its pattern. Every time you touch it, or so much as graze it, it’s like the memories of last night resurface ten times more explicitly than before. It sets a fire within you, a furnace that burns to a more subtle degree, but glows nonetheless. The more you ignore it, the brighter it glows. 

But before you address it, you need answers. And you need them from him. 

Just as you peel yourself off your couch—slowly, of course—to go change and march down to the beach, a soft knock is heard from your front door. It’s still midmorning, and aware that all of your friends are late risers, you’re not expecting any of them to drop by unannounced. 

Shuffling to the door, ignoring the ongoing pain in your hips, you pull the door open. And there, bathed in sunlight, stands Jungwon in the same pair of pajamas that you last saw him wear, albeit, much sandier. He’s beaming at you, every bit a ray of light that heals all the aches in your body and replaces it with a different kind of ache. What was it you said about needing answers? Yeah. Those could wait. 

“Hi,” he says softly, smiling like he didn’t have you seeing the creation of the universe last night. 

“Get in here,” you mutter, yanking him by his shirt. You kick the door shut behind him, pressing him against the wood surface. His eyes widen but his grin stays, hands instinctively falling to your hips. 

“Did you miss me?” he asks, eyes melting you into a syrupy mess. 

“No.” 

Lies. 

As you fiddle with the neckline of his shirt, he observes as your gaze slowly glides down to his lips, sighing the minute he sticks his tongue out to wet them. “You sure?” he questions, leaning in closer. You can’t help but mimic his action. “Because I missed you.” 

You groan, taking the tiniest step forward. Your nose bumps his, and he nuzzles against it affectionately as if you’re not soaking wet right now. If you weren’t so entranced by his mouth, you would try to take a peak downward at his dick. Is he hard? He better be. 

“Fine. I missed you,” you admit. 

Jungwon’s lips pucker subconsciously the minute he feels your lower lip graze against his. The grip he has on your waist tightens, his grip still strong but not nearly as demanding as last night. Whatever came over him last night surely isn’t taunting him anymore, but something else certainly is. 

The Jungwon standing in front of you now is your Jungwon. Not the Jungwon who belongs to the sea or is controlled by the moon or influenced by the tides. This Jungwon belongs to you and only you. 

“Can I show you how much I missed you?” you ask, slipping a hand around his neck and tickling the little strands of hair at the base of his skull. 

He inhales shakily, nodding without much of a spoken word despite saying so much through his eyes. He practically falls forward onto your lips, catching you by surprise. You steady him with a hand on his chest, but allow yourself to stumble backward. Afterall, that’s where you were planning on heading anyway. 

The kiss is much more gentle than the ones you’ve shared, despite the ferocity in which he initiated it. It’s not like you mind. You’ve never been one to complain about a man who yearns and lets it be known. 

You guide him to your couch, the layout of your living room memorized like the back of your hand. Jungwon still manages to bump into your coffee table, hissing in pain against your lips but quickly laughs it off when he sees how flustered you’ve become. Besides, he has much more important things to do than worry about his potentially bruised calf. 

With a hand on his chest, Jungwon allows you to push him back onto your sofa, sitting down on the cushions he has spent plenty of time with, especially with you by his side. But this time, instead of watching a movie or talking aimlessly into the night, he has you sprawled across his lap, thighs caging his hips.

He’s amused by your impatience, letting you tug his pajama shirt over his head, indifferent to the sand that might have been dusted off of it. Slack jawed, you trace his pecks, fingers tracing along his nipples. It’s amazing being able to see him like this in the early morning light, his body not shielded from your view by water or your own shyness. No, now you’re eager. 

Jungwon arches into your hand when you pinch his nipple, a soft whine slipping from his pink lips. Grabbing the back of his neck, you guide him towards you, licking into his mouth. Your tongues tangle together, sucking and kissing any inch of flesh you both can find. He massages your ass, much gentler and more timid than he was last night. A little nagging voice in the back of your mind reminds you to take things slow, but between last night and the questions you still have left unanswered, any caution about tempo is thrown out the window. 

“I want to touch you,” you state, pushing away from him abruptly. Jungwon shakes his head, trying his best to clear the fog clouding his brain. You said it so matter of factly, like you were reporting the weather, that he’s unsure if he heard you correctly the first time. It isn’t until you start tugging his pajama pants down his thighs, the weight of his hips preventing you from tugging them very far, that he realizes there is no problem with his comprehension of the human language. “I want to touch you,” you repeat, pressing quick kisses to his jaw to bring his attention back to you. 

Jungwon nods eagerly, lifting his hips and covering your hands with his own as he helps you pull his pants down his defined thighs. Typically, you’re not one to send heart eyes to someone’s dick, but you nearly swoon at the sight. 

His tip is flushed red, hard and heavy from only a little kissing and shoving each other around. Jungwon breathes heavily, eyes darting between you and his cock in anticipation. He’s never used it before—the human form, that is—not unless you would count when he got curious one night after waking up to an uncomfortable tightness and experimenting in the bathroom. Other than that brief moment, he doesn’t quite know what to expect. He knows his human form is more sensitive, more receptive to your touch and not as durable as his true form. Just from you looking at him, gaze hungry, has him twitching and leaking against his stomach. 

Finally gaining control of yourself, licking over your lips, you look at Jungwon. His chest rises and falls, small puffs of air drifting from his lips. The swell of his cheeks heat pink under your scrutiny, eyes unwavering when usually you like to play coy. But now you just look at him, eyes dripping honey and pulling him in so deep he thinks he might drown, of all people. 

You lean forward and kiss him, simple and sweet, but as he chases after you, you wrap your hand around his cock, sliding upward and squeezing around the head. His mouth falls slack against your own, his breath hitting your lips as he struggles to regain his composure. He’s not too sure he wants to find it anyways. 

You tug his length, fascinated by the extra inch he grows despite thinking he was already at full capacity. He’s heavy in your hand, spitting into your palm to aid the glide of his cock. Tossing his head back and closing his eyes, Jungwon nearly sinks into your couch, jaw still slack and hands now laying limp around your waist. It must feel good, because the way his hips twitch, trying their best to stay patient and exhibit some restraint, has you clenching around nothing. 

“Feel good?” you ask, kissing his relaxed lips. 

“Uh huh,” he moans, nodding slightly as he tries to kiss you back belatedly. He does better the second time around, hands now gripping your shirt with a fervor that has memories of last night surging to the forefront of your mind yet again. 

Thank god for having sex with Jungwon again—hopefully the sexual flashbacks will be less intense, although you doubt it. 

Tracing his slit, a breathy whine escapes his mouth only to be swallowed up by your tongue. He’s leaking all over your fingers, the pearlescent substance coating you in a sticky sheen. Finally able to crack his eyes open, Jungwon quickly falls in love with how concerned with his pleasure you’ve become, focus bouncing between his dick and his face. 

His breath hitches as he catches sight of your fingers covered in his precum, and you don’t miss the way his abs clench underneath the palm you splay across his stomach. Bucking upwards, less restrained than the past few times, you indulge him by matching his pace. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he whimpers, licking your neck and feeling your pulse jump under his tongue. You rake your fingers through his hair, tugging him back to where you can see him. He relents, brow pinching slightly at the pain but melting the minute you begin to scratch lightly at his scalp. If your hand wasn’t working him to completion, he thinks he could fall asleep with your hand in his hair. However, a particularly harsh tug of his cock has him seeing stars, lids growing heavy once more. 

You release him for a second, watching his manhood slap against his stomach with a satisfied hum. The slight wince from him doesn’t deter you, fascinated by his sensitivity and lack of filter as you bring your slick-covered hand up to your mouth, licking his pre off your fingers before grabbing him once more. 

Jungwon groans, suddenly consumed by his own attraction towards you. What the hell has he been doing this whole time? Letting you touch all up on him, not bothering to do the same to you?! Ashamed doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

“Off,” he mumbles, not even bothering to wait for your cooperation as he yanks your top over your head. The newly disheveled state of your hair would typically make Jungwon chuckle, but his preoccupied state only has him carelessly tossing your shirt aside and pulling you closer. “My pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath fanning across your nipples as he plants soft kisses along your breasts. 

Sucking a nipple into his mouth, your pace on his cock slows as he rolls the nub between his teeth. Although you’re certain he doesn’t mean to distract you, the tingly sensation that the suction around your tit provides has you nearly forgetting about his length all together. 

“Mmph- Wonie,” you moan quietly, nails scraping along his scalp. He hums around your breast, using his other hand to fondle and pinch at your previously unstimulated nipple. “Feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” he huffs, a soft pop sounding from his lips. “Love seeing you like this. My pretty, pretty girl.” 

Diving back into your tits, where he feels safe and sound—as well as incredibly aroused—you resume your mission of pleasing him by your hand. Jungwon’s jaw drops slowly, recognizing the warmth and pressure that begins to build in him once more. His teeth graze the underside of your boob, creating small indents as he loses sense of control and begins to suck your skin into his mouth, bruises and hickeys left in their wake. 

He redirects his hand away from your tit, trailing it down over the plane of your stomach, pinching the skin in fascination. However, that only makes you squeeze his dick tighter, a shocked moan spilling from his lips as he attempts to regain his composure. 

Jungwon has learned a lot of things about himself because of you. For example, he’s learned that he enjoys sweets more than savory foods, he enjoys busy days just as much as he likes lazy ones, and that he doesn’t like to be pleased if you are not also experiencing some sort of pleasure. And when his fingers trail just low enough to graze your pussy over your panties, dripping with your own arousal, he can acknowledge that his touch on your skin is plenty to satisfy you in some ways. 

But he remembers how wet you got for him last night. He’s certain he can do better than he’s doing now. 

He traces your hole over the fabric of your panties, the tip of his middle finger just about nearly breaching the tight ring of muscle before he pulls back, only to do it again. And again. And again. 

You whine, tugging him by his dark locks so you can kiss him. In a clash of teeth and tongues, he decides to provide you some relief as he slips his fingers underneath the soaked fabric and sinks into your aching hole, the squelch of your slick damn near pornographic. You moan as he licks hungrily into your mouth, desperate to be as close to you as possible. 

The heel of his palm presses deliciously against your clit, causing your hips to squirm. The grip you have on him makes Jungwon see stars, a sheet of white flashing beneath his eye lids every time he closes his eyes. 

“Fuck,” he groans lowly after a particularly harsh tug of your hand. He feels you clench around him at the sound, adding another finger. “You make me feel so good.” 

“God, Jungwon,” you whine, unsure if you want to focus all of your attention on his cock or his fingers inside of you. 

You’re not certain if you’re so worked up because of the sounds he’s making or the memory of last night taunting you before he arrived at your front door or just because he’s that damn good at pleasing you. Either way, you can feel the thread within you growing thinner, the band tighter and you can tell he feels it too. 

“So wet,” he whispers in awe, pulling away from your lips to glance down at your eager pussy. You’re practically sucking him in. 

“Yeah? You like that?” a newfound confidence washing over you. You swivel your palm across the head of his cock, teasing his frenulum with your thumb. “Seems like you like this too,” you tease, observing the way he bucks up into your hand. 

“Yeah. Oh- fuuuuck,” he moans, a groan of your name following soon after. He tries his best to curl his fingers inwards, searching for that spot that makes you see supernovas. Just as you clench tightly around his fingers, that furrow between your brows forming, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. 

You grow more frantic in your movements, rapidly pumping your hand against his spit and pre-covered length. Jungwon twitches against your palm, his vision growing blurry as he continues to assault that sensitive spot in you. He can feel you getting there much quicker than last night, but it’s not like he minds. He’s not going to be able to hold off much longer. 

“Want you to cum,” you whimper, eyes tearing with desperation. “Wonie, please cum for me. I want it so bad.” 

He groans, scissoring his fingers open inside of you that has your vision blurring both from tears and with pleasure. You can feel yourself teetering over that edge, the deepest part of you burning for release. With a roll of your hips and the friction of his palm against your clit, your walls spasm around his fingers, the clench providing much for Jungwon’s imagination. He ruts upwards, your hand still held tight around the head of his cock as he twitches against your fingers, cum leaking down his shaft and across your stomach. 

As he opens eyes, mesmerized by the sudden relief that washes over your features, he pulls you into him, flopping sideways so the two of you can rest and catch your breath. 

As the rise and fall of his chest slows, and your walls stop pulsing intermittently, you are able to remember what you wanted to discuss with Jungwon in the first place. Although you’re not necessarily upset by his ability to redirect your focus, you are always a woman with a goal that will get accomplished, distractions or not. 

Sitting up slightly, you brace a hand on his chest, the faint beat of his heart knocking against your palm. He watches you, eyes warm and sleepy. A contented grin spreads across his face, warm as melting butter, but it quickly drops when he sees the frown deepening at the corner of your mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, worried. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, I’m still new to this. I’ve never been with-” 

“No, no. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me, I’m fine,” you reassure, placating the crease between his brow. 

He follows your guidance, refocusing his concern on the problem that seems to be occupying your brain. “What’s wrong then?” 

“Why’d you leave?” you ask, not bothering to beat around the bush. “I thought you liked what we had going on. Why did you leave?” 

Now it’s his turn to frown, a small pout confirming his confusion. “I didn’t leave. I was going to come back.” 

Bro. Looks like men are stupid no matter the species. 

“I woke up and you were gone, Jungwon. You didn’t tell me where you were going, you didn’t leave anything for me to assume that you would return,” you list, cheeks burning hot under his gaze. “I didn’t take you for that kind of guy, but it’s hard to not assume the worst when you literally dipped with no explanation. I was worried.” 

He sits up fully, slipping a hand around your waist as you follow suit. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, eyes sincere. “I didn’t know it would scare you, it’s sort of hard to explain.” 

“I don’t care, explain it.” you urge patience wearing thin although you don’t mean for it to. “And you were weird as fuck last night too.” 

“You thought I was weird?” he asks, growing defensive. “You were literally wet.” 

“Two things can be true at once,” you say, growing shy. Usually you’re the one who can stump him with your words, but the better he gets at your tongue, the better he gets at leaving you rendered speechless. “I did think you were hot, but it wasn’t… I don’t know… you’ve never been that way before. I was a little surprised.” 

You both stare each other down, fairly aware of your back pedaling but willing to accept it for the sake of having this conversation. He adjusts your legs, throwing one over his lap, partially because he wants you closer and also because seeing your pussy still shiny from your release is making it hard for him to pay attention to the subject at hand. It only helps slightly, a full view of your cunt now hindered by your thigh. 

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” he explains, choosing his words slowly and carefully. “I missed the water so I went for a swim. I was going to just be gone for a few minutes, maybe find some shells for you ‘cause I know you like them. But then I realized the state of the moon, and what it does… I just thought it would be safer if I stayed away.” 

You shake your head, not quite following. “I don’t get it,” you announce, a petulant lilt in your voice that makes him laugh. 

“The moon sometimes messes with my head and makes me… you know…” he trails off, avoiding eye contact. The blush that blooms on the tip of his ears is cute. “But I’m okay now. Sometimes it has no effect, sometimes it does. I could feel it coming on though, and it can be difficult to control so I decided to stay away until it passed.” 

You nod, digesting all this new information. You faintly recall a story you heard ages ago of how merfolk are closely guided by the moon, and although they may not be as influenced as Jungwon suggests, part of it still rings true. He’s avoiding your eyes, fascinated by the small red light on your cable box. It’s hard to believe that there will be a day where he’s not amazed by your television. 

Desperate to regain his attention, you pinch his sides. When that fails, his blush glowing a deeper shade of crimson, you decide on something that will certainly get him worked up. 

“Is that the only reason you wanted to touch me like that? Because of the moon?” 

He whips his head around so fast you’re scared he broke his neck. Jungwon almost looks mad, scandaled that you would even dare to ask such a question.

“No!” he nearly shouts, grip tightening around your waist. You watch the way your flesh pillows under his fingers, a vein running down the front of his hand and down to his slender fingers. “I-I’ve always wanted to do that with you. The second I met you I wanted to, but-” 

“The second you met me? Really?” you smile, drawing a faint pattern on his pec that has goosebumps raising along his skin. 

“Yeah,” he nods, voice weakened by your touch. “I’ve always wanted you.” 

“Hmm,” you hum, tossing your leg across his hip to straddle him once more. “How did you want me?” 

“I-” 

“Did you want to taste me the way you did last night? Or just stick your fingers in me?” 

Jungwon’s blush creeps from his ears, across his face, and down his neck, a bright shade of rose painting his tanned skin. You giggle sweetly, pressing a kiss to his cheek that he accepts gratefully. You grind down on his hardening length, still sticky from his release. 

A moan floats from Jungwon’s mouth, a welcomed sound. “I wanted to do all those things,” he agrees, rutting up against the warmth of your pretty pussy. “‘Want to do more, too.” 

“More? You want more?” 

“Mhm,” he whines, his bangs drooping into his eyes. You brush them back, eager to see his lids grow heavy with lust. “I really want to fuck you.” 

Alright. 

“Bedroom.” 

He follows closely behind you, sloppily kissing your shoulder as you tug him towards your room. You’re royally fucked, your legs already shaking the minute you lay down on your bed, Jungwon climbing over you the second your back hits the mattress. 

“You’re so pretty,” he says, kissing up your neck and jaw. 

You giggle, tangling your fingers in his hair, softer than a morning breeze. You could hear him say that same compliment a hundred times more, and it would still leave you warm and fuzzy. 

“You’re pretty, too,” you comment, kissing his nose. 

He giggles against your lips, chaste kisses scattered across your mouth and face. The warm feeling of your words spreads in his chest and throughout his whole body, heating him from the inside out. Lazily dragging a finger down to your willing cunt, he gently circles your clit to prep you. 

You’re aware that he’s smaller than what he presented you with last evening, but he’s still plenty big. His length rests in the crux of your thigh, long and thick. Your mouth falls open, soft moans slipping from your lips as he wastes no time licking into your mouth. Jungwon subtly begins to grind against your leg, intoxicated by your touch, no matter the medium. 

You, however, are growing desperate. 

“I need you to fuck me, Jungwon,” you plead, digging your nails into his shoulders. His eyes grow heavy, tracing every line and edge of your face. “Please, baby. Fuck me.” 

He would give you the world if you asked. 

Ever the most efficient, Jungwon leans back slightly, placing his cock between your folds and watching as your hole clenches at the proximity. He thrusts against you a few times, coating himself with your slick and savoring the moan you release when he nudges your clit. The mark of his teeth on your thigh stares back at him, still tender and fresh. He traces the crescents, heart thundering against his ribcage so loudly he’s almost positive you can hear it.

“Wait, fuck,” you gasp, stopping him with a hand on his hip. “We need a condom.” 

“W-What? What’s that?” 

You lean towards the small table next to your bed, pulling the drawer open before you reveal a small foil square. Tearing it open with your teeth—a sight that Jungwon could’ve never predicted would make his dick twitch—you reveal a delicate latex circle. He sits back on his haunches when you guide him away from the inside of your thighs, upset by the distance, but pleased when you wrap your hand around the base of him. You slip the latex over his head and down his shaft, quick and effortless like you’ve done this before. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“It’s so I don’t get pregnant,” you inform, laying back down against your no-longer pristine sheets. 

Jungwon thinks he just came a little bit at the thought. 

“Right,” he coughs, looming over you once again. “Wouldn’t want that to happen.” 

“Are you blushing?” you tease, pinching his ruby-red cheek between your thumb and forefinger. 

He swats you away, tucking his head against the curve of your neck in embarrassment. “Shut up,” he mumbles. 

Jungwon sighs the second he ruts against you, soft and breathy. You indulge him for a moment, whining with every glide against your clit. However, after a couple minutes of humping against each other like animals, the heat boiling within you grows too unbearable to ignore. 

“Alright,” you huff, reaching between you two to line him up against your hole. “‘Need to feel you inside me now.” 

He nods, lifting his head from your neck so he can watch himself slowly sink into you. You’re tighter than he could’ve imagined, a loud moan escaping him without his control. You lift your hips, chasing the feeling of him filling you up. Maybe you’ve always been able to get this wet—you’re not sure—but you know you’ve never been this wet for anyone other than Jungwon. 

“Fuck, Wonie,” you whine, clawing at his back. Once he reaches the hilt, he collapses forward, nosing along your jaw as he whimpers with every adjusting clench around his cock. 

Thrusting forward, neither of you know what to focus on. Hands groping and fondling everything they can reach, you’re certain red lines litter Jungwon’s back and he’s sure finger-print shaped bruises will be printed across your thigh, accompanying his bite mark. 

“You feel so good, pretty,” he moans, grinding against your clit before pulling out half-way and thrusting forward. 

Jungwon prides himself in his strength, he’s always been quick and able to fight back without worry. But at this moment, you’ve rendered him weak. All of his energy is directed to pleasing you, resting between your folds, hot and heavy. The head of his cock grazes against the spongy spot inside you, and it has you pressing your tits against his chest and moaning into his ear. He thinks that might be his new favorite feeling, but then you have him experiencing a feeling so new and unique that he realizes that having a favorite is impossible when it comes to you. 

You have to damn near yank Jungwon away from you, neck damp and warm from his panting against your skin. Jungwon moans against your tongue the second you kiss him, lips bit-ridden and plush. 

“Mmph, baby,” you moan, unable to kiss back after a particularly harsh thrust against your walls. Stars decorate your vision, hyperfixating on the mole on his jaw before becoming enamored by the small smirk on his lips. “You’re so good to me.” 

Completely blissed out, Jungwon isn’t even aware of his smile, but you love it all the same. “Yeah? Makin’ you feel good, pretty?” he groans, speeding up his pace just a fraction. “Need more? Want to feel you come again, is that okay?” 

You nod frantically, unable to control yourself as your hips don’t know whether to run away or lean into the pleasure he’s providing you. “Need it,” you whine, overwhelmed by the pressure building within you. 

“Mmph- anything you want, beautiful,” he whimpers, pressing a kiss to your lips before pushing your knee closer to chest and resting it along the curve of his waist. 

He sets a brutal pace, sounds of your pussy squelching around him and your moans filling the room. You can feel yourself dripping down his shaft and onto your sheets, a mess you’ll most definitely need to clean up later but can’t be bothered to worry about at this moment. Not while he’s fucking you so well. 

Your tits jump with every harsh thrust, his hips smacking against your own. He’s entranced by how mindless you’ve become, growing needier with every sigh and whine that escapes you. There has never been a prettier sight than you. 

“Ohh,” you gasp, hips jolting when you feel his fingers begin to rub your clit. “Fuck, keep doing that, baby. I’m so close,” you urge, vision colored with lust.

“I got you,” he whispers against your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Just let go, pretty.” 

He rubs your clit one more time, your eyes slipping shut before you cum for the second time in the past hour. Your head presses into the pillow beneath you, back arching as your hips rut against him as you chase the remainder of your release. 

You grow impossibly tighter around him, the slick that spills from you aiding the glide of his cock inside you. Rendered breathless, all words leave your mind. You can only moan to let him know how good he’s making you feel. Jungwon continues to buck wildly against you, eager to taste his own pleasure. 

“Never gonna leave you again,” he groans, kissing and sucking your lips into his mouth. “Never wanna be without you.” 

Boneless and weak, you use the last of your strength to card your fingers through his hair one last time, meeting his eyes with a fond look. His dick throbs, aching and heavy, and your gaze is not helping stave off his impending release. He curses his gods and yours for trying to separate the two of you, eternally grateful that you defied the odds by coming together as his stomach and balls tighten. 

Jungwon doesn’t want it to end. It all feels too fast. But the look you give him reassures that you will have many more opportunities to come. Opportunities for him to lazily rock against you in the mornings, moments to fuck you into oblivion, and moments to make proper love. He can't wait to hear more sounds from you and to whisper filthier words into your ear, and to feel you melt around him time and time again. 

The syrupy sounds you release fill him up, and as his voice jumps the octave in a breathy moan, he releases into the condom. His dick twitches relentlessly against your walls, overstimulating you beyond the point where you could care. He rocks against you unceremoniously, jerky and without rhythm before slowing to a gentle end. 

Jungwon presses his forehead to yours, allowing you to cradle his face in your palms as you press sweet kisses into his skin. As the two of you slow, stilling into a quiet calm, your breaths sync and your hands continue to explore in a hushed wonder. 

For the first time in your life, you don’t mind basking in the silence of the morning, consenting to his gaze under the broad daylight, despite being certain you look like a sweaty, fucked-out mess. But Jungwon doesn’t care, you’re his girl all the same. 

The two of you finally come to, giggly kisses keeping you occupied until you grow hungry, stumbling out of bed to clean yourselves. And as you sit on the floor of your living room, beside Jungwon, handing him a grilled cheese—too tired to fix anything else—you realize that your father has been right about many things, but he could not possibly be more wrong than he was about your boyfriend and his character. He is the sea and the sky and the Earth, all wrapped into one. 

When Jungwon knocks his knee against your bare thigh, dressed only in his underwear with buttered crumbs stuck to his lips as he sends you a love-sick smile, you feel certain that you did the right thing by returning to the beach that day. With the moon etched into his eyes and the sun kissing your skin, your infatuation has transcended worlds. 

"my children, look at your hands. are they clean? the world outside is a hungry wolf, but inside here, we must be like the immaculate lamb" you heard the pastor preach from the pulpit. formal clothes, shirt tucked into pants, the best shoes you owned, hair so slicked back with a mixture of water and styling gel that it reflected the ceiling lights. when your father's eyes fell upon you, you lowered yours, resting them on the restless hands in your lap. that week's sermon was not in vain.

"remember: your body does not belong to you. it was bought with a price of blood. any desire of the flesh is a crack in the temple, and through that crack, the enemy enters" the man kept his eyes on your figure, and it wasn't necessary to look back to know; your shoulders burned from the indirect exposure. all because he had seen the boy who tended the gardens handing you a rose; which, of course, you had accepted politely.

it wasn't as if you had feelings for the boy, but you also weren't used to receiving attention from the opposite sex - even the church youth groups were careful not to mix genders. besides that, there was the major factor of being the pastor's daughter in a tiny countryside town where everyone knew each other and nothing was a secret.

it had happened to lisa, a former high school classmate, when she had her first kiss and went to confess and seek guidance; she had come out in tears from the small room your father used as an office. that same night, he told you never to speak to or sit near her during services again. or when the late mrs. johnson refused to give her tithe, claiming she needed to pay for the entire family's burial plot since she was the last of the name; the following week she no longer appeared at church, or the week after that, and after, and after... until she was found dead in her living room armchair; your father refused to say why the woman had stopped coming on sundays before her inevitable death from old age.

you sighed when the church bells rang, indicating the end of the preaching. the murmuring grew, and most people stood up, greeting one another, talking about trivialities as they walked toward the exit. you refrained, going to help your father blow out the candles and put away the books. you piled the objects in your lap, heading toward the narrow back door, noticing out of the corner of your eye before crossing the threshold an unfamiliar face going to talk to him.

you arranged everything on the shelves, brushing your dusty hand against your linen skirt before heading back out. your father was no longer there, nor was the stranger, but you saw under the door that the office light was on, so you sat down to wait. if your mother were still around, maybe she would tell you to go talk with the younger crowd while she waited for him, but that was a reality from years ago when she was still alive. you pressed your lips together and sighed, settled once more in the front row of pews.

the silence of the hall made the distant clock's tick-tock echo loudly, and the amplitude of the empty space made the cross positioned on the small altar seem to triple in size. he was watching. even if it wasn't your father, he would know, and he would judge. he would judge your lack of excitement for religion, your little faith, your curious glances, your inadequate desires, and he would whisper to your parent what he should say up there, so that every word was directed specifically at you.

a shiver ran down your spine when the office door opened, pulling you out of your small trance. your father was the first to step out, holding the door and signaling for the other to follow. who was he? dark hair, longer than usual for guys, a heavy brown suede jacket over a plain white shirt, jeans, and leather boots. you had never seen him around there, or anywhere else in town. his face was different, handsome... very handsome. full lips, thick eyebrows, a large nose... and as they approached, you noticed how tall he was too.

"ah, you're here" your father commented, flashing a fake smile in your direction, indicating his anger hadn't ceased, even after everything he had said. you stood up on impulse; hands pinned to your sides and perfect posture, but your sweet, shimmering eyes didn't lie as they scanned the new guy. "this is jake, jake sim, he just moved in" the man continued, observing your stunned state and then clearing his throat. "introduce yourself, kid..." something deep in your gut urged you to be indifferent, to ignore jake's hand extended toward you. but your body spoke before your brain could rationalize. your name came out as a whisper from your dry lips, but he still smiled, squeezing your hand lightly, letting you let go first. he put his hands back into his coat pockets while your father looked at you as if your head had been replaced by a giant question mark.

***

after that day, jake's presence was recurring. more often than you needed, less often than you craved. he was different from all the guys you knew; those who were almost a copy of your father - clothes too perfect, empty gazes. yes, jake was like a reminder that the mundane existed, a reminder that not everyone believed in the same god as you, that not everyone prayed before eating or cared about going to hell over a bad choice. whenever you ran into him, he smiled in your direction - an upside-down smile that made you wonder if he was curious or just felt pity.

your father had said he was moving from another city with no relatives, trying to make a life in a different place, and that was why jake would live in the small back room of the church for a while, paying rent by helping with the restoration of the ceiling and some walls that urgently needed plaster and paint.

he seemed willing, never truly standing still, carrying buckets of paint, mortar, pushing the rusty wheelbarrow where he put all the tools and materials back and forth. one moment he was outside, another he stopped to smoke before moving on to restore some pillar in the main hall. and whenever you cooked, your father asked you to take a plate of food to the dark-haired guy; since your house was across the street and it didn't hurt to help.

whether it was simple rice and meat or pasta, jake always made sure to thank you properly, stopping what he was doing - white tank top clinging to his sweaty torso, stained with paint and dirt, hair stuck to his forehead which he pushed back with his fingers - stepping down from the ladder or standing up to receive the plate from you. "did you make this?" he would ask, smelling the food and then looking at you. "yes... it's simple, i hope you don't mind". he would shake his head and then smile wide before sitting down to eat on a low stool nearby. "i haven't eaten home-cooked food in months." he would fork it and take a big bite, chewing and nodding approvingly, "it's good, very good."

your heart didn't help, making your chest give an unexpected twinge that left you flustered by the compliments you never received. "you... have been helping a lot..." you justified, and after a few seconds of just watching, you would simply extend your hand in a small goodbye and turn your back, walking quickly to leave the place while your small fingers reached for the rosary decorating your neck, squeezing the pendant hard.

it was bad. it was worse than you could have imagined. and it got worse. the more you saw him, the more phrases you exchanged, the more you wanted to talk, the more you wanted to discover who he really was. you knew he had a car, a ford f-custom pickup in a faded red tone from sitting in the sun. you knew he liked jackets because you had seen him with several; you knew he smoked and that he didn't attend the services; not even once.

jake didn't talk about his family; let alone which city he was coming from. your father didn't know much more either, snapping back with a "why do you want to know?" the first and only time you questioned him during dinner. "just because... he appeared so suddenly" you replied with a trembling voice, hearing a huff from the older man.

as the weeks passed, the church took on a new air: revamped, clean. he had even taken care of the flowers in the beds - abandoned since your father excommunicated the gardener for the act of chivalry toward you - which now had small white and yellow flowers blooming. the ceiling didn't drip anymore when it rained, and jake had fixed the pews that had rotting boards inside. your father was grateful, you knew he was; maybe that was why he didn't force jake to participate on sundays. but whenever the service ended and you left the church, you could see him outside with a cigarette tucked into the corner of his lips, flipping through some book you had never heard of, sitting on the hood of his truck.

and whenever he caught you watching, he would stop, take the cigarette from his lips, and close the book, setting it aside as if he were dedicating all his attention to you for those brief minutes in which you passed by him, waved, crossed the street, and went inside; blushing, and with ragged breath. so pathetic that you felt stupid.

maybe he knew. or maybe that was very presumptuous of you. to assume he knew what he was doing to you, that your head was becoming so disorganized that even you couldn't name what it was, other than that it was wrong.

that was why you had started to pray every night that jake could find a real job and move away, asking that he be successful and move to a bigger city, far away. far from the church and far from where you could see him. and for that same reason, you would finish and go to bed crying because the words whispered weakly were never genuine. they were selfish and lying, and the angels would know.

one monday, you decided you would ignore him. that it was nonsense, that your lack of faith was dominating you and you couldn't go on like this. so, you headed to your nursing course which took place in the town clinic and which you could get to and from on foot.

on the way, you had seen him at a car parts store, but you didn't look more than enough to ignore him, letting him crane his neck out of the small shop watching you walk down the street. you had finished high school the previous year, and despite having taken some exams and sent some recommendation letters, you had never received any reply from any of the colleges; or at least that's what your father said.

you wanted to study medicine, and while you couldn't, you were content with the course miss marie taught in exchange for you helping with some patients during the week. you had already learned about sutures, stitches, wound cleaning, casting, dressings, and a host of other things. as a consequence, you ended up learning about medications and dosages and always heard from marie that you were an exemplary student and would surely do well in the real course.

and whenever she said this, a mix of sadness and joy formed in the pit of your stomach, tangling with your breakfast that you nearly threw up. you would never be able to go to college, not if you stayed here... not if you stayed under your father's watch, being swallowed by the monotony of this dead-end town and the church, ever fuller, ever more imposing.

when your break arrived, you asked to go to the bookstore on the same street and stayed there for half an hour, entertained with nursing and medicine books, tempting yourself every now and then and picking up some romance story to leaf through.

       "love"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"surrender"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"desire"

the words caught in the air quickly as your eyes scanned the yellowed pages always made the hair on your arms stand up. romance wasn't something real. and the only true love was the one that came from devotion to the lord. men and women shouldn't touch for pleasure; that was reserved for marriage and procreation according to divine laws. but still, the words didn't disappear from your mind as you went back to work under the weakened heat of the setting sun.

"oh dear, are you back already? a young man stopped by and asked for you" you heard marie, stopping in your tracks, your body freezing, making you turn your head slowly toward her as she noted something in a small customer log, leaning on the counter. "jake! he said he needed to talk to you, but didn't want to leave any message" she continued simply, taking a moment to land her eyes on you and smirk at your pale expression. "you know him, right?" she knit her brows and you nodded before swallowing hard and heading to the bandage room.

what could he possibly want with you? what could be so urgent that jake genuinely sought out the place where you worked? maybe it was about your father. or maybe he needed help at the church. maybe he wanted to say goodbye before finally leaving after five weeks of living there and standing out from everything around him.

maybe he wanted to warn you that he would tell your father, that he would tell of the times your eyes lingered too long on him, or how your cheeks flushed when he smiled at you when you looked at him through your bedroom window and he was in the flower beds. your stomach spiraled and you leaned against the cabinet next to you at the unreal possibility, feeling on the verge of fainting.

air failed you and you grabbed your own shirt, twisting the fabric in your fingers and pulling -wanting the fabric to unstick from your skin for a few seconds because it had to be that preventing you from filling your lungs with oxygen and not a damn panic attack - trying to breathe deeply and not succeeding for long minutes.

you needed to tell the pastor it wasn't that, that it wasn't what he thought, that you would never think... that you would never do it! that you would be better, that you would pray more, dedicate yourself more!

when you finally managed to come back to yourself, you grabbed your crossbody bag and returned to the front of the clinic, asking brokenly if you could leave work a little early that day, which was promptly accepted despite the older woman's concerned expression.

"see you to-" but you didn't hear her, already on the sidewalk, quickening your pace.

***

you had never walked so fast in your life. the slight cramp in your calf was ignored until you were on your home block, able to see the high church bell from there, where you walked with yearning. your house had the windows closed, but the car was in the garage, only meaning your father was at the church. you threw the hall doors open, and the echo of the whistling wind vibrated against the walls. your lips parted and closed uncertainly as you passed through the rows of long pews, illuminated by the sunbeams still entering through the high windows at that hour of the afternoon. you stepped onto the platform, your low sandal heels sounding on the floorboards, extending your hand to reach the office door.

but just as you opened it, another person came out of there, bumping their body against yours.

"sorry, i-" you began, slowly raising your eyes until they met the dark eyes of the sim boy. you took a step back, squeezing the bag strap. jake closed the door behind him and smiled simply, knitting his brows when you stared at him as if he had two heads.

"in a hurry?" he asked and you pressed your mouth into a line, shaking your head. "really? i could've sworn i heard your footsteps all the way here" he said and crossed his arms, making his forearms with noticeable veins suck in your attention for an instant.

"i need to talk to my father" you managed to say quietly, looking away from him. "he's not in. at least, not here" he told you, turning his face a bit to analyze you. "did your boss say i looked for you?" he asked, watching you chew the inside of your cheek before nodding. "is that why you left early?" he raised an eyebrow and let out a short laugh.

"n-not because of you..." the phrase came out direct, more direct than you intended, and he was perfectly aware you hadn't done it maliciously, but even so, he leaned over and placed his hand over his chest, letting out a dramatic "arrgh".

"didn't have to destroy me like that" he joked, but your posture didn't relaxed. your free hand gripped your long skirt and crumpled the fabric; this didn't go unnoticed by him either.

jake straightened up and ran his tongue over his teeth, looking around before going back to watching you, measuring your small, trembling body in front of him. "did you come to tell your father that i looked for you then? wow... such a good girl, huh?" he let out in a mocking bittersweet tone.

your eyes widened and you finally stared back at him, parting your lips and feeling your heart hammer against your rib cage. "so that's really it?" he held a shit-eating grin on his lips now, just amusing himself, but when you took a step back, indicating you'd run from there at the first chance, the boy decided to stop stalling, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out an envelope.

"the reason for looking for you was because this arrived for you, and... it seems to be something important" he handed you the letter with the college seal on the edge, pointing with his index finger.

the moment he spoke and you took the letter in your hands, your head took a while to process what that meant... or rather, what it could mean. you raised your eyes to him once more and he gestured to the paper in clear encouragement. you were feeling a bit of shame from the earlier exposure, but still... to finally have a response to the countless letters you had sent was truly exciting.

you closed your eyes for a few moments before opening the seal with erratic hands. your almond-shaped eyes scanned every detail, the sender's information, the college logos, the date, and your name written there.

"subject: admission decision and financial aid offer

congratulations! it is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the class of-"

you stopped, not because you wanted to, but because your voice got choked up with a knot forming in your throat, making you bring your other hand to your mouth to cover it, unable to believe what you had just read.

your eyes were so wide that jake ended up laughing and leaning in to take it and finish reading for you. "thats awesome... like, with them funding a huge part of it?..." you stared at him, static. behind your eyes, your mind made a small movie of your life pass by until that moment. all the times you had worked hard on high school projects, the sleepless nights of study, the social actions that were always successful thanks to the church faithful. however, now that you had the result right there in your hands, didn't it seem a bit too much?

you remained quiet. the passing of time was just an illusion.

"what? you did not liked it?" the taller boy knit his brows and then you shook your head dejectedly, receiving the paper back and looking awkwardly at what was written. "no, i loved it. but... it's the furthest one of all..." you spoke softly at last, feeling your nose sting and eyes water, controlling the urge to cry in front of the other because so many humiliations in a row in one day would be hard to deal with.

"it's the chance of a lifetime, little one" jake added, but didn't force it more than that, resting one hand on your head and messing up your hair lightly. he didn't know exactly why, but judging by your earlier desperation and the not-so-gentle sermons the pastor used to give -which he could hear even from afar - he had some idea.

***

after the touch, jake had left you there. it had nothing to do with him anyway. you didn't know how much longer you had remained standing there; you only knew that when you left the church, the orange sky was gradually giving way to the black vastness of the night, while your father talked to one of the congregants at the front door. you had passed by them and greeted them politely, going inside and up the stairs to your room.

the week passed in the blink of any eye for you, your thoughts drifting far away. on the street you stumbled, at work you pricked yourself with scissors and needles, inattentive, earning your first scoldings from marie; you struggled to invent excuses not to eat dinner, preferring the pain of a growling stomach to sitting at the table with the pastor and having him ask about your day. and whenever you thought about sleeping to escape the hunger, the moment you laid your head on the pillow, you saw a crucifix nailed above the bed.

you didn't remember when that decoration had been nailed there, but you remembered once asking your 7th-grade classmates what they had for decorations on their walls. stars that glowed in the dark, band posters, original drawings, wallpaper - but not a damn beige wall with a single crucifix in the middle. wasn't it normal for a child to be able to decorate their room with... child things? wasn't it normal for children to be encouraged to have childhood interests? and the symbol weighed over you as if it weighed a ton, squeezing your diaphragm and making you so frustrated that you threw a pillow at the object, to no effect.

on friday, when you got up and went down for breakfast, you found the man there, with a cup of strong black coffee exhaling steam from the heat while he flipped through a newspaper. he didn't say good morning, and you breathed one out so quietly that the sound of the birds outside kept it from being heard. you served yourself cereal and milk, sitting at the furthest end of the table. he turned a page, wetting his fingertips with saliva, and you breathed shallowly, trying not to be noticed. too late. "make dinner today, and come down to eat" the thick, firm voice sounded, rhetorical and impenetrable. you nodded, even though he wouldn't see over the newspaper, and continued eating, swallowing with difficulty because you barely chewed so as not to make noise.

when you left the porch of the house, heading down the steps to the sidewalk, you were surprised by jake, who joined your walk.

"so... have made your decision yet?" he asked, hands in pockets, walking side by side.

"good morning... and no" you replied simply, avoiding eye contact with the taller man; looking at your feet walking in sync instead. jake sighed and then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, putting one in his mouth and reaching for his lighter.

"do you mind?" he asked, and when you just looked at him for half a second before focusing elsewhere, he lit it, watching the tip burn as he took a slow drag. he blew the smoke to the opposite side. "you know those scholarships could give you access to a dorm, right? what's the problem with it being far?"

why was jake following you anyway? you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand and shrugged. "if you want something that bad... why don't you do it?" his words parked in your head.

because james in his first chapter, verses fourteen through fifteen, said that each one is tempted by their own evil desire, being dragged away and enticed, and then after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin. that was why you couldn't decide for yourself, choose your own clothes, or wear makeup; it was why you didn't choose the decorations for your room even though you were nineteen years old, and why you couldn't let your will make you cross the country just to study if you could still be useful here. but jake wouldn't understand.

"is that what you would do if you were in my place?" you asked back, giving a timid smile and watching him study your expression - he thought you managed to look even cuter with your eyes puffy from sleep - as he slowly pulled the nicotine into his lungs, holding it and then letting it out bit by bit.

"if i were you, you wouldn't be asking what someone else would do" he replied confidently.

jake didn't have any appointments downtown, nor did he have any business there, but he still accompanied you to the front of the clinic, where he watched you go in quietly without saying anything else. he finished his cigarette right there, throwing the butt on the ground and crushing it with the sole of his boot.

marie asked you to make a splint for a little boy's finger that morning. the little guy had sprained his finger playing basketball in his garage, and every time you even brushed against the needle with the anesthesia, his eyes filled with tears. he was probably afraid, you thought, even though he wanted to appear brave. "did you know the mayor said they're going to build a sports court in the central plaza?" you commented, catching the little one's attention and seeing him shake his head no. "i heard all the children will be able to use it; doesn't that seem like a good opportunity to make friends?" you asked sweetly.

while the child thought and began to answer, you quickly gripped the anesthesia and applied it to the site. "ow!" he furrowed his brows, finally looking down and seeing the empty syringe. "you... already did it?" he blinked, confused and relieved at the same time. "uh-huh, and you didn't even notice" you breathed. "how did you do that?" he stared at you again with eyes shining with pure hope. "secret!" you winked and then grabbed the materials to make the splint.

"she probably cast a spell on me or something mommy, i swear!" that's what the kiddo said as he left the clinic accompanied by his mother, who just laughed at the silly assumptions. your boss gave you a playful little nudge, liking how you hadn't stopped smiling at the situation. after all, you had been strange all the other days, and feeling a bit of satisfaction with work was a great reason.

"you really have a gift" she pointed out and touched your shoulder. "by the way, i saw you were accompanied today... it was the guy from the other day..." the nurse continued. "are you two dating?" she asked as if she were asking about the weather.

your eyes widened and you denied it repeatedly, squeezing the small bag where you threw the dirty gauze and discarded the needle. "he... we-my father helped him... he's a newcomer". "oh. well, he definitely looks like one" she breathed before leaving you.

when you were alone in the room, you stopped for a few seconds, looking down and taking a deep breath.

you wanted to be able to say that the joy of having been good for the child with the hurt finger had remained for the rest of the day, but as soon as the clock struck five in the afternoon, you felt the anguish of the inevitable approaching. you packed your things slowly and even waited for marie to close the entrance so you could head home. if jake appeared and offered you a ride at that moment to anywhere far from there, you would accept it; you'd deal with the consequences of leaving your father waiting some other time. but no one appeared, and you were alone to face whatever was coming.

***

the bath? it had been a rupture in time disguised as a cloud of steam that passed without you noticing. you put on your light, long dress - which reached your ankles - and combed your hair before going down to make dinner.

your house had never been very well-lit, but in the past, there were still photos scattered around, some diplomas, both yours and your mother's, but your father had made sure to remove everything that reminded him of her. everything. except what he couldn't: the memory.

the humming of the refrigerator sounded louder than ever, making your internal organs want to coil up. the sound of the fire boiling the vegetable soup to thicken the broth served only as a second voice to the discordant music in the kitchen.

when it was seven in the evening, he appeared. dress shirt, polished shoes, pressed pants, and hair no longer so perfectly combed. an indifferent expression that you never knew was because he was at home or because he was seeing you. you exchanged silent glances, and he approached the dining table, which casually sat under the only light source between the living room and the kitchen. you served the plates and sat down, joining your hands and interlacing your fingers, closing your eyes to give thanks for the food.

"heavenly father, sanctify this meal which your hand has provided. may this food give us vigor to serve your kingdom with purity and obedience. amen" this made you press your lips together; he never thanked the one who prepared it.

the clinking of cutlery filled the void in the air, along with the sound of moderate chewing.

"so what happened that you lost your respect and appetite this week?" he was the one who started, cutting a piece of bread to dip in the soup. over the days you had considered telling him, taking a chance. you were almost convinced it wasn't worth it, if it hadn't been for that afternoon... you had been so happy to help, so content to see the softening expression in those child eyes.

"i received an acceptance letter, for next year's class..." you commented quietly, without the courage to look at your own parent.

"and what about it?" he returned, chewing the soaked slice of bread audibly.

"i thought... with the money i saved, and maybe finding a part-time job, i could support myself there. it's a full scholarship" oh, he didn't seem surprised.

your father continued eating, feeling your eyes slowly rising to him until he stopped abruptly, dropping the spoon on the plate. "i thought we had put an end to this discussion. that you would take the theology course in the neighboring town and help me with the church. that is the path the lord has been laying out for you..." the words came out serious.

"i made so many applications and we agreed to wait for a year, dad..." you furrowed your eyebrows.

"i didn't agree to wait a year. i never even agreed with this college story. do you know how hard it is? the sins, the ambition, the selfishness in those places? do you know what it's like to be alone in a place like that? especially you, who has never seen any of it?" his voice began to change and he moved his mouth irritably. "that's your wish? to become mundane and dirty? to disappoint god because you couldn't resist to your inner demons?" he asked, staring, his fist clenched on the wooden table.

"it doesn't have to be like that! i would only go to study!" you defended yourself, feeling a bitterness rise in your throat.

"study? do you want to look at me straight in the eyes and ask me to believe this when you can barely keep your legs closed to the garden boy?!" you widened your eyes and parted your lips... how could he say something so gross and unrealistic when all you had done was accept a simple flower?

the first tear ran down your cheek stealthily, without you noticing; the others that followed, you didn't have the strength to contain. "mom would want me to pursue this..." your voice crawled, weak and trembling. but to him, it sounded like the worst of offenses, one that tore the armor he had created many years ago.

"repeat what you've just said" his tone was dark now, loaded with a veiled hate he felt for your existence.

when his chair scraped back and his body rose, you swallowed your sobs, looking at him. "dad, p-please... i didn't intend t-"

the impact of the slap on your face was strong enough to make your ear ring and your neck be thrown to the side. the welt immediately rose to the surface of your skin. the pain made you lose your breath, but he didn't care, grabbing your hair and making you look at him as he leaned down to be at your height. "you disgust me" he said sharply, spitting the words. "i pray to god forgive your sins, but you are helpless" and with that, he let you go, making your body collapse into the chair, and he left the room, heading to the second floor with heavy steps.

you hugged your own body while the crying was overwhelming, squeezing your eyes shut and shrinking back.

when times like this arrived, to whom should you turn? your father thought you were disgusting, and god must have had an opinion not much different. your friends were limited to the young people who attended church on sundays and occasionally went to the group, but never really got close. the rest of your family lived miles away, and unfortunately, you were foolish and inexperienced, just as the older man had said.

you stood up limply and put the unfinished plates of soup in the sink, almost letting the heavy dishes fall and shatter on the floor; you turned off the light and instead of going to your room, you went out the front door, feeling the cold breeze and the yellow streetlights bathe your figure.

you walked across the porch and across the front garden until you were on the sidewalk, starting to walk without a certain direction. maybe you'd walk around the block, maybe you'd go to the small park nearby and sit on one of the swings until your body got used to the sadness and the night went back to being like any other.

***

the tears still fell, less agitated, yet colder as the wind chilled them against your flushed cheeks. your swollen nose sniffled, and you pressed your lips together, dwelling on the words you had heard.

jake was coming back from one of the freelance jobs he had picked up at a construction site. in the pickup, the music played low, and he tapped the steering wheel every now and then, attentive to the dark streets of the little town that went to sleep too early. he would have continued if he hadn't spotted something. honestly, with that thin, light dress that fluttered in the skirt from the wind, he might have thought it was a ghost... a very pretty and well-behaved one, though. the boy smiled as he flashed his high beams once, slowing down and rolling down the window to stick his head out. "hey church girl!" he called, and your silhouette stopped. but when your face turned to him, the smile jake had died almost instantly.

he stopped the vehicle right there and got out in a hurry. loose pants held up by a worn belt, a stained tank top, a jacket - which he was already taking off to wrap around you - and beautifully disheveled hair.

"what happened? what are you doing here?" he asked, looking down, without asking permission to touch your face and make you look at him. you were a mess of tears, snot, and there was still that mark on your cheek that he quickly identified. you didn't answer, but when the gentle weight of the leather jacket wrapped around your bare shoulders and jake's thumbs wiped your tears, you looked at him.

"jake..." you called, testing the name on the tip of your tongue. that, as incredible as it seems, was the first time you breathed the combination of letters.

"yes? i'm here." his expression was one of concern. but how could he feel that for someone like you? whom he barely knew or spoke to; maybe you were so miserable that you really didn't realize it. "do you want me to do something?" he asked, shifting his eyes from yours to your cheek before coming back.

"no..." you denied. you could have pulled away from him, touched his wrists so he would let go, but you didn't. "i was just... walking..." your last shred of judgment made you speak.

"no, you were crying and walking without direction... that's not just walking. what happened?" god, he was so insistent.

"my dad... we talked, about the college..." you explained, and jake shook his head, squeezing your face between his large, calloused hands. he could picture what had happened; he wasn't an idiot, he knew exactly the kind of guy the pastor was. they were all the same, so good for the community, titling themselves messengers of god or some shit like that, using other people's money to promote themselves, spreading lies, taking away dreams, having disgusting secrets.

"i'm not letting you go back home today, sorry" the boy concluded, letting go of your cheeks and holding your hand, dragging you so he could take you to the truck.

without another word, he opened the passenger door and lifted you by the waist as if you weighed nothing, sitting you there and helping with the belt. your faces were close, but your eyes were too cloudy for you to see the details of the taller man's profile. you saw him go around before getting in the driver's side and sitting there to start it again; the roar of the engine breaking the silence of the street.

he didn't say where he was taking you, and you didn't ask either. for someone who fled from him as the devil flees from the cross, you were placing a lot of trust there. in less than twenty minutes, during which you had exchanged at most two words - with him asking if you were still cold and you denying it - you had arrived at a bar where the blinking neon sign read "jj's bar." the facade was nothing fancy; on the contrary, plain walls with some posters announcing live music and cheap beer, the light of the sign in shades of yellow and red making the mixture of colors bathe the cracked sidewalk.

jake offered you his hand for you to get out, and you avoided eye contact when you did, lips pressed together. when you entered, the atmosphere was strangely welcoming. a varnished counter with several stools along its length. floorboards of wood that creaked slightly when stepped on, tables scattered about, walls covered in posters, flyers, ads, photos, and tacky wallpaper in shades of wine and brown. behind the counter, a young man was drying some glass cups, and a large cabinet held various glasses, containers, and drinks. a pool table, some slot machines, a jukebox.

"jake jakey..." the barman spoke and smiled, leaning on the counter as you approached.

jake smiled, touching the small of your back subtly as if he wanted to reassure you that everything was fine; he also extended his hand, shaking the guy's on the other side. "my friend, jay..." he breathed and followed jay's gaze, which fell slowly onto you.

"and you, young lady?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, friendly. you breathed out softly and nodded.

"i already told you about her..."

"oh... so you are the preach-"

"ahem" jake cleared his throat and the guy stopped, staring at him and getting the message.

"well, make yourselves comfortable. for you, i already know, but how about you, sweetheart, what'll it be?" - jake rolled his eyes in disbelief at the blatant flirting – the park waited for your answer, but the only thing you could do was look up, searching for a menu... like in the diners, right?

"oh-i see... what's your age?"

"nineteen" jay smiled gently in your direction, shifting his attention to the boy beside you; what kind of communication was that?

you watched him grab a bottle from the cabinet and serve a glass halfway, putting in ice and tapping the surface in front of the sim boy before pushing it toward him.

you watched jake take the glass and gulp - his prominent adam's apple bobbing - wrinkling his nose slightly before staring at you. "what?" he murmured, and you shook your head, embarrassed to be caught staring.

minutes later jay placed a glass with a pink mixture and a little umbrella on top. "its cherry syrup with white vermouth by the way, that's the lightest i can do" he threw the hand-drying cloth over his shoulder and crossed his arms. you shouldn't drink. you didn't know these people, you didn't know your limit, and you were far from home, but the only thing you did was look to the sides, searching for any sign. a cross, a saint, someone... any sign that indicated you would be punished later.

when you didn't find one, you looked at the glass, closing your small fingers around it and testing the weight before lifting it to your lips. the first sip wasn't bad, the smell was sweet and the taste even more so, but at the very end the aftertaste caused a sting. both pairs of eyes analyzed you and you covered your mouth after placing the glass back on the wood. "it's good... different, but good," you said and saw both of them smiling.

"you don't have to drink it all," jake breathed and let his eyes travel over you. your body disappeared in his jacket, and you held onto the fabric of your dress skirt as usual. were you always afraid?

you just nodded... without much to say. it was the first time you had entered a bar, you were sure you shouldn't be there, but you didn't feel threatened. the music wasn't loud and it was pleasant to hear, making your feet suspended from the stool swing lightly while you fingered the sweating glass. "have things always been this way?", jake took advantage of the moment when his colleague, and owner of the bar, moved away to talk.

and you caught yourself trying to remember when was the last time your father had acted like a real father and not like a vigilante. "no... it's hard to remember, though... after my mother passed away, he doesn't seem to be the same person" you breathed.

jake looked down and bit his lip. he was terrible at consoling and it wasn't as if he had never had a girl crying in his arms, but definitely the reason wasn't the same. "and you never thought about leaving?", he continued and saw you sip the drink once more before looking at him.

"wouldn't that be selfish?", you returned and he knit his brows.

selfish...? the word made the older boy swallow hard, tapping the counter once before getting up from the stool and helping you do the same. he held your shoulders, placing your body in front of his and guiding you to one of the game machines.

"i don't know how to play" you looked up from below and he just smiled, taking a token from his pocket and positioning himself behind you.

"you don't have to know everything to do it, you know?", his voice had a soft and more relaxed timbre now. "you just have to want to" jake carefully touched your wrists, indicating where you should hold. the machine's crank and the colored buttons that every time they were pressed made the character on the screen release some kind of different animation.

the dark-haired boy was hunched over, his face next to yours, cheeks almost brushing, explaining what you could do. your brain tried, struggled to pay attention, but it was so much information... blue button to attack, his perfume invading your nostrils, walking forward with the joystick, the warm touch of his hands over yours, white button to start again, his minty breath blowing against your neck while he spoke... you bit your lip and confirmed when he asked if you were ready.

you watched the characters on the screen casting powers and trading funny blows. in high school some boys mentioned this. it was fun, although you didn't understand the rules. you did exactly as the older boy said, managing somehow to defeat the opponent. when the 'winner' text appeared there you smiled, but you smiled even more when jake celebrated, squeezing your arms and shaking you carefully, just drawing a soft giggle from you. "you're good at it!", he straightened up and pinched your chin lightly.

he spent three more tokens, letting you test other characters and showing you how it was done; proceeding to lose all the times and making a tired face when the last fight ended and the machine flashed ‘insert your ticket’. "okay... that was a first, i'm actually good, seriously," he defended himself and you gave a breathy smile, enjoying yourself.

when your crying was nowhere to be seen and jake's presence had totally overshadowed the night's events, you could finally notice him. black, wavy hair, a mouth drawn with a heart-shaped cupid's bow. there was something magnetically soft about him that made it impossible to look away, a perfect harmony between the sharp, aristocratic line of his nose and the warm glow of his dark eyes. his lip curved into a lazy side smile, the kind of smile you knew your father would call temptation, and for the first time, you understood exactly why people gave in to it.

you passed in front of the old jukebox and stopped, observing the varnished details and the little letters inside, showing which tracks were available.

"do you like music?", he asked, approaching as well.

"i... don't listen much" and even so your eyes vibrated at the equipment in front of you, curious, exploring.

"pick one" he said, alternating his gaze between you and the machine, biting his lip, anxious to know what it would be.

"i don't know any of these...", you denied laughingly and he rolled his eyes, putting the coin there and looking at you expectantly.

so many names, you ended up choosing the most different of all, drawing a little laugh from him. jake and you looked at each other while iris by the goo goo dolls started to play. he held your hand and took a few steps back, taking you to one of the more open spaces in the bar, before joining your bodies, circling your waist carefully, smoothly sliding his fingertips along your wrist, making you hold him by the shoulders, guiding your body in a slow dance.

your heart was galloping, and your cheeks were feverish, while your expression didn't hide your mixed shock and embarrassment, feeling your lip twitch as you searched for words and gave up ridiculously.

jake smiled from the side, making you rest your head on his chest. he accompanied your small body moving slowly with his, feeling a twinge in his chest when you rubbed your face lightly against him, sniffling against his shirt. your thin and small fingers squeezing so lightly on his shoulders that he was afraid the minimum contraction of muscles could hurt you. the melody swayed the pressed bodies, and for the minutes the music box played, it was just you two there.

even when the last guitar chords played, you slowly pulled away, staring at him sweetly. you wanted to ask what that had been - which would be a mess because not even jake knew - but you moistened your lips, pulling back your arms again, smiling awkwardly before hugging your own body.

"thank you...", you said softly and he froze, his eyes darkening even more, watching your body take a few steps back, testing the subtle distance; with no intention of really running away now.

the boy blinked slowly and as soon as you turned to go back to the counter he stretched his body, holding your arm and making you turn again. but when your eyes met, he took a few moments to say: "i would never think that selfishness is being yourself. i would never think that selfishness is prioritizing yourself" the answer finally came, making you fix your eyes on him. "and if it is, then maybe being selfish isn't so bad, right?", his touch softened, making his arm slide away again, but the electricity of the contact remained there, like a promise that this was only the first step out of your bubble.

and you could swear he was approaching millimetrically when jay's voice sounded nearby. "guys, sorry to interrupt, but, we are closing"

***

the pickup's engine finally went silent, leaving only the popping of the cooling metal and the sound of the wind cutting through the tall grass of the lookout. down there, the city was just a tangle of distant lights that didn't seem to belong to the same world you were in. a parallel world where he had dragged you to spend the night.

jake lowered the tailgate and helped you up, spreading a thick blanket over the metal so you'd be comfortable. lying side by side, the sky seemed larger than you had ever seen from the locked windows of home. you talked - as if in all those years the words had just been waiting for someone to ask and care - you told him everything and anything he asked, from your favorite color to the last book you had read.

you told him about the silent rules of your routine, about the expectations that weighed on your shoulders and about how you wanted to be able to do something without disappointing the people around you. jake, on the other hand, was a presence of mysteries and calm silences. he listened with an almost voracious attention, eyes fixed on your profile, on how your mouth moved and tightened when you thought, absorbing every fragment of your story to understand how you still managed to be so intact. it was fascinating.

"and you?" you asked, turning your face to him, feeling the early morning dew prickle your skin. "do you have a religion? do you believe in god?"

jake let out a soft chuckle, a sound that vibrated in his chest before reaching the full lips he moistened. he turned on his side, propping his head on his hand to face you. "i don't believe in that image they sell out there. altars, punishments..." he shrugged, and the glow of his eyes seemed denser under the moonlight. and at the same time his sincerity frightened you, it made you more and more interested. "i have my own convictions. i believe in what i can feel, what i can touch...", jake let his eyes slide over your body for a few milliseconds.

a shiver that wasn't from cold ran down your spine.

"don't you think god- that he would hate us? for being here? for thinking like this?" the question came out small, loaded with a reverential fear, and a guilt that was present for as long as you could remember.

jake smiled, dangerously docile. "god could never hate a girl like you" he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a dark velvet. "you're just so... pure"

the word seemed to burn, entering through your ears, circling your whole body and stopping right in your chest where your heart accelerated. you sat up on the truck bed, hugging your knees against your chest and hiding your face between them for a moment. the silence in the air became thick, and not even the chirping of the crickets was enough to appease your feelings.

"i... don't feel that way anymore" you confessed with a slightly trembling voice; struggling not to cry again since your puffy eyelids couldn't handle another round.

jake sat up right after, his movement being fluid and, at the same time, careful. he didn't look away; on the contrary. his hand went up to your shoulder, warm fingers contrasting with the cold jacket, caressing the fabric that covered your shoulder with a slowness that seemed to want to uncover what was underneath all those layers.

"look at me" he asked, pulling your shoulder with a gentle firmness so you would stare back.

seeing you like that - with damp eyes, parted lips and this readiness to let yourself be carried away - jake felt his stomach twist. there was something sickly and stimulating in the way you seemed breakable in his hands, even without him touching you properly. his desire wasn't just physical; it was the desire to be the one who would untie all your knots, the one who would see your chastity transform into something that only belonged to him, that only existed in his presence.

he repeated the motion from the bar, but now there was no one to interrupt.

jake kept leaning in, the space between you disappearing while the smell of mint and leather enveloped you little by little. you knew exactly what was about to happen and your mind sought your father's warnings, the moral lessons, the sunday sermons, the sins listed in old books... but your body didn't move one bit. your eyes closed, and you held your breath without noticing, waiting for the meeting of lips in a simple kiss. his mouth warm, contrasting with your cold lips.

this was your first kiss, surrendered so naturally to jake sim that it didn't feel wrong. his large and hand held the side of your face, long fingers getting lost among the strands of hair and his thumb caressing your cheekbone, a tender possessiveness that anchored you there. at the beginning, it was a dry, exploratory contact, just the warmth of the mucous membranes recognizing each other, a sensation that made your stomach turn from the novelty.

with the passing of seconds, the pressure increased. jake didn't force it; he just offered. he parted his lips against yours, letting the tip of his tongue provoke the contour of your mouth, a silent invitation he anxiously waited to be accepted. your inexperience screamed, but instinct spoke louder. when you finally gave in, allowing the tongues to meet for the first time, a short gasp escaped your throat making the older boy sniff in approval.

jake noticed your hesitation and didn't allow you to feel lost. he guided, dictating the rhythm, while his free hand sought your wrist with delicacy making you position your hand on his shoulder, encouraging your fingers to seek the support they needed to pull closer. with the contact firm, the kiss became needy, an urgency that seemed to consume the oxygen around, and a kind of magnet making both drag closer to each other; your thigh very nearly climbing over his leg.

inside your head, chaos tried to organize itself. memorized verses about temptation and severe warnings tried to emerge, but were immediately buried. there was no room for guilt when every inch of your body responded to his with a frightening intensity. morality was a language you didn't speak anymore. now, your brain could only process the tangible reality: the taste of him.

when he took his hand to your waist, entering the jacket he himself had lent you and you startled at the rougher and more direct touch, with lips peeling off his before seeking them again, jake pulled away suddenly, clearing his throat and taking his hand from there, laughing awkwardly and shaking his head. "fuck, i'm sorry...", he breathed low, not knowing for sure what he was asking for, but making you come back to the surface too, just as confused, blushing and swallowing the saliva in your mouth, biting your lip still leaning towards him. "you've been drinking...", he explained calmly, passing his eyes over the girl, the shiny lips, the straight neckline of the messy dress and exposing one of your collarbones, the breathing through the mouth.

he had been drinking too, but your courage to speak had been entirely spent with the seal, so you just nodded, turning your face away and settling better inside the jacket.

the rest of the night was filled with small talk, clumsy touches, and without you noticing, the sun rose on the horizon, making you realize that was also your first night away from home. for a few minutes, jake had dozed off by your side, the wavy locks falling perfectly over the sculpted face, his chest rising and falling peacefully, reminding her that he had rescued and sheltered her.

that was the problem, jake made it seem good to go against everything she knew.

***

"submit yourselves to god; resist the devil, and he will flee from you. do not let yourselves fall into temptation, my children. the enemy is always lurking looking for openings, especially in those of weak heart" the pastor spoke, the bible near his chest while he walked from one side to the other, but your head was far away. you were outside the church, sitting on the pickup with the peeling hood, stained pants and denim jacket.

when was it like this anyway?

jake sim was lean and sneaky. accompanying you every morning to work on foot - with an arm that wrapped your shoulders and a mouth that whispered idiotic things just to make you laugh -, picking you up and suddenly changing the path to some place you didn't yet know, whether it was a bridge with a beautiful view or some field. poking your shoulder when he passed by you just to see you looking for him while he moved away with a playful smile on his lips. he also threw stones at your window at night when you were about to sleep, and as soon as you looked he made a gesture with his hand calling you to come down in secret, without your father knowing.

the kisses and experimental touches were becoming more and more urgent. your cheeks burned every time he got excited and brought his mouth down to your neck, whispering how much your scent drove him crazy.

it was even worse when he grabbed your waist tightly, or pressed you against some surface - usually the small room where he was staying, at the back of the church, right after the sermon ended. but, he never went beyond, sometimes stopping when both were altered and breathless from making out, with hands clinging to the barriers of clothes or to the hair of each other's napes.

little by little the questions started to get more intimate... he no longer wanted to know about your favorite things, but about what you were curious about, or how much you liked his kisses, or even how much you were willing to go with him.

god, and you were.

you bit your lip, eyes widening as you noticed what you were thinking inside the church.

when your eyes returned to the room your father stared at you firmly for a few brief seconds before returning to talk.

you had even asked your former friend lisa what you should do days ago - during the youth group’s pause; anything that would make you stop incessantly thinking about the outsider boy.

both had talked under the stairs in a whispered tone that could only be interpreted looking eye to eye: "even the greatest of sins god is willing to forgive if you are really sorry" the girl told you, staring with an impartial warmth. "that's what torments me. when i commit this sin, i don't feel bad... i feel good. better than i have ever been" had been your answer.

how could you feel sorry?

the moment the bells rang, your feet firmed on the ground, getting up hurriedly and going to help with the organization as always. books put away, candles extinguished, and this time you even managed to leave along with the other faithful who crowded near the exit, talking and saying goodbye, it was when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist and pull you from among the crowd to the side of the church. jake looked around before holding your cheek and depositing a loud smooch on your mouth, taking a little note and putting it in the palm of your hand before winking and leaving without saying more.

you gave a breathy smile, feeling like a fool. your shoes brushing against each other while opening the yellowish paper to find his handwriting.

"no work tomorrow. we have a date. meet me at 10am, you know where", with a hurried heart scribble adorning the upper corner of the post-it.

he was so secretive and unpredictable, making your belly vibrate with so many butterflies. anyway, you ran home to call marie's phone and warn her about a persistent pain in the wrist that would prevent you from working the next morning.

***

the sound of closet doors was the only noise to be heard throughout the second floor at that hour of the morning. you slipped into your white skirt and donned the blouse with romantic sleeves before stepping into your heavy shoes over your socks. your hair remained loose and your backpack was slung on in a hurry before you left the room and headed down the stairs, running into your father halfway down.

"haven't you left for work yet?" he asked, stopping in his tracks and furrowing his brow.

"i’m late today... i’m on my way!" you dodged his body and finished the descent, heading toward the door to leave.

you couldn't allow yourself to be caught, and you knew he would look out the window for at least a full minute, which made you walk slowly, mentally counting to sixty so that the steps heading down the street would suddenly change direction, crossing from one sidewalk to the other, leading you to the back of the church where the pickup truck was parked.

when you opened the passenger door to get in, jake met you with a smile, unable to help but notice you had dressed up, letting you fasten your belt and adjust your shoulders and posture in the seat, oblivious to how he watched you, until you weren't anymore and turned to him.

"what?"

he bit his lip. "you look pretty" he replied sincerely, basking in your flushed cheeks and the way you shyly looked away. he started the engine and shifted into gear before pulling away.

"where are you taking me?" you asked as the landscape outside the window gradually changed. he had taken a road that passed through several fenced pastures - some with animals, others with trees, and even those that held nothing but a green vastness of grass.

"you're so curious. i wanted it to be a surprise" he said laughingly, eyes never leaving the road.

"that's not fair... you're always doing that" you retorted, though you weren't truly bothered.

"just know you're going to like it, hm?" you nodded, fiddling with one of the buttons on your blouse.

when they were about 3 minutes away from arriving, jake told you to close your eyes, grumbling playfully when you tried to cheat by squinting through your fingers. when he whispered softly that he really wanted to make it a surprise, you stopped teasing and kept your hands over your eyes until the car was parked and he said you could open them.

and even so, when jake spoke and your eyes opened, it was impossible to believe.

from inside, the passenger window - slightly fogged and covered by a thin layer of road dust - framed the flowery field like an old, faded painting. the landscape unfolded in waves of moss-green and soft hues of lavender and white. as the engine cooled, the high sun poured a radiant light over the vast space, turning the rows of pine trees in the distance into dark green silhouettes against the blue sky.

it was beautiful, one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen. jake laughed at how you suddenly stared at him.

"how did you find this place?" you asked before putting your hand on the handle and opening the door to get out. the soft grass cushioned your weight, making it feel like you were stepping on a thin quilted layer. you bit your lip with a childish giggle and looked around. there were some fences toward the side the truck had passed, indicating the property likely had an owner.

"i came here to fish one day" he said, passing by you to get something from the truck bed.

you took a few steps and crouched down, looking at the colorful flowers more closely. so beautiful that you were afraid to touch them and end up ruining them. "i prepared something for us today..." you heard him and turned to see what he was carrying: a blanket and a basket, making you furrow your brow in amusement.

"what is this?" you stood up and went over.

"well, you said you'd never had a picnic, so..." jake shrugged, playing it cool, even though he was hoping for the surprise to be good.

he did everything, from finding a spot to spread the blanket to taking several jars of fruit, bread, and sweets out of the basket, looking your way every now and then as you followed him with your hands behind your back and a curious expression. it was still so unbelievable that jake was even there, that he wanted to get to know you, or fulfill your wishes. he didn't belong in that place - the free way he carried himself, the hair falling over his eyes, the tanned skin, the calloused hands - he stood out from everything and everyone, a natural attraction, almost as if you were tempted to look at him and desire him.

you smiled compassionately before kneeling beside him and touching his face, making jake stop, turn to you, and touch your waist.

"is everything okay? did you like it? you can tell me if you didn't, i need to know..."

you didn't answer with words, but held the back of his neck and leaned in to seal the older boy's full lips, enjoying the warmth and softness for a few seconds, catching jake off guard as it was the first time you had initiated something like that.

he had a funny look on his face when you pulled apart, like someone who had just discovered a funny secret. "i really like it, thank you" you whispered, and he stole one more little kiss before pulling you to sit on his lap, proceeding to show you everything he had brought: strawberries, pancakes with honey, a bottle of coffee.

***

time by his side seemed to flow in a different way, a soft, warm current that carried you without you feeling the need to fight it; or perhaps, you were ignoring your internalized morality, because living was more important. there, in the flowery field with the sound of the stream in the distance, the world outside was a pale memory you didn't miss at all. you surrendered with an ease that never failed to scare you, but jake sim's touch was a constant invitation to simply be.

what had started as light play, between laughter and distracted touches while eating, shifted in intensity when his body ended up over yours on the picnic blanket; he had a hand on each side of your face, avoiding letting his weight fall on you, and his eyes minutely searched your expressions to know if it was time.

the seconds in which you just looked at each other were a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of birds and the wind blowing freely. jake leaned in, as a test, and began to kiss you slowly - an almost lazy affection for a day like that, exploring your lips without haste, without the urgency of excitement. he nibbled on your bottom lip and whispered against the sensitive skin how good your mouth tasted.

but the rhythm changed as you reacted. your short gasps and the way your small hands sought the back of his neck once more, pulling him closer, began wearing down the self-control he was trying to maintain. his hands moved up, outlining your waist and messing with your clothes, his thumbs tracing the path of your protruding ribs just below the curve of your breasts, while your legs tangled together, seeking more contact, more heat.

the mood was cut sharply by a dry sound.

heavy steps against the earth, the violent rustling of vegetation, and a sharp animal grunt of pain.

you both stopped.

jake froze with his lips still brushing the skin of your collarbone where he had been licking just before, while your eyes widened, your heart racing now for a completely different reason than the second before.

from behind one of the nearby bushes, the figure emerged suddenly, piercing eyes checking if you were a threat to its hunt... it wasn't the graceful red fox from children's books, but an animal with dirty caramel fur, rustic and opaque, eyes fixed on both of you as it crossed the field. its snout was stained a bright red, contrasting with the body of a small white rabbit it carried clenched between its teeth; the small animal still spasmed, an agonizing reflex movement that made blood run even more down the fox's jaw.

the scene was ugly, pitiless, and mortal. there, under the late afternoon sun and surrounded by flowers, nature displayed its carnivorous face, reminding you that life and death shared the same space - exactly like the innocence you tried to maintain and the desire jake awakened in you.

"don't be afraid" jake whispered, a side smile forming as he saw your jugular jump with the erratic heartbeat. "it's natural, it means the fox will manage to survive for a few more days... nothing more than that" and for some reason, he didn't seem to be talking only about the animals. the words didn't do their part in making you calmer; instead, you swallowed with difficulty, entering a complicated internal dissonance.

maybe god had ambiguous plans for certain creatures. maybe creation wasn't just about green pastures, miraculous healings, and benevolence, but about this silent, cruel gear that didn't ask before turning. you thought you weren't in a position to judge; after all, who were you to understand the logic behind survival? maybe these creatures had some idea of what their destinies would be, or maybe they were completely oblivious to it, living and dying without ever understanding why.

it was this perception of the frivolity of raw life that made your hair stand on end and your throat go dry. an existential dread creeping up your spine. the fragility of the kit was your own fragility. but jake remained there, his voice steady and his body still warm against yours, as if that carnage were merely the natural backdrop for what you were doing.

"it's okay to feel sad, though... but we can't interfere" he murmured, and the way he accepted it without looking away seemed, in a way, engaging, making you face him again with tearful eyes. "jake" you called, and he smiled, brushing the tip of his nose against your neck, moving up until he was staring back at you. "can we continue in the car?" the shy words left your trembling lips.

oh? he knew exactly what that was.

he understood that transition; it was the violence of nature, strange and inevitable, that, instigated carnal acts. it was the most primitive emotional escape, the one that seeks the warmth of life immediately after being confronted with the coldness of death. the type of surrender that is condemned by all doctrines, but is the only possible response to instinct.

even so, he didn't hesitate. jake held you in his lap with disconcerting ease, one of his large hands firm on your butt as he carried you to the truck, while you wrapped yourself around his torso.

with his free hand, he opened the door and tossed you into the front seat, onto that continuous leather upholstery that eliminated any barrier between you. as soon as he got in and closed the door, the silence of the cabin was broken by the sound of your small, skittish hands reaching for his face. you gripped his cheeks hard, pulling him into a kiss loaded with want, as if every second of waiting were torture.

the kisses were deep and dense. you both grumbled and gasped against each other's mouths, a duel of tongues and teeth taking place. when you sucked his full lower lip, jake felt a snap of urgency. he pulled away just enough to get rid of his jacket and shirt, one piece following the other, revealing the warm skin under the light filtered through the windows. you blushed, eyes trailing down slowly, leading your fingers in an almost experimental way across his six-pack, mapping the defined muscles before looking up to meet him.

the eye contact didn't last long before you went back to kissing in an animalistic and needy way. jake moved his lips down to your slender neck, sucking the skin with controlled strength, leaving reddish marks. his hands slid without haste but with intention, moving down your goosebump-covered arms, squeezing your thin waist and tracing your hips until they found their way under the linen skirt. the rough touch of his fingertips scratching your rounded thighs made your whole body tense.

suddenly, in an agile movement, he reversed positions. jake pulled you onto his lap, feeling the weight of your body on his, and parted his lips when you let out an innocent little moan that seemed to echo inside him, breaking what remained of his last gram of self-control. "fuck, babe, i swear i'm trying... trying so hard to take my time with you, but you're just so hot" he whispered against your shoulder, where the sleeve of your blouse had slipped down.

"it's okay... you don't have to right now... i want it too" his head was about to explode.

"say that again..." he asked, holding your chin and sliding his thumb across your lip.

"i want you."

jake felt an electric current through his own spine at the words, holding the back of your neck firmly and invading your mouth in a messy, lingering tongue kiss. his experienced hands unbuttoned your blouse and pushed the fabric open before helping you take it off immediately reaching for your soft skin, breasts held in the bra decorated with a bow.

he bit his lip before using a single finger to pull the cup down, finding your shy, peaked nipple there. his dark eyes, almost begging, stared at you and you nodded.

he captured the small point and sucked with intent, circling it with his tongue before sucking as if he wanted to draw something from it. he closed his eyes, concentrated on what he was doing, playing with the breast between his lips while one of his hands went to the clasp on your back to open it. when he felt the weight of the breast in his mouth, he became even more invested, hollowing his cheeks as he encompassed even more of the soft flesh around the areola.

when he let go of the nipple, it was red and completely wet, using his index finger to flick it while his mouth already moved toward the other. your low moans and the way your body shivered over his did nothing to help the erection jake had in the confines of his jeans. he bit the tip of the peak when you squeezed his shoulder and adjusted yourself in his lap, practically grinding there. he returned to your lips, but didn't kiss now.

"hmm more…" he asked softly and you swallowed, feeling feverish just looking at him. "w-what?" you asked confused, but furrowed your brow and looked down with a weakened expression when he guided your hips to grind.

"jake..."

"you're going to drive me crazy..." he gasped through gritted teeth.

jake helped you out of the skirt and his eyes stayed fixed on the panties you wore - they had some lace ruffles near the elastic and were completely transparent in the front, betraying how wet you were. "shit... look at this" he moved his hand there, pressing his thumb exactly where it seemed wettest, feeling your nails prick his shoulder. "do you even know what this means?" his eyebrows knit as he looked at you again, leaning his body until his lips were brushing your ear. "your body wants me so much it's preparing you to receive me... isn't that cute?" he licked your lobe.

but he couldn't just fuck you in the damn pickup; he might be whatever he was, but he still thought of your well-being - of the fact that you were virgin and delicate and that putting you against the dashboard while he stretched you with his cock wouldn't be the best of experiences... so the boy smiled wide, turning his head thinking. "have you ever touched yourself?" he questioned, keeping his voice low and engaging, waiting for you to deny it. "not even once? not even in the shower?"

"jake..." you pleaded, embarrassed; god, he really liked how your eyes got low and avoidant when you were cornered. he bit his bottom lip and tucked a strand of your hair that hung behind your ear, running his index finger down your jaw, neck, the space between your breasts... until he was near your lower abdomen.

"i want you to touch yourself for me..." he breathed, an order so soft it sounded like a request.

you stared at him lost, almost as if at a crossroads between accepting quickly and denying for fear of doing it wrong. "sshh, it's okay... i will guide you" and jake was making it so much harder.

your mind knew, even before you did, that it was wrong... he wasn't promised to you, you hadn't prayed together before, the pastor hadn't approved - or didn't know you were seeing each other this way - everything you shouldn't do or give in to... so why were you bringing your hand down there? why were your lips trembling when your fingers felt the moisture of the soaked fabric?

"uh uh... inside the panties" jake corrected, pulling the elastic of the undergarment so you could slide your hand inside. "describe what you're feeling for me..."

pressing your lips together, wavering and closing your eyelids trying to concentrate, your fingers wandered through your folds, feeling them slippery. there was the entrance, where a portion of lubrication literally wet your phalanges, and when it moved up... right there, hidden and sensitive, was your point of nerves, pulsing. "say it, baby..." jake implored, pressing his forehead to yours.

"i-it's soft... and squishy. and it's so hot, jake... please..." your eyes met his closely now. he gave a breathy smile.

"do you feel that spot?" he asked, ignoring your plea for help.

“y-yes"

"good... rub it for me... slowly" he almost whispered, pulling away from you again and looking down. if the sight of your flushed cheeks, peaked nipples, and contracting stomach didn't make him come in his own pants, he would be fine.

jake noticed when your posture became more restless, when your hips began to involuntarily seek more pressure. "now slide your fingers down slowly... it's so messy, right? you're a messy girl..." he said, his raspy voice being the only thread keeping you connected to reality. "try to put a finger inside."

as soon as the digit slipped into the damp slit, a loud, labored moan escaped your lips. in the next minute, the weight of reality crashed down on you; shame hit you like a punch and you tried to stop, withdrawing your hand while staring at him with tearful eyes, seeking some kind of exit from a situation so intimate, so embarrassing.

"did i say to stop?" his tone changed, becoming firmer, almost authoritative, clicking his tongue and letting a sliver of his impatience show through. before you could pull away, he grabbed your wrist, keeping your hand exactly where it was, preventing your escape. the eye contact was intense, unbreakable. "try putting a second one in..." he suggested, his voice laced with a risk that made your heart race wildly.

you pouted, feeling the unusual fullness, and slowly shook your head, your voice failing as you said it wouldn't fit, that it was too much for you... jake let out a low sss, throbbing inside his underwear. "that's because you're so tight, my love" he whispered against your ear. "go back to rubbing your little clit... a bit more strength now, hm? i promise it'll be good..." he ordered and, almost instantaneously, you obeyed.

the speed with which you followed the command, despite the shame and previous hesitation, made jake's blood boil. fuck, - like a trained little bitch, he thought - dark eyes fixed on the scene of your hand moving under his words. it was, without a doubt, one of the best things he had ever witnessed.

jake leaned over and once again captured one of your stiff peaks in his mouth, sucking noisily while his other hand squeezed the neglected one. you, on the other hand, strove to follow his orders, feeling your body react in a completely new way as you used two fingers to excite your clitoris, brushing your palm slightly against your pubis; which caused a soft, prickly sensation.

your eyes rolled back and your hips moved again by impulse, making the boy attentive as he purposefully raised his hips higher, letting not only the pressure of your fingers hit you, but also the firm elevation he had there.

the contained moans from before filled the pickup, becoming more drawn out, less controlled, and jake knew you would come at any moment... you were going to come from masturbating and grinding against him, holy shit. and when your small body spasmed several times in a row, jake let go of your breast and grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand out of your panties, hearing an audible groan from you. your erratic hips took a moment to stop, almost as if your arousal was enough to make them move alone.

you looked at him with literal tears in your eyes, puffing your cheeks slightly and grunting at the slightest movement.

"aawn... don't make that face. i know, i know... sshh" he hugged you slowly, stroking your hair and your back before placing a tender kiss on your forehead. "you were so good to me...", and the words of affirmation were somehow enough to appease a void you had felt for a long time, making you sob as you nodded, allowing yourself to sink into his embrace.

***

living around jake was consuming you. it was a slow, silent process, like a tide that rises without warning until the sand beneath your feet completely disappears. he occupied you in such a way that your thoughts orbited the idea of him almost twenty-four hours a day; the memory of how he teased you, of how he left you waiting on the edge of something you didn't yet fully understand.

and in the quiet of your room, you thought that maybe he was right. maybe the guilt was yours for still being a virgin, for being this burden of glass he had to carry so carefully.

gradually, the pillars that supported your life began to give way. principles that were once non-negotiable now felt like clothes that no longer fit. at work, your attention wandered; in the church youth groups, the sacred vocabulary felt strange in your mouth. sunday services became short, rushed, while the time you spent alone, discovering your own body, increased.

you prayed less and touched yourself more. dreams became vivid, dense, and you woke up sweaty and aroused more often than you could - or wanted to - remember.

the pastor was the first to notice the spark in your eyes. then came the others. marie, your boss, commented on the change while you hummed, without realizing, a melody you had heard in his car during a drive. "you've been cheerful... different," marie said with a half-smile. although your body stiffened for a millisecond, you turned and smiled, nodding. "oh... what is it then? a boy?"

you felt the blood rush to your cheeks, but the answer came with a clarity that surprised you. "he's not a boy."

jake was a man, an idea, a new doctrine that you embraced with the same blind devotion with which you had worshiped god and the holy spirit all those years.

but the ecstasy didn't last forever.

on a thursday afternoon, upon arriving from work, the expectation of going up to your room and losing yourself in thought was cut like a razor wire. your father was sitting on the stairs, his dark silhouette against the dim light. "dad!" you exclaimed, your heart giving a troubled jolt.

"where did you leave your bible last?"

the direct and raw question tore through the atmosphere. time stopped for a few seconds; the breeze coming through the window seemed to blow out all the candles of your security and the evening sun no longer warmed the room of the townhouse.

"i-i always leave it on the dresser... when we get back from service on sunday... it's always there," you breathed, your voice small, feeling your brow furrow in an instinctive defense.

you should read it every day. without exception.

"right. and have you been talking to god every day?" he turned his head slightly, eyes fixed on yours, making the saliva go down heavy in your throat in an audible gulp.

"yes, dad," you nodded, averting your gaze to the floor.

he stood up. the heavy steps against the wood of the stairs echoed like sentences. a bitter, almost suffocating energy emanated from him as he walked toward you. you closed your eyes, stiffening your shoulders waiting for the impact of the slap you already knew, but it didn't come. instead, he stretched out his arm, taking the object that had been hidden behind him and shoved it against your chest, curling his lips in deep disgust.

"and why was your bible forgotten at church until this morning? can you answer me that?" you looked down. the heavy book, with its dark cover, seemed to burn in contact with your skin, as if the paper were on fire. your lips stayed parted, but no words came out. there was no answer. there was no excuse. "that's what i thought," your father breathed low.

the silence that followed between you and your father wasn't one of peace, but of a suffocating stagnation, where every second seemed to weigh pounds on your shoulders. he watched you with a cold pity, the kind the saints reserve for the damned before the pyre. "woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness" he quoted, his voice monotonous and deep echoing through the walls of the townhouse. "light cannot be given to the blind, daughter. you are too innocent to understand your own situation, to see the abyss that opened beneath your feet while you smiled."

he paused, lips narrowing into a line.

"he's already gone, for your information. left this morning. the church has been repaired, the bills have been paid... there's nothing for him to do here anyway."

your heart, which had been galloping, simply froze. air refused to pass through your throat, as if your lungs had turned to stone.

"what are you talking about?" you questioned him in a whisper, taking an instinctive step back, the bible still weighing between your fingers like a corpse.

"you know who i'm talking about. don't think you've been sneaky"

you shook your head, a frantic movement. brow furrowed, your mind screaming that it was a lie - not that he knew. damn it if he knew, actually. and before he could finish the sentence or utter any other judgment, you spun on your heels and rushed out of the house. the bible fell somewhere on the front lawn and your legs moved restlessly. you crossed the yard, invaded the street ignoring the cars and the asphalt under your feet, hurriedly crossing to the church grounds.

your lungs burned when you reached the small cabin in the back. in the last few weeks, jake had transformed that place. he had built a table with his own hands, installed lights that made the environment cozy, put up posters that spoke of a world you only knew through his eyes. there were shelves full of books and a closet... the closet he filled with his jackets.

but when you flung the small door open, the emptiness hit you like a physical punch.

everything was clean. impersonal. not a single trace of him remained; not a strand of hair, not the smell of mint and leather, nothing. you flipped the lights on frantically, hands trembling as you searched under the perfectly made bed, looking in the corners, on top of the furniture... seeking any sign, a note, a forgotten game token, anything that proved your father was just trying to scare you. you checked the small bathroom and only saw the shower curtains pushed to the corner, the bathtub dry underneath.

the little room held only the parish toolbox, a few boards leaning against the wall, and a small bench. the space he had built to live in had been dismantled as if it had never existed. it was exactly as you had asked in your prayers when you first met him... it was exactly what you had said in the sensitive words you prayed those nights, and now you blamed yourself because, of all your requests, god had chosen that one to fulfill. "n-no...", the crying that was forming, filling your eyes with tears and making your cheeks turn red, broke loose and you sat on the bed that held only the thin mattress.

you brought both hands to your neck as a long, drawn-out, tearful guttural scream left you, feeling your vision blur as tears began to stream down your face. maybe this was the punishment for sinning, for not following the rules, for being a deviant soul... and it hurt so, so much... even when you tried to breathe properly, hunching over with your chest burning and crying even more, copiously.

but suddenly, the pain of loss was replaced by an incandescent rage, something that boiled in your blood and transformed you into someone else, someone irrational and fierce. you stood up and with all the strength you had in your being, you went back breathless to the house, invading the living room where your father was still waiting for you.

you lunged at him like a wounded animal. possessed, you tried to scratch his face, fingers curved into claws. your father grabbed you by the shoulders tightly, trying to contain the explosion of fury emanating from you, a strength you never knew you possessed.

"i hate you! what did you do! you damn man! i hate you!", the words came out choked, yelled.

"you were being consumed by evil! it was for the best!" he growled, his voice trying to overcome your screams and his strong arms holding your thin wrists. you were no longer the obedient daughter. you grunted, the sound coming from deep in your throat, a primitive noise of pain and hate.

"you sent him away! it's your fault! yours!" you screamed, fighting against his grip, the world collapsing while jake was the only thing that could save you.

"look at you, daughter, look at how you are. do you think this is normal? do you think god would approve of something like this?" he questioned, and the mention of divinity only left you more unhinged.

"stop talking about that! i don't care anymore! i hate all of it! i never truly liked it..! god, angels... i don't want any of it anymore! you took everything i wanted! everything! i hate you!", and as the words were uttered, hate gave way to sorrow and your knees buckled, making your body collapse to the floor, hitting your knees on the floorboards.

when the pastor let you go, your wrists fell as if they were heavy, limp sacks beside your hunched body that was still crying, making the drops of salt water wet the wooden floor below you. he was astounded, horrified. your father took a step back, averting his eyes for a few seconds as he himself had difficulty dealing with watery eyes, running his hand over his temple before sighing.

"i feel sorry for you... i fear you are unpunishable... perhaps, there truly is no place for you beside the lord" the bitter words cut his throat before he walked away with long strides.

***

how many days had passed?

three? five? ten?

you didn't know. your room remained the same, the house remained the same, and that was all you had been seeing since then. refusing to go on with your monotonous routine. too guilty to set foot outside the house, afraid of how they would look at you, what they would think, in that damn town of five thousand people.

and you were wrong before; it wasn't jake's presence that corrupted you - your own inner demons did that. you didn't fit salvation either way.

sometimes, your father would come to call you at the door, receiving only the sweet sound of your silence from the other side as an answer. you took your baths and ate when he wasn't around or when you knew he was going to sleep. if you were wrong and if god judged you for it, then so be it... let him watch while you worship your own ruin.

the night was terribly calm.

lying on the floor, staring at the beige ceiling of the room didn't help sleep come any faster. out of muscle memory, you made the sign of the cross over your chest, like someone about to pray, but stopped halfway. who would hear your prayers? when you had decided it was better to die surrounded by the life that pleased you than to care for what should be the purest of vessels for your soul. then you turned to your side, feeling the hard floor beneath you and huffing.

you closed your eyes and tried to count. tried not to think about anything. tried to cover your face with the pillow. but it didn't work.

when the muffled sound of something scratching the glass began, you didn't give it any importance; the wind, a dry branch, or maybe just your mind playing tricks in the middle of exhaustion. but the persistent, sharp, and rhythmic taps like small hailstones cut through the silence until the annoyance overcame the inertia.

you stood up, bare feet feeling the cold floor, and walked to the window where the bluish moonlight bathed the windowsill.

looking down, the world seemed to regain its colors in a single second. jake was there. real, solid, wearing jeans and that flannel shirt that seemed to carry all the comfort your father's townhouse had denied you in recent days. he smiled when he saw you, the arm that had just thrown the last pebble coming down slowly. you opened the glass in a desperate movement, the cold night air invading the room.

"what..?" the whisper came out raspy, loaded with a disbelief that bordered on ecstasy.

"missed me, church girl?" he asked with a smirk, moistening his lips afterward, and your nod was enough to set him in motion.

with agility, he wrapped his hand in an old cloth and climbed the tree trunk beside the house. every movement of his was precise, the strength of his arms lifting him to the second floor until he braced himself on his knee and jumped inside, landing on the carpet with a nasal laugh, narrowly missing the lamp.

you were stunned.

your eyes shone in the dark, fixed on him as if jake were a divine apparition in the midst of your private purgatory. he brushed the dust off his clothes and turned his face slightly, opening his arms in a silent invitation.

he mapped you there: the thin and transparent nightgown that molded your breasts but fell loose over your hips, the rosary of dark beads resting on your exposed collarbones, and your faltering feet.

when you finally took the step forward, he pulled you hard, crushing you against his chest, against the smell of the outdoors and freedom he exhaled. jake noticed the change in your countenance milliseconds before you hid your face in his chest. the emptiness of the last few days tried to turn into crying, but your eyes were dry, exhausted from so much fighting.

"i'm sorry for not writing a note... your father was really demanding when he came to me that day" he said softly against the top of your head, his fingers getting lost in your hair in a protective caress. "was he very hard on you?"

you shook your head against his chest, a quick, almost automatic movement. jake felt the lie vibrate in your body. you really were a terrible liar, but for him, that silence said much more than any words about what you had faced since he was forced to leave.

and the boy pondered before holding your face and pulling you away just so your eyes could meet. "come with me"

your lips parted and you looked down, lost, bringing your thin fingers to the buttons of his shirt. "i don't... i don't deserve you, jake...", your head shook and your laugh was weak, reluctant.

"what is that?" he knit his brows and shook his head, holding your chin and making you look at him again.

"god hates me. he will punish me and punish anyone who tries to help me... and i don't want that for you" your voice came out choked, but he didn't let go, pressing his mouth into a line and hardening his expression.

"i know you might think that now... because that's all you know, but there is nothing to punish you... you didn't do anything wrong" he replied, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "and even if he does... i don't care" he shrugged, running his tongue along his cheek. "i've been punished since the day i was born, i can't worry about one more day". and once again, you realized you didn't know jake sim, or his story, where he came from, or what his past was, but you loved him for what he showed now. "so come with me. we'll move near your college, get a job, and you decide what to do about this" he brought his thumb to the pendant of the necklace, pressing it.

you disentangled yourself from him delicately. took a few steps back and turned around, your bare feet sinking into the carpet as your eyes scanned the room. the bedroom suddenly felt strange; the dull walls, the heavy and impersonal wooden furniture where you had grown up, hidden, and lately, withered away.

a shiver ran down your arms and you hugged yourself, feeling the weight of that decision crush your chest.

jake didn’t leave you alone for long. he approached from behind, steps silent, and wrapped his arms around your waist with that firmness only he possessed. he tucked his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling the soft, natural scent of your skin, as if memorizing your essence. "i promise to take care of you... while you discover the world, the landscapes, the life..." he hissed, his warm breath brushing against your sensitive skin and sending electric jolts down your spine.

and you shrunk slightly against him, a reflex of someone still not used to such unconditional affection. jake smiled against your neck, noticing your gradual surrender.

"let me save you"

the phrase made your heart skip a beat. it ached in a deep way, the kind of pain that tears away what was left of your old identity to make room for something new. you remained still, feeling only the beat of his heart against your back, until you finally nodded. turning to him, a light and trembling smile appeared on your lips.

"yes?" he asked, just to hear the confirmation from you.

jake held you and sealed your lips in a short kiss, but one loaded with a victorious urgency.

"you need to pack your things, we’re leaving today."

"now?" your eyebrows shot up.

"yes, now"

there was no time for hesitation. jake moved through the room with practical efficiency, helping you find a large backpack in the back of your closet and dropping it on the floor with a dull thud. he guided you to choose practical clothes and, especially, something warm to face the biting cold of the road that awaited you both.

while you looked for what to take, he helped gather small fragments of your life - a few photos and personal belongings - which were kept in a small box and carefully tucked into the backpack's outer pocket.

the rest you did alone, in an almost ritualistic silence. you folded each piece of clothing with care, feeling the weight of every choice, while jake settled onto your bed. he stretched out one leg and leaned his torso against the headboard - resting one arm behind his head - watching your every move. his gaze was attentive, calm, but charged with anticipation.

until you stopped...

and you stopped just as you were about to change your clothes... about to slip a sleeve of the nightgown you were wearing off your shoulder. knowing his eyes were on you and that he would watch you undress.

jake licked his lower lip, clicking his jaw slightly, watching you do one side and then the other, very slowly. the fabric slid down your body, pooling around your feet so that all that remained was your underwear. the boy's dark eyes outlined your curves, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen some of them before, but not all at once; never.

you waited, looking over your shoulder, and he understood, standing up and approaching you.

"do you want help?" he whispered, his body so close to your small frame that you felt his heat radiating.

"yes..." you nodded and he bit his lip.

"where do you need my help?" jake questioned, still serene... wanting to know what your real intentions were.

that was when you sought out one of his thick wrists, holding it calmly and guiding his hand to one of your perky breasts, which he palmed as soon as he felt the soft flesh beneath.

jake gave a small smile but composed himself. "you know you tease me when you do these things... don't you?" he asked softly, just leaning forward, making both bodies brush against each other, his mouth close to your earlobe.

"i'm not teasing now" you replied, sounding a bit more decisive.

"know i stopped all the other times, but i wouldn't stop this time..." he warned, trying to catch any hesitation from you, but there was none; you kept holding his wrist there, breathing calmly... he was forced to close his eyes and sigh, restraining himself. "if you really want this, use your words..." he whispered, placing a brief kiss below your ear.

"jake, please..." you began... but it was hard to find the words.

"yes? i'm listening," he wanted to hear it.

"make me yours. completely" your voice came out hoarse.

and he didn't take long to comply with your request, sliding his hand from your breast to your neck, making you turn your face so he could take your mouth in a hungry kiss; saved up since the first day he saw you in the front row of the church pews, waiting for your father to finish his sermons. his lips, full and plump, swallowing and molding yours while he held you beneath your breasts with his other strong arm. jake pulled you, literally dragging your feet across the floor until you were leaning over the dresser.

your mouths broke apart and he flattened his hand against your back, feeling the small bones of your spine and pushing you to bend further.

"bend over f’me..." he commanded, analyzing the angle; the contrast between him still dressed and you exposed making you look smaller and more breakable.

you had your hands on either side of your body and your cheek pressed against the surface of the furniture while your hips remained arched. his large hands went straight to that region, holding firm. "you’re so beautiful..." he leaned over and kissed your hips. how had he held back for so long? "stay still like that"

jake got on his knees right behind you, caressing your soft thighs before wrapping his hands around them carefully.

his long fingers gripped the waistband of your panties, sliding the fabric down slowly until it was pooling at your heels. his eyes followed the movement and went back up, now seeing your sex pressed together, so pink and barely used... he spread your legs apart, watching as your pussy decompressed, feeling his mouth water.

his tongue reached your womanhood next. it was hot, and he licked from bottom to top, catching all the places where you seemed to need him most. you whimpered and tried to lift your torso to look, feeling a stinging slap on one of your butt cheeks.

"is that staying still for you?" the boy asked muffled - making you drop your face until it was pressed against the dresser again - before sinking his tongue into your slit, feeling you getting wetter and wetter.

fingertips wandered over your legs, scratching your skin as if feeling braille, reading you completely, discovering desires and wants you had hidden.

jake opened his mouth wider, latching his pretty lips around your pussy before sucking noisily, making your small folds catch pressure there, leaving your eyes rolling back. you felt so dirty. it was terrible that you liked feeling his mouth on your body so much, terrible that your body responded so well. "j-jake..." you whimpered softly, looking for something to hold onto.

he, however, was more concerned with making you slippery enough. it was about that, wasn't it? about being able to take him when the time came. he knew it was and despite being afraid, you were more curious. when the sim's tongue penetrated your tight cavity, a grunt escaped you, and as soon as jake forced a digit inside as well, your fingers tightened against the corners of the wooden furniture; your knuckles turning white and your toes curling.

he gave a breathy smile, parting his lips as he couldn't keep his thoughts to himself. "look at how you’re squeezing a single finger... fuck, your pussy is going to be so full with my cock" the dirty words echoed low through the room, entering your ears and making you moan more and more. jake began to pump his finger, sliding his tongue down to wrap it around your clitoris meanwhile, playing with the spot like it was candy.

you shook your head - divided between the urge to keep being good or finish losing yourself - trembling and standing on your tiptoes as your muscles tensed. he forced another thick finger into you as the squelches of your entrance grew louder, making you grit your teeth and let out a drawn-out sound. "sshh, you don't want to wake up the preacher, do you?" he mocked, knowing it was almost impossible not to make a sound with the way he was touching you.

and before you could unravel, he stopped, suddenly, standing up and grabbing you by the shoulder to pull your body back and press it against his once more. his mouth traveled over your shoulders, kissing your neck and sucking the skin in visible places now, leaving marks and making your legs weak, needing to double the strength with which he kept you upright.

the boy turned you around and pulled your thighs so you could climb into his lap, walking with you to the bed and tossing you into the center of it.

you watched as jake took off his clothes, biting your lip hard while he deliberately unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants before kicking the garment away. and when he was left only in his underwear... damn, he was marked. the thick outline in the thin fabric making you doubt if he would fit before you looked at him. "speak your mind, little one..." he asked, mischievous, sliding his hands over your thighs as he positioned himself between them.

"w-what if it is too big?" your voice crackled, making him let out a brief chuckle. "then i would have to go slow... until you get used to the size..." he replied, leaning over your body, maintaining a smirk and eye contact, making your heart beat fast and your body burn. your face contorted with shame and your free hand flew to cover his eyes with a muffled grunt. "d-don't look at me like that..." you asked, affected, and he laughed again, enjoying himself.

jake held your wrist and unhurriedly moved your hand away, bringing it to his lips and kissing the whole palm, before holding it firmer and licking slowly, with a flat tongue, staring at you with eyes clouded with desire. "i can't, you're too cute..." he slid his tongue to the softest part of your palm and sucked just as he had done with your cunny earlier, stretching the warm muscle between your digits and passing between them too. when your body softened again, he let go of your hand and stood erect, looking down at you - your hair spread across the sheet, your breathing uneven, folds glistening with the mixture of his saliva and your arousal. "are you ready?" his tone was low and sensual.

you nodded, watching the older boy take his throbbing member out of his underwear. it hit, hard, against his lower abdomen, the veins protruding and the pink head swollen and leaking pre-cum.

he held the base, forcing his cock down and rubbing it against your mound in a provocative back-and-forth. god, you were so small... maybe you really should be afraid.

jake held one of your thighs, forcing your knee back almost near your shoulder, making more room for him, and guided his swollen head to your virgin entrance. "breathe in, baby... relax a bit..." he whispered as he forced his entry there.

jake advanced with agonizing slowness, feeling every millimeter of resistance your body offered. he was focused, his dark eyes fixed on the point where his flesh lost itself in your tight interiors; he watched, almost hypnotized, as the sensitive skin stretched to its limit to accommodate his thickness.

a whimpery gasp escaped the boy's lips. it had been so long since he felt something squeeze him that way, as if every fiber of you were trying to push him out and hug him at the same time.

he hissed softly, a mixture of pain and extreme pleasure, before leaning down again to capture your mouth, muffling the whimpers you let out as you felt the inevitable stretching. you were breathless, your chest rising and falling frantically. your hands, restless and desperate for a point of support, squeezed his arms which pinned you to the bed, your nails scratching the warm skin before sliding down your own breasts, squeezing them in a reflex of agony and ecstasy.

"it's too much...nng i can't!" you protested through gritted teeth, your voice choked.

"of course you can... you're being so good..." he replied, his tone of voice so intoxicating it numbed you.

the compliment made you throw your head back, small tears of pain and effort accumulating in the corner of your eyes as you felt his weight fill every empty space that remained in you. when jake finally buried himself completely, he let out a raspy grunt, biting his own lower lip as a few drops of sweat broke out on his forehead. "fu-ck, you squeeze me so well... so good, my love..." he whispered, his voice failing.

he tried to move his hips, a short and experimental movement, and felt your nails dig hard into his biceps in response to the new surge of sensations. jake stopped for a moment, his face close to yours, seeking your eyes reassuringly. "just breathe, hm? don't think too much..." he started talking to you, his soft voice acting like an anchor in the middle of the storm. "the hardest part is over... can you do this for me?"

the way he asked, turning that surrender into a favor for him, made the pain of being devirginated start to be swallowed by an even greater need: that of satisfying him, of being exactly what he wanted you to be. which made you nod breathlessly and bring your fingers to your swollen clitoris and rub it - in slow circular motions, as he had taught before - closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel bit by bit how the stinging became something more bearable, almost good... "there's my good girl" he said with a little smile after watching the act.

every time you got wetter and less tense, you could feel his cock going deeper and deeper, sliding out and coming back in with jake's full weight in every thrust.

you could even feel your lower abdomen bulging, parting your lips at the sight you had when you looked down to where your bodies met - the large cock, and your small, swollen lips sliding along the length of it. your moans became more spontaneous, and gradually your body began to give small signs it would give in.

jake saw you arch when he thrust harder, felt your nails scratch his back when he laid his body over yours, incredibly deep, making the head of his cock hit your internal wall.

but it was when he buried his face in your neck to suck the flesh and vent some of the pressure he felt, that you looked up.

there, above your bed, the crucifix.

your eyes clouded with growing pleasure and your thoughts far away, no longer able to process the guilt you had carried all that time, not while jake fucked you and made you a woman. this was the moment when you decided to have a new religion, one that began and ended with jake sim.

***

you leaned your head against the glass of the truck, feeling the constant vibration of the engine against your temple as you watched the landscape of your old life being left behind, turning into green and gray blurs. the radio played a soft melody, a sound that filled the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

occasionally, jake took one hand off the steering wheel and squeezed your thigh lightly - a possessive and calm touch, just to make sure you were still awake. you smiled, closing your eyes and feeling that, finally, you were safe.

not far from there, at a roadside station that smelled of diesel oil and burnt coffee, two old men shared a beer at a rustic, worn-out table. between them, an old battery-operated radio crackled, fighting against static to deliver the latest afternoon news.

"- suspect in the murder of four people remains at large" the announcer's voice cut through the hot air. "the suspect goes by the name of jaeyun sim. he has asian features, is approximately five-foot-nine, with brown eyes and hair. he is the primary suspect in the killing of his parents, his fiancée, and a witness at the scene of the crime four months ago. if you have any information call xxx or make an anonymous report".

*

a/n: i love me some enemies to lovers i feel ashamed 😔😋 anyways after almost 3 months ya gurl is back w anotha banger 😛😛 warning, this isn’t edited properly i did like a quick read over or 2 and ran out of patience. ill sit down months later to revise it (no i wont). as always, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :p

˙𐃷˙

the literature lecture hall buzzed quietly with the usual sounds of a monday morning class—keyboard typing, coffee lids snapping shut, chairs dragging lazily across the floor.

rain streaked against the tall windows beside you, grey light spilling across rows of half-awake university students while professor choi clicked through his lecture slides at the front.

this class was your last pick and you were barely listening until the next discussion question appeared on the board.

what does meursault's emotional detachment represent?

professor choi adjusted his thick framed circle glasses.

"thoughts?"

and then, unfortunately, park sunghoon raised his hand.

you already knew this was about to piss you off. your face twisting into one of pure disgust before the man even opened his mouth.

sunghoon sat three rows ahead of you, posture relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair like he owned the lecture hall. he didn't even look interested in the discussion, which somehow made it more annoying whenever he spoke and everyone listened anyway.

professor choi nodded toward him."go ahead."

sunghoon spoke evenly, like a corrupt politician who was going to promise world peace. like he was delivering some groundbreaking intellectual revelation instead of absolute nonsense.

"i think the novel critiques performative emotion more than emotional detachment itself."

you narrowed your eyes immediately. all you could hear was blah blah blah meh meh meh.

sunghoon continued, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips so the bullshit he was going to spew would come out smoother.

"society condemns meursault not because he committed murder, but because he doesn't react the way people expect him to emotionally. he refuses to fake grief, guilt, remorse—"

"because he doesn't have any," you interrupted flatly.

a few heads turned instantly, students giving each other knowing looks.  sunghoon glanced over his shoulder at you.

not irritated. oh no no, worse. he was amused.

"that's an oversimplification." he clicked, leaning his head back to the front to give professor choi a lazy look that basically said 'you see what's happening here?'

"no," you said. "you're just romanticizing emotional incompetence because the author used fancy wording."

a quiet snort came from somewhere behind you causing sunghoon to turn fully in his seat now. "you think the entire point of the novel is that he's a bad person?"

"i think the point is that detachment isn't inherently profound just because a man is quiet."

that got a reaction, small and subtle. a couple students trying not to laugh, their binders going up to hide their facial expressions as professor choi gave them a warning look.

sunghoon's eyes narrowed slightly for the first time.

finally.

"you're reducing existentialism to a personality flaw."

"and you're treating basic human empathy like it's optional."

professor choi opened his mouth and closed it again. probably deciding it was safer not to interfere yet.

sunghoon rested his arm against the desk beside him. "the novel literally argues that societal expectations of emotion are artificial."

"okay, but there's a difference between rejecting social performance and acting like a disconnected freak."

sunghoon gave you a look at the last word, "interesting choice of wording."

"oh please," you scoffed. "you're acting like meursault is some misunderstood visionary when really he's just emotionally constipated."

someone coughed to hide a laugh and sunghoon's jaw ticked slightly.

barely noticeable, but you noticed. because you notice everything about park sunghoon, the good and the bad. unfortunately, more of the good which was all physical. nothing mental of course, the man had an IQ of a turnip.

arguing with park sunghoon had become a skill you'd accidentally perfected over the past two years. he always looked composed, always calm. but there were little tells and small cracks. tiny expressions that appeared when you pushed hard enough.

and right now? he was getting annoyed.

good.

"you're too emotionally reactive to engage with the text objectively," he said, his dark eyes boring into your own as if he was trying to get under your skin.

which, to be fair, he was. you knew that, and he definitely knew that.

you let out a short laugh. "and you think sounding detached makes you intelligent."

his gaze held yours for a second too long. steady and sharp. "maybe i just know how to separate emotion from analysis."

"maybe you just enjoy hearing yourself talk."

sunghoon tilted his head slightly, "you've interrupted me four times."

"because every sentence somehow gets worse."

a few quiet laughs spread through the room again. you saw professor choi pinch the bridge of his nose from the corner of your eye.

sunghoon looked entirely unbothered by the class watching. if anything, he looked more focused now.

like he enjoyed this, he enjoyed the attention he was receiving. the perfect spotlight to argue with a classmate. which made you irrationally angrier. "you're intentionally ignoring nuance."

"and you're intentionally making this deeper than it actually is."

"literature is supposed to be analyzed deeply."

"not every quiet man with a god complex is philosophically revolutionary, sunghoon."

that one landed, hard. his brows lifted slightly and the room went quieter. you could practically feel everyone pretending not to listen now.

sunghoon leaned back slowly in his chair. still staring at you, not daring to break eye contact.

"you know," he said lightly, "for someone who claims i'm insufferable, you spend an impressive amount of time thinking about my opinions."

your stomach flipped in annoyance. strictly annoyance.

"trust me," you replied sweetly, "criticizing you is not a difficult intellectual exercise."

the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. which only irritated you more because why did he look entertained right now?

"you get weirdly passionate whenever i disagree with you."

"because you say insane things with unnecessary confidence."

"and yet you always argue back."

you opened your mouth immediately. "because someone has to humble you."

sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly down toward your mouth before returning to your eyes so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.

almost.

then he said quietly, "you've been trying for two years."

your heartbeat stumbled once, completely involuntary by the way. and judging by the sudden silence in the lecture hall, several other people noticed the shift too.

professor choi finally sighed loudly enough to cut through the tension.

"well," he muttered dryly, "this has certainly been more engaging than most of your discussion contributions."

a few students laughed softly.

you tore your gaze away from sunghoon first, reaching for your pen like your pulse hadn't just betrayed you for absolutely no reason.

meanwhile, across the room, sunghoon leaned back in his chair again.

looking entirely too pleased with himself.

˙𐃷˙

by the time professor choi dismissed the class, the atmosphere in the lecture hall felt weirdly charged.

like everyone had just witnessed something they definitely shouldn't have.

chairs scraped against the floor as students packed up their bags, conversations immediately erupting around the room.

you shoved your laptop into your tote aggressively, muttering curses about the boy who shall not be named.

mostly because you could still feel park sunghoon's smug expression somewhere in your peripheral vision.

you hated him and his stupid fucking beautiful face.

the worst part was that he never even looked genuinely angry during your arguments. no matter how heated things got, sunghoon always stayed calm—relaxed posture, steady voice, slightly amused expression like he was watching you self-destruct for entertainment.

it was infuriating.

sunoo appeared beside your desk, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "you know," he said casually, "that was kind of the highlight of my week."

you glared at your so called best friend, "you're sick."

"no seriously," sunoo grinned. "when you called him emotionally constipated i almost started clapping."

you huffed, standing up. "he deserved worse." together, you and sunoo started toward the lecture hall doors with the crowd of students funneling out into the hallway.

except—someone was standing near the exit.

waiting, wearing a black hoodie. arms crossed loosely.

park sunghoon.

of course he was, because the argument that had erupted during class just wasn't enough for this troll doll. your steps slowed instinctively and sunoo noticed immediately, his smile widened, ear to ear.

fucking traitor.

sunghoon's eyes found yours through the crowd almost instantly. calm as ever and annoyingly unreadable.

then, as you got closer, he pushed himself off the wall.

you already knew he was about to say something irritating, you could feel it.

sunghoon stepped aside just enough to let other students pass before leaning slightly closer toward you.

close enough that you caught the clean scent of his cologne beneath the lingering smell of coffee and rain.

"for someone who hates my opinions," he murmured quietly, "you seem obsessed with hearing them."

you stopped walking and slowly turned your head toward him. you hated how you had to crank your head up to make eye contact with him, the height difference between you two surrendering your loss.

"and for someone who claims to be emotionally detached," you replied sweetly, "you sure spend a lot of time trying to get my attention."

sunghoon's mouth twitched, that stupid almost-smile again. he looked down at you at with this look that you couldn't quite identify.

"see you monday." you hope one of you don't make it to monday, preferably him.

you stared at him for one long second, really stared. at his stupid face. his stupid sharp jawline. his stupid pretty mouth that constantly said the most unbearable things imaginable.

then you walked away before you committed a felony.

sunoo was already laughing beside you. "OH my god," he breathed. "you two are unbelievable."

"he's unbelievable," you snapped immediately, a faint flush covering your face and neck.

sunoo hummed, clearly unconvinced. he was your best friend since elementary school, he knew exactly what this was.

the hallway buzzed with students moving between lectures while rain hammered softly against the windows lining the corridor. you shoved through the doors toward the outside courtyard, irritation simmering hotter with every passing second.

"i genuinely cannot wait until i graduate," you muttered. "the second i get my degree i'm never seeing that freak again."

sunoo snorted, looking at your pink tinted cheeks with a grin. "you still have two years left."

your eye twitched at the realization.

right.

two more years.

two more years of literature classes and discussion boards and seeing park sunghoon sitting three rows ahead of you looking annoyingly composed all the time.

you groaned dramatically. "i can't do this anymore."

sunoo bumped your shoulder lightly. "you've survived two years already."

"barely."

the more you thought about him, the angrier you got. because sunghoon was the exact type of person that's easy to hate.

too calm. too smug. too aware of how intelligent he was. and worst of all—too attractive for absolutely no reason.

everything about him irritated you.

his stupid perfect smile whenever he thought he'd won an argument. his stupidly long fingers tapping against his desk during lectures. the way his hoodies stretched across his broad shoulders.

the fact that he somehow looked composed even when everyone else looked exhausted during midterms.

it was deeply, deeply annoying.

you physically smacked yourself in the forehead.

sunoo blinked at your sudden outburst. "what was that for?"

"nothing."

sunoo narrowed his eyes. then slowly—dangerously—he smiled. "oh my god."

you frowned immediately, not liking the way he was smiling down at you. "what."

"i think you might be the issue."

you stopped walking so abruptly someone nearly walked into your shoulder. "excuse me?"

sunoo shrugged innocently. "i'm just saying."

"how the hell am i the issue?"

"you do start a lot of the arguments."

you stared at him in betrayal. "because he says ridiculous things."

"sometimes."

"all the time."

sunoo hummed thoughtfully, not agreeing, which was offensive. why is your best friend not blindly supporting you even when you're probably wrong, which you aren't, but even if you were—the fuck?

you scoffed loudly. "sunghoon is literally the one who started this whole thing."

and he had, freshman year. first semester.

he'd corrected one of your points during a class discussion with that calm, mildly condescending tone of his and something inside you had immediately gone: absolutely not.

listen you can take criticism, just not from that man specifically.

ever since then, every interaction between you had turned into some kind of competition. you couldn't help it. sunghoon always acted so composed, so polished, so annoyingly perfect that it made you want to knock him down a level, or several.

sunoo shoved his hands into his pockets. "okay but maybe if you stopped interacting with him—"

"impossible."

"you didn't even let me finish."

"because you're wrong."

sunoo laughed softly, knowing damn well that nothing he was going to say would penetrate through your thick skull. "you could just ignore him."

you looked at him like he'd suggested murder.

ignore park sunghoon? absolutely not.

that sounded suspiciously like losing. sunoo noticed your expression immediately and burst out laughing. "see? that's exactly what i mean."

you crossed your arms. "i am not the problem here."

sunoo just gave you a look. one of those deeply irritating best friend looks that implied he knew you better than you knew yourself.

which, unfortunately, he probably did.

you pulled your phone out of your pocket causing sunoo to raise a brow.

"what are you doing?"

"i'm getting unbiased opinions."

"from who?"

you opened reddit with complete confidence and sunoo immediately groaned.

"oh no."

˙𐃷˙

your dorm room was suspiciously quiet except for the aggressive tapping of your keyboard.

sunoo sat cross-legged at the end of your bed eating gummy bears straight from the bag while watching you with the exact same expression people have witnessing a public breakup.

concern mixed with entertainment.

you ignored him. because right now you were busy crafting the most objectively accurate reddit post ever written.

the glow from your laptop lit your face as you reread the title for the fifth time.

AITA for telling a guy in my class to shut up because he thinks he's always right?

perfect. concise. truthful.

you cracked your knuckles dramatically before continuing to type. sunoo snorted from the other side, picking out all the red gummies before stuffing them into his mouth.

- there's this guy in one of my university classes and he is genuinely one of the most irritating people i've ever met.

he's quiet but in a pretentious way? like he thinks being emotionally constipated makes him intelligent. he corrects EVERYONE during discussions and somehow always sounds smug even when he's technically being polite.

the worst part is that he's annoyingly good at everything. presentations? perfect. essays? perfect. participation? professor's favourite somehow.

one time i got a question wrong during class and this man literally smirked at me. SMIRKED. like a disney villain.

today we got into an argument during lecture because he was saying some pseudo intellectual nonsense and i told him to shut up because nobody cares about his superiority complex anymore.

now some people are saying i overreacted but i genuinely think he needed to be humbled.

AITA? -

you hit post.

then immediately grabbed your phone while bouncing slightly in your seat.

sunoo stared at you with mild distaste. "you look like you just launched a cyber attack."

"i'm right and soon the public will confirm it."

sunoo snorted. "you're insane."

the first comment appeared almost instantly.

you gasped dramatically. "OH MY GOD." sunoo leaned over slightly as you opened it, rolling his eyes as soon as he read the first word.

- NTA this guy sounds like if a philosophy podcast became a person. -

you slapped sunoo's arm excitedly."SEE?"

another comment appeared.

- girl stand UP. why are you letting a man who's probably named after a victorian disease humble you in public -

you folded over laughing, sunghoon was a disease alright. a disease that would rot and corrupt your brain before leading you to your own destruction.

sunoo grabbed your laptop before you dropped it off the bed. "okay that one was funny."

more comments flooded in rapidly and sunoo watched as your expression morphed into one of pure joy. like a kid who had just walked into a candy shop with an unlimited budget and no parental supervision.

- NTA he sounds insufferable. - ESH you both sound annoying but in a sexual tension way. -

you frowned, "what does that even mean?"

sunoo looked away suspiciously fast, hiding his smirk.

another one.

- i know EXACTLY the type of man you're talking about. probably wears silver jewelry and thinks eye contact is a personality trait. -

your jaw dropped. "THEY GET ME."

sunoo popped another gummy bear into his mouth, eyeing you. "or maybe you're describing every business major ever."

you ignored him because the comments were getting better by the second.

- does he perchance look like this: 🗿 -

"OH MY GOD." he totally does.

- girl he likes you. ⤷ no literally this sounds like academic enemies to lovers fanfiction. -

"okay why does everyone keep saying that," you muttered, a deep frown now etched on your face. you were beginning to not like where these comments were headed.

sunoo made a noncommittal noise. you narrowed your eyes at him briefly before scrolling again.

- i'm crying at "emotionally constipated." please cook him again. - next class hit him with "you're not beating the pretentious allegations." - ask him if he learned emotional intelligence from patrick bateman edits and sigma bro podcasts lol. -

you physically wheezed, your body folding over in laughter. sunoo shook his head slowly, watching you upvote every single comment that dissed sunghoon.

"you're enjoying this way too much."

"because i'm finally being validated."

you pointed accusingly at him. "unlike SOME people."

sunoo rolled his eyes before muttering, "whatever bitch."

another comment appeared.

- INFO: is he actually arrogant or are you just threatened because he's smarter than you? -

your smile vanished instantly. "BOOOOO."

you downvoted it immediately, sunoo burst out laughing. "you are NOT supposed to interact emotionally with the comments."

"they interacted emotionally with ME first."

you kept scrolling, feeling increasingly euphoric as strangers across the internet continued confirming what you'd known all along: park sunghoon was deeply irritating.

the comments only got more ridiculous from there.

- "he smirked at you after you got a question wrong" oh huny he wants you BAD. - this sounds less like hatred and more like unresolved yearning. - enemies to lovers ahh post. -

"unresolved yearning?" you repeated aloud in horror.

oh fuck no.

sunoo was smiling now. not laughing. no no, he was smiling.

which was somehow worse, you turned your head slowly to shoot him a glare, "what."

he shrugged. "nothing."

you narrowed your eyes suspiciously then looked back at your screen.

another comment. this one longer.

- honestly i think you're leaving out context. from your own description, it sounds like he was trying to engage in discussion normally and you took it personally because you already dislike him. -

your smile faltered slightly.

who the fuck was this? and why the fuck do they think they know the situation?

the comment continued:

- correcting people during literary discussions isn't arrogance if he's contributing meaningful analysis. also, calling someone "emotionally constipated" because they interpret a book differently than you is kind of ironic. -

you scoffed loudly. "OH BROTHER." get a load of this guy, why don't they just go and suck sunghoon's dick at this point.

sunoo leaned closer, reading the comment out loud "wait that one kinda—"

"no."

you clicked reply immediately, your fingers flying across the keyboard.

- if you defend people like this i just KNOW nobody likes you in real life. -

sunoo let out a disbelieving laugh. "you're fighting civilians now?"

"they started it."

your reply posted and within less than thirty seconds— the person responded.

- bold assumption coming from someone who wrote an entire essay about a classmate because he annoyed her. -

you froze and slowly sat up straighter. you felt your face tense in what you can only identify as pure raw anger.

sunoo noticed instantly when your face went from. mildly annoyed to baboon ass red. "what."

your eyes narrowed at the screen. something about the reply irritated you immediately. the tone. calm. slightly condescending. annoyingly articulate.

...absolutely not. no way.

you started typing again with renewed aggression. you stared at the username with pure hatred.

notniceprince02

your eye twitched, something about it already annoyed you. the reply sat there on your screen like a personal attack.

calm and smug. condescending in a weirdly articulate way that made you want to throw your laptop across the room.

sunoo leaned closer from beside you. "what happened?"

you pointed aggressively at the screen. "this person thinks i'm the problem."

sunoo made a face. "well..."

you slowly turned toward him eyes like slits and your mouth scrunched. "choose your next words carefully." sunoo immediately looked back down at his gummy bears.

fucking coward.

you cracked your fingers dramatically before typing a response.

- sorry i didn't realize his defense attorney was in the comments section. should i call you next time he starts acting like a rejected sherlock holmes adaptation? -

you hit reply with satisfaction, finally letting out the breath of anger you had taken earlier,

sunoo blinked. "you type like you're in a duel."

"because i am."

less than a minute later—another response.

- maybe people correct you often because you're wrong often. -

you gasped so loudly sunoo nearly dropped the gummy bear bag. "OH this bitch."

you didn't know who this person was but you are not the one to be fucked with like this. your fingers flew over the keyboard with new found passion.

- and maybe you defend emotionally detached weirdos online because you see yourself in him. -

reply posted and the response came back almost immediately.

- emotionally detached = calm emotional instability = writing reddit essays because a guy disagreed with you in class -

sunoo physically leaned forward now the gummy bears had been abandoned.

"okay wait," he said slowly. "this is getting good."

you ignored him, mostly because your blood pressure was rising.

- if being calm means acting like a pretentious AI generated philosophy quote then congratulations i guess. -

reply and instant response.

- if being intelligent sounds pretentious to you that might be a personal issue. -

your jaw dropped. "PERSONAL ISSUE?"

sunoo was trying not to laugh, badly. you glared at him before pushing at his shoulder hard enough to have him almost fall of your bed. unlucky for you, he managed to catch his balance and stay seated next to you with a dumb grin on his face.

"i'm sorry but they kinda cooked you there."

"whose side are you on?" fucking twink.

"the entertainment's."

traitor.

you sat up straighter on the bed, narrowing your eyes at the screen like notniceprince02 had personally wronged your entire bloodline.

- you sound exactly like the guy i'm talking about btw. same superiority complex. same "i think i'm the smartest person in every room" energy. -

the response appeared almost immediately, which somehow irritated you more. did this person have no life? fighting with strangers on the internet like a loser.

this doesn't apply to you of course.

- maybe you're just intimidated by people who challenge you intellectually. -

you stared at the screen in disbelief.

sunoo let out a quiet whistle. "they hit a nerve?"

"i'm going to hit THEM."

you typed furiously, your thumbs cramping up but you don't let weak things like this stop you.

- intellectually challenge me? please. this man raises his hand in class like he's announcing a new world order then says the most pseudo intellectual nonsense you've ever heard. -

response.

- interesting. you seem to remember his class participation very vividly. -

you froze for like half a second and then scoffed loudly.

because it's TRAUMATIZING. not because you care enough to remember, but because it's shocked itself into the crevices of your brain.

sunoo snorted while you kept going.

- he literally smirks when people get answers wrong. do you know how deeply punchable that is? -

response.

- maybe he smirks because your reactions are dramatic. -

you narrowed your eyes dangerously. this conversation, more like argument, felt more natural that you'd like to admit.

- okay now i KNOW you're him. -

sunoo's brows shot up immediately. hold on...

you pointed at the screen frantically. "LOOK AT HOW HE TYPES."

sunoo leaned closer, the two of you stared silently at the replies for a moment. then—sunoo slowly looked at you. "that actually does sound like him."

"THANK YOU." validation surged through your body instantly. you pointed aggressively at the laptop. "RIGHT? the annoying calmness? the fake intellectual wording? the superiority complex?"

sunoo tilted his head, a shit eating grin plastered on his porcelain face. "you know him disturbingly well."

"unfortunately."

another reply appeared.

- i think it's funny how much attention you pay to someone you supposedly dislike. -

you barked out a laugh, completely humorless.

- oh my god. you ARE him. -

response.

- and if i was? -

you sat there, staring. sunoo sat there too, also staring. the room suddenly felt strangely quiet as you squinted at the screen.

"why did that make me mad."

sunoo was smiling again, that knowing smile. you hated that smile.

"because you think it might actually be him."

"it's not him."

"mhm."

"it's just some annoying reddit user." another response appeared before you could keep ranting.

- for the record, if this guy really is as arrogant as you claim, why do you keep engaging with him? -

you rolled your eyes instantly.

- because someone has to humble him. -

reply.

- sounds more like obsession. -

you gasped, like actually gasped. you? obsessed with sunghoon? out of all the people in this world? fuck no.

sunoo folded over laughing. "OH MY GOD."

"OBSESSION?" you typed so aggressively the keyboard started clacking violently.

- you people see a man and woman arguing and immediately think there's romantic tension. have you considered that i simply think he's irritating and unfortunate-looking? -

sunoo looked at you, slowly. "unfortunate-looking?"

you avoided eye contact because unfortunately that part wasn't true. at all. which was deeply annoying. you hated how you couldn't get away with dissing his appearance because as much as you hate to admit it, there was nothing to pick at.

another reply.

- unfortunate-looking yet you described his facial expressions in detail. -

you froze. sunoo froze. your eyes slowly widened as you stared at sunoo who looked equally as surprised as you.

"..."

sunoo pointed at the screen. "THAT IS ABSOLUTELY HIM."

"SHUT UP."

˙𐃷˙

by the next morning, your hatred for user notniceprince02 had evolved into something genuinely concerning.

your phone had been vibrating nonstop since eight in the morning.

every. two. seconds.

ping.

ping.

PING.

another reply. another argument. another smug paragraph typed in that calm, annoyingly articulate tone that made your blood pressure spike on sight.

you sat in the student lounge with your laptop open and your phone in your hand simultaneously, responding across two devices like a woman fighting in active warfare.

sunoo sat across from you, fully invested now. having the thread opened on his laptop as he watched you type out responses like it was war.

classes? irrelevant. education? secondary.

this reddit argument had become the main event.

"you've replied to him thirty-seven times just in this past hour " sunoo said.

"thirty-eight." you hit send aggressively and sunoo blinked in pure shock.

"that was immediate."

"because he's wrong." your phone buzzed again and you looked down instantly.

- notniceprince02: "you keep proving my point by reacting emotionally to everything." -

you scoffed so loudly the two people at the next table glanced over.

"OH my god." your fingers slammed against the keyboard.

- sorry i forgot being emotionally unavailable is apparently a personality trait now. -

send.

and would you look at that, a response within seconds.

- no, but making hating one guy your entire personality definitely is. -

you stared at the screen with a scowl etched on your face. offended, deeply offended.

sunoo leaned over your shoulder to see you clutching your phone was a grip that would shatter your screen. then immediately started laughing. "okay no because why does this genuinely sound like sunghoon."

"it's NOT him."

"__."

"it's just some weird sigma male ass kisser who probably listens to podcasts hosted by divorced men."

sunoo snorted. "that sounds exactly like something you'd accuse sunghoon of."

you ignored him because your phone buzzed again—another reply.

- you seem weirdly committed to misunderstanding him. -

you rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. at this point you wondered how many people at the library thought something was mentally wrong with you.

- and you seem weirdly committed to defending him. is this his burner account or are you just in love with him? -

send.

sunoo nearly choked. "OH?"

"what?"

"you're spiraling."

"i'm WINNING."

sunoo pointed at your screen, a thread of reddit beef that's exceeded an appropriate limit. "this does not look like winning."

you frowned at the ongoing thread. unfortunately, it had become one of the top comments under your post. people were fully invested now with random users jumping into the argument just to spectate.

some were taking sides while others were making it worse, much worse.

- y'all are literally flirting. - this is the most enemies to lovers thing i've ever read. - somebody invite me to the wedding. - "irl academic rivals is CRAZY." -

you physically recoiled at the thought of being shipped with that garden troll of a man. "what is WRONG with people?"

sunoo looked way too entertained. "they kinda have a point."

"they absolutely do not."

another comment:

- at this point just kiss and get it over with.    ⤷ i would rather chew denim. -

you typed immediately, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. this was the last thing you had expected as an outcome when you posted on reddit.

sunoo burst out laughing. "chew denim?"

"i'm emotional."

your phone buzzed again.

- notniceprince02: "that's dramatic." -

your eye twitched as you read the message out loud. "HE KEEPS SAYING THAT." people had now physically turned on their seats to look at the two of you with curious and annoyed looks in their eyes.

sunoo pointed accusingly at you while gives others a apologetic smile.  "because you ARE dramatic." he whispered to you harshly all while motioning you to shut the fuck up.

"you're both against me."

"no," sunoo corrected. "i just think this is the funniest thing that's happened all semester."

you glared at him before standing abruptly, grabbing your phone. "i'm going to the washroom."

if sunoo wasn't going to appreciate this properly, then some girl in the stall next to you will.  sunoo hummed absently. "tell your boyfriend i said hi if he replies again."

"die."

you walked off before he could keep talking.

the hallways buzzed with students moving between lectures, conversations overlapping with the sound of footsteps and lockers shutting nearby.

your phone buzzed again and without looking up, you immediately started typing.

- no, because at this point you're defending him like you want him carnally. -

send.

you turned the corner toward the washrooms—and slammed directly into someone.

hard.

your shoulder collided with a solid chest and your phone nearly flew out of your hand.

"shit—"

steady hands caught your arms before you stumbled backward. familiar hands. long fingers curling briefly around your sleeves.

your stomach dropped instantly, because of course.

of fucking COURSE.

park sunghoon looked down at you with mild surprise, dark hair slightly messy like he'd been running his hands through it all morning. a pair of headphones rested around his neck, black hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms.

and unfortunately—unfairly—he looked really good today.

which immediately irritated you, because how dare he have a shit personality and look good while ruining your mood by just breathing in your vicinity.

sunghoon glanced at your death grip on your phone before meeting your eyes again, a small smirk playing on his pink plush lips.

"you should probably watch where you're going." his voice was calm, low and slightly amused.

you narrowed your eyes instantly. "maybe people would move if they weren't standing in the middle of hallways like decorative statues."

one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. there it was, that stupid almost-smile. you hated that stupid almost-smile.

sunghoon's gaze flicked downward briefly. to your phone screen which was still open to reddit. your heart stopped for half a second because the thread was visible. very visible. and at the top of the screen sat a fresh notification from—notniceprince02 replied to your comment

sunghoon's eyes lingered on the notification then slowly lifted back to yours.

silence. your brain short-circuited instantly, no. absolutely not. there was no way. sunghoon looked at you for one long second before asking casually, "still fighting with strangers online?"

your entire body went still, just for a second. because there was absolutely no way—no actual way.

sunghoon stood there holding your arm loosely, thumb brushing the fabric of your sleeve while your phone screen glowed between you both like evidence in a criminal investigation.

notniceprince02 replied to your comment.

your brain was buffering. loading. malfunctioning.

sunghoon's expression remained frustratingly neutral but there was something there. something subtle: amusement.

your eyes narrowed immediately. "why are you looking at my phone?"

smooth. good recovery. yup yup.

sunghoon let go of your arm slowly, way too slowly. "hard not to when you almost tackled me with it."

you scoffed, "you were standing in my way."

"you walked directly into me."

"semantics."

sunghoon hummed quietly as his gaze flicked toward your screen again and then back to you.

"so," he said lightly, "what stranger online managed to upset you this badly?"

your grip tightened around your phone instantly. absolutely not. you were NOT about to entertain sunoo's ridiculous theory.

"nobody."

sunghoon raised a brow, "you look homicidal."

"maybe that's just your effect on people." you retorted back almost automatically. you wonder if you've ever responded to sunghoon in a normal way.

that stupid almost-smile appeared again. small and annoyingly attractive. you hated it, like actually hated it.

sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you know," he murmured, "you get strangely defensive whenever i ask simple questions."

your stomach flipped in irritation, strictly irritation. "and you get strangely nosy for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."

his eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary, steady and focused. like he was trying to figure something out.

the hallway around you blurred into noise and somehow you were still standing there.

too close to him, way too close.

you noticed stupid things at the worst possible times, like the faint scent of his cologne or the tiny mole near his neck. or the fact that his hair fell into his eyes slightly when he looked down at you like this.

deeply irritating.

sunghoon's gaze flicked briefly toward your mouth before returning upward so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.

almost.

"what?" you snapped immediately. you could feel a small flush cover your cheeks and neck at the thought of sunghoon sneaking glances at your lips. maybe he thought you looked really slapable right now, or really kissable. it hurt your ego to think that either one of those things were deemed acceptable to you.

his brows lifted slightly. "nothing."

liar.

you narrowed your eyes harder. "you're being weird."

"you say that every time you don't know how to respond."

your jaw dropped at his audacity. "i always know how to respond."

"mhm."

that stupid calm tone again. you wanted to bite him. which—bad wording. very bad wording.

sunghoon watched your expression shift in real time and something in his face changed slightly. like he noticed the exact moment your thoughts betrayed you.

horrifying. absolutely horrifying.

you recovered immediately, sort of. "why are you even talking to me right now?" you asked. "don't you have some freshmen discussion group to intellectually terrorize?"

sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath—actually laughed. and it caught you so off guard that you momentarily forgot to stay angry.

which made you angrier. "you're the one who ran into me."

"unfortunately."

"yet you're still standing here."

you opened your mouth then closed it. sunghoon noticed, of course he noticed. the only thing he doesn't seem to notice is his mouth opening and closing with cow noises spilling out during class.

the corner of his mouth twitched again. "that's new," he said softly.

"what is?"

"you being speechless." your face heated instantly, not because of him.

obviously.

you crossed your arms defensively. "you're unbelievably annoying."

"and yet," sunghoon said calmly, stepping slightly closer, "you keep talking to me."

your heartbeat stumbled. just once. which was unacceptable.

because now he was close enough that you could see every tiny detail in his expression—the faint curve of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips kept threatening to smile fully.

he looked way too pleased with himself. you hated that too. a group of students walked past nearby and one of them whispered: "there's no way they're not dating."

you whipped your head around instantly. "WE'RE NOT—"

sunghoon's hand suddenly landed lightly against the wall beside your head. not trapping you, but enough to make your words catch awkwardly in your throat.

his expression remained perfectly calm which somehow made the gesture worse. "you're loud when you're flustered," he said quietly.

your brain short-circuited. flustered? FLUSTERED?

you stared at him in disbelief. "i am not flustered."

sunghoon hummed, completely unconvinced as he reached into his pocket to slip out his phone. your pulse was going insane now for reasons you refused to examine.

then—your phone buzzed loudly between you both.

the notification lit up the screen and your head snapped down, unlocking your phone to see something that only made your heart drop to your gut.

- notniceprince02: "you still haven't answered my question." -

silence.

sunghoon looked down at the notification then slowly back up at you. and this time—this time he smiled properly.

small. sharp. dangerous.

your stomach dropped straight to hell. because suddenly—suddenly you knew.

oh my god.

it WAS him.

your soul briefly left your body. there was no other explanation for the horrifying full-body shutdown you experienced standing there in the middle of the hallway.

because park sunghoon was smiling at you. actually smiling. not the tiny smug almost-smirk he usually wore during arguments.

a real smile. sharp at the edges. dangerously entertained. and your phone was still glowing between you both with the notification from: notniceprince02

oh my god. OH my god.

you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. this fucker was playing with you this entire time and he had the audacity to look calm, composed and completely evil all at the same time.

your voice came out accusing immediately. "you're insane." sunghoon's smile widened slightly. which honestly should've been illegal because why did he suddenly look—no.

absolutely not.

"that's a strong reaction," he said mildly.

"you've been fighting with me online for like fourteen hours."

"thirteen, actually."

you blinked up at him, horrified.

sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you stopped replying around three in the morning."

your jaw physically dropped. "YOU KEPT TRACK?"

"you type aggressively when you're tired."

you looked genuinely offended. "that is such a weird thing to notice."

"you notice weird things about me too."

silence. dangerous silence. because unfortunately—unfortunately he was right. and judging by the look on his face? he knew he was right too.

you recovered immediately or at least attempted to. "okay first of all," you started, pointing at him aggressively, "using a burner account to argue with me on reddit is psychotic behavior."

sunghoon crossed his arms loosely still way too relaxed. "you made an entire public post about me."

"i didn't SAY your name."

"you described me like a wanted criminal."

"because you're irritating."

"it was weirdly detailed."

your eye twitched. "you're unbelievable."

sunghoon leaned slightly closer, close enough that your stupid heart started acting weird again. "you wrote three paragraphs about my facial expressions."

heat crawled up your neck instantly. because in hindsight—mentioning the smirking might've been a mistake.

"that was for CONTEXT."

sunghoon hummed not buying it for a second. "right....right"

you hated how calm he sounded. like this entire situation entertained him more than anything else. which made sense, considering the man apparently spent his free time anonymously provoking you online.

actual freak behavior.

"and YOU," you shot back, "were defending yourself in the comments like a loser."

sunghoon's brows lifted. "i was defending myself because you compared me to a podcast for divorced men."

"because you talk like one."

"you literally accused me of wanting attention 'carnally.'" your face heated instantly, sunghoon looked way too pleased saying that out loud. "that was BEFORE i knew it was you."

"does that make it better?"

"a little."

his mouth twitched again. you wanted to throw him into traffic. respectfully.

sunghoon glanced down at your phone screen where the reddit thread was still open. hundreds of notifications flooded the post now. people were still replying, still arguing and still shipping you both for reasons you refused to acknowledge.

sunghoon read one of the comments over your shoulder, then laughed quietly. "someone said we have 'academic rivals to lovers tension.'"

you looked horrified, shooting him a quick glare before downvoting on the comment. "don't read those."

"why not?" he asked lightly. "they seem passionate about us."

"there is no 'us.'" you snapped back.

sunghoon's gaze flicked back to yours, steady—focused. "you sure?"

your stomach dropped. hard. something about the way he said it felt unfairly intentional. like he knew exactly what he was doing now. which—he probably did.

you crossed your arms tighter, defensive. "you're enjoying this way too much."

"you started it."

"you kept replying."

"so did you."

"because i don't lose arguments."

sunghoon stepped closer again, just slightly. enough that your back nearly brushed the wall behind you.

"is that what this is?" he asked softly.

you frowned. "what."

"you needing to win." his voice had gotten quieter somehow, lower and suddenly the hallway noise around you felt distant again.

students walked past constantly but it barely registered. because sunghoon was standing too close and looking at you like he'd figured something out.

you swallowed once, annoyed at yourself for even noticing. "obviously," you replied.

sunghoon watched you for another second. then, "i think you just like arguing with me."

you let out a disbelieving laugh immediately. "that is genuinely the dumbest thing you've ever said."

"is it?"

"yes."

"then why do you always look excited before you disagree with me?"

your mouth opened. closed. opened again. nothing came out. because that was—that was not the point. like fuck, you caught me i guess.

sunghoon noticed your silence instantly, of course he did. his expression shifted into something smugger and more dangerous. "there it is again."

"what."

"speechless."

you hated him, like actually hated him. especially because he looked so unfairly good right now standing there with messy dark hair and that stupid smug expression like he'd won something.

you narrowed your eyes. "you know what? maybe people only think you're smart because you say things confidently."

sunghoon leaned one shoulder casually against the wall beside you. completely cornering you now without actually touching you.

"maybe," he said calmly, "you only argue with me because i'm the only person who argues back."

your heartbeat betrayed you again. you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. then—your phone buzzed loudly again between you both.

another reddit notification, sunghoon glanced down before taking your phone into his own hands then read aloud: "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"

you lunged for your phone instantly. "give me that." sunghoon lifted it out of reach easily and your eyes widened. "park sunghoon."

he looked down at you with blatant amusement. "that's the first time you've said my full name without sounding homicidal."

"i AM homicidal."

"mhm."

you reached for your phone again, sunghoon caught your wrist lightly before you could grab it. everything stopped. your breath. your thoughts. your functioning nervous system.

his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, warm and firm. and suddenly you became painfully aware of how close he actually was.

sunghoon looked down briefly at where he was holding you and then back at your face. his expression changed slightly, less teasing and more—dangerous.

your pulse went absolutely insane. then quietly—way too quietly—he said, "you know... you're a lot less mean when you're flustered."

your brain completely stopped functioning. like genuinely. because park sunghoon was still holding your wrist, still standing way too close, still looking at you with that horribly calm expression while your pulse was actively trying to kill you.

and the worst part? he knew. you could tell he knew. his thumb shifted slightly against your wrist and your stomach flipped so violently it made you angry.

sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly to your mouth again. then back up, slowly and deliberately.

"you know," he murmured, "the comments might be onto something."

your brows furrowed instantly. "what comments."

his mouth twitched. "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"

you stared at him in disbelief. "absolutely not."

"why not?"

"because i'd rather die."

sunghoon hummed thoughtfully. "dramatic."

"you make me dramatic." that slipped out before you could stop it, the silence was thick.

sunghoon's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. something darker settling beneath the amusement. your face heated instantly. great. excellent. love that for you.

you tried pulling your wrist back but he didn't let go. not fully, he just loosened his grip slightly. enough to remind you he could let go if he wanted to, but wasn't.

"you know what i think?" he asked quietly.

"i don't care."

"i think you enjoy this."

you scoffed immediately. "arguing with you is psychologically damaging."

"yet you keep doing it."

"because someone needs to humble you."

sunghoon smiled slowly, that smile should've come with a warning label. "you've been saying that for two years, i don't think you're making much progress, __."

your stomach twisted, you hated how softly he said it. like he'd been thinking about it too, absolutely disgusting.

you crossed your arms tighter, or tried to. hard to look intimidating when he still had your wrist trapped loosely in his hand. "you're weirdly obsessed with me for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."

sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "says the girl who wrote a public essay about me." at this point the both of you were repeating yourselves for the nth time, none of you progressing anywhere.

"because you're irritating."

"and handsome?"

you nearly choked. "WHEN did i say that?"

"you didn't have to."

you looked genuinely appalled, sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. the sound went straight through you in the most irritating way imaginable.

you hated that too, everything about him irritated you. his stupid voice, his stupid face, his stupidly long fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

"you're insufferable."

"you like that word."

"because it applies to you constantly." you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes in the most dramatic way you could possibly pull off.

sunghoon leaned closer, close enough that your back finally brushed against the wall behind you.

you swallowed hard, annoyed. deeply annoyed.

"you know," he said softly, "for someone who claims to hate me, you stare at me a lot."

your jaw dropped. "you stare at ME."

"because you're loud."

"and you're annoying."

"yet here we are."

your heart was beating so hard you were convinced he could hear it. which was humiliating, especially because he looked entirely unaffected.

calm. steady. composed. which is what his heart monitor would read after you ran him over with your car.  you wanted to ruin that composure so badly. sunghoon's gaze dropped to your mouth again, this time slower and less subtle. your breathing hitched involuntarily and that smug bastard noticed immediately.

his eyes darkened slightly. "there it is," he murmured.

"what."

"that look."

"what look?"

sunghoon smiled faintly. "the one you get before you start losing an argument."

you pushed against his shoulder instantly, hard. or at least hard enough to make a point but sunghoon barely moved. which only irritated you more. "i never lose."

"sure."

"i'm serious."

"mhm."

you glared at him, sunghoon stared back. then quietly— way too calmly—he said, "maybe we should give people what they want."

your stomach dropped. "what."

his fingers tightened slightly around your wrist before he stepped closer again, completely boxing you in now. "the comments seem very invested in us."

"there is no 'us.'" you repeated for the nth time.

"you keep saying that."

"because it's true."

sunghoon looked at you for one long second, then his voice dropped lower, dangerously soft. "then how about we start with the kiss?"

your brain short-circuited so violently you physically stopped breathing. "excuse me?"

sunghoon's expression remained infuriatingly calm. but his eyes—his eyes looked anything but calm now. "you heard me."

heat exploded across your face instantly. "you are OUT of your mind."

"probably."

"i would never kiss you."

sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough that his voice brushed against your skin. "you keep saying things your body language disagrees with."

your stomach flipped violently. you hated him, because he sounded so certain, so unfairly confident. you opened your mouth to argue again but footsteps echoed nearby and a group of students rounded the corner laughing loudly.

both of you glanced over instinctively, the moment broke slightly. just enough, except sunghoon didn't move away. instead, his gaze flicked briefly down the hall toward the nearby family washroom.

then back to you and your pulse spiked instantly. "sunghoon—"

before you could finish, he tugged lightly on your wrist. your breath caught as he pulled you forward down the hall.

"what are you DOING?"

sunghoon glanced back at you once, that same dangerous almost-smile pulling at his mouth.

"proving a point."

your stomach dropped straight to hell. your sneakers squeaked slightly against the floor as sunghoon pulled you down the hallway.

not fast enough to look suspicious, which somehow made it worse. his hand stayed wrapped around your wrist the entire time—warm, firm, steady—like he already knew you wouldn't actually pull away.

which was irritating, deeply irritating. "park sunghoon—"

"you say my full name a lot when you're nervous."

"i'm not nervous." he glanced back at you briefly, that smug look again.

"sure."

you swore out his entire bloodline at this moment as your heart was currently beating like you'd just sprinted across campus. sunghoon stopped outside the family washroom and pushed the door open casually before looking back at you expectantly.

your eyes widened immediately. "oh my god."

"what?"

"you're insane."

"you've said that already."

"because you keep proving it."

sunghoon's mouth twitched then he gently tugged your wrist again. you should've walked away, seriously. you should've told him to go to hell and left immediately.

instead—you followed him inside. which honestly felt like a personal failure.

the door clicked shut behind you.

the washroom was too bright and too small. and now sunghoon was standing directly in front of you with nowhere to escape to, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms and dark hair slightly falling into his eyes.

you became painfully aware of every inch of space between you both, which unfortunately (fortunately) wasn't much.

your pulse went insane. sunghoon leaned back lightly against the sink counter, still watching you with that same unreadable expression. except now there was something sharper underneath it, something heated.

you crossed your arms immediately, defensive. "if you murder me in here i'm haunting you."

sunghoon laughed quietly, the sound bounced softly off the tiled walls. "you think i'd need to drag you into a bathroom to kill you?"

"probably not. you'd do it in a psychologically manipulative way."

"interesting that you've thought about it."

"i think about punching you constantly."

sunghoon hummed. "violent."

"you bring it out in me."

his gaze held yours for a second too long. then, "i know."

your stomach flipped, you hated how low his voice sounded in here. hated how every tiny expression felt amplified now that you were alone. you needed to regain control of this conversation immediately.

"so what exactly was your master plan here?" you asked. "corner me in a public washroom and continue being annoying?"

sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you came willingly."

well, he got you there. "against my better judgment."

"yet still willingly."

you rolled your eyes aggressively. "you're obsessed with having the last word."

"that's rich coming from you."

"i'm right most of the time." sunghoon smiled slowly, there it was again. that stupid smile that made you irrationally aware of how attractive he was.

you hated that too, everything about him was annoying. the way he stood, the way he talked. the way his hands and forearms looked resting against the sink behind him—okay.

you needed to stop thinking immediately. sunghoon noticed your brief lapse in concentration. his eyes narrowed slightly, amused.

"what happened?" he asked softly. "lost your train of thought?"

"i'm deciding how much jail time i'd get for assault." good cover up!

"probably less if you looked this cute during the mugshot."

your brain completely blue-screened, you stared at him. sunghoon stared back. completely calm after saying the most insane thing imaginable.

"you—" nothing, your thoughts evaporated.

sunghoon pushed off the sink slowly, one step closer. then another. your back instinctively hit the door behind you.

oh my god.

"what?" he asked quietly. you swallowed hard, annoyed at yourself.

"you can't just say things like that."

"why not?"

"because it's weird."

"you're flustered again."

"I AM NOT FLUSTERED."

sunghoon looked down at you for a long second then his gaze flicked to your mouth again. slowly and deliberately. your stomach twisted so hard it physically hurt and you wondered what would happen if you just threw up your guts onto him. how pretty would he look with a bacon egg and cheese splashed onto him?

"you know," he murmured, "for someone who claims to hate me, you let me get very close to you."

"you cornered me." you snap.

"you could move." you opened your mouth then closed it. because—well technically. he wasn't wrong. you absolutely could move, but instead you stayed exactly where you were.

sunghoon noticed immediately, that smug look returned. "there it is."

"stop saying that."

"then stop proving me right."

you glared at him, he stared back. neither of you moved. the tension in the room felt ridiculous now. thick enough to choke on.

and the worst part? sunghoon still looked calm. slightly amused, even. like he was waiting for you to figure something out.

your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket. both of you glanced downward instinctively. another reddit notification, causing sunghoon laughed softly. "they're probably asking if we kissed yet."

your face heated instantly. "they're delusional."

"mhm."

"stop doing that."

"doing what?"

"looking at me like that."

his brows lifted slightly. "like what?"

you gestured vaguely, frustrated. "like you know something i don't."

sunghoon stepped closer again, barely any space left between you now. his voice dropped lower, quieter. "maybe i do."

your breath caught, his hand lifted slowly toward your face. you froze up, completely. sunghoon's fingers brushed lightly against your jaw, gentle and careful. somehow that made it worse. your heartbeat was so loud you were convinced the entire campus could hear it.

sunghoon looked at you for one long second. then quietly—almost teasing—he murmured "still think you'd rather die than kiss me?"

your brain was screaming because park sunghoon's hand was on your jaw right now. his thumb resting lightly against your skin while he looked at you like this —calm on the surface, but with something much more dangerous underneath.

and the worst part? you still hadn't moved away.

your back pressed against the door behind you as your pulse absolutely lost its mind. sunghoon waited patiently for an answer.

that smug bastard. "well?" he murmured softly. you swallowed hard. "you're very confident for someone who uses reddit burner accounts."

the corner of his mouth lifted immediately. there you were, finally talking again.

"deflecting already?"

"i'm not deflecting."

"mhm."

you hated that sound. hated how he kept looking at you like he could see directly through every thought in your head. because right now those thoughts were actively betraying you.

you were suddenly hyperaware of everything, the warmth of his hand, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his hoodie sleeves stretched around his forearms when he shifted closer.

deeply irritating. you narrowed your eyes, trying desperately to regain control of the situation.

"you know what your problem is?"

sunghoon hummed softly, looking down at you with an unreadable glint in his dark eyes. "you think everyone secretly likes you."

"not everyone."

his thumb brushed your jaw slightly as he spoke and your stomach flipped violently.

"just you."

your breath caught embarrassingly fast. sunghoon noticed instantly and his eyes darkened slightly. suddenly the teasing atmosphere shifted into something heavier, quieter.

you hated how good he was at this. "you're unbelievable," you muttered.

"you've said that too."

"because you keep acting insane."

sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough now that his voice felt warm against your skin.

"you haven't told me to stop."

your brain short-circuited. because—because technically—you hadn't. you opened your mouth immediately. "stop."

sunghoon smiled faintly, but didn't move. "that sounded forced."

you glared at him. "you're annoying."

"and yet you're still here." he kept doing that. kept pointing out things you didn't want to acknowledge. like the fact that you could absolutely shove him away right now if you wanted to.

except you didn't, which felt like a massive personal failure. your phone buzzed again in your pocket making sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. "persistent audience."

"they need hobbies."

"says the girl who argued with me online for thirteen hours."

"because you were WRONG."

"about what exactly?"

"everything."

sunghoon's brows lifted slightly. "including the part where you're obviously attracted to me?"

your jaw dropped. silence. violent silence. your entire nervous system shut down. "you—"

nothing came out and sunghoon looked way too pleased with himself. "there it is again."

"if you say 'speechless' one more time i'm calling campus security."

he laughed again, soft and genuine. and it hit you in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable because you'd never heard him laugh like this before.

not during class, not during arguments. this was different, warmer, more relaxed. like he was actually enjoying himself.

you stared at him suspiciously, sunghoon noticed immediately. "what?"

"why are you smiling like that."

"like what?"

"like you're having fun." his gaze held yours for a second, then, "i am."

your stomach twisted again, it felt as if your body was actively betraying you . you looked away first this time, suddenly very interested in the tiled floor beneath you. sunghoon's hand shifted slightly, fingers brushing gently beneath your chin.

guiding your attention back to him and your heart nearly exploded.

"don't do that," you muttered weakly.

"do what?"

"that."

"very descriptive."

you glared at him, or attempted to. hard to look intimidating when your face was hot and your heartbeat sounded like a construction site.

sunghoon studied your expression quietly for a moment. then smiled slightly, smaller this time and less teasing. "you know what i think?"

"i think you should stop thinking entirely." you spat out weakly.

"i think," he continued calmly ignoring what you just said, "you've spent two years picking fights with me because it's the only time you stop pretending not to care what i think."

your stomach dropped straight to hell you stared at him only to see him look at you with a look you were afraid to identify.  and somehow that was worse than the teasing, because he sounded genuine now.

which felt unfair.

you recovered immediately through anger, your favorite defense mechanism.

"oh my god you are SO full of yourself."

"am i wrong?"

"yes."

"then why are you blushing?"

you slapped your hands over your face instantly, and sunghoon actually laughed. fully this time and the sound was so unexpectedly attractive it made you want to walk directly into traffic.

"stop laughing."

"you're cute when you're angry."

"you're making me angrier."

"i know." his voice softened slightly on the last two words, your hands slowly lowered from your face.

sunghoon was still standing impossibly close. still looking at you like he wanted to see what you'd do next. your heartbeat wouldn't calm down and neither would your thoughts.

and then his gaze dropped to your mouth again, slowly—intentionally.

your breath caught again and sunghoon noticed. again. his hand slid lightly from your jaw to the side of your neck.

you completely stopped functioning. "sunghoon," you whispered, first name only this time. this was probably the first time in the two years you knew him that you had said his name with such softness.

something shifted in his expression immediately and his eyes darkened. his thumb pressed lightly against your neck.

"yeah?" he murmured.

oh.

oh this was bad.

his thumb pressed gently against the pulse hammering in your throat. that single point of contact felt like a live wire.

"yeah?" he murmured again, his voice dropping into a register you'd never heard, low and rough and utterly dismantling. you had no witty retort, no clever insult. your brain was static, every neuron firing toward the heat of his hand, the dark focus in his eyes.

he saw the surrender you hadn't even voiced. his other hand came up, fingers threading through your hair to cradle the back of your head, and then he was closing the last inch of space.

his mouth was on yours.

it wasn't tentative. it wasn't a question. it was a firm, smooth claim that stole the breath from your lungs and the strength from your knees. his lips moved against yours with a confident pressure that was instantly dizzying. he tasted like mint and something darker, something uniquely him.

a soft, surprised sound escaped you, swallowed immediately by his kiss. he angled your head, deepening it, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours.

it was an argument you couldn't win, a debate settled with a devastating, sensual finality. your hands, which had been balled into fists at your sides, came up to clutch at the fabric of his hoodie.

he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your swollen lips, "finally." then he was moving again, his body pressing you firmly back against the cool door. you felt your heart pounding in your chest like you had ran a mile, his one word stealing the strength from your legs.

in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, he captured both your wrists in one of his large hands and pinned them above your head. you gasped, a thrill of helplessness shooting straight to your core. his other hand returned to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a dominant, possessive weight.

"always so loud," he breathed, his lips trailing down your jaw. "so much to say." you could feel the hard, undeniable ridge of his dick pressing against your stomach through both your clothes. the evidence of his desire was a shockwave that made you whimper. he smirked against your skin. "what's wrong? no clever comeback?"

he leaned in again, but instead of kissing you, he hovered. his gaze locked on yours, dark and intense. then he gathered a bit of saliva on his tongue and let it fall, slow and deliberate, past his own lips and onto yours.

the warm, wet intimacy of it made your eyes flutter closed for a second. "open," he commanded softly. dazed, you did. he sealed his mouth over yours again, sharing the wetness, the kiss turning filthy and deep.

you drank him in, your earlier defiance melting into a desperate, aching need. you could feel your underwear stick to you uncomfortably, shifting slighting only to have sunghoon's large body pin you against the door harder. his bulge pushing into your stomach firmer, you could feel him grind against you.

he pulled back, his breathing slightly ragged, and began to mouth down the column of your throat. his teeth scraped lightly, then bit down, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you cry out and arch against him. he soothed the spot with his tongue before sucking hard, leaving a brand you knew would bloom purple.

he admired his work, then the dizzy, wrecked look on your face. "look at you. all that fire, reduced to this." his free hand slid down, grabbing the hem of your shirt. "all those essays about my emotional incompetence," he said, tugging the fabric up. you shivered as cool air hit your stomach.

"all that time you spent thinking about me." the shirt went over your head, discarded somewhere on the floor. his eyes raked over your bra. "and for what? to end up here."

"you're—you're still insufferable," you managed to pant, even as you pressed your chest toward him—urging him to take it off.

"i know," he said, his fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. it came undone. "and you're still obsessed." the bra straps slid down your arms, still trapped in his grasp. he let go of your wrists just long enough to pull the garment away and toss it aside. immediately, his hand returned, clamping back down.

you used your momentary freedom to grab the bottom of his hoodie, pushing it up. he helped, releasing you to yank it and his shirt off in one impatient move.

then he was back on you, skin to searing skin. he was a biter, just as you'd imagined. his mouth latched onto the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before he sucked it deep.

you cried out, your head thumping back against the door. "if you can do it," you gasped, twisting to reach his shoulder with your mouth. you sank your teeth into the hard muscle there, a retaliatory claim. "then i can too."

"fuck." he groaned, the sound vibrating through your entire body. you think you just gushed and ruined your panties.

a competition of marks began. he left a trail of bruises and blooming red patches down your chest, over your ribs. you reciprocated on his neck, his collarbone, his pectoral, each bite earning a sharper gasp or a low, approving growl from him.

the pain was a bright, sharp pleasure, a physical manifestation of all your tangled, furious energy. suddenly, he was pushing you down. a firm hand on your shoulder guided you to your knees on the cold tile.

you looked up at him, dazed. he loomed over you, his expression one of dark, predatory amusement. he undid his belt buckle, the click obscenely loud in the small room.

"i wonder," he mused, his voice thick, "how much shit you can talk with your mouth full of me."

he popped the button of his jeans, lowered the zipper. the outline of his cock straining against his boxers made your mouth water. "hands behind your back," he ordered.

you hesitated, glaring up at him. with a frustrated noise, you reached for his waistband. he caught your wrist instantly. "ah-ah." his other hand came up and delivered a firm, almost casual pat against your cheek. it wasn't a hard slap, but it was a stinging, dominant correction that made your eyes widen and your clit throb. "i said, no hands."

swallowing your pride, you leaned forward. you nuzzled against the fabric of his boxers, feeling the hard heat beneath. using your teeth, you caught the elastic waistband and tugged it down, revealing him.

he was thick and fully hard, the tip already glistening. you licked a slow stripe from base to tip, looking up at him through your lashes. his jaw tightened as you took him into your mouth, slowly, relishing the salty, clean taste of him, the way his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.

he let you set the pace for a moment, his hands fisting in your hair. "that's it," he breathed, his composure fraying. "all that attitude... fucking gone." you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, until he hit the back of your throat.

you relaxed, letting him slide further, tears pricking your eyes. the rhythm became faster, harder, driven by the soft, choked sounds he was making above you. his grip in your hair tightened, guiding you.

you could feel his hips shudder and his pace falter as he peered down to see his cock disappear in your mouth. he felt his chest swell just at the sight of you, eyes watering and face red.

"gonna cum," he warned, his voice ragged. you didn't pull away. with a sharp, guttural groan, he spilled hot and bitter over your tongue and across your chest, painting stripes over your skin.

he took a second to admire the mess he had made of you, your skin flushed a pretty pink with his cum coating you like icing on a cake.

he pulled you to your feet, his own legs seemingly unsteady. he pushed your pants and panties down in one rough motion, his fingers immediately finding your slick heat.

he pushed your soaked underwear aside, sliding two fingers through your folds. "so wet," he laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. he brought his glistening fingers to your lips. "and for me. after all that."

he turned you around, bending you over the sink. your reflection was a shock—flushed face, bruised lips, hair a mess, his marks covering your skin. he positioned himself behind you, one hand wrapping around your throat again, pulling you back against his chest. the other hand rubbed tight, demanding circles over your clit.

"look," he whispered harshly in your ear, nodding at the mirror. "look at how silly you look. falling apart on my fingers when just hours ago you were calling me a 'rejected sherlock holmes adaptation' on the internet." the overstimulation was maddening. pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

"the comments... were idiots," you panted, even as you pushed back against his fingers trying to get him to slip them inside your needy weeping hole.

he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. "they saw right through you." he pushed a finger inside you, then another, curling them. you gasped, your knees buckling. "admit it. you wanted this every time you picked a fight."

"i wanted to win," you moaned, the words torn from you. he hooked his fingers in you, rubbing your gummy walls while his thumb continued to rub circles against your needy clit.

"you are winning," he breathed, nipping your earlobe. "look at you. you won my full, undivided attention." he removed his fingers, and you felt the blunt, hot pressure of his cock at your entrance.

he pushed in, slowly, inch by devastating inch, filling you completely. the stretch was divine. he held you there, both of you panting, watching in the mirror. he almost came at the sight of your fucked out face, his hands gripping your waist with pressure that would surely bruise.

he began to move, a slow, filthy grind that had you seeing stars. his hand on your throat kept you upright, the other hand sliding around to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. "beg for it," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours in the reflection. "beg me to let you cum."

you didn't answer, trying to avoid his gaze in the mirror only for a particularly rough thrust and his blunt nails digging into your face to swiftly put you back in your place.

"no," you gritted out, even as your body shook. he spanked you once, hard, on the ass cheek. the sharp sting made you cry out and clench around him. "beg."

"sunghoon—"

another spank. his fingers on your clit became relentless. you were so close, teetering on the edge, but he held you there, his thrusts measured and deep.

"you're so stubborn. just like online. all that typing." he punctuated each word with a thrust. "just. give. in." the pleasure was a tidal wave, held back by his will alone. you were so overstimulated, so desperate, your pride the only thing left. he leaned forward, his mouth at your ear. "come on, sweetheart. let go. tell me you need it."

as much as it killed you to beg, it also killed you to not cum all over his stupidly thick cock. you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten up as you try to push yourself back to meet his strong and unrelenting thrusts.

sunghoon smirks when he notices your desperation, slowing down on purpose. "c'mon, sweetheart. you don't wanna cum f'me?"

the pet name, the raw need in his own voice, broke you. "please," you sobbed, the word barely audible. "please, sunghoon, let me cum."

"good girl," he purred, and his rhythm became punishing and his fingers began to rub punishingly against your swollen clit. "now."

the orgasm ripped through you, blinding and violent. you screamed, your body convulsing around him as he fucked you through it, his own groans joining yours.

you felt his warm cum flood your cunt as you twitched with the aftershocks of your high.  he watched you fall apart in the mirror, his expression one of fierce, possessive satisfaction.

as your spasms began to subside, he slowed, still buried deep inside you. he was breathing heavily against your neck.

he planted soft kisses on your shoulder blade and neck, his dick still in you—twitching. your body trembled slightly, refusing to look into the mirror because then you would see the aftermath of what sunghoon had done to you.

the silence afterward felt strange.

not awkward. not exactly.

just... different.

like something between you had shifted permanently and neither of you quite knew how to deal with it yet.

the fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead while rain tapped faintly against the tiny washroom window. your heart still hadn't calmed down properly, which was deeply irritating considering park sunghoon looked entirely too composed standing in front of you when you had finally found your guts to look.

his dark hair was messy now, lips pink from kissing you. his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat that gave his pale skin a beautiful glow.

which—you immediately looked away.

absolutely not.

sunghoon noticed, of course. he noticed everything.

"you're quiet," he said softly.

you scoffed weakly, body twitching when you feel sunghoon grow hard in you. "this is emotionally traumatic for me."

the corner of his mouth lifted, that stupid almost-smile again. except now it looked softer somehow and less smug.

you attempted to move only for his body to keep you caged between the sink and him. you looked down for a moment to see his cum that had escaped from you dripping down your thigh, a shaky breath leaving your bruised lips.

"don't look at me like that."

"like what?"

"like you just won something, you didn't win shit."

sunghoon leaned back lightly against the door of the washroom eyes still fixed on you. "maybe i did."

your stomach flipped and you frowned immediately, just because you two fucked doesn't mean that you would admit defeat to sunghoon and his annoying antics. "you're so annoying."

"you keep saying that."

"because you keep being annoying."

sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath, shaking his head slightly. the sound hit you straight in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable.

silence settled again for a moment, except this time it didn't feel sharp or tense like your usual arguments.

it felt warm, which was arguably more terrifying.

your eyes narrowed suddenly. "sunoo is never letting me live this down."

sunghoon's smile widened immediately. "he already thought you liked me."

"he's delusional."

"mhm."

you pointed at him instantly. "stop doing that."

"doing what?" he snickers as he finally pulls out, a small whimper escaping your parted lips and sunghoon swears he could cum from that little sound alone.

"that fake calm thing."

"it's not fake."

"that somehow makes it worse."

sunghoon pushed himself off of you before turning you around so your back faced the mirror and stepped closer again.

not cornering you this time, just close enough that your pulse started acting stupid all over again. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then your thighs that were trembling before returning to your eyes.

"so what now?" he asked quietly, his hands coming out to grab on to your hips.

you folded your arms tighter, defensive reflex.

"what do you mean."

"are you still gonna argue with me in class?"

you stared at him like that was the dumbest question ever asked.

"obviously."

sunghoon laughed softly. "figured."

"just because i fucked you doesn't mean your opinions suddenly got better."

"ouch."

"you still sound pretentious."

"and you still interrupt me constantly."

"because you're wrong constantly."

sunghoon shook his head, smiling now. his hand reaching down to push the cum that was trailing down your inner thigh back up—rubbing your swollen cunt with his remnants.

you squeaked out at the feeling, grabbing a hold of his wrist as he watched you with a lazy smile. you hated how much better he looked when he smiled properly.

your phone buzzed loudly against the counter beside you.

then again and again.

you looked down at the endless reddit notifications flooding your screen and groaned dramatically.

"i genuinely hate everyone on that app." sunghoon glanced at your phone before looking back at you, his fingers leaving your cunt to rest back on your hips again much to your dismay.

amusement flickered across his face immediately. "they were pretty accurate though."

"don't start."

"'enemies to lovers' seemed popular."

"they're unemployed."

sunghoon laughed again and you stared at him suspiciously for a second, then narrowed your eyes. "you know this is all your fault."

"interesting argument."

"you replied first."

"you made the post first."

"because you're irritating."

"and yet here you are."

your face heated instantly, sunghoon noticed. his expression softened slightly after that, teasing fading into something quieter.

more careful, he looked at you for a long second close enough that your heartbeat immediately betrayed you again. then, with that same smug little smile returning to his mouth, he tilted his head slightly and murmured, "so."

you narrowed your eyes immediately. "so what."

sunghoon's gaze held yours, steady, amused and dangerously warm.

"do you still think i'm the asshole?"

For someone who was handed a summer internship at your father's company on a silver platter, you don't act as grateful as you should be.

That’s because you aren’t— and with each passing day, you find it more and more difficult to even pretend like you are as the office hums its same old, familiar tune; a dull, monotonous symphony of keyboard clicking, phones ringing, and men arguing over numbers and deadlines and everything else you couldn’t give two shits about.

"It will give you real-world experience." Was your father's first proclamation.

Yeah, right. Three weeks in, and the only 'experience' you've gained is learning to optimize the speed at which you swap tabs from online shopping to whatever financial model you're supposed to be working on when your ‘boss’ walks by.

"Other people dream of working here!" Came the next.

It's technically true for anyone else— the role is competitive. People claw their way into divisions like these, just to sit in rooms and argue over numbers tied to companies they don't even care for. You, however, are not anyone else. Getting this job was as simple as a conversation over dinner, followed by a forwarded email. And why exactly would you be dreaming of something so easy to obtain?

"If you don't do it, I'll deactivate your credit card."

Now, that was the only statement that made you quiver, and some whining and back and forth later, you realized you wouldn't have it your way— not this time.

Which is how you ended up here.

In theory, it's easy enough. All you had to do was show up. Sit at a desk. Try. In practice? It's painfully, mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly boring. God, how you wish you could be doing literally anything else other than staring at your desktop screen, eyes straining from the blue light as rows of numbers blur together—valuations, projections and companies reduced to columns.

You switch to another tab, deciding you're done pretending to work for now, and scroll through your Instagram feed, seeing your friends' posts about their vacations abroad, shopping sprees, and summer adventures, soaking in the rays of the afternoon sun. It only solidifies for you what you already know: You don't care about this job. You just don't care at all. So much that it hurts.

It's why you had decided early on you wouldn't even pretend to care. You come in late and leave early. You do your work hastily— finished, but half-assed. You do enough to where nobody can comfortably call you out on it, but never enough to actually waste any of your precious energy on trying, because really, who's going to stop you? It's not like you need this job. It's not like anyone's going to fire the CEO's spoiled little princess of a daughter.

Nobody says it outright, but you felt it the first day you'd set foot in the building, designer stilettos clicking with every step. The air shifted. People smiled at you too quickly, their tone of voice too polite. It was all too easy, all too uninteresting, the way nobody dared to push back. And the ones that vaguely try to are met with a sharp glare— not because you're actually trying to threaten them, but because it was amusing to see how easily they doubled back, scrambling over their words in fear.

Call it cruel. Whatever. It's one of the few things that brought you joy in the midst of suffocating beneath fluorescent lighting and beige walls.

You lean back in your chair, a sigh falling from your lips as your eyes meet the ceiling. Only an hour left of the workday, and yet it felt like an eternity remained. You're not sure how you plan on making it through the rest of the summer.

Your gaze drifts a little to the side, where you catch sight of your boss in his office, the door wide open, eyes glued to his computer screen.

Mr. Park is the kind of boss who doesn't seem to have a flaw— at least in the corporate sense. Always composed. Always focused. Always just... there. Like he came with the office. Like he belongs to it more than anyone else does— like he's been built into the spreadsheets and decisions that run the place. Of course, he's the fucking Chief Investment Officer. He can probably reduce an entire company to numbers in his sleep.

He's also, apparently, the kind of boss who doesn't seem to know when to let anything go, given how it's three weeks into your internship and he continues to gently bring up the topic of your "lack of enthusiasm". He fills your inbox with "friendly reminders" to show to work on time, addressed to the whole team as if everyone didn't already know it was about you, he walks by your desk more than you wished he would, leaning over your shoulder and offering useless "pointers" that he should know by now you didn't plan on using, always careful with his words.

You suppress a snort at the thought of someone like him— with a title like his, and all the authority that came with it— having to tiptoe around you, too afraid to call you out on your bullshit. Your eyes drag down the features on his face, lingering maybe just a moment too long to watch as his glasses drift down the bridge of his nose, until his hand moves to adjust them. At least he's easy on the eyes, you think, snapping back to reality when his eyes tear away from his screen, looking directly back into yours.

Your back goes straight, and the backrest of your desk chair snaps back, hitting you in the back of the head. Looking back, you see his eyes had already returned to his screen, and you frown. You'd almost prefer it if he were to laugh at you. At least then, you'd believe he's human and not a lab-made corporate slave. Boring.

Your hand twitches at your side, feeling your phone buzz. Beneath the desk, you open it, smiling at your boyfriend's name atop the message notification.

Jay: hey baby hows work? You: awful You: i literally hate it here You: i might actually jump out the window Jay: dramatic as always You: are you making fun of my suffering? Jay: relax. just teasing baby You: what you up to right now? Jay: waiting for jake to finish in the shower Jay: and thinking about you Jay: you? You: thinking about you too

You sigh as you click send. Your boyfriend, unlike you, got to go on vacation with his best friend. And while they get to lounge on beaches and eat at expensive restaurants, you're stuck here, trapped in this boorish hellhole surrounded by tired, boring, old people. It's not fair.

Jay: yeah? Jay: ill be back soon Jay: flight home sunday Jay: come over monday? Jay: wanna see you

You grin, picturing the suggestive smile on his face. You do a quick look around you, before replying.

You: sure you wont be too tired? You: i dont wanna keep you up... Jay: you can keep me up anytime Jay: you know i dont mind

Face growing hot, you bite your lip, too immersed in the thought of all the things you'd do when you finally get your hands on your boyfriend again to hear the footsteps behind you. You're mid-way through typing your reply when suddenly your phone is snatched from your hands.

Your expression quickly going cold, you snap your head around, meeting eyes with none other than Mr. Park.

"What the fuck?" You scoff, loud enough that you hear a few conversations die, and the sound of keyboard typing slows down. You look around, feeling your coworkers' eyes on you and, lowering your voice, you return your attention to your boss. "What do you think you're doing?"

"No texting during work hours," his tone is matter-of-fact, like he’s explaining a foreign concept to you. His eyes flick to your desktop screen, where your Instagram is open. "None of that either."

You feel your face burn, closing the tab immediately.

"It was literally just for a second, Mr. Park," you roll your eyes. But seeing him look at you like that, stern like your father, you realize having an attitude won't get you what you want. With a sigh, you wipe your expression clean, looking up at him with the best sorry-eyed look you could manage. You hold out the palm of your hand, "Give it back to me. Please? I need to respond. My boyfriend—"

"Your boyfriend can wait. And so can you."

The sound of two more message pings is heard, and his eyes drop to the screen. The corners of his mouth twitch into the faintest hint of a smile before he swiftly tucks the device into his pocket. Meanwhile, your stomach twists with a mix of humiliation, annoyance, and disbelief at his sheer audacity to find any of this amusing. Since when did Mr. Park, of all people, find anything amusing, anyway?

"You can get it from my office later. In the meantime, how about you finally get to that acquisition brief you've been avoiding?"

An hour of angry typing later— summarizing some company into neat little bulletin points just so that Mr. Park can skim it and decide whether any of it is worth moving forward with at all— you're sending him the document, marching towards his office as the rest of the floor filters into the elevator. You don’t bother knocking; the same way he hadn’t bothered to warn you before snatching your personal property from your hands.

He doesn't even flinch as the door bursts open, heels clicking with each stride. He doesn't look up until you stand just before his desk.

"It's done," you gesture with your hand, open-palmed. "Now give it back."

"Impatient, are we?"

He moves slowly, without urgency, adjusting his glasses as he clicks around. After what feels like an eternity of watching him read, he finally tears his eyes away from the screen.

"I'm impressed."

"Are you, now?" You reply dryly.

He hums in approval, as if you care to hear it.

"This is the first time since onboarding that you've properly followed through on a given task— and not only did you follow through, you did a good job," he continues, scrolling down the page. "Well-written, well-researched, not a single typo... could use a little bit of refining, but—"

"Okay?" You shift uncomfortably, restlessly tapping your foot. "...Phone?"

His eyes drag from the screen, back to yours, looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, but all you know is that it's far removed from the veil of politeness he carried himself with day-to-day.

He nods to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Sit with me. Won't you?"

Reluctantly, you lower yourself to the leather cushion, smoothing the length of your skirt. You stare at him like it's a competition you refuse to lose, though you're starting to suspect it's entirely one-sided, seeing how he eases.

That's the kind of boss Mr. Park is, isn't he? Stern, but gentle. So well-mannered. So god damn clean-cut, calm, collected and controlled.

You suppose that must be why your father speaks so highly of him— why he assigned you to his team, under his supervision. You would've walked all over someone too soft and caused a whole lot of problems for someone too harsh. Mr. Park is harder to pin down, striking a balance somewhere in the middle, firm enough to make you hesitate before pushing your luck, but never enough to actually stop you from doing it.

"What do you want?"

"I want to discuss your work ethic. Or, lack thereof." His hands clasp together on the table, posture upright. "Frankly, your laziness is a liability to my team, and I would've fired you a long time ago if I could."

You blink, slightly taken aback. So he does have the balls to call you out directly, rather than beating around the bush. You’re the one feeling impressed, now.

"Me? Lazy?" You feign innocence, jaw dropping as if he hadn’t literally caught you red-handed scrolling Instagram and borderline about to sext your boyfriend. "Mr. Park. I swear to you, I am trying my absolute best. If that's not enough for you... Well, what can I do? I can't help being young and inexperienced. I'm still learning."

He inhales deeply, eyes scanning your face once again. A small, polite smile breaks as his tone softens— acutely controlled, steady.

You already know how this will go. It's the same thing every time. He calls you in. Calls you out politely. You deflect, avoid the consequences, and he sends you off when he gives up trying.

Except, he doesn’t this time.

"I think it is more than reasonable to expect a grown adult like yourself to show up to work on time. Don't you agree?"

You glare for a few moments, waiting for him to cower in fear as everyone else in this building does. But he doesn't falter. He doesn't bend to your will as he should. He only stares back, just waiting. Patiently. Calmly. Without intention to intimidate. Without the intention of grovelling in submission.

Decidedly done with pretending, you slump back in his chair, like you're at home, lounging in your living room and not currently sitting in your boss's office, being scolded.

"I can't control traffic, Mr. Park," you roll your eyes.

"Neither can I. Nor can anyone else in this office. And yet, you're the only one who's walking in ten... sometimes twenty minutes late?"

You don't even bother to respond, pretending like you hadn't heard a single word he said. You look down at your manicured nails, briefly wondering if you remembered to book your regular appointment. Maybe you could ask Jay what colour to get next time—

"Hey," his voice drops, leaning across the desk. Your eyes lock with his as he snaps his fingers. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

You look from his fingers, then back to him, a blatant scowl on your lips. Your hands curl into fists, tension coiling in your chest as your irritation slowly morphs into something overwhelmingly worse, given how he just snapped his fingers at you like some kind of dog.

You don't wish to question why the sudden change in his tone seems to command your attention. All you know is that you're sick and tired of sitting in his suffocatingly sterile, drab-looking office while you could be literally anywhere else.

"Mr. Park." You drag out his name. You're beyond annoyed now, and you don't care one bit that you're practically whining like an overgrown toddler, "Does it even matter if I'm, like, a little bit late?"

"...A little bit?" He repeats, almost in disbelief, as he glares at you. His hands tighten together, "I am trying to be gracious here. I really am. I don't think I am asking for much—"

"I show up, and I get my work done." his jaw tightens as you interrupt, eyes landing on your index finger, pressing firmly against the desk as if to make some kind of valid point. "I don't get what the big deal is. So just give me back the phone, and let it go."

With that, he stands, hands slamming down against the desk. There's a fire in his eyes, one you'd never noticed before, and suddenly your eyes drift to his hands. You note how large and strong they look, sprawled out against the wood, and shamefully, it makes you wonder what his arms must look like, hidden beneath the layers of his perfectly tailored suit, which hug his broad frame and— fuck, seriously? Is this what a few weeks without your boyfriend does to you?

"Your work is sloppy, lazy and barely meets the deadlines. Please use your common sense." He nearly growls, "You are not a child. I shouldn't have to scold you like one just for you to do your job."

"Well, sorry it doesn't meet your standards," you scoff carelessly, dismissively, "And sorry that I'm not an old, miserable, workaholic asshole like you."

Your hand slams back down on the desk, mirroring his rage. And just like that, his empty, ceramic coffee mug at the edge of the desk topples over and shatters into pieces. You wince at the sound, and in the dead silence, you both stand, staring at one another. Unmoving.

"Clean it up."

"...Me?"

"Yes, you. That's what people do when they cause problems," he circles the desk, until he's standing right in front of you, looking down. "They fix it themselves. Or did your daddy never teach you that?"

Sometime later, you return from the closet holding a broom and dustpan in a shaky, rage-fuelled grasp, huffing and puffing because it's just so stupid. Him, bossing you around like he has the right. Like your dad doesn't own him. But you think the stupidest part is the part of you that feels inexplicably inclined to listen.

You try to crouch down to keep the dustpan steady as you sweep up the broken ceramic pieces, but you quickly realize your tall heels and tight pencil skirt won't allow you to do that. He watches your every move, seeing how you huff as you slip off your ridiculously expensive footwear, seeing how you don't dare to look at him as you lower yourself to your knees.

"Look at you," he speaks, slow and cruel, making sure you hear every word loud and clear, "Bet you've never cleaned up your own mess before, have you?"

His footsteps approach, his shoes coming into view. You look up, meeting his gaze. And holy shit. There is no good reason for the strange, sudden flare of something hot and unwelcome you feel at the sight of your boss looking down at you like that— like you're a speck of dust, tainting his otherwise spotless existence. 

"Useless fucking intern."

His words don't make you want to slap him, as you should. They make you feel something traitorous. They make you think of things you quickly shove deep, deep down, hoping to god they never resurface and see the light of day ever again, and you're too struck by the shock of your own body's reaction to even process what he'd just called you.

"Apologize."

"Why?" You carefully challenge, your glare sharpening, "I didn't do it on purpose—"

"Apologize."

You click your tongue, a defiant huff escaping you as your eyes return to the ground.

"I'm sorry, m'kay?"

"Look at me," he repeats, crouching down. His thumb and index finger hold your phone, dangling it in view, and you try to reach for it, but he pulls away. "Speak up, and say it nicely."

You crane your neck, sweaty hands curling into the fabric of your skirt despite the overly air-conditioned room. His glasses are gone now, giving you a better look at his hardened expression. He's not disappointed. Not just frustrated. He's completely, utterly floored by the audacity of you.

You find yourself staring a little too long, captivated by just how gorgeous he looks when he's no longer hiding behind a veil of professionalism. You just can't stop looking at the twitching of his strong brows, the fury behind those beautiful brown eyes, the way that sharp jawline of his clenches, and that frown on his pretty lips— stop.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Park."

You surprise even yourself with how easily the words seem to escape you— how there is no defiance or strain to be heard at all as they fall from your lips all too pathetically.

It haunts you long after you've left the building.

[Monday]

Friday night, you tossed and turned, trying to erase the image of your boss from your mind.

Saturday, you went out with your friends, hoping that drinking until you passed out would somehow reset your brain back to its normal functions.

Sunday morning brunch, you silently suffered through your hangover as you sat across from your father, not a hair out of place as you sat pretty on the rooftop terrace, pretending like the late morning sun wasn't worsening the terrible throb in your head. But your headache was long gone the moment your father's words gave you something far worse to worry about.

"I spoke to Park yesterday," he said.

Your stomach dropped, knowing the conversation could have only gone one way. If what you’d assumed was true—if he told your father about all the half-hearted reports, all the times you’d shown up late, about your attitude, about how you text during the workday—all the things a father trying to maintain a perfect image and groom you to take over his empire wouldn’t want to hear—then it would be over for you and your precious credit card. You could kiss your shopping sprees and fancy restaurants goodbye.

Instantly, you debated the possibility of biting back. You could tell your dad that Mr. Park had verbally berated you, humiliated you— but contrary to popular belief, your father isn't as doting as people would assume. He might get you a good job, but he would never fire one of his best employees just because you decided to whine about it.

"Whatever it is he said, I swear, daddy, it's—"

"I was very shocked," he continued, "To hear that you've been nothing but wonderful."

Wonderful. Of all the things he could've said about you, he chose to lie.

Needless to say, you arrive Monday morning— late, as usual— expecting something, though you’re not sure what, only to find everything completely normal. As if Friday never happened.

There are no hushed whispers among coworkers. No requests from Mr. Park. Nor does he avoid your gaze when he enters the office, shooting you a typical, polite smile. You find yourself watching him throughout the day, trying to catch a glimpse of the man you’d encountered Friday evening, but he wears his mask well.

He does, however, summon you to his office again at the end of the workday. Because, of course, he would on the day your boyfriend is finally back.

"This better be quick," you snap almost immediately. Impatiently.

"I believe I owe you an apology," he starts, back to his usual polite smile. "I lost my temper, and I spoke to you in an insulting and highly unprofessional manner."

You stare, flatly, looking him up and down. Too fake. Too eager to please.

"You know, my dad told me all the nice things you had to say about me, Mr. Park," you hum, almost bored, "Guess I'm just a bit confused as to why you would do that for me, since I'm just a useless fucking intern."

"I think we both know how much weight your words carry around here, young lady."

"Oh?" You raise your brow, the gears turn in your head. “You think I'm gonna get you fired?"

"...I wouldn't put it past you." He manages, which earns a laugh from you.

"Yeah. I wouldn't put it past me either," you look him up and down, allowing him to believe that you somehow hold that kind of power. "You can unclench your butthole, Mr. Park. I'm a bitch, but I'm not evil."

He sighs, appearing more unimpressed than relieved.

Realistically, the most your father would do, if he even bothered to listen, would be to move you to another department, which would be just another pain in the ass. But you're not about to tell him that.

"You are unbelievably difficult."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," you deadpan. "Can I go now?"

"Not yet," he gestures to the chair, "Sit."

You frown, opening your mouth to protest, but he quickly continues.

"You didn't think I was done with trying to correct your behaviour around here, did you?" He says, "I promise, it won't be long."

Foolishly, you believe him.

Dramatically, you plop yourself down.

"Is it because I was late again?"

"I just want to talk."

"About?"

"I was thinking, after our conversation on Friday. You are the only employee I haven’t interviewed. I know your face. I know your last name and the power it holds. I know your father and the things he says about you. But I don't know you," he starts, "So tell me about yourself."

"Seriously?" You snort.

"Yes, seriously."

You sigh. Deeply, deeply annoyed.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Anything," he shrugs, relaxing back into his chair. He watches you pensively. "What do you like to do? Any hobbies?”

"I dunno. Shopping. Going out with my friends or my boyfriend..." You're not sure why you hesitate to mention that last part. You shrug. "I don't do much, I guess."

"What do you do when you go out? Anything fun?"

"What do you think college students do when we go out, Mr. Park?" You grin.

He returns your teasing with an easy smile.

"Fair enough. You like to party. Then—"

"Did you like to party when you were my age, Mr. Park?"

"I believe I'm the one asking the questions."

"Come on. Now I'm curious," you look him up and down, picturing a twenty-something-year-old version of your boss.

Briefly, you wonder if he’s the kind of person who grew into his looks, or if he’s always looked that good. Hell, you could only begin to imagine what kind of heartthrob he must’ve been if he’s always looked like this— probably could’ve fucked a different girl every night. Probably still could, if he wanted to. Is this what college fuckboys grow into? Boring, business men who bask in their own self-importance?

"Bet you got a lot of attention from the ladies, huh?"

You don't really think about what you're saying until it slips out, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks at the fact that you'd just indirectly called him attractive.

Thankfully, he changes the topic, seemingly unfazed by your comment entirely. The same way he redirects the conversation in meetings when they get too side-tracked. Professional, as always. You decide to let yourself believe that he didn't hear it.

"According to your application, you're a Business major."

"Mhm."

"And if my memory serves me right, your grades are excellent."

"Guess so."

"You like studying business?"

"Sometimes."

"So you do have aspirations." He says, and you flash him a glare. "What, did you expect me to assume that you do? I have to practically breathe down your neck to get you to do your job properly."

"My 'aspirations' can wait. I have time."

"Young people always think they have time. But one day, you'll wake up and realize you're thirty-something, and—"

"You're only in your thirties, Mr. Park?" You dramatically gasp, "Sorry. Just. You're so boring and serious, I thought you were way older. Like, forties, at least."

Your teasing falls flat, as does your attempt to derail the conversation.

"What I'm trying to say," he says firmly, swiftly easing his tone of voice, "is that you're not wrong for wanting to live your life. However, you have been handed an opportunity that most people your age can only dream of, and it would be unwise to continue acting like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to you."

You roll your eyes.

"Do tell me— What are your aspirations?"

"I don't know."

"You must have some idea."

You don't respond, and he studies you for a moment, dissatisfied.

"You spend a lot of time researching luxury brands on your work computer. Not just shopping— reading. Articles, reports, brand strategy, market positioning."

"You sure spend a lot of time watching what I do."

"I only watch to confirm that you are not doing your work, as always," he says flatly, "Those companies you're reading about— they're businesses. Structured, valued, acquired. The same way anything else is. If you're looking to work in that industry, then the things you're learning here can be valuable."

"I'm not," you say a little too defensively, scrambling for your words, "It's just brands and clothes. Who cares?"

"You care, clearly."

"I don't."

"I have a hard time believing that," he comments, then persists, "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

"Will you even be alive in ten—"

"Yes, I get it. I'm old. Very funny. Though if you're planning on becoming a comedian, I'd advise expanding your portfolio of jokes." He deadpans, "I'm asking you a simple question. What do you want?"

"Does it even matter what I want?" You scoff, muttering, "Everyone knows my future is here.”

He leans back in his chair, "You plan to take over your father's position one day?"

"That would be real fun, wouldn't it?" You avoid the question with a grin, "Me, bossing you around."

"You realize the sooner you give me proper answers, the sooner you can leave."

You huff, and after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you look down at your lap.

"You know how these things work. Needing to continue the family business, or whatever." You gesture aimlessly, shifting uncomfortably. "It's stupid. Honestly. I don't give a single crap about this company, and I'm obviously not even good enough for it either, so I don't know why he insists that..."

You trail off, shaking your head at the amount of information you just volunteered.

"You think you're not good enough?" Mr. Park furrows his brows.

"My work is shit. You said it yourself."

"That brief you gave me last Friday wasn't shit."

"That's one time."

He pauses. Suddenly, he’s leaning forward.

"You want to know what I think?"

"No."

"I think you'd rather be dismissed as lazy than to actually try and risk falling short of perfection."

The silence weighs on you.

"You must feel there's a lot of pressure to succeed, whether that be through on your own path, or following the one that's set out for you, don't you?"

"You pry around in all your employees' personal lives like this?"

"As your boss, it's my job to make sure that you do your job," he states. "Confronting you last time didn't work, and I can't exactly fire you. So I'm trying a different approach— to understand you."

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, irked by his gentle tone and how his eyes seem to look right through you. You'd rather he raise his voice. You'd almost prefer he insult you like the last time. Useless is easy. Spoiled is easy. This... is invasive, getting under your skin in ways his anger hadn't.

"I'm not going to tell you what to do with your life. But maybe I can convince you to take advantage of the opportunity you've been given. I'm not just saying that as your boss. I'm saying it as a mentor— and as someone who was once just as stubborn as you are." he smiles, "I don't want to see you wasting your potential."

Your mouth twitches.

"Yeah? Well, I don't want you to keep wasting my time," you cross your arms defensively, "You said this wouldn't take long, Mr. Park."

"How can I support you? How can I help you succeed at this job?" He presses further, "Is it more guidance? More positive reinforcement?"

"I don't want support. I don't want to succeed. I want to leave."

"You can leave when I say you can."

"Technically," you correct, "I can leave whenever I want."

That’s when you notice it—the look in his eye, barely containing that temper he seemed so intent on hiding beneath his clean-cut appearance and deceptively steady composure, as if you hadn't already come to know that side of him only yesterday.

Voice strained, he continues.

"I'm offering understanding and support. I'm letting you know that, despite our conversation last week, I don't expect you to be perfect; I just expect effort. Can you please try to meet me halfway?"

You suppose you could make this easier for both of you and just say whatever he wants to hear. But you don't want to give him that satisfaction. Not after he made you sit there, making assumptions about your inner thoughts, acting as if he knew you. Not after whatever the hell happened on Friday, which had left you hot and frustrated in ways that made you resent him even more than you previously did.

Seeing the telltale signs of his anger, through the clenching of his fist, and the narrowing of his gaze into something sharp, a flicker of excitement stirs within you. What better payback would there be than to make your ever-so-perfect superior snap again?

"What is this, Mr. Park?" You mock, "Performance coaching? Amateur therapy?"

"Don't talk back to me, young lady."

"Oh, Mr. Park," you laugh, hardly suppressing your smile. "I think you're well aware that I can talk to you however I like."

Your fingernails tap against the desk, and you allow yourself a moment to capture the image of his deeply frustrated, beautiful face in your mind.

"And you know what?" You continue, leaning forward, "There's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

There's a silence, a calm before the storm.

"That mouth of yours... do you even hear yourself when you speak?" He growls. A beat passes, and he leans in too. "Or is that dumb little head of yours so empty that you don't even realize how fucking irritating you sound?"

Oh.

Your nails dig into the desk. His voice, low and unrestrained, ignites something deep within you.

"Speak to me however you like. Be as blatantly disrespectful and bitchy as you please. It won't make you any less pathetic. It will never change the fact that you're just a useless, whiny, spoiled, little girl who's never had to try a day in her life."

One leg crosses over the other, feeling how his insults seem to burn in ways they definitely shouldn't. What you should be doing is searching for the words to talk back like you'd intended. Instead, your mouth presses firmly shut, trying not to think about the heat that rises between your legs, and how it throbs without justification. Making him surrender to his anger was supposed to feel satisfying, not the opposite— Not this.

"What's this? Now you don't have anything to say?"

"No,” you quip, rather weakly.

You curse yourself for that being all you can manage. If you were in the right state of mind— if his voice weren't so low and effortlessly commanding— if his face weren't so damn attractive when he's pissed the fuck off— maybe then you could bite back. But right now, there was something deeply wrong with you, and you needed to get the fuck out of there and deal with it immediately.

"So be it." He mutters, "Get the fuck out of my office."

Your legs carry you out, feeling unsteady in your heels as if you didn't know how to walk in them, all thanks to the distracting, near-unbearable arousal which seems to linger. Your phone rings in the elevator, Jay's profile picture on your screen.

"Hey, baby. Just wondering if you're on your way? Been waiting a while," he says, "Everything okay?"

"No," you swallow, fingers curling around your handbag. "Everything is not okay."

"He is such an asshole, Jay," you groan.

He only hums in response, as his lips roam your neck.

You had arrived at his place only minutes ago, and you were already beneath him, sprawled out on his couch, eyes fluttering, and lips parted as he took his time worshipping you.

It's uncharacteristic of him. Jay isn't usually the type of boyfriend to be placing his hands on you the moment you walk through the door— he'd usually offer a drink, sit with you, talk to you like there's all the time in the world, before deciding to make his move. A real gentleman, unlike the flings you’d wasted time with before him. But you both knew how desperate you were to get your hands on one another, so all the talking vacation photos and complaining about Jake could wait.

The summer evening sun seeps through the windows of his downtown condo, his tanned skin illuminated by a warm, golden glow, and while you should feel relieved to finally be back here— in his living room, in his arms, with his playlist humming low in the background as he shows you just how much he's missed you— you instead find yourself tangled up and knotted in your frustrations from the past few days.

"You know what he said to me?" You continue, brows furrowed.

"What'd he say, hm?" He mutters against your skin.

"He called me lazy."

He chuckles when you let out a whimper, kissing a particularly sensitive part of your neck, and a shiver runs through you at the feeling of his breath.

You're more reactive than usual, given your... frustrations. And your boyfriend seems to be loving it, given how he's choosing to tease you instead of just taking you right there, like you need him to.

"Well..." You can feel his smirk on you, "Are you?"

"Hey," you pout, fingers gently threading through his hair. "Whose side are you on?"

You tug just enough to look at him. He wears the same playful, easygoing smile he always does. The one you've grown comfortable and familiar with.

"Yours. Always. My girl is always right," he says, leaning down to ghost your lips, before capturing them with his.

You smile into the kiss, a gasp escaping you when you feel his tongue slip into your mouth, and his hands roam the curve of your waist, down to your ass.

"So worked up," he comments, "Must've been exhausting, sitting there and looking pretty all day, hm?"

You feel his hands work away at your blouse, button by button, until his lips are at your exposed chest, peppering kisses down the valley of your breasts.

"You have no idea," you breathe, trying to focus on how good he's making you feel, trying to focus on him, but— "He said I'm wasting my potential."

"That's such a corporate thing to say," he snorts.

You should be snorting too. You normally would, brushing it off like it's nothing. So it's strange, really, that you feel your chest heave in frustration, dissatisfied with... well, you're not exactly sure.

"So you think he's wrong?"

You hear him sigh, and he props himself up, blinking down at you. His smile is kind, partially amused, partially only tolerating your antics with far more patience than anyone would expect from a man who hasn't seen his girlfriend in weeks. A moment passes, watching, waiting— deciding, finally.

"I didn't say that," he says gently, a hand moving to your cheek. His thumb moves in slow circles, and his tired, jet-lagged eyes scan your expression, trying to read you.

"What do you think, then?"

"I think..." he begins, carefully, "...that I'm a bit confused. Do you want me to take your side or not?"

"That's not an answer, Jay."

"Then I think you need to relax," he replies, his voice a little lower now, and you feel a hand dragging up the length of your thigh. "It's just some summer thing. You're taking it too seriously."

"I'm not, trust me."

"Then don't think about it."

He kisses you again, and you squeal when he pushes past your skirt. He thumbs the top of your sheer-black stockings, which hug the plush of your upper thigh, before moving to the heat between your legs.

"Shit," he breathes, palming you, feeling just how absolutely soaked you are through one layer of fabric, "Missed me that much?"

A pang of guilt runs through you, knowing part of your arousal is due to something else entirely. But you remind yourself that it's only because you missed your boyfriend, and your mind was only wandering because you were bored.

"Don't worry about anything else, sweet girl, m'kay?" He whispers, "Let me take care of you."

You pull him closer by the collar of his shirt, kissing him harder, and his response is immediate. His hands, familiar, practiced, safe and... easy. Against your will, your mind wanders to echoes of a voice that doesn't soften when you push back— of words that shoot to kill when provoked.

[Tuesday]

"You weren't lying when you said the morning traffic is a bitch," Jay says, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He peeks his head out the window briefly, noting the long line of cars that won't budge.

Meanwhile, you hit your knee against the dashboard as you squirm around in the passenger seat, trying to peel your stockings from your legs. His head whips around at the sudden thud.

"You okay?"

"I can't wear these. I think you ripped them last night," you hiss, as you finally slip them off.

You inspect the torn nylon in your hands, then discard the fabric over your shoulder, landing somewhere in the backseat.

"Did I?" He teases, as if he doesn't fully remember how he had you sit on his face while wearing them, needy hands digging into the flimsy fabric as he'd held your thighs steady. "My bad, baby."

You scoff, knowing damn well he doesn't feel bad about it. You're not exactly mad about it either, though you are a little self-conscious as you check yourself in the sun-visor mirror, your hair neat enough but not exactly as flawless as you usually wore it, your makeup light and hastily applied.

You look down at your skirt, wondering if anyone would notice it's the same one as yesterday, or the faint wrinkles that remained as a result of last night's activities. You kept some clothes at Jay's, but nothing exactly up to the dress code of your current job, so outfit repetition it would have to be— save for an acceptable blouse you'd swapped out with yesterday's, the other long forgotten on his bedroom floor.

"I look like shit—"

"You look perfect."

"Fuck, I'm going to be so late!"

"Aren't you always?" He laughs.

"By, like, ten minutes. Not an hour," you groan, rummaging in your makeup bag. You fumble for your usual lipstick, looking in the mirror to apply. "Mr. Park is going to flip."

You don't want to admit that part of the reason you're stressed, though, is not because you fear him. Rather, you’ve become increasingly worried by the way your body seems to react to his temper.

"Just tell your dad to deal with it."

"You tell him. He listens to you more than me," you swipe the corners of your mouth, making sure your application is as neat as it can be for being applied in the car.

"I just know how to talk to him, that's all."

"Smooth talker."

"You mean charismatic," he winks, and you roll your eyes. He turns his attention away. "If it makes you feel better, I'm gonna be in deep shit, too. First day back, and I'm already late."

You watch how his eyes fixate ahead of him as the vehicle inches forward, one hand on the wheel, while the other reaches for your knee, mindlessly.

He looks like a wealthy man’s son in his tailored suit and neatly combed back hair. It's the reason you two just made sense— why your fathers got along, and why your mothers asked "so when's the wedding?" as if you were even close to the age where you should be settling down.

But, well, if not Jay, then who? He’s handsome, privileged, and laughs off your attitude with an easy smile. He walks through life like he’s weightless, talks like he’s worriless, and shakes hands with powerful men as naturally as he breathes air— and you suppose that's because it is. It’s what he was born to do.

He’d probably do a better job running your father’s company than you ever would, wouldn’t he? A part of you always assumed that’s why your parents love him so much. A union with Jay would mean the family fortune would be in good, responsible hands, unlike yours. You can’t really blame them for thinking that.

Jay drops you off with a quick kiss, both of you smiling into it as you say your goodbyes. And when you step into the elevator, tugging at your skirt and smoothing your hair, you can’t help but wish you could float through life as easily as your boyfriend seems to.

You're expecting the worst as you step out of the elevator, though you keep your chin held high despite the nerves coursing through your veins.

Sinking into your chair, your hands dig into your knees, and you prepare yourself for that look from him, only for you to take a quick, cautious glance behind you and find… nothing.

Mr. Park doesn't look up. He doesn't toss a glare or call you over to his office like you'd expect him to, given that you just walked in almost an hour late. He hadn't even left a passive-aggressive comment in your inbox, or a reminder to start your tasks or anything.

Okay, you think. So it's like that?

You turn your head back around, head craning just a bit more. And though you're certainly not about to complain about it, had he really given up just like that? One interrogation, and he decided your "wasted potential" was better off wasted? That would just be too... easy. Too simple.

No, you frown. Mr. Park isn't like that. He's a pest, an ever-present pain in the ass. You tear your eyes away with certainty this time. He's probably just scared like last time, right? Or worried you'll run off and badmouth him to father dearest?

You click through a few tabs for the next hour, pretending to work, pretending not to be so goddamn bothered, and pretending not to think about why that is. When, suddenly, you're watching others stand from their desk, filing into the conference room down the hall.

"Hey," you tug at your right-hand coworker's sleeve. Mr. Yang, you think, though you never bothered to learn his name, seeing how he never bothered to look you in the eye. "What's happening?"

"Ah, we have a meeting, remember?" He gulps, managing a polite smile, "An email was sent out last week—"

Rolling your eyes, you let go of his sleeve, and he mutters something before scrambling away. Then, you gather your things, trailing in with the rest of them only moments later.

You’re only half-listening, your eyes practically glazing over as Mr. Park speaks. He hadn't even bothered to acknowledge you today, so you might as well do the same to him, right? Though unlike everyone else in the room who listens like their life depends on it, you don't find it so difficult to ignore his dull droning. In fact, it's a little bit too easy to drown out the sound of him as your eyes drag over his tall, broad frame.

Suddenly, your name is called. Your eyes snap to him, as the room's eyes snap to you.

"Since you worked on the brief," he says, "Walk us through it."

Your stomach drops, and before you can think to glare, you're blinking, stunned.

"...What?"

You try to read him, to look for some kind of cruel intent behind his steady gaze. Instead, you find he almost appears wholly uninterested. That, you think, is far more infuriating than the former.

There's an uncomfortable pause in the room. The sound of pens scribbling and laptops being typed comes to a slow halt.

"You wrote it," his voice is steady. "So explain it."

You swallow dryly, unmoving, until it fully processes in your mind that he is being serious.

Managing a slow nod, you ask for a moment as you search for the file on your laptop, and after some fumbling, you finally pull it up. But as you nervously glance over the document, you’re reminded that you barely remember what you wrote, or what half of it even means, given that you completed it in a blind fury, with the sole purpose of getting Mr. Park off your ass.

"Well, it's basically..." you start, eyes flickering from the screen, back to him, pretending like you aren't trying to read off the document, "about the company's... growth projections."

"Which projections?" His response is immediate.

From the corner of your eye, you notice a few nameless faces exchange glances. Embarrassment tries to fight its way onto your face, and you counter it with your best fake, corporate smile.

"...The revenue ones."

"What about them?"

"They're... increasing?”

There's another pause, and you hear something that sounds like a chuckle disguised as a cough a few seats down.

Mr. Park allows the moment to linger, and to anyone else in the room, it might appear like he's giving you the chance to explain further, but you know what his true intentions are. You see it in the look in his eyes— that small, barely noticeable hint of satisfaction you'd come to know all too well. The same one he looked down at you with when he'd made you apologize to him on your knees. The same one he had when he'd rendered you speechless and flustered, and quite honestly, still threatens to.

"...Increasing?" he echoes, perfectly timed. He tilts his head, like it's a genuine question. "Increasing based on what?"

You don't even bother to open your mouth to say anything this time. Trying to explain yourself further would only dig you a deeper hole, and he’s already made his point. So instead, you sit there, jaw clenched, unmoving.

He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses.

"That's enough," he states, redirecting his attention away from you. "We'll revisit it later. Moving on..."

The rest of the meeting is anything but boring. It's torturous, sitting there with your face hot, as you look around the room, finding eyes that turn to look away as soon as you catch them.

And the worst part? He doesn't even call you in to speak after the meeting. That bastard.

Pacing across the tiled floor of the restroom, you simmer. You'd gone to try and cool yourself down, running your hands under cold water, taking deep breaths.

It's fine. It's just one meeting, and it's not like it matters. It's not like you care about being viewed as competent when you don't even have to be. But did he have to go as far as publicly humiliating you?

For a man who presents himself as pragmatic, he sure has a lot of nerve calling you out in a meeting to talk about something he knows you don't know shit about. Acting so unbothered. So professional. So bored. Seeing him sit there, pretending like he isn't savouring the sight of your misery is... fuck.

You sigh, a heat starting to pool between your thighs again, and you are not about to stand there and try to unpack why the hell you keep getting hot from the way he treats you, because frankly, the only thing you can do is just accept it at this point.

You're about to push past the door to the restroom when, just outside the door, you hear your name uttered. Leaning on it until you peer just a crack, you catch sight of two male coworkers— again, names of which you didn't bother to learn— who work a few desks down from yours.

They linger by the fountain, one of them holding their plastic water bottle up to the pathetic stream of water that leaks from the old machine.

"...don't even know why he bothers to give her real work when she's clearly a nepo hire."

"Right? Might as well just pay her to stand around."

The other male laughs in response, a sly smirk rising as he nudges the other.

"I mean... I wouldn't blame him for it."

The two snicker, and you narrow your eyes.

"Oh, please. Mr. Park?" the other scoffs, raising a brow, "The guy is practically married to his balance sheets. Probably gets off on them."

"Maybe he's got his eye on some new assets."

The other snorts, clamping a hand over his mouth before erupting into laughter, provoking the other to do the same. Meanwhile, your stomach twists in disgust.

Deciding you've heard enough, you push past the door, and one resists the urge to laugh even harder, while the other tries to shush him. You don’t bother to spare them a second glance, your eyes set on one thing only.

In deliberate strides, your feet carry you to his office, shutting the door behind you as you slam your hands on his desk.

"Is there a reason you decided to do that?"

He doesn't look up right away. He types for a few more seconds before looking to you. Calm. Measured. With a goddamn smile on his face.

"Do what?" he asks, "Ask you to explain the brief that you wrote?"

"You put me on the spot and made me look stupid on purpose," you seethe. "If you heard what others are saying—"

"Are you saying you feel embarrassed?" He raises his brows, acting shocked, before letting his expression fall flat. "Then, maybe you should've come prepared."

"I told you I don't care about this job." Your hands curl into fists.

"And I don't care that you feel humiliated by the consequence of your own actions. Did you really expect me to coddle you?"

"You are such an ass." You growl, "Is that why you give me real work? So you can torture me?"

"I'm helping you," He sighs, shaking his head, "And I know you don't understand that yet, but you'll thank me one day."

You scoff at him in disbelief.

"I'll thank you? Are you serious right now?"

"I am."

He says simply. Nothing more.

A beat passes, and you stare— You stare until you snap.

"Bet you'd love for me to thank you, wouldn't you? So fucking full of yourself. 'Oh, thank you, Mr. Park!' Is that what you want to hear? 'Thank you so much—'"

"Stop that."

"'Thank you so much for calling me a spoiled little bitch—'"

"I said stop." He repeats, sharper this time, like a warning.

"'Thank you sooo much for humiliating me—'"

With that, he stands to full height, glaring down at you. You try to straighten yourself out, lifting your chin, determined not to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you.

"If you don't have anything else to say, then get out of my office."

You stare a moment longer, deciding if you want to push your luck. Ultimately, you decide against it. You were done with him today, and you'd have plenty of other opportunities to make him pissed.

"Fine."

The door shuts with a rather loud thud, and you don't see how Mr. Park brings his hand to drag down his face, breathing in deeply as he suppresses the thought of what you just did from his mind. Though it does not work, and the image of his attractive, much younger intern thanking him for the humiliation lingers, unsettling and persistent, following him long after he’s left the office and returned home.

[Wednesday]

Subject: Brief Revision

From: Park Sunghoon

Hello, Please revise your most recent submission as it is not up to the expected standard of quality. Thanks, Park Sunghoon Chief Investment Officer

Re: Brief Revision

To: Park Sunghoon

make me

You only just hit the 'send' button when you hear a ping from your cellphone. Looking down at the notifications, you grin.

Jay: miss you Jay: cant stop thinking about you You: yeah? You: what are you thinking about?

You're biting your lip, watching the three dots on your screen as you wait for your boyfriend's response, thankful for some kind of distraction— anything to take your mind off of yesterday. But of course, your moment of peace doesn't last long. It never does in this damn office.

Jay: you have no idea Jay: im so hard right now Jay: wanna fuck you so bad

You don't feel your boss's presence until he's right behind you, and you freeze when you realize he's right there, leaning down next to you. You nearly jump out of your seat, clutching your phone to your chest. And the expression on his face is... pure horror and disgust. In a less humiliating circumstance, you would find it amusing. But right now, you are in no place to be laughing.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I wanted to see what my intern does on her phone instead of working," he cringes, "Now I honestly wish I hadn't."

"Consequence of your own actions, Mr. Park," you quote him, "Does this mean you'll leave me alone, now?"

"Quite the contrary. If you don't want me looking over your shoulder, reading about... that, then get to work," he folds his arms, and you scowl in annoyance, "You are the one who asked me to 'make you' do your work."

"Pervert," you mouth, so that neither Mr. Yang nor your surrounding coworkers can hear.

He takes a glance around before leaning down right at your ear, breath tickling your skin.

"Says the one sexting at the office," he whispers, and you fight the shiver that threatens to run up your spine as he continues. "Really, do you have any shame?"

He lingers, waiting, and you open the document, reading it over. He waits a few minutes, watching you make a few edits here and there, and after a bit, he leaves.

As soon as he's gone, you delete the edits you've made out of spite, and for the next hour, you waste your time pretending to work, and send back the document with the only thing changed being the font from Times New Roman to Comic Sans.

Re: Brief Revision

To: Park Sunghoon

[attachment fuckoff.docx]

Re: Brief Revision

From: Park Sunghoon

Hello, Please revise again, as it is still not up to company standards. Thanks, Park Sunghoon Chief Investment Officer

You waste another hour, this time instead making it wordier, longer, and impossible to parse through. The document is now double the length of the original, riddled with unnecessary paragraphs, and you know he'll still waste his time reading because that's the kind of annoying little asshole he is. And once you're satisfied, you hit 'send' again.

Re: Brief Revision

From: Park Sunghoon

Hello, Yet again, I am asking you to revise. Please be reminded that you will need to speak about it at next week’s meeting. Thanks, Park Sunghoon Chief Investment Officer

With a sigh, you glance back, seeing him hard at work as usual. And decidedly done with wasting his time, seeing as you aren't getting the kind of amusement out of it you'd hoped for, you open up a new document.

You do it right this time. Not with the intention of putting your whole heart into it, but admittedly, you grow more immersed in writing it than you should. You don't even hear your phone when it pings, and as you near the end of the workday, you don't realize when people slowly start packing up, leaving the building. When you finally click 'send', that's when you notice you've stayed overtime.

There's another ping on your phone, and you curse under your breath, scrambling to pick it up.

Jay: baby? Jay: guess work is busy today :( Jay: ill pick you up later Sent 1:27 PM Jay: see you soon beautiful Sent 4:48 PM Jay: almost done? Sent now

You gather your things, texting out your reply as you make your way to leave. But, unfortunately, so does Mr. Park. You exchange a stiff glance as you wait for the elevator, which takes its sweet time like always.

"Better."

"Hm?" You raise your brow.

"The brief is better."

The elevator dings, and he gestures for you to step inside first, like he's some kind of gentleman. You'd roll your eyes at him for it if you weren't busy narrowing them in response to his choice of words.

"What do you mean, 'better'?" You ask.

"It means it's better," he repeats, stepping inside after you, "but you can still do better."

He presses the main floor button, and you watch in annoyance. You grip your handbag tight, wondering why 'better' feels worse than 'sloppy' or 'lazy' ever did. Whatever, you think.

"It's good enough."

"It is."

"Then why are you complaining?" You snap.

"I'm not." He replies simply. The elevator doors open to the main floor, and he gestures for you again. Just when you think he’s done, he continues, "I'm just saying you're capable of more."

"Well, I don't want to do more."

You step out, and you fully intend on walking far, far away from the conversation so that you no longer have to simmer in irritation.

"Alright. Sure."

Your steps halt, and for a moment, you watch him as he walks past you. With a frown, you take a few hurried steps forward, intending to catch up with his long-legged strides.

"What the hell do you mean by—"

You lose your balance, as one does when they try to jog in stilettos, and you feel yourself starting to fall face-forward. Then, he catches you by the arm. Blinking up at him a few times, you feel your pulse racing. You try to convince yourself it's from the panic of nearly tripping and nothing more.

"Careful," he utters as he steadies you.

His hand doesn't linger longer than it needs to. His distance is professional, his tone polite. There is absolutely nothing about the moment that should be making your heart race the way that it does.

You notice he moves a bit slower with his next step, allowing you the time to catch up.

"I meant that, for someone who claims they don't care about this job," he begins, pushing the door open and holding it for you, "You seem quite bothered by my feedback."

"You are what bothers me," you quip rather defensively, walking through the door.

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual."

A few cars away, your name is called, and you both turn. Jay is there, waving to you from where he leans against his car.

A faint smile spreads across Mr. Park's face. It's different from the one he wears around the office, more amused than it is polite, though you vaguely wonder if there is something else to it you can't quite place. He doesn't seem to be trying to hide it, regardless, as it lingers on his lips.

"Better not keep him waiting, hm?" He teases, and you feel a flush rush to your cheeks.

He begins to walk away, half-glancing back over his shoulder.

"Enjoy your evening."

[Thursday]

You're ready this time. On time. A coffee cup, half finished, as you type away.

You decided sometime last night— as Jay snored at your side, and you lay awake in frustration after having to fake an orgasm for the first time in years— that 'better' wasn't enough.

You do real research this time, instead of glazing over lines from Wikipedia and paraphrasing them. You organize it all, formatted to the expected standard format, in neat little sections, revise it until you can’t find a single flaw, over and over. You do everything you can until finally, you send it, checking your phone for the time. Barely past noon, and you were already finished.

You lean back in your chair with a satisfied smile and turn to the side to see Mr. Yang looking straight at you.

"What?"

"Oh. Nothing, just," he shakes his head, "I've never seen you that focused before."

His eyes go wide at the realization of what he'd just said, and he begins to scramble. He smiles, a look that screams 'please don't get me fired'.

"I mean, don't get me wrong! I'm not saying you're not focused or anything, or..."

His words fade to white noise in your mind as you spare a glance towards Mr. Park's office, smiling at the thought of when you'd be called in— you wonder what he might be thinking. If he's reading it right now. If he's shocked or maybe even proud.

Except he never calls you in. You refresh your inbox the rest of your shift, thinking he might've at least said something. Anything. He doesn't even stop by your desk or return your glances from across the office, and you decide to finally do what you always seem to do anyway, which is barge straight in.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

He doesn't look up, immersed in something else as he types faster than you think any human should be capable of typing. He’s probably busy. You sometimes forget that he actually has work he has to do, unlike you. But still, you find yourself frowning, shifting your weight where you stand, a good distance away from his desk.

"My work."

"What about it?" He responds quick.

So he did read it, you think, which does nothing to soothe your growing discomfort as you process his lukewarm reaction.

"...Your thoughts?"

He stops typing for a moment, sparing you a glance. Just one single glance, and a small smile.

"It's good."

He immediately returns to working, and you stand there. You just stand there.

"That's all you have to say?"

"Your work is good. You did a good job. What else can I say?"

"I did a good job," you repeat, trying not to seethe.

That's when he stops typing. And somewhat amused, he looks at you.

"What, are you expecting a gold star?" He teases, shaking his head. It's not meant to be cruel. You've seen how he speaks when he's trying to be. And yet, it cuts deeper than his cruelty ever has. "You finally did what I expect from everyone here, and what I already knew you were capable of doing. So good job for proving me right."

Your jaw tightens, and his eyes seem to drop, noticing how your hands tremble.

"Alright. Don't be like that," he starts, his tone softer this time. It does not make you feel any better. "I am pleased to see that you're finally making a real effort."

You exhale sharply through your nose as you watch him get up, circling the desk. And soon, a hand is at your back, gently guiding you to the door.

"But you know what would please me even more? Consistency."

You wince when he pats your back, like that's supposed to be supportive.

"So why don't you get back to it and—"

"You think I care about pleasing you?" You manage, swallowing the lump at the back of your throat, pretending like your heart isn't sinking in your chest because the hours of work you spent perfecting that stupid brief only earned you a good job and a pat on the back. Your hands curl into fists, and you're not sure why. You've gotten a bad grade or two before— disappointed a teacher here and there, felt the shame of failure. But this, right now? You'd never felt so pathetic. “ ‘cause I don't. I just did it so you don't embarrass me in front of everyone again. That's all."

He observes you, seeing how you avert his gaze, how you shift your weight from one leg to the other. You begin to blink, your eyes glossy.

"Maybe I should rephrase myself," He goes on carefully, "You're taking it the wrong way."

"Like I said. I don't care. So don't—" you inhale, "So whatever. Fuck you."

He lets out a deep, heavy sigh.

"Let's not take it there," he warns, sternly, "Good isn't an insult—“

"Then what part of it isn't good enough? What could've possibly fallen short of your standards, Mr. Park?"

Annoyed, but still patient, he observes. Finally, he moves towards the desk, and you watch with your fists still clenched at your sides.

"You want feedback. Is that it?” He asks, pulling out his desk chair, “You could've simply asked."

You watch as he beckons you.

"Come. Sit."

You do. And he hovers behind you, right hand on the mouse, his left on the desk, caging you in. You’re hyper aware of how close he is, with how his cologne invades your senses, and how you can hear him muttering low to himself as he pulls up the document you’d sent. You lay your palms flat against your lap.

"This, right here? It's too much. Same thing here. Here. And here. You're overcompensating,” he cuts straight to the point.

"Thought you wanted me to try harder?" You mutter.

"And I think it's sweet that you're trying, missy, but the goal is not to impress me." A low chuckle escapes him, going straight through you. "The goal is to be as clear and concise as possible."

Your jaw tightens, unsure if it’s in response to his annoyingly condescending criticism, or because you’re trying to fight the dirty thoughts of him that you just can’t quite push away, no matter how hard you’ve tried to over the past week. He continues, clicking to another section.

"This, here? Correct, but completely disorganized—"

"Still correct."

"Still disorganized," he affirms. You take a few deep breaths, and he's humming to himself as he highlights all the problem areas on his screen, "You have a tendency to be messy, don't you? Messy, messy, messy..."

You close your eyes as he trails off, acutely aware of how his voice, low and just inches from your ear, is driving you insane. He scrolls down and stops at the final section.

"Ah, and this rambling nonsense. This is the worst part." Your hands curl into fists at your lap, pretending like you don't feel his eyes shift to you, directly, "What was the point of this?"

"I don't know."

"You wrote it. You must know."

"Like...” you fumble, reeling in your thoughts as you continue, “to give my opinion, I guess? Or... something."

He allows you to scramble over your words for longer than necessary, and you wonder at this point if he just enjoys watching you suffer. Then, you wonder why you enjoy the thought of him enjoying watching you suffer. You take in a deep breath, reminding yourself to calm the fuck down.

"My job is to make the opinions. Yours is to give the information."

You wince when you watch him click 'delete' on the entire last section, and something inside you snaps. You spent hours on that. For him to just— You inhale, slow, controlled, desperate not to show that any of this bothers you at all, because why should it?

"Like I said. It's good." He says.

"Is it now?" You scoff.

He stares. Unmoving. You try to get up, but a hand on your shoulder keeps you planted in the chair, without much force at all. His gravitational pull is enough to keep you there, regardless, you suppose. He spins you around to face him.

"You asked for honesty. That's what I gave you." He replies, "You don't get to be sensitive about my response."

"Never said I was."

"You look like you want to kill me."

You have to fight the urge not to let your eyes drop from his, down to his pretty, full, frowning lips. God, how you wish killing was the only thing you wanted to do to him right now.

"I always look like that, Mr. Park," you scoff, "Hard not to."

"You know, I'm really getting tired of this."

"What's this?"

"Your attitude." He sighs, shaking his head. Exhausted from this. From you. From every exchange turning into something difficult. "Do you always have to throw a hissy fit when things don't go your way? I have real responsibilities here that I need to tend to. I can't spend every hour of the work day lecturing you."

"Says the one who turns everything I do into a lecture," You retort. "Seriously. Sometimes it's like you're finding an excuse to talk down to me, or something."

For some reason, this makes him freeze, like he'd only just noticed how close he was to you. You supposed you hadn't fully realized it either. He's close enough that you can see the moles on his face, the texture on his clear skin, and each individual one of his pretty lashes as he looks at you through them.

His tone is pissed, but his expression is... something else entirely. Wide-eyed, jaw clenched tight. His hand twitches, where it rests on your shoulder.

"You think I like talking down to you?"

"Don't you? Why else would you be doing it so much?" You tease, telling yourself it's just to get under his skin. But, you feel yourself start to grin just a little, your voice a little slow, the hint of something that shouldn't be there beneath the surface. "You do this with all your interns? Get all up in their face and insult them and call them names?"

He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn't appear amused either. He’s still. Uneasy.

"Just the ones who don't know their place.”

You wait for him to tell you to get out. To call you a stupid, immature intern or something along those lines, as he can never quite help himself from reminding you. To your surprise, he doesn't.

"Oh?" You tilt your head, and your grin spreads wider. Your hands curl in your lap, heart pounding in your chest as you continue, unthinking, "You're gonna put me in my place, Mr. Park?"

"Don't tempt me to,” his response is quicker this time, and you catch a glimmer of something dangerous in that calculated gaze of his.

"I'd like to see you try."

His mouth twitches, like he’s suppressing a smile as he looks you up and down. Then he laughs, hand tightening at your shoulder ever so slightly as he leans to your ear.

"You don't know what you're asking for, Miss—"

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, and the two of you jump apart as if you'd just been shocked. Immediately, you stand up from your seat, and Mr. Park turns around to face the window, a hand running through his hair, neither one of you daring to comment.

"I should go."

"Yes,” he clears his throat, “Keep up the good work."

"I won't,” you return with a weak laugh, wincing as you leave.

There, at the door, you find Mr. Yang, eyes nervously glancing past you to try and meet Mr. Park’s, hands gripping the file folder in his hands like they’ll fly away. He offers you a polite nod, before trying to brush by you.

"Mr. Park, I wanted to ask about tomorrow—“

"If you have a question, you can send it to my inbox,” he snaps back, looking over his shoulder, “Leave. both of you.”

"But—"

Thankfully, you're shooing Mr. Yang out of the way, shutting the door behind both of you, reading the room for once in your life.

Finally alone, Mr. Park sinks into his chair, looking down at himself, half-hard in his pants. He brings a hand to his face, groaning to himself.

Surely, it's just the result of it being a long ass time since the last time he'd gotten any kind of action— not since he'd signed his divorce papers two years ago, parting ways with a flame that had long since burned out and refused to reignite.

No. Even he's not sure he can convince himself that's the real reason. Truthfully, the only thing he can blame is the one thing that he doesn't want to admit to himself; that despite all the sighs of frustration and headaches you've caused him, you're not exactly the worst distraction to have at his desk. Pretty, quick-witted at times, short-tempered and, well... very entertaining.

Truth be told, he'd encountered many interns over the years whose work ethics were similar if not worse. You're just more annoying and worse at hiding your phone beneath your desk. And, more intriguingly, you’re the first employee he’s never had to pretend to tolerate.

It was refreshing, to say the least, to be able to say exactly how he feels to your face instead of letting the resentment fester and build, with no way to let it out, like it seems to with everyone else. And yet, no matter how many times he loses his temper, or lets his mask slip, you only return with the same whiny, bitchy little attitude you always do— like you’re begging to be put in your place.

He wants to bury himself at his own train of thought, guilty for even thinking any of it in the first place. He’s your superior. He’s supposed to be guiding you, and he’s put in a great deal of effort to establish some kind of trust with you. Today it finally paid off, seeing as you came to him in search of his approval— and yet here he was getting turned on by it like some kind of creep.

Annoyed and deciding there is no point in dwelling on the thought any longer, he looks to his screen, quickly closing the document.

Fine. You’re attractive. He can admit that to himself. It’s not a crime to think it. But he’s not in college anymore, and though the thought of having his way with you may crawl its way to the forefront of his mind on occasion, it would always remain a thought and nothing more.

[Friday]

You stare at him all morning. Obviously.

How could you not, when the way you jumped apart from one another lingers heavily on your mind? You can still feel his casual touch on your shoulder, his voice at your ear, the scent of him. It’s all-consuming.

Shamefully, a part of your mind wants to search for an excuse to bother him again. You could act out. Go back to avoiding your work and texting instead, hoping he'd come by and talk down to you in that low, stern voice of his. The thought was all too tempting, though it had no business being— you know, given you have a whole ass caring, kind and tender boyfriend.

You mentally scold yourself. There is something extremely wrong with you for even entertaining the thought of ruining your Friday night plans with Jay, just so you can get held behind and berated in your boss's office, isn't there?

"He seems stressed, doesn't he?" Mr. Yang— or rather, Jungwon, as you'd recently learned— comments. "He always gets like this before client presentations. We always say it's the only time he seems human."

You try not to seem too surprised by the fact that there is a presentation today, praying there is enough time to review the client's portfolio.

Everyone begins to file towards the conference room later, and you clutch your laptop in your hands, repeating information in your head as you follow suit, but a firm grasp at your arm halts your steps.

"You won't be expected to speak. In fact, it's better you don't," He mutters, "Understood?"

You nod. Because what else can you even manage to say when he’s speaking like that to you?

You think you finally understand just why he's so tense when you sit down in the room, eyes landing on the various faces around the room. A Senior Executive, whose name escapes you, but whom you've shaken hands with more than once over the years, given his working relationship with your father. Senior Clients and their teams, ready to ask probing, technical questions.

Mr. Park leads like he always does—clean, controlled, efficient, with enough friendliness in his demeanour to appease the obscenely wealthy men he is trying to close a deal with. Every slide transitions exactly when it should, every point lands, and you follow instead of drifting like you used to.

You suppose you could say it's just because you're ogling him, but even in the midst of that, you find yourself nodding along to the presentation, comparing it with the overview document open on your laptop as he speaks.

"We're taking a conservative position going into the next quarter," he says, clicking forward. "Stability over aggressive expansion."

There's a pause as he clicks to the next slide, but your brows furrow at his words.

What he’s saying is not at all what you’re reading… and normally, you would chalk it up to your own ignorance but a direct contradiction of his own words cannot be a misinterpretation.

"Didn't we model a more aggressive expansion for Q3?" You mutter beneath your breath, only intended for yourself.

It’s barely audible, but the room, still and tense, picks up on it. Jungwon, sitting at your side, nudges you, shooting a worried glance.

A few eyes turn— not many, but Mr. Park’s do. His lock onto you, something flickering behind them. He doesn’t seem to realize how dangerous that look is, does he? He has no idea how a single glare has you crossing your legs in the middle of a conference room full of people.

"That was one of several scenarios," he replies evenly.

You nod, instinctively, and look back at your screen like you should. Just as you should keep your mouth shut. And you really were planning to behave today, you swear it, but...

"But it showed stronger returns," you add, just a little bit louder than before— Just enough to appear unintentional to everyone else again, but not enough to convince him. This time, Jungwon looks like he’s about to die on your behalf.

You relish the way he freezes, reeling himself back in to keep himself from glaring at you. That's all you really intended— to shake him, just a little, like you always do. So, it surprises you when a few heads begin to lift.

"I also thought the aggressive model was still under consideration," one of the senior analysts hesitates before nodding to you, then looking back to Mr. Park, "Was it scrapped?"

"Surely, it must be incorporated into the final recommendation?" another adds.

The room starts to buzz, a few murmurs are exchanged, papers shifting as a few flip back through their notes, and you sit there, frozen, because you weren't actually expecting anyone to take anything you say seriously.

"Because if the returns are—"

"The aggressive model was one of several evaluated scenarios," Mr. Park states finally, smoothing out the sharpness of his tone with an easy smile. He continues as the room settles, "The final recommendation reflects the conservative projection. Now, moving forward..."

The room follows, and you keep your mouth firmly shut the rest of the time. Because you know you've done more than enough.

When it ends, chairs scrape softly against the floor. Conversations resume—low, professional, and you gather your things slowly, not daring to look at him. You overhear it as the Senior Executive you'd recognized from before moves to shake hands with him.

"That was a bit messy, Park. I'd expect tighter control from someone in your position," He says, and though you don't turn, you can feel his eyes drift towards you, "And you might want to be more deliberate with how your team contributes in these settings."

"Of course, Mr. Lee."

Subject: Revision

From: Park Sunghoon

Revise and reformat the attached document. I expect a clean version tonight. Thanks, Park Sunghoon Chief Investment Officer

You were in the midst of getting ready to leave for the evening, packing up your belongings and fantasizing about all the ways Jay would hopefully relieve the ache between your legs tonight, when suddenly that bullshit appears in your inbox.

If he wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier, he could've called you into his office earlier. But no. He chose to assign you a meaningless task at the last minute.

You stare at it, and before you know it, you’re storming down the hall, pushing past his door to find him packing up his own things. He’s slipping his laptop into his work bag, completely unsurprised as you come right up to the desk.

"I know I fucked up, but is that really necessary?" You begin, fuming, "I didn't even mean to cause a scene. I was just reading the notes you provided."

He sets his work bag down, looking to you. His expression is rigid.

"You disrupted the flow of a client presentation," he says, voice tight now, controlled but slipping, "and introduced confusion where there shouldn't have been any."

"I clarified—"

"You contradicted me,” he cuts you off, practically hissing as he continues, “That wasn't your place, intern."

"You contradicted yourself and giving me bullshit to do on a Friday night as punishment won't change that," You retort too quickly, knowing you are right this time, "I have plans!"

"I don't care," he scoffs, voice slowly rising, "the same way you don't seem to care about undermining my authority, so far as having the audacity to do so in front of everyone."

"I asked a harmless question!"

"Harmless?" he laughs, "you humiliated me—"

"Oh, did I?" You snap, "how does it feel?"

He pauses for a moment, and you watch him circle the desk, standing right in front of you, a respectable distance away but… still.

"You think this is some sort of game?"

"I just think you're being unfair,” you swallow.

Now that really seems to make him want to laugh, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. He approaches you, slow and steady, until you’re backed against the desk, hands curling around the edge of it.

"The only thing that's unfair is how you seem to think you can do whatever you like, say whatever you want, and get away with it, like a spoiled, selfish little brat." You gape at his words, trying to find the words to retort, but pathetically, a heat pools in your lower stomach like it always does when he has you cornered like this. "So go on. Do your job. And while you're at it, better let that boyfriend of yours know that you're busy."

Your face burns, and your hands curl tighter around the desk. How dare he piss you off like this, then expect you to get your work done, all hot and bothered?

"With how much you like to call me in here and berate me,” you begin, venom dripping with every last word, “I'm starting to think you like it when I act like a brat."

His hand lands on the desk behind you, and he glares, inches away from you.

"I dare you to say that again."

"You like it when I—"

He grabs your chin, firm in his grasp as he forces you to look at him in those wild, untamed eyes of his.

"How many times do I have to remind you to look at me when you speak?" He says. "Go on."

You stare, and you breathe. Unmoving, hesitant.

"You like it when I act like a brat. When I give you an excuse to tell me off. Makes you feel real important, doesn't it? Like you're the big bad boss, with all this control."

He smiles, cruelly.

"Aren’t you the one who likes it when I'm in control?”

His eyes drop to your quivering lips, then the way you squeeze your thighs together.

"You know how I know? Because you just don't seem to listen when I'm nice. But when I'm mean, when I don't give you exactly what you want, suddenly... you're kicking down my office door, begging for my attention,” his lips are inches from yours now, and you can feel him breathing. “You don't realize how obvious you are, do you? You fall in line so easily."

He finishes, and you wait. Your whole body buzzes with anticipation, Jay being the furthest thing from your mind. But, looking at him, you watch as his hardened expression softens— pained, almost. He doesn't lean away just yet, hand still firmly planted into the desk, until he releases a regretful sigh.

"Get to work. I mean it this time."

You furrow your brows, watching him start to turn his head away, but he’s one big idiot if he thinks for a single second he can just corner you like that, expose that he can read your deepest desires like an open book, and walk away right after, like it never happened— like he isn’t clearly flushed in the face and pitching a tent in his pants right now— like he doesn’t want this as much as you do. As if you’d ever let him get away with that.

In one swift movement, your hand wraps around his tie, and you tug his lips to yours. And as relieved as you are to finally be tasting him, to have your mouth on his, you don't let yourself relax into it just yet— not when you have something to prove. You trace your tongue along his lower lip, gently coaxing his mouth open, and he fucking groans when you do, kissing you back with equal desperation, but much more restraint.

You’re heaving when he pulls away, like you’d forgotten how to breathe, and he stares down at you. Conflicted. Guilty. Annoyed. Speechless.

"Oh no, Mr. Park... did I just misbehave?" You flash him a not-so-innocent smile, fingers curling around his tie, "Guess you'll have to punish me for that, right?"

You're barely able to catch the flicker of annoyance in his expression before he’s grinning wickedly, one hand at your waist while the other moves to your face. His lips are on yours in an instant, swallowing your squeal of surprise, and every other stupidly pathetic sound you seem to make against your will. Every part of you is burning hot, sensitive to the touch, and he seems to enjoy the way you squirm at the simple feeling of his thumb rubbing circles into your waist. Your mouth parts as it slips beneath your blouse, just grazing the bare skin beneath it.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asks, teasingly, “Just wanted me to touch you? Is that why you’re always bothering me?”

You nod fervently, feeling his hand dip between your thighs. You swear your brain begins to short-circuit as he drags his hand painfully slow across your skin, torturing you right up until the moment he’s found your clothed cunt, soaked in your arousal. As if that wasn't evidence enough of how badly you were craving him, you helplessly move your hips against his hand, where he palms you.

"So fucking desperate,” he’s still grinning as he pulls away from your lips, just so he can watch you try to suppress your pretty sounds as he slips past the fabric just to tease you, letting your slick coat his fingers, sliding up and down your folds.

“Oh, now you want to shut up?” He teases.

The hand on your face cups your chin, his thumb sliding to your mouth to keep it parted, just so he can hear exactly what he’s doing to you as he sinks two fingers inside you. His dick twitches in his pants as you moan, breathless and needy, just begging to be filled.

"So fucking pathetic."

You clench around him at his words, fingers curling into you and hitting you right where you desperately needed them to for so long. You gasp when he offers another slow, torturous thrust, before fucking his fingers into you.

Your lashes flutter shut, trying to form a cohesive thought.

"Says you,” you say, eyeing his painfully hard and large erection in his pants. But your eyes fall shut again when his fingers angle into you just right.

"Says me," he echoes, satisfied as your words catch in your throat, "me, who's barely touched you, yet you clench around me like you're about to fucking cum."

Uselessly, you try shaking your head, but then he's fucking his fingers into you like his life depends on it, and you're crying out, grasping onto him. You can feel that familiar feeling start to unravel in you all too soon, too worked up to fight him, too fucking attracted to him to resist it, either. He's so tall, and broad, and freakishly handsome that it almost scares you. You wish you had the strength to peel those layers of clothes right off of him, to see all of him for yourself, and worship every inch of him.

"Who knew that all I had to do to get you to stop being a bitch, was to treat you like one?" He says cruelly, before slowing the pace of his fingers conveniently when you've almost reached your high. "But acting like a bitch doesn't get you what you want."

You whine pathetically when his fingers pull away from you, but he ignores your desperate pleas.

"Mr. Park..."

"I'm guessing you were never taught any manners. Looks like I will have to teach you."

He moves to sit on his chair, and you watch, eyeing the obscene bulge in his pants, only tearing your eyes away when he gestures for you to follow. You follow suit, assuming he means for you to climb into his lap, but before you can mount him, he's grabbing you, folding you over his lap.

With your skirt pushed up, revealing your ass and those little panties which barely cover anything, he's stroking your bare skin. Feeling, groping, never touching you where you need him to most. You can feel just how hard he is now, pressed against you, and it fucking kills you that his grip on your hips won't allow you to grind down against him.

"You wanna be punished?" His voice is soft, but there is nothing kind or good-intentioned about it. You nod, letting out a weak yes. "I'll show you punishment."

There's a pause in the air, heavy breathing as he traces the edges of your underwear, watching it snap back against your skin when he lets go.

"But I'm not gonna be generous, like your daddy." his hand cracks down on your ass, and you yelp, squirming as his large, strong hands keep you in place. "And I'm not gonna be sweet like your little boyfriend who clearly doesn't know how to fuck you right."

He spanks you again, this time with a little more force, and your back arches, crying out. Your pussy clenches around nothing.

"I'm gonna do things my way. And fucking hopefully, when I'm done, my dumb little intern will learn to treat her superior with respect. Got that?"

"Yes, Mr. P—"

You nod, crying out when his hand makes impact with your ass again, and your hips try to rock against nothing.

"Eager to please, are you?" He chuckles, hand rubbing up and down, while the other threads through your hair, lifting your head just enough to whisper in your ear. He pinches your clit, smiling at your little noises. "You're a lot cuter when you're playing nice."

Releasing his grasp on you, he allows you to crawl into his lap. Your lips meet his instantly, your mouth hot and desperate as you grind your hips into his lap. You swear, you're seeing stars at the feeling of his cock against you, and all you want to do is release it from its confines, when suddenly, you're being lowered to the floor.

You blink up at him, on your knees, as his hand meets your chin.

"Touch yourself."

"...huh?"

"Don't make me ask again," he states, stroking your cheek, "You remember what I said about fixing your own problems, don't you? So play with yourself while you tell me how sorry you are for earlier. Then, maybe I'll think about fucking you."

It's humiliating, to say the least, as you peel your panties down and spread your legs for him. But that's exactly why he asked you to do it, didn't he? His eyes are on you, carefully observing as your hand moves down, rubbing yourself in slow circles.

You can't even remember the last time you'd done this on your own, with your hand. Even before Jay, you'd become accustomed to your trusty vibrator to get the job done quickly, dismissively, like it was some chore you were too bothered to take care of. Your face burns as you roll your hips into your hand, while the other works at the buttons of your blouse, enough to palm your chest through your bra.

"M'sorry."

"For?" He questions, "There are a lot of things you need to apologize for, my pretty little intern."

Your eyes drag down to where his hand palms himself through his pants, a whimper catching in your throat as you look back up, "Sorry for embarrassing you today."

"And?"

"For being a brat," you sigh, your finger poking at the entrance of your cunt. He watches it sink in, adoring how frustrated you are with that simply not being enough. His hand moves over his crotch, palming himself absent-mindedly. "For having an attitude. For showing up late. For n-not doing my job right... for— ah"

Honestly, he loses his train of thought watching you slip another finger into yourself, watching your eyes flutter, and your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you ride your hand pitifully. It doesn't take long for him to get his cock out, stroking himself as he watches you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers, your wetness seeping past your fingers and staining the carpet under his desk. You mutter incoherent apologies between whines and gasps until you look to him, licking your lips as you eye his erection.

"Mr. Park," you're whining as your movements become more erratic, "Please... s'not enough, need more..."

Hand still at his cock, he moves forward to place the tip of his cock at his mouth.

"You forgot one last thing," he says as he sinks into your mouth. He doesn't care about how you gag around his length, sliding in until he reaches the back of your throat. "To apologize for starting this. But I don't think you feel sorry about that part, do you?"

He laughs, watching you shake your head, trying to reply with your mouth full. He pulls back for a moment, allowing you a moment to breathe, adoring how you cough and pant, eyes slightly tear-stained.

“Well?”

“M’not sorry,” you finally say, careful not to smile too widely, but it’s hard to hide your look of satisfaction when you’re exactly where you want to be, “Not sorry at all.”

"Dirty girl,” he breathes, “You'll just have to make it up to me."

He sinks back into your throat as you touch yourself, just adoring the way you moan around him every time he tugs your scalp, and how you drool all over him. Enthusiastic and eager to please, he thinks he's obsessed with how you look up at him all wide-eyed, saliva and precum escaping the corners of your mouth from how he's stuffing it full.

He finds himself approaching his orgasm quicker than he would expect at his grown age, having thought he'd left that hormonal, insatiable version of himself he was in his twenties behind. He doesn't mind, though. He's sure you don't either, given how he's working your poor little throat to death.

"Gonna cum, and you're gonna swallow. And you're gonna fucking thank me for it afterwards."

You try to whine in approval, weakly, and he groans, burying himself to the hilt as he spills down your throat, and when he pulls back, he grabs your mouth, humming in approval at the sight cum in your mouth, on your tongue, opened wide for him. You make a show of swallowing it, moaning like it's the best thing you've ever tasted, smiling up at him after like you're searching for a hint of pride in his expression. And fuck, is he proud of you.

"Fuck," he breathes, "You're such a fucking slut."

You barely have time to process what's happening before he's sprawling you over the desk, pens and whatever the fuck else falling to the floor as your back collides with the hard surface. He's hovering above you, tie above your face as two of his fingers sink into your cunt, and god, you're just thankful to finally have something more than the shallow thrust of your own fingers inside of you.

His long, thick fingers curl right into that spot inside of you, and your eyes roll back, not taking much to build you up again. Soon, he's lowering himself, and when you feel his mouth on your clit, you're thrashing around.

"Now, remember what I said?" He coos, "Let me hear it. Say it nicely for me."

"Thank you— ah!" You cry out, fingers curling into his hair.

He's grimacing to himself as your legs fall over his shoulders, pulling his face closer. Hands threading through his hair, tugging harshly, you begin to fall apart. And after being on the edge for so long, you lose yourself around his fingers, his tongue lapping up every last drop.

A string of thank yous leaves your mouth, trailing off into whimpers, but his mouth doesn't leave between your legs until you're practically kicking and shoving his face away, overly stimulated. Still trying to wrap your head around whatever the fuck he just did to you, he's above you now.

As you come down, he hovers above you, and as he gazes over you, taking in how absolutely gorgeous you look spread out on his desk, more than ready to fuck the ever living shit out of you... He then sighs, a hand dragging down his face at the sheer realization of what he's done, and just what he's about to do.

He's supposed to be your mentor, a role model. That's the dynamic he had tried to establish with you, anyway, when he realized how much guidance you lacked and how severely insecure you are behind all the designer handbags, diamonds, and whatnot.

In a moment of weakness, he leans down, kissing you, hands moving to cup your face. He swallows your whines, lost in the kiss when—

"Mr. Park," you whine, dragging out his name in that annoying, breathy tone you always did. Now, he thinks he'll never hear it the same. "You gonna fuck me, or what?"

With a heavy, frustrated sigh, he pulls away from your lips— and of course, you're there, smiling up at him. Because you're exactly where you want to be, getting exactly what you want from him.

He flips you around, bent over the desk, and bottoms you out, quite literally knocking the wind out of you at the sheer force and size of him inside you. He's fucking huge, stretching you open, fucking you so deep you swear you feel him in your guts.

Your nails curl around the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as you take him, back arching, and a cry rips from your throat as his hand smacks your ass. You clench around him in response.

"Greedy whore. So fucking impatient," he groans. "Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you. Fill your tight little cunt."

You're gushing around him when he slaps your ass again, kneading the flesh, gasping with every deep thrust of him. There's not a thought behind your eyes as he takes his frustration out on you, head completely empty, your pussy completely full.

He can't say that his head is all that clear, either, though. Completely gone at the sight of you, a pretty, young thing wrapped tight around his cock like you'd never been fucked properly before. You probably hadn't, he's sure. Guys your age probably make it to three pumps before finishing from the sight of you all spread out alone— hell, he knows he would've if he were still the dumbass he was back then.

God, wasn't it just incredible to see you all wide-eyed and precious, knowing he'd just fundamentally changed the trajectory of your sex life forever. You'd never be able to go back to whatever bullshit you did with that trust-fund boyfriend of yours. Selfishly, he grins at the thought, and he's pulled out of them when he hears your cries get louder.

"I'm close, I'm—"

He grabs a fistful of your hair, dragging you enough so he can see your face.

"Yeah? You think you deserve it?" He slows down, letting his cock drag deliciously and torturously along your fluttering walls. "Think you deserve to cum around my cock?"

You whine, pleas falling from your lips, begging. Grinning to himself, he pulls out, just to flip you around again, because he doesn't want to miss a single second of seeing your dumbstruck, fucked-out face as you finish on his cock.

He throws your legs over his shoulders and places his cock between your legs, dragging the tip over your needy, soaked cunt. It would be a real sweet revenge to jerk himself, coating your poor, desperate cunt in his release, watching it twitch and throb as you beg for completion, wouldn't it?

He shouldn't give you what you want. But...

"You always have it your way," He scoffs, half at himself as he presses into you again, hand braced around your neck. "Spoiled little brat."

Your eyes roll back, and he fucks you through your high, the desk shaking with every thrust, your cries spilling from your pretty lips. He finishes sometime after, spilling deep into your cunt as you flutter around him.

He watches you breathe, his head clearing, the reality of what had just happened and what he'd just done weighing on him. He's already planning how he's going to clean up this mess, when he's going to buy you plan B, how the fuck he's going to go back to work next week and even function properly when—

"Holy shit, Mr. Park," you let out a breathy laugh, "You're such a freak. Where the fuck did you learn any of that?"

He blinks down at you, a second passing before a wolfish grin spreads across his face.

"Let's just say I got around in my younger years.”

[...]

"...GENE Group is currently positioned as a mid-market fashion brand," you begin, voice steady, "but over the past two quarters, there's been a measurable shift toward premium positioning."

You look around the conference room, noting how a few heads lift as you stand before the presentation slides behind you. But there's only one pair of eyes that carries any real weight, and not just because he's evaluating you.

"Retail partnerships have been reduced by thirty percent. The average unit price is up twelve. And their latest collection was distributed exclusively through flagship locations and direct online channels. They're not scaling anymore," you state, hand tightening around the clicker before moving to the next slide. "They're narrowing."

"Speculation."

Your mouth twitches, narrowing your eyes in his direction, careful not to let it linger for too long.

"The data supports a directional shift—"

"It supports a possibility," Mr. Park cuts in, sharper this time, in a tone that he knows you fall apart for. "You're assigning intent."

All eyes are on you now, and you nod once, taking in a slow, steady breath as you cool down your thoughts.

"Then I'll rephrase," you say, smooth, controlled. "The company's recent decisions suggest a move toward premium positioning, supported by reduced distribution and higher price anchoring."

"Better."

Your face is hot now, as is the rest of you, but you ignore it. You click to the next slide. Focus.

"If this transition is intentional, short-term performance will continue to decline," you continue, clearing your throat. "Which explains the current undervaluation—“

"But long-term, a successful repositioning increases brand equity and margin." Someone at the table leans forward, talking down to you like you're some kind of dumbass— which is something you tolerate from one man and one man only.

You scan the room, eyes finding the person in question, recognizing him as one of the sleazeballs who joked about you sleeping with the boss outside the bathroom a few weeks ago. And, well, you are fucking your boss now, you suppose, but at least you're getting laid. You doubt he can say the same.

"This creates a timing opportunity," you reply with a steady smile, "The market is pricing GENE as a declining mid-tier brand. But if the repositioning holds, it becomes a premium asset at a discount. This is where we enter—"

"This section," Mr. Park gestures, "is unnecessary."

You swallow, eyes returning to him.

"It contextualizes the valuation gap—"

"It buries your argument."

"Finish this faster" is what he's really trying to say, seeing how he glares at you like he's trying to look through your clothes. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead nodding.

"Then I'll summarize. In short," you click to the final slide, pulse racing as you continue, "we're not investing in what the company is today. We're investing in what it's trying to become—before the market fully recognizes it. And if they fail, the downside is already priced in."

"So based on current data," you finish, "GENE is a moderate-risk, high-upside opportunity contingent on execution."

You hear a few mutters of approval around the room, smiling to yourself both in relief and anticipation as you wait for him to speak. A second passes as he types a few notes into his laptop.

"Next time, lead with that. There's no need to make people wait for your point. It's a waste of everyone's time," Mr. Park sighs.

He's already closing his laptop shut and tucking it under his arm. And with a polite hand grazing your shoulder, he brushes past you.

"Meet me in my office after."

You have to bite down on your lip to suppress a grin.

"Yes, Mr. Park."

"Everyone is dismissed," he calls out as he exits.

The room gets up, and you collect your things, quietly buzzing with excitement. A few coworkers offer a nod of approval in passing, and some offer a word of encouragement, and you nod wordlessly, thoughtlessly, because all you can really think about is getting into his office before you go insane.

"Hey, don't look so down. You did a great job."

"Hm?" You look up, and Jungwon is there, offering a kind, pitiful smile.

"I've never seen him that harsh... but he's probably just upset over what happened at the client presentation a few weeks ago," He says. You bite your tongue, pretending to hide a frown. "I'm sure he'll warm up again soon. Especially if you keep working hard."

"Yeah." You smile, "I'm sure he will."

You're propped up on his desk, your legs wrapped around his waist as his lips press against yours, groaning into you.

His hands are all over you, at your hips, then at the collar of your blouse, slowly working at the buttons so that he can move his lips down your chest instead, marking you up where your clothes will at least be able to cover you. Though you're gasping when you feel his hand start to climb up your skirt already, before the work day is even over.

"You dragged out that presentation on purpose, didn't you?" He scoffs into your neck, "Made me sit there, thinking about spreading you out on that conference table."

"Sunghoon..." You breathe.

"Not at work," He says sternly.

"Mr. Park," You then continue, whimpering as his lips worship your skin, "Don't you think you were too harsh earlier?"

"Was I? Thought I was just giving feedback, the way you like to hear it," he replies, his fingers now brushing over your arousal. You shiver from the touch, "Think we both know you don't get this wet for praise."

"But was it..." you blink, collecting your thoughts for a moment, breathing hitching, "Was it good?"

He pauses, pulling away just enough to look at you. Taking in your unsure expression, he then cups your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"You didn't need to drag it out, but apart from that, it was great," He smiles sweetly, hesitantly as he quirks a brow, "You want me to be nice today?"

"Not at all," you shake your head, grinning to yourself, "Just wanted to make sure you're still giving honest feedback.”

"I told you I would. No special treatment... apart from this," He kisses down your face, and you giggle, beaming as he drops his face between your legs, "So let me reward my slutty intern properly, hm?"

You're nodding enthusiastically, but before he can get his face between your thighs, his phone is ringing. You whine as he pulls away, pouting as he tosses you a stern look, and without checking, he answers, a hand still stroking your knee.

"Yes?"

You recognize the voice immediately, fighting back a loud snort.

"...of course. She's been improving."

Your dad’s voice drones on the other end, and you’re just about dead seeing Sunghoon reply in that professional tone of his. Desperately trying not to laugh, you clasp a hand over your mouth, ignoring his glares until his expression then shifts.

"Oh?"

He raises a brow at you, and you tilt your head in confusion, hand mindlessly reaching out to play with the end of his tie. His hand continues to slide up and down your thigh.

"I see. That's... unfortunate."

Though for some supposedly ‘unfortunate’ news, he sure is beginning to smile widely, and you can't help but wonder what the hell your dad could've possibly told him. A few more yesses and hums later, he's hanging up the phone. And he looks at you, brow still quirked.

"Your father seems upset," he says, almost casually, amused as he watches your face drop.

"What?" You scramble, “Over what? Does he know about—?”

"He’s upset about you breaking up with that guy."

Ah. Right. Jay.

You tore off the band-aid pretty soon after you slept with Sunghoon, telling him you’d fallen out of love. Though if you're both being honest, you were never in love with him to begin with, and neither was he. He didn't understand. Didn't see it coming. But you figured leaving him confused would be better than continuing to pretend like your heart was in it at all.

Your father was the one who was taking it the hardest, though. Kept calling you and pleading with you to give Jay another chance. Hell, it seems he even took it upon himself to even try calling your boss. It’s moments like these where you want to tell him to just adopt Jay if he loves him so damn much.

"Is he?" You act surprised, "How tragic."

"You really broke up with him?" Sunghoon asks, definitely not disappointed, but a little unsure about how to react, given the complicated nature of your relationship with one another.

"Yeah," you shrug, "Got bored of him, I guess."

With that, he’s grinning.

"Is that what you're calling it?"

"What would you call it?" You return, brow raised as you pull him in by the tie again. His lips ghost yours for a moment, humming to himself thoughtfully.

"...Inevitable?”

Your laugh is cut short by his mouth on yours, a little too pleased to know he hasn’t had to share you these past few weeks. Still, there’s something else in the way he kisses you. Something that feels like a quiet approval that runs deeper than plain jealousy.

"I'm going to miss this job,” you manage as his lips travel down again, nipping at your collarbone.

"Thought you hated it?”

"I like making your job hard..." You smirk, and he glances up at you, while your eyes travel down, "And you, harder."

Maybe that's why dating never quite worked for him. Every time he tried, he felt like he’d missed a tutorial somewhere. He could talk, sure, and he could be funny when he wanted, but halfway through a conversation he always drifted, like thinking about assignments or projects or that interesting research thread he'd meant to look into. People would smile at him politely, the kind of smile that told him they’d already made up their mind: sweet guy, but not for me.

The last time he'd tried going on a date, he’d barely made it through an hour. He’d checked the timestamp afterwards and realized he’d spent exactly forty eight minutes pretending he wasn't thinking about a bug he’d found in his graphics project. He’d texted Jungwon: "bro i think i fumbled bad." Jungwon had sent back a voice note where he laughed so hard he hiccuped. Comforting, in its own way.

Jungwon was one of like three people Heeseung could be around without keeping a mental checklist of normal things to say. They’d been friends since first year when they got paired on a project and realized they both worked better at two in the morning with no one else around. Jungwon was quiet in the same way Heeseung was, but also completely unhinged when it came to code. He’d get an idea and just lock in for days. So one afternoon, while Heeseung was in the lab pretending to fix code he’d actually broken on purpose because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand it, Jungwon walked in with that mischief look. He sat down next to him, opened his laptop, and said, "ok, don’t make fun of me, but I made something."

Heeseung didn’t look up. "Is it stable this time?" which was generous, because Jungwon’s projects were never stable.

"Define stable," Jungwon said, clicking through a folder that had way too many warning icons. "Anyway, it’s a dating sim."

That finally made Heeseung look. "A dating sim? Why?"

"Research." Jungwon always said that when he’d clearly done something for fun and wanted it to sound academic. "It’s called Girlfriend Simulator."

Heeseung stared at him. "That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."

Jungwon didn’t even blink. "Yeah, I know. But I need someone to test it, and you're the only person who’ll actually give me notes instead of lying to make me feel better."

Heeseung wanted to argue, but he was tired and they had a midterm coming up and honestly he didn't care enough to fight. So he sighed and pushed his chair closer. "Fine. Show me." Jungwon grinned like that was all he’d wanted since morning. He opened the build file, and the screen filled with placeholder art, branching choices, and a character slot labeled "y/n_default." And Heeseung, who was too distracted to think twice, just shrugged.

He had no idea that saying yes to that stupid looking game would end up being the most disastrous decision of his entire academic life.

He only agreed because Jungwon wouldn't shut up about it, and because even with all his complaints, he had this soft spot for him that made it hard to say no. Also, he didn’t have anything better to do on a friday night; the rest of their friends were out, and he wasn't in the mood to socialize. And, honestly, he liked games where he could pretend to be slightly less single than he actually was. It was pathetic, sure, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know.

So later that night, Heeseung sat on his bed with the lights off and his switch on max brightness, which was probably not great for his already questionable sleep schedule but whatever. Jungwon had sent him the build file with a message that just said "lmk if it crashes :)" which was not exactly confidence inspiring, but Heeseung had agreed to this so he couldn't really back out now.

The game booted with this weirdly soft 8 bit lullaby that sounded like it was trying to hypnotize him. The title screen was clean, minimalist, just the words "Girlfriend Simulator" in a font that looked expensive. Heeseung snorted. Jungwon had definitely spent more time on the typography than the actual game mechanics, which tracked. Character customization loaded next, and Heeseung had to admit it was smoother than he expected. The interface was intuitive, the options were detailed, and the hairstyle physics were suspiciously good for something Jungwon had supposedly coded in his free time between problem sets.

He made his character half heartedly. Messy hair because that's what he had in real life and he wasn't creative enough to imagine anything else. A hoodie because hoodies were safe. He picked "student" as his class, and when it came to stats, he maxed out "humor" because he genuinely thought he was funny, even if nobody else seemed to agree. Then he looked at "emotional intelligence" and left it at zero. Honesty was important, right?

The loading screen that followed was surprisingly elegant. Just a slow fade to black with some text that read "Your First Meeting" in delicate script. Heeseung settled back against his pillow, expecting the usual dating sim fare: a classroom, a coffee shop, maybe a cherry blossom tree if Jungwon was feeling cliché.

And then the screen flickered. Just once, quick enough that Heeseung thought maybe it was his eyes. But then it happened again and the lights in his bedroom pulsed in sync, like someone had wired his lamp to the game's framerate. "What the hell," Heeseung said to no one. 

The switch started vibrating in his hands. Not the normal rumble feature, but something harder, more insistent, like the controller was trying to shake itself apart. On screen, a figure materialized. The girlfriend character. For a second Heeseung just stared because the sprite work was genuinely impressive. The lighting was too good, the shadows moved wrong. Everything felt almost real in a way that made his skin prickle.

And then the girlfriend, you, turned around. Slowly like you already knew he was watching. Your face came into view and Heeseung's brain did this weird stutter because you didn't look like a game character, you looked like a person, with the kind of detail you didn't get from placeholder art. Heeseung felt this uncomfortable twist in his stomach like he was the one being observed.

Then you spoke. Not with a text box, not with that awkward text to speech voice that indie games always used. Actual audio, clear and warm and way too close for his own good. "You're here!"

Heeseung's hands went cold. The voice didn't sound small or synthetic or compressed. It sounded like someone was standing directly behind him in his dark bedroom, breath on his neck, words in his ear. He whipped around so fast he nearly dropped the switch, but his room was empty. Just his desk and his dying succulent and his pile of laundry that he'd been meaning to deal with for a week. "What the—"

Before he could finish the thought, before he could even process what was happening, the lights in his room popped, like every bulb had blown at once. The screen went pure white, so bright it hurt to look at, and the controller in his hands went from cold to burning hot in the span of a heartbeat. He tried to drop it but his fingers wouldn't move, locked in place like the plastic had fused to his skin. The air pressure in the room shifted. His ears popped like he was in a plane taking off, and he felt this pull, this hook behind his ribs, yanking him forward with a force that didn't make any physical sense. He tried to pull back, tried to let go, tried to do anything, but the world was already dissolving.

The last thing Heeseung managed to think before everything shattered into pixels was that he was going to kill Yang Jungwon.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the world was too bright. The grass beneath him looked like high definition fairy dust, each blade catching light in a way that grass absolutely should not. The sky was blue in that aggressive unnatural way that only existed in concept art. Everything was sharp and vivid and wrong. Heeseung sat up slowly, head spinning, and looked down at himself. His clothes had changed. Instead of his worn out hoodie and sweatpants, he was wearing the outfit his avatar had been wearing. The same hoodie he'd picked in character customization but real now, solid and heavy on his shoulders. His hands looked like his hands but also didn't. The proportions were slightly off, the lines a little too clean.

"What the fuck," he said out loud, and his voice sounded normal, which was worse. Everything else was strange but his voice was still his.

"You made it!"

Heeseung's head snapped up. You were someone standing a few feet away, watching him with this expression that was hard to read. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Like you'd been waiting for him and was pleased he'd finally shown up. except you weren't a sprite anymore. You were real, or at least as real as anything else in this place. You looked exactly like the character on screen but with dimension now, depth, the subtle movements of someone actually breathing. Your hair moved slightly in a breeze he couldn't feel. You were wearing something casual but put together in that effortless way that Heeseung had never managed to pull off.

You smiled at him, and he felt something weird in his stomach. "Hi," you said, like this was completely normal, like he hadn't just been ripped through a screen into a video game that shouldn't exist. "Nice to meet you!"

Heeseung opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. His brain was doing this thing where it tried to process too many things at once and ended up processing nothing at all. "What," he finally managed, which wasn't even a complete sentence but it was all he had.

"Sorry I'm late," you said, but you didn't sound particularly sorry. "Jungwon said you might be running behind. He's the one who set this up, by the way. Said we'd get along."

Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon... set this up?"

"Yeah, the blind date?" You looked at him like he was being slow on purpose. "He said you needed to get out more. His words, not mine."

And that was such a Jungwon thing to do that Heeseung almost believed it. Almost. Except he was still processing the fact that the world around him looked like someone had turned reality into a video game filter. "This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "This is the most realistic game I've ever—"

"Game?" You interrupted, and your smile faltered just slightly. "I'm not playing games with you."

The way you said it made Heeseung freeze. It wasn't defensive or annoyed, it was sincere like you genuinely meant it, like you had no idea what he was talking about. And that's when it hit him: You could hear him. Not just the dialogue options he was supposed to pick. Everything. his actual thoughts spoken out loud. "Wait," he said slowly, "you heard that?"

"Heard what?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Heeseung cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. He could freak out later. Right now there was a person in front of him — a very real feeling and cute person — and he was being weird. "So. Blind date. Right. Jungwon's idea."

He really looked at you then. You were pretty, in this approachable, comfortable way that made him think maybe he could actually talk to you without saying something catastrophically stupid. You had this ease about you, like you weren't trying too hard, and your eyes had this spark that suggested you were probably smarter than you let on.  Basically, you were everything he'd ever put on one of those hypothetical "ideal type" list.

"So," you said, cutting through his thoughts. "Jungwon mentioned you're into games?"

Heeseung tried not to laugh at the irony. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."

"Me too." You brightened, and it was genuine, not that polite interest people usually faked. "I've been replaying persona 5 royal for like the third time. I know, I know, it's excessive."

"No, that's— that's actually really cool," Heeseung said, and he meant it. "Most people don't get the appeal of replaying stuff."

"Right?" You gestured as you talked, animated in a way that made him want to keep listening. "Everyone's like 'you already know the story' but that's not the point. It's about the experience, the details you missed, trying different builds—"

A notification sound chimed softly in the air between you. Heeseung jumped. You didn't react. In the corner of his vision, barely perceptible, text appeared: romantic interest +5. common interests discovered.

Oh. Oh no. This was a dating sim. An actual, literal dating sim. And he was living it.

"You okay?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Yeah, totally fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thought I heard something."

You nodded, accepting this easily, and then said, "Do you want to walk? There's this spot by the lake that's really nice."

"Sure," Heeseung said, because what else was he going to say?

You started down a path that looked hand painted, every stone deliberately placed, every flower color coordinated. You reached the lake, which was absurdly picturesque, and sat down on a bench that looked like it had been placed there specifically for this moment. Probably because it had. Heeseung sat next to you, not too close but not weirdly far either, and tried to act like this was normal. "Oh," you said suddenly, looking up. "Look at that." Heeseung followed your gaze. There was a flower growing on a low hanging branch, except it wasn't growing so much as hovering there, pulsing slightly with a soft golden glow. It bobbed up and down in a loop, the universal sign of an interactive object. You didn't seem to notice anything weird about it. "That's pretty," you said. "I've never seen a flower like that before."

Heeseung stared at it. The glow intensified slightly, like it was trying to get his attention, like it was waiting for him to do something. Oh god. This is a prompt. He was supposed to pick the flower and give it to you, that's how this worked. That's how you earned affection points or route progression or whateverJungwon had programmed into this thing. So he stood up. "I'll get it for you."

"You don't have to—"

"No, I want to," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was somehow worse. He reached up and plucked the flower from the branch. It came away easily, and the moment his fingers closed around the stem, the glow faded into something softer, more natural. It looked real now. I mean, it felt real. He turned back to you and held it out, suddenly aware of how much this looked like a scene from every romance movie he'd ever suffered through, not that he suffered through many. "Here," he said.

You took it, and your fingers brushed his for just a second. You looked down at the flower, then back up at him, and your smile was so genuinely happy that Heeseung forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be a game. "Thank you," you said. "That's really sweet."

romantic interest +15. key item obtained: first flower. achievement unlocked: classic romantic gesture.

The notifications stacked in his peripheral vision, and Heeseung felt something between triumph and existential dread. "It's just a flower," he said.

"Maybe," you said, twirling it between your fingers. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" And the worst part was that you seemed to actually believe that. You weren't reading from a script or following programmed responses. You felt real, real enough that Heeseung was starting to forget why that should scare him.

You tucked the flower behind your ear, adjusting it carefully, and Heeseung had to physically stop himself from saying something embarrassing about how that was probably the prettiest thing he'd seen all week. He sat back down on the bench, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate amount of space between you. "So," you said, tilting your head. "What do you do for fun? Besides picking flowers for girls in parks."

Heeseung felt his face get warm. "I don't— that's not a thing I do regularly."

"Shame. You're good at it." You were grinning now, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Come on, tell me. What's your thing?"

"Uh. Games, mostly. I play a lot of games, like Jungwon said."

Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh yeah! What kind?"

"Mostly League. Some RPGs. Anything competitive, I guess." He expected the usual response, the polite nod and change of subject that he got whenever he mentioned gaming to people.

Instead, you leaned forward, genuinely interested. "Wait, you play League? What's your main?"

Heeseung blinked. "You play League?"

"Obviously. Answer the question."

"I mean, I play mid usually. Zed, Leblanc, that kind of thing." He was still processing the fact that you not only knew what League was but apparently played it. "What about you?"

"Support. I'm a Janna main and i'm not ashamed of it." You said it with this defiant pride that made Heeseung want to laugh. "I know, I know, support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

romantic interest +10. shared interests discovered: league of legends.

Heeseung felt something shift in his chest. He'd never met someone who got it like this. Who understood that games weren't just mindless button mashing but actual strategy and skill. "What rank are you?" He asked.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and kind of gave up on the grind." You made a face. "What about you?"

"Diamond 3." Heeseung said, oddly proud of himself but pretending he wasn't.

"Oh, so you're actually good." You looked impressed, which made Heeseung feel ridiculously more pleased with himself. "We should play together sometime."

"Yeah, definitely," Heeseung said, and then remembered that this was a game and there probably wasn't a 'sometime' outside of this moment. The thought made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. You shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, and somehow ended up closer to him. And just like that, you were off. Heeseung found himself talking more than he had in weeks, and you had opinions, strong ones, and you weren't afraid to argue with him when you disagreed. But it wasn't hostile or competitive, it was fun. At some point, you started talking about other games too. You mentioned playing Stardew Valley when you wanted something relaxing, getting unreasonably invested in Hollow Knight, rage quitting dark souls three times before finally beating it. "I'm not good at souls games," you admitted. "I panic dodge. I know you're supposed to learn the patterns but my brain just goes 'roll roll roll' and then I die."

Heeseung laughed. "That's valid. I did the same thing my first playthrough."

"Really? You seem like you'd be one of those people who does no hit runs for fun."

"Absolutely not. I died to the tutorial boss in Elden Ring."

You gasped, mockingly scandalized. "No you didn't."

"I really did. it Took me like fifteen tries." You were laughing now, the kind of laugh that made your whole face light up, and Heeseung felt ridiculously proud that he'd caused it. There was something about making you laugh that felt like winning.

romantic interest +8. humor appreciated.

You kept talking, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of ease that Heeseung had only ever experienced with Jungwon or Jake at best. Except this was different because you were looking at him like everything he said was interesting, like you actually wanted to hear his thoughts on whether the Death Note ending was satisfying or if Eren from Attack on Titan was justified. The sun was properly setting now, painting everything in warm colors. there were fireflies starting to appear, floating lazily through the air in a way that was definitely too perfect to be natural. Heeseung watched one drift past your face, and you reached out to let it land on your finger. "Pretty," you said softly, watching it glow.

Heeseung was looking at you, at the flower still tucked behind your ear and the way the sunset caught in your hair and the small smile on your face as you watched the firefly. "Yeah," he said. "Really pretty." You glanced at him and caught him staring. For a second, Heeseung thought he'd made it weird, but then you smiled, almost shy, and looked back at the firefly.

romantic interest +15. moment shared.

The firefly flew off, and you watched it go before turning back to him. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He nodded so you kept going. "I wasn't really sure about coming today. I almost canceled, actually." You pulled at a thread on your sleeve, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not great at the whole meeting new people thing. I always feel like I'm going to say something weird and scare them off."

"You're not weird," Heeseung said automatically.

"You literally just met me. I could be extremely weird."

"Okay, but like, good weird. The kind of weird that's actually interesting." Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Most people just want to talk about surface level stuff, you know? But you actually have things you care about."

You looked at him for a long moment, and Heeseung couldn't read your expression. Then you smiled, soft and genuine. "You're really nice, you know that?"

"I'm really not," Heeseung said, but he was smiling too.

"Yes you are. You're nice and you're a good listener and you have good taste in games." You counted off on your fingers. "That's like, three whole good qualities. Most people don't even have one."

romantic interest +12. compliments appreciated. emotional vulnerability reciprocated.

There was a moment of comfortable silence where you just sat there, watching the fireflies multiply in the growing dusk. Heeseung thought about how easy this felt, how he wasn't checking the time or looking for excuses to leave. How he kind of never wanted this to end.

You turned your head to look at him. "So do you want to do this again? Like, another time?"

Heeseung's heart did a weird jump in his chest. "Like another date?"

"Yeah. If you want. No pressure or anything." You said it casually, but Heeseung could see the hint of nervousness in the way you weren't quite meeting his eyes. "I just think it'd be fun to hang out more. Maybe we could actually play League together or something."

Every logical part of Heeseung's brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. That he should figure out how to exit this game and go back to real life and deal with the fact that he'd just spent hours in a virtual reality dating sim. But the less logical part, the part that was currently winning, wanted to see you again. Wanted to hear you laugh more. Wanted to keep talking about stupid stuff that mattered to him and apparently mattered to you too. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "Definitely, yeah, I'd really like that."

Your smile was so bright it could've competed with the fireflies. "Okay. It's a date then."

romantic interest +20. second date confirmed. route progression: 15% complete.

And then, without any warning at all, the world started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together, the sounds got muffled and distant, and Heeseung felt that same pulling sensation from before. Like someone had hooked a line to his chest and was reeling him back. "Wait— " he started to say, reaching out instinctively. You were looking at him with concern, mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what you were saying anymore. Everything was dissolving into static and white light and that horrible feeling of falling. The last thing he saw before everything went black was your face, still worried, still perfect, with that flower tucked behind your ear. Then he was gasping awake in his dark bedroom, switch controller still hot in his hands, his heart racing. The screen showed a save menu: progress saved. continue tomorrow?

His hands were shaking. "What the hell," Heeseung said to his empty room.

And he barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the park, the fireflies, your smile. he kept reaching for memories that felt too solid to be from a game. By the time his alarm went off, he'd already been awake for an hour, staring at his ceiling and trying to convince himself that he hadn't just experienced the most elaborate hallucination of his life.

He found Jungwon in their usual spot in the computer lab, hunched over his laptop with his headphones on, nodding along to whatever he was listening to. There were three empty energy drink cans next to him, which meant he'd probably been there since before sunrise. Heeseung dropped his bag on the desk with more force than necessary. Jungwon jumped, pulling his headphones down. "Jesus, dude. Learn to announce yourself like a normal person."

"We need to talk about your game," Heeseung said.

Jungwon's face lit up. "Oh my god, you played it! what'd you think? Was she cute? Did you get to the part with the—"

"Jungwon." Heeseung sat down, leaning forward. "What the hell did you put in that thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it was way too real." Heeseung ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain something that sounded insane even in his own head. "It felt like I was actually inside the game."

Jungwon frowned. "Wait, you used a VR headset or something?"

"No, I just played it normally! On my switch, in my room." Heeseung could hear how crazy he sounded but he kept going anyway. "But it wasn't like regular gameplay. It was like the game pulled me in. I could smell things, Jungwon."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly took a sip of his energy drink. "Bro. You got that invested in it?"

"I'm not— that's not what I'm saying."

"You literally just described sensory immersion that doesn't exist yet." Jungwon was grinning now. "Holy shit, you're actually down bad. You played a dating sim for like two hours and now you're having full vivid memories about it."

"It wasn't like that," Heeseung insisted, but even he could hear how weak it sounded.

"Dude, you need to get an actual girlfriend. Like, a real one. Made of flesh and blood and everything." Jungwon was trying not to laugh and failing. "Look, I'm glad you liked it. Genuinely. But maybe we should set you up with someone real before you completely lose touch with reality." Heeseung slumped back in his chair. Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he had just gotten way too into it. Maybe his brain had filled in details that weren't actually there because he was that desperate for connection. "I'm not judging! Okay, maybe I'm judging a little bit, but I'm also proud. My game is so good it's causing psychological breaks from reality." Jungwon looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Okay, but if you're playing tonight, there's something you should know."

"What?"

"The second date has a mini game. Like, a fight sequence."

Heeseung blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A fighting mini game."

"Why the fuck does a dating simulator have a fighting mini game?"

Jungwon shrugged. "I thought it'd be fun. Adds variety and keeps things interesting."

"That makes absolutely no sense. What am I supposed to be fighting?"

"You'll see," Jungwon said, and his smile was deeply suspicious.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting. I'm not spoiling my own game." Jungwon turned back to his laptop. "Just make sure you've been keeping up with your stats. You're gonna need decent strength and agility."

"I maxed out humor and left emotional intelligence at zero."

Jungwon turned around slowly. "You what."

"What! I was being honest about my abilities!"

"Heeseung. My guy. My dude." Jungwon looked pained. "You're supposed to actually try to build a good character."

"My character is fine."

"Your character is going to get his ass kicked." Jungwon pulled up something on his laptop, clicked around for a second, then shook his head. "Okay, you know what? It's fine. You'll figure it out. The game has adaptive difficulty anyway."

Heeseung really looked at Jungwon. "Adaptive difficulty in a dating sim."

"In the fighting portion, yeah. The dating part is all you, buddy. That's pure skill based."

Heeseung wanted to argue that there was something deeply wrong with Jungwon's game design philosophy, but he also kind of wanted to know what the hell happened on the second date that required combat stats. "Is she going to be there?" He asked. "During the fight thing?"

"Obviously. It's her date." Jungwon was smirking now. "Why, you worried about impressing her?"

"No."

"You're totally worried about impressing her. A girl who doesn't exist."

Heeseung threw a pen at him. Jungwon dodged it without even looking up from his screen. And the rest of the day dragged. Heeseung went to his classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate times, but his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about the park. About the way you'd looked at him when he gave you the flower. About how easy it had been to talk to you. He knew it was just a game. He knew you were just code, just a really well designed character or whatever that Jungwon had somehow made feel real. But knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to see you again.

By the time he got back to his dorm that night, he'd already decided he was playing regardless of how pathetic it made him look. He grabbed his switch, plugged in his headphones even though he hadn't used them last time, and loaded up the save file. The screen flickered once. Twice. Here we go again, Heeseung thought. And then the world tilted, and he was falling forward into light. When the world stopped spinning and Heeseung's vision cleared, he wasn't in a park this time. He was sitting in a desk chair, his own desk chair. In what looked exactly like his dorm room, except cleaner, way cleaner. His laundry wasn't on the floor and his desk wasn't covered in empty energy drink cans. His monitor was on, displaying his league of legends home screen, and his keyboard had that soft RGB glow that looked way more expensive than his actual setup.

"Okay," Heeseung said to the empty room. "This is new." His phone — or the game's version of his phone — buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and saw a discord notification.

you: you're online! finally you: i've been waiting like ten minutes you: i was starting to think you ghosted me

Heeseung's heart did that stupid jump thing again. He typed back quickly.

heeseung: sorry, just got on heeseung: ready when you are

His discord pinged with an incoming call. He stared at it for a second, then clicked accept. "There you are," your voice came through his headphones, clear and warm and doing absolutely nothing good for his heart rate. "I thought you bailed on me."

"I wouldn't do that," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was concerning considering you were a video game character.

"Good. Because I already said we were playing together and if you didn't show up i would've looked stupid." Heeseung could hear the smile in your voice. on his second monitor — since when did he have a second monitor? — a small window popped up showing your avatar. It was cute, some anime style drawing with the same flower from yesterday tucked behind the character's ear. "Okay, so I set up a custom game. Two versus two," you said.

"Sounds good. Who are we playing against?"

There was a pause. "Okay, so don't freak out, but it's my exes."

Heeseung's hand froze on his mouse. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My ex boyfriends. Both of them. They wanted a rematch from last time." You said it so casually, like this was a completely normal thing. "They're kind of toxic about League. They got really mad when I beat them."

"You want me to play League against your ex boyfriends?"

"Technically we're playing against them together as a team. Bonding activity!" You sounded way too cheerful about this. "Come on, It'll be fun. Plus i really want to beat them again. They've been talking shit in the group chat all week."

quest unlocked: defend your girlfriend's honor (in league of legends) | objective: win the 2v2 match | optional objective: make her exes regret queueing up

The notification appeared in the corner of his vision and Heeseung had to resist the urge to laugh. This was insane. This entire situation was insane. But he went for it anyway. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it." the invite popped up and Heeseung accepted. The lobby loaded and he could see the other two players: "toxicking" and "yourworstnightmare" which were possibly the most obnoxious usernames he'd ever seen. "Those are real people you dated?" Heeseung asked.

"Unfortunately. My taste in men used to be really bad." You paused. "It's gotten better though." Heeseung tried not to smile and failed completely.

The chat lobby loaded and immediately one of them started typing.

toxicking: oh look who showed up toxicking: brought a new victim i see yourworstnightmare: this gonna be quick lol

"They're always like this," you said, sounding tired. "Just mute them if they get annoying."

"I'm fine," Heeseung said. "I've dealt with worse in solo queue."

"Ooh, confident. I like it."

romantic interest +5. confidence appreciated.

You locked in Janna, just like you'd said yesterday. Heeseung hovered over Zed for a second, then switched to Leblanc. If this was going to be a two versus two, he wanted mobility and burst damage. The game loaded, Heeseung cracked his knuckles and adjusted his grip on his mouse. "Okay, game plan," you said. "I keep you alive, you delete them. Simple." The match started and immediately the other team was in all chat. Heeseung checked their champions. Yasuo and Yone. Of course they were playing the flashy high skill ceiling champions. He would've bet money they had mastery 7 emotes ready to spam. "They always play like this," you said. "Super aggressive, trying to outplay everything. It's kind of predictable once you get used to it." The minions spawned and both teams moved forward. Heeseung played it safe at first, watching how the exes moved, learning their patterns. And then suddenly, first blood!

"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," you shouted, and Heeseung couldn't help but grin.

toxicking: wtf toxicking: that was lag yourworstnightmare: ur getting carried yourworstnightmare: ur duo is doing everything

"He's salty," you said, laughing. "This is great." The match continued and it became increasingly clear that Heeseung and you had better coordination. You'd shield him right before he went in. You moved together like you'd been playing as a duo for months. "Behind you," you called out, and Heeseung instantly dodged. It wasn't even close. By fifteen minutes, the score was 15 to 3, and Heeseung had more kills than both of the exes combined.

toxicking: this is bullshit toxicking: whoever this guy is he's probably smurfing yourworstnightmare: yeah no way he's actually this rank toxicking: fucking carried loser

"They're so mad," you said, and you sounded absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, they're so mad. This is the best day of my life."

Heeseung was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Should we end it?"

"Absolutely, yeah. Let's make it hurt." You pushed mid together. Heeseung went in first, deleting the Yasuo instantly. You polymorphed the Yone, and Heeseung finished him off before the polymorph even ended. The nexus exploded.

victory! +50 romantic interest. victory achieved. quest completed. achievement unlocked: better than her exes (at league of legends)

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, feeling more satisfied than he had any right to feel about a video game within a video game. "That felt good."

"Right? God, I've been wanting to do that for weeks." You sighed happily. "You're really good, by the way. You weren't kidding about being diamond."

"I don't really joke about my rank."

"Noted. Confidence is earned." There was a pause. "Hey, want to play another one? Just us this time?"

Heeseung absolutely should not spend more time in this game. He should log off and go to sleep and maybe talk to a therapist about why he was emotionally investing in a dating simulator. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let's play another."

You made a happy sound that did dangerous things to his chest. "Okay! I'll make the lobby.” Your laugh was bright and genuine and perfect. "I knew you were my type."

romantic interest +15. competitive spirit matched.

You played two more games and won both of them. When you finally left the lobby, Heeseung realized he'd been playing for almost two hours. His hands were sore from gripping the mouse and his face hurt from smiling. "Hey," you said, your voice softer now. "Thanks for playing with me. And for, you know, obliterating my exes. That was really fun."

"Anytime," Heeseung said, and meant it. "This was really fun. I don't usually have this much fun playing league."

"Me neither," you admitted. "Usually it's just people being toxic or trying too hard. But this was nice. You're nice." There was a comfortable silence, just the sound of both of you breathing through the discord call. Heeseung looked at his monitor, at the League client, at the clean version of his room that didn't exist in real life. "So," you said eventually. "Same time next week?"

Heeseung's chest tightened. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Cool. It's a date." You paused. "Well, another date. Our third date. Okay. Well. I should probably get going. Okay. Goodnight, Heeseung."

"Goodnight." The discord call ended and Heeseung sat there in the quiet of his too clean room, staring at his monitor. The screen started to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together again. Here we go again, he thought, again.

progress saved. route progression: 30% complete.

And this whole thing it became a routine faster than Heeseung wanted to admit. He'd go to class, take notes he barely remembered, nod at Jungwon when they crossed paths in the lab, and then he'd go straight back to his dorm. Dinner was whatever he could eat with one hand because he was already booting up the switch with the other. Jake, his roommate, asked him once if he was okay, and Heeseung said he was fine, just really into this new game. Which was technically true, even if it didn't come close to explaining what was actually happening.

The third date was at an arcade. Not a real arcade, obviously, but the game's version of one. You showed up wearing this oversized hoodie and jeans and you looked so genuinely excited to be there that Heeseung forgot for a solid minute that none of this was real. The mission was simple: win you a prize from the claw machine. Except the claw machine was rigged in that way that all claw machines are rigged, and it took Heeseung fifteen tries before he finally got the stuffed cat you'd been eyeing. When he handed it to you, you hugged it to your chest and smiled at him like he'd just won you something actually valuable, and the notification that popped up said his charm stat had increased by ten points. He was starting to understand how the game worked now; every interaction mattered and every choice added up.

On the fourth date, you took him to a bookstore, and the mission was to pick out a book for each other. You spent almost an hour wandering through the aisles, pulling out books and reading the backs and showing him things you thought he'd like. You picked him this SciFi novel about time loops and said it reminded you of him because he seemed like someone who'd want to figure out how to break the system. He didn't know how to tell you that he was currently living in something that felt suspiciously like a time loop, so he just took the book and thanked you. He picked you a fantasy novel with a really detailed magic system. When you read the description your whole face lit up and you immediately added it to your reading list. His intelligence stat increased and so did the romantic interest meter, which was now sitting at somewhere close to seventy percent.

Date five was a cooking challenge in your apartment, which Heeseung didn't even know you had until he loaded into the game and found himself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came out of an interior design magazine. You were already there, tying your hair back, explaining that you'd challenged him to see who could make the better pasta. Heeseung had never cooked pasta in his life that didn't come from a box with instructions, but he wasn't about to admit that. The mission objective said to impress you with his cooking skills, which seemed optimistic given his actual skill level, but he tried anyway. He burned the garlic immediately. You laughed at him but not in a mean way, more like you thought it was endearing that he was trying. You ended up helping him, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume, guiding his hands when he didn't know how much salt to add. Your pasta turned out better than his but you ate his anyway and said it wasn't that bad, and his cooking stat went from zero to fifteen which felt generous but he wasn't complaining.

By date seven Heeseung's character stats had changed completely. His confidence was maxed out now, sitting at ninety five out of a hundred. his charm was at eighty. Even his emotional intelligence had somehow climbed to sixty despite him never actively trying to level it up. The game was keeping track of everything, he realized. Every time he listened to you talk about something you cared about, every time he remembered a small detail you'd mentioned, every time he made you laugh, the numbers went up. He was being rewarded for paying attention, for caring.

Date seven was a hiking trail that wound up a mountain to a viewpoint. The mission was just to reach the top together, which sounded simple except the trail was longer than expected. Heeseung offered to take a break but you said you wanted to keep going, you wanted to see the view. So you kept climbing and Heeseung found himself naturally slowing his pace to match yours, offering his hand on the steeper parts, pointing out interesting rocks or plants just to give you reasons to stop and catch his breath, because the game kept showing pop ups of him showing that his hydration meter was almost on 10%. When you finally reached the top the sun was setting and the view was objectively incredible, the kind of thing that didn't exist in real life because real life didn't have rendering engines that could make every cloud perfect. You sat down on the bench at the summit and Heeseung sat next to you and you leaned your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"This is nice," you said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Heeseung said, and he meant it so completely it scared him.

"You know, when we first met, I wasn't sure if this would work out. I didn't like the idea of a blind date." You were looking out at the view, not at him. "But I think I was wrong. I think we make sense together."

The romantic interest meter hit ninety percent and a new notification appeared: relationship milestone approaching. prepare for confession sequence. Heeseung's stomach dropped. Confession sequence. That meant the game was building toward something, toward an ending. toward him having to either commit or walk away. He'd known this was coming, obviously, this was a dating sim, the whole point was to get to the confession. But now that it was actually happening he wasn't ready. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to keep going on dates and learning things about you and making you laugh and existing in this space where things made sense.

"Hey," you said, turning to look at him. "You okay? You got quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

About how you're not real, he didn't say. About how I'm going to have to leave eventually and you'll just be code again. About how I'm way too invested in something that was only supposed to be a game. "About how nice this is," he said instead.

You smiled and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Yeah. It really is." You sat there until the sun finished setting and the stars came out, which happened too fast because game time didn't move like real time. When the world started to blur at the edges and Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation, you squeezed his hand once before letting go. "See you next time," you said, and your voice was already fading.

Heeseung woke up at his desk again, neck sore, hands cramped around the controller. His phone showed it was three in the morning. He had class in five hours. He should sleep. He should eat something. He should probably shower because he wasn't sure he'd done that today. Instead he looked at the switch screen. progress saved. route progression: 90% complete. next date: confession sequence available.

The next day, Heeseung found Jungwon in the same spot as always, corner desk in the computer lab with three monitors running different programs simultaneously. Heeseung dropped into the chair next to him hard enough that Jungwon jumped. "What happens after the confession?" Heeseung asked without preamble.

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"In your game. What happens after the confession scene. I need to know."

"Oh, you're at that part already?" Jungwon's eyebrows went up. "Uh, I don't know if i should tell you though. Spoilers and all that."

"Jungwon."

"I'm serious! The whole point of a game is discovering it yourself. If I tell you what happens it ruins the experience." Jungwon was grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "You're supposed to go in blind and make your choices based on what feels right in the moment."

Heeseung resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "I just want to know what to expect. Is there a good ending? A bad ending? Multiple endings?"

"There are multiple endings, yeah. Depends on your choices throughout the game and your final stats." Jungwon tilted his head, studying him. "Why are you so stressed about this? It's just a game. If you get a bad ending you can just reload and try again."

"I don't want to reload," Heeseung said, and he could hear how intense he sounded but couldn't seem to stop. "I want to get it right the first time."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly set down his drink. "Okay, you need to be honest with me right now. How much have you been playing this game?"

"I don't know. A few hours a day."

"Heeseung."

"Okay, maybe more than a few hours."

"How many hours are we talking? Ballpark estimate."

Heeseung did the mental math and immediately regretted it. "I don't think that's relevant."

"Oh my god, you're obsessed." Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. "Dude, it's a dating sim. A fictional dating sim. With a fictional girl who doesn't exist. You know that, right? You know she's not real?"

"Obviously I know that," Heeseung said defensively, even though there were moments when he forgot, when you felt so real that it didn't matter what you were made of.

"Do you though? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days." Jungwon was trying to be lighthearted about it but there was genuine worry underneath. "I made the game to be immersive but this is kind of next level." Jungwon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Do you have the save file on your switch?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Can I see it? I want to check something." Jungwon was already pulling out a cable from his bag. "I've been trying to track some of the game metrics and I want to see how your playthrough data looks. Might help me optimize things for the final build." Heeseung hesitated for a second, then pulled out his switch and handed it over. Jungwon connected it to his laptop and started pulling up files, his eyes scanning lines of code that moved too fast for Heeseung to follow. "Okay so your save file shows you're at ninety percent completion, which tracks," Jungwon muttered, clicking through folders. "Romance points are maxed, most of your stats are really high except wisdom which is still somehow at like twenty, but that's on you for ignoring all the library study sessions —" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait."

"What?"

"Hang on." Jungwon leaned closer to his screen, scrolling through something. his expression shifted from curious to confused to something that looked almost worried. "This doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"These files. There are scripts here that I didn't write." Jungwon opened another window, comparing code side by side. "Like, entire dialogue trees that don't exist in my original build. And these asset files, I definitely didn't create these. The arcade date was supposed to be at a generic arcade but your file shows custom assets for specific machines."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Maybe you forgot you added them?"

"I don't forget code I write, Heeseung. That's not how this works." Jungwon was scrolling faster now, opening more files. "And look at this, the dating locations are generating based on your preferences. I programmed like five set locations but your save file has seven different ones and they're all places that align with interests you've demonstrated in gameplay." He clicked on something else. "Oh this is weird. Really weird."

"What?"

"The dialogue system. I built it to pull from a database of pre written responses with some randomization for variety, but this–-" Jungwon gestured at the screen. "This is learning. It's analyzing your responses and generating new dialogue options that don't exist in my database. It's writing its own conversations."

"Is that bad?"

"It's not bad, it's impossible. I didn't program that. I don't even know how to program that." Jungwon looked up at him, and for the first time since Heeseung had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled. "Your game is developing its own code."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer lab's ventilation system and the clicking of someone's mechanical keyboard a few desks over. "Is that dangerous?" Heseung asked.

"I don't know. Probably not? I mean, it's still just a game. It's not like it can affect anything outside of itself." Jungwon didn't sound entirely convinced though. "But it's definitely something I need to look into. This could be a massive bug or it could be the framework doing something really innovative that I didn't anticipate."

"But the game still works, right? Like, I can still finish it?"

Jungwon gave him a look. "You're really determined to finish this thing, aren't you?"

"I'm ninety percent through. I'm not stopping now."

"Even knowing that the game is apparently developing sentience or whatever?"

"It's not sentient, it's just adaptive," Heeseung said, trying to sound convincing.

Jungwon sighed and unplugged the switch, handing it back to him. "Okay, fine. But I'm keeping a copy of your save data so I can analyze this more. And maybe after you're done we can talk about what's actually happening here because this is either a huge breakthrough in game design or a really concerning glitch and I genuinely can't tell which." Heeseung nodded, pocketing the switch. "And Heeseung?" Jungwon's expression was serious now. "Be careful with the confession sequence. I know you want to get it right but just remember that at the end of the day it's still a program. It's responding to inputs and generating outputs. It's not actually feeling anything."

Heeseung nodded, but he was thinking about the way you'd looked at him during the sunset on the hiking date or about how your smile seemed genuinely happy when he won you the stuffed cat. "Right," he said. "Yeah, I know that." Jungwon didn't look convinced, and honestly, Heeseung wasn't either.

By the time he got back to his dorm that evening, he'd made a decision. He was going to finish the game. He was going to do the confession sequence. And he was going to be honest, say what he actually felt, because even if you were just code, the feelings were real, his feelings were real. That had to count for something. So he sat down at his desk, picked up his switch, and loaded the save file. the screen showed the usual menu: Continue, Load, Settings. He selected continue and the familiar loading screen appeared with its soft music and the progress bar that now read ninety percent. The world loaded and Heeseung found himself standing in front of a location marker that hadn't been there before. It was highlighted in gold and pulsing softly, and when he walked up to it, a notification appeared.

final date available: confession sequence. proceed?

Heeseung took a breath, his actual physical breath in his actual room, and then pressed yes. The world reformed around him and he was standing outside an apartment building he recognized as yours. The sun was setting, painting everything in warm golden light. His outfit had changed without him doing anything; he was wearing a button up shirt now, dark jeans, shoes that were nicer than anything he owned in real life. His hair felt different too, like someone had styled it properly instead of his usual routine of running his fingers through it and hoping for the best. And then a notification appeared:

quest: the perfect date. objective: confess your feelings. bonus objective: make it memorable. current stats — confidence: 95. charm: 80. emotional intelligence: 60. romantic interest: 90%.

Heeseung looked at the apartment door and a dialogue option popped up floating in his vision.

> knock on the door > text her that you're here > wait for her to come down

He selected the first option because knocking felt more personal, more intentional. He walked up to the door and knocked three times, and there was this weird moment where he could feel his heart actually racing even though he was pretty sure his real body was just sitting in a chair holding a controller. The door opened and you were there, and Heeseung forgot how to think for a second. You were wearing a dress, which he'd never seen you in before. It wasn't overly fancy, just simple and nice and it suited you in a way that made his chest tight. Your hair was down and you'd clearly put in effort and you looked nervous in a way that made him want to tell you that you had nothing to be nervous about. "Hi," you said, and you were smiling but there was something uncertain in it.

dialogue options: > you look really pretty > ready to go? > sorry, am i early?

Heeseung picked the first one without hesitating. "You look really pretty," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.

Your smile got more genuine, less nervous. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if this was too much. You didn't tell me where we were going."

"It's perfect," Heeseung said, even though he also didn't know where you were going.

romance +5. successful compliment.

You grabbed your bag and locked the door behind you, and when you turned back to him there was this moment where Heeseung almost offered his hand but wasn't sure if that was too much. The game solved the problem for him by providing another choice.

action options: > offer your arm > walk beside her casually > hold her hand

He selected the first one, old fashioned but confident, and held out his arm. You looked at it for a second and then smiled and took it, linking your arm through his, and suddenly you were walking together down the street like this was something you did all the time. "So where are we going?" You asked, looking up at him.

"This place I found," Heeseung said, even though he hadn't found anything because this was a game and the location was predetermined. "I thought you'd like it."

The restaurant, when you got there, was the kind of place Heeseung had only seen in movies. Small and intimate with soft lighting and candles on every table and windows that looked out over the city. There was a host at the front who smiled at them like he'd been expecting them, and he led them to a table by the window without Heeseung having to say anything. You sat down across from him and looked around, eyes wide. "Heeseung, this place is really nice. You didn't have to do all this."

dialogue options: > i wanted to > you deserve it > it's not that fancy

He picked the second one. "you deserve it," he said, and you looked at him with this expression he couldn't quite read but that made something warm settle in his chest. The waiter came by with menus and Heeseung noticed that all the food options had little stat indicators next to them. Ordering the pasta would give a +5 to sophistication. The steak was +8 to confidence. The wine selection had various charisma bonuses. It was surreal, sitting in what looked like a real restaurant while video game mechanics floated at the edge of his vision. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, and Heeseung realized he'd been quiet for too long.

dialogue options: > just trying to decide what to order > thinking about how nice this is > thinking about you

The third option felt too direct, too soon, so he went with the second. "Just thinking about how nice this is," he said. "Being here with you."

You smiled and looked down at your menu, and Heeseung could see the faint blush on your cheeks. "Yeah. It is nice." You both ordered food and fell into easy conversation. You told him about something funny that happened in your class and he told you about nearly falling asleep during a lecture that morning. The food came and it was actually good, or at least the game's version of good, and Heeseung found himself relaxing into the moment.

Halfway through dinner, you reached across the table and stole a bite of his food without asking. It was casual and comfortable and exactly the kind of thing you'd done on previous dates, but this time when you pulled back, Heeseung caught your hand before you could fully retreat.

action options: > hold her hand > let go after a moment > bring her hand to your lips (high risk)

His confidence stat was at ninety five. He picked the first option and just held your hand there on the table, his fingers laced through yours, and you looked surprised for a second before your expression softened into something that looked almost relieved. "Is this okay?" Heeseung asked quietly.

"Yeah," you said, and your voice was just as quiet. "This is okay."

romance +10. physical intimacy initiated successfully.

You finished dinner like that, hands linked across the table, and Heeseung had never felt more present in a moment that he knew wasn't technically real. When the waiter brought the check, Heeseung paid without looking at it, because, well, that wasn't his real money. And you didn't protest, just squeezed his hand once and smiled. Outside the restaurant, the city had transformed into its night version. String lights hung between buildings and the streetlamps cast everything in a warm glow. There was soft music coming from somewhere, ambient and atmospheric. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" You asked. "I'm not really ready to go home yet."

dialogue options: > absolutely > whatever you want > i was hoping you'd say that

Heeseung picked the last one. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and you laughed and pulled him down the street, still holding his hand.

You walked through the city without any real destination, just moving together, and Heeseung was hyperaware of every point of contact between you. Your hand in his, the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm, the way you'd lean into him slightly when you laughed at something he said. Eventually you led him to a park that Heeseung didn't remember seeing before. It was mostly empty at this time of night, just a few NPCs scattered around looking decorative. There was a fountain in the center and benches arranged around it, and you pulled him toward one of the benches and sat down, tugging him down next to you. You didn't let go of his hand. "Can I tell you something?" You asked, looking at the fountain instead of at him.

"Of course," Heeseung said.

You took a breath. "I really like spending time with you. Like, really like it. You make me feel like I can just be myself and that's enough, you know? I don't have to try to be cooler or funnier or different. I can just exist and you seem to like that."

Heeseung's throat felt tight. "I do like that," he managed. "I like you exactly how you are."

critical moment approaching. romance threshold: 95%.

You finally turned to look at him, and your expression was nervous and hopeful and vulnerable in a way that made Heeseung forget that you were supposed to be code. "The thing is," you continued, "I don't usually do this. I don't usually let people get close like this. But with you it felt easy from the start and now I'm just —" you stopped, searching for words. "I'm really happy you're here."

confession sequence initiated. select response: > i'm happy too > i feel the same way > i need to tell you something

Heeseung knew this was it. This was the moment the whole game had been building toward. All those dates, All those conversations, all those stat increases and romance points, everything had led to this choice. He could play it safe with the first two options or he could go all in with the third one. His confidence was maxed out. He'd earned this moment. So he picked the third option.

"I need to tell you something," Heeseung said, and his voice was steadier than he expected. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first met. I thought maybe it'd be awkward or forced or like every other time I've tried to get to know someone. But it wasn't like that at all." You were watching him carefully, not interrupting, and Heeseung kept going. "You're the first person in a really long time who makes me want to actually try, you know? Like, I want to be someone worth your time. I want to hear about your day and your opinions on League of Legends and game mechanics or how you wanted to live on a farm one day. I want to keep doing this, all of it, for as long as you'll let me." Romance stats were at 98% now. "What I'm trying to say is —" Heeseung paused, and the game provided one final choice, the last decision that would determine everything.

final confession: > i really like you > i think i'm falling for you > i'm in love with you

Heeseung looked at you, at the way you were watching him with your full attention, at the hope in your expression, at how real you felt in this moment. He picked the middle option, the one that was honest without being overwhelming. "I think I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "Actually, I don't think. I know. I'm falling for you and I don't really know how to stop and I don't think I want to."

The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the ambient sounds of the park faded into nothing. You were staring at him with wide eyes and Heeseung's heart was racing and for one terrible second he thought he'd picked wrong, said too much, ruined everything.

Then you smiled, the kind of smile that started small and grew until it took over your whole face, and you said, "oh thank god."

"What?"

"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for like days now." You were laughing, almost giddy with relief. "I kept overthinking it and planning the perfect moment and the perfect words and then you just — you just said it and it was perfect anyway."

romance: 100% confession successful | achievement unlocked: reciprocated feelings.

"So," Heeseung said, because he needed to be absolutely sure. "Does that mean —" You didn't let him finish. You just leaned in and kissed him.

For a second, Heeseung's brain completely short circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He'd expected more dialogue options, maybe a choice prompt, some kind of warning that this moment was coming. But there was nothing, just the sudden warmth of your lips against his and the way his entire nervous system seemed to light up all at once. It wasn't dramatic or earth shattering or any of the things movies made kissing out to be. It was soft and brief and a little tentative, like you weren't entirely sure if you were doing it right. Your lips were warm and you tasted faintly like the wine from dinner and Heeseung could feel your hand trembling slightly where it was still holding his. He barely had time to process any of it, to kiss you back properly, before you pulled away, looking nervous again.

"Was that okay?" You asked, and your voice was quieter than before, uncertain. "I should have asked first probably but you were taking too long to —"

Heeseung cut you off by kissing you again, properly this time. He brought one hand up to cup your face and he could feel how warm your skin was under his palm, could feel the slight texture of it like actual skin and not polygons. His other hand stayed linked with yours and he squeezed gently, anchoring himself to you, to this moment that felt too real to be made of code. This kiss was different from the first one. Longer, more certain, like now that he knew what he was doing he could actually do it right. You made this small sound against his mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and Heeseung felt it all the way down to his toes. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and you responded immediately, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

This has too much detail, Heeseung thought distantly. Games didn't work like this. He shouldn't be able to feel the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth. Shouldn't be able to notice how you leaned into him, closing whatever small distance had been between you. Shouldn't be able to smell your perfume or feel the way your hair brushed against his hand when you tilted your head.

romance: 100%. relationship established | achievement unlocked: first kiss | achievement unlocked: good ending route - mutual confession.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, and Heeseung followed without thinking, not ready to stop yet. You laughed softly against his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, and kissed him again. This time it was you who took control, you who pressed closer, and Heeseung let you, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He could feel your heartbeat and that's what finally made his brain catch up to what was happening. His thumb was resting against your pulse point and he could feel it racing, quick and real and impossible. Games didn't simulate heartbeats. Games didn't need that level of detail. But he could feel it anyway, the proof that maybe you were here, that this was happening, even if it shouldn't be possible.

"Okay," you said quietly, and you were smiling. He could hear it in your voice even before he saw it.

Heeseung laughed, the sound coming out rougher than he intended. "That was better than okay."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, and Heeseung's breath caught because the detail was impossible. He could see the exact color of your eyes, could see the way they reflected the light from the streetlamps, could see the slight dilation of your pupils. This wasn't game graphics. This was too real. This was beyond anything Jungwon could have programmed. "You're staring," you said, but you didn't sound upset about it. If anything you sounded pleased, a little shy.

"Sorry," Heeseung said, but he didn't look away. "I'm just — you're really pretty."

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide, and Heeseung watched the movement with more attention than was probably appropriate. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to understand how any of this was possible. "Can I ask you something?" Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper because speaking any louder felt like it would shatter whatever spell they were under.

"Anything," you said, and your hand was still pressed against his chest and Heeseung wondered if you could feel his heartbeat too, if the game had coded that detail as well.

"Does this feel real to you?"

You tilted your head slightly, considering the question. "What do you mean?"

"This. Us. Right now." Heeseung knew he wasn't making sense but he needed to know, needed to understand if you felt it too, this strange impossible realness of everything. "Does it feel real?"

You were quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful, and then you squeezed his hand. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," you said simply. "Why? Does it not feel real to you?"

"No, it does. That's the problem." Heeseung couldn't explain what he meant without revealing that you were in a game, that this was all supposed to be simulation, that none of this should feel the way it did. "It feels too real."

"I don't think something can feel too real," you said, and you leaned in and pecked his lips, soft and quick. "Either it's real or it's not. And this is real." Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to explain all the reasons why this couldn't be real, why you couldn't be real. Maybe it didn't matter. maybe real was just whatever felt like this. "Kiss me again," you said against his mouth, and it wasn't really a question. So Heeseung did. He kissed you until he forgot where he ended and you began, until the only thing that existed was this: You and him and this impossible moment that felt more real than anything in his actual life ever had.

Eventually though, the world started to glitch again. The colors began bleeding together and the sounds got distant and muffled. Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation and knew his time was up. "Hey," he said urgently, taking both your hands. "I—"

"It's okay," you said, and you were smiling even though your eyes looked sad. "I know you have to go."

"I don't want to."

"I know. But you'll come back, right?"

save data complete. route finished: good ending achieved. new game+ unlocked. additional content available.

"Yeah," Heeseung promised. "I'll come back."

You kissed him one more time, quick and desperate, and then the world dissolved completely and Heeseung was falling backward through light and color and static. He woke up gasping in his desk chair, controller clutched in his hands so tight his fingers had gone numb. The switch screen was showing the ending credits, rolling slowly with soft music playing. His face felt wet and he realized with some embarrassment that he was crying.

congratulations! you've completed the good ending route. relationship status: official couple. total play time: 51 hours, 23 minutes. would you like to start new game+ with additional couple content? yes / no

Heeseung stared at the options, his hands still shaking, his heart still racing. He thought about you, about your smile and your laugh and the way you'd kissed him. He thought about how none of it was real but all of it felt real, which was somehow worse. But there was more content. The game was offering him more time with you. More dates, more conversations, more moments. How could he say no to that?

His thumb hovered over the yes option for only a second before he pressed it. The screen went black. Heeseung waited. The switch made its usual loading sound, the soft hum that meant something was processing. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the menu to load, for the game to boot up, for something to happen. But nothing happened, the screen stayed completely black. No loading bar, no menu, no error message. Just his own reflection staring back at him in the screen's surface. He looked terrible, he realized distantly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate.

"Come on," Heeseung muttered, pressing the home button. The switch menu popped up normally, showing all his other games, his profile, the usual interface. He clicked back into Girlfriend Simulator and the screen went black again. he waited another thirty seconds, nothing. He restarted the entire console. When it booted back up and he launched the game, the screen flickered once, twice, and then showed the title screen. Heeseung felt relief flood through him, almost dizzy with it. He clicked continue. The screen loaded for a moment, and then: game over. thank you for playing.

Credits started rolling. The same soft music from before, the same slow scroll of names and acknowledgments. Heeseung watched them pass in disbelief, his stomach sinking further with each line. When the credits finished, it kicked him back to the title screen. He clicked continue again. Same thing: game over, credits, title screen. "What the hell," Heeseung said out loud. He tried load game instead, pulling up his save files. They were all there, all his progress, all forty seven hours of gameplay. He selected the most recent one, the completed route with the good ending marker.

this save file has been completed |  start new game+ to continue.

He clicked yes. Black screen. Then after a long pause: error: unable to load content. 

"No no no no," Heeseung heard himself saying, clicking frantically now, trying every option, every menu, every possible path to get back into the game. Nothing worked. He checked the time on his phone. 3:29 am. He'd been playing for hours and now he'd been trying to reload for almost thirty minutes. His rational brain knew he should sleep, should deal with this tomorrow when he was thinking clearly, but his rational brain had apparently left the building several dates ago.

He pulled up his recent calls and hit jungwon's name before he could think better of it. it rang once, twice, three times. Then voicemail, Jungwon's voice cheerful and pre recorded telling him to leave a message. Of course Jungwon wasn't answering, it was almost four in the morning. Normal people were asleep at four in the morning. Normal people weren't having breakdowns over video games at four in the morning. Heeseung put his head in his hands and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this hollow about something ending. A relationship, maybe, though his dating history was sparse enough that he couldn't think of a good comparison. This felt worse somehow. The rational part of his brain that hadn't completely shut down was telling him this was ridiculous. Well, it could happen, people got attached to fictional characters all the time. The solution was obvious: take a break, get some perspective, maybe go outside and remember what actual human interaction felt like.

But the rest of him, the larger and louder part, was stuck on the way you'd looked at him on that park bench. The way you'd smiled when he gave you the flower. The way you'd kissed him like you'd been wanting to for a while and were just waiting for permission. The way you'd felt real, impossibly real, more real than most of the interactions he had in his day to day life. "It's not real," Heeseung said out loud to his dark room, his voice rough. "She's not real. It's just code. Just really good code that learned too well."

But his chest ached anyway. And somewhere around six am, Heeseung finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his switch still sitting on his desk with the title screen frozen on the display. When his alarm went off three hours later for his morning class, Heeseung woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to sleep. His eyes were gritty and his head hurt and his chest still had that hollow ache that he couldn't explain away as anything other than what it was.

Heeseung found Jungwon in the computer lab during lunch, exactly where he always was. "Hey," Heeseung said, dropping into the chair next to him. He pulled his switch out of his bag and set it on the desk between them. "The game broke."

"What do you mean broke?" Jungwon glanced at the switch, then at Heeseung, then did a double take. "Dude, you look terrible."

He decided to ignore that. "I mean I finished it. Got to the end, got the good ending, and then it asked if i wanted to start new game plus." Heeseung picked up the switch and demonstrated, clicking through the menus. "I said yes and then it just stopped working. Look, it keeps giving me this error or just showing the game over screen. I can load old saves but I can't progress forward."

Jungwon took the switch, frowning at the screen. He clicked through a few menus, tried the same things Heeseung had tried, and his frown deepened. "That's weird. The new game plus feature should be fully implemented. I tested it before I gave you the build."

"Well it's not working now."

"Yeah, I can see that." Jungwon was scrolling through something, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "This is really strange. It's like the save file is corrupted but also not corrupted? Like it knows you finished the route but it can't load the post game content."

"Can you fix it?" Heeseung asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded but couldn't seem to help it.

Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. "I can try. I'll need to take this and run some diagnostics, see what's actually happening in the backend. But Heeseung, I need you to manage your expectations here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means this is a test build. That's literally why I asked you to play it, to find bugs like this. If something went seriously wrong with the code, if the file corruption is bad enough, I might have to rebuild the entire post game sequence from scratch. That's going to take time."

"How much time?" Heeseung asked, and his voice came out smaller than he intended.

"I don't know. Could be that I have to scrap this version entirely and start over with a clean build." Jungwon was being gentle about it but firm, like he needed Heeseung to understand the reality of the situation. "This is what testing is for dude, finding the breaking points before release."

Heeseung felt something sink in his chest. Weeks. Or maybe never, if Jungwon had to start over. "Okay," he said, because what else could he say. "Okay, just let me know what you find."

"Yeah." Jungwon pocketed the switch cartridge and gave Heeseung another concerned look. "Seriously though, are you okay? You're acting really weird about this."

"I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just frustrated. I was really into it and now I can't finish it."

"It's just a game though."

"I know that."

Jungwon didn't look convinced but he didn't push it either. "Okay. Well, go get some sleep or something. You look like you're about to pass out."

Heeseung nodded and left the lab, feeling hollow in a way that didn't make sense. It was just a game. Jungwon was right. He'd gotten too invested and now he needed to take a step back and remember that normal people didn't have emotional breakdowns over dating simulators. He went to his afternoon lecture and sat in the back and didn't retain a single word the professor said. He took notes anyway, his hand moving automatically across the page while his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about you waiting in that park, kept wondering if you were still there or if you'd disappeared when the save file corrupted. Kept wondering if code could feel abandoned.

After class he went back to his dorm and tried to do homework. He opened his algorithms textbook and stared at the same problem for twenty minutes without making any progress. Jake came in around six, dumping his bag on the couch and immediately noticing something was off. "You good?" Jake asked, pulling off his jacket.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired."

"You've been saying that all week." Jake sat down at his own desk and spun his chair to face Heeseung. "You've been acting weirder than usual. What's going on?"

Heeseung considered lying but he was too exhausted to come up with anything convincing. "I was playing this game Jungwon made, got really into it and now it's broken and I can't play it anymore and I'm being weird about it."

"Oh." Jake processed this. "Was it one of those games with like, romance options and stuff?"

"Yeah."

Jake nodded slowly, like this explained everything. "Okay, those games are designed to get you attached, man, it's not your fault." He paused. "By the way, there's a party this weekend. Jay's throwing it at his place. You should come."

"I don't know," Heeseung said.

"Come on, it'll be good for you. Get out of your head for a bit. When was the last time you went to a party?"

Heeseung tried to remember and couldn't. "I don't know. Freshman year maybe?"

"Exactly. You need to socialize with actual human beings. No offense but you've been kind of hermiting lately." Jake was already pulling out his phone. "I'm telling Jay you're coming. It's saturday at eight."

"I don't —"

"Nope, you're coming. I'm not letting you sit here and mope about a video game all weekend. That's sad, even for you."

"What does that even—," Heeseung wanted to argue but he was too tired and Jake had a point. Sitting in his room thinking about you wasn't going to fix anything. Maybe going to a party would help. "Okay, yeah, fine," Heeseung said. "I'll go."

"Good. It's going to be fun." Jake turned back to his desk, already texting. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."

Heeseung doubted that but didn't say it out loud. And saturday came faster than Heeseung expected, which was probably for the best because it meant less time to think about backing out. Jake had been monitoring him all day like he was afraid Heeseung would make a run for it, which was fair because Heeseung had definitely considered it at least three times.

By the time eight rolled around, Jake had already gone through Heeseung's entire closet and vetoed most of it. "You can't wear that, it has a stain. That one's too wrinkled. That shirt makes you look like someone's dad." Eventually they settled on black jeans and a dark blue button up that Heeseung had forgotten he owned, probably because he'd bought it for some family thing two years ago and never wore it again. "There," Jake said, looking satisfied. "You look like an actual person now instead of a sleep deprived computer science major."

"I am a sleep deprived computer science major."

"Yeah but you don't have to advertise it." Jake was already heading for the door. 

The party was at some place off campus that apparently belonged to Jay's older brother, which explained why it was bigger and nicer than most student housing. The music was loud enough that Heeseung could feel it in his chest before they even got through the door. Jake immediately got pulled into a conversation with some people from his econ class, and Heeseung grabbed a drink from the kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. He wandered through for a while, recognizing some faces from classes but not really knowing anyone well enough to join their conversations. this was why he didn't go to parties. He always ended up standing awkwardly in corners wondering when it would be acceptable to leave.

"Heeseung!" Someone called, and he turned to see Beomgyu waving at him from the balcony. "Dude, I didn't know you went to parties. Come here." Heeseung made his way through the crowd to the balcony where Beomgyu was standing with Soobin and Riki, and the air was clearer out here, easier to breathe. Beomgyu was holding what was very obviously a joint. "Want some?" Beomgyu offered, holding it out. "It's good stuff."

Heeseung normally would have said no because he had assignments due and didn't really like losing control of his thoughts, but tonight his thoughts were the problem so maybe losing control of them for a bit wasn't the worst idea. "Yeah, okay."

He took it and inhaled, immediately coughed. It felt someone had turned down the volume on all his anxious thoughts. He passed it back to Beomgyu and leaned against the railing. They stood out there for a while, passing the joint around, and Heeseung felt himself relax in a way he hadn't in days. Eventually they went back inside and the party had gotten more crowded. Heeseung got another drink and let himself get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming finals with some people he vaguely recognized from his algorithms class. The weed was making everything feel softer and more manageable, like he could actually handle being around this many people without wanting to escape.

Jake found him around eleven and looked genuinely shocked. "You're still here. And you're smiling. Did someone drug you?"

"I drugged myself, actually. Beomgyu had weed."

"Good for you. See, I knew this would be good for you." Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

And the weird thing was that Heeseung actually meant it. He was good. He was at a party and he wasn't hating it and he hadn't thought about the game in at least an hour. Maybe this was what moving on felt like, just slowly forgetting to think about the thing that had been consuming you.

He made his way toward where people were dancing, not to join them but just to watch, and that's when he saw you. Or someone who looked exactly like you.

You were in the middle of the crowd, dancing with a group of friends, and Heeseung's brain stopped. Same hair, same face, same smile he'd memorized over dozens of hours of gameplay. You were wearing a black dress and your hair was down and you were laughing at something one of her friends said, and Heeseung felt like he'd been punched in the chest. It couldn't be you. It just couldn't be. You weren't real. You were code, pixels, a character in a dating simulator that didn't even work anymore. But she looked exactly like you, moved like you, had the same mannerisms he'd come to recognize, and Heeseung couldn't look away.

He stood there frozen, drink forgotten in his hand, just staring. The weed was definitely not helping because it made everything feel surreal and dreamlike, like maybe he'd fallen asleep at the party and this was just his brain torturing him with what he couldn't have. You spun around to the music and laughed and Heeseung's heart was doing something painful in his chest.

And then, as if you could feel him watching, you turned and looked directly at him. Your eyes met across the crowd and the world seemed to stop. Your expression shifted from happy to confused to something Heeseung couldn't identify, like recognition but also shock, like you'd seen a ghost. A pretty one, actually. You stared at him with the same intensity he was staring at you, both of you frozen while people danced and laughed around them, completely oblivious to whatever moment was happening. And Heeseung's mind was racing. You seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible because you'd never met, because you were a stranger, because the person you looked like didn't exist outside of a video game. 

Your friends said something to you and you blinked, breaking eye contact. You looked at them, said something Heeseung couldn't hear over the music, and then looked back at him one more time. That same confused, almost dazed expression. Then you turned back to your friends and kept dancing, but your movements were more mechanical now, less loose, like you were going through the motions while your mind was somewhere else. Heeseung just stood there, rooted to the spot, his drink sweating in his hand. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if it was the weed or the shock or both. Probably both. He was high at a party and he'd just seen someone who looked like a video game character and convinced himself it meant something. He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Or the weed was laced with something. Or he'd finally actually lost his mind.

He turned and pushed through the crowd, Making his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash water on his face, Needed to get his head straight, needed to stop seeing you everywhere just because he missed the game. Heeseung practically fell inside and locked the door behind him. He turned on the faucet and let the water run cold, then splashed it on his face once, twice, three times. The shock of it helped, made everything feel more real and less dreamlike.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were definitely red from the weed and he looked slightly unhinged, hair messed up from running his hands through it too many times. "You're fine," he told his reflection. "You're high and you're seeing things and you're fine. She just looks like her. Lots of people probably look like her. Jungwon probably based the character on some generic attractive person template. It doesn't mean anything."

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a questionable towel that was hanging on the rack, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't hide in the bathroom all night. He needed to go back out there, find Jake, maybe go home and sleep this off. Maybe in the morning this would all make sense or at least feel less overwhelming.

He opened the door and nearly ran directly into you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.

Heeseung froze. Up close you were even more exactly like the character from the game, every detail perfect, from the shape of your eyes to the way you were nervously adjusting the strap of your dress. You looked at him for a second, that same confused recognition flickering across your face, and then you moved to step past him.

"Wait," Heeseung said, turning before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?"

You stopped and turned back, tilting your head slightly as you studied his face. "No, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if we'd met before." You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly like you'd just heard what you said. "I mean, not that I'm saying you have a particularly memorable face or anything. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm not saying you're forgettable either, you're just— " you stopped yourself and took a breath. "Sorry, I'm making this weird. I don't think we've met but you do seem familiar somehow."

Heeseung just stared at you, his brain trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him, real and solid and rambling nervously in the exact same way the game character had. The same mannerisms, the same voice, the same way of talking yourself into circles when you were flustered. It was you. It was actually you. "Are you okay?" You asked, looking concerned now. 

"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine." Heeseung tried to pull himself together. "You just really remind me of someone."

"Good someone or bad someone?"

"Good someone. Definitely good someone."

You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that made Heeseung's chest ache because he'd seen that exact smile dozens of times through a screen. "Well that's good at least. I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Heeseung."

"Nice to meet you, Heeseung." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and Heeseung noticed your phone in your hand. The case had a photocard of a character that he recognized immediately — Janna from League of Legends, in her star guardian skin.

"You play league?" He asked before he could think better of it.

Your face lit up. "Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Your phone case."

"Oh my god, yes." You turned your phone to show him properly, looking pleased that he'd recognized it. "I'm a Janna main and I'm not ashamed of it." Heeseung felt something cold run down his spine. Those words. he'd heard those exact words before. "I know, I know," you continued, in the same tone, the same cadence. "Support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

Heeseung couldn't breathe. Word for word. You'd just said exactly what you'd said in the game, with the same inflection, the same defensive pride. This wasn't a coincidence. This couldn't be a coincidence. "What rank are you?" He managed to ask, his voice coming out rougher than intended.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and gave up on the grind." You were fully animated now, talking with your hands. "What about you, do you play?"

"Yeah. Diamond 3."

"Oh so you're actually good." You looked impressed. "We should play together sometime."

The world tilted. Heeseung was pretty sure he was having some kind of break from reality because this conversation had already happened. He'd already lived through this exact exchange in the game, and now it was happening again in real life with a real person standing in front of him saying the same things.

"Heeseung!" Someone called out, and Heeseung turned to see Jungwon pushing through the hallway crowd, looking genuinely shocked. "Holy shit, you actually came to a party. I didn't think I'd see this day." Jungwon reached them and then seemed to notice you for the first time. His expression shifted from surprised to confused. "Wait, you two know each other?"

"You know each other?" Heeseung and you said at the exact same time, then looked at each other in surprise.

Jungwon looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, Y/N's in my game design class." He turned to you. "And Heeseung's my best friend, we're in the same program."

"Wait, so you're that Heeseung!" You looked at him. "He talks about you all the time, by the way. I know your entire sleep schedule at this point."

"That's concerning," Heeseung said.

"Very concerning," you agreed. "So what brings you to the party?" You asked Heeseung. "Jungwon made it sound like you're basically a hermit who only emerges for classes and food."

"My roommate forced me to come. Said I needed to socialize."

"Same, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere." You glanced back toward the party. "She has this theory that I spend too much time gaming and not enough time experiencing real life."

"Gaming is real life," Heeseung said.

"Exactly! That's what I told her." You seemed genuinely pleased that he understood. "But she's on this whole thing about how I need to make more friends and go out more and whatever. So here I am, at a party, making friends." You gestured between yourself and Heeseung. "Look at me, being social."

"You're doing great," Jungwon said, sounding amused.

"Thanks, I'm trying." You checked your phone quickly. "Speaking of my roommate, she's texting me asking where I went. I should probably get back." You looked at Heeseung. "But seriously, add me on league. I meant what I said about playing together."

"Yeah, I will," Heeseung said, and he meant it even though his brain was still trying to process the fact that you were real and standing in front of him.

"Cool. See you guys around." You smiled at both of them and headed back toward the party, weaving through the people in the hallway.

The moment you were out of sight, Heeseung grabbed Jungwon's arm and pulled him toward the front door, outside where it was quieter and they could actually talk without shouting over music. "Dude, what the hell," Heeseung said the moment they were on the sidewalk. "You used her to make the character in the game?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "What? No. What are you talking about?"

"The character in girlfriend simulator. She's exactly like Y/N. Exactly like her, Jungwon. Same face, same personality, same everything."

Jungwon's confusion seemed genuine. "Heeseung, the character customization is completely random for each player. I'm still working on implementing a proper character creator but I ran out of time, so right now it just generates a random appearance based on some base parameters. I didn't use anyone specific as a model."

"That's impossible. She looks exactly like her."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah! I spent fifty one hours with that character. I know what she looks like." Heeseung could hear how unhinged he sounded but he couldn't stop. "And it's not just appearance. The way she talks, the things she said— it's all the same, like, word for word."

Jungwon was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "Okay, I think you need to calm down for a second. I think maybe you played the game too much and now you're seeing patterns that aren't there. Like, you spent all week interacting with this character and now you meet someone who has some similar traits and your brain is making connections."

"Jungwon, I'm not making it up."

"I'm not saying you're making it up, I'm saying your brain might be filling in similarities that aren't actually there." Jungwon pulled out his phone. "Look, I don't even really know Y/N that well. We work on projects together but we don't like, hang out or have deep conversations. I definitely didn't use her as a base for anything."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then how do you explain the game knowing things about her? The league stuff, the personality, all of it?"

"The game generates dialogue based on common interests and gaming culture. Lots of people play league. lots of people main support. It's not that weird that there'd be overlap." Jungwon looked genuinely worried now. "Heeseung, I think the game messed with your head more than I thought it would. Maybe we should scrap it entirely."

"No," Heeseung said quickly. "No, I just — I need to understand what happened."

Jungwon sighed. "Look, I actually gave the game to Y/N to test too. A while back, before I gave it to you."

Heeseung's head snapped up. "You what?"

"There's an option in the loading screen. You can choose to play as the protagonist or as the girlfriend. I thought it would be cool to have both perspectives, make it more replayable." Jungwon was scrolling through his phone now. "You didn't see that option?"

"No. There was just a loading screen and then it started."

"Weird. It should have given you a choice." Jungwon pulled up what looked like a message thread. "Anyway, I gave Y/N a beta version to test like a month ago. But she gave it back to me after one day. Said it was too realistic and kind of freaked her out."

"What do you mean too realistic?"

"She said the immersion was too intense. She said it made her uncomfortable how real the boyfriend character seemed." Jungwon looked up from his phone. "Which, now that I think about it, is basically the same thing you've been saying about the girlfriend character."

Heeseung's mind was racing. "So she played it. She played the game from the other perspective."

"Yeah, but just for a few hours. She didn't finish it or anything." Jungwon pocketed his phone. "Why does that matter?"

"I don't know. It just — " Heeseung stopped, trying to organize his thoughts.

Jungwon was watching him carefully. "You look kind of freaked out right now."

Heeseung leaned against the wall of the building, suddenly exhausted. "I just spent a week falling for someone who I thought was just code. And now I find out she looks like a real person and I've been talking to her for the past fifteen minutes like a normal person and I don't know what to do with that information."

"Well, she gave you her discord. You could message her. Play some League together. Get to know the real her instead of the game version." Jungwon paused. "Unless that's too weird for you."

So when Heeseung was ready to leave the party, Jake and Jungwon looked almost disappointed but didn’t argue. They made their way through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when Heeseung saw you again. You were standing on the sidewalk with two other girls, you were bent over laughing, that genuine kind of laugh where you forget to be self conscious about it.

Heeseung slowed down without meaning to, and Jake nearly walked into him. But then you looked up, like you could sense someone watching. your eyes met Heeseung’s across the sidewalk and you smiled, a smile that felt almost conspiratorial. Like you two were in on a joke that nobody else knew about. Which was insane because you’d met like half an hour ago and had one conversation in a hallway. One of your friends said something and you broke eye contact, still smiling, and climbed into the back seat of the car. Through the window Heeseung could see you saying something that made your friends crack up again. The car pulled away and you didn’t look back, but Heeseung kept staring at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.

“Okay, what was that?” Jake asked.

“What was what?”

“That whole…” Jake gestured vaguely. “Moment. You guys were having a moment.”

“We weren’t having a moment.”

“You were definitely having a moment. Who was that?”

“Just someone I met. Friend of Jungwon’s.” Heeseung started walking toward their dorm and Jake followed, still looking suspicious.

“You met someone and had a moment with them? At a party? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, this is unprecedented behavior from you. You don’t do moments with strangers.” Heeseung didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt like meeting a stranger. It had felt like running into someone he already knew, someone he’d been thinking about for days. Which was objectively insane but that didn’t make it any less true.

When they got back to the dorm, Jake immediately went to take a shower, still talking about the party through the bathroom door. Heeseung sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up discord before he could talk himself out of it. He typed your name into the search bar. There were like fifteen results but he scrolled through until he found one account that matched your username, with a profile picture that matched; a cute drawing of what looked like a cat in a witch hat. He clicked on your profile and immediately started going through your connected accounts and activity like some kind of creep, but whatever, that’s what public profiles were for, right?

Steam account: 847 hours in League of Legends, which was honestly rookie numbers compared to his own. Recently played Roblox, which he wasn’t going to judge because he had his own embarrassing game collection. He’d been growing a garden in Grow a Garden for like six months now and his sunflowers were thriving, thank you very much. Stardew Valley with 234 hours, which was extremely respectable and also adorable. Unpacking with a lot of hours, which he’d never played but had heard good things about. And The Sims 4 with an amount of hours that suggested you had a serious problem with simulation games. Which, to be honest, he kind of had it now too.

Your Spotify was connected too and he could see you’d been listening to a lot of bedroom pop and indie stuff. Your about me section just said “life ain't cookies n cream lil fella,” which made Heeseung chuckle. You had a sense of humor, which is something he kind of already knew, even though he only knew the game version of you.

Heeseung realized he’d been sitting there scrolling through your profile for like ten minutes and definitely needed to actually send the friend request before this got any weirder. He clicked add friend and then immediately closed his laptop like it might explode. He tried to do other things. He checked his phone. He looked at his algorithms homework and immediately closed that because absolutely not. He reorganized the pens on his desk. He considered making ramen but wasn’t actually hungry. Until his laptop pinged. Heeseung lunged for it so fast he almost his water bottle off the desk. He opened discord and there it was: you accepted his friend request. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. It was just a discord notification, normal people didn’t have heart palpitations over discord notifications. But Heeseung wasn't normal anymore.

But before he could stop himself, before his brain could catch up with what his hands were doing, he opened the dm and typed hey and then, because apparently he was determined to embarrass himself, he sent the little waving robot sticker that discord suggested unintentionally. He stared at what he’d just done in absolute horror. The waving robot. He’d sent you the waving robot sticker. “Oh my god,” Heeseung said out loud to his empty room. His fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

heeseung: sorry lol heeseung: idk why i sent that heeseung: the robot i mean heeseung: anyway hi

He watched the three dots appear that meant you were typing. they disappeared. appeared again. Disappeared. Heeseung was going to have a heart attack.

you: no the robot was cute you: very welcoming you: really set the tone

Heeseung couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him or not.

heeseung: the tone being what exactly heeseung: desperate? you: i was gonna say endearing but sure we can go with desperate

Heeseung laughed out loud, an actual laugh that made Jake yell “You good?” from the bathroom. Heeseung didn't answer. 

heeseung: cool cool cool love that for me heeseung: starting strong you: you’re doing great you: so did you add me just to apologize for an emoji or was there something else

Heeseung stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could play it cool, say something casual about League or whatever. Or he could be honest, which was terrifying but also the weed was still kind of in his system making everything feel less scary than it probably should.

heeseung: honestly i just wanted to talk to you more heeseung: the conversation in the hallway was cool

The thing was, Heeseung felt bold saying that. Actually bold. This was probably the most direct he’d been with someone (in real life) in years, and he half expected you to think it was weird or too forward or whatever. But you didn’t. You just said “aw that’s sweet, me too!” with a smiley face and kept talking, and Heeseung felt something in his chest unclench. And you talked for hours. About games mostly, because that was the safe territory, the common ground. You told him about how you had been completely consumed by Pokemon Legends ZA, playing it every free moment you had. He admitted he’d loved Arceus when it came out but hadn’t gotten around to ZA yet, and you immediately started telling him everything he was missing out on, your messages coming in quick bursts of enthusiasm about the new mechanics and the Kalos region and how you’d already put in like sixty hours.

You asked him what his favorite games of all time were and he gave you his top five, and you had opinions about all of them, good opinions, the kind that made him want to keep talking just to hear what you’d say next. Somewhere around 1am you sent: “btw you seem really cool hee. we should play something together sometime if you’re down” and Heeseung stared at that message for long enough. You’d called him hee. You’d given him a nickname. And you wanted to play games together. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he could feel his face getting warm, which was stupid because you couldn’t even see him, but his body didn’t seem to care about logic.

heeseung: yeah definitely heeseung: i’d be really down for that

You sent back a heart emoji and said you had to sleep, and Heeseung said goodnight, and then he just sat there for a minute staring at the conversation like if he looked at it long enough he could figure out what was happening to him. He was down bad, really down bad. Which was insane because he’d been down bad before this even happened, down bad for a video game character that turned out to look exactly like you, and now he was down bad for the actual real you, and his brain couldn’t quite process the overlap. It felt like two separate situations that had merged into one extremely confusing situation that he didn’t know how to handle.

When he finally went to bed that night, he had that specific feeling you get when something really good has just happened and you’re lying in the dark replaying it in your head. That flutter in your stomach, that slight buzz of excitement, that sense that you’ve just met someone who’s probably going to matter. Someone who’s going to take up space in your life in a way you can’t predict yet but can already feel coming.

And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t spend the entire next week looking for you on campus. Not in a weird way. Or maybe in a weird way, but he was trying to make it not weird. He’d just happen to walk past the design building between classes. He’d just happen to take a longer route to the dining hall that went by the areas where Jungwon said you usually hung out. He’d just happen to check the game design lab when he was meeting Jungwon, looking around all casual like he wasn’t actively scanning for your face.

Monday: nothing. Tuesday: he saw someone with similar hair from behind and did a weird half jog to catch up only to realize it was absolutely not you and he’d just chased down a complete stranger for no reason. Wednesday: he sat in the campus coffee shop for two hours pretending to do homework but really just watching the door. Thursday: more nothing. By friday Heeseung was starting to think maybe you were a figment of his imagination, maybe the whole party had been a fever dream, maybe he’d made you up entirely. So by afternoon Heeseung had given up. He was going to the library to actually do the algorithms homework he’d been ignoring all week, and he was going to stop being a weird person who wandered around campus hoping to accidentally run into someone.

Except then he walked into the library and saw you. You were tucked into a corner on the second floor, the quiet study section where people went to actually focus. Your laptop was open in front of you, headphones on, and you were doing that thing where you chewed on your pen cap while reading something on the screen. There were books and papers scattered around you in what looked like organized chaos, and your coffee cup said something in sharpie that Heeseung couldn’t read from where he was standing like a creep behind a bookshelf.

Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was a normal situation. You were here, he was here, both of you were in a library because that’s what students do. He just had to walk over there and say hi. Simple. Easy. Not weird at all. But what if you were in the zone? What if you were working on something important and he interrupted and you got annoyed? What if you didn’t actually want to see him and had just been being polite when you said you should play games sometime? He could just sit near you, not like right next to you, but in the general area. That would be natural. He needed to study anyway, it made sense to sit in the quiet section. So he picked a table that was close but not too close. Close enough that you might notice him but far enough that it didn’t look intentional.

He sat down and pulled out his laptop and his textbook, arranging them very carefully, very normally. Then he just sat there, staring at his algorithms homework. Not doing it, just staring. But five minutes passed and you hadn’t looked up. Heeseung opened his laptop. Closed it. Opened it again. He was being ridiculous. He should just get up and go say hi because that’s what normal people did. Normal people didn’t stage elaborate accidental meetings, they just walked up and said hello. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. And then you finally looked up. Heeseung froze, half standing, half sitting, in the most awkward position possible. You pulled off your headphones and your face went from confused to surprised to happy in the span of like two seconds.

“Heeseung?” You said, keeping your voice library quiet. “What are you doing?”

“Studying,” Heeseung said too quickly, and then realized he was still in that weird half crouch position and sat down properly. “I mean, I was about to. study. I’m here to study.”

You smiled and Heeseung’s brain stopped for a moment. “Oh cool. Me too, obviously.” You gestured at your chaos of books and papers. "Working on this project that’s slowly killing me.”

“Do you want company?” Heeseung asked, and then immediately wanted to take it back because what if you said no, what if you were here specifically to study alone, what if—

“Yeah, actually that’d be nice.” You started clearing some space on your table, moving books and papers around. “I’ve been here for like three hours and I’m losing my mind. Could use a distraction.” So Heeseung grabbed his stuff and moved to your table, trying very hard to look like this was a normal thing he did all the time, sitting with people in libraries, being a person who had casual study sessions with other people. “So,” you said, once he was settled across from you. “What are the odds we both ended up in the same random corner of the library?”

“Pretty low, probably,” Heeseung said. “Weird coincidence.”

You agreed, and there was something in the way you said it that made Heeseung think maybe you knew it wasn’t really a coincidence, maybe you’d seen him doing his weird laps around the second floor, but you were being nice about it. You settled into studying, or at least Heeseung pretended to study while you actually did work. You’d put your headphones back on but kept one ear uncovered, just in case he needed to ask you something about something, which he definitely wasn’t going to do because he wasn’t actually reading anything on the page in front of him.

Instead he was watching you, maybe in a weird way, but he couldn’t help it. Because sitting there across from you, seeing you up close in the quiet library light, Heeseung was hit with how much you looked like the character from the game. It wasn’t just the face, though that was uncanny enough. It was the mannerisms and the little things, like the way you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating, eyes narrowed slightly at your screen. The way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes even though it would just fall back. The way your nose would scrunch up a little when you read something confusing. He’d seen all of this before, dozens of times, in the game. I mean you had done all of these exact things, in the game.

You looked up suddenly and Heeseung’s eyes immediately darted to his textbook, pretending he’d been reading the whole time. He could feel you looking at him for a second before you went back to your work, and Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This happened like four more times. Very smooth. Very natural. Definitely not obvious at all.

Then you checked your phone and made a small sound of surprise. “Oh shit, I have class in ten minutes.” You started packing up your stuff quickly, shoving papers into your bag without any real organization. “I totally lost track of time.”

“Yeah, me too,” Heeseung lied, because he’d been very aware of every single minute.

You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Just like that. Casual and quick. Your lips pressed against his cheek for maybe half a second before you pulled back. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you said, smiling. “See you later, Hee.”

And then you were gone, weaving through the tables toward the stairs, and Heeseung just sat there frozen. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek where you’d kissed him, like he needed to confirm it had actually happened. His face felt hot. His brain felt scrambled. You’d kissed him on the cheek. People did that, right? That was a normal friend thing? Except you barely knew each other so were you even friends? And why did his cheek feel like it was burning? And Heeseung realized he was just sitting there touching his face like a complete idiot and forced himself to put his hand down. He should pack up, he should go to his next class. He should do literally anything except sit here having a crisis over a cheek kiss. But he didn’t move, he just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment over and over. 

“You good, man?” Heeseung’s head snapped up. Jungwon was standing next to the table, looking at him with concern and also amusement, which was a terrible combination.

“When did you get here?”